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"I told you he sounded a little light in his loafers," muttered Barbara Fox, my amanuensis and general factotum, she who was waggling her eyebrows suggestively at the front window behind me. I scowled at her again before turning to follow where she was looking, seeing a young man climbing out of a classy MG -- racing green, and all -- parked directly out front. He was, as I guessed correctly, my ten o'clock appointment, a man who wanted more active participation in a criminal investigation than the police would allow him -- something not uncommon in my profession. As for Barbara's remark, I'd deal with that later. It was hard to believe that such a stalwart and solid woman could be so biased and out of touch with reality, but there it was -- even the good ones have character flaws. Everyone but me, of course. Right. Fortunately for her sake as well as my own, there was not the slightest sign as far as I could see of any such prejudice when she ushered the man into the office, announced him, showed him to a seat, and asked if he'd like coffee. The only crack in her pleasant facade occurred when he replied that he'd prefer herb tea, if she had it; I was sure only someone as familiar with her as I am would have recognized that slight twitch as significant. Still, she nodded, smiled again, and headed at once to the elevator for the loft where she knew she would find herb tea packets in my kitchen. Odd, isn't it, that she'd never consider my husband George as anything but the most definitely masculine person he is when he, too, often likes a cup of Lemon Zinger or chamomile tea? If interrogated on such a discrepancy in her reasoning, however, she'd be sure to say with perfect if faulty conviction that the difference should be thoroughly obvious to anyone with half a brain: after all, she knew George to be straight, didn't she? Oh, well. Just as I started to speak, the phone shrilled. Since Barbara was between floors, that left me. I excused myself to my visitor and picked up the receiver on the second ring. "Good morning! Is this the lady of the house?" "There is no lady of this house. And good morning to you, too," I responded briskly, and just as briskly replaced the receiver. I was growing increasingly dyspeptic regarding telephone solicitors, fast losing whatever little patience I ever had -- accent intended on little. My visitor, Craig Freier, pronounced "fryer," blinked once, then threw back his head and hooted. "Oh, good on you! If more people had your spirit, the rest of us cowards would show these pests the door in a minute!" He had a great smile, but somehow it just didn't quite manage to reach his eyes. Of course, I already knew from what I'd recently read about him why there was such pain there. "Mr. Freier, Miss Fox informed me, of course, what you told her regarding your problem, the reason you're here. But if you would, please tell me everything again, all right?" The remains of the smile dropped abruptly from the face before me, leaving a bleakness behind, his hazel eyes shifting away to fasten on an invisible point somewhere beyond the reach of my vision. I let him take his time, and it took more than a little. At last, he began. "Have you been reading in the newspapers about the murder of a man by the name of Theo Englander about three weeks ago? It was for a while all over --" "Yes, I have, Mr. Freier. I should tell you, I think I'm generally aware of your relationship with Mr. Englander; if I am correct, you have my sincerest sympathy for your loss. "If you're at all uncomfortable talking about what he meant to you, please don't be. Like all humans, I'm sorry to say, I have my own compliment of bigotry; but scoffing and sneering at love in any form whatever is not one of my faults, I assure you." That was, of course, jumping to a conclusion. But, like Barbara, I was pretty sure. "If I'm to help you," I continued, "I need to know as much as you are willing to tell me, whether or not it may seem relevant to you. Whatever you tell me will be for my ears alone." That latter, of course, was not precisely true. I keep nothing from George, as a general rule of thumb; but telling him anything merely adds a fine, logical and experienced mind to the problem, not merely a soupçon of gossip to repeat to anyone at any time, ever. "Thank you, Mrs. Casey. Whether or not I believe you to be entirely free from homophobia is immaterial; I'll take you at your word that you at least fight against such tendencies. And, of course, I must believe that if I'm to enlist your help in finding out who destroyed my Theo." His mouth didn't exactly twist when he said "destroyed," but the expression around his lips hardened. His verbiage was a tad florid, but so is mine, if that fact hasn't already become apparent. And I liked his face, sad or not. I also had meant precisely what I'd said to him. "When you get to know me better, you will believe me, Mr. Freier," I said, smiling easily at him and receiving eventually a small one in return. "Please go ahead," I added, settling back in my chair and watching him organize his thoughts. "As you already guessed, Theo was my partner in life and in business. We met nearly fifteen years ago in college, found we had a common interest in many things. For much of that time we were simply friends, two designers starting out to find a comfortable and lucrative niche in the world. Our tastes and enthusiasms in art, color, design, and so on, were not identical -- actually, very different -- but rather actually complimented one another. What one of us conceived, the other critiqued, and the end result was invariably extremely good. "From the beginning we worked well together and in less than five years incorporated and launched our company; in a relatively short time, we hit it so big, neither one of us could believe it. Bids were made on all sorts of installations, both private homes and large buildings, and were snapped up almost at once, no matter how outrageous our prices in time became." He smiled slightly again as he looked directly at me when he added, "And believe me, 'outrageous' of late is an understatement." I held up a hand to stick in a question, one which had been squirming around in my head from the first mention of the case in the newspapers. "Mr. Freier, I know it's a non sequitur, but I have to ask this if only to get it answered so I can forget it. Whoever in the world was responsible for the name of your firm?" Craig Freier rolled his eyes heavenward, a wry smile tweaking one corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid I'm responsible for that, Mrs. Casey. I've apologized to almost everyone in town for that horrendous pun! I was feeling particularly giddy, I'm afraid, the day that popped into my head, and Theo nearly fell down laughing when I bounced it off him, just as a laugh. I was never serious about it, and was appalled when he insisted it was an inspiration, absolutely perfect, and he wouldn't allow me to withdraw it from consideration." Again, the smile fading, the anguish returning, he ran down. But before I could think of something to stick into the silence, he bucked up and went on. "So Tile by Freier it became, and that's the end of it. Even if I actually go ahead now with the business, I'll never change the name of the company, of course." "'Even if'?" I protested. "Surely, that's a figure of speech, isn't it? I guess I don't mean 'figure of speech,' but -- well, what I'm trying to say is, surely Mr. Englander would be the first to protest any thought of quitting, wouldn't he?" "Yes," he said after a long pause, "he would indeed. But that doesn't help much, you know? I'm not sure I even can continue without his perceptions and insight to compliment my own. It's just that -- well, I don't know yet. It's simply too soon to make such a hard decision." Time to break loose from this track; it was getting us mired down here. "Mr. Freier, maybe we better get back to what I'll need to know if I'm to help you." And at that point Barbara returned with a carafe of seething water, a couple of my fancy tall and narrow china mugs with exotic birds on them, an innocent expression on her devious face, a dish full of a selection of herbal teas, a small plate of shortbread cookies, all on a truly tacky dinged metal tray bearing an advert for Budweiser along with elegant and foppish young men in riding breeches lolling about in front of a huge roaring fire, surrounded with hunting dogs and riding crops. Quiet reigned while she busily poured the water into Craig's cup after he selected his teabag, then offered me the blasted tray, her back turned to what I had decided that very instant would be my next client. Barbara had her eyes crossed and the tip of her tongue thrust between her tiny white front teeth, and I was half tempted to snap her head off. More than half, truth be told. Still, without a word at the moment -- I would indeed utter more than a word -- I selected an almond-flavored tea, put the bag in the cup, and allowed her to pour the water over it, glowering at her all the time. She never once met my gaze, just bobbed a little bow, put down the awful tray, and skedaddled, snatching up her raincoat and mumbling something about a luncheon date in Dubuque, or somewhere, straight out of the door. When I looked back at Craig Freier, for the first time he looked genuinely amused. "Miss Fox doesn't approve of me much, does she?" "Miss Fox will hate herself before the day is over, Mr. Freier, I assure you. Please accept my --" "Oh, please, Mrs. Casey! Don't say anything to her about it," he began, but I was having none of it. "I truly apologize for her attitude, Mr. Freier, and I certainly will say something about it, if only to keep her from thinking she is free to act as she sees fit in my office." "I would rather you didn't, really. There's nothing particularly venomous in her aversion to me, I'm sure, and she can't help how she feels. No one should be made to suffer for emotions that are virtually impossible to change. Please don't make an issue of it." So to set his mind at ease since he appeared quite genuinely distressed at the thought of my drawing and quartering my employee, I lied and said all right, I'd let it go. But I didn't; Barbara probably still twitches and screws her eyes tight shut when she remembers the parade ground dressing-down she got from old Sheila around one o'clock that afternoon. It took days before she got back to her old, mouthy and opinionated self. But back to that morning. Over the next half-hour or so, Craig Freier told me more about his history with Theo Englander, much of which was apparently unknown to the media, thank the Good Lord for small favors. "We didn't become close, Mrs. Casey, until just a year or so ago. I'd always been sure of Theo, and I made no pretense to be anything other than what I am. But for reasons of family, I guess, as well as a reluctance to admit to having feelings he'd been raised to loathe and despise, Theo simply refused to acknowledge he was gay until just over a year ago. "Theo was movie-idol handsome, and had relationships with many, many women. But for one reason or another, they always floundered after a time, the usual result being the woman felt insulted when Theo found just this one little thing about them they had to change if he was to continue seeing them. A few of them did indeed change that one little thing, only to find he had unwittingly manufactured something else that simply had to go for the relationship to prosper." "When was it you established your business? Ten years ago, or thereabouts?" "Yes, about that long ago. I had enough wit to know that even though I was sure Theo was also gay, he'd so well hidden it from himself that if I so much as hinted at such a thing, he'd run like a deer, and I'd never see him again." "And, I take it, that would have been -- "-- unbearable -- intolerable and unbearable." "So your relationship until, as you say, about a year ago was strictly on a professional basis?" "That's right, and little else. I was sometimes Theo's sounding board when the latest of his little forays into the world of hetero romance went up in a whoosh. But other than that, it was business only, and simple, quite uncomplicated friendship. I took many pains to keep my feelings to myself." Obviously he believed that, but I felt it might have been a hard thing to hide from anyone other than Theo -- this attraction, if you will, my client had for his business partner. Looking into that later seemed best, if necessary at all. "Have you a family, Mr. Freier?" "Oh, yes, Mrs. Casey, all the trappings. My parents are both living in Ft. Lauderdale. I have a brother who lives in Montana, another who raises merinos in Ireland, and a sister who's employed at the American Embassy in Barcelona in a press liaison capacity. "And, before you ask, no, they did not all take the first plane out of the area as soon as I threw open my closet door. I think, in fact, they knew long before I did and loved me just the same. No, we are completely honest with one another, maintain very close ties no matter the distance between us, and nothing is changed. "In fact, my brother from Ireland flew over the instant he knew about Theo and helped me glue the pieces of my life back together. If it weren't for the fact that it's lambing time, he'd still be here. Even so, I had to order him to leave. No, they're all completely supportive." "How about Theo? Any family there, resentful or otherwise?" "Yes, and it's not otherwise. Theo has an estranged father who lives in Evergreen with Theo's two brothers, Garson and Faron. And if I have real anger at anyone other than the ones who did this to Theo, it is to the two brothers and the father. I've heard nothing from them; and although I had them notified by wire as soon as I knew of Theo's death and then when the services would be, none of them so much as wired a flower much less appeared. Bastards, the lot of them!" I understood clearly his anger wasn't that he himself had been shunned, but that these men, the closest kin Theo had, couldn't even bid Theo farewell one last time. "His mother living?" "I understand she is, but I've not been able to track her down. She and Theo's father have been divorced for many years, and -- well, Theo thought she'd remarried about two years ago. Since she obviously didn't want to keep in contact with Theo, he hadn't learned her new name. "I suggested one time he could surely ask one of his brothers, but he seemed to feel if she actually wanted to hear from him, she'd instigate the contact herself. Until that time, he'd do nothing. There being no urgency, I didn't pursue it. "I'd like to at least let her know about Theo, let her know that no matter how she felt about his lifestyle, he was as fine a man as ever lived. She would have been proud of him." Probably not, Craig, if she was so shallow she'd cut herself off from her son because of who he was. Never in a million years will I comprehend such a person. We talked on and on until after noon, most of it rambling and decidedly worthless, but it seemed to help this young man to just talk. I scribbled a few notes about dates, names and places, but it was mostly just busy-work; I didn't expect anything useful, and for the most part I was right about that. At last, the data stream run dry, Freier stood to leave. "So have we an agreement, Mrs. Casey? Will you see what you can find out about the men who killed my Theo?" "I'll do what I can, Mr. Freier. But as I said earlier, as far as I can tell the police have been working ceaselessly on it and to date have little to show for it. First thing, I will check with my source there so I don't re-cover ground already proven barren, and then snoop around a bit here and there. I'll do my best, but don't expect miracles, please." "Oh, but I do expect miracles, Mrs. Casey. Otherwise, how else could I live with what little I have left?" And on that note, he went out, climbed into his perfectly restored little roadster, and growled off down Nelson Street, passing by and waving cheerfully at a just then returning redheaded little rolypoly who was soon to be handed her head by yours truly. She was, in spades. "But, Sheila, I didn't mean --" she began, only to be cut off in mid-sentence as I flounced from the room, wearing my indignation like a cloak and my superiority like a coonskin cap. As I swept upward in the birdcage lift to my quarters to fix a belated lunch for Fuzz and myself, I sneaked a quick look under lowered lashes at the stricken expression on her white face while watching me disappear. I felt momentarily guilty as proverbial sin, but I knew I was right. I was, but that didn't make me hate myself less. |