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  “Why didn’t he, then? Why didn’t he dump the rat droppings into your tanks?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like whoever is doing these things wants to hurt me, but not too badly. McKenzie, please help me. Tell me what to do.”

  “My first thought—”

  “Probably the same as mine.”

  “Randy Bignell-Sax.”

  “He has keys,” Erin said. “I didn’t know he had keys until last night—have no idea where he acquired them. He doesn’t work here. He has nothing to do with Salsa Girl. Randy comes by every once in a while and I buy him lunch. That’s the extent of his involvement.”

  “Does he want to be more involved? Has he ever mentioned taking an active role in running the company?”

  “Randy doesn’t want to run anything. He’s concerned with having a good time, but not so much of a good time that his family will disown him, that’s all.”

  I gestured at the baggie in the wastebasket. “Yet he did this,” I said.

  “We don’t know for sure that that’s true.”

  “Of course we do.”

  “McKenzie—”

  “Erin, what does Randy want from you that he thinks threatening your business might get him?”

  I thought I knew the answer. I was sure that Erin knew it, too. She sat in her chair and swiveled it so she could watch the traffic moving sporadically across the Pelham Boulevard Bridge through her window.

  “He’s not that kind of guy,” she said. “The kind of guy who takes what’s his, who collects what he thinks he’s owed whether the woman agrees or not. No. Randy wants to be loved. If he’s behind this it’s so he can make himself a hero by riding to my rescue, saving the damsel in distress, all the while hoping I’ll be appropriately grateful.”

  “It could work that way.”

  “If Randy is behind all this. I’m not convinced that he is.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I was going to tell you the same thing.”

  “Surveillance. Originally I was thinking a four-camera setup watching the outside of your building. Now I’m thinking something more elaborate—and secret. We don’t want any of your employees to know that they’re being observed.”

  “My people are loyal, McKenzie.”

  “How many of them have keys?”

  “They’ve been with me since—”

  “How many?”

  “Alice and Maria.”

  “Plus whomever they made copies for besides Randy.”

  “No.”

  “How else did he get a set?”

  Erin stood up. I knew she wanted to walk off her anger, yet the office was too small. After a moment, she sat down again.

  “You’re wrong,” she said.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Yes?” Erin asked.

  The door opened and Alice Pfeifer peeked in. Unlike Erin, she looked like she was coming off a long night. Erin had said she had gone home early, and I wondered, how early?

  “California is on line one,” Alice said.

  “Tell them I’ll call back.”

  “Are you sure you want to—”

  “Dammit, Alice.”

  Alice quickly pulled her head back and shut the door.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” Erin said. “Now she’ll be pouting half the day. McKenzie, you might not know it to look at me, but I have a splitting headache.”

  “After seeing you last night, I believe it.”

  “I’d say you saw me at my worst, but the truth is this exact moment is my worst. I not only have a headache, I’m frightened. I haven’t been frightened in fifteen years.”

  “Not even when you quit school to start your business?”

  “You’ve been visiting my website.”

  “I notice that you haven’t posted your photograph anywhere. Instead, you have the image of someone else representing your company.”

  “It’s called branding. Who would you rather buy salsa from, a dark-haired, dark-eyed vixen with a Latin vibe or an immigrant from Sweden? I’m not Salsa Girl, McKenzie. There’s no such person as Salsa Girl. There’s no such person as Betty Crocker, Aunt Jemima, Joy Butterworth, Francesco Rinaldi, Juan Valdez, Lorna Doone, Uncle Ben, or Dr Pepper, either.”

  “How ’bout Baby Ruth?”

  “Actually, she’s real. The candy bar was named after Grover Cleveland’s daughter.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Wendy’s was named after Dave Thomas’s daughter, who was, and still is, represented as a pretty little girl in pigtails in the company’s signage and marketing materials. When Thomas passed, they asked the real Wendy to take his place as the company’s spokesperson. It didn’t work out. You know why? Even though the real Wendy was a perfectly acceptable representative, she wasn’t a little girl in pigtails. Image, McKenzie. Image. There’s a reason why KFC is still using the image of Colonel Harland Sanders to sell chicken even though he’s been dead for forty years.”

  “Okay.”

  “This is where I also repeat that I asked you to investigate the people who are vandalizing my property and threatening my business. Not me. Because you know what? I didn’t do it.”

  “Okay.”

  “What do we do?”

  “First, we go see a friend of mine. Under normal circumstances, I’d have him come to you, only I don’t want anyone in your building to know what he’s doing.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  I stood and opened Erin’s office door. A moment later she passed through it, bag in hand, with me following behind. She walked to Alice Pfeifer’s desk.

  “I have an errand to run with McKenzie,” Erin said. “It should take what? An hour?”

  “About that,” I said.

  “Of course, ma’am,” Alice said. She emphasized the last word like it was a curse.

  “Stand up,” Erin said.

  “What?”

  “Stand up.”

  Alice rose tentatively. While she did, Erin circled the woman’s desk. Alice turned to meet her. Erin wrapped her arms around her and kissed her cheek.

  “Don’t you dare be angry with me,” Erin said. “Some days I feel as if you’re the only friend I have in the world, and today is one of those days.”

  “I’m not angry,” Alice said.

  “Not even a little bit?”

  Alice smiled broadly. “No.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

  Erin and I went to the closet for our coats. The phone rang. We put on our coats. Alice answered the phone. We headed for the front door. Alice called to us just as we reached it.

  “Erin,” she said, “you’ll want to take this.”

  Erin paused. “California?” she said.

  “Bruce Bignell.”

  “The old man himself?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll take it at my desk.”

  Erin moved from the front door down the short corridor toward her office. I followed along until she gave me a look that asked “Where do you think you’re going?” I stayed in the lobby. Alice smiled at me. I smiled at Alice. I noticed another woman working in a small office behind the reception desk. One of the part-timers that Alice had mentioned, I decided.

  “Another day in paradise,” I said.

  “I have a terrible hangover.”

  I don’t know why I laughed. Probably because of the offhand way she said it.

  “It’s not funny,” Alice said.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure it isn’t. When did you get home last night?”

  “Early. Around eight thirty, nine.”

  A good hour and a half before you began your surveillance in the Salsa Girl parking lot, my inner voice reminded me.

  “Three drinks and I had to call a friend for a ride home. It’s embarrassing.”

  She could easily have come and gone by the time you arrived; dumped the rat excrement.


  “I don’t think my girlfriend has ever had more than two drinks at a time, and she owns a bar,” I said aloud.

  “It’s just not the way I was raised. My mother—I’m not joking, McKenzie—she would sniff my breath when I came home from a date. When I went to college she gave me a pillow embroidered with the words Lips that touch wine shall never taste mine.”

  “There are worse things that a parent could teach you.”

  “I have no experience at partying. Maria and the other women in the production plant, especially the Hispanics, they call me la princesa virgen.”

  “There are worse things to be called than a virgin princess, too.”

  “It isn’t even true. Prom night, well, not prom night, but the night after senior prom…”

  “Umm, Alice? A little too much information.”

  “Sorry.”

  By then Erin had returned to the reception area.

  “Guess what,” she said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’ve been summoned to the Bignell estate for a party this evening. Bruce won’t take no for an answer. You know what else?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “You’re coming with me. You’ve been requested by name.”

  “I’m surprised Bignell would even know my name.”

  “Randy must have given it up. Randy is Bruce’s grandson.”

  “I should tell you, Erin, I’ve been involved with seriously wealthy people before. It has rarely ended pleasantly.”

  * * *

  Marshall Lantry was wearing his uniform—blue sports jacket, blue dress shirt, blue tie. On the pocket of his jacket, written in script, was EASY CASH which was the name of the pawnshop he owned. He had just opened the doors when we arrived, and there was a line. Nearly everyone in the line had something to sell—jewelry, tools, electronics; one guy was carrying an electric guitar. Lantry greeted each in turn, directing them to specific spots in the store where his assistants were ready to start asking about proof of ownership and haggling over price.

  He saw me and said, “McKenzie, long time, man.” He saw Erin and added, “Are you selling today?”

  I thought she might be offended by the suggestion, and maybe she was, but Erin said “Depends. Make me an offer.”

  “One million dollars.”

  “That’s a little light. I’ll have to think about it.” She pointed at the huge posters of Jennifer Lawrence, Jon Hamm, and Angelina Jolie hanging above a kiosk in the center of the store where the cash registers were located. “What’s that about?”

  “It was McKenzie’s idea. He said the posters would make the customers look up so the security cameras would get a good shot of their faces. What can I do for you?”

  “Security cameras,” I said.

  “What are we talking about? You want to buy?”

  “Rent. For a business location. Inside and out.”

  “Whose business?”

  “Mine,” Erin said.

  “Oh, okay. So, not off the books.”

  “Marshall,” I said, “have I ever asked you to do anything illegal?”

  “Not for over a year now. Would you care to step into my office?”

  Lantry led us across his well-lit store. To the casual observer it resembled a consignment shop that sold everything from clothes to lawn mowers; it didn’t feel desperate at all. At the far end was a door that led to a metal staircase that led to a metal door in the basement. Lantry seemed to enjoy watching Erin descend the staircase in front of him. She seemed to sway with each step, and I wondered if she was doing it on purpose. At the bottom, he used a keypad to disarm the electronic lock. The door popped open and Erin entered; rows of fluorescent lights flicked on as she went.

  Lantry whispered to me, “Very tasty. But I like the last lady you brought over, Nina. I like her better.”

  “I heard that,” Erin said.

  I punched Lantry hard in the arm.

  “What’d I say?” he asked.

  We stood in the middle of the room surrounded by metal shelf after metal shelf heaped with an amazing array of electronic gear, from satellite dishes to nanny cams. Nina had been astounded by it all when she first saw it and even now will tell acquaintances, “You wouldn’t believe the stuff this guy had down there.” Yet Erin didn’t seem impressed at all. She glanced at cameras disguised as wall clocks and smoke detectors; she fingered the watches and black pens as if she had seen it all before.

  I told Lantry what we were shopping for.

  “If this is all legal, why come to me?” Lantry asked. “There are a lot of good security firms that can give you what you want for less.”

  “The cameras need to be placed in secret. No one can know that they’re there.”

  “Mounting your cameras in plain sight makes for a good deterrent. People are honest as hell when they know they’re being watched.”

  “We’re not interested in deterring. We’re interested in catching.”

  “Yeah, yeah, all right, I get it. But you know, it’s gonna cost ya. Even if what you’re doing is temporary, if you give the cameras back after you’re finished.” Lantry picked up a camera that looked like a thermostat and bounced it in his hand. “A setup like that…”

  Erin snatched the thermostat out of midair and examined it closely. She was still the same woman who had entered the basement, yet somehow her demeanor had changed, and with it her appearance. Her eyes seemed darker, her lips fuller, her posture straighter, her shirt and skirt tighter. She flicked her hair back as she tossed the thermostat to Lantry. Her voice conveyed a deep sensuality I had not heard from her before.

  “Perhaps you’ll take something in trade,” she said.

  Lantry was visibly agitated by the suggestion. He even licked his lips.

  “What are you offering?” he asked.

  “Salsa. I make six flavors of salsa.”

  * * *

  It took us a while to map out exactly what we were going to do and when we would do it. It was decided that Lantry and his people would arrive at Salsa Girl at approximately seven thirty that evening after everyone else had gone. Alice Pfeifer would let them in. I didn’t want her involved, but Erin reminded me that we were committed to attend the Bignell party. “I trust her,” she said. I told her that we shouldn’t trust anybody, but what else could we do? Lantry asked who would pay. I told him I would. Erin wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Just so you know, honey,” Lantry said, “I deal strictly in cash.”

  Erin gazed up at me. “Did he just call me honey?” she asked.

  “No disrespect,” Lantry said.

  Erin moved closer, invading his personal space. Her smile was purely carnal as she lightly stroked both lapels on Lantry’s sports jacket. Her eyes stared deeply into his. Again her voice took on a smoky quality.

  “Marshall,” she said. “May I call you Marshall?”

  Lantry hesitated before answering, “Yeah, sure.”

  “Do you prefer small denominations and nonsequential serial numbers?”

  “Umm, just as long as it’s American.”

  “Payable when I’m satisfied.”

  “Yes, sure. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

  “Men have said that to me before, Marshall, yet so few of them have kept their promise.”

  “I will.”

  Erin released Lantry’s lapel and stepped back.

  “We’ll see,” she said. “After the party tonight, McKenzie and I will drop by to check on your progress.”

  “Sure. All right.”

  * * *

  We were back in my Mustang and nearing Salsa Girl Salsa when I said, “I enjoyed that very much.”

  “Enjoyed what?”

  “The way you discombobulated Lantry.”

  “It wasn’t too difficult. My greatest asset, any woman’s greatest asset, has always been a man’s imagination.”

  “Still, you did it so effortlessly. It must have taken years of practice.”

  “Remember the lecture I gave y
ou earlier about branding? That’s all it is, McKenzie. Branding.”

  We pulled in to the parking lot. I halted the Mustang near Erin’s front door.

  “The party starts at five thirty,” she said. “The Bignells will expect us to be on time. That means you should pick me up at about four. We have a long way to go, and the traffic will be awful.”

  “Where are we going?’

  “Cambridge.”

  “How should I dress?”

  “Respectfully. What you need to remember, McKenzie, is that these so-called family gatherings are all about the Bignells. We’re invited solely to admire them.”

  “In that case, maybe I’ll have a few drinks before we go.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I was joking.”

  “Sometimes I can’t tell.”

  “Sometimes I can’t either.”

  “What will Nina think about this—you going out with me? Will she be angry?”

  “She’ll understand.”

  “More and more I’m growing to dislike that woman.”

  * * *

  I was in my condo and sitting at my desk in the library area. The high-rise condominium in downtown Minneapolis that Nina and I bought together didn’t have rooms. It was divided into areas: dining area, living area, kitchen area. The entire north wall was built of tinted floor-to-ceiling glass. From where I sat near the south wall, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all I could see was blue skies. Once again I reminded myself how lucky I was to have Nina, to have this condo, to have my friends.

  I kept waiting for a knock on the door and a guy with a clipboard and thick glasses to say “Mr. McKenzie, Mr. Rushmore McKenzie? I’m from management. I regret to inform you that there has been a terrible, terrible mistake. This great life that you’ve been living? It was meant for someone else.” Only the knock never came.

  Instead, I received a phone call on my landline. The jangling bell startled me enough that I flinched. I glanced around to see if anyone noticed even though I knew I was alone.

  “This is McKenzie,” I said.

  “McKenzie, this is Jones down at the security desk.” Just McKenzie, no “Mr.” required; we had that kind of relationship. Since moving in, I had employed Jones and his partner Smith on a couple of cases—yes, I tease them about their names. They seemed to enjoy it. “McKenzie, we have a gentleman here who would like to go up and speak to you, but his name isn’t on our list.”