“I did. I do. I shouldn’t have, but . . .” He went back over to the couch and collapsed, his head in his hands. “After I left here, all I could think about was the way Marjorie had lied to me all those months. She told me we were going to get rich together, and instead, all she did was lead me on and treat me like a fool. I didn’t start out being angry, just disgusted with myself. But the more I thought about it, the crazier it made me. Finally I was so mad, I couldn’t see straight. And then I thought about the credit card I put in my pocket, and how it would serve her and this Bernard guy right if I got back some of my own. I’d taken Marjorie out for so many dinners, waiting for her to tell me more about how much money we were going to make. So . . .” He sniffed. He coughed. He scraped a finger under his nose. “I went to Ruth’s Chris on the way home and had myself a really nice meal.”
Truth be told, I couldn’t blame him. Even if I never would have had the nerve to do the same thing myself. Instead of admitting it, I went for the obvious questions. “They didn’t flag the card? You got away with it?”
“They never batted an eye. And I spent a lot of money. I don’t get out much these days. Me and Vanessa, we used to go out to dinner once in a while, you know, for special occasions. But then she got sick and the bills started piling up, and . . .” He rubbed his eyes with his fists. “In my whole life, I never enjoyed a steak as much as I did the one I ate that night. Until I got home, that is. I was up all night with indigestion, and it wasn’t the food, I know that. It was my conscience talking, telling me that I didn’t deserve that expensive dinner, that I’d done something I shouldn’t have done. The next morning, I checked the phone book, but I couldn’t find anyone with the name that’s on that credit card. So I did the next best thing. I worked three extra shifts at Big Daddy that week, got the money together, and sent cash to that restaurant, just to make myself feel better. Cost me a bundle, but at least I’ve been able to close my eyes every night.”
He knew he did the right thing, he didn’t need me telling him. Besides, I was too deep in thought to say much of anything. I tapped the credit card against my chin, thinking, and I was still wondering what it all meant when we left the house and closed the door behind us and when I stared at that credit card all night, unable to sleep.
Of course the solution hit me right around three in the morning when it was too late to do anything about it. I waited until the sun was up and hit the cemetery early, the better to get into my office and in front of my computer before anyone was around to bother me.
I found two Bernard O’Banyons listed, neither of them local, and made the calls.
As it turned out, the first Bernard O’Banyon was a bar in Wichita and the man it was named after? Well, he hadn’t been around since sometime in the 1850s. I was hoping his descendants were, and tried the Bernard O’Banyon listed in the Topeka phonebook.
Credit card in hand, I punched in the phone number and started into my spiel. It was all about how I was from the credit card company, and I really needed to talk to Bernard.
“Well, you must have the wrong person.” The woman on the phone sounded sleepy, but then, I didn’t account for whatever time it was in Kansas. “My Bernard, he didn’t believe in credit cards.”
I felt my spirits deflate. “You’re sure?” I asked.
“Sure as sure can be. He used to have one of them gas station cards. You know, for filling up the Buick. But he gave that up back in ’04. That’s when he got his identity stolen.”
My deflated spirits perked up. So did my ears when she added, “That thief, he got it all. Even Bernard’s Social Security number. Used it to rent an apartment in Denver. Imagine the nerve of some people.”
I told her I couldn’t and asked if I could talk to Bernard.
“Talk to him?” I didn’t have to see her to know she held out the phone and gave it a look, like she could see me at the other end of it. “What do you mean, talk to him? Bernard, he up and died back last Christmas.”
Did I thank her for the information before I hung up?
I honestly don’t remember.
But that’s because I was too busy thinking again. About credit cards belonging to dead people, and stolen Social Security numbers. About Marjorie.
And if maybe there was a lot more to her than any of us ever imagined.
14
To catch a thief, I had to think like a thief.
Only I wasn’t trying to catch a thief, was I? I was trying to catch the murderer who killed the thief.
No matter. As one of my college professors used to say, it was all just semantics, though what the meanings of words had to do with Jewish people, I didn’t know.
