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  “Have you shared these concerns with your people?”

  Marilyn hissed dismissively. “They don’t listen to me. They accuse me of being jealous. Jealous of my son’s girlfriend even though she’s not his girlfriend. Jealous because Erin’s younger. They don’t say prettier, but they mean that, too. They’re so happy about her effect on Randy that I either have to shut up or become the enemy.”

  And that’s how Erin played Marilyn, my inner voice said. Nicely done.

  “I still don’t know what you want from me,” I said.

  She seemed surprised by the remark.

  “Nothing,” Marilyn said. “I know that Erin is your friend. I was rude to her and to you earlier. I merely wanted to explain why. And to apologize.”

  Marilyn reached across the table and squeezed my hand just the way that Erin had squeezed Bignell’s hand earlier.

  “Enjoy the party,” she said.

  * * *

  I watched Marilyn as she walked away. She was halfway across the lawn when she halted. I followed her gaze to where Erin and Brian Sax stood together. Marilyn shook her head sadly and kept walking. I kept watching. There was nothing untoward about their behavior; they could have been complete strangers asking directions, for all the emotion they displayed—which was exactly why I knew something was amiss. They’d known each other for a long time. Wouldn’t they at least smile?

  Finally he stepped closer. His eyes slid from side to side, making sure no one had come within eavesdropping range. She rested her hand on his chest …

  She does that a lot, my inner voice said.

  … and halted his advance. She stepped back and retrieved her cell phone from her jacket pocket. While she looked at the cell, he glanced at his wristwatch. They’re synchronizing their clocks, I thought; I bet they’re going to meet later.

  Erin and Sax nodded at each other and walked off in separate directions. Erin came toward me. She was intercepted by Randy. He was smiling broadly. She became flirtatious and kept touching his arm and shoulder. He asked her a question. She shook her head. From his expression, I knew he was disappointed. Erin wrapped her arms around him, pulled him close, and kissed his cheek. It was a long kiss, and when it ended, Randy still appeared disappointed. Erin brushed his cheek with her fingertips where her lips had landed. He grinned. She pecked his lips, just like she had done to the kid in the bar the night before. Randy grinned some more. Erin left his side and made her way to where I was sitting.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  * * *

  We were in my Mustang and heading south on Highway 65 toward the Cities. Salsa Girl was leaning back against the seat, her eyes closed.

  “You are a charmer,” I said.

  “Am I?”

  “Old man Bignell, his son-in-law, his grandson—everyone except Marilyn.”

  “Afraid I’ll turn my charms on you, McKenzie?”

  “I was, but not anymore.”

  “Good. That’s important to me.”

  “What would your mother say to all of this, I wonder?”

  “My mother died a long time ago. I thought you knew.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t.”

  “We talked about it once at a party Ian threw. Or was it Dave Deese? I knew your mother died when you were young just like my father had and then you lost your father like I lost my mother. We’re both orphans, McKenzie.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Maybe it was someone else I was talking to. McKenzie, about the Bignell family—can I trust you, I mean really trust you?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about Nina?”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you tell Nina everything?”

  “Nearly everything.”

  “What don’t you tell her?”

  “What my friends ask me to keep secret.”

  “Just between you and me, then. Our secret, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “The Bignells—I won’t go into details right now, but just so you know, I intend to screw them over before they do it to me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

  “I noticed that the Bignells didn’t serve Randy’s world-famous spaghetti sauce at the party as promised.”

  “It was probably meant for family only.”

  “Probably.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “Who knows about the rat shit that was dumped on your desk? Besides you and me and the person who did it?”

  Erin’s eyes snapped open, and she turned her head to look at me.

  “No one,” she said. “I didn’t even tell Alice.”

  “Yet Bruce Bignell knew all about it.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “I wonder how.”

  She diverted her attention to the traffic outside the window as we gobbled up the miles on the way home.

  “That’s a very good question,” Erin said.

  I noticed she didn’t attempt to answer it.

  * * *

  It was well after 9:00 P.M. when we reached Salsa Girl Salsa. Alice Pfeifer and Marshall Lantry were sitting in the office foyer. She was behind her reception desk. He was perched on a chair across the room from her. If they were enjoying each other’s company, I hadn’t noticed.

  Lantry glanced at his watch when we walked in.

  “It’s about time,” he said.

  “I thought you’d still be hard at it,” I said.

  “I know my business. Come with me.”

  Lantry rose from the chair and led us down the short corridor to Erin’s office. He circled the desk and sat in Erin’s chair. If she was annoyed by the snub, she didn’t show it. We all crowded around him. He moved the mouse, and Erin’s computer screen came alive.

  “Here,” he said. “This icon brings up the outside cameras.”

  He clicked on the icon, and the screen was immediately divided into quarters. Each displayed one side of the building.

  “This gives you a real-time view of what’s going on outside,” Lantry said, “but it’s also recording on a seventy-two-hour loop. After seventy-two hours, it starts recording over what was recorded before—so every three days. Now, if you want to erase in case you filmed something you don’t want the USDA to know about—”

  I slapped him upside the head.

  “Oww. What?”

  I gestured at the screen.

  “If you want to erase something in a hurry, you can do this…”

  Lantry manipulated the recording bar.

  “Okay?” He was asking me, not Erin. I didn’t say a word.

  “I understand,” Erin said.

  Lantry closed the icon and clicked on another. This time the screen was divided into eight equal boxes.

  “Same thing as before except this is inside,” Lantry said. “We have two cameras in your production plant, and one each in your prep room, recipe room, finished-goods cooler, inside loading dock, front office, and lunchroom. I was going to mount a camera in your office, but sugar lips here wouldn’t let me do it.”

  I whacked him on the head again.

  “Would you stop doing that?” Lantry said.

  “Would you stop insulting my friends?”

  Lantry looked up at Alice. She was standing off to the side with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “No disrespect,” he said. “Now, if you want to take a closer look, this is what you do.” He clicked on the box showing the prep room. It suddenly filled the entire screen. I could clearly see the shelf where the box of tomatoes that I had been reaching for when Hector Lozano slapped my hand should have been resting, only now it was empty. “If you want sound…” Lantry right-clicked on the image, and a volume-control bar appeared. He moved the cursor along the bar, and we heard a hissing sound. “We couldn’t manage it in the production plant. Too much interference. All the other rooms, though, you’ll be able to listen in.” Lantry clicked on the image a second time, and once again the scre
en was divided into eight boxes. He spun in his chair toward Erin.

  “So, hon—Erin. Are you satisfied?”

  Erin reached past him to her desk drawer, pulled it open, withdrew a thick envelope, and closed the drawer. She handed the envelope to Lantry. He held it up for everyone to see.

  “I’m not even going to count it,” he said.

  “I’d be insulted if you did,” Erin said.

  “That’s why I’m not going to count it. I don’t want McKenzie to hit me again.”

  * * *

  Lantry left. Alice continued to stand there with her arms crossed.

  “Is there something you want to say?” Erin asked.

  “It’s impermissible to use video cameras to monitor employees unless you notify them about the surveillance.”

  “You learned that in business school, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Erin—”

  “Alice, it’s okay if you’re trying to counter theft, violence, or sabotage. I looked it up.”

  “So did I, and you must notify your employees first or you could be open to legal action for invasion of privacy. You might even be violating federal wiretapping laws.”

  “It’s temporary—just until we find out who’s trying to sabotage the company. We have enemies, remember? You said so yourself.”

  “I still think it’s wrong.”

  “Don’t ever change, Alice. McKenzie, thank you for everything. I have one last errand to run. Alice, please lock up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Erin left the building.

  Alice dropped her arms to her sides.

  “That woman,” she said.

  “Alice, do you know Randy Sax? Bignell-Sax, I guess it is.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever seen him hanging around the place when Erin wasn’t here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has he ever dropped by unexpectedly? Has he ever wandered over to the production plant? Gone into the prep room, maybe, to steal some tomatoes?”

  “No. No, I don’t think so. He knows some of the guys back there. On the rare occasion when he does stop in, he’ll joke with Hector and Tony Cremer and some of the others, but it’s not a regular thing by any means.”

  “Thank you. Have a good night, what’s left of it.”

  * * *

  I stepped out of the building and moved to the Mustang just in time to catch the taillights of Erin’s BMW 530i as it pulled out of the lot onto Pelham Boulevard. At the same time, I saw the headlights of a second vehicle snap on. It was parked down the street. The car quickly pulled away from the curb and went in the same direction as Erin.

  What are the chances? my inner voice asked.

  I dashed the remaining distance to my Mustang. I had all the latest electronic gadgets, so I didn’t need to fumble for a key. The fob in my pocket unlocked the door from three feet away, and all I needed to do was press a button to start the ignition. I pulled out of the parking lot in a hurry. Soon I was on the tail of a blue Toyota Camry. I hoped it was the right car.

  The Camry crossed Pelham and jumped on the I-94 freeway heading west. I was relieved when up ahead I could see Erin’s Beemer under the freeway lights. The Camry trailed about five car lengths behind it. I followed six car lengths behind the Camry and one lane over. The traffic was sparse at that time of night, and I wasn’t afraid of being cut off.

  When the BMW and the Camry took the Seventh Street exit I had to wonder—were they going to my place? I felt a thrill of recognition when both cars turned right on Eleventh Avenue South and continued on to Washington. That was my corner. I relaxed, though, when they each hung a left and sped past the coffeehouse where Nina and I sometimes hung out, moving west.

  Erin took a right on Park Avenue and a left on South Second Street. The Camry followed her. I followed the Camry. I got close enough to finally read its license plate and dropped back again.

  The Guthrie Theater had just let out, and there were plenty of empty spaces on the street. Erin claimed one in front of a tall apartment building with a view of both the Mississippi River and downtown Minneapolis. The Camry drove past her, which is what I would have done if I’d been driving it. I pulled my own car into a space half a block back. The Camry turned off Second Street, and I lost sight of it.

  Erin stepped out of the BMW. Once again she pulled the tails of her shirt out from her skirt. I couldn’t see if she had undone any of her buttons, but she draped her jacket over her shoulders like a cape and walked into the apartment building’s foyer. I left my Mustang and moved quickly down the street, using the parked cars for cover, to get a better look through the building’s windows.

  Inside the foyer, Erin walked directly to a desk staffed by two security guards dressed in blue jackets. She spoke to them. One of the guards retrieved a phone and made a call. A moment later, he returned the receiver to the cradle and gestured toward a bank of elevators. The doors of one of the elevators were open. Erin stepped inside and pressed a button, and the doors closed. When they did, the two security guards laughed and slapped hands if it were one of the most entertaining things they had ever seen.

  I wondered if Erin had made this trip before—and how often.

  While I was wondering, the sound of a heel scraping sidewalk caused me to turn my head.

  I heard it before I felt it, the sound of heavy impact as metal met bone with a wet crack followed by an electric shock that raced down my spinal column and loosened all of my extremities.

  I collapsed to my knees with the brief recognition that someone had just hit me very, very hard. My torso bent forward until both elbows rested against the concrete. I bowed my head between them.

  * * *

  I didn’t think I had lost consciousness. Yet when I looked up, the sidewalk was empty. I explored the side of my head and found a knot the size of a microwave oven. It was warm to the touch and throbbing, but there was no blood.

  I stood.

  My head ached so much I was convinced I had brain damage.

  Think anyone would notice? my inner voice said.

  I stumbled my way back toward my Mustang, using the cars parked on the street for support. A pair of theatergoers saw me; they probably thought I was drunk.

  “You okay, mister?” one of them asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. Only I wasn’t. I doubted I could spell the word if you spotted me both the f and the n. I made my way to the Mustang and climbed behind the steering wheel. Probably I shouldn’t have. My place was only about five blocks away, yet somehow walking seemed harder than driving.

  I started the car. Fifteen minutes later, I was standing inside the condominium. Swear to God, looking back I couldn’t tell you how that happened.

  I swallowed a couple of aspirin and ibuprofen, pulled off my clothes, and climbed into the shower. Washing my hair around the knot was painful, yet when I finished I felt better. I threw on a pair of shorts and wandered into the kitchen area. I didn’t think a drink was a good idea no matter how badly I wanted one. Instead, I poured an iced tea. Afterward, I pulled out a gel ice pack that I kept in the freezer for just such occasions and pressed it against the knot.

  I made my way to the sofa in front of the HDTV to watch SportsCenter and wait for Nina. I was out before the first commercial break.

  SIX

  I opened my eyes, yet I couldn’t see. And then I could. The sorrowful blackness became dark gray; I could make out shapes and figures. There was light slipping between the drapes and light emanating from the clock on the nightstand next to the bed. I sat up. A lightning flash of pain made me moan. It also cleared my head. The dark gray softened; the clock light became numerals—11:17 A.M.

  That’s plenty late even for you, my inner voice said.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Nina said. She was carrying a bed tray. On the bed tray were two mugs of coffee, buttered English muffins, and a pile of sausage links. She set the tray on the bed next to me and went to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She p
ressed a button, and the drapes parted to reveal the curve of the Mississippi River as it approached St. Anthony Falls, the lock and dam, Nicollet Island, and the Stone Arch Bridge. The sunlight nearly blinded me. I shielded my eyes with my hand. Nina was wearing a silver-blue nightgown that matched her eyes; the light behind her exposed the shadow of her body beneath the silk. I lowered my hand and watched her.

  “You must have had a rough night,” she said.

  “How did I get here?”

  “What do you mean? Home?”

  “In bed.”

  “I found you sleeping on the sofa when I got back from Rickie’s. I said, ‘Hey, McKenzie, go to bed.’ You did. Don’t you remember?”

  “No.”

  “A very rough night, then.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Sounds like a story.”

  Nina crawled onto the king-size bed and sat cross-legged next to the tray. She picked up a sausage with her fingers and ate it while I told her everything that had happened, starting with the Bignell gathering.

  “Should we take you to the hospital?” Nina asked. “It sounds like you suffered a concussion.”

  “I’ve had ’em before.”

  “McKenzie…”

  “No, I’m fine. F-I-N-E. See?”

  I fingered the spot on my skull where I had been hit. The swelling had gone down, and while the pressure I applied caused some pain, it wasn’t much.

  “A couple of ibuprofen and I’ll be as good as new,” I said.

  “Who do you think Salsa Girl had a rendezvous with?” Nina asked.

  “I’d only be guessing.”

  “From what you told me about seeing them together at the party, I’m guessing—do you think Erin and Brian Sax are having an affair?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but I intend to find out. In the meantime, if you would keep it to yourself…”

  “Do I ever tell anyone the things you tell me?”

  “No, you don’t. You have no idea what that means, having someone I can trust like I trust you.”

  Nina raised and lowered her eyebrows Groucho Marx–style and sipped her coffee. She set her mug back on the tray. She bent forward to do it, and the top of her nightgown opened; I could see the swell of her breasts underneath. The ache in my head moved to my lower extremities. I took a bite of English muffin just to have something to do with my hands.