Jan Burke - Remember Me, Irene

“Okay. I’ve just spelled the name of someone who might be able to help me out. You’re stalling?”

“Exactly.”

“Can we meet for lunch?” I asked.

“I don’t seem to be finding that one here, but perhaps you should try our main switchboard. Would you like for me to transfer you to the operator?”

“Whatever you need to do.”

“Please hold the line,” she said.

No choice but to wait and see what happened. There was a click, and then a new voice came on the line.

“Charlotte Brady,” a strained voice answered.

Allan Moffett’s secretary. Trying not to sound too surprised, I said, “Hello, Charlotte. It’s Irene Kelly.”

“Irene Kelly?”

I waited for her to snub me or to harangue me about calling her on what she probably thought of as one of the saddest days in Las Piernas history. Charlotte Brady was fiercely protective of her boss. Nineteen years as Moffett’s secretary had ingrained certain ideas about me into Charlotte’s loyal mind, most of which identified me under one heading: The Enemy.

“Irene Kelly…,” she said slowly, as if weighing my name on a scale.

“Uh, Charlotte, are you all right?”

“Am I all right?” she shouted. “Hell, no. What would make you think I would be all right?”

I was stunned into silence. Charlotte is usually so calm and controlled, you could say “Charlotte, your clothing is on fire,” and even as she did a drop and roll, she’d smile and reply that she couldn’t confirm or deny anything without Mr. Moffett’s say-so.

“Do you know what that son of a bitch said to me this morning?”

“No,” I said, not even sure she meant Moffett.

“He said, ‘Charlotte, you’ve been wonderful. Thanks for all you’ve done. I talked to Glen, and you can keep that desk set if you like.’”

“Mr. Moffett asked the mayor if you could keep the desk set?”

“Yes! I sat here for about thirty minutes, just…just in shock I suppose. But I got over that stage about an hour ago. Guess which stage I’m at now?”

“Well-”

“Anger. That’s where I’m at now. I’m the angriest I’ve ever been in my life. Wouldn’t you be?”

“I imagine I would.”

“Nineteen years of loyalty. Not one day out sick. Nineteen years of organizing that man’s life, putting up with his moods, serving him his morning coffee in a white china cup, addressing his Christmas cards for Godsakes! A desk set! Nineteen years, and his big damned favor to me is a desk set!” She drew in a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh, then laughed. “Well, Irene Kelly, after practically hanging up in your ear several times a month for the last ten years, let me ask- very sincerely -what can I do for you, my dear?”

“Perhaps you could tell me why he left?”

“Oh, he claims it’s because of his health.”

Those words made me think of Ben Watterson, and I felt a chill. “His health?”

“Oh, it’s not true. Not unless ‘skeletons in the closet’ can be called a bone disease.”

“What skeletons?”

“I’ll be honest. If I knew all the details, I’d be down there dictating them to you. All I know is that all hell broke loose after that man came in to see him.”

“Wait-what man?”

“I don’t know, but someone ought to give the guy a medal. I should have seen this coming when I saw how Allan treated his ex-wife.”

“Allan’s ex-wife has something to do with the man who came in to see him?”

“No, no, sorry. I meant, I should have seen how rotten Allan could be to women. But no, this man came in here yesterday, and I almost called security. He wouldn’t give his name, and he acted nervous.”

“Can you describe him to me?”

“He was a black man. Hard to guess his age. Late forties? Maybe early fifties? Not well dressed. His clothes didn’t fit him right-wore an inexpensive suit that was kind of loose on him. I tried to tell him that Mr. Moffett was very busy and couldn’t see anyone without an appointment. But this guy was determined. If you work as a secretary long enough, you can spot the ones you can get rid of easily and the ones that are going to be persistent-like you. You have nearly driven me crazy on more than one occasion, you know.”

“The admiration is mutual.”

“Oh, I hope you weren’t insulted by that remark?”

“Not at all. Tell me more about this man.”

“Well, I gave in. I don’t know, I guess it seemed to me that he wasn’t asking for much. He didn’t exactly ask to see Allan.”

“What did he want?”

“He had a letter with him, and he asked me to take it in to Allan.”

“Did you see what the letter said?”

“No. But I was very curious about it, because Allan went white as a sheet when he read it. Then he got kind of blustery and stood up and marched out into the waiting room. But the man just sat there calmly and looked Allan in the eye. Allan said, ‘Come into my office.’ The man nodded and went on in.”

“You hear any of their conversation?”

“Not a word. He talked to Allan for a long time. He didn’t seem especially happy when he left, so maybe Allan didn’t give him what he wanted.”

“If he left unhappy, what makes you think he had anything to do with Allan’s resignation?”

“It was what happened after he left. Allan sat alone in his office for a long time. He wasn’t using the phone-I would have seen a line light up on the phone. Then he buzzed me on the intercom and asked me to work late. I had to call all of his old buddies last night. He set up a dinner with them.”

“They met last night?”

“No. Allan was too busy packing up his office and shredding documents last night to go have dinner. I didn’t know that’s what he was up to, of course. I was making dinner arrangements.” She paused, then said, “Maybe that’s how you can supply me with my sweet revenge, Miss Kelly. The dinner is tonight at the Terrace. I’ll bet you’d like to be there.”

“The Terrace is usually a little out of my price range, but maybe I’ll splurge tonight. Mind if I ask who’s on the guest list?”

She gave me a list of six names, seven with Allan added on as host. I knew all of them. They were the names of men with high profiles in Las Piernas; mostly, they were involved in a mix of planning, banking, real estate, and construction. But as I typed the names into my computer notes, two of them gave me an uncomfortable feeling.

I had been hearing one of them too often lately: Andre Selman.

The other name led me to tell Charlotte to change the number in the reservation.

Ben Watterson wouldn’t make it to dinner.

CHARLOTTE HADN’T SEENor heard any of the news about Watterson’s suicide. Once she got over her initial shock, I asked her about her conversations with the men who were going to the meeting.

“What were you supposed to tell them to get them to this dinner?” I asked.

“Nothing special, really. Allan said I should just mention who would be at the dinner, and then to say, ‘Mr. Moffett is certain you already understand the importance of meeting as soon as possible.’ Ben Watterson. My God, I can’t believe it.”

“What time did you talk to Mr. Watterson?”

“Let me check my phone log,” she said. I heard paper rustling in the background, then she came on the line again. “At about seven o’clock.”

“Allan didn’t ask you to destroy your phone log?” I asked, temporarily distracted.

“No. Either he forgot about them or he figured my notes wouldn’t be very important.”

“Hang on to them, all right?”

“Sure. Now that I think of it, he called twice that day. The first time, it was to tell Allan that he was sending a fax.”