as minutes crept forward I became truly afraid to see him.
Marino picked us up when he said he would, and somewhere he had found a car wash open and had filled the tank with gas. We drove east along Monument Avenue into the district known as the Fan, where gracious mansions lined historic avenues and college students crowded old homes.
At the statue of Robert E. Lee, he cut over to Grace Street, where Ted Eddings had lived in a white Spanish duplex with a red Santa flag hanging over a wooden front porch with a swing. Bright yellow crime scene tape stretched from post to post in a morbid parody of Christmas wrapping, its bold black letters warning the curious not to come.
"Under the circumstances, I didn't want nobody inside, and I didn't know who else might have a key," Marino explained as he unlocked the front door. "What I don't need is some nosy landlord deciding he's going to check his friggin' inventory."
I did not see any sign of Wesley and was deciding he wasn't going to show up when I heard the throaty roar of his gray BMW. It parked on the side of the street, and I watched the radio antenna retract as he cut the engine.
"Doc, I'll wait for him if you want to go on in," Marino said to me.
"I need to talk to him." Lucy headed back down the steps.
"I'll be inside," I said and put on cotton gloves, as if Wesley were not someone I knew.
I entered Eddings' foyer and his presence instantly overwhelmed me everywhere I looked. I felt his meticulous personality in minimalist furniture, Indian rugs and polished floors, and his warmth in sunny yellow walls hung with bold monotype prints. Dust had formed a fine layer that was disturbed anywhere police might recently have been to open cabinets or drawers. Begonias, ficus, creeping fig and cyclamen seemed to be mourning the loss of their master, and I looked around for a watering can. Finding one in the laundry room, I filled it and began tending plants because I saw no point in allowing them to die. I did not hear Benton Wesley walk in.
"Kay?" His voice was quiet behind me.
I turned and he caught sorrow not meant for him.
"What are you doing?" He stared as I poured water into a pot.
"Exactly what it looks like."
He got quiet, his eyes on mine.
"I knew him, knew Ted," I said. "Not terribly well. But he was popular with my staff. He interviewed me many times and I respected ... Well . . . " My mind left the path.
Wesley was thin, which made his features seem even sharper, his hair by now completely white, although he wasn't much older than I. He did look tired, but everyone I knew looked tired, and what he did not look was separated. He did not look miserable to be away from his wife or from me.
"Pete told me about your cars," he said.
"Pretty unbelievable," I said as I poured.
"And the detective. What's his name? Roche? I've got to talk to his chief anyway. We're playing telephone tag, but when we hook up, I'll say something."
"I don't need you to do that."
"I certainly don't mind," he said.
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Fine." He raised his hands in a small surrender and looked around the room. "He had money and was gone a lot," he said.
"Someone took care of his plants," I replied.
"How often?" He looked at them.
"Non-blooming plants, at least once a week, the rest, every other day, depending on how warm it gets in here."
"So these haven't been watered for a week?"
"Or longer," I said.
By now, Lucy and Marino had entered the duplex and gone down the hall.
"I want to check the kitchen," I added as I set down the can.
"Good idea."
It was small and looked like it had not been renovated since the sixties, Inside cupboards I found old cook-ware and dozens of canned goods like tuna fish and soup, and snack foods like pretzels. As for what Eddings had kept in his refrigerator, that was mostly beer. But I was interested in a single bottle of Louis Roederer Crystal Champagne tied in a big red bow.
"Find something?" Wesley was looking under the sink.
"Maybe." I
Marino picked us up when he said he would, and somewhere he had found a car wash open and had filled the tank with gas. We drove east along Monument Avenue into the district known as the Fan, where gracious mansions lined historic avenues and college students crowded old homes.
At the statue of Robert E. Lee, he cut over to Grace Street, where Ted Eddings had lived in a white Spanish duplex with a red Santa flag hanging over a wooden front porch with a swing. Bright yellow crime scene tape stretched from post to post in a morbid parody of Christmas wrapping, its bold black letters warning the curious not to come.
"Under the circumstances, I didn't want nobody inside, and I didn't know who else might have a key," Marino explained as he unlocked the front door. "What I don't need is some nosy landlord deciding he's going to check his friggin' inventory."
I did not see any sign of Wesley and was deciding he wasn't going to show up when I heard the throaty roar of his gray BMW. It parked on the side of the street, and I watched the radio antenna retract as he cut the engine.
"Doc, I'll wait for him if you want to go on in," Marino said to me.
"I need to talk to him." Lucy headed back down the steps.
"I'll be inside," I said and put on cotton gloves, as if Wesley were not someone I knew.
I entered Eddings' foyer and his presence instantly overwhelmed me everywhere I looked. I felt his meticulous personality in minimalist furniture, Indian rugs and polished floors, and his warmth in sunny yellow walls hung with bold monotype prints. Dust had formed a fine layer that was disturbed anywhere police might recently have been to open cabinets or drawers. Begonias, ficus, creeping fig and cyclamen seemed to be mourning the loss of their master, and I looked around for a watering can. Finding one in the laundry room, I filled it and began tending plants because I saw no point in allowing them to die. I did not hear Benton Wesley walk in.
"Kay?" His voice was quiet behind me.
I turned and he caught sorrow not meant for him.
"What are you doing?" He stared as I poured water into a pot.
"Exactly what it looks like."
He got quiet, his eyes on mine.
"I knew him, knew Ted," I said. "Not terribly well. But he was popular with my staff. He interviewed me many times and I respected ... Well . . . " My mind left the path.
Wesley was thin, which made his features seem even sharper, his hair by now completely white, although he wasn't much older than I. He did look tired, but everyone I knew looked tired, and what he did not look was separated. He did not look miserable to be away from his wife or from me.
"Pete told me about your cars," he said.
"Pretty unbelievable," I said as I poured.
"And the detective. What's his name? Roche? I've got to talk to his chief anyway. We're playing telephone tag, but when we hook up, I'll say something."
"I don't need you to do that."
"I certainly don't mind," he said.
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Fine." He raised his hands in a small surrender and looked around the room. "He had money and was gone a lot," he said.
"Someone took care of his plants," I replied.
"How often?" He looked at them.
"Non-blooming plants, at least once a week, the rest, every other day, depending on how warm it gets in here."
"So these haven't been watered for a week?"
"Or longer," I said.
By now, Lucy and Marino had entered the duplex and gone down the hall.
"I want to check the kitchen," I added as I set down the can.
"Good idea."
It was small and looked like it had not been renovated since the sixties, Inside cupboards I found old cook-ware and dozens of canned goods like tuna fish and soup, and snack foods like pretzels. As for what Eddings had kept in his refrigerator, that was mostly beer. But I was interested in a single bottle of Louis Roederer Crystal Champagne tied in a big red bow.
"Find something?" Wesley was looking under the sink.
"Maybe." I
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