two hours of trudging through the snow and taking pictures of incredibly beautiful vistas, we had circled back around to the 79th Street entrance, past the Museum of Natural History. By now we were cold and hungry and we found a sandwich shop where we could sit by the window and watch the passing parade with hot coffee and franks nestled in buns loaded with sauerkraut. Snow had begun to fall again from the lead-gray sky.
“How come we never have sauerkraut on our hot dogs at home?” Dwight wondered, wolfing his down.
“Because we never have it on hand?” I asked. “Or because we automatically reach for coleslaw and chili?”
“Maybe. This sure is the taste of New York, though. You gonna eat the rest of yours?”
I handed it over, and while he finished it off, I turned on my phone and checked for messages. Nothing of importance.
Four-thirty and heading for dark now. Daylight had faded, streetlights were coming on, and fresh snow was falling so thickly that I had to hold on to Dwight’s jacket as we mushed back to the apartment building. Central Park’s beauty had allowed us to forget about the murder for a couple of hours, but now Dwight was wondering if Sigrid and her people had learned how and why Phil Lundigren had died in our apartment.
“Maybe they’ll extend you some professional courtesy,” I said. “She owes it to us to at least tell how Mrs. Lattimore acquired that bronze thing.”
He swung me over a puddle of dirty water at the next intersection. “You reckon professional courtesy’s in her vocabulary? She doesn’t strike me as the talkative type.”
“That’s okay. I’ll bet there’s a pretty active grapevine in the building. And we can always bribe the elevator man with a midnight snack.”
When we got to our corner, Dwight said, “Do you want to go out tonight or eat in?”
With the snow coming down so steadily, that was a no-brainer. “Why don’t I stop in this liquor store for some bourbon while you go see what your market has to offer?” I said.
He grinned and kissed me on the forehead. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”
North Carolina still has a monopoly on selling distilled spirits, which means no private liquor stores. This can be a real annoyance if you want a decent blackberry cordial for your champagne or some esoteric brand of whiskey and it’s not on the ABC list. Competition keeps whiskey slightly cheaper in New York and I’ve never noticed more drunks here than back home. Of course, I do get a lot of alcoholics in my courtroom, so maybe I’m getting cynical about blue laws.
I paid for the bourbon and carefully crossed the street, avoiding a wave of dirty slush splashed from a passing bus.
When I walked down the street to Kate’s apartment building, a man roughly the same height and shape as Phil Lundigren was cleaning the sidewalk out front with a snow blower. Dressed in the building’s brown coveralls, brown work gloves, and a brown knit stocking cap on his head, he finished with the blower and began to scatter salt on the few stubborn patches of ice that remained. He gave me a friendly smile when I pulled out Dwight’s keys, and he held the outer door open for me.
Before I could insert the key in the inner lobby door of the building, Sidney hurried over to let me in. On the ride up to the sixth floor I discreetly tried to pump him for information about the investigation. Other than saying that the police had left only minutes earlier, he had heard nothing new. Nothing that he was willing to share, anyhow.
Back in the apartment, I put my boots and my coat in the guest bathroom’s shower stall to drip dry and changed into a long skirt and a pair of sexy high heels. Shoe stores are for me what grocery stores are for Dwight, and we’ve both been guilty of sneaking our purchases into the house when the other wasn’t looking.
While I waited for him to come back, my eyes fell on Luna DiSimone’s little wooden cat and it occurred to me that maybe she had heard something.
Out in the kitchen, I transferred the party food that she had brought over onto a plate from the cabinet, washed and dried her platter, then left the door on the latch for Dwight, who should be getting back soon burdened with shopping bags.