Page 30 of A Talent for Murder

We were on a wide thoroughfare, lined with shops and restaurants, but the sidewalk was mostly clear, and I could keep an eye on him. Between us was the man who had nearly knocked me over on the stairs. He was tall as well, but wore a tan raincoat over a suit and carried an umbrella. Up ahead Peralta suddenly slowed down, bending over slightly to peer at something in the window next to an awninged entrance. He was probably reading menus. I slowed my pace, then stopped, pretending that I’d been distracted by the empty window of a defunct department store. When I looked up, Peralta was on the move again, and that was when I noticed that the man between us, the man from our same hotel in the tan raincoat, had stopped as well, bending down to tie his shoe.

We all kept walking, the three of us. After five minutes Peralta took a right onto a side street, and so did the man between us. I was now a hundred percent sure I wasn’t the only one following Peralta. A flutter of nervous excitement went through me. Why was someone else interested in Peralta? Was it a plainclothes police detective? Maybe he was a lover, another married man, the two of them headed to a bar to meet.

The street we’d turned onto was tree-lined and clustered with smaller, more interesting-looking bars and restaurants and shops. Peralta slowed his pace, and so did the man following him. I crossed over to the opposite sidewalk, figuring I could watch them both from a better vantage point. I sped up a little to try to get a good look at the stranger from the hotel, but all I could really see was that he had short dark blond hair and wide shoulders. He had to keep slowing down, since it was now clear that Peralta was looking for a restaurant, stopping often to read menus. Eventually Peralta selected a winner, a barbecue restaurant called Red’s, its crowded interior visible behind a large plate-glass window. He pushed through its front door, and then the stranger walked past the restaurant, glancing through the window, pausing a little. I thought he might follow his quarry inside, but instead he ambled toward a crosswalk and made his way to my side of the street.

I was in front of a closed clothing boutique and there was a bench on the sidewalk, probably situated so that husbands could wait while their vacationing wives shopped. I took a seat and pulled out my phone and studied it, the stranger doubling back toward me, walking slowly, and it was the first time I saw his walk from the front. Only his long legs moved, his hips barely swiveling, his arms swinging in small arcs. He moved with immense confidence, something catlike about him. As he got closer, passing below a streetlamp that had just turned on, I got a good look. His hair was different, a little darker, and he was wearing glasses, but the face was the same. Wide jaw and high cheekbones. A little more wrinkled than I remembered, but still startlingly handsome.

Ethan Saltz.

He passed by me, not looking in my direction, and ducked into a bar called Lost and Found. I was frozen to my bench, my mind spinning out possibilities. Why was Martha’s ex-boyfriend from graduate school following Alan Peralta? It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, could it? I slid my phone back into my jacket pocket and tried to think. Yes, he had been following Peralta. I was sure of it. And now he’d ducked into a place across the street, probably to eat a quick dinner while Peralta dined nearby.

In the middle of these thoughts, the door to the bar that Ethan Saltz had entered swung open again and he emerged back onto the sidewalk. I had turned at the sound and we looked directly at each other.

“I thought you looked familiar,” he said, walking toward me.

“You’re familiar to me, too,” I said.

“Did you go to Birkbeck College, about a hundred years ago?” He smiled as he said it, like he was delivering a pre-rehearsed line.

“I did.” He nodded slowly, and I said, “Do you live here?”

There was the slightest flicker in his eyes, his mind calculating what to tell me. “I don’t, actually, but I like to visit. What about you?”

For a moment I thought of telling the truth, simply saying, “Oh, I’m here to follow Martha’s husband, Alan Peralta. We think he might be a killer, but you know something about that, don’t you? You were following him as well.”

Instead, I said, “I’m a teacher now and I’m sort of attending a conference here. I’m looking for a job.”

“That’s interesting,” he said, his wide wolfish grin making it clear he didn’t believe me. We both stared at each other quietly on the sidewalk in the dusk for a moment. I knew he was lying, and guessed he must have known I was lying as well. And maybe because our situation wasn’t quite absurd enough, the door to Red’s barbecue swung open and Alan Peralta stepped onto the sidewalk across from us, apparently only having had a drink at the bar and nothing more. We both looked across at Alan and then we looked at one another, and Ethan laughed.

“Something funny?” I said.

“Are you telling me you don’t know who that is over there?”

“The guy across the street who looks like J. D. Salinger?” I said.

He laughed again, clearly enjoying himself. “That fucker does look like J. D. Salinger. You know, I obviously picked the wrong student to pursue when I was at Birkbeck. You’re coming back to me now. I remember that you meddled in my relationship with Martha Ratliff.”

“There was a reason I did that,” I said. “I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you of that.”

“I think you’re meddling now, too.”

The wind changed direction and a dusting of rain moved across the two of us. Neither of us flinched, though, and Ethan’s umbrella stayed down by his side.

“Honestly, I have no idea what you mean.”

“What’s your name again?” he said.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Because I can find out anyway. I think I know why you’re really here, and all I’m going to say to you is that you should mind your own business.” He made a sudden move, raising his umbrella, and for a moment I thought he was going to strike me, but a yellow taxicab pulled up to the curb next to us. “Can I offer you a ride somewhere?” he said, as he opened the door.

“No, I’m good right here,” I said.

“Nice seeing you again, Lily. You haven’t changed at all.” He said this just before his taxi knifed away from the curb.

Chapter15

The text read: Give me a call when you get a chance. I have an update.

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