Peter Chin greeted them at the door, his eyes widening in delight and surprise when he spotted Jessica. “Miss Culver! How wonderful to see you again.”
“Nice to see you, Peter.”
“You look as lovely as ever. You beautify my restaurant.”
Myron said, “Hi, Peter.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He dismissed Myron with a hand wave. His full attention was on Jessica; a crocodile gnawing on his foot wouldn’t have changed that. “You look a little too thin, Miss Culver.”
“The food’s not as good in Washington.”
“Funny,” Myron said. “I was thinking she looked a little chunky.”
Jessica eyed him. “Dead man.”
Baumgart’s was an institution in Englewood, New Jersey. For fifty years it was an old Jewish deli and soda fountain, noted for its superb ice cream and desserts. When Peter Chin bought it eight years ago, he kept all of the tradition but added the best nouvelle Chinese cuisine in the state. The combination was a smash. The normal order might consist of Peking duck, sesame noodles, chocolate milk shake, french fries and a death-by-chocolate sundae for dessert. When Myron and Jessica had lived together, they ate at Baumgart’s at least once a week.
Myron still came once a week. Usually with Win or Esperanza. Sometimes alone. He never brought a date here.
Peter walked them past the soda fountain and put them in a booth under a huge painting. Modern art. It was a portrait of either Cher or Barbara Bush. Maybe both. Very esoteric.
Myron and Jessica sat across the table from each other, silently. The moment seemed weighed down, overwhelming. Being here together again-they had expected it to generate some light nostalgia. But the effect was more like a body blow.
“I’ve missed this place,” she said.
“Yes.”
She reached her hand across the table and took his. “I’ve missed you.”
Her face was aglow, the way it used to be when she looked at him as though he were the only person in the entire world. Myron felt something squeeze his heart, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The rest of the world broke apart, diffused. There were only the two of them.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
She smiled. “What? Myron Bolitar at a loss for words?”
“Ripley’s, huh?”
Peter came by. Without preamble, he said, “You’ll start with the crispy duck appetizer and squab package with pine nuts. For your main course you’ll have soft-shell crab in special sauce and the Baumgart lobster and shrimp.”
“Can we choose dessert?” Myron asked.
“No. Myron, you’ll have the pecan pie a la mode. And for Miss Culver.” He stopped, building suspense like a game-show host.
She smiled expectantly. “You don’t mean…”
Peter nodded. “Banana pudding cake with vanilla wafers. There’s only one piece left, but I put it away for you.”
“Bless you, Peter.”
“Each man does what he can. You didn’t bring wine?” Baumgart’s was BYO.
“We forgot,” Jessica said. She was dazzling Peter with her smile. Not fair. Jessica’s looks were like a
“I’ll send someone across the street to get a bottle. Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay?”
“You have a good memory,” she said.
“No. I just remember what is important.” Myron rolled his eyes. Peter bowed slightly and left.
She turned the smile back to Myron. He felt frightened and helpless and deliriously happy.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He shook his head. He was afraid to open his mouth.
“I never meant-” She was unsure how to continue. “I made a lot of mistakes in my life,” she said. “I am dumb. I am self-destructive.”
“No,” Myron said. “You’re perfect.”
Her voice grew dramatic, her hand against her chest. “‘Take the blinders from your eyes and see me as I really am.’”
He thought a moment. “Dulcinea to Don Quixote in
“Very impressive.”
“Win was playing it in the car.” This was an old game of theirs. Guess the Quote.
She fiddled with her water glass, making little water circles and then inspecting them for clarity and definition. Eventually she created an aquatic Olympics logo. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to say to you,” she said at last. “I’m not sure what I want to happen here.” She looked up. “One last confession, okay?”
He nodded.
“I came to you because I thought you would help. That was true. But that wasn’t the only reason.”
“I know,” he said. “I try not to think about it too much. It terrifies me.”
“So what do we do now?”
His chance. He hoped there would be others. “Did you get your sister’s file?”
“Yes.”
“Have you gone through it yet?”
“No. I just picked it up.”
“Then why don’t we open it now?”
She nodded. The crispy duck and squab package with pine nuts appeared. Jessica took out a manila envelope and slit the seal. “Why don’t you look at it first?”
“Okay,” he said. “But save me some food.”
“Chance.”
He started sifting through the papers. The top page was Kathy’s high school transcript. After her junior year her ranking had been twelfth in a class of three hundred. Not bad. But by the end of senior year her ranking had slipped considerably-to fifty-eighth.
“Her grades dropped senior year of high school,” Myron said.
“Whose didn’t drop senior year?” Jess countered. “She was probably just goofing off.”
“Probably.” But usually that meant A students got B’s or C’s. Kathy had gotten one A, three D’s and an F in her final semester. Her clean record was also muddied with several detentions-all in her senior year. Strange. But probably meaningless.
“Do you want to fill me in on what happened today?” Jessica asked between bites.
She was even beautiful when pigging out. Amazing. He started by telling her about Win’s discovery in the six magazines.
“So what does it mean,” she asked, “her picture being only in that one rag?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you have an idea?”
He did. But it was too early to say anything. “Not yet.”
“Did you hear from your friend at the phone company?”
He nodded. “Gary Grady placed two calls after we left. One was to Fred Nickler’s office at Hot Desire Press. The other was someplace in the city. There was no answer when we called it. We got the information kind of late in the day.”
“And the handwriting analyst?”
Best to dive right in. “The handwriting matches. It’s either Kathy’s or a very good forger.”
That slowed her chopsticks. “My God.”
“Yes.”
“Then she’s alive?”
