The Wicked City

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“I’m an accountant,” she said, and this time remembered to add quickly, “a forensic accountant.”

“Forensics, huh? You get to find out where all the dead bodies are buried?”

“Pretty much. And where they hid the money first.”

“Well, that is some seriously cool shit. You’re like Sherlock Holmes.”

“I keep a pipe and a deerstalker in my desk drawer.”

“Don’t forget the opium.”

“Cheaper than therapy, I always say.”

He chuckled and moved into another tune, gentle and tickling, which Ella didn’t recognize. “So do you like what you do?”

“Most of the time.” She paused. “Actually, it kind of sucks right now. I just got assigned to the same company as my ex. So I kept expecting to see him in the lobby or the elevator.”

“Man. Stressful. Big company?”

“Pretty big. Luckily, it’s not his department or anything. I’ll just deal.”

“Be strong, like you are.”

The words took a strange shape inside her ears. Ella had never thought of herself as particularly strong. Her mother was strong. Her sister was strong. Her father had a quiet, unshakable strength that awed her. But Ella? She only felt strong from the inside of a piece of music. Or a spreadsheet.

“Yeah, wish me luck.” She rose from the piano bench and manufactured a gigantic stretch. “Thanks for the bourbon.”

Hector rose, too, in the middle of a measure, and closed the keyboard. The sudden absence of music made the room grow huge. Made the space between the furniture yawn, made the air turn thick.

“Nerves all settled?” he asked, looking at her seriously. Like a doctor. His breath smelled of bourbon.

She held up her hand, palm down. “Do you see me shaking?”

“Cool as a cucumber, Sherlock. Good news. Off you go, then. Get your beauty sleep.” He held his arm to the side. “Want a bottle of water or something to take down with you?”

“No, I’m good.” The room swam a little around her. “Actually, maybe the water’s a good idea.”

Hector went to the fridge while she threw on her bathrobe and went to the door. He handed her the bottle of water and asked if she wanted him to walk her down.

“Thanks,” she said, “but I’m fine.”

“I know you are. You are as fine as they come. I mean that.”

“Thanks. I guess it’s good night, then.”

“Good night, Ella. And if you need anything, just let me know, okay? If there’s any weird stuff downstairs. I’m the house doctor.”

“The mayor, you mean?”

“Ha. Touché.” He raised his fist, and Ella bumped his knuckles. “Watch those stairs. And take some aspirin.”

“Will do.” She turned to leave. Took a few careful steps down the hallway and stopped. “Wait a second, Hector.”

“What’s up?”

Ella stared at the ecru wall, on which the light overhead made a strange, lurid pattern. Or maybe not. Maybe the pattern was just the bourbon smoking her eyeballs. She licked her lips. “So. I had fun tonight.”

“Yeah. Me too. Knew you were kindred, under that suit you wear out the door in the morning.”

“Kindred?”

“You know. Certain people. You can just sit down at a piano together and play.”

“Right.” She blinked hard. “Also. I kind of lied to you back there.”

He didn’t reply.

Ella gathered her breath. Didn’t turn around; that would be too much. Anyway, the floor was already unsteady beneath her. Kindred. “Not exactly lied, I guess,” she continued. “About why I moved here, I mean. I just didn’t tell you the truth.”

“The whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“Sort of.”

“Big deal or small deal?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s a big deal to me.”

“Well, I guess we all have secrets, right?”

Ella turned after all. Gripped the stair railing for balance. Hector stood tall in the doorway, sturdy and wiry and remarkably still. His face was heavy with fatigue. Nellie had wandered over and now stared in sleepy curiosity from between his legs. Yawning, showing off a set of small, sharp teeth. Hector braced one hand on the door frame and waited for her.

“So it’s like this,” she said. “I left my husband three weeks ago because I caught him having sex with a prostitute.”

ACT II (#ulink_ab306f65-9dfe-5721-b414-9decfb957ed9)

We Come to an

Understanding

(of sorts)

RIVER JUNCTION, MARYLAND 1924

1 (#ulink_bb2f4b0a-05ea-5d58-af69-eba6bddf48bf)

NOW THE B&O branch line into River Junction runs a passenger train but once a day, and even so I find myself in possession of a carriage nearly empty, except for a middle-aged woman in widow’s weeds who stares through the window the entire journey, though a book lies open in her lap.

I don’t blame the folks who aren’t present. Why should you travel into the frigid crook between two godforsaken mountains in the middle of far western Maryland in the middle of winter, unless you have urgent business calling you there? No reason at all. Like the widow, I observe the passing drifts of snow, the pastures all tucked under smooth white blankets, the gray horizon bleeding into the gray sky, the mounting hills and the small, broken-down houses huddled between them, and I cannot raise the slightest whiff of longing. Just a sick weight growing in my stomach, fed by the rattle of wheels and sight of the smoke trailing from all those lonely chimneys. The smell of burning Pennsylvania anthracite.

2 (#ulink_863075d5-ff12-5b3b-9f83-a857adf79cab)

THE LAST time I saw my mother, she lay in bed. She spent a lot of time in bed, my mother, with one thing or another. Nine and a half months after marrying Duke Kelly, she heaved out ten pounds of Johnnie from between her narrow hips, and she never really was the same after that. Not that Duke seemed to care much about Mama’s state of health, I guess, because she went on to whelp three more boys, one after another, like a crumbling sausage factory that somehow continues to churn out sausages, and then twin girls who died a month later, and then—well, I lost track by then, because I was mostly at the convent, getting an education. All I know is that she kept falling sick, which is the name we give to a miscarriage out here in the country, and lastly had another girl the year I started college. That’s Patsy. She’ll be rising five years old now, if she’s made it this far. My baby sister. Anyhow. The last time I saw Mama, she was sitting up in bed, nursing wee Patsy, and when I told her I was quitting college and running off to New York City right that very morning, she didn’t even look up. Didn’t even meet my eye. Just brushed back a bit of limp hair from her temple and told me not to be getting myself in trouble, and I thought, You’re one to talk, not in a sour vein but rather a pitying one. I asked if I could hold Patsy and say good-bye, and she said no, baby’s nursing, so I just leaned over and kissed Patsy’s velvet crown and then Mama’s temple, and breathed in the scent of milk and skin. And I said I’ll be going now, and funny thing, when I straightened up my eyes I found the window, and right through the middle of that dirty square marched Duke himself, doing something to the buttons of his trousers, and I turned away so Mama wouldn’t see my face. And you may be sure I departed the premises directly that minute, carrying my little carpetbag in one hand and my coat in the other, running out the front door so he wouldn’t spot me. Heat rising from the grass. Train whistle crying down the tracks. Sent my address two weeks later not to Mama but to Johnnie, because Duke always opens Mama’s mail but doesn’t give much damn about any business of Johnnie’s.