“Good,” I said. “I like an intelligent consumer, so let’s take a peek behind door number two. Would you care to accompany me to the Frick Art Museum to peruse the international tour of Impressionist paintings? Wine and cheese reception to follow.”
There was a pause.
“Angie told me you’d be a constant source of surprise.”
“Is that a positive response?” I asked.
“Yes, it most certainly is,” she said. “Incidentally, I’ve read about this exhibit. Isn’t Saturday’s show and the reception limited to members of the Frick Art Society?”
“Probably. I won the invitation in a card game the other night, so we don’t have to worry about being tossed out or anything.”
“This is amazing,” Laura said. “You’re actually a member of the Frick Art Society?”
“Okay,” I said, “you got me. I am a member, and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy getting in. I had to take the test three times before they agreed to accept my check.”
She laughed at that, a sound I could have listened to the rest of the day, but she had work to do. We agreed that I’d pick her up at six-thirty Saturday night, and then we said good-bye.
* * *
Basketball at the Y that night went well. Simon was there, having been invited by Denny when they’d played racquetball the night before, and after two hours of almost nonstop playing, the three of us showered and headed for a little diner across the street for a sandwich. After we’d settled into a booth and placed our orders, I turned to Simon.
“So, Mr. Ventura, away from hearth and home two nights in a row. What gives?”
He smiled and said, “Yeah, I’m becoming a real man about town, just like you and Denny.”
This provoked a snort from Denny, who was sitting across from Simon and me.
“Simon,” he said, “kindly do not pair me with JB in any category concerning night life, okay? I mean, c’mon, man, be serious.”
“I’ll ignore that,” I said.
“The truth cannot be ignored,” said Denny.
Simon interrupted us, laughing.
“Were you guys like this in, what, elementary school, wasn’t it, when you met?” he asked.
Denny and I just smiled.
“Anyway,” continued Simon, “regarding my being out two consecutive nights, that is unusual. Angie plays volleyball most Mondays, of course, but I don’t really have a certain ‘boys’ night out’ thing. Whenever one of you guys suggests running or hooping or racquetball or whatever, if it works for Ang and me, then I go.”
“What if it doesn’t work for you and Angie?” I asked.
Simon looked at me for a minute.
“Not sure what you mean there, JB,” he said. “There’s never been a situation where something didn’t work for Angie and me that we weren’t able to make it work one way or another. You know that.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do. I withdraw the question.”
“You all right?” he asked.
“He’s just having a tough time with this case,” said Denny. “Meeting lots of people whose relationships are screwed up. Right, JB?”
The waiter brought our sandwiches then, which gave me a chance to think about what Denny had said.
“You’re probably right,” I said. “It’s just that I keep meeting up with people on this thing who don’t seem to value other people or care about their feelings or respect their opinions. I mean, Denny, remember I told you about the guy who was sitting with the lawyer babe at Station Square?”
He nodded, and we briefly filled Simon in on the situation with Sandra and the Chuckster.
“See,” I said, “the thing is that, while I definitely don’t think Sandra was trying to provoke a fight between Chuck and me, there was still something there, a curiosity on her part, perhaps, as to what would happen when I showed up. I don’t think people should be like that. You shouldn’t mess around with other people’s emotions.”
“Nope, you shouldn’t,” Simon agreed, “and most of the people I know don’t. You gotta remember what line of work you’re in, JB. I’m not saying that all the folks Angie and I know are completely considerate of everyone else in their lives, but I think most of them are reasonably good about it. You and Denny just happen to deal with a whole different segment of the population than the rest of us.”
“He’s got a point,” said Denny. “When I was starting out on the force, I went through a period where I started thinking that everyone I passed on the street was either already an ax murderer or waiting to be one. You have to back off once in a while and look at the whole picture.”
“I know,” I said. “And I know I’m reacting to the fact that I’ve been on this case for two weeks now, and just about everything that confused me at the beginning still confuses me now.”
“You just need to catch a break,” said Denny. “Something will happen, you know that. And once you get that break, stuff will start to fall into place.”
He was right, of course, but I doubt if even Denny suspected that the break would be waiting for me on my answering machine when I got home that night.
Chapter 33
Rachel Pendleton had called earlier that evening and left me a message.
Jeremy, this is Rachel Pendleton. You said to contact you if I thought of anything, anything at all, that seemed strange or unusual about the night before Terry was killed. This is such a little thing, I’m sure it’s not important, but . . . well, why don’t you give me a call when you get a chance, okay? Thanks.
It was too late to call her that night, but I was on the phone with her at eight o’clock the next morning, and she said if I hadn’t had breakfast yet, she’d be glad to make coffee, and she had a crumb cake somebody had left for her. I told her that sounded fine, and thirty minutes later, after making sure that I still didn’t have a tail, I was sitting across from
