Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

wonder if you’d mind talking about him with us?”
    “For a newspaper story?” She was petite, almost birdlike— and from the look on her face, she’d fly away if the answer was yes.
    “Actually … not yet. We’re very concerned, as you might imagine. And frankly, we’re a little pissed that the police haven’t arrested anyone. So, I guess you could say this is background right now— we’re trying to find out who had a reason to kill Jason.”
    The two kids on the porch were riveted. Wainwright glanced at them nervously. “Let’s go in back, shall we?”
    We walked behind her, Rob admiring her tiny, perfect butt. I knew that because I knew him so well, but then anybody would have. Felicity Wainwright was one of those perfectly shaped tiny women who made you feel like picking them up like a baby and counting their fingers and toes. Like her daughter, she was a redhead, copper hair cut short and bouncing about her head in unruly curls. Her face was more pink and white than the usual redhead gold, more a blonde’s coloring, and her eyes were a very light blue, azure almost, and they were round, which gave her a look of innocence and youth. She looked almost as much like a teenager as her daughter— and about as likely to wear black. There was something about the curls, or perhaps an Irish shaped face— elflike, with pointy chin— that made her look merry as the month of May.
    She took us to a patio paved with flagstones and seated us at a white table under a Cinzano umbrella. She laid her dirty gardening gloves on the table as if they were white-lace ones and this were a formal occasion. “Would you like some iced tea?”
    “Sure,” said Rob, though I would have declined, eager to get to the interview. He had told me once that he always accepted beverages, it got people used to the idea that he’d be awhile. So I nodded, going along.
    When we were all genteelly sipping, Wainwright said, “I don’t know how I can help, really. I feel like I hardly knew him.”
    “We heard you two had been dating.”
    “Dating. Yes.” She frowned. “But not so much lately. God, he was fun. He figured out what my favorite foods were and always made sure he let the chef know in advance— things would just magically appear, variations on themes, you know, different things every time but still all my favorites. And then the chef would come out, and Jason would joke around with him— he just had such an easy manner. But— you know— I hadn’t seen him in two weeks, maybe three, when I heard the news. Tell me— there’s no question he was murdered, is that right?”
    “The police have a couple of witnesses who say he started running to get out of the way, but the car backed up and went for him again.”
    “My God! Who’d want to do that?”
    “We were just wondering if you had any thoughts.”
    “Not unless it was somebody he skewered in one of those wicked reviews of his. He was a completely hilarious writer, but I was always afraid he’d go too far. Other than that, I wouldn’t have any idea because I don’t know anything about his life— he was one of those guys who only do small talk.” She gave me a wry look, as if to say, You know the type?
    “So I take it,” said Rob, “that you weren’t deeply involved with him.”
    “You mean was I sleeping with him?”
    Rob had the good grace to look taken aback, but she kept talking. “I belong to this group that my friend Trudy calls JerkEnders. We have this little rule— no sex before the tenth date.” She laughed. “Only two people have ever managed it, I think, but the theory is you should get to know somebody first. Very obvious, huh? And very nineteenth century. Well, it’s this way— either those two people must have dated Jason McKendrick, or maybe he belonged to another branch of it, up in the City.”
    “Not exactly Fast Eddie, I take it.”
    She spread her hands, not hiding a thing. “It was kind of refreshing at first. After awhile I got to wondering.”
    “Wondering what?”
    “What was going on.” She got Rob in a hammerlock stare. “It isn’t exactly guy behavior.”
    “I, uh— I guess not.” It was all I could do not to laugh out loud. It wasn’t every day I got to see Rob Burns get flustered. From the shade of pink he was starting to turn, I gathered his cover had just been blown— that he most assuredly knew guy behavior when he saw it, and he was thinking he’d like to indulge in some with Felicity Wainwright.
    I