Брайан Фриман - Alter Ego

“Another party? At Casperson’s place?”

“Nah, they rented out one of the ritzy resorts on the North Shore. I guess Dean figures there’s too much heat at his place. It’s supposed to be hush-hush to fool the tabloids.”

“Do you know where it’s happening? Will you be there?”

“I’m everywhere. You know that. Nothing happens in this town that I don’t know about.”

She bit her lip and thought. Her knee bounced. Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Curt whistled on the other end of the phone as he stared at her.

“I don’t like that look, kitty cat. You’re up to something.”

Cat lowered her voice and looked over her shoulder on the porch to make sure Stride and Serena weren’t watching from inside the house. Then she pushed her face close to the phone.

“You’re right. I’ve got an idea,” she whispered, “but I need your help.”

Maggie opened the shower door and stepped onto the plush mat. Steam clouded the mirror and made the bathroom feel like Florida. She grinned as Cab followed her out of the oversized marble shower stall, then wrapped his arms around her wet waist. He lifted her off the ground until they were face to face. Water from their hair dripped down their cheeks, and their slippery skins squeezed together.

“I’m starting to like Minnesota,” he said as he nibbled her ear.

She reached down. “I can tell.”

They both toweled off and got partly dressed. Barefoot, Cab wandered back into the living room of Maggie’s condo, which was situated above the downtown Sheraton hotel. He went to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and she joined him there. Snow poured down through the glowing lights of Superior Street below them. The lake was a black shroud immediately behind the buildings.

“Nice place,” he told her.

“It’s not the Gulf,” she replied, “but it’s not bad.”

“You like things modern?” he asked, noting the sleek Scandinavian design of the furniture, which was heavy on metal, glass, and blond wood.

“Yeah, when I was married, I lived in a Dark Shadows house. This is more me.”

“What about Troy? Is he modern like you?”

Maggie thought about being annoyed that Cab had brought up Troy again, but she was mellow enough from sex and wine not to worry about it. “Troy? No, he says coming here is like walking into a Woody Allen movie. That’s not a compliment. He’s a Minnesota dude. Fisherman, pilot, hunter.”

“And father?”

“Yeah, his girls are sweet. I suppose I don’t seem like the type for kids.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cab said. “I think you’d be a cool mother.”

Maggie turned away from the lake and sat down on one end of her black-and-white sofa and stretched out her feet. “I tried to adopt, but being a single cop whose husband was murdered is apparently not the ideal background for stable parenting. At least that’s what the adoption agencies told me.”

Cab sat down across from her on the other end of the sofa. His feet played with her toes.

“What about you?” Maggie asked him. “Do you want kids?”

“I’m still too busy trying to figure out my mother. Lala wants kids. I imagine she’ll be married and pregnant soon enough.”

“I’ve thought about getting a dog,” Maggie said. “Or maybe a cat. Or a fish. Except I’m never home. I sleep here and that’s about it. Lately, I haven’t even done much of that.”

“Dogs are too clingy, cats are too judgmental, and fish are too slimy.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” she asked. “Your house is in the middle of nowhere. I’m not sure I like myself enough to spend that much time alone.”

“Ah, well, that’s the difference between us,” Cab said. “There’s no one I like more than myself.”

Maggie chuckled and shook her head. “You really are a piece of work.”

“Thank you.” Cab craned his long neck to stare at her stainless steel refrigerator. “Sex makes me hungry. Are you hungry?”

“I think I have some cold Sammy’s pizza from a couple days ago.”

“Sold,” he said.

He hopped off the sofa and made his way to the kitchen. When he opened the door, he peered around at the mostly empty shelves. “Not much of a chef, are we?”

“Not much.”

“There’s a pizza box in here, but it’s empty,” Cab said.

“Oh, sorry. I guess I finished it. Or maybe the fish ate it.”

Cab took out the empty box and dropped it in the wastebasket. He returned to the sofa and staked out the same spot he’d been in before. “So tell me again about the burner phone.”

Maggie sighed. “We’ve been down that road and haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“Yes, but this is how my brain works. One layer at a time. Think of it as adding pizza toppings.”

“Okay, now you’re talking my language. Here’s what we know. About a week before Rochelle Wahl died, there was a call between the burner phone and John Doe’s cell phone just after nine o’clock in the evening. The call lasted four minutes. It was the day John Doe arrived in town, so we figure it was a confirmation that he was around and available. Almost immediately after that call, the burner phone made a one-minute call to the downtown Sammy’s Pizza. That’s the only call in the phone’s records that was not to John Doe.”

“Got it. So first of all, what does that tell us about John Doe?”

“He was on call,” Maggie said. “They didn’t bring him to town just for Rochelle. They had him around in case a Rochelle situation arose. Which tells me that this wasn’t the first time a problem like this came up.”

“Agreed. I’d be willing to bet we’d find John Doe staying somewhere in the area when most of Casperson’s movies were being filmed.”

“But probably with a different identity each time.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“As far as the pizza order goes,” Maggie went on, “the restaurant doesn’t have trackable records that we could link back to a delivery address. We also don’t know if it was a delivery or pickup order.”

“And the delivery drivers?”

“Guppo interviewed all the drivers who were working that night. None of them remembered anything useful. These guys do dozens of delivery runs every single evening.”

“So nobody remembered a drop-off at Casperson’s rental house?”

Maggie shook her head. “No.”

“Well, that’s not very helpful, is it?” Cab asked.

“No.”

“I’m still hungry,” Cab said. “All this talk about pizza is putting me in the mood for some.”

“So order us a Sammy’s,” Maggie told him.

“What do you like on your pizza?”

“Sausage. I’m a purist.”

Cab rolled his eyes, as if she were a savage for not wanting kale and goat cheese. He took out his phone, ran a quick web search, and then tapped the button to make a call. “I’d like to place an order for delivery,” he said into the phone when the store answered. “Can you do a quattro stagioni ?”

There was a long pause, and then he covered the phone with his hand. “They don’t know what that is.”

“Shocking,” Maggie said.

“Just make it an extra large sausage,” Cab said into the phone with pain in his voice. Then to Maggie: “What’s the address?”

She rattled it off, and Cab repeated it into the phone. He said it twice and then hung up. “They won’t deliver to you,” he told her.

“What are you talking about? I order from there like twice a week.”

“They said I should try the location on First Street,” Cab said.

“Why, which location did you call?”

“Duluth Lakeside.”

“Nope, wrong one,” Maggie said.

“I’m sorry, isn’t that the lake right outside? As in Lakeside?”