Page 49 of Coram House

The line is quiet. I wonder if he’s going to hang up on me.

“Well, we can start with the fact that I didn’t know you were the one that found her body,” he says, his voice cold. “Because you didn’t tell me. And I only found out Jeannette Leroy was dead this morning when I read the obituary. Voila, here I am calling you back.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. It feels like I’m losing my grip on time. Because he’s right. I hadn’t told him about finding a body in the woods. Hadn’t told anyone. And of course he couldn’t have known Jeannette Leroy was dead—her obituary was only published yesterday.

“Did everyone know?” I ask. “That she’d been at Coram House?”

Stedsan is quiet for a few seconds. “She didn’t hide it exactly,” he says finally. “But she lived quietly on her own. And it’s been a long time. So no, I wouldn’t say everyone knew.”

Still.It was common knowledge. I feel myself flushing with embarrassment all over again at the way I marched into the police station waving my groundbreaking information.

“I came by your apartment this afternoon,” Stedsan says. “To check in. You weren’t home.”

I bristle—so he had time to make a surprise visit to my apartment, but not to call me back. But he’s right. It’s his show and his rules. I’m the one who signed the contract.

“I was at the police station.”

Outside, the streetlamp cuts through the darkness. I have no idea if it’s eight at night or three in the morning. Tree branches scrape against my window, fingernails tapping to be let in.

“Oh,” he says, clearly surprised. “Because of the body?”

“No. I mean, yes. I thought—I needed to tell someone about Jeannette Leroy being Sister Cecile.” God, it sounds even dumber when I say it out loud.

“No, I mean the other body.”

Now it’s my turn for stunned silence. “The what?”

“You haven’t heard?” he asks. “Apparently they found it at the dump.”

I think of the empty police station, Garcia grudgingly treating this like a murder now. It had nothing to do with me. There’s another body.

“No, I haven’t heard,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Do they think it’s connected to Jeannette Leroy’s death?”

“No idea,” says Stedsan cheerfully. “Dump, body. That’s all I know.”

“But the body—I mean—it’s a murder?”

“Like I said: no idea.”

“Right,” I say. “Thanks for telling me. And—sorry if I was short with you. It’s been a long few days.”

“I’m sure it has. And I probably deserved some of it. I’ll try to be more available.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have used the f-word.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

I’m sure he has. I hang up and check the clock on the stove. Nine fifteen. I think of my ramen—the water hours cold by now. Then I stand and grab my coat off the hook. Time for a drink.

15

I don’t actuallyknow where I’m going, but I figure every Main Street in America has a bar, so I head that way, past rows of brick buildings and trees encased in twinkling lights. I pass the dark windows of a cafe and a used bookshop with a crow stenciled on the window. Down the block, a neon sign beckons me.NECTAR’S LOUNGE.I don’t actually know the difference between a bar and a lounge. Except, one conjures up a Hitchcock heroine balancing a martini on her glossy fingernails. The other, a hard-drinking man slumped over a whisky. Tonight, I’ll take either.

Through the fogged-up windows, I can make out a bar and the blurred outlines of people. Lots of people. I hesitate. The picture in my head involved sitting quietly in a dark corner, nursing my drink, not elbowing my way through a packed room. On the other hand, there’s my cold ramen and the box of VHS tapes and cotton swabs.

I step into a fug of stale beer and bodies. A wood-topped bar runs all the way down the long, narrow room. Behind it, a mirror reflects the crowd, like an old-fashioned saloon. The room is loud, and the bartender is busy serving a large party at the back. I take an empty barstool near the door and wait.

When the bartender appears, I order a double whisky, neat, wanting something with fire. The first sip makes me grimace, but it’s followed by the warm glow I was chasing. I breathe in. I breathe out. I take another sip. I wonder what the fuck I’m doing here. Drinking alone in a bar, yes. But not only that.

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