Minnesota

invitation

“You got the key?”

            Steve nodded, twirling two keys on a chain with his fingers. Regina leaned against the wall, noticing the beige textured wallpaper, inlaid with gold. Guess we have to spend the money on something, might as well plaster gold on the walls in the boss’ penthouse. She would have preferred platinum. Even silver would have been better than shiny yellow. Always reminds me of pee.

            The double door entry swung open, a strong whiff of cleaning agent greeting them.

             “Smells like they bathed this place in bleach.” Steve meandered into the living area, ran his hand over the white leather sofa and chairs, continuing toward the large view windows. A metal framed, glass topped, writing desk sat in front of the window, allowing for a view of the city. Minneapolis glistened with night lights below, the crescent moon hanging mid-sky.

            Regina followed her partner in. Someone had given this place a deep cleaning, indeed. The kitchen sparkled. The stainless-steel dishwasher left ajar, still warm from recent use. “We just missed them.” Steve picked up the house phone on the desk.

            “This is the penthouse. Can you tell me who did the cleaning up here?” He listened to the answer. “No, there’s no problem, but I want to talk to the cleaner. Send them up.” Steve sighed, tilted his head back while listening again. “Send her up, now.” Shaking his head, he hung up.

He riffled through half a dozen pages lying on the desk. The last one drew his attention. It was thick, heavy stock paper, the name de Franĉ embossed on the header. ‘You are hereby invited to attend the 137^th Fencing Tour de Challenge at the esteemed Villa of de Franĉ on the 12^th day of August of this year …’

“See if there’s anything with his friend’s name on it.”

Regina nodded her head, taking inventory of the built-in bar in the living room. A knock on the door interrupted the inspection. Regina opened the door. A petite woman, wearing black slacks, a black blouse with the company logo on her right breast pocket. Her name, Ava, stitched beneath the logo. “You asked for me?” She blinked. Regina motioned her to come in.

Steve waved her to take a seat, glancing at her name tag. “Ava, do you clean this apartment regularly?” She nodded.

Regina sat across from her. “You’re not in any trouble, but we need to know who’s here, what’s going on, what the place looks like in the morning. Did they tell you that I’m the owner of this place? That my company owns this building?”

Ava didn’t move except to furtively glance between Steve and Regina. “It’s a young man, light brown hair, blue eyes, short, kind of chubby? Did he tell you he’s in charge here?”

Ava nodded. Her eyes fixed on Steve. “I’m sorry if I made a mistake, but my boss told me to do anything he said, or I’d get fired. He told me to obey Mr. Mark.” Something in Steve’s eyes calmed her, made her feel she could trust him. She wrung her hands. “It’s not that bad to clean, just empty bottles of beer and whiskey. They’re not as messy. Well, except once, last year.”

Steve didn’t react. Calmly, he prompted Ava for details. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Mr. Mark was angry because his friend made a mess, blood everywhere in the bathroom. He swore it was from fishing, said he’d gutted fish.” The maid’s hands turned white as she pushed her own nails into the flesh.

Steve’s eyebrow raised. “Fishing?” He cleared his throat. “Is it always the same friend? Or are there others?”

Ava shook her head, her ponytail swinging with it. “It’s always the same guy. I never caught his name, but he’s been here since I started working for you. Three years ago, right after this building was completed. Mr. Mark’s here one, maybe two months out of the year. His friend comes in-between, for a night or two. When Mr. Mark is in town, I’m told to not come up unless called. Mr. Mark says they go fishing a lot, they leave early in the morning and when they come back, they don’t want to be disturbed.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Fishing?” He asked again. He leaned toward Regina and whispered. “You got to be kidding. Your nephew wouldn’t know which end of the rod goes into the water.” Regina growled at him.

Steve stood up and walked toward Ava. He reached for her clasped hands, enclosing them. “You did the right thing by telling us. Can you tell me what he looks like? Age? Anything?”

Ava laughed, nodding. “Ugly, bitter, hates women. Blue eyes, like Mr. Mark’s, but darker, like deep water. He’s about the same height, but limp. Mr. Mark is muscle. And his hair is blonde, dirty. They’re about the same age.”

Steve sighed, stood up, his hands still holding on to Ava’s. “One more thing. There’s a fancy looking letter on the desk.” He didn’t have to finish. Ava knew which letter he meant.

“Ah, yes. A messenger delivered it a month ago. It caused a lot of excitement. According to the manager here, it’s for a sporting event, swords or something. According to everyone, it’s a big deal, only special people get invited.” She paused, tilted her head. “Mr. Mark said he didn’t think he’d get in. Something about not enough money having been paid.”

“Thank you. Let’s not tell anyone about this conversation.” He walked her to the door. “Here, this is for your dedicated service to our company.” He produced five one-hundred dollar bills out of pocket.

Ava gasped. “No, I can’t …”

He pressed the bills into her hand and closed her fingers around them. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her toward him. He smiled at her, his straight, white teeth sparkling, his gray eyes studying her face.

“I insist.”