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May 8 - May 10, 2021
He’d spoken in rapid-fire Spanish (or Portuguese, for all I knew) and I’d only picked up a handful of words.
But I can’t guarantee your safety going forward. You should walk away from me right now.”
But I only want to call her once. Let’s work through as much as we can and make a list of questions and tasks for her.” He scribbled in his little notebook, and I choked back a laugh.
“Sage. She’s an ... well, she used to be a forensic accountant. She’s a nanny now. But she has that very fastidious, precise accountant attitude. She’d totally save all her questions for one call.”
“Ah, I forgot. You’re a financial reporter. Of course you cross your Ts and dot your Is.”
I think Sage’s detail-oriented nature and love for mathematics and finance was her way of rebelling against our hippie upbringing.”
He typed in a Google search with his thumbs then swiped past the first several hits, grumbling about the bait-and-switch results that required a credit card to get the full report. I smiled to myself; I shared that pet peeve.
Thyme oil happens to be a natural sanitizer. There were no alcohol-based gels for the Field family. We made our own. From thyme grown right on our little seaside plot of land.
“Eles se foram.” A guttural voice, almost a growl. “Desaparecido,” came the reply. The disgust needed no translation.
This wasn’t the time for canoodling. “Were those guys speaking Portuguese?” His face darkened. “Yes.” “What did they say?” “They came here expecting to find us. The first guy said, ‘they’re gone.’ The other one said, ‘vanished.’ How did they know we were here? I don’t get it.”
circuitous
And just like that, we were off the grid. Or, as off the grid as one could be taking New York City public transportation to a hipster, boutique hotel in Brooklyn. I mean, sure, we weren’t exactly camping in a state forest and catching fish with our hands or anything. But without cell phones, we couldn’t order GrubHub or call for an Uber or anything. For two Manhattanites, our current situation was positively rustic. Primitive, even.
We covered the distance in just under ten minutes, heads down, walking fast. I knew we looked like two ordinary New Yorkers, always in a hurry as we strode along the street.
I felt disconnected, adrift, and anonymous as a result of the simple act of turning off my phone.
TripAdvisor had described the design as “open, airy post-industrial meets mid-century,” which apparently translated into lots of metal, glass, and wood. No fabrics. Backless chairs. And a dimly lit hotel bar.
Pretty cute? I suddenly felt all of ten years old. Why do guys think girls want to be described as pretty cute? I mean, I guess it beats smelly and humorless, but, jeez.
“So you’ve never dated a married woman?” He stared at me, his lips slightly parted. I pushed the button for our floor and said, “Oh, gosh, don’t answer that. I’m sorry, that was a really rude question. I used to do research into gender differences regarding monogamy. I asked all sorts of inappropriate, personal questions. Old habit,”
“Monogamy research, huh?” “Well, human behavioral psychology, but yeah.”
“There’s a checklist of common lying behaviors—physical and verbal telltale signs. I had to learn them in order to work as a research assistant in the psychology department. You exhibited, like, all of them. You’re a terrible liar.”
“She was pretty messed up when she got here from Rio. Being with Gabriel had done a real number on her self-esteem. She was depressed, thought she was worthless. I honestly believe Mia saved her life.” “Your sister was suicidal?” I asked gently.
Dear Victor, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. He’s never going to let me live in peace. There’s no other way out. I love you, Helena
“But, if Helena were going to write a private note to me, a note like that, she’d have written it in Portuguese, not English.”
“It could, but it could mean something else entirely. Read the note again,” he directed. I obliged. “Okay.” “What doesn’t it say?” “You mean what does it say?” “No, I mean what I said. What doesn’t it say?”
“It doesn’t say she’s going to kill herself. You see? But that’s where your mind went. And that’s also the conclusion the police will immediately jump to—especially, if they know about Mia.”
I don’t understand why she left the box. It was right next the note, actually. I don’t understand any of this. It’s like a puzzle she thought I could solve. But I can’t.”
after liberating the minibar of a bottle of middling wine, a can of cashews, and couple of fair trade, dark chocolate bars (the combined cost of which probably would have covered a better-than-good dinner out),
“But if we visit a funeral home, a florist, go through the motions of planning a funeral, maybe it’ll get back to him that she’s dead.”
“I’m not haranguing you,” she harangued.
Lecture, scold, rant—you can pick the verb. But can we do it later, please?”
I’m calling because I need your help.” I knew that would get her attention. As the oldest, Rosemary loved to be consulted. She thrived on fixing problems for me and Sage, dispensing advice, and generally being in charge of our lives.
I’m just speechless. I thought your sister here was the most reckless, idiotic woman alive
“But then, your other idiotic sister
and I thought, no, Sage takes the cake.”
“But, now, now I see that this is hereditary. As a result of some genetic defect, the Field women seem to think they are superheroes with crime-fighting ability.
I’m going to help you because there’s nothing I hate more than a bent police officer. Nothing.”
So we flagged down a cab and headed to a bone broth shop in the East Village to meet Dave’s friend, an officer assigned to the NYPD’s Movie/Television Unit. Yes, that’s really a thing—they’re both a thing, actually. The broth takeout place and the Movie/TV unit.
What was the story with these New York men and their pearly whites?
The Movie and Television Unit provides traffic control to productions being filmed in the city. We also oversee ‘crime scenes’ for shows like CSI and Law and Order. Think about it. It would be pretty horrifying for a citizen to wander into a scene where the actors have found a murdered body. We keep them back, just as we would from a real crime scene. And officers from the unit appear in crowd scenes where police officers are needed. We aren’t paid extra for that,” he hurried to explain. “It’s part of the job. But it’s better than having a bunch of folks running around the boroughs
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“As for Ryan Samson, I actually have my SAG card because when he needed someone to be his body double, that was outside the scope of my role with the unit. I was a paid actor in that scene.”
“It was the scene where he was racing to catch the L Train. He didn’t want to go down into the station. I guess he’s afraid of rats.”
I was well-acquainted with the nutritional benefits of stock made from the roasted bones. My mother had been a big believer. As a result, I was also well-acquainted with how easily (and inexpensively) I could make an enormous vat of the stuff at home. I might pay five bucks for an overpriced chai latte, but dropping a ten on broth? I was far too frugal for that nonsense.
“Helena, my sister, was married to a dirty cop—er, police officer—back home in Brazil. He abused her. She got away from him. I helped her get settled here and she filed for divorce. But she’s always been worried that he’d find her.”
“Yeah. Gabriel, her ex, he’s connected. He worked on a high-profile cross-border drug case with the federal DEA and some guys from NYPD Narcotics. I … I’m not sure who to trust.”
She puts her bra on backwards and then wriggles it around after it’s been fastened, just like everyone else.
“More like, I’m on my way with a reporter from the Times and an NYPD officer.” Maura gasped. I smiled to myself. The statement was one hundred percent true, but I knew that Maura would misinterpret it the way I’d intended and think something was going down that involved Whittier Media.
But let her know her help will be instrumental and will generate lots of good will from law enforcement and, more importantly, good press from The New York Times.” Victor caught my eye and quirked his mouth as if to say ‘Oh, really?’ I just smiled. For all Cate’s rah-rah new media cheerleading, she still craved legitimacy. And in her eyes, it didn’t get any more legit than the paper of record.
“No. Nein. Nyet. Am I speaking your language yet?” she asked.
It occurred to me that the workplace dynamics between colleagues in a high-stress environment like law enforcement would make for fertile research ground.
Then I laughed at myself. As if. The odds of my returning to my graduate program grew longer by the day.
All this worst-case bellyaching isn’t going to help. Worry doesn’t change anything. It was one of my father’s favorite sayings, only he put a dopey dad spin on it: Don’t borrow sorrow from tomorrow.
