Shots in the Dark (3 page)

“Did it have both your first and last name on it?”

She nodded, looking a little worried. I assumed she was just now realizing the implications this had. Someone was dead because of that letter, and whoever had written it and sent it knew her full name and address.

“Anything else?” I asked.

She shook her head, still looking concerned. Her gaze cast anxiously about, as if she thought someone might be lurking nearby, ready to kill us both. When she finally looked back at me, she said, “I'm sorry about your friend.” Her voice tasted sincere.

“Thank you.”

Then she finally voiced her fears. “Am I in any kind of trouble or danger with this thing?”

I didn't know if she was worried about legal trouble or something more sinister, but it didn't matter either way. I shook my head and gave her a reassuring smile. “Other people before you have received packages. The person sending them has been picking people more or less at random, I think. You were nothing more than a conduit.”

As I said this, I started wondering about how the letter writer chose those conduits and knew so much about the recipients. That gave me an idea that imbued me with a renewed sense of hope. I thanked Trudy for her honesty, promised again that our conversation would go no further, and then bought a bottle of seafood seasoning as both a gesture of goodwill and a way to explain why we'd just spent several minutes in conversation.

I don't think it did much to reassure her because as I left, I felt her worried stare following me down the aisle.

I stopped at another shop to buy some cheeses I could use in my bar kitchen before I made my way back to my car. The return drive was as slow as the drive to the market, and my trek from my parking place to the bar—two blocks away was the closest I could get—was just as treacherous, and complicated by the bag of purchases I had to carry as I crutched my way along. The warmth of the bar was a welcome relief, and after briefly greeting the staff on duty out front, I headed into the kitchen to drop off my cheeses and spices. During the week my main full-time cook was Jon, a new hire I'd brought on when my longtime cook, Helmut, quit after his wife threatened to leave him if he didn't. She felt two murders in less than a year's time made my bar a dangerous workplace, the likes of which OSHA was unable to fix. I couldn't blame her for her concerns, and to be honest, Helmut had been well past retirement age and kind of set in his ways. Every time I made any changes to the menu, it seemed to overwhelm him. So while I missed the old curmudgeon at times, I wasn't sorry to see him go. So far Jon had proven to be a good fit.

On the weekends and some evenings, I had another new hire working part-time as cook: Rich Zeigler, a UW grad student who was studying sociology and had a flair for creating dishes that lived up to his first name. At the moment, Rich was on duty, whipping up a couple of pizzas.

“Hey, Rich,” I said, showing him the cheeses I'd bought. I had the seafood seasoning in my pocket, intending to keep it for myself. “I thought you might like to experiment with these.”

“Sweet,” he said, eyeing the goods with a smile. “I bet that horseradish cheddar would be kick-ass on a burger, maybe even on a pizza. Stick them in the fridge, and I'll see what I can do with them later.”

“It's busy today,” I said, putting away the cheeses. “Are you managing okay?”

“I'm doing fine,” he said.

“Holler at me if you need any help.”

He waved me away with a wink and a
pshaw
.

I went into my office, shed my coat, and called Duncan. He didn't answer, so I left a voice message for him to call me and headed back out to the bar.

It was early afternoon, but because it was a Saturday and lots of people were out and about doing their holiday errands, the place was hopping. My evening and weekend bartender, Billy Hughes, was behind the bar, working his drink-mixing magic. Billy was a law student at the U of W in Milwaukee, and with his dark skin, green eyes, and charming personality, he was also a chick magnet and good for drawing in business. He and Debra Landers, my full-time day waitress, were my most reliable and trusted employees.

“Sorry I had to slip out for a bit,” I said to Billy. “How's it going?”

“It's a bit crazy without Gary here,” he said. “But I'm managing. Debra has stepped behind the bar a few times to help. And that new waitress you hired, Linda, is doing better.”

“Good.” Linda had been a slow starter, but I'd asked the other staff members to give her more time to see if she could get up to speed. Each day she seemed to do a little better. “I hope Linda continues to do well. I get the sense she really wants and needs this job.”

“Speaking of needing a job,” Billy said, “I don't suppose you've had time to start interviewing replacements for Gary? I know it seems a little crude to be asking so soon after. . . .”

He didn't finish his comment. He didn't need to. “No, I haven't,” I said with an apologetic smile. “But I'm on it. I looked over some applications this morning.”

“I know someone who might be a good fit,” Billy said. “He's a friend of mine, an art student whose parents are cutting off their financial support because they want him to pursue a career with more potential.” He made little air quotes around the word
potential
. “He's a big guy, like six-six and three hundred pounds, and he worked for a time as a waiter and bartender at a country club when he was right out of high school.”

“Tell him to come in and talk to me. What's his name?”

“Theodore Berenson. We all call him Teddy or, if we're giving him a hard time, Teddy Bear.”

“Berenson? Is he related to Harley Berenson, the shipping magnate?”

“One and the same,” Billy said. “Harley is his father. But Teddy's not stuck up like the rest of the family. He's just a regular guy, a hard worker, and desperate to make some money.”

“Okay, then. Let me know when he can come in and talk.”

“I'll call him right now,” Billy said, taking out his cell phone. “Can you cover for me for a minute or two?”

“Of course.”

I took over behind the bar as Billy stepped away to make his call. He returned a few minutes later, still on the phone, though he put his hand over the speaker.

“Teddy says he can come in anytime. Today even.”

“Wow. He is desperate,” I said with a smile. Desperate was good. It meant he could likely start right away. “Can he be here in an hour?”

Billy asked the question and a moment later nodded at me. “He says he can be here by two thirty. Will that do?”

“It will.”

Billy relayed the info, disconnected his call, and resumed his duties behind the bar. I stayed with him for the next hour to help out with the crowd. When two thirty rolled around, Teddy Berenson came walking through the front door. I knew him right away based on Billy's description. He was a huge hulk of a guy in his late twenties, with big, soft brown eyes, a full head of dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. It was easy to see how he'd earned the nickname Teddy Bear.

After Billy introduced us, I led Teddy into my office and directed him to sit in the chair across from mine at the desk. He handed me a piece of paper, which, I was surprised to see, was a neatly typed résumé—you don't see many of those from job applicants in this business—and settled into the chair. It was a tight fit.

As I interviewed him, I noticed Teddy's voice fitted him. It was deep and rumbling, and it made me taste walnuts. His upbringing showed; he was polite, charming, and cultured. But there was also a comfortable easiness about him that made me believe Billy's claim that the guy had no pretentions. I liked him and wanted to hire him on the spot. According to his résumé, he already had a bartender's license, and he certainly had the physical characteristics I needed for a bouncer, but I had to do some basic checking to make sure everything was on the up-and-up.

“When would you be able to start?” I asked him after I'd finished with my standard interview questions and a rundown of the job requirements.

“Tonight,” he said with a shrug and a smile.

I started to tell him I needed to check his references first, but given the family he came from and Billy's personal recommendation, I wondered if that was necessary. Still, with everything that had gone on lately, it was better to be safe than sorry. “Tell you what, Teddy,” I said. “I need to check on a few things. Why don't you go out to the bar and hang with Billy for a bit to get the lay of the land. I'll get back to you shortly.”

He flashed me a big smile and said, “Will do!” Then he popped out of his chair with amazing grace and headed back out to the bar.

As soon as he was gone, I got on my cell phone and called Cora, who I knew was upstairs in the room used by the Capone Club. Cora was a daily fixture in my bar, and more often than not, she could be found in the Capone Club room.

“What's up?” she answered. Cora rarely mentioned me by name when she answered one of my calls, knowing I sometimes needed to meet with her on the sly.

“I need a favor. I just interviewed a young man I'm considering as a replacement for Gary, and I'm wondering if you can do a license and background check on him. Run his name through whatever databases you have access to and check to see if he has any criminal record. And verify that he is who he says he is.” I then gave her his name.

Cora let out a low whistle. “Is he related to Harley Berenson?”

“Yep. He's his son.”

“What the hell is he doing looking for a job with you, then? His family is filthy rich.”

“And he's apparently the black sheep in that family. See what you can dig up.”

“I'm on it.”

“I'll be up in a little bit.”

I disconnected the call and then headed out to the main bar area. Teddy was behind the bar, shadowing Billy, and he looked comfortable and eager. I walked up to them and smiled.

“Show Teddy here the ropes,” I said to Billy. Then, with a wink, I added, “Give him a trial by fire.”

“Can do,” Billy said.

“Any sign of today's mail yet?” My mail delivery typically came mid-afternoon, and the mailman brought it inside and handed it off to whoever was behind the bar. But for the last week or so, the delivery had been later than usual due to the extra holiday mail.

“Not yet,” Billy said. “I'll put it in your office when it comes.” Billy and Debra were the only employees who had a key to my office.

I left the two of them and made rounds on the rest of my staff. Debra was her usual hustling self, and I was glad to see that Linda was moving faster than the snail's pace she'd had when she first started the job.

I walked up to Debra after she finished taking a drink order. “Billy said Linda is doing better. Is that true?”

Debra nodded. “It is, thank goodness.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face.

“Good. Are you managing okay?”

She nodded and then gestured toward the bar. “Who's the big teddy bear behind the bar with Billy?”

“Funny you worded it that way,” I said with a smile. Then I filled her in. “Keep an eye on him and let me know what you think.”

I left Debra and made my way to Linda, who was working tables in the new section of my bar, an area that had been open only for a few weeks. When the building that adjoined mine had become available, I snatched it up and did some renovations to expand the bar, a project that wouldn't have been possible if not for Ginny leaving me a surprise inheritance. Eventually, I was hoping to have some live music in the new area, where Linda was working, but for now I wanted to see if I had enough business to sustain the expansion.

I caught up with Linda in between tables and asked her how everything was going.

“I'm feeling much better about things,” she said cheerfully. “I finally have a system worked out, and I'm getting a better feel for all the drink names.”

“I'm happy to hear that. I've gotten some great feedback from the rest of the staff, so keep up the good work and let me know if there's anything I can do to help you.”

I started to turn away but paused when her face screwed up and her eyes began to tear. The girl was rather plain looking, bordering on mousy, but at the moment her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkled, and her mouth had a hint of a smile. “Thank you so much for your patience with me,” she said. “For not giving up on me.”

“You're very welcome.” I gave her shoulder a squeeze, and then, in a tone of faux sternness, I added, “Now, get back to work, woman.”

Her smile broadened, and she scurried off.

I headed upstairs to check in with the Capone Club group. Most of the participants were customers and friends who became involved in solving Ginny's murder and, in the process, discovered a connection between my bar and Al Capone. Hence the name. And when I expanded the bar, I created a special room on the second floor for the group to meet in, replete with a gas fireplace, comfy chairs, and an assortment of crime-related books on built-in shelves. The unofficial leaders and founders of the group were Cora, the Signoriello brothers, and Tad Amundsen, a local investor and a tax adviser to some of the area's wealthiest residents. Tad used to be a run-of-the-mill CPA, but his good looks and charm had won him the role of trophy husband to Suzanne Collier, one of the richest women in Wisconsin. In turn, Suzanne diverted many of her friends to Tad for financial and investment advice, and he eventually opened up his own business, the offices of which were located around the corner from my bar.

The original Capone Club members had enjoyed their sleuthing attempts enough that they decided to continue with them. They progressed from playing with made-up practice cases to assisting me on some real ones, and the number of participants had grown, thanks to word of mouth and some of the press attention garnered by the cases I'd worked with Duncan. There were always some members present on a daily basis, though their number waxed and waned throughout the day. It was a varied group, with folks from many different walks of life, and that brought a lot of expertise and ideas to the process.

Some of the core regulars were Sam Warner, a graduate student in psychology; Carter Fitzpatrick, a writer and part-time waiter; Holly Martinson, a bank teller and Carter's girlfriend; Alicia Maldonado, also a bank teller and Holly's friend and coworker; Kevin Baldwin, a local trash collector, though he preferred the title sanitation engineer; Karen Tannenbaum, or Dr. T, as we called her, an ER physician; and Tiny Gruber, a construction worker and Cora's current paramour. Several members of my staff also participated in the group when they could. Billy considered it a good prep for his future career as a criminal defense lawyer, while the others did it more for entertainment.

The most recent case the group had worked on was the twelve-year-old unsolved murders of Tiny's sister, Lori Gruber, and her friend Anna Hermann. The group and I had been able to solve the crime, and it generated a lot of publicity—most of it centered on me, because of the earlier media fiasco with me and Duncan. While the publicity had been a nightmare for me personally, it was great for business, drawing in lots of curious people who wanted to gawk and a few who wanted to participate in the Capone Club.