P. Parrish - Paint It Black

“What are the names of these places?” Louis asked.

“You can’t miss them,” Roberta said. “There’s a string of them on a little street called Queenie Avenue. But they don’t get going till after eleven. Anyone who works late there will know him.”

Her voice had gone flat, her gaze vacant. The long ash from her cigarette fell to the rug. She didn’t seem to notice it.

Louis spotted a framed photo on the television and went to it. It was a photograph of Roberta and Walter. It had been taken on a cruise ship and they were in formal wear. They were smiling like prom-goers.

“Can I take this, to show around?” he asked.

Roberta looked up at him. It took a moment for her to focus on the frame. Then she rose suddenly and disappeared into another room. She came back and thrust something at Louis.

“You take this instead,” she said.

It was a snapshot of Walter, taken at a Christmas party. Walter was smiling and wearing a Santa hat. His face was blurry.

“Mrs. Tatum-” Louis began.

She snatched the frame from Louis and set it back on the television. “You use that one,” she said, nodding at the snapshot.

Louis motioned to Emily and she headed toward the door. Roberta followed them. As they reached the door, Roberta grabbed Louis’s arm. He turned, but Roberta waited until Emily had walked toward the car before she spoke.

“Don’t let them fuck around on this,” she said. “Make them understand Walter is important. Walter is important, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Mrs. Tatum,” he said.

Roberta let go and Louis stepped out, letting the screen slap shut behind him.

Emily was standing at the squad car, waiting. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees with the coming rain and she was hugging herself, as if cold.

Louis glanced at his watch. “It’s only five o’clock. No point in going to Queenie Boulevard until later tonight. We might as well go back to the station. Or do you want me to drop you off at the inn?”

Emily was looking at something across the street and didn’t answer.

“Farentino?”

Her head snapped back to Louis. “What?”

“I was asking you if you wanted me to drop you off at the inn.”

“No.” She hesitated. “Could we go get some dinner maybe?”

There was something in her voice that caught him off guard. She wasn’t coming on to him; there wasn’t even a hint of that kind of vibration. But she wanted something. Maybe she just didn’t want to be alone. Shit. He kept forgetting that when he went home to the Dodies’ cheerful company each night, she was stuck alone in a mildewed hotel room.

“I could use a burger or something,” Louis said. “Come on, I know a good place.”

The clouds chased them over the Sereno causeway and onto the mainland. But the rain still had not made its appearance by the time Louis stopped to pay the toll at the Captiva causeway.

Emily had been quiet during the drive, and now she had closed her eyes. Louis let her doze and drove on. When he finally pulled into a parking lot and cut the engine, she stirred and looked around.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Captiva,” Louis said. “The Mucky Duck.”

She nodded slowly. “Oh, right. Burgers.”

They got out and started up to the restaurant. Louis pulled on the door but it was locked. He saw someone inside and knocked on the glass. The waiter looked up and then pointed to his wrist, mouthing the words “half hour.”

“I forgot. They don’t start serving until five-thirty,” Louis said. “You want to wait or go somewhere else?”

Emily was looking at the beach. “Isn’t this where he dumped the homeless man?” she asked.

Louis nodded. “Near here.”

“Show me,” Emily said.

He led the way through the sea oats and down the sandy slope. They walked the hundred yards or so to where the body had been found. The gulf water was churning gray-green, and the beach was deserted except for two elderly women walking in the surf with a bounding Irish setter.

Emily stood staring at the spot where the body had lain. Louis watched as her eyes traveled up toward the sea oats dancing in the wind.

“We think the beating and stabbing took place up there and then he was dragged down here,” Louis said.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. She walked slowly up to the sea oats. They came up nearly to her waist. She stood there, arms wrapped around herself, staring down at the sand. The sound of the setter’s barking carried on the wind.

Louis went up to her. “Farentino,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Look, if it’s something Dan-”

She shook her head quickly. “No, it’s not Wainwright.”

“Then what?”

She was looking now at the elderly women and their dog.

“I was thinking about the homeless man and wondering if anyone is missing him,” she said.

Louis said nothing.

“He had to have someone, somewhere,” Emily said.

The wind gusted, sending the sand swirling around them. Emily’s slight body swayed with the sea oats.

“Someone is missing him,” she said.

Her voice was soft, but without emotion somehow. Louis couldn’t read it or her face. Was she talking as a cop or a woman? It was the closest she had come to saying anything personal. If, in fact, that was what she was even doing. For a second he considered trying to say something comforting. But for what? Did she even need it? Shit, she’d probably take his head off if he tried. Christ. He had come to appreciate the way her mind worked, but anything more than that would be like trying to cozy up to a porcupine.

“Let’s go back,” she said suddenly.

She started back up the beach toward the restaurant. Louis followed.

When they got back to the Mucky Duck, they still had ten minutes to spare. Emily retrieved her neon-green rain slicker from the car and they sat on a picnic table of the restaurant’s patio. Emily was quiet, hunched down in the slicker like a bird, looking out at the gulf. Whatever the reason, she still didn’t seem inclined to talk.

“This is ridiculous,” Louis said finally.

“What is?”

“Eating at five-thirty,” Louis said. “That’s what blue hairs do. Next thing you know, I’ll be wearing boxers.”

Emily’s lips tipped up. “So you’re a briefs man?”

“None of your business, Farentino.”

She shrugged. “You’re the one who got personal, Kincaid.”

They were quiet again.

“Back there with Roberta,” Louis said. “You were good with her, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“That thing you said about your parents. It worked.”

She turned to face him. “It’s true,” she said.

The challenge in her voice caught him off guard. He just stared at her.

“You think I made it up to get her to talk?” she asked.

“What? Hell no,” Louis said quickly, his own anger sparking. “Jesus, Farentino. .”

She turned away. A car pulled in behind them, a door opened and closed. The restaurant was open.

“So, you still want to eat or not?” Louis said.

“In a minute,” she said quietly.

The wind was getting almost cold now. Louis burrowed down into his windbreaker. The sky was slate gray, with a smudge of pink faint on the horizon. It looked as bleak as a Michigan sky. So much for seeing another one of those great Florida beach sunsets Dodie was always yakking about it.

“Look, Kincaid,” Emily said, “I’m sorry.”

He stifled a sigh.

“What Roberta said about twenty years counting for something. That made me think about my parents, that’s all.” Emily paused. “And I haven’t done that in a while.”