The Throwbacks (18 page)

D
AVID shoved the Matisse tickets in his pocket and put the phone to his ear. It could have been a call from I.C.E. or his Interpol contact, he told himself, so he couldn’t hesitate to answer it. He attempted to smile at Frenchie.

She stood frozen. She almost looked scared. “Is it someone from the police department calling?” she asked in a church whisper.

“Young here,” he said, still with the schooled expression of remorse and annoyance for Frenchie’s benefit. He shook his head. She watched him and waited.

“Hello, David. It’s Aunt Mabel. We have an emergency here, and you must come over,” she said without any emergency-like urgency in her voice.

“What kind of emergency?” With a hand over the phone he told Frenchie, “It’s my Aunt Mabel and she says there’s some kind of emergency.”

“Oh my!” Frenchie said.

“Who is that? Where are you?” Mabel asked.

“I’m on a date at the Museum of Fine Arts with a lovely woman named Maria who speaks French,” he said loud enough for Frenchie to hear, and congratulated himself for remembering to call her Maria. She smiled big at that.

“Well then, the emergency is bigger than I thought,” Mabel said, and before he could think what to say in response to that, she continued.

“David, you must come over as soon as is gentlemanly possible given your circumstances.” Mabel lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know you would never behave less than a gentleman, but there’s no sense in leading this French woman on.”

“How did you come to the conclusion that I am?” He continued to smile. He was curious to know what gave him away, but not yet inclined to let his aunt know she might be correct.

Mabel laughed quietly into the phone. She knew him too well.

“Okay, fair enough. What’s going on?” he asked, still looking at Frenchie and hoping his aunt would come up with a good excuse for him. He had an inkling that she might be entertaining Grace and playing matchmaker, but that so-called emergency would most definitely not fly as an explanation for Frenchie. In any event, he’d have to spend some time at the museum and then accompany her home by taxi—the way they’d come. Some day he’d have to entertain the notion of purchasing an auto.

“A good friend of yours needs help. You may also find some useful information for your murder investigation.” She lowered her voice again. “I know how important it is for you to solve this crime. I know it’s not enough for you to merely contribute, but to be the one to crack the case in a big way. It’s important for you to establish this exchange program so you can stay a while and start over,” she said. It would seem his aunt had turned into an even wiser old woman than he remembered—that or she’d taken up mind reading. Or rather, soul-reading.

“All right, I understand. I’ll be over as soon as I can—but I am busy at the moment.” He nodded at Frenchie but didn’t bother with a reassuring smile. The goal was to be a gentleman, and not lead her on.

His aunt satisfied, David slid the phone into his pocket and surveyed the area, aware that Frenchie was staring up at him. She clearly expected an explanation on what was to happen with their evening. He met her gaze.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our evening short, as I’m sure you heard,” he said.

“Is your aunt all right?”

“A friend of mine has some information on the investigation—and needs my help,” he told her. He wondered what Grace was up to now. David tried to keep his mind from racing ahead.

“Well, now that I’m your assistant of sorts, maybe I can come with you—I don’t mind. It might even be fun.” He could see her warming to the idea as her smile brightened.

“No, I’m afraid not. This won’t involve any translation. I’m afraid we won’t have time to take in the exhibit or have dinner. I’ll call a cab and accompany you home.” He used his most definitive tone to confer that there was no room for alternative suggestions.

Frenchie’s smile faltered and he hoped those weren’t tears glistening in her eyes. “Then our courtship is over, isn’t it? It’s my age—you think I’m too old even though I’m the same age as you, really. Esther assured me that you didn’t want any children, but—”

“Maria,” he halted her. “It has nothing to do with your age.” It was only a partial lie.

She gave him a sad look. “It’s that decorator woman. You’re interested in Grace Rogers.”

“Grace,” he said in a quiet voice. “No, she has nothing to do with why you and I are not going to work out as a couple.” He knew he was distressing her, and he didn’t like the notion of causing this lovely, if timid, woman any misery.

“Oh?” she said with a slight lift of the corner of her mouth that might have been a knowing smile. But then she took a deep breath and, with a rigid back as if she were resigned to her execution, she turned and marched toward the exit. He stayed with her through the doors and past the ticket counter.

They reached the curb and he hailed a taxi. He would accompany her home and do his best to redeem the situation for Esther’s sake.

“You did a great job with the translation for us. Any chance you might be available as a consultant in future?”

She examined his face and then gave him a relieved and genuine smile.

“Actually, I found that whole experience very stimulating—much more exciting than my usual line of work. If you’re serious, I’d love to consult with the police department any time you need a translator.”

“The department has people, don’t get me wrong. But there are occasions when we might need someone off the books or in a pinch. It’s good to know I can call on you for that.” He patted her hand.

“Yes,” she said with her shy smile in place. The taxi pulled up to her home, a modest place in Somerville on the other side of Charlestown from Boston. He got out, went around and opened her door, reaching in to hold her hand as she got out.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“I apologize for cutting the evening short and for being a complete boor. You are a lovely woman, Maria. I’m sure you are right for some lucky man.” That’s all he could think to say honestly.

“Okay, well, if you think of someone, let me know.” She walked up the steps to her door while he watched. Then she turned. “Don’t forget to call when you need a translator,” she said and disappeared inside.

He got back in the taxi and pulled the door closed in one quick motion. The taxi driver turned and looked at him.

“You botched that one, didn’t ya?” the driver said. David glanced at the cabby, who turned out to be far from deaf and not particularly discreet, and nodded.

“Yeah. Take me to number twelve Pinckney Street in Beacon Hill.”

The cab driver whistled as if he were impressed. “Moving up, are ya?”

“One can hope, but no. It’s my aunt’s home. And why am I explaining anything to you? Just drive the car, will ya?” he said in a good-natured mock of the driver’s speech.

He reached in his pocket and put his phone on vibrate. It would be his luck to get the call from I.C.E. now. He would call back later, no matter what time it was. Mabel had been right about him needing to crack this case—no matter what distractions he had to work through.

The cab let him off and he walked up to the front door of Mabel’s townhouse with a healthy mix of trepidation and, god forgive him, excitement. He decided to give them a warning and rang the bell.

Grace’s legs wobbled as if she were a newborn lamb—no, make that a lamb ready for the slaughter. David had arrived. She looked at Oscar and couldn’t help the thought that leapt to her mind—in her comic strip character scenario he’d be cast as the Joker. The smile leapt to her face. She knew Oscar wouldn’t appreciate the title, but he’d laugh at her imagination. He always had.

Oscar had that look of restrained amusement that reminded her of David. But there the resemblance ended. Oscar didn’t do restraint for long before exploding, then ebbing. David stayed even keeled. She knew this even in the course of their short relationship. After all, she was practically his partner in crime solving.

“…lucky that I got here tonight at all,” David said as he walked with Mabel through the door to her parlor where they all waited for him. Whether he’d finished his sentence or not, he stopped speaking and snapped his head around the room, first looking at her with a warm if fleeting smile and then bouncing off Pixie-Sophia, doing a double take to Noodles, who trembled in Pixie’s arms, and then landing on Oscar.

Grace had never seen anything like the shuttering of all emotion that she saw in that moment. It was impossible to see what he was thinking. She knew there was turmoil—there had to be because he wasn’t really made of stone, even though he gave every appearance of that now.

The thoughts that sprinted through his head—no, bulleted through his head like a silver-liner rail car—started with
what the hell is Oscar doing here
? He hoped to god if it was about the murder attempt and smuggling operation that his old friend had information and not trouble. Next, he wondered why Oscar had come to Mabel’s, but then remembered she’d always been his neutral ground. Third, he wondered what the hell Grace knew, and finally, what were the pooch and Pixie doing here? Was this some Alice-through-the-looking-glass party? Had his drink at Dan’s house been laced with LSD and he was on some kind of rabbit-hole trip to Wonderland?

The Pixie and Mabel at least looked like they were enjoying the tableau. What had his life come to but a series of mini-dramas, coincidentally, since he’d met Grace Rogers? He looked back at her and gave her a wan smile. She looked expectant and he knew how she felt. But since no one else was stepping up, it looked like it was up to him to run the show.

“Naturally. This is exactly the cast of characters I would have expected to round out a rather interesting evening.” He looked around at them. They all seemed to breathe easier. He turned to Oscar.

“It’s been a long while.” He stretched out his hand and was pulled in by the man who only topped him by an inch but outweighed him by eighty pounds. Nothing had changed, he thought, as his old friend pounded his back in the age-old men’s expression of affection.

“I’ll forgive you for not looking me up sooner,” Oscar said. “You look well. As expected. Why else would my girl Grace even look at you?”

“
Your
girl?” David now knew the real meaning of the word dumbfounded.

“Pretty possessive for a guy who just ditched a girl, aren’t you?” Oscar walked farther into the room with a gesture for the rest of them to follow.

“I’m sure David is surprised that I was ever ‘your girl’ since I never mentioned you to him. I never thought there would be a reason to mention you. I didn’t realize how wrong I was. Boyhood friends?” Grace looked from him to Oscar and back again. How could he interpret that look as an accusation when it was more likely the same dumbfounded experience he was having, only layered with hurt? His gut rolled at the knowledge that he caused that hurt.

“I suppose this would be a good time for me to play hostess and get us all some drinks,” Mabel said. She took Pixie by the arm to drag her from the room.

“Normally I wouldn’t mind helping, Mabel, but you can’t possibly expect me to miss this?” Pixie said.

Mabel laughed, stuck her head out the parlor door into the hallway and whistled for her maid.

“I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink about now. Let’s have a seat,” David said.

Oscar sat on the love seat since the small chair wasn’t big enough for him. The Pixie took the small chair and plopped Noodles in her lap. Grace sat back down on the couch at the end nearest Oscar. David still stood. Even the dog looked at him with expectation. He sat on the couch next to Grace. It was bold, but he couldn’t resist the urge to undo any hurt he could and put the twinkle back in her eyes. If they’d ever actually had a romantic liaison, imagine what a real break-up would be like.