Color of Blood(22)

“Seats, what else?”

“For furniture?”

“Well, no, for the railroad,” he said. “I upholstered and repaired seats for the railroad.”

“For the railroad,” Dennis repeated.

“Right,” Rusty said, taking a big sip from his frosty glass.

“How long did you do that for? I mean upholster seats for the railroad?”

“Thirty-one years, six months, and three days,” Rusty said. “But who’s counting?”

Dennis laughed. “Well, I have to say that I’ve traveled around the world and met a lot of people, but I’ve never met an Australian railroad upholsterer before.”

“Well, mate”—Rusty slapped him on the shoulder—“there’s no telling the people you’ll meet in this crazy world. But don’t forget—and I hope I’m not being too preachy here, Dennis—that it’s never too late to mend the things in your life that need mending. You seem like a bloke who’s got a lot on his mind, so it’s good to stand back and take the long view, if you see what I mean.”

“Does it look like I’ve got a lot on my mind?”

“Well, yes, a bit, mate.”

“Mmm.” Dennis took a sip.

“No offense meant, but sometimes you Yanks think you have to solve the world’s problems. The most important things in life are your family and your mates. The world at large comes in a distant third in my book. We old-timers have a saying—no worries, mate—that sort of sums up my approach to life.”

Fifteen minutes later, Rusty paid his tab and announced he was at his daily limit of beer and was going home. He said good-bye to Dennis and wished him well.

“Hope I didn’t bend your ear too much tonight,” Rusty said.

“No, not at all. It was fun talking to you,” Dennis said.

“Remember,” Rusty said, “no worries.”

***

Judy was in a bad mood. Earlier that morning Phillip had called her to say he was going to stop by that evening to pick up some of his belongings. He told Judy he might bring his fiancée, Claire.

Judy argued briefly with him about blowing off the weekend with Simon so he could spend it with Claire, but as so often happened while they were married, Phillip simply dismissed her concerns with: “Oh, come on, Judy.”

She pulled up in front of the hotel at 1:00 p.m., and Dennis waved politely. She only nodded in return. They exchanged greetings in the car but remained silent as she navigated the busy downtown Perth intersections.

Stopped at a traffic light, Judy revisited the anger and haunting humiliation she felt from the recent divorce. I should have known he was having an affair with that woman, she thought. It was so obvious and I was so stupid. Judy was unsure what was worse: the stupidity or the humiliation.

Dennis stared out the passenger window at the landscape. The weather was pleasant enough. Judy eventually entered a winding highway that went past the wide, languid, gray-colored Swan River.

“So what did you tell this English professor that we wanted to talk to him about?” Dennis said.

“I told him that we were investigating the disappearance of a Yank—an American. He said he was saddened by Mr. Jansen’s loss and would cooperate in any way.”

“Why did he say loss?”

“I suppose everyone assumes that there’s foul play involved, Mr. Cunningham. It’s been reported in the newspapers.”

“You keep calling me Mr. Cunningham. My name’s Dennis.”

“I’m sorry, Dennis. I agree it does sound a little too formal.”

Dennis looked away at two small sailboats plying the river, their white, synthetic sails nervous with trapped air.

Out of the blue, he said, “I met a guy last night in a pub: an old fellow. He was very friendly, relaxed, and talkative. He kept repeating, ‘No worries, mate.’ I don’t know why, but it just kind of resonated with me. He was this old-time Aussie philosopher, and it was quite amusing.”

“You’d need to go pretty far into the bush to find someone talking like that. Your pub mate was a throwback to another era, I’m afraid, Dennis. Most of us don’t have the luxury of taking life like that. It’s a little more complicated these days, unfortunately.”

“Well, he was nice and relaxed,” Dennis said absently, staring at the sailboats tacking sharply. “In contrast to my boss.”

Judy shot a puzzled glance at her passenger.

“What happened with your boss, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, nothing really. He just threatened to fire me yesterday.”

“Truthfully?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The consul general here complained about me. The Agency had me on a short leash, and I was warned not to bruise any egos, but I’m afraid I did a bad thing. It’s stupid, really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes.” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure they’re overreacting.”

Dennis felt strange. He had no business telling this woman anything about his professional life, but this morning, driving west on the Stirling Highway on the west coast of Australia, he didn’t much care.

Talking to Judy and interviewing this English professor would keep him away from falling into a funk. If he could just keep moving, he’d get through the day just fine.