“Nice touch,” said Ben, sitting down on one of them.

  Charles nodded, eyeing Ben’s plaid shirt.

  Ben took off his bombardier jacket. That way, Charles could get a better look at the fascinating contrast between plaid and brocade.

  “So,” said Charles, unwrapping a chocolate, “I assume you’ve come to talk about the photographs for the spring catalogue.”

  “Among other things.”

  They stared at each other, both understanding the implication.

  “As I said to you on the phone,” continued Charles, slipping the contract folder out of the bottom desk drawer, “I am prepared to offer you the job.”

  “Good.”

  “I do need to have some estimate of the cost.”

  “Of course.” Ben leaned forward and wrote a figure on a notepad. He shoved it toward Charles and then leaned back, waiting.

  Charles stared at it. “Is this a joke?”

  “No joke.”

  “You’ve got to be out of your mind.”

  “Afraid not.” He folded his arms over his chest. “See, I’m planning to use the extra cash to finance a national tour for my ex-wife and her dance company. What’s a couple hundred thousand, give or take, to you now that you’ve become president of IAI? Besides, you needn’t worry. Your capital will be put to good artistic use.”

  Charles was silent. After eating another chocolate, he asked, “Did you bring the disks?”

  “They’re right here.” Ben tapped his pocket.

  “How do I know you haven’t made copies?”

  “You don’t.”

  He drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I need some time to consider this.”

  “You’ve got one minute.”

  Charles’s eyes flashed angrily. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “Well, for starters,” said Ben, “I’d say I’m talking to the man who helped falsify Hale’s 1994 tax return. Second, I believe that same man participated in helping Hale to hide money in several Swiss — “”

  “You can’t prove any of this!”

  “But, Chuck, you know I can.”

  “Those disks are merely records.”

  “Do you really want to chance it? Maybe I should drop them off at the nearest IRS office and see what they think?”

  Charles sat forward in his chair, folding his hands over the contract file. “What if I called your bluff? I didn’t even start working for Hale until six weeks ago.”

  “Plenty of time.”

  “Most of the information recorded on those disks happened years ago.”

  “A minor point. Come on, Chuckie. We both know one of those foreign accounts has your name on it. What was it? A bribe? You discovered the extent of Hale’s illegal dealings — and to keep you quiet, he gave you a … small gift? Unless you’re smarter than I thought, the information I have will nail you, as well as your ex-boss.”

  Slowly Charles rose from his chair. “I believe our meeting is over, Mr. Kiran. I want you to leave.”

  Ben was stunned. He hadn’t expected this. “But —”

  “I don’t care if you mail those disks directiy to the White House! Publish them in the Congressional Record for all I care. That was Hale’s business, not mine. I was merely an assistant with no knowledge of any untoward business acdvity. Neither you nor anyone else can prove otherwise. Believe me when I tell you, Mr. Kiran, I am smarter than you think. Smarter than anybody’s ever given me credit for. With the money I have at my disposal now, I could tie up any potential litigation in court until hell freezes over.” He leaned forward, pressing his hands on the desktop. “And I can eat someone like you for breakfast.”

  Ben was speechless.

  “Now, get out!” roared Charles.

  “But … the shoot?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear.” He yanked on his pin-striped suit. “If you’re too thick to get it, I’ll say it again. You and that ex-wife of yours can rot! I will not be issued an ultimatum. Not by you. Not by Hale. Not by anyone!”

  Ben took a moment to get his bearings. Charles did seem to have the upper hand. Slowly he rose and dropped the disks on the desk. It didn’t matter. He had several copies at home. “You know what, Chuckie? You’ve turned beet red.”

  Charles glared at him.

  “You clash with your chairs.”

  “Get out!”

  “I’m going.” As he got to the door, he had the urge to turn. He wanted to say you haven’t seen the last of me, buddy. But not only did that sound trite, unless he could come up with another plan, Charles may indeed have seen the last of him.

  30

  “Can I help you, sir?” asked the hostess, walking up to Sophie with several menus tucked under her arm. It was Thursday evening, and the dining room of the new Mediterranean Winds restaurant was packed.

  “Why, yes,” said Sophie, using her deepest voice. Once again, in order to write a completely honest restaurant review — a review she’d promised her paper last week — she’d donned a disguise. If she didn’t, people were immediately on their best behavior. Staff would fuss and fawn. The management would make sure that every plate that reached her table was meticulous. She was sure all the restaurateurs in town had a picture of her face — perhaps in combination with a dart board — in their kitchens. But she’d found a foolproof way to thwart all this. Tonight she had on a tweed sport coat, one of Bram’s best ties, and a black wig and beard. And she was smoking a pipe. Bram said the pipe was too much. He had no drama in his soul.

  The first time she’d visited the restaurant was two weeks ago. She and Bram had been searching for a spot to have a leisurely Sunday morning brunch. The buffet looked so enticing, they decided to give it a try. Lovely cold salads. Marinated eggplant and red onion. Cucumber and tomato in a lightly minted yogurt dressing. Small, crispy phyllo pillows of spinach, Boursin cheese, feta, parsley, and fresh dill. And the main dish, a rich moussaka. The bechamel sauce on the top was perfection. Thick and creamy, scented with nutmeg. She wondered if it was still on the menu. The only disappointment was the dessert. A cloyingly sweet rice pudding that tasted more like her grandmother’s cold cream. A little too much rose water for her palate. But the rest of the meal was so good, she was able to overlook it.

  “We don’t have any tables right now,” said the hostess. “But I can put your name down on the list. It shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.”

  Sophie was surprised to see the dining room so crowded. It was less than two blocks from the Chappeldine Gallery, not the busiest section of south Minneapolis. “That would be fine,” she said, biting down authoritatively on the pipe stem.

  “Name?”

  “Clinton.” She smiled. “No relation.”

  The woman looked down at her, unsmiling.

  Sophie decided she must be a Republican. She wished she were a few inches taller. It would make this disguise business considerably easier.

  “The bar is right through there.” The woman pointed.

  As Sophie stood in the doorway and searched the smoky room for a table, her eyes fell to a booth in the back. There in the dim light sat John and Kate, deep in conversation. John looked upset.

  Sophie inched her way to a table directly across from them and sat down. Thankfully she was far enough away from the main action to be able to hear. After ordering a gin and tonic, she sat back and listened. Normally she wouldn’t eavesdrop on a private conversation, but with everything that had happened recently, she couldn’t contain herself.

  Kate was speaking: “You had no right to go into my desk!”

  “1 was looking for some strapping tape,” said John. “I wasn’t snooping. I’d already noticed those postmarks on Hawks’s packages. I knew they were phony. There is no such thing as a Soldiers Grove postmark, Kate. All the mail from the town goes through Duluth. I can’t believe you went to all the trouble of getting a stamp made.”

  “You don’t know that! You don’t know anything.”

  “I know what Rudy told me. His mother found a note Hawks had written to Hale the night he was murdered. It threatened him. I also know Hale received mail at the gallery from Hawks. Was it all a fraud, Kate? Tell me what’s going on!”

  “It’s none of your business.” She pushed her beer away.

  “How do you figure that? Rudy is one of my best friends. He’s in trouble. Since the police think he may have had something to do with Hale’s death, it affects him, which affects me. And it should affect you!”

  Sophie thanked the waitress for her drink and sipped it as she watched Kate give John a long, hard look.

  “A friend, huh?” She raised a suggestive eyebrow.

  John gave her a disgusted look. “Stuff it.”

  “Now who’s getting defensive?”

  “It was a cheap shot. Besides, you’re trying to change the subject.”

  “So what if I am? I didn’t want to meet you here tonight. You forced me.”

  “You’re right. I said I’d take what I know to the police, and I will.” He paused, looking directly at Sophie.

  She quickly turned away, shielding her face with her hand. Damn. She’d forgotten to take off her diamond. She slipped it off and put it in her pocket When she glanced at him again, he was staring into his beer. She heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Come on, who is this Ezmer Hawks anyway?” he demanded. “Hale was as tight as a drum before he died. What were you doing? Helping someone terrorize him?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I think the police will look at it differently.”

  “You wouldn’t do that!”

  “I would. I will. Unless —”

  “What?” She twisted her thin blonde hair behind her ears.

  “Unless you tell me the whole truth.”

  “If I do, will you promise not to go to the police?”

  “I can’t do that. Don’t you feel guilty? Rudy is taking the heat and you might be able to help him!”

  She covered her face with her hands.

  “Look, Kate. I just want to understand.”

  “No, you don’t. You want to put me in jail!”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because … I’m in too deep.” She stopped. “John, I’ve never told anyone about … any of this.”

  “Any of what?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ll have to. Sooner or later.”

  She wiped a hand across her face and squared her shoulders. For several seconds she let her eyes wash over the crowd. Finally they came to rest on Sophie. Again, Sophie turned away, pretending to look for someone at the front entrance.

  “I can’t,” said Kate, her voice full of defeat. “You have to trust me. I had nothing to do with Hale’s murder, unless wishing a person dead means anything.”

  “You hated him that much?”

  “I … can’t talk about it. Not tonight. If that means you take the fake postmark to the police, then so be it.”

  “You admit you had it made?”

  “I admit nothing.” She sat up straight. “Look, if you could just see your way to giving me even a couple of days, I promise —” Again, she stopped. “No! That would be a lie. I can’t promise anything. I’m scared, John. I’ve never been so scared in my life. If I told you the truth, if the police knew what was going on, I’m afraid they might think I killed him.”

  “Did you?”

  Again, their eyes locked. “No! I’ve got to go now.”

  As Sophie watched her bolt from the room, she had the urge to run after her, but knew it would be useless. She couldn’t believe what she’d just overheard. Kate had been keeping something important from her — maybe even something that could prove Rudy’s innocence. In Sophie’s mind, that was unforgivable.

  “May I sit down?” asked John. He was standing over her, his half-empty glass of beer held in one hand.

  She stuffed the pipe into her mouth. “Well —”

  “Thanks.” He pulled up a chair. “So.” He smiled. “You come here often?”

  Oh, God. She cleared her throat. “I … ah …”

  “Me, neither. Are you meeting someone?”

  She swallowed hard.

  “Say, when did you start smoking a pipe, Ms. Greenway? It’s an unusual touch. But then, so is the beard.”

  31

  “Won’t you come in?” asked Louie, moving back and allowing Rhea to enter.

  She stepped into the large foyer, her eyes taking in the messy living room. A large no smoking sign hung above the couch. This wasn’t what she’d expected at all. A lawyer’s house should look polished, professionally decorated. This place was cluttered and musty, with the distinct air of neglect. As she turned to Louie, she realized he looked exactly the same way. His sweater was old, in need of repair. And, if it was actually possible for a human being to look dusty, Louie did. Nevertheless, he exuded a kind of benevolent warmth. And his eyes were intelligent, if a little distracted.

  “Please,” he said, taking her coat, “come on back to the study. It’s the most comfortable spot in the house.”

  Rhea noticed a wedding band on his finger, though as they moved through the darkened rooms, she had the sense they were alone.

  “Can I offer you anything to drink?” he asked. He picked up his bottle of beer and took a sip. “This is … Oh, what do they call it? Pale ale, I believe. It’s quite good.” A half-eaten bag of pretzels lay on the coffee table. “I also have wine, whiskey —” He stopped. “Oh, just listen to me, will you? I sound like the neighborhood bar. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” It was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. She thought of Ben. Louie might be the only man who could help.

  He sat down across from her and grabbed the bag of pretzels, selecting one and then offering her the sack.

  She shook her head.

  “So,” he began, munching thoughtfully, “on the phone you said you wanted to talk to me about something personal. I can’t imagine what that would be, since we met only briefly at Hale and Ivy’s party. But I am curious.” He reached for a bottle of Maalox and took a swig. “Sorry. My digestion’s been kind of poor lately.” He picked up the beer to wash it down.

  Rhea glanced at the doorway. “Is someone here?” she asked. She thought she heard a noise. “I was hoping to speak to you privately.”

  His hand trembled slightly as he set the bottle back on the table. “My wife died a little over a week ago.”

  “Oh … I didn’t know.” She’d really put her foot in it this time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a cat slink into the room and jump up on the desk chair. “I’m sorry.”

  “She’d been sick for a long time.” He made a move to get up. “Will you excuse me for a minute?” He rushed into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

  Rhea waited, watching the cat lick its paws. In the quiet of the old house, she could hear him vomiting. She felt like a criminal. No wonder his digestion was so bad. Grief did awful things to people. She tried not to stare at him when he returned. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice that his skin was even more sallow now than before. Poor man.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, resuming his position on the couch. He put a hand gingerly over his stomach. “Where were we?”

  Even though he was in obvious distress and probably shouldn’t be bothered, she knew it was now or never. She had to know the truth. “You brought up Hale and Ivy’s party a moment ago. That’s what I came to talk to you about. That night, I’d gone out for a walk about eleven. I couldn’t stand the smoke and the noise. Parties often affect me that way.”

  “Really? I find the mindless uproar soothing. But go on.

  “Well, about half a block away from the house, I heard this noise — like the backfire of a car. I realized later that it must have been the shot that killed Hale.”

  “I expect you’re correct. That would have been the right time.”

  She looked down at her hands. If only she could bury her doubts. Nothing was stopping her from getting up right now and leaving. No one would ever know the difference. Except she’d never lived her life that way. And she wasn’t going to start now. If she and Ben were ever going to have a chance at a new life together, she had to know the truth. Then, one way or another, she’d deal with it. “As I was coming around the side of the house, I saw someone go in through the back door. I looked up and saw a shadow move across the window in Hale’s office.”

  “How terrifying for you.”

  “At the time, it didn’t mean anything. Looking back, I’m sure I was seeing his murderer.”

  “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “It was you I saw go into the house, Mr. Sigerson.”

  Very calmly, he picked a piece of lint off his slacks. “Yes.”

  “I want to know what you saw.”

  He waited for almost a minute before answering. When he did, his voice had grown hoarse. “Very little.”

  “Did you see someone go into the gate house?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but my attention was elsewhere. There was a magnificent display of northern lights that night, and —”

  “But you must have seen something!”

  His smile was sad. “The window was open slightly in Hale’s office. I heard … arguing. That’s all. I don’t know who he was talking to. And I don’t care.”

  “How can you say that!”

  “Very easily.” He attempted to cross his legs, but the pain in his stomach seemed to prevent any change in position. “Look, are you familiar with the nursery rhyme — ?”

  “Nursery rhyme?” Had he lost his mind? They were discussing a murder!

  Patiently, he continued, “The one that begins: ‘For every evil under the sun — ’ “

  She shook her head. She was more than annoyed at the digression.

  “I’m not saying we should take our moral cues from Mother Goose, but in this case, I think she was on the right track.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I guess … Very simply put, I believe in fate. It gives a kind of symmetry to our existence. I don’t need certainty, but I do need closure — no matter how unfair or quirky. ‘For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy or there is none. If there be one, seek till you find it. If there be none, never mind it.’ We’re all pawns, Rhea. To a certain extent, I suppose I believe what goes around comes around. If there ever was a man who deserved what he got, it was Hale Micklenberg.”