Chapter Four
They met in the same spot on Wednesday afternoon at 4:30. Christine greeted Peter and then motioned to the girl beside her.
“This is Joanie,” she explained. Peter nodded hello. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Christine just had to bring a friend. She trusted Peter, yes – trusted her judgment of him just as she trusted her judgment that Sean from The Bachelor should have picked Lindsay instead of Catherine. On the other hand, she’d read enough to know that most people consider themselves a good judge of character, and they can’t all be right. Plus, serial killers are invariably described by their neighbors as nice and quiet. Peter was nice and quiet. Not that all nice and quiet people were serial killers. But Joanie would be her insurance policy. If Peter was some kind of weirdo, it would be highly unlikely that he’d try anything with another girl around.
It was always good to have Joanie around. She was the most adorable little thing. Christine herself was little and therefore often dubbed cute. That was annoying because she wanted to be gorgeous, not cute. She was just a shade over five feet tall, which was fine; it helped in gymnastics: lower center of gravity, lower weight. Joanie, though, was even more petite than she was. Christine had never asked, but judging by the fact that she could stand eye-to-eye with Joanie and actually be eye-to-hairline, she figured Joanie was about four foot ten. It was strange being taller than a friend. Everyone else was the taller friend to her. This made Christine feel at ease around Joanie, like she could fully be herself. And it made Joanie adorable.
Even more adorable than her size was Joanie’s little piggy nose. Maybe it was rude to say, except Joanie was the one who always did. She’d make comments like, “Man, my piggy nose is the worst today! Dang allergies!”
Most of all, Joanie was weirdly hilarious, utterly individual (she wore long skirts, tall combat boots and vintage rock tees, and she pulled her short blonde hair into a mini-ponytail that she dyed purple because it was her favorite color) and free and easy with her big smiles. You’d think those big smiles couldn’t fit her her little face, but somehow they did.
Joanie extended her hand to Peter, shook it grandly with a firm grasp, and then curtsied. “So you will teach the ways of the plain clothes detective?” she said to him.
“Joanie,” Christine said. “He’s teaching me, not you.”
“That’s what you think. If I’m here, and it sure looks as though I am, then he’s teaching both of us. I’m not gonna do this buddy thing blindfolded, ya know.” Christine rolled her eyes. “Never fear, Sherlock. I will be your Watson and allow you to solve the mystery, save the day and steal the glory.”
“I no detective,” Peter said. “Only custodian.”
“You’ll train me, though, right?” Christine said. “I mean, like you said, teach me to look, listen, and all that?”
“This I do, yes.”
“You’re our mentor,” Joanie declared.
Peter said: “Okay.”
“I always wanted a mentor,” she continued. “Though you’re not what I’d pictured. You look… unconventional.”
“Ah, yes.” He hung his head.
“In a good way!”
“What should we call you?” Christine said.
“Peter.”
“What’s your last name?” Joanie asked.
“Surname Zucenko. You call me Peter.”
“Can we call you Mr. Z.?”
“No. That not right.”
“Ooh, can we call you Mr. Miyagi?”
“No.”
“How about Yoda?”
“Oh, no, no.”
“Mr. Yoda?”
“What? Same difference!”
“Mr. Peter it is. What next? We need some kind of promise or contract. Make us promise to do whatever you say, no questions.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I promise anyway,” Christine said, feeling antsy. “So let’s start.”
“We both promise,” Joanie clarified. “Now, what’s our first lesson? We’re ready for wisdom.”
The training was simple. First Peter taught the girls to enter a room without hesitation. “If someone in room,” he said, “give smile, very small, then look some other way, keep moving. Busy, always busy. No stop, turn this way, that way. No. Go here, do. Go there, do. Always go and do. People see this, think you have job to do.”
So Christine and Joanie practiced taking turns entering a nearby classroom. One of them would be the enterer, the other would be the random person who was already in the room doing whatever. Peter stuffed himself into a desk and observed, hands folded, intensely focused.
“No good,” he would say. “You smile too big, they wonder.” Or: “You walk too fast. Fishy. They wonder.” Or: “Keep head more downer. You not boss.”
After that they practiced the stealthy opening of drawers. “Lift first, then slo-o-o-w pull.” Next they practiced distractions. There were two of these. One was to make a noise in the hallway. “Turn radio loud, in hall, around corner. Wait. When person come to complain, sneak in. Be fast!” The other was to make a mess. “Spill coffee by papers. They help. You say, I get paper towels. Instead you go look, listen, do what you need. Come back, say no more paper towels. But careful, this way not so good. Make people angry.”
Once he had okayed all of their practice rounds, Peter said, “Done. Go do, and be strong.”
“Thank you so much,” Christine said. “You are a life saver.”
“Indeed you may have saved a life today,” Joanie added in a mock serious voice that was not without a hint of sincerity.
On the way to the late bus, Christine whispered to Joanie conspiratorially, “Sorry I wasted your time. It was good for a laugh, though, right?”
“What you talking about? The man is a genius.”
“How? It works for him because he’s a janitor, Joanie. People expect someone like him to act like that.”
“Chill. It’s all good. You promised you’d do whatever Peter says. Go and do and be strong is what he said. Anyway, haven’t you learned anything at school? It’s all about applying what you’ve learned.”
“Hmm.” Christine thought she actually understood this. “Very wise, Dr. Watson.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”