"So, did you kill him? Or whatever you call it. You can tell me. " She curtsied again, which disturbed Charlie more than somewhat. He'd long ago defined his relationship with Lily as being built on a strong base of affectionate contempt, and this was throwing everything off.
"No, I did not kill him. What kind of question is that?"
"Did you kill the guy with the cigarette case?"
"No! I never even saw that guy. "
"You realize that I am your trusted minion," Lily said, this time adding another bow.
"Lily, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing. There's nothing wrong at all, Mr. Asher - uh, Charles. Do you prefer Charles or Charlie?"
"You're asking now? What else did the cop say?"
"He wanted to talk to you. I guess they found that Mainheart guy dressed in his wife's clothing. He hadn't been home from the hospital for an hour before he sent the nurse away, got all cross-dressed up, then took a handful of painkillers. "
Charlie nodded, thinking about how adamant Mainheart had been about having his wife's clothes out of the house. He was using any way he could to feel close to her, and it wasn't working. And when wearing her clothes didn't put him closer, he'd gone after her the only way he knew how, by joining her in death. Charlie understood. If it hadn't been for Sophie, he might have tried to join Rachel.
&n
bsp; "Pretty kinky, huh?" Lily said.
"No!" Charlie barked. "No it's not, Lily. It's not like that at all. Don't even think that. Mr. Mainheart died of grief. It might look like something else, but that's what it was. "
"Sorry," Lily said. "You're the expert. "
Charlie was staring at the floor, trying to put some sense to it all, wondering if his losing the fur coat that was Mrs. Mainheart's soul vessel meant that the couple would never be together again. Because of him.
"Oh yeah," Lily added. "Mrs. Ling called down all freaked out and yelling all Chinesey about a black bird smashing the window - "
Charlie was off the stool and taking the stairs two at a time.
"She's in your apartment," Lily called after him.
There was an orange slick of TV attorneys floating on the top of the fishbowl when Charlie got to his apartment. The Asian powers were standing in his kitchen, Mrs. Korjev was holding Sophie tight to her chest, and the infant was virtually swimming, trying to escape the giant marshmallowy canyon of protection between the massive Cossack fun bags. Charlie snatched his daughter as she was sinking into the cleavage for the third time and held her tight.
"What happened?" he asked.
There followed a barrage of Chinese and Russian mixed with the odd English word: bird, window, broken, black, and make shit on myself.
"Stop!" Charlie held up a free hand. "Mrs. Ling, what happened?"
Mrs. Ling had recovered from the bird hitting the window and the mad dash down the steps, but she was now showing an uncharacteristic shyness, afraid that Charlie might notice the damp spot in the pocket of her frock where the recently deceased Barnaby Jones lay orangely awaiting introduction to some wonton, green onions, a pinch of five spices, and her soup pot. "Fish is fish," she said to herself when she squirreled that rascal away. There were, after all, five more dead attorneys in the bowl, who would miss one?
"Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Ling. "Bird break window and scare us. Not so bad now. "
Charlie looked to Mrs. Korjev. "Where?"
"On our floor. We are talking in hall. Speaking of what is best for Sophie, when boom, bird hits window and black ink run through window. We run here and lock door. " Both the widows had keys to Charlie's apartment.
"I'll have it fixed tomorrow," Charlie said. "But that's all. Nothing - no one came in?"
"Is third floor, Charlie. No one comes in. "
Charlie looked to the fishbowl. "What happened there?"
Mrs. Ling's eyes went wide. "I have to go. Mah-jongg night at temple. "