Laura Lippman - Another Thing to Fall

Instead, Alicia had used it. It seemed as if an eternity passed in that split second while she waited for the front door to buzz Friday night – could they have changed it, after all? – but once in the building, it couldn’t have been simpler to set off the homemade smoke bomb, then hide in a ladies’ room on the first floor. She had stayed there, in fact, until almost two in the morning, which had been unnerving. And wouldn’t it have been a bitch if Lottie had remembered to lock the office door after all that?

But, of course, Lottie didn’t. Because Lottie would have thought it through, even as she fled, and worried that firefighters would break the door down if she locked it. Careful Lottie, prudent Lottie, always two steps ahead of everyone. It had been a bonus, getting one over on Lottie with that smoke bomb, tricking her to leave the office with the door unlocked. Okay, Lottie had been in the right to fire Alicia, but she couldn’t possibly have known that at the time. No one could prove that Alicia had given those things to Wilbur Grace. God, imagine what Lottie would have done if she had figured out that Alicia had sold him the things he wanted. But all they had were Greer’s meticulous telephone logs, showing that he had called for Alicia several times. They could prove the connection, nothing more. It was easier, in the end, to cop to being naïve, instead of admitting to being greedy.

She felt a pang for Greer, strange to say, even though she had sacrificed Alicia so willingly, screwed her the first chance she got. Two local girls from similar backgrounds – they should have been friends, not competitors. They had their moments of solidarity, laughing behind Lottie’s – or Ben’s or Flip’s – back. You couldn’t work next to someone, day in and day out, and not feel something . Poor, stupid Greer, who thought she was the winner because she got Alicia’s shit job, only to be killed by her crazy-jealous boyfriend. At least she had a boyfriend. Alicia was in a two-year dating slump, although that was in part because she couldn’t respect anyone who was attracted to the current Alicia, the loser at the video store. She wondered if she might find someone to her liking, once she was rich. She wondered if she could ever know if a man loved her for herself, or her money.

She decided that was a dilemma she could tolerate.

“Tess.”

Her name surprised her out of sleep, and she realized that part of the reason was that Lloyd so seldom used her name. But here he was, standing at her bedside, whispering her name, which seemed counterproductive. He either wanted her to wake up or not, she thought crankily, glancing at her clock. Almost 1 A.M.

“What?”

“Tess, I fucked up awful bad. Awful bad. I broke something.”

She struggled to a sitting position. “Lloyd, I know I always said I would kill you if you broke one of my commemorative plates, but I was kidding.”

“No, I broke something at the office, and I thought I could fix it, and no one would have to know, but I can’t – and, oh shit, they’re going to fire me, Tess, and it’s all my fault, but I don’t know what to do.”

She followed him groggily to the kitchen, aware that Lloyd must believe himself to be in dire straits if he was coming to her for help. His inclination had always been to bluff his way through.

There on the table were the contents of Crow’s toolbox, a tube of superglue – and an Emmy. Tess rubbed her eyes. The Emmy was still there, although it looked intact to her eyes – the globe aloft in the woman’s upraised arms, both pointy wings still capable of putting someone’s eyes out.

“Is that Flip’s?”

Lloyd nodded. “I… broke it. I didn’t mean to, but I was in his office and I just couldn’t help myself. I picked it up and then I heard someone coming, or thought I did, and I kinda dropped it and this band popped off, the one with his name attached.”

“And you brought it home?” That error in judgment struck Tess as potentially more problematic than dropping the thing. “If the band popped off, I’m sure someone can put it back on. Someone had to put it on in the first place, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t get the band back on with the piece of paper folded up inside, the way it was.”

“Piece of… paper?” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“Don’t unfold it,” Lloyd said. “It’s like a piece of organic-ami.” She knew he meant origami. “If you unfold it, we’ll never get it back together. I think it’s the certificate or something.”

Ignoring Lloyd’s anxiety, Tess carefully unfolded the piece of paper. It was a photocopy, yellowed from age, but the creases seemed relatively new. It may be old, but it hadn’t been folded until recently.

But what was it? What did it signify? As far as Tess could tell, it was nothing more than a list, almost like something from an IQ test in which one was asked to explain the relationship between a series of items.

Small Catholic college- Small Catholic college (Catholic colleges traditionally have strong basketball programs.)

Priests – Priests (Priests tend to be found at Catholic colleges.)

Nuns – Nuns (Nuns are often found in proximity to priests.)

The two columns continued in this baffling vein – similarities conceded, but always with a duh-obvious rationalization. There was a handwritten note at the bottom, in a rather fussy hand:

This document was one of the key pieces of evidence presented in Zervitz v. Hollywood Pictures, where a judgment of a million dollars was awarded to the plaintiff. I am working on my own list but have been advised that I need the letter about which we spoke to proceed. Yours, Wilbur R. “Bob” Grace.

Tess examined the base of the Emmy. Perhaps the band had popped off with such ease because it had been removed recently and not replaced as it should be. What had Ben said about Greer? She loves to buff Flip’s Emmy. She just took it to a local jeweler to have it all shined up.

“You’re getting fingerprints on it,” Lloyd said frantically. “We need to fold it up and put it back the way it was, and I gotta get to the office before everyone else tomorrow, even Lottie.”

“I don’t think so,” Tess said. “In fact, I think you’ve done a good thing, finding this.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Possibly the MacMuffin.”

“MacGuffin,” Lloyd said.

While Tess often lamented the colliding spheres that had made her sometimes rowing coach and erstwhile employer into her uncle, there were advantages to having Tyner Gray in the family. After all, few other lawyers would manage to get the details on Zervitz v. Hollywood Pictures while she was on the water, her first rowing session since she collided with Hollywood a mere eight days ago. And fewer still would then meet at the boathouse to brief her – and not charge her a dime for any of it.

“You could have found most of what you needed to know from the Beacon-Light archives,” Tyner scolded her. It was his style to be perpetually disappointed in her, but Tess had come to realize it was how he expressed affection. “But I hunted down the judge and got an overview.”

“And?” Tess asked, hosing down her shell, taking care to avoid Tyner. She wouldn’t have minded splashing him, but the water was hell on his wheelchair.

“There was this Kevin Bacon movie, The Air Up There, about a basketball coach who goes to Africa to recruit players. Think what’s-his-name.”

“Manute Bol.” Tess had seen the impossibly tall, impossibly thin Sudanese native play for the Washington team years ago, so long ago it was still known as the Bullets. “Was that movie even successful?”