I turned to my father, who quickly stuffed a piece of sandwich in his mouth.
“Why didn’t you just say you wanted to see the photos, Dad? I would have brought them here, or you to them.”
We sat in silence.
“So, you think this is the family,” I said. “But why? And what does it have to do with me? Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
He huffed, a sound like choking, but I got the message. In life, in that family, there were no coincidences.
I signaled the waitress.
“Can I order? I’d like a cheeseburger, medium rare, add a couple of pieces of bacon and a pickle. And fries, please,” I said.
I looked at the two men.
“What the hell,” I said. I pulled a moleskin notebook out of my bag and started sketching the knife.
After the burger, fries, and two Tums, I had a good sketch of the knife and a list of the jewels that I recalled from the handle.
“I still don’t know what this was doing in Neville’s throat,” I said.
“Murder,” Phil said.
“Helpful that is not,” I said, giving my father a fist bump. “If we assume that this was intended to set me up,” I began.
“Or warn you away from something,” my father inserted.
“Whatever that means, okay,” I said, continuing. “Then I have to admit that removing the photos from my storage unit may be wise, except of course that no one could tie that unit to me, but it still doesn’t remove me from scrutiny by the police, which is my most pressing problem at the moment.”
“No, we’ll be able to handle that,” Phil said.
“How?” I asked.
“Where was the knife? On which side of the neck?” he asked.
“Well, his head was on the desk like so,” I put my head down on the now-empty table, my left cheek resting on my left arm crossed under it. “And the knife was stuck in right here.” I indicated a spot on my throat, right over the carotid artery.
“Perfect!” Phil said.
“Really?” I raised my head. “Why is that perfect?”
“I’ve been observing you drawing the knife and you are obviously left-handed. This crime must have been committed by a right-handed person,” he said.
“Listen, Perry Mason, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” I said.
“No, simple it can be,” Father said. “Let simple be the way.”
“Jesus.”
They were beaming.
“All right, Simple Simons, let’s go with that as my defense. Now all we have to worry about is who’s trying to set me up to look like a murderer. Maybe that’s a simple ‘family affair’ as well. Any thoughts on that one, Dad?” I asked.
“Many thoughts I have,” he answered. “A call to nature I must first heed.”
“You’re not leaving this booth without putting a twenty on the table,” I said.
I looked over at Phil.
“He’s famous for the ‘nature’s call’ ditching the bill trick. Pony up, partner.”
I refused to move out of the booth until my father placed a bill on the table.
“A cruel woman you have become, tormenting an old man,” he said.
“You’re not old,” I said to his back as he hustled to the restroom.
“So, Phil, tell me, how well do you know my family?” I asked.
“I’ve known your father for years,” he said.
“I was referring to the maternal side,” I said.
“Oh, well, that’s more interesting, and ah, perhaps, we should talk about that another time, I’ve already exceeded my time today…” he said.
My father appeared and Phil was gone, down the same hallway.
“Why, do you have a curfew at the institution?” I asked his retreating back.
He nodded. “The calendar holds for us what next?”
“That is another excellent question,” I said. “Am I to assume that the box that was removed from my storage unit is going to remain inaccessible for a while, or might we be able to take a look inside?”
“Oh,” he said.
“Ah,” I said. “I guess we have to turn our thoughts in another direction. Okay. Not the most far-sighted decision you’ve ever made, Dad, but I give you credit for good intentions.”
He gave me a smile.
“We could call your mother and ask if there’s anything she wants to tell us,” he suggested.
“Seriously?” I asked. “Are you in touch with her? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. And no, I don’t want to call her.”
I saw his big brown eyes go soft again.
“No, Father, I do not agree that bearding the wolf in her den is a good idea, no matter how many times you try to tell me the story can have a happy ending. In my experience, the wolf always eats the visitor. And I am not in the mood to be anybody’s meal, thank you anyway.”
“But your mother loves you,” he said.
“Let’s move to Plan B, shall we?” I replied. “And where the hell is Phil? Did he ditch us?”
After my father checked the men’s room and determined that Phil was gone, we paid the check and started walking down 11th Avenue. It was a beautiful fall afternoon and we enjoyed the weather, if not the roar of cars and helicopters zooming past. Eventually we arrived back at the storage facility and rode up the elevator in silence, not resuming our conversation until we were seated in two chairs that I uncovered and moved to the center of the crowded space. With a couple of lamps strategically illuminated and the metal door almost completely closed, we were sealed in a fairly secure but very comfortable safe room.
“Go,” I said.
“Phil went to see what the cops have so far. He’ll call me when he has a report,” he said. He pulled a key out of his pocket and tossed it at me. “The box of photographs is in a smaller unit at the end of the hall, number 3319. No need to take it out of the building.”
“Good one,” I said. I gave him a thumbs-up. “But tell your guy he was sloppy on the boot print. That could cost him next time.”
I snuggled deeply in the plush upholstery of the armchair.
“God, I miss this chair" I said. "I’m going to bring it to my apartment soon. I hate the crap I have in there now.”
“Will you be staying here, in New York, then?” he asked.
I sighed. “I don’t know. I thought so, but now….It’s hard to say.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled down until I found a list of people.
“So, here’s a list of people in the writing group. Should we go through the names and see what we come up with?”
“Do you really think it’s one of them?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Why not?” I asked.
“Well, I’m certain that you could probably find motive for one or two people to want to kill Neville in that group, but the issue is, who would want to implicate you as the killer? If you can find one person with the motive for both of those things, then you hit the jackpot.” He looked