progress. Marjorie had one of their offerings circled. It was a paperweight and the bottom of it was etched with an excerpt of one of President Garfield’s speeches. In Japanese.”
“And she wanted to buy it?” Impossible to understand, but I couldn’t let that distract me. “So you were in the den and Marjorie and I were out here. And you found the credit card and the listing about the paperweight and —”
“And I realized she was going to buy it. The paperweight, I mean. She had underlined the parts of the printout that said what time the auction closed. Exactly eleven fifty-nine that night we were both here.”
“And so Marjorie had her credit card out, all set to get in on the auction at the last minute and scoop up the paperweight.” It was pretty obvious, so I wasn’t exactly happy when Ray shook his head.
“You almost got it right,” he said. “But not exactly. I don’t doubt she was planning on using that credit card to get in on the auction and buy the paperweight. But look at it, Pepper. It’s not hers.”
“Not hers?” I took another look at the credit card and my heart bumped against my ribs.
Ray was right. Marjorie Klinker’s name was nowhere on the card. Somebody named Bernard O’Banyon’s was.
I looked from the card to Ray. “So who’s this Bernard guy?”
He shrugged.
“And why did Marjorie have his credit card?”
Another shrug.
“And do you suppose this has anything to do with her murder?”
This time, he didn’t even bother to shrug, and I couldn’t blame him. I was reaching. We both knew it.
“I want you to know, I never meant to do anything with the card. But there I was with it in my hands. And she was out here lecturing you. That voice of hers, that attitude, it was like a knife inside me, twisting and twisting. It brought up the whole, ugly situation all over again and I . . . well, I can’t say what happened. I guess I went a little crazy.”
Ray was too upset to stand still. He kicked the stolen framed piece of railroad station tile out of the way and paced out the distance to the den and back again.
“This is the first really dishonest thing I’ve done in my whole life,” he said. “And the only explanation I have is that Marjorie made me do it. You see . . .” When he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I took that credit card. Slipped it in my pocket, just like that. Before Marjorie got back in the room. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just really meant it to be a joke, you know? I thought about how Marjorie would go into the den right before that auction was set to close. Then I pictured how she wouldn’t be able to find that credit card, and how she’d be madder than a wet hen. It was cruel, I know, and a cowardly way to get even with her. But I figured she had it coming for all she put me through.”
“So you swiped the credit card. That’s what you were getting all tweaky about when I talked to you at Big Daddy that day. Every time I mentioned money, you looked like you were just about ready to jump out of your skin.”
“I knew you didn’t know I’d taken it. I mean, how could you? But I still felt plenty guilty. I was just going to string Marjorie along. You know, the way she did to me all that time with her promises. I was never planning to use it. In fact, I was just thinking that I’d stop by the memorial the next day and leave the credit card on the desk there where I knew she’d find it. By then, she would have missed the auction and that stupid paperweight she wanted. Would have served her right.”
“And did you?”
Ray’s cheeks got chalky. “You mean, did I stop by the memorial? Or did I use the credit card?”
“Ray!” I closed in on him, flapping the card in his face as I did. “You used it? Somebody else’s credit card? Do you know how incredibly dumb that is?”
“I did. I do. I shouldn’t have, but . . .” He went back over to the couch and collapsed, his head in his hands. “After I left here, all I could think about was the way Marjorie had lied to me all those months. She told me we were going to get rich together, and instead, all she did was lead me on and treat me like a fool. I didn’t start out being angry, just disgusted with myself. But the more I thought about it, the crazier it made me. Finally I was so mad, I couldn’t see straight. And then I thought about the credit card I put in my pocket, and how it would serve her and this Bernard guy right if I got back some of my own. I’d taken Marjorie out for so many dinners, waiting for her to tell me more about how much money we were going to make. So . . .” He sniffed. He coughed. He scraped a finger under his nose. “I went to Ruth’s Chris on the way home and had myself a really nice meal.”
Truth be told, I couldn’t blame him. Even if I never would have had the nerve to do the same thing myself. Instead of admitting it, I went for the obvious questions. “They didn’t flag the card? You got away with it?”
“They never batted an eye. And I spent a lot of money. I don’t get out much these days. Me and Vanessa, we used to go out to dinner once in a while, you know, for special occasions. But then she got sick and the bills started piling up, and . . .” He rubbed his eyes with his fists. “In my whole life, I never enjoyed a steak as much as I did the one I ate that night. Until I got home, that is. I was up all night with indigestion, and it wasn’t the food, I know that. It was my conscience talking, telling me that I didn’t deserve that expensive dinner, that I’d done something I shouldn’t have done. The next morning, I checked the phone book, but I couldn’t find anyone with the name that’s on that credit card. So I did the next best thing. I worked three extra shifts at Big Daddy that week, got the money together, and sent cash to that restaurant, just to make myself feel better. Cost me a bundle, but at least I’ve been able to close my eyes every night.”
He knew he did the right thing, he didn’t need me telling him. Besides, I was too deep in thought to say much of anything. I tapped the credit card against my chin, thinking, and I was still wondering what it all meant when we left the house and closed the door behind us and when I stared at that credit card all night, unable to sleep.
Of course the solution hit me right around three in the morning when it was too late to do anything about it. I waited until the sun was up and hit the cemetery early, the better to get into my office and in front of my computer before anyone was around to bother me.
I found two Bernard O’Banyons listed, neither of them local, and made the calls.
As it turned out, the first Bernard O’Banyon was a bar in Wichita and the man it was named after? Well, he hadn’t been around since sometime in the 1850s. I was hoping his descendants were, and tried the Bernard O’Banyon listed in the Topeka phonebook.
Credit card in hand, I punched in the phone number and started into my spiel. It was all about how I was from the credit card company, and I really needed to talk to Bernard.
“Well, you must have the wrong person.” The woman on the phone sounded sleepy, but then, I didn’t account for whatever time it was in Kansas. “My Bernard, he didn’t believe in credit cards.”
I felt my spirits deflate. “You’re sure?” I asked.
“Sure as sure can be. He used to have one of them gas station cards. You know, for filling up the Buick. But he gave that up back in ’04. That’s when he got his identity stolen.”
My deflated spirits perked up. So did my ears when she added, “That thief, he got it all. Even Bernard’s Social Security number. Used it to rent an apartment in Denver. Imagine the nerve of some people.”
I told her I couldn’t and asked if I could talk to Bernard.
“Talk to him?” I didn’t have to see her to know she held out the phone and gave it a look, like she could see me at the other end of it. “What do you mean, talk to him? Bernard, he up and died back last Christmas.”
Did I thank her for the information before I hung up?
I honestly don’t remember.
But that’s because I was too busy thinking again. About credit cards belonging to dead people, and stolen Social Security numbers. About Marjorie.
And if maybe there was a lot more to her than any of us ever imagined.
14
To catch a thief, I had to think like a thief.
Only I wasn’t trying to catch a thief, was I? I was trying to catch the murderer who killed the thief.
No matter. As one of my college professors used to say, it was all just semantics, though what the meanings of words had to do with Jewish people, I didn’t know.
Maybe Ted Studebaker was Jewish. But that didn’t matter, either. Unless he was Orthodox and his shop
