Die a Little (19 page)

Ellie Marbury, fifteen years old with gum in the corner of her mouth, wearing a sloppy joe sweater the vague color of store-bought pound cake, is whispering feverishly to Celeste Dutton as I try to keep the attention of twenty girls on a warm Friday afternoon.

When I confront both girls after class, Ellie, with all the petulance of a teenager unaware she is already at the height of her rather wan beauty and it will all be downhill from here, asserts, "Mrs. King sure was acting funny today."

"Oh?" I say, emptily.

Die a Little -- 121 --

Ellie's eyes grow wide. "Y-e-a-h," she says, stretching the word out and spitting her gum into the trash can I hold before her.

"She kept running over to the window and running all around the room."

"It was like she had ants in her pants or something." Celeste, always acting younger than her age, giggles.

"And then she told everyone that one day we'd understand how hard it is to be a woman," Ellie adds, half snickering and half eyes popping. Both girls seem torn between laughter and discomfort.

"She said wait until they come sniffing around you," Celeste burbles. "And Ellie said who, and Mrs. King said be glad you still have to ask."

"And she meant men," Ellie nods. "I knew. We all did. I just wanted to see if she would say it."

And then I realize, abruptly, that Ellie, for all her bravado, all her eye-rolling teenage sarcasm, is about to cry. Despite the bubble gum pink smirk on her face, I can see tears are itching to pop from the corners of her powder blue eyes.

I know I should put my hand under her chin and reassure her somehow. But I don't.

"And then ... and then ..." Ellie's face is just seconds, mere seconds from bursting. "She said that once they find the dark holes be-be-be-between our legs, no matter how good it is, everything turns to s-s-s-s-shit. Excuse me, Miss King, but that is what she said."

Celeste's eyes grow wide with pleasure at her friend's daring, but I know better. I put my hand sharply on Ellie's shoulder and direct her out of the room.

She's just made it into the hallway, the classroom door has just slammed shut behind us, when glassy tears tear open her once-smug face. Somehow Ellie has understood something about what she has seen, about what Alice has shown her. Why she understands, I don't want to know.

"It's okay, Ellie," I say, leaning against the lockers. "You're not in trouble."

"Thanks, Miss King," she says, tears jetting unabated. "I know I'm not." She rubs the long sleeve of her sweater over her face. "Don't tell, okay?" Then she pulls her old face together, tight and contemptuous. "Don't tell."

And I won't. It would be one too many private dramas, after all.

Die a Little -- 122 --

[?]*[?]

It is late, after nine, after a long student assembly, and my head is still ringing from the sounds of throngs of teenage girls straining gracelessly to mimic Kay Starr.

I make my way quickly through the noiseless lot, where only a handful of cars remain.

As I near my car, a dark sedan lights up suddenly and veers over toward me. I scramble for my keys, guessing it is only a colleague wanting to share a commiserating good night but not wanting to take any chances.

As I slide into my front seat, the car pulls up beside me.

"So ... this is where you work. I wouldn't have guessed girls who moved in your circles taught school." I turn my head, recognizing the familiar voice.

"Hello, Detective," I murmur.

Cudahy faces me with a grim-eyed stare. "Get in," he orders, reaching across and opening his passenger side door.

I do as he says, trying not to meet his eyes.

"Isn't this out of your jurisdiction?" I bluff.

"Yes," he says.

"Oh."

"I had you pegged for a liar, but not that kind of liar," Cudahy says.

I feel my face burn and wonder what he knows, other than that I am obviously not the kind of girl who is a regular at places like the Red Room Lounge.

"You don't understand."

"Sure I do, Miss Morgan. You figure, What's the harm? What's a dumb cop going to know? I'll have a little fun with him. Get my kicks."

"No. No. I wanted to help, but I had these ... responsibilities."

"Who to?"

"No, you've got me really wrong here. Horribly wrong."

"You just protecting yourself or someone else too?"

"I've got nothing to do with it," I say, still not looking at him directly. "I know Lois through someone else. Lois is a friend of someone ... close to me. Lois was a friend of someone close to me."

"Don't you think it's about time you started spilling it? Honest, I'm three seconds away from booking you. You've hampered a police investigation, lied to authorities--"

Die a Little -- 123 --

"Please. I do know Lois. I told you: I know she used narcotics. I know she was selling herself." I pause, deciding whether I should hazard a guess about Joe Avalon's role. "And I know that she had a ... someone who arranged things."

"And who'd that be?"

I can't think fast enough. All I can think of is my face, blazing with shame. "Don't you already know? I can't be the only person you've found who knew that."

He looks at me long and hard, rubbing his chin and glaring. "I don't know what you're doing to me here. I don't know-- Look, I'm a real sap not to just bring you in. I'm doing you a big favor, but only if you can give me something."

"He lives in Bunker Hill. You must know who he is. He takes care of everything for RKO, maybe others."

I feel the weight of the gaze from the corners of my eyes.

"I don't know ..." A horrible pressure on my chest.

He reaches into his glove compartment and pulls out a folder, tossing it over to me. I open it with shaking fingers.

It is a photo of a man I've never seen before, with a lanky mustache and yellow eyes.

"I don't know who this is," I say, relieved. I start to hand it back to him when the photo slips and another appears behind it.

There he is.

Droopy eyes, bushy black brows and lashes. I turn the photo over and see, in small type, "Joseph Nathanson alias Johnny Davalos alias Joe Avalon 06/25/12."

"Okay," Cudahy say. "Okay, then. Lucky guess."

I look up at him. "I don't know anything specific. I just figured ..."

"So who's this person who introduced you to Lois Slattery?

Davalos?"

"No, no."

I feel my throat go dry. A voice, some voice, rises up from inside.

"You won't involve me at all?"

He sighs and looks down at the photo hard. "I can't promise I won't need to contact you. But I won't push you."

I breathe in fast.

"Edith Ann Beauvais." It is a chance. I take a chance.

He writes the name down. "Who's she?"

"She was someone who ... I saw her with them a few times."

"Davalos and the victim?"

"Yes." I am losing track of my own distortions.

"Where does she live?"

Die a Little -- 124 --

"She's dead."

"Convenient."

"She killed herself."

"We'll see how what you say checks out. Does she have any surviving relatives?" "I guess. I mean, her husband."

"Name?"

"Charlie Beauvais."

"Where might I find him?"

"He s gone."

"He's gone. Of course. Where'd he go? Hop a ship to the Orient?"

"No one's sure. Maybe Mexico."

"What are you doing to me?"

"Telling you the truth."

He sighs again, looks out the window for a minute, then turns back to me.

"Don't you want to ask me something?"

I look at him.

"Don't you want to know how I found you?"

I swallow hard, although I'm not sure why. "How did you find me?"

"Police business.

"Oh."

"But you might think about this: I found you by accident. Because I was following someone else. Imagine my surprise. You get it?"

"I'm not sure."

He gestures with his eyes to the Avalon photo. "Watch your back, Miss."

Like out of a movie. Like out of a movie, and I clutch my chest. I clutch my chest and shake my head. I didn't see it coming, but I should have.

Die a Little -- 125 --

[?]*[?]

The next day at school, I keep worrying about when I will see Alice for the first time, for the first time since this most recent conversation with Detective Cudahy. These days she seems to be lurking around every corner.

As I make my way down the stairs after fifth period, I am surprised instead to see my brother standing in the front vestibule, kicking his foot in short strokes against the blasted brick of the wall. My brother, I almost say it aloud.

He must have heard my approach, or somehow sensed me descending, because he immediately turns to see me.

His face has a pinched, anxious look I know very well. It is the face he wears when he feels helpless. Seeing it, I stop short. I can't bear to move closer.

"What's wrong, Bill?"

"Nothing's wrong, nothing. Why do you ask?"

I am still a few steps from the bottom, but somehow I can't get any closer. Why is he here? Has something happened? Has he found something out?

I can't say anything. It is long past saying anything.

He runs the back of his hand over his face. "It's nothing. It's nothing. It's just-- When you drove Alice to school today, did she seem all right to you?"

I make the words come out. "I didn't drive her today. I had an early meeting. I've had a lot of early meetings lately."

He turns toward the wall, touching it with his fingertips. Suddenly, he is nine years old again and facing the profuse tears of his sister, who doesn't want to leave for girls' camp the next day.

"What is it, Bill?"

"And she's not here. She hasn't been here all day. They said she called in sick. They called me at work to see if I could pick up her students' assignments and take them home. They ..." He trails off.

"She's probably at home in bed. A misunderstanding--"

"Yes." He lifts his head. "I'm sure. Obvious. Thanks, Sis. You know me, overreacting as usual."

I try for a smile and walk the final steps, moving toward him.

"She's just been a little sick, so I've tried to keep a close eye on her."

"Yes, of course. I'm sure she appreciates it." Then I add, touching his arm lightly, "It's what you do."

Die a Little -- 126 --

He turns his head and looks at me, his eyes fastening on mine, my eyes. "That's right, Sis. You always know. You always knew."

After he leaves, I shut the door to my classroom and lock it. I sit at my desk for ten minutes, ignoring the students gathering in the hallway. I don't even hear their rising clatter. I sit at my desk, hands folded, looking out the window, thinking, knowing things. Things I will have to do.

He wouldn't tell me. He'd just make it go away.

Die a Little -- 127 --

[?]*[?]

I haven't seen him in ten long days, since before seeing Lois's body.

Have been avoiding him, not wanting to feel tempted to tell him about Lois, afraid, in part maybe, that he might already know. I haven't returned the calls he's left with the front desk of my apartment building. I don't let myself think about it. If I start to think about it, I remind myself who introduced us.

At night, when I'm trying to sleep, pictures of them together gather in my head. Mike and Alice in the far corner of the room, her head thrown back in laughter as he talks in her ear. Mike and Alice smoking on the back porch at one of her parties, each making droll faces, telling old jokes. Who knows how many conversations? Who could guess all that had passed from his wry mouth to her tilted ear?

Then from her mouth to ... anywhere. There is something so horrible in the thought of that, so horrible that I shut it all down. I shut it all down until I feel nothing.

And then there he is.

Standing in the hallway in front of the door to my apartment. His hat is pushed back, and he is fishing through his coat pocket.

He looks up and sees me, eyes dancing. "So what, you're finished with me, is that it?" But smiling, always smiling.

I don't say anything. I reach into my purse to retrieve my key.

"Kind of a shabby way to let me know. Hearing from the building manager that I'm no longer allowed in when you're not here."

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

It is true. Two days before, I told the manager not to let him or anyone else in. After what Detective Cudahy said, I couldn't take any chances.

I unlock the door and walk in, leaving it open for him to follow.

I turn on a lamp, and he sets his hat down on a table.

"Why would you want to be here when I'm not here?" I say as I walk around the back of the sofa and flip on two more lights.

He sits down and returns to his cigarette. "To wait for you. Like you do at my place. Or like you used to do."

I sit down on the arm of the chair across from him, folding my hands in my lap.

"And now you don't even offer me a drink." He throws his hands in the air and shakes his head. "That's how it is, is it? I gotta tell you, King, this is not something that happens to me all the time."

"Not with someone like me, you mean."

Die a Little -- 128 --

He meets my gaze and talks through the cigarette. "That's right.

That's exactly right."

"If you wanted to get in my apartment so badly, what stopped you?

Don't all you press agents have ways to get in places you're not supposed to be?"