Remember Me, Irene

“You know, Andre really is a rat, but he knows some great people.” She was quiet, then added softly, “I met Ben through Andre.”

Claire came earlier in Andre’s lineup than I did. As I recalled, she had one of the more short-lived encounters with him. I was an intern at theExpress the year she married Ben; I remember the sensation caused by Claire’s courtship with him. Ben was widowed, had no children, and was her senior by a quarter of a century. They had now been married for over fifteen years, and all but the most vicious tongues had stopped wagging.

I glanced back over at her. To my surprise, she looked like she was about to cry.

“Claire? What’s wrong?”

She bit her lower lip, hesitating. Claire and I weren’t close friends, partly because we moved in such different circles. I wasn’t sure she would confide in me.

She took a deep breath and said, “I’m worried about Ben. He says he wants to retire.”

“Why are you upset? You’ve been trying to get him to retire for at least five years now.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “And he hasn’t wanted to. So why now?”

I made the turn on to the road that leads to Seaside Estates, one of Las Piernas’s upper-crust enclaves. The Seaside Country Club golf course was on our right, huge houses on our left. “What does Ben say about it?”

“He says exactly what you said. ‘You’ve wanted me to retire, so I’m retiring.’”

I laughed. “That’s a pretty good imitation of Ben’s voice.”

She smiled a little. “Lots of time listening to him. I suppose I’d be happier about this retirement ifhe seemed happier about it.”

“Most people have mixed feelings about retiring. Ben’s been at the Bank of Las Piernas for a long time-and in a very powerful position in the community. President of a bank that has helped businesses get started, financed much of the growth and development of the city.” I thought of the one person I knew who worked for the Bank of Las Piernas. “The people who work with Ben respect him. My friend Guy St. Germain speaks very highly of Ben as a boss.”

“Guy is an exceptional employee.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m borrowing trouble. It will be great to have Ben all to myself. I don’t know why it bothers me.”

I made a turn that brought me to a security gate. She handed a keycard to me. “You’ll have to guide me from here,” I said, as the gate rolled open.

“Turn right, then keep heading uphill. Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not like Ben to leave me stranded somewhere,” she said, looking worried again.

“You seem to think this is connected to his retirement. Could something else be troubling him?”

She opened her mouth as if to reply, then closed it.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” After a moment, she said, “I don’t know, maybe it is something else. I worry about his health. He hasn’t been sleeping well, or eating enough. I wake up in the middle of the night, and he’s over at the bedroom window, just staring out into the darkness. Or I’ll find him sitting up in the study at three or four in the morning.”

“Does he give a reason for any of this?”

“No. He just tells me that he didn’t mean to worry me. Says he’s getting old, and…”

“And what?”

She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the seat. “Sometimes he’ll say, ‘You should marry a younger fellow next time.’”

I didn’t say anything.

“It hurts to hear him say that,” she said. “Makes me wonder if-oh! Turn at the next corner. You can only go right.”

I made the turn. After a short distance, we were in front of another gate. She reached into her bag and pressed a remote control button that caused this gate to open, pushed it again once we were through. We drove down a dark, tree-lined lane that gave way to a long, curving driveway that sloped up to the mansion. There was a Jaguar in the driveway.

“Looks like Ben is home,” I said.

But she was concentrating on the house, a puzzled look on her face. “The lights are out.”

It took me a moment to register what she was saying, because there were plenty of lights on-but then I realized that they were all exterior lights. The house itself was dark.

“Maybe he’s gone to bed,” I said, but she was shaking her head.

I barely noticed her denial, because at that moment, what I at first took to be a berserk, woolly bear came bounding toward the car. As it drew closer, it started barking, and I realized it was not ursine but canine-the biggest dog I have ever seen in my life.

“Don’t jump, Finn!” she called out. Apparently he heard her, or saw the censure on her face. He scrambled to a halt and plopped his rear down just outside the passenger door-close enough to her window to steam it with his breath. Sitting, he was nearly as tall as the car. He started whining. “He’s an Irish wolfhound,” she said, anticipating my question. “Back up, silly,” she said to him with affection. “I can’t get out.”

His response was to lift a paw as big as a saucer and smack it against her window. When he set it down again, Claire drew in a sharp breath.

There was blood on the window.

4

HE’S HURT!” Claire cried, but even as we hurriedly opened our car doors, I wondered how he had managed to lope across the lawn if he was badly injured.

Finn wasn’t waiting for sympathy. He ran away from us, barking his deep-throated bark. We were both wearing heels, so we couldn’t follow very fast. He turned, came partway back, ran from us again.

“Finn, stay!” Claire called. He seemed to consider this option for a moment, gave a big “woof” of dissent, and took off once again.

I kicked off my shoes and closed some of the distance. He rounded the corner of the house and headed for the backyard.

There weren’t any exterior lights here, so it was dark along that side of the house, causing me to slow a little. The ground was cold and uneven beneath my stockinged feet. I stumbled once, but didn’t fall, and glanced back to see Claire taking off her shoes.

I wondered if we should change tactics. Maybe it wasn’t blood on his paws. Maybe he was just making mischief, playing a game of chase. He came back into view, his tousled fur backlighted as he stood in silhouette at the far corner of the house. The bark changed to a baying sound. I ran faster.

A large patio came into view, and as I rounded the corner I saw a swimming pool; I stopped cold when I saw a series of crazy-eight patterns of red paw prints along its deck. The dog’s baying put me in motion again. He stood outside what appeared to be a cabana; it was small compared to the house, but I guessed it to be about as large as my first apartment. It was white. One of a pair of French doors facing the pool was open. A light was on inside the building, spilling out through the open door. As I came closer, Finn quit baying and started watching me intently. It made me slow to a walk, then stop-about twenty feet away from him.

I heard Claire coming up behind me. I reached out and motioned for her to wait next to me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Call the dog, Claire,” I said. “Just let me go in while you hold him.”

For a moment I thought she would protest, but her face went pale as she looked down and noticed the bloody prints on the deck.

“Come here, Finn,” she said in a shaky voice.

He twisted his head to one side in canine concern, but stayed put.

She took a deep breath and said in a commanding tone, “Finn!” He trotted over and sat prettily in front of