“Great. Now I’m scared.”
Pete put an arm around her.
‘You just let me handle this. Whatever it is.”
“Engine’s overheating.” Echo observed.
‘Yeah. Fucking traffic. Weekend, it’ll be like this until ten o’clock. Might as well get off, get something to eat.”
The cottage that had been lent to them for the weekend wasn’t impressive in the headlights of Peter’s car; it looked as if Frank Ringer’s uncle had built it on weekends using materials taken from various construction or demolition sites. Mismatched windows, missing clapboards, a stone chimney on one side that obviously was out of plumb; the place had all the eye appeal of a bad scab.
“Probably charming inside,” . Echo said, determined to be upbeat about a slow start to their intimate weekend.
Inside the small rooms smelled of mildew from a leaky roof. There were curbsides in Manhattan that were better furnished on trash pickup days.
“Guess it’s kind of like men only out here,” Pete said, not concealing his disbelief. “I’ll open a couple of windows.”
“Do you think we could clean it up some?” Echo said.
Peter took another look around.
“More like burn it down and start over.”
“It’s such a beautiful little cove.”
There was so much dismay in her face it started him laughing. He put an arm around her, guided her outside, and locked the door behind them.
“Live and learn,” he said.
“Your house or mine?” Echo said.
“Bayside’s closest.”
The O’Neill house in Bayside didn’t work out, either; overrun with relatives. At a few minutes past ten Echo unlocked the door of the Yorktown apartment where she lived with her mother and Aunt Julia, from her late father’s side of the family. She looked at Peter, sighed, kissed him.
Rosemay and Julia were playing Scrabble at the dining room table when Echo walked in with Peter. She had left her weekend luggage in the hall by her bedroom door.
“This is a grand surprise,” Rosemay said. “Echo, I thought you were stayin’ over in Queens.”
Echo cleared her throat and shrugged, letting Peter handle this one.
Pete said, “My uncle Dennis, from Philly? Blew into town with his six kids. Our house looks like a day camp. They been redoin’ the walls with grape jelly.” He bent over Rosemay, putting his arms around her.
“How’re you, Rosemay?”
Rosemay was wearing lounging pajamas and a green eyeshade. There were three support pillows in the chair she occupied, and one under her slippered feet.
“A little fatigued, I must say.”
Julia was a roly-poly woman who wore thick eyeglasses. “Spent most of the day writing,” she said of Rosemay. “Talk to your ma about eating, Echo.”
“Eat, mom. You promised.”
“I had my soft-boiled egg with some tea. It was, oh, about five o’clock, wasn’t it, Julia?”
“Soft-boiled eggs. Wants nought but her bit of egg.”
“They go down easy,” Rosemay said, massaging her throat. Words didn’t come easily, at least at this hour of the night. But for Rosemay sleep was elusive as well.
“All that cholesterol,” Peter chided.
Rosemay smiled. “Nothing to worry about. I already have one fatal disease.”
“None of that,” Peter said sternly.
“Go on, Petey. You say what is. At least my mind will be the last of me to go. Pull up some chairs, we’ll all play.”
The doorbell rang. Echo went to answer it.
Peter was arranging chairs around the table when he heard Echo unlock the door, then cry out.
“Peter!”
“Who is it, Echo?” Rosemay called, as Peter backtracked through the front room to the foyer. The door to the hall stood half open. Echo had backed away from the door and from the Woman in Black who was standing outside.
Peter took Echo by an elbow and flattened her against the wall behind the door, saying to the Woman in Black, “Excuse me, can I talk to you? I’m the police.”
The Woman in Black looked at him for a couple of seconds, then reached into her purse as Peter filled the doorspace.
“Don’t do that!”
The woman shook her head. She pulled something from her purse but Peter had a grip on her gloved wrist before her hand fully cleared. She raised her eyes to him but didn’t resist. There was a white business card between her thumb and forefinger.
Still holding onto her wrist, Peter took the card from her with his left hand. Glanced at it. He felt Echo at his back, looking at the woman over his shoulder. The woman looked at Echo, looked back at Peter.
“What’s going on?” Echo said, as Rosemay called again.
Peter let go of the Woman in Black, turned and handed Echo the card.
“Echo! Peter!”
“Everything’s fine, mom,” Echo said, studying the writing on the card in the dim foyer light.
Peter said to the Woman in Black, “Sorry I got a little rough. I heard about that knife you carry, is all.”
This time it was Echo who moved Peter aside, opening the door wider.
“Peter, she can’t—”
“Talk. I know.” He didn’t take his eyes off the woman in black. “You’ve got another card, tells me who you are?”
She nodded, glanced at her purse. Peter said, “Yeah, okay.” This time the woman produced her calling card, which Echo took from her.
‘Your name’s Taja? Am I saying that right?”
The woman nodded formally.
“Taja what?”
She shrugged slightly, impatiently; as if it didn’t matter.
“So I guess you know who I am. What did you want to see me about? Would you like to come in?”
“Echo—” Peter objected.
But the woman shook her head and indicated her purse again. She made an open-palm gesture, hand extended to Echo, slow enough so Peter wouldn’t interpret it as hostile.
‘You have something for me?” Echo said, baffled.
Another nod from Taja. She looked appraisingly at Peter, then returned to her purse and withdrew a cream-colored envelope the size of a wedding announcement.
Peter said, “Echo tells me you’ve been following her places. What’s that about?”
Taja looked at the envelope in her hand as if it would answer all of their questions. Peter continued to size the woman up. She used cosmetics in almost theatrical quantities; that overload plus Botox, maybe, was enough to obscure any hint of age. She wore a flat-crowned hat and a long skirt with large fabric-covered buttons down one side. A scarlet puff of neckerchief was Taja’s only concession to color.
That, and the rose flush of her cheeks. Her eyes were almond-shaped, creaturely bold, intelligent. One thing about her, she didn’t blink very often, which enhanced a certain robotic effect.
Echo took the envelope. Her name, handwritten, was on it. She smiled uncertainly at Taja, who simply looked away—something dismissive in her lack of expression, Peter thought.
“Just a minute. I’d like to ask you—”
The Woman in Black paused on her way to the stairs.
Echo said, “Pete? It’s okay. Taja?”
Taja turned.
“I wanted to say—thank you. You know, for the subway, the other day?”
Taja, after a few moments, did something surprisingly out of character, considering her previous demeanor, the rigid formality. She responded to Echo with an emphatic thumbs-up before soundlessly disappearing down the stairs. Peter had the impression she’d enjoyed intimidating the cholo kid. Might have enjoyed herself even more if she’d used the knife on him.
Echo had a hand on his arm, sensing his desire to follow the Woman in Black.
“Let’s see what this is,” she said, of the envelope in her other hand.
“She looks Latin to me, what d’you think?” Peter said to Echo as they returned to the front room.
Rosemay and Julia began talking at the same time, wanting to know who was at the door. “Messenger,”
Peter said to them, and looked out the windows facing the street.
Echo, preoccupied, said, “You’re the detective.” She looked for a letter opener on Rosemay’s writing table.
“Jesus above,” Julia said. “Sounded like a ruckus. I was reachin’ for me heart pills.”
Peter saw the Woman in Black get into a waiting limousine.
“Travels first class, whoever she is.” He caught the license plate number as the limo pulled away, jotted it down on the inside of his left wrist with a ballpoint pen.
Rosemay and Julia were watching Echo as she slit the envelope open.
“What is it, dear, an invitation?”
“Looks like one.”
“Now, who’s getting married this time?” Julia said. “Seems like you’ve been to half a dozen weddings already this year.”
“No, it’s—” Echo’s throat seemed to close up on her. She sat down slowly on one of a pair of matched love seats.
“Good news or bad?” Peter said, adjusting the blinds over the window.
“My . . . God!”
“Echo!” Rosemay said, mildly alarmed by her expression.
“This is so . . . utterly . . . fantastic!”
Peter crossed the room and took the invitation from her.
“But why me?” Echo said.