Remember Me, Irene

situation, so I took a deep breath, backed up a step from him, and said in a much lower voice, “You told me where Lucas’s-the Prof’s-body was, and the police decided they’d like to know what happened to him.”

“I told you what happened!” he shouted. “You should have told them. I was there! I’ll tell you one more time. Are you listening?”

I nodded again. If I scream, will you kill me? I wondered.

When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, as if he were telling a story to a child. “It was a cold, cold night. Wind and rain. All the children went to Jerusalem, and there was no room at the inn. The Prof couldn’t stay, they turned him away.” He smiled at the rhyme, then went on. “I watched him go to the Chinese Wall. He was seeking shelter where the angels are. The angels and I, we watched over him. I wanted his magic. I needed it to stop the voices in my head. The guardian angel came to him, but then the angel left.”

“Guardian angel?” Should I go for the keys? Drop the calendars and run? Throw the calendars at him, pick up the keys and run? I was so preoccupied with evaluating these meager options, I didn’t bother correcting him about what he had said to me the last time I saw him.

“The one that watched over him wherever he would go. He talked to the angel, and the angel went away. I followed the angel down the stairs. The angel went outside. It scared me to watch that angel. Made me have to go to the bathroom.” He paused, then said, “I went back up to wait for the ring. I waited all night, then I heard him fall. I found him.” He motioned toward his forehead. “His head bled. His head bled,” he repeated, as if enjoying this rhyme as well, then grew solemn again. “He was ready for the angels. He needed to be prepared. I was the willing servant of the Lord. God said the Prof didn’t need the ring. God said I could take it. He made me an angel.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the ring, dangling it before me on the chain.

“Was God in the room, too?”

“No, God is in my mind. You are my assignment.” He glared at me. “You were the first one I helped, and you called the cops on me!” he shouted. “They defiled the Prof’s grave!”

I tried to think of a way to get him to forget about that. “No, they didn’t, and being an angel, you know that. You’re just testing me, aren’t you? You know they just took him to his mother, so that she could bury him.”

It must have worked. He grinned. “I like being your guardian angel.”

“My guardian angel?” I repeated, my mouth going dry.

“Yes, I’ll watch over you. I’ll even give you the magic ring. Here, you take it,” he said, stepping toward me.

I backed up again.

He suddenly cocked his head, as if hearing something. He tossed the ring at me, and it landed near my keys. He turned and ran.

Shaking, I bent to retrieve the keys and ring. I held them tightly as I leaned against the car, waiting for the fear to leave me. I heard footsteps and whirled around, but it must have been someone walking past the alley at the other end. I looked back in the direction where Two Toes had gone, but didn’t see him. After a moment, I started walking toward the newspaper offices, but Two Toes’ voice came from above me.

“This is your guardian angel speaking!”

I yelped and looked up. He was on a metal ladder, one which led to the roof of a neighboring building, an old two-story brick place.

“Don’t park there, you’ll get towed!” he shouted, and scrambled up to the roof and out of sight.

Receiving such sensible advice from my self-appointed guardian angel, I felt a sudden urge to laugh aloud. I fought it, not out of fear, but because I didn’t want to belittle him.

I was still scared of him and knew he was capable of hurting me. But so far, he hadn’t done anything but try to help me, and I wasn’t going to repay that by laughing at him. I opened my palm and looked at Lucas’s ring.

I walked into the building, went into a restroom, and splashed cold water on my face. I gathered the binders and ring and went to my desk. The newsroom was relatively empty; most people were still in the meeting. I stared up at a wall clock, waited for a slow fifteen minutes to go by, and called the police.

“HE’S LONG GONE,” Reed Collins said. He gave me a hard look as we stood in the alley next to my car, but it didn’t win him any confessions. He frowned and pulled out his notebook. “Tell me again what Mr. Jones said to you.”

Mr. John Jones, I had just learned, was Two Toes’ rather unremarkable legal name. It would take some getting used to. I repeated my guardian angel’s explanation of the events at the Angelus.

Reed kept frowning. “Can you make anything out of that?”

“It’s hard to say what he means. Reality is just one ingredient in whatever he recalls. God knows what else he tosses into the batter before he bakes a memory.”

“But you understood him when he told you where to find the body.”

“Guesswork.”

“So guess again,” he said, looking at the roof-tops-and probably silently cussing me out.

“He was telling me about the night Lucas died. I think he followed him from the shelter. That’s probably what he meant by ‘no room at the inn,’ because there was plenty of room at the Angelus.”

“So this would have been Thursday night,” Reed said.

“Yes.” Thursday. The night of Allan Moffett’s dinner meeting. I remembered how cold and rainy it was that night.

“Go on,” he said.

“The story gets a little weirder from here,” I said. “He mentioned the angels at the Angelus, but then he also said there was a guardian angel. He spoke of this guardian angel a little differently. I think he meant someone else was following Lucas.”

“So his story is that this guardian angel left Monroe alive.”

“Right. But he heard Lucas fall, and if you believe him, Lucas was dead by the time he reached him. Two-er, Mr. Jones-hears voices, and believes that God told him to help himself to the ring.”

“Aside from that, I wonder how much of it is true.”

“Most of it fits, doesn’t it? No one else saw Lucas any later-even his street friends hadn’t seen him since the night he was turned away from the shelter. And from what Carlos Hernandez has said, Lucas was dead when the ring was taken.”

“Any idea who this guardian angel might be?”

I shook my head.

“Well, I guess that’s it, then.” He put his notebook away, then said, “Oh, one more thing…”

“Move my car?”

He grimaced. “Do I look like a meter maid? No. What I was going to say is, next time you hear we’re looking for someone? And you see that someone? Don’thesitate to call.”

I kept my mouth shut. I knew he had doubted my vague excuses about taking a while to calm down and losing track of time.

“Come on,” he said, “I owe it to your husband to make sure you get back inside the building safely.”

WHENIGOT BACK to the newsroom, there were enough grim faces to let me know that the staff meeting was over and done with. I walked up to Lydia’s desk and said, “I think I know how to break Wrigley’s beeper habit.”

“I know a dozen people who’d love you if you did.”

“Anyone who wants to help should meet me at Banyon’s for a pint after work.”

I checked my messages again. I had a call from Steven Kincaid, a friend who was renting my old house. It had been a relief to find such a good tenant, since I am inexperienced as a landlady. I returned the call, afraid that this meant the plumbing had failed or the roof had leaked. Turned out he just wanted to invite Frank and me to his housewarming, to be held in a couple of weeks.

I was thanking him for the invitation when my purse started to rattle and hum, sounding as if I had somewhere received a hive of live bumblebees in lieu of change.

I told Steven I’d talk to Frank and call him back with an answer, said good-bye, and turned off the pager. This time the number was June Monroe’s.