Unleashed (A Sydney Rye Novel, # 1) (12 page)

“I have nothing left to live for,” he cried back.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Julen let out a highly dramatic wail. My friend of few words held up a key. “Skeleton,” he said.

“Sweet.” Inside, I found Julen huddled in the corner of a very small employee lounge. When he saw me, he scrambled to his feet.

“Leave me alone. I want to be alone,” he said wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“Then you shouldn’t have shown up for work. You need to pull yourself together and get back out there.”

“But they have accused my one true love. The only woman I have ever or will ever care for.” He fell back against the wall and slid down it with a moan.

“Julen, you are going to lose your job,” I said. My skeleton-key-holding friend nodded behind me vigorously. Julen covered his face with his hands. “Locking yourself away in an employee lounge is not going to help her,” I said.

“You are right,” Julen said looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I must help her.” He paused and stared down at the floor. “I will confess,” he said in a small voice. “Yes,” he said louder. “I will go to the police and tell them.” As he started to stand up, he said, “I’ll tell them that it was me. I wanted him dead.”

“Julen, that is a really bad idea,” I said. More vigorous nodding from the maintenance man. “The police will not believe you, and it will only make her look more guilty.”

Ignoring me, Julen started for the door. My new friend and I blocked his path. “Let me out,” Julen demanded.

“You are acting totally insane,” I said.

“Loco,” added the other man.

“First you tell me that I cannot stay in here, and now you tell me I cannot leave. What do you want from me?” He turned back into the lounge and threw his hands in the air.

“Where was Jacquelyn when her husband was killed?"

The question caught him off guard. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Because I want to help her.”

“Why? Why do you want to help her?” I didn't have a ready answer. I hadn't even known that I wanted to help her until I said it. Why did I want to help a woman who very well could be guilty? Was, in fact, more than likely guilty?

“I don’t know, but I do. Do you know where she was?”

“She was with me.” He hung his head in either exhaustion or shame or maybe both.

“Where?”

“At my house, in Queens. I already told the police this. But, of course, they don’t believe me.”

“Did anyone see you two together?”

“No, we were very careful. Careful.” He laughed a mirthless laugh and sat down, more like collapsed, onto a small, battered loveseat. “Nothing matters now…now that I have lost her.”

“What do you mean, lost her?”

“She ended it with me.” His eyes filled with tears.

“She dumped you?”

“Yesterday was my day off, and I wanted to spend it with her. She told me—” A lump rose in his throat and cut off communication. “She told me that she didn’t want to see me anymore, that she didn’t love me, that she never had.” A tear ran down his smooth cheek. I realized how young he was. No more than 20.

“I’m sorry, Julen.” He let his head fall into his hands again. Soft sobbing rocked his frame. “Why are you so desperate to help her if she has hurt you so much?"

His head sprang up. “Just because she no longer loves me does not mean that I will abandon her.” All of our heads turned at the sound of the revolving door.

“Julen, get out there,” I whispered sharply. He jumped up and hurried into the lobby, wiping his face with his sleeve. I closed the lounge door most of the way.

“Hello, Julen.” It was Detective Mulberry. All I could see was the back of Julen. “I just have a couple more things to clear up with you.”

“Of course, Detective, but I am working now. Could we talk later?”

“I think we should talk now.” The door revolved again. “I think you should come for a chat at the station.”

“Sir, I could lose my job.”

“Come on, let’s go.” I heard the sound of two men wearing hard-soled shoes walk toward Julen. A hand wrapped itself around Julen’s arm and moved him. I was suddenly facing the Detective. Ducking behind the door, I hoped he hadn’t seen me. I heard the door revolve several more times, then silence. The maintenance man sharing my hiding place shook his head and clucked his tongue against his teeth.

I nodded. I waited a couple of seconds, holding my breath, listening. When I was sure the lobby was empty, I walked out of the lounge. Mulberry was waiting for me. He smiled, enjoying the mix of fear and surprise on my face.

“What are you doing here?”

“None of your business.” It was his turn to be surprised. I walked past him toward the elevators.

“I asked you a question.” Mulberry ran a couple of steps to catch up.

“And I gave you an answer.” I pushed the up button and prayed for the doors to open.

“I’ll ask you again. What you are doing here?"

The doors opened and I saw myself reflected in the mirrored walls of the elevator as I said,

“None of your business.”

I stepped inside.

“Don’t push it, Miss Humbolt.”

I turned to face him, then pushed the button for the Sapersteins' floor. The detective didn’t try to stop the doors from closing, nor did he take his eyes off mine.

A Fight

A short, plump, clean-faced woman opened Jacquelyn Saperstein’s door.

“Hi, I’m—”

“Who is it?” came a voice from inside; it was strong with an accent born out of shit loads of money. The woman in front of me winced.

“Hi, I’m Joy, the dog-walker.” I held my hand out to the woman in front of me. Tentatively, she laid her soft hand in mine. I squeezed and shook. She watched. I let go and her hand slipped out of my grip and back down to her side.

“I’m Cecelia.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. She didn’t respond. “I know this is a difficult time and—” A rail-like woman, her face encased in cosmetics, brushed Cecelia aside and started talking over me.

“You must be the dog-walker. Cecelia, why do you have her standing in the doorway? Please excuse my sister. She forgets herself,” the woman said, looking at a point above my head. Cecelia melted away from the door and onto the couch in the living room with her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in front of her.

“That’s alright. As I was saying to your sister, this is—”

“Come inside,” she said, cutting me off again. She closed the door behind me. “There is no reason for us all to be standing around like a bunch of idle ninnies,” she said in the direction of her sister, who flinched.

Snaffles was in the kitchen. He was awake, but he looked much older. His snout sported gray hairs, and he walked with the air of an animal that had lived too long, dragging his left back leg and wheezing with each labored step. “What happened to Snaffles?” I asked the thin sister.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You just have to walk him. I think just about anyone could handle that responsibility.” She lit up a very long, white cigarette and looked down her sharp nose at me. “I mean, even a trained monkey can walk a dog.” She laughed at her own joke, and gray smoke plumed past her perfectly white capped teeth and into the air.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mrs. Point.”

“I understand that this is a hard time for your family, but there is no reason to talk to me like that.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She blew a long stream of smoke in my direction.

“I just want to know if Snaffles is ill.”

“Just shut up and walk the dog.” She started to leave the room.

“Excuse me?” I said.

She whirled around and glared at me. “Who do you think you are? You are my employee, and you will do as I say.”

“I'm not your employee, and I feel bad for anyone who is.”

“Then I guess you will find other employment.”

“I guess I already have it.” I started to leave but couldn’t help myself. “This was a young and healthy dog only days ago, and now he looks like he is in death’s doorway. I asked what happened to him, because I care about the well-being of the animal— something any person would do. Perhaps even a trained monkey would have the heart to find out what happened to a defenseless creature.” Mrs. Point looked down at me, her cigarette gripped tightly between long, claw-like fingers.

“How dare you speak to me this way,” she sputtered. “Get out.” She stamped out her cigarette into an ashtray and pointed to the door. Cecelia walked into the kitchen.

“What’s going on here?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

“I fired the dog-walker.”

“Mildred, we need someone to walk the dog,” Cecelia said.

“Do you think she is the only dog-walker in New York City? Now get out,” she said to me.

“No,” Cecelia said. Her hands balled into fists at her side. “You stay right where you are.”

Oh Jesus, I thought, these bitches are crazy.

“Mildred,” Cecelia started, “this young woman is right. You’re heartless.”

Mildred’s jaw dropped, but she picked herself up quickly. “Where would you all be without Harold and our money? Where?” Mildred almost screeched.

“Maybe we would be happy. Maybe we would all get along,” Cecelia said, her words harder than her voice.

“You live in a fucking fairy tale, Cecelia, and I’m sick of looking after you.” She lit another one of her long cigarettes, leaning against the kitchen counter, positive she would win this one.

“Sick of looking after me? Who was there when you got kicked out of Elexer? Who convinced father not to throw you out of the house?” Cecelia’s face flushed pink.

“That’s ancient history. I’ve been saving your ass for years.”

“You are an embarrassment. The way you treat people is horrific and disgusting.” Cecelia took a step into the room. She was looking up at her sister with eyes as hot as the ember at the tip of Mildred’s cigarette.

“Whatever, Cecelia, I don’t need this shit from you or anybody else.” Mildred stormed past her sister. I heard the front door slam behind her. Cecelia stood in the kitchen doorway.

“I'm sorry you had to see that.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and wiped at her eyes. “She is the youngest, you know. They are always—well, never mind.”

“Would you like me to walk Snaffles for you?”

“Very much so. I’m going to lie down for a nap.”

I put Snaffles’ leash on. He looked up at me with unfocused eyes. Outside, he peed on the closest tree, then sat. “Come on, boy,” I said in a high, happy tone. He stood up and followed me around the block, wheezing and panting. After only 20 minutes of exercise, I took him home.

The house was quiet. I put Snaffles in the kitchen. He slumped onto his bed and began snoring softly. I took a moment to thank a God I don’t believe in for my brother and his kindness, then let myself out of the apartment, locking the door behind me.

I headed over to Eighty-Eight East End Avenue to find George Chamers who, according to Philip, had some information about the morning of the murder. The lobby of Eighty-Eight East End seemed vaguely familiar, like something out of a dream. I walked up to the block of marble that served as the front desk and asked a white-haired, deeply lined man if George Chamers was around.

“Well, now, I’ll have to check.” He brought out a large binder from under the desk filled with phone numbers, which he muttered over. “Here it is.” He dialed, checking the binder several times. “Hello, Chamers? Is that you? Oh, Wilson,” he laughed. “Yes, you two do sound alike. Listen, Wilson, I have a lovely young lady up here”—he smiled at me, I smiled back—“who wants to speak to Chamers.” He listened for a moment. “Uh-huh, I see. OK. Thank you.” He hung up. “Sorry dear, but he is not in today. Tomorrow he goes on at 8 a.m.”

“Thanks. I’ll come back.”

“You’re welcome.” As I turned to leave, I noticed a paisley couch and realized I was in the lobby that Declan had brought me to. I tried to take a step, but my foot didn’t want to listen to me. The room whirled. The paisley was everywhere. The marble looked cold and foreboding and was getting closer. I hit the ground hard. I stayed there.

The Type to Faint

When I woke up I was back on that paisley couch, and the white-haired man was leaning over me, his brow wrinkled. A woman dressed all in black with burgundy lipstick watched me from over his shoulder. “An ambulance is on the way,” her lips told me.

“I don’t want an ambulance.” She looked surprised. “I’m fine. I just, I don’t know, but I don’t need an ambulance.”

“But you had a spell. You should go to the hospital to find out what’s wrong with you.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital.” I sat up and felt my brain swimming inside my cranium. It felt light and delicate. “I’m fine. I just need to go home.” I stood up. My feet felt very far away. I put my arms out to steady myself. The woman touched my elbow. I pulled away from her and fell back onto the couch. I tried to get up again, but the white-haired man put a hand on my shoulder and told me to wait. “Wait for what?” I asked stupidly. He was nice enough to just smile at me.