"No."
"You got a boyfriend?"
"Nope." She thought about that for a moment while she sipped her drink.
"You know, I thought when I got married everything would be wonderful." She released a snort of a laugh. "And now he's dead, and I don't know why. And now Julen wants to marry me. He thinks this was fate." She laughed again. It was hollow and a little frightening.
"Julen?"
"The man I'm having…had…what tense should that be in?"
"You mean the man you had the affair with."
"Yes, but what tense should it be with?"
"I don't know."
"Me neither. Strange all the things you realize you don't know when your husband has been murdered." She refilled her glass again. "Julen wants us to run away together." She spilled more Scotch, this time down her shirt. She didn't notice.
"Hmm."
"Hmm is right, honey." She leaned toward me. The smell of Scotch was overwhelming. "He's the doorman," she said in a harsh whisper.
"Wow."
"He's Latin."
"Wow, a Latin lover."
She giggled. "I like you. You're nice."
"Thanks." Snaffles began to whine.
"That damn dog. He used that dog against me. He used him as an excuse to go to her house. That whore, that home-wrecking whore. Stupid dog." Her eyelids drooped.
"Do you think maybe you should lie down?"
Her glazed eyes met mine. They brimmed with tears and what looked a lot like sorrow.
"Sure. I'll lie down."
I helped her to the bedroom and laid her on her side.
"I'll walk Snaffles and then I'll be back," I told her, but she was already asleep.
When I returned Snaffles 45 minutes later, Mrs. Saperstein was still sleeping soundly. When I came back at seven to give Snaffles his evening walk, the apartment was dark and I could hear her snoring in the bedroom. I peeked in at her. The room was bathed in twilight, and she was lying on her back with her bleached-blond hair spread out on the pillow. Her jaw was slack, her arms flung wide at her sides. I felt a pang of sympathy for her. She was a widow now, a drunk, passed-out widow.
The doorbell rang. I jumped, and Mrs. Saperstein moaned, then turned over. I scurried quietly on tiptoes to the front door, and I looked through the peephole as the doorbell rang again. A handsome young Hispanic man in a blue and gray doorman's uniform stood outside with his hat in his hand. He looked nervously up and down the hallway, then reached for the bell again. I opened the door quickly, trying to stop him from waking Mrs. Saperstein. He took a step back when he saw me.
"Hi, I'm Joy, the Sapersteins' dog-walker," I said.
"Hello, I'm Julen, the doorman." He turned his hat in his hands and looked down the hall again.
"Can I help you with something?" He looked back at me, his eyes large, brown and tortured.
"I need to talk with Jacquelyn," he caught himself quickly, "Mrs. Saperstein."
"She's napping right now."
"Is she OK?" he asked.
"I believe so," I said.
"She is a very sensitive woman." He caught himself again and, realizing he had said too much, turned and headed back toward the elevator.
Drinks With James, Again
"This is just shocking," James said sitting across from me at the little table in his yard. Blue slept at our feet and Aurora was perched in the tree above us, pissed that Blue slept at our feet.
"Trust me, I know."
"I mean, you find a dead body, you know the guy, or at least his dog, then you find out the widow is having an affair, you meet the guy she is having the affair with."
"That sums it up." I sipped my mango margarita.
"Well, no, I forgot the part about you fucking Marcus. That was dumb." He shook his head at me.
"I know that," I said.
"Joy. I'm sorry. I can't imagine how you feel," he said, his tone softer now.
"I feel weird. Really, fucking weird." I stared into my half-empty glass, hoping to find a better word than weird. None came.
"It's awful," James said.
"I feel--"I was trying to make him understand something I didn't understand myself. "--my whole life has changed in the last week."
"Is there anything I can do?" James asked, refilling my glass.
"Besides that? No, I don't think so. I just need to put this behind me."
"That seems to be the only option."
I wondered if that was true.
"James?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm thinking something crazy here."
"I like crazy. What's up?"
"I've spent my whole life putting things behind me, right? I mean I've jumped from crappy job to crappy job, from crappy boyfriend to crappy boyfriend."
"The crappy part is true, but I don't know if that's putting things behind you so much as moving forward."
I cocked my head at him and wrinkled my brow.
"I would say it's more like standing still."
"I think you have made progress."
"My point is, maybe I shouldn't put this behind me. Maybe I should do something about this."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, but something. I mean this guy is dead."
"That's true."
"And I knew him."
"You knew his dog."
"And maybe I could do something to help him."
"He's dead."
"But what about--I don' know. I just don't think I can put this behind me." I stopped talking and sipped my drink, my brain buzzing.
"I say you solve the murder, bring the killer to justice, and save the day in general." James clinked his glass against mine and smiled.
I laughed. "Look, right now my life is picking up dog shit and drinking. That's about all I got going on." He nodded. "The point is I don't want to stand still anymore. I want to do something. Something real."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You know, like you. You do real stuff. And Hugh does real stuff."
"I create looks for TV advertising. I don't know if I would consider that real."
"But you do something. You contribute to society."
"What would those dogs do without you?"
"You're being sarcastic again."
"Look Joy, if you want to do something, then do it. You can do anything you put your mind to."
"I don't know if you could say anything cheesier if you tried."
"How about, I have faith in you." He smiled at me and I knew it was true. He did have faith in me. "And one day you, too, will have faith in you."
"I was wrong. You can get cheesier." But I was touched and felt loved. And as I finished off the last of my margarita, I felt that I could do anything I put my mind to.
Leaving in a Hurry
Oscar the cat met me at Charlene Miller's door and rubbed himself against my legs. I refilled his food and water dishes. Alone in the sink sat the glass Charlene had been drinking out of the last time I saw her.
"Is that strange?" I said to Oscar. He ignored me and concentrated on his food. Reaching into his bowl, he pulled out a piece of kibble with his paw, then another, followed by a third. He ate them off the floor, making loud crunching noises.
I wandered into her bedroom. It was a mess. The sheets and blankets were all twisted around. Clothing and shoes littered the floor. The bedside lamp was knocked over. I moved further into the room, careful not to touch anything. A book lay open on the floor next to a pot of moisturizer as if they had been pushed off her bedside table when the lamp fell. Small, dark-brown droplets fanned across the pillowcase. The apartment felt strangely still, and I suddenly wanted to leave.
Oscar took no notice of me on my way out. I closed and locked the door, then realized I was being silly. So she had left in a rush. That didn't mean anything. I was just being paranoid. She said she had business to take care of. It must have been urgent business. The cat could have knocked all that stuff off her nightstand. Was my r
oom at home in any better shape? My clothing and shoes were all over the place. But I still felt anxious. I stood outside her door wondering what to do when my cell phone rang. I jumped and then chastised myself for being so jumpy.
"Hello, this is Detective Mulberry."
"Hi."
"This is Joy Humbolt, correct?"
"Yes."
"And you are the same Joy Humbolt who found Joseph Saperstein's body, correct?"
"Yes." I thought about what a glaring coincidence it would be if there were another Joy Humbolt with my phone number who had not found the body of Joseph Saperstein.
"I would like you to come by the precinct so that we can have a conversation," the Detective continued.
"When?"
"As soon as possible. This is a murder investigation," he said.
I checked my watch, I didn't have time before my next walk, so I told him I could come by around eight that night or early the next morning. He made a sound like that wasn't good enough but said, "Tonight will be fine. I will see you around eight, correct?"
"Correct." He gave me directions to the precinct on 67th Street, then hung up without saying goodbye.
Detective Motherfucking Mulberry
"Look, I'm trying to tell you what I know but you keep twisting my words around. I know what I saw and I know--"
"There's no need for that tone of voice, Missy," Detective Mulberry told me with what I suspected was a smile on the edge of his lips. He looked like he was in his early forties. Crow's-feet radiated from his eyes, and deep lines around his mouth gave him a permanent frown. Mulberry took up most of the other side of the desk. He wasn't fat but wide. The guy looked like he was made of boulders.
"If you don't stop calling me Missy, I'm going to--" I could feel my face flushing red.
"You won't do anything. All you will do is answer my questions." I had been sitting across from this machine of a man for over an hour already, answering the same questions. His voice remained even. His green eyes held onto me. I was pretty sure he hadn't blinked since my arrival. I pushed my thumbnail into my palm, trying to calm down. "You said that you met Mrs. Saperstein for the first time yesterday, and yet you are her dog-walker. How is this possible?"
"I told you already. I just started this job. I got it from a woman named Charlene Miller. Mrs. Saperstein is the only client I've met. I walk people's dogs because they are at work. Hence, them not being home and me not meeting them." I rolled my eyes and threw my hands in the air to point out how obvious an observation this really was.
"Tell me again about this Charlene." The Detective looked down at a piece of paper in the center of his crowded desk.
"She was a friend of my friend Nona's friend, whose information I've given you. Charlene left town on business. I already gave you her address. What more do you want?"
"Mrs. Saperstein was distressed when you saw her, correct?" He didn't take his eyes off the paper under his face.
"Distressed and drunk," I told the top of his head, then stuck my tongue out at it.
"Did she mention her affair?" Mulberry made a quick mark with his pen and then looked up at me. I sucked my tongue back just in time.
"Yes. I already told you this."
"And do you know who she was having the affair with?"
"Yes."
"And could you tell me his name, please?"
"I already told you."
"Yes, and I want you to tell me again." No anger, just fact.
"Julen."
"And his occupation?"
"He is the doorman at her building." I felt like I might start crying.
"You know Mr. Saperstein was having an affair, too."
"Yes."
"And how did you come to know this?"
"Mrs. Saperstein told me." I shifted in my chair. It was old, wooden, and creaked with my movement.
"Why would she tell you that if you just met her?"
"I already told you she was drunk."
"Do you know the name of the woman that Mr. Saperstein was seeing?"
"No."
"Don't you find it strange that she would mention her own lover's name and not her husband's?" the Detective looked back down at the paper.
"I already told you she was wasted. She probably doesn't even remember our conversation."
"I guarantee you she does." He shuffled the paper around a little, then pulled out a pencil and erased something. I sighed loudly. Mulberry stopped erasing and asked:
"How long have you had this job?"
"Three days."
"An exciting three days." I wanted to hit him.
"That's not how I would describe them." He looked up at me, his face blank, and his eyes empty.
"Do you like excitement?"
"What?"
"Did you know Charlene Miller socially or professionally?"
"Seriously, I meet her 15 minutes before I took over the dog route. I would hardly recognize her on the street."
"She was a beautiful woman. Recognizable for sure."
"Oh yeah, did you know her?"
He sat back and cocked his head. "How long had you known Mr. Saperstein?" he asked.
"I told you I never met him."
"Yes, and I don't believe you."
"Well, it's the truth."
"Did it occur to you that if you are mixed up in this, you could be next?"
"Whoa, what the fuck are you talking about?" I jumped out of my chair and backed up toward the wall. "I'm not mixed up in shit, OK? I just walk dogs."
"Did Mrs. Saperstein seem like a jealous woman to you? Please, sit down."
"What?" I looked around the office. Its glass walls were covered by dirty white Venetian blinds. The institutional gray filing cabinets piled with manila folders seemed close, and getting closer.
"I asked that you please sit down."
"No," I put my hands out palms forward. "What are you talking about me being next? Are you just trying to scare me? Is that your thing? You like scaring young women." I was pressed up against the wall now, my weight bending the blinds, causing them to crackle and snap.
"Mrs. Saperstein was arrested for assaulting Mr. Saperstein not three months ago. Did you know that?" I had a flash of Mrs. Saperstein hurling a pot of something boiling at Mr. Saperstein, him ducking and the pot smashing onto the wall behind where his head had just been.
"Why don't you answer my question?"
"I think if you would sit down and think for a moment you might understand my point." I didn't sit down.
"I get your point. You're implying that Mrs. Saperstein killed her husband and is going to kill me next. But that's bullshit. I don't even know these people."
"I'm just letting you know that Mrs. Saperstein is not the woman you think she is."
"You have no idea what I think of her. You don't know anything about me."
"I know you have a short temper. You have proved that this evening."
"Yeah, well, I learned you're a dick." Fuck, I should not have said that. But the Detective just smiled and looked down at his paperwork.
"You are free to go, Ms. Humbolt. Get home safe."
I grabbed my bag off the chair and flew out of his office onto the street and into the subway. My adrenaline was pumping hard as I waited for the train. This guy was clearly insane. I mean, what kind of psycho implies that a woman you only just met is plotting your death? He obviously had no leads and was lashing out at whatever made a remote amount of sense according to his deluded understanding of the case. Then it occurred to me that I had forgotten to clean Oscar's litter. "Dammit," I said out loud. No one even glanced at me. The glassy stares of my fellow passengers continued to deny their surroundings. "Fuck," I said a little louder. Nothing. I love this city, I thought to myself as the train clacked and squealed me back to Brooklyn.
Back at Charlene's
I was running late when I got to Charlene's apartment the next day. Snowball had escaped the dog run through a hole in the fence and then evaded me by hiding
in a shrubbery. Oscar followed me into the bathroom where his litter was and meowed purposefully as I cleaned it out. "What, boy? You want more food or water?" He released a meow, arched his back, and puffed his tail. I rubbed his head. He took the pettings gladly and encouraged me by flopping onto his back. "I'd love to hang out and scratch your belly all day, but I've got to get back to work." He just purred with his eyes closed. When I stood up, Oscar's eyes opened, and he rolled back onto his paws.
I left the bathroom. He got under my feet, moving between my legs in a figure eight, purring, and tripping me. "Oscar, come on, I've got to go." He just rubbed himself against my leg, begging for a little more attention. "Poor guy, you must be lonely here all by yourself." He meowed in agreement. "Listen, buddy, I'll come back later, alright? I have to go now." I passed the open bedroom door and about ten steps later realized I was almost positive there had been a man in there. I stopped mid-stride, filled instantly with fear, the same kind I get at night when I'm alone, and I can't sleep, and I swear I hear something, or someone, creak outside my bedroom door. Oscar took my pause to mean that I wanted to pet him, so flopped onto his back, wiggling his belly and stretching his paw toward me.
My ears fought through the buzzing sound of my fear to hear. My brain told me to move toward the door--it screamed for me to walk out the door. But my ears didn't want the distraction. I held my breath and listened to the beating of my heart, Oscar's purr, and the undeniable sound of a footfall on the carpet behind me.
"Hello, Ms. Humbolt." I spun around. Detective Mulberry was standing in the hallway behind me, looking amused. He was shorter than I remembered, only about two inches taller than I, but he was stocky.
"What are you doing here?" I felt relieved, but adrenaline was still pumping through me. He pulled off a pair of white rubber gloves, the latex snapping in the air.
"Just looking into a lead."
"Have you gotten ahold of Charlene yet?"
"No, I have not." He shook his head looking at the inside-out gloves in his hands.
"Do you have a warrant to be here?"
His green eyes flashed yellow with anger. "Your little friend could be dead, and you want to know about a warrant." He moved down the hallway at me. I stood my ground, fighting against a powerful urge to flee. He stopped six inches from my face. "Do you understand the gravity of the situation here?" Intense green eyes was all I could think.