Part 3 (2/2)
”How would I do that?”
”Be her friend, left-tenant, as you've always been. Just nothing more. For instance, Maggie is concerned at the moment about a recently deceased gentleman. A fellow author, who purportedly put a period to his own existence five days ago, I believe it was. Now, if you were to a.s.sist her in gaining any additional information about this man, about his death, you understand, that would be the act of a friend. You do wish to continue the friends.h.i.+p, do you not?”
”Well, yeah, of course. I like Maggie. So I keep it friendly. I just don't ask her out to dinner anymore, or to the movies, right? Just platonic. I can do that.”
”Splendid, Steve,” Saint Just drawled, reaching into his sports coat pocket and extracting a neatly folded computer printout of Francis Oakes's obituary. ”We are told it was a suspected suicide, as I said-”
”You did? When?”
”I said he put a period to his own existence, left-tenant. As one would put a period at the end of a sentence-to end it? Consider it a euphemism, one meant to spare the listener's sensibilities, instead of coming right out and baldly saying he'd killed himself.”
Wendell grinned. ”You were worried about my sensibilities?”
”Not particularly, no,” Saint Just told him, returning the smile. ”But to continue? We are told it is most probable the gentleman offed himself-”
”Better.”
”Thank you. I am nothing if not amenable. But I could find nothing more definitive on my own about the unfortunate Mr. Oakes. However, with your connections ... ?”
”Sure, sure, give it over and I'll check it out. It's the least I can do for Maggie,” Wendell said, the hook neatly slipping into his mouth. ”Suicide. No problem. How bad could she screw this up, right?”
”How badly indeed,” Saint Just said, reaching for the check the waitress had just deposited on the table. ”Please, allow me. And do enjoy yourself this evening, left-tenant. Oh, wait, I've just had a thought. Perhaps you should give the information about poor Mr. Oakes directly to me, say, tomorrow at two, at Mario's? Not as much contact with Maggie, you understand ... thinking platonically.”
Wendell shrugged. ”Sure, okay. Hey, thanks for picking up the check. I gotta go, I'm meeting Christine in a half hour.”
”May you both have a wonderful evening,” Saint Just said as Wendell walked away, and then added under his breath as he brought the coffee cup back up to his lips, ”Sometimes it's almost too easy ...”
A few drops of cooling coffee splashed onto Saint Just's s.h.i.+rtfront as the good lieutenant leaned down to whisper in his ear. ”You're up to something again, aren't you? Be ready to tell me all about it, or my information on Oakes stays in my pocket.”
”How remiss of me to forget that you delight in playing the fool, left-tenant. Shame on me. But I agree. Tomorrow we will share information.”
”Because there's something going on? What? Cripes, Alex, you guys are only home for a couple of days. What the h.e.l.l could have gone wrong that fast?”
”Possibly nothing. Hopefully nothing. Then again, if the information you bring me turns out to be what I sincerely hope it is not, possibly quite a lot.”
”Why? Because your Spidey sense is tingling?” Wendell said in a fairly good attempt at sarcasm.
”Yes, I suppose that's it, although I was thinking more of a mammal than an arachnid. Until tomorrow at two, Steve?”
Chapter Five.
”Gin,” Maggie said, discarding a six as she laid down the rest of her cards with a flourish. ”That's twelve million dollars you owe me, Sterling. You don't want to play anymore, do you?”
”No, I suppose not. But we could do something else, couldn't we?”
What was going on here? Something was going on here, that was for sure. She decided to see if she was right. ”I could grab my jacket and we could go to the park, see if your friends are there. You could stay with them, let them pelt you with s...o...b..a.l.l.s, and I could go do some shopping. I don't have a single gift bought yet, you know. How does that sound?”
Sterling's complexion turned white, then rosy red. And the guy wondered why he couldn't win at cards? ”Oh. Oh, no, Maggie. I shouldn't think you'd want to go shopping alone. We could go together, I suppose? Although it's fairly cold outside, and it's so nice and warm in here. We should stay here. Yes, I think we should stay here. It's better here. Alex would want to know where we are, don't you think?”
”Where did you say Alex is, Sterling?” Maggie asked as she stood up, stretched, then walked over to admire her tree, hoping she sounded only politely interested, and not like she wished Sterling would go find Alex, and then the two of them could go somewhere. Like to the moon. Right after one of them told her what the h.e.l.l was going on.
Alex had ”joined” her for breakfast, which meant that he'd come strolling in with the morning newspaper and a suggestion that she consider bacon and scrambled eggs as a fine start to another lovely crisp, sunny December day.
The pans were still soaking in the sink, d.a.m.n him, and she'd given in to the urge to try the homemade plum jam Socks's mother had sent over a month ago and she'd been pretending hadn't been sitting in the cabinet. Stop smoking, gain ten pounds, lose two, eat plum jam, and gain back three. It was just the way the world worked ...
She'd kicked Alex out at noon, after a morning spent discussing the debacle that had been their trip to England, and within moments Sterling was at the door, volunteering to help her with the rest of her Christmas decorations. Not one to turn down a volunteer, they'd spent the next hour setting out Maggie's favorite pieces, winding fairy lights around two of her fake potted plants, and then dragging all of the empty boxes to the freight elevator and back down to the bas.e.m.e.nt storage area. After that, Sterling pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and sat down at the game table in one corner of the room, as if digging in for the duration-whatever the duration was.
When Sterling didn't answer her question, Maggie finished adjusting one of the crystal bells on the Christmas tree and turned to look at him. He was wearing the Santa hat again, and admiring his reflection in the mirror. ”You look very nice, very festive. Getting in the spirit, are you?”
Sterling frowned, pulling off the hat. ”I don't think so, no,” he told her, dropping back onto one of the couches. His sigh was deep, and heartfelt. ”It's all this cra.s.s commercialism, you understand.”
Biting back a grin, Maggie decided it was time to pull up a couch of her own and try to take a peek inside Sterling's mind. ”Cra.s.s commercialism? Where did you hear that, Sterling?”
He spread his hands. ”Everywhere. It's all about gifts, and decorations, and more gifts and ... well, and more gifts. It's all very depressing. Almost enough to put a person into a sad decline.”
”Yes, I can see that,” Maggie said, rubbing her chin. ”What would you like Christmas to be about, Sterling?”
He shrugged, looking at her over his gold-rimmed gla.s.ses. ”I'm not sure. I ... well, I just don't think your Santa Claus helpers should be selling watches and purses and such on street corners, do you?”
”You mean they should be giving them away instead?”
Sterling's expression went unnaturally stern. ”No, I don't think I mean that at all, Maggie. But should Santa Claus be selling things?”
”I'm sorry, sweetheart,” she said, reaching for her nicotine inhaler. She was pretty sure she'd been a nicer person when she smoked. ”There are other Santas, you know, Sterling. Santas who collect money for, uh, for those less fortunate.”
”Tell me,” Sterling said, leaning forward on the couch, and Maggie found herself giving him a thumbnail sketch of holiday charities and holiday Santas, all of which served to return a smile to Sterling's unusually sad face.
”Okay,” she then said, clapping her hands together as she got to her feet. ”Now what do you say we give the tree one last inspection, and then I think I'll go take a shower?”
Sterling got to his feet and walked over to stand beside Maggie as the two of them looked the tree up and down.
Maggie reached out after a few moments and bent one of the smaller branches on the artificial tree so that the ta.s.sel on one of the ornaments could hang straight. ”That's better.”
”It all looks very nice, even if it isn't real,” Sterling agreed. ”You really do like Christmas, don't you, Maggie? And all the fol-da-ral.”
”Fol-da-ral? Wow, Sterling, that's a good one. But, yes, I do like it. I adore Christmas.”
”Even when you get it wrong,” Sterling said, and then quickly clapped his hands to his mouth.
”Excuse me?” Maggie rather glowered at Sterling as he backed away from her. ”And why does that sound like you opened your mouth, Sterling, but Alex's voice came out?”
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