Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

Morris.”
    Tina’s flinty eyes flitted nervously around the gallery. Patrons stood in front of enormous contemporary paintings that mimicked the splattered work of Jackson Pollock. They stared as if there was meaning in the chaos of the artist’s wanton spray.
    Olga said, “Is there a place we can talk? Or should we just do it here?”
    “Oh no,” Tina said quickly. “Let’s go back to the docent’s office”
    “Then you do remember me?”
    “Yes,” Tina said, leading her past the sculpture gallery and into a long white-walled corridor. Her Pradas smacked hard on the marble.
    Olga didn’t say anything as Tina took a brass key and turned the lock on an office door. Some African tribal figures stared from one corner. Supplies nearby indicated that they were in some state of repair. One of them was a large woman with a protruding belly. She was obviously some kind of fertility goddess.
    “I call her Trader Vicki,” Tina said, noticing how transfixed Olga had been by the statue, “I think she belongs in a bar and not a museum” She smiled nervously.
    Olga didn’t see the need for small talk. “Look, I know about you and Bonnie and Dylan.”
    Tina turned away from the carved ebony goddess and faced her interrogator. “You’re going to ruin my life, aren’t you?”
    Olga remained expressionless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”
    “I see the way you look at me, judge me, envy me”
    “Trust me, I don’t envy you.”
    Tina looked away. “Whatever.”
    “Listen, Tina, I just want to know what you really know. Not what you think you can get away with withholding to keep your own involvement minimized.”
    “Involvement with what?”
    “You know,” Olga said, though, of course she really didn’t. God, this feels good, she thought. It had been so long since she’d had the opportunity to face off with someone who had something more precious than gold-pieces to a puzzle.
    “Did you know Bonnie was dead? Murdered?”
    Tina looked frightened. “Yes. It was on TV. But if you think I had anything to do with Bonnie’s murder, you’re crazy.”
    “I didn’t say that. But I do think you know more about what Bonnie was actually up to”
    Tina was less nervous now. “You do? Well, then, good for you “
    “My friend at the Times would love to know.”
    “Are you blackmailing me? I have the best law firm in town on my side.”
    The haughtiness might work ifyou didn’t know this lady backstory, Olga thought. She decided to press Tina, hard.
    “Are you so incredibly self-centered that you don’t care about a dead woman?”
    “What do you want to know? Am I supposed to stand here and spill my guts? Is that how you want it?”
    “Be truthful.” Olga paused for emphasis. “About Dylan, Bonnie, and Angel’s Nest”
    “I knew this day would come,” Tina said, tears welling up in her eyes, “When Bonnie came here a month ago … “
    Tina Esposito almost didn’t recognize Bonnie Jeffries when she accosted her outside of the gallery, earlier that spring. So many years had passed and they hadn’t been kind to Bonnie. She was older, and dumpier. Seeing Bonnie was like revisiting a bad dream, one she’d finally been able to suppress.
    “You’ve done well for yourself. I hope you’ve been happy,” Bonnie said. Her voice was cheerful and overcharged, like the phony inflections of teenage girls who act as if they are so so so happy to see each other.
    Tina barely put on a smile. “Thank you. I can’t complain. You look well, too” She lied. “I’m late for an appointment,” she lied once more.
    “This won’t take long,” Bonnie said, her own smile now waning. If she had expected there was a happy reunion of old friends, she’d been mistaken. She stood in front of Tina, almost blocking her.
    “Obviously,” Tina said, “we can’t talk here.” She directed her back to the docent’s office. “Five minutes. But then I really have to go-a benefit tonight.”
    “I knew you were up there,” Bonnie said, seemingly impressed. “I’ve seen your picture in Seattle magazine.”
    Tina nodded, but she didn’t smile. She didn’t want to give Bonnie Jeffries any more insight into her life. The magazine article had been a risk, and until just then, no one from her past had come after her. The article was as close as she wanted Bonnie to get.
    “I’m a custodian for South Seattle schools,” Bonnie said. “After the trial, no one wanted to hire me. Thought I was a