This Place of Wonder (70)

And other things.

He brushed my hair. He massaged my hands or my feet when we were watching a movie. He knew all my favorite foods and bought them for me with no care over whether they were elegant or gourmet or junk. I have a weakness for crunchy CHEETOS, and he’d sometimes just bring a bag home from work. Or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Or Cara Cara oranges. Whatever.

He read to me. Read to me. No one in my life had ever read to me, not anything, but when he found out I loved poetry, he read my favorites to me—Mary Oliver, Ellen Bass—and also his own favorites, love songs and manifestos from the sixties. He loved Simon and Garfunkel poetry, which he joked was way too white for him to like, and yet he did.

He whistled when he cooked, and sang in the shower with a voice that boomed out as big as his laugh. He made dolls of hollyhocks for his granddaughters and brought Rory a beer that could be purchased only in a town sixty miles away.

He was known for little presents—a single flower, a pair of earrings, a book, a pencil, a toy, a piece of candy.

“You’re going to wash the silver off the top of that,” the bartender—his name is Jeremy—says. “Something on your mind?”

I shake my head. What can I say? My lover died and I miss him. But that just makes everybody uncomfortable, and it’s not like he could do anything to make it better. I just have to long for Augustus until I don’t. Maybe I always will. As someone said, grief is a thing you have to carry.

The door swings open and we both glance up. Two cops in plain clothes come in. “Norah Rivera?”

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“You’re a hard woman to track down,” the woman says. “I’m Detective Love and this is Detective Vaca.”

“Is this about Augustus?”

“It is. Can we sit down somewhere?”

“Is that okay?” I ask Jeremy.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not the boss.”

I lead them over to a booth in the corner. “Maya Beauvais told me you’d want to talk to me.”

“Is there some reason you didn’t come in on your own?”

“I don’t have a car, and I’ve got a job, and I only found out yesterday that you wanted to talk to me.”

“Fair enough.” She flips her notebook. “You’ve been living with Augustus for nine months, is that right?”

“Yeah. I came out here in September, and didn’t leave.”

“Whirlwind romance?”

I nod.

“He was a lot older than you.”

“Yes.” I deliver a level gaze at her. “Did you ever meet him?”

“Can’t say that I did. I don’t really run in those circles.”

“Circles?”

“Celebrities. The beautiful people.”

I let myself smile a little, gesturing toward the bar. “Me either.”

“How was your relationship with Mr. Beauvais when he died?”

“Good, I would say.”

“And his mental state?”

I turn a fork upside down on the table. “He was worried about his daughter in rehab, pretty worried about the restaurant, too.” I take a breath, add the truth. “His health was not great.”

“The restaurant was in trouble?”

I nod. “Not really my realm, but yes, I think everyone kind of knows that.”

The guy leans forward. “What kind of relationship do you have with his family? His ex-wives, his kids?”

“Not much. I’m friendly with Rory, and I know both Maya and Meadow, but only socially, really. Maya is letting me stay at Belle l’été.”

“That’s the house Augustus owned?”

“Yes.” It strikes me as something they’d already know, so they’re leading up to something. “Is there something in particular you think I might know? I’ve only had this job a couple of days and I need it.”

Vaca lifts his chin. “If you knew someone poisoned him, who would you finger?”

I blink. “Poisoned?”

“It’s still inconclusive, but the evidence is pointing that direction.”

I know a lot about poison as a method of murder thanks to a class on Agatha Christie I took as an undergrad. “Fairly hard to pinpoint, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrow. “Did you poison him?”

I meet his gaze. “He was the best thing that ever happened to me, Detective. Why would I kill him?”

“Did you know he was sleeping with the bartender at Peaches and Pork that night?”

I feel an electric shock jolt my nerves, setting them abuzz. “No, that’s not right.”

“I’m afraid it is,” he says. There’s a slight, aggressive satisfaction in his pronouncement. “He was also sleeping with Meadow, fairly regularly by the look of it.” He settles a grainy photo of the two of them engaged in a passionate embrace. Her shirt is pulled off her shoulder, which Augustus is kissing. “Were you aware?”

“No.” I swallow, and it takes everything I have to keep my voice even. “But I did suspect. They spent a lot of time together after Maya went to rehab.”

“Do you think Meadow could have poisoned him?”

I meet his eyes again. “No,” I say distinctly. “She loved him like he was the sun and moon and stars.”