Dark Tort

“Somebody has good taste,” she said, but without sounding bitchy.

“Tom’s a collector.”

“How’s Sally doing, do you know?”

“She’s doing terribly, Wink. And if it will make you feel better about telling me about the folks in the firm, she’s asked me to investigate Dusty’s death. On my own, that is, without law enforcement.” I sipped my sherry and decided just to wait. It didn’t take long.

“I do have something to tell you,” she said, glancing up at me. “Something I didn’t tell the authorities, because they didn’t ask me a direct question about it, you know?” She shook her head. “Listen to me, I sound just like them.” She thrust out her small chin, as if steeling herself. “I wanted to tell you over the phone, but I wanted to think about it first. Then King Richard came over, wanting me to do some typing, if you can imagine.” She took a long slug of sherry. “Louise Upton needs money. She was married once, if you can believe it.” Wink shook her head, as if forestalling my question. “She just tells people to call her ‘Miss Upton.’ There’s no law against that, I think. Anyway, her ex-husband doesn’t work, and he sued her for alimony. He came into the office one time, screaming and yelling that Louise was late with that month’s check. He was such a brute, I almost felt sorry for Louise. After he left, Claggs told me about the alimony situation.”

“And so you think this has something to do with Dusty?”

Tears erupted from Wink’s eyes. “Oh God. I told Dusty. I mean, we were close, you know? And last week she was complaining about what a bitch Louise was, always wanting to have everything just so. She’d started calling her Miss Uptight, which I thought was hilarious. She said between Miss Uptight and King Richard, it was a wonder we got any work done at all. So I just told her about Louise having an ex, and how she had to pay him alimony. I shouldn’t have, but since I didn’t technically break my vow of confidentiality to Louise—I mean, I didn’t tell any of the guys at H&J—I thought it was okay. Listen to me. I’m starting to sound like one of them again.”

“Do you think Dusty threw it back in her face? Maybe one time when she was angry for being corrected?”

“Well, that’s what I’m afraid of.” Wink rubbed her forehead. “It was a disaster waiting to happen, since Dusty and Louise didn’t get along.”

“What did you get out of promising not to tell the guys about the alimony? Did Louise offer you anything?”

She looked down at her hands. “No,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I guess she sort of wanted to be friends. Maybe not, though.”

“Do you know if Dusty didn’t get along with anyone else? Or if she had any romantic liaisons?”

Wink, still staring at her hands, shook her head forcefully. “Didn’t get along? I don’t know. Romantic liaison? I don’t think so.” She paused to think. “Okay, Claggs had just won a lot of money in a poker game in Central City. I heard them laughing about it. Dusty and Alonzo, I mean. But Claggs is married to Ookie. Happily married, I think.”

“So Claggs is a gambler?”

Wink shrugged. “I think he does it for fun. You know, to relieve stress. Until ski season starts, anyway.”

“Any idea how much money he’d won? Or how he’d spent it?”

“Not a clue. But there is something I’ve always wondered about. I mean, Ookie teaches squash at the Aspen Meadow Country Club, and most of the other lawyers work out there, too. So why does Claggs work out at the Butterfield Rec? Why did he work out with Dusty, I mean?”

“Because Dusty couldn’t afford to join the country club?” I offered.

Wink’s tone turned stubborn. “I just think she would have told me if she was romantically involved with him.”

I thought, Would she have told you, if it was meant to be a secret? “So except for working out together, you had no inkling as to whether she was seeing Claggs outside of work?”

“I’m telling you, she really didn’t talk to me about Claggs!”

“Do you know if she was seeing anybody?” I pressed.

Wink wrinkled her face. “If you’re looking for romantic-type information, Dusty had been going out with Vic Zaruski. They’d just had a bad breakup. The end.”

I pressed my lips together. “I didn’t get much of a feeling for the atmosphere at Hanrahan & Jule,” I said, my tone innocent.

“You didn’t, really?” She took a deep breath. “The whole place feels as if it’s in a constant state of power struggle.”

“Between whom?”

“Between the partners over whose cases are more important. Between the associates over who has the most work. Between the lawyers and the paralegals, when we had two of them, over whom the paralegals should be working for. And that leads to stress. You couldn’t complain, because…well, just because.”

When she didn’t offer any more, I asked, “Was Dusty in this power struggle? And did it turn deadly?”

“I don’t know. And that’s what I told the cops, honest.”

There was another long silence, finally broken by Tom calling us to dinner. As she was about to follow me through the kitchen door, Wink stopped. I turned back to make sure she was okay. That little chin of hers was wobbling again, and her hands were clenched. All her pale brown hair’s tiny waves seemed to tremble at once. She dashed wetness out of her eyes, then cleared her throat and moved into the warm, inviting space, where the rich scent of roasting beef filled the air like a cushion.

“Hi again, Wink,” Arch said, his voice grave. “I’m glad you came. My mom’s a really good cook.”

“Hey!” Tom interjected, his voice playful. “Who’s cooking this dinner, anyway? By the way, Wink, I’m Tom.”

Wink nodded to Tom, then smiled at the boys and me. “Thanks, Arch, I already know how good a cook your mom is. She brings…brought us breakfast at the firm, and everybody was always fighting over the food.” Her cheeks colored.

“Sorry about what happened,” Gus chimed in. “Arch said the dead girl was your friend.”

“She was.” Wink swallowed and struggled for control.

“That sucks,” Gus said.

“Welcome anyway, Wink.” Tom moved forward and yanked out a chair. “Come sit down.”

This Wink did. Tom pulled the tenderloin out of the oven to let it rest, then began to assemble the baked potatoes, steamed broccoli, and cheese sauce that he knew Arch enjoyed having with friends. I nipped back out to the living room and picked up Wink’s sherry glass—I’d managed to get through our conversation with only a couple of small sips—and brought it back out to the kitchen. I checked the thermometer that Tom had left inserted in the meat. I was happy to see that the beef juices had settled, and the temp indicated a perfect medium rare. In addition to the cheddar-cheese sauce, Tom had managed to reheat the bearnaise I’d made, without curdling it.

“You didn’t think I could do two sauces at once, did you?” he asked mildly, when I raised my eyebrows at the pair of gravy boats with their perfectly smooth, golden loads. “Why don’t you sit down, Miss G.?”

So I did. To my great astonishment, I was famished. And then I remembered that I hadn’t actually had breakfast. Come to think of it, I hadn’t had much of a lunch, either. (A salad didn’t count as a meal, I always told myself.)

Tom had shaken up a mild balsamic vinaigrette and now he sprinkled judicious amounts over his salade composee. Arch, Gus, and even Wink poured rivers of creamy cheddar sauce over their potatoes and broccoli, while Tom and I opted for salad. The tenderloin was done to perfection: pink and tender on the inside, with a crunchy, delicious roasted exterior bearing crisp herbs. With some reheated soft rolls that we all slathered with butter, it was a feast. Hunger makes the best sauce, I’d learned when I was nine. No kidding.

And perhaps wine makes the best smoother-over of distraught emotions, I thought after a while. Wink had twisted her rail-thin body into what looked like an impossible yoga position to watch Tom open a bottle of Burgundy, a Cote de Nuits. Our dinner wasn’t exactly a cause for any kind of celebration, but the meal and the wine made us feel better. Cared for, even. Which was what Tom was good at, I reminded myself.

“They keep hundred-dollar-a-bottle Cote de Nuits Burgundy in a locked cabinet at the firm,” Wink observed. “But it’s just for meetings between the partners and the clients. Not for the receptionist and paralegals, I mean.”