In the Drink (6 page)

“I hate to sound clichéd, but it was a girl. Her name is Sabrina.” He gave me a sheepish, apologetic look. “She works for a brewery here in Milwaukee, and I met her while she was in Yakima on business, shopping for a new hops supplier. That supplier just happened to be a friend of mine. Sabrina came out there four different times and we seemed to hit it off. After that we tried the long distance thing for a few months to see if there was really something there, but it's too hard to tell when you're that far apart. So I bit the bullet, packed everything up, and made the move to Milwaukee. We lasted all of a month before we both agreed that whatever we had was little more than a flash in the pan.”

“So are you planning on staying here, or going back to Yakima?”

“I like Milwaukee. I'm planning on staying for now.”

We had reached his car and he proceeded to unlock and open the passenger side door for me. As he did so, I said, “I wonder if you could do me a favor. There is an art supply store I wanted to hit today before it closes. It's not too far from here, over in the Historic Third Ward. Would it be possible to stop there before we go to dinner?”

“Sure. I do some drawing and wouldn't mind picking up a few things myself.”

As soon as he had climbed in on his side and shut the door, he said, “What's the address of the store?” I gave it to him and he started the car and pulled out into the evening traffic. “Duncan clued me in on what you want to do,” he said once we were underway, “but I'm not sure how you want to play this once we get to the art store. Do you want me to come in with you? That would be my preference since I can keep a better eye on you that way.”

“To be honest, I'd feel better, too, if you came in with me. I don't want to jeopardize things, but the letter didn't specifically say I couldn't seek help from someone other than the cops. I think if you can be convincing enough on this blind date thing and no one fingers you for a cop, it would be all right for you to come in with me. In fact, if we really were on a blind date, I think it would seem odd if you didn't.”

“Then come along I will,” he said.

“So how much of that backstory you just gave me was true and how much was made up?”

“The story is true enough. I find it's best to stick to the truth as much as possible in these cases. The fewer lies you have to keep track of the better. I really did work construction back in the day before I became a cop. I also really like architecture, but I like the cop work more.”

“Well, I appreciate you doing this, even though it isn't part of your normal cop stuff.”

“Actually, it works for me. You can be a part of my cover story as much as I'm a part of yours. If my bosses are watching me, it would look funny to them if I didn't have some sort of personal life.”

“Glad to be of help,” I said, somewhat facetiously.

“Duncan said you knew the man they found downtown beneath the RiverWalk.”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “I did,” I managed to say. “He was a regular customer, and seemed like a nice guy. He sure as hell didn't deserve to die because of me.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Malachi shoot me a look. “He didn't die because of you,” he said with a scowl. “He died because there are some twisted people in this world. In no way is this your fault.”

I wasn't sure I agreed with him, but my throat had tightened enough that speech was momentarily impossible. I stared out the windshield as a minute or two of silence passed and willed myself to let it go . . . for now.

“Do you like seafood?” Malachi asked.

The sudden change of topic threw me. “Um, sure. Why?”

“Because I made reservations for us at Harbor House. They have other stuff on the menu of course, but they're known for their seafood.”

“You mean we're really going to dinner?”

“Sure, why not? We have to eat, right? And if we're going to make this dating thing look convincing, we should start it off on the right foot.”

“I suppose so,” I said.

I must have sounded a little hesitant because next he said, “If you don't like seafood, Harbor House has steaks and chicken, too. Or if you want we can go somewhere else.”

“No, that won't be necessary. Harbor House will be fine. I've never eaten there but I've heard good things about it.” My hesitation had nothing to do with going to Harbor House, but rather with going anywhere with Malachi at all. This felt uncomfortably real to me, and uncomfortably . . . well, comfortable.

We pulled up in front of the art supply store and Malachi found a parking space on the street two doors down. We got out and walked together to the store, Malachi once again offering his arm. I felt uncomfortable, but I wasn't sure if it was the situation with the letter and the art store that had me feeling that way, or if it was the situation with Malachi. Maybe it was both. It wasn't that I didn't like Malachi, I did. In fact, I liked him a lot. He felt . . . right.

As if things weren't confusing enough for me already.

The art store had a bell that rang as we entered, though it wasn't needed to announce our arrival. The place was small, and there was a young man behind the counter, which was right next to the door.

“Hi. Can I help you folks find something?” he asked.

“You can,” I said, taking the lead. “I called just a bit ago. I'm interested in learning how to do calligraphy and wondered if you could direct me to the appropriate supplies. I own a bar downtown and I'm thinking of redoing my menus and using the calligraphy to fancy them up.”

The young man, whose name tag read
ADAM
, nodded and said, “Sure.” Then he looked at Malachi with a curious expression. “Are you interested in calligraphy, too?”

Malachi held up a hand and shook his head. “No, I'm just along for the ride. She wanted to stop here before we go to dinner. But as long as I'm here, I could use some new leads for my mechanical pencil.”

Adam nodded. “Those would be in aisle three, over there.” He pointed off to the left, and then shifted his attention to me. “If you come with me, I'll show you some stuff for the calligraphy.”

Malachi wandered off in the direction of aisle three while I followed Adam toward the back of the store.

“You'll want to start off with some pens and ink,” Adam said as we walked, “and there are special types of paper, too, if you want, though they aren't absolutely necessary.”

“What's so special about the inks?”

“They tend to be more water based than the usual inks,” Adam explained. “It helps with the flow. I have lots of the premade stuff, or if you prefer being a bit more hardcore, I can provide you with a recipe for making your own and the necessary supplies to do so.”

I thought about the unusual smell present in the ink used in the letter and figured a recipe was the more likely avenue. Perhaps the smell of one of the ingredients in the recipe would trigger a connection for me between it and the smell of the letter. “I'm thinking hardcore,” I said. “It sounds like fun and I am a mixologist of sorts. Is it a complicated process?”

“Not if you stick to the basics, though there are some professional calligraphers who get crazy mixing up their own stuff.”

We had reached the back of the store and Malachi was no longer in view, off in his own section. Adam pointed to a shelf on the back wall that held an assortment of fountain pens, nibs, and ink wells. “This is the most popular pen here,” he said, grabbing one. “It has interchangeable nibs but comes equipped with a basic one.”

“Sold,” I said, smiling.

He handed me the packaged pen and then took down a recipe box from another shelf. He opened it and I saw it was filled with index cards. He grabbed one from the front. “This is the most popular black ink recipe,” he said. I started to take it but he pulled it back at the last second and cocked his head. “What's your name?” he asked.

“Mackenzie Dalton.”

“I thought so,” he said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I received a package the other day that had some money and instructions in it. It said I was supposed to deliver a message if a woman named Mackenzie with fiery red hair came in asking about calligraphy or inks.”

My heart began to race.

“But the instructions said you were supposed to be alone,” Adam added.

“I would have been, but I had a friend fix me up with this blind date and I didn't have a way to get out of it gracefully. Plus, I'm in a bit of a time crunch.” I gave him my best charming smile.

“So you were expecting a message?”

“I was hoping for one, yes. Was it a man or a woman who gave you these instructions?”

“Neither, technically. The instructions were typed out and they came by courier along with a hundred bucks. I have to say, the whole thing is kind of . . . odd.”

“I'm sure it seems so,” I said, thinking fast. “But it's just a game I play with some online friends, sort of a treasure hunt thing, you know? I haven't met the other players, but one of the objectives is to garner clues about the person who is staging your hunt, to try to figure out who they are. Sometimes knowing the person helps in figuring out the clues.”

Adam smiled and visibly relaxed. “Okay, now I get it,” he said. “That actually sounds like fun. Can anyone join and play?”

I hadn't anticipated that question, so once again I had to scramble to come up with an answer. “Um, geez, I don't know. I got into it by invitation from a friend. If you want, I can ask her. Give me your e-mail address.”

Adam flipped the index card he was holding and took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Here you go,” he said, scribbling something on the back of the card and handing to me. “I'm supposed to gather up all the ingredients in this ink recipe for you, and I have something else to give you before you leave. It's a sealed envelope I have up at the register. The instructions included a deadline and said I should destroy the envelope if no one came in by then. But you made it in plenty of time. I'll slip it into the bag when I ring up your stuff.”

“That will be great,” I said, hoping my voice wasn't betraying the nervous excitement I felt. “Do you still have the courier envelope that held these instructions?”

“It's in the trash up at the front counter,” he said. He had turned to another shelf and was gathering supplies.

“Can I have that, too?”

Adam shrugged. “I guess so. The instructions didn't say I couldn't give it to you.”

“Were there any other instructions?” I asked. “For instance, were you given a means for communicating that your task was carried out?”

Adam nodded. “If you show up and get the supplies as directed, I'm supposed to put a paint palette with a glob of green acrylic paint on it in the display window and leave it there for two nights.”

I realized how smart this was. Even if someone staked out the store 24-7, there would be no way to know which of the hundreds of people driving or walking by were looking for a sign in the art store window.

Adam finished rounding up his supplies and handed them to me one at a time. “You start with lamp black,” he said as he handed me a small jar filled with a black powdery substance. “It used to be made by collecting the soot from oil lamps. You can make your own if you want by holding a plate over a candle and collecting the soot that accumulates on the plate, but most people just prefer to buy it like this.” Next he handed me two small bottles, both of which were filled with a pale yellow liquid. The first one was labeled
HONEY
, the second was labeled
GUM ARABIC
. “The honey is the same stuff you buy in the grocery store,” Adam explained. “The gum arabic is made out of hardened sap from acacia trees. It gives the ink gloss and consistency, to help it spread more evenly.”

“This is all I need?” I asked.

“If you read the recipe you'll see you have to add an egg yolk. You mix all the ingredients together the way the recipe says and you'll end up with a thick paste that you can store in a jar or any other container with a tight lid. When you want to make your ink, you add a small amount of water to the paste until you get the right consistency.”

“How will I know what the right consistency is?”

“Trial and error. And it may vary from one project to another depending on the type of paper you use.”

“That's it?”

“That's it,” Adam echoed. “I have some instructional booklets up by the register.”

Malachi came walking up to us carrying a box of pencil leads, a straight edge, a compass, and a large tablet of drafting paper. “Got what you need?” he asked me.

I nodded. “I think so, yes.”

We headed up front and Adam talked me into buying two calligraphy instructional booklets that I was pretty sure I didn't need. He then proceeded to check us out, ringing up Malachi's purchases first, then mine. I watched as he bagged my supplies and saw him slip in the sealed envelope he'd mentioned. Then he reached down below the desk and came up with a standard cardboard delivery flat that had been ripped open, slipping that into my bag, too. After we had paid, we bid Adam a good night and headed back to the car.

“How did it go?” Malachi asked once we were settled inside the car. He had tossed his purchases into the backseat but I had mine in my lap.

“Okay, I think.” I glanced out my window, watching the passing cars and the pedestrians who were out, wondering if any of them were watching us. I then told him about my conversation with Adam.

“Interesting,” he said when I was done. “Are you going to open the letter?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I want to let Duncan do it in case there's any trace evidence on it.”

Malachi looked over at me with an amused expression.

“What?”

“You sound like a cop.”

“Duncan has taught me a lot. Between him and the Capone Club, I sometimes feel like a cop.”

“I've heard rumors about this Capone Club. It's some type of crime-solving game group, isn't it?”

“Sort of, though they don't just do games. They also work at solving real crimes. It's quite an eclectic group of people from various walks of life with varied experiences and knowledge. When you put them all together, it can be quite useful in figuring things out.”

“Sounds interesting,” Malachi said.

“It is. If you want, we can go back to the bar after dinner and I'll introduce you to them.”

“I'd like that. Besides, I've also heard that both your food and your drinks are rather good, particularly your coffee.”

“I am a bit of a coffee snob,” I admitted.

We arrived at the Harbor House restaurant and I carried my bag of purchases inside with me, unwilling to risk leaving them in the car. The contents practically screamed at me to examine them, and I feared I would be a distracted and boring companion for dinner. But Malachi, or Mal as he said he preferred to be called, turned out to be an interesting and entertaining date. We enjoyed a four-course meal—a steak and lobster main course for him and sea scallops for me—and the time flew by. I kept the bag of items at my feet throughout the meal, and despite my eagerness to examine the items more closely, by the time we were done I had nearly forgotten about them.

Mal and I shared more of our life stories in typical first-date fashion. I learned that his father was Irish but his mother was Jewish, and their union had caused a great deal of strife on both sides of the family. His first name had been chosen as a placating measure to the Jewish side of the family, though it hadn't had the effect his parents had hoped. And while each parent had stayed true to their respective cultures and religions as much as they could, Mal was brought up with exposure to both sides so he could choose his own path. Both Christmas and Hanukkah were celebrated. He attended both a Catholic Church and a synagogue. He learned the history and cultural traditions of both the Jews and Irish Catholics, and participated in the rituals and celebrations held by both sides of the family. The battle for his heart and soul waged on through most of his life, with his parents serving as mediators and objective guides, determined to let their son choose his own path. Apparently, no one anticipated him choosing the path he did. When he declared himself an agnostic and refused to honor any of the traditions, holidays, or tenets that went with either religion or culture, it triggered a great deal of head-shaking disbelief.

In the end, his family learned to accept him for who he was, and while he said the efforts to make him see the light still continued at times, his relationship with his extended family had remained amiable and loving. My story in contrast with his seemed pathetic and destitute. While I never felt as if I was lacking in any way, or missing anything important, I had to admit that his relationship with his large, loving, extended family left me feeling a bit envious. It felt almost sacrilegious to feel this way, as if I was somehow dishonoring my father, or undermining the way he raised me.

We were very different, Mal and I, but not once during our meal did I feel as if things were awkward or uncomfortable between us. The dinner proved to be a welcome and enjoyable respite from the gritty reality of what those bagged items at my feet were about, and when it came time to leave, I found myself not wanting it to end.

I was glad Mal wanted to come back to the bar and meet some of the others, though I also felt a sudden awkwardness about having Duncan there. I realized Duncan's little plan might have backfired in an unexpected way. I was attracted to Mal O'Reilly, and given the uncertainty I'd been feeling regarding my relationship with Duncan, this could prove to be a dangerous arrangement.