started crying.
“Are you OK?”
“I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t even know her. I don’t know any of them.”
On the flat screen television, a commercial played above her head.
“You knew her some.”
“I don’t know her.” She took a tissue and wiped it against her nose.
“And it’s OK. It’s normal.”
“The worst part is that I think she knew. She must have known that it was her time. So she took one last walk…”
She stopped and shook her head. Her forehead was wrinkled and she bit her lower lip. He wanted to kiss it.
“What else Mel?”
“She always loved the beach, you know. It reminded her of her husband.”
“Why?”
“He used to take driftwood. She told me this once. And he’d carve something for her from it. It sounded nice. I’m sure that’s why…”
“Why what?”
“I think she walked out there to die.”
She swallowed and then stood up. She went around her desk and started taking files and straightening them out. She took the papers on her desk and filed them, but she couldn’t keep it up. She walked over to him and put her head on his shoulder. He patted her on the back and thought about what Charlotte had told him.
“I should get going,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I really don’t know why.” She walked away and messed with the papers again. “I should be used to it by now.”
“It’s good you aren’t.” He walked out the door.
From the top of the hill, he could see the edge of the beach and then the water beyond it. The police hadn’t found anything. If they had, they probably couldn’t tell him. It made sense that Charlotte would walk out. Maybe the fear had gotten to her. Maybe she had just given up and gone into the night. They said that losing the will to live could be enough. He’d been eating chocolate when it happened.
He started walking to his car and looked down the hill one last time. Then, he looked again, closer. A large woman with thick gray hair was yelling at a man. It was the man with the red-brimmed hat, the one he’d seen outside Building B. The woman waved her arms around and yelled again. She looked like she was about to hit his hat off of his head. The man walked away quickly in Jake’s direction.
He walked with his head turned down to the ground, the top of the hat facing toward Jake. Jake couldn’t see the man’s face, only his stooped shoulders and carefully polished shoes. When he reached the top of the hill, he looked at Jake and seemed to swallow. He looked back at the woman, who was pulling a weed out of the sidewalk. Then he tried to walk past.
“Sir,” Jake said. “How are you? I met you earlier outside Building B. We’d thought there had been an accident in Charlotte’s room. Do you remember?”
“I do,” he said and started to walk.
“It was my photographer, Gary. He was locked in a battle with his camera strap.”
“I see. And you are?”
“Jake Russo. What’s your name?”
“I have to be going.”
Jake pulled out his notebook.
“Did you know Charlotte well?”
“I suppose so. Why?”
“So you heard what happened to her?”
“What?”
“That she died last night, walking on the beach.”
“I didn’t know,” he said and brought his hand to his chest.
“You didn’t know she’d died? Then why didn’t you say something when I asked if you had known Charlotte well.”
“What do you mean?” He swallowed.
“When I asked, I used the past tense, Mr…”
“Samuels,” the man said. “I’m sorry. I heard about it this morning.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Yes, I knew her. I was sorry to hear what happened.”
“Were you surprised?” He pressed the pen point on the paper.
“I should go. Please. Please let me go.”
Jake looked past the man for a moment. The gray haired woman was holding a weed in her hand, staring up at them. She looked away when Jake’s eyes met hers. The red brim on Samuels’s hat seemed to darken, like he was sweating through it.
“It just seemed unusual,” Jake said. “So sudden.”
“We’re all mourning.” He tipped the hat. “It was good to meet you.”
He ducked down and started walking again, surprisingly quickly. Jake looked back to see the gray haired woman halfway down the hill. She dropped the weed from her hand and bent down to pull another. Jake looked toward his car. Then he got out his notebook and started walking toward the woman instead.
CHAPTER 15
She started talking before he even said hello.
“You should know a few things about that man. Abram Samuels likes to put up a front.” She had a voice like a cough. Brooklyn, old Brooklyn. “Did you know his son is a hairdresser for a living? Abram will be happy to tell you about himself, but his son is living somewhere in New Jersey giving women perms for a living. Abram is a very handsome man of course. But his son is pretty.”
When she stopped he told her his name.
“Ech,” she said. “I’m Sheryl Goldfein.”
Sheryl Goldfein. He remembered what Charlotte had said about Sheryl. She’d roll over you. He wasn’t sure what had happened to Charlotte, but he could say he agreed with her judgment of character. Sheryl didn’t wait for him to write down her name.
“Where you from?”
“Me?”
“No, the palm tree.”
“I live here in Sarasota. Before I came down, I was living in Long Island City-”
“You had a place?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you live in Manhattan? While you’re young?”
“Well, I’m from Queens, and the salary is a little-”
“Ech.” She dropped another weed from her hand. He hadn’t realized she was still holding one. “So why are you here?”
“Did you hear about Charlotte?”
“That she kicked it?”
