I shifted some on the couch. I didn’t want to admit this to Felix, but I was glad to be down here. It was nice to be out of the bedroom, to have a different view and different light coming in.
“Not much,” I said. “Homicide. Killed by a shotgun.”
Felix nodded, the dishcloth clenched in his strong hands.
“What’s up?” I said. “You know Maggie Branch?”
“I knew Maggie Branch,” Felix said.
“How?”
“Occasionally she would help look over antiques, other items that I had that were of interest,” he said. “A sassy, smart woman.”
“Sounds … interesting.”
He frowned. “Oh, come on. Nothing illegal. In fact, a week ago I brought in an old silver service that had belonged to a great-grandfather from the old country, back when it was the Kingdom of Sicily. It was just banging around in my house and I thought it would be good to get an estimate, either to sell it or to figure out whether I should stop using it as a place to drop off my keys when I came through the door.”
“Oh.”
He went back to drying the dishes. “Anything else you can tell me about her murder?”
“Paula said she hadn’t heard if anything was stolen, but since her home and shop were so close to the Interstate, she thought robbery would be a good option.”
“Hardly,” he said, “unless whoever was doing the robbery had a specific target in mind.”
Felix’s eyes narrowed, and I said, “Like old silver from Sicily?”
He carefully folded up the towel. “I guess I’ll just have to find out.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it, just reality,” he said. “And speaking of reality—”
“Please don’t start,” I said. “I’ve had a rough month.”
“So have a lot of people. But your mystery visitor … tell me more about last night’s visit.”
I tried the stubborn approach, but Felix stared at me until I gave up.
“I heard the door open,” I said. “And then it closed. Then I heard footsteps.”
He leaned over my clean kitchen counter. “Anything else?”
“I called out to him. Or her. Or it.”
“No answer, then.”
“Nope.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“No, and as you can tell, I didn’t call you either.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Do you ever hear the person leave?”
“No.”
“They just come in and stay and …”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Maybe you just sleep through it.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Want me to spend the night?” he asked.
“I may be a patient,” I said. “But I’m not helpless. Maybe hapless, but I can manage on my own.”
Later Felix said he was bored and he set up some of my bookshelves. I supervised him from my position on the couch, and seeing my old books emerge from the dusty cardboard boxes cheered me up, which I was sure was Felix’s plan all along.
So the morning went by and the sun was coming in stronger, and Felix washed his hands in my clean kitchen and said, “You know there’s new technology, don’t you, where you can have a little handheld device and store hundreds of books?”
“I’ve heard the rumor,” I admitted.
“Then why don’t you make the technology leap? Enter the new century? Be one of the cool kids?”
“I like books,” I said. “I love the feel of them, the scent of them, just the pleasure of holding them.”
“But technology marches on.”
“And when some idiots set off a nuclear EMP to fry all of our electronics, I’ll still be here with my books, and you’ll be stuck with a nice piece of plastic and glass.”
“Boy, you’ve got one dark imagination.”
“Can’t help it.”
Felix gathered up his tweed jacket and said, “You need a hand going upstairs?”
“No, I think I’ll be fine,” I said. “It’ll be nice to stretch my legs later.”
“All right, then.”
“What are you up to for the rest of the day?”
“Some personal business,” he said, putting on his jacket, and from the look in his eyes and face, he no longer seemed like a college professor.
“Relating to Maggie’s murder and your silver?”
“Personal,” he said. “By the way, you got plans for lunch?”
“My big plans are not to pass out while going upstairs.”
“I’ll arrange something from the Lafayette House.”
“What’s on the menu?”
“I think I know what you like,” he said. “How does noon sound?”
“One o’clock sounds better,” I said. “Had a generous breakfast from a generous chap.”
“Glad to do it,” he said. “In the meantime …” He came to the couch, briefly squeezed my good shoulder. “Get healed, get better. You aren’t cut out to be a hermit.”
“Thanks for everything,” I said.
He smirked. “Wait until you get my bill.”
When Felix left, I found the remote and switched on the television. I thought of the Springsteen song once again: fifty-seven channels and nothing on.
I flicked the television off, found a three-month-old issue of Smithsonian magazine, and stretched out on the couch, only shivering twice from the pain, and started reading a fascinating story about the status of Biblical-related archaeology in the Middle East.
Eventually the pages slid through my hands and the magazine dropped to the floor, and I took a midmorning nap.
A knock on the door got me up, and a few random and dark memories popped out as I rolled and sat up on the couch. I checked a new clock on the fireplace’s mantelpiece. It was 11:45 A.M. I doubted very much that it was my lunch delivery from the Lafayette House, because Felix is quite specific in his instructions, and with Felix’s look and attitude, they are never forgotten.
The knock repeated itself.
I closed my eyes. The memories … of when I was back at the Pentagon, working in a small and obscure intelligence agency, and that day when we went out to Nevada for a training drill, a drill that killed everyone but me.
Including the love of my life back then, Cissy Manning.
In my dream I had been with her, and it had been one of those dreams that dug deep into memories, so you could hear the
