Page 93 of The Secret Dinner

“She’s not a staff writer. Ruth doesn’t like being stuck in one place. She does freelance work, special features.”

“And was she involved in any story in particular?”

“I don’t know, I always respected her privacy. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Maybe Ruth had to go undercover to do investigative work.”

“She would have told me…” said Arthur, not sounding very confident. “Actually, I hadn’t considered that. Do you really think so?”

“It’s just a thought.”

“It’s been so hard. Last night, while I was alone in our apartment, I even thought about taking some pentobarbital. It’s a quick death, painless,” he said, as casually as if he were talking about something he’d seen on TV. “It’s hard to go on when you’ve lost the most important thing in your life and you’ve got everything you need to kill yourself right at your fingertips.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, man.”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to keep looking for Ruth.”

“Try looking into what she was researching, her personal belongings, her computer. Maybe you’ll find a clue.”

“I don’t know, I don’t like invading her privacy like that … but maybe given the circumstances…”

I nodded, realizing our conversation was coming to an end. I’d planted the seed; I was sure Ruth had been writing some article that had led her to Vladimir. I needed to find a way to stay in touch with Arthur so I could be kept in the loop.

“Thank you so much, for everything,” said Arthur, about to say goodbye.

I gathered up my courage and took his hands.

“If you want, we can keep in touch. I’m betting you don’t know a lot of people in Rio and you could use some company, a friendly shoulder to cry on so you don’t dwell on stupid ideas.”

“That would be great, Dante, thank you. You really are a good guy. I’ll call you.”

I gave a weak smile, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.

SHERLOCK AND WATSON

1

Arthur messaged me the next morning to invite me for a walk along the beach. The sun had come out and I needed to clear my head anyway, so I agreed. We met at Pedra do Leme, where I found him handing out flyers with Ruth’s photo.

“I had three thousand of these printed. I’m going to keep handing them out until I get more information,” he said excitedly. “I asked for the café’s security camera footage, but can you believe they don’t have it?”

At first I thought he was just going to talk about Ruth nonstop and regretted accepting his invitation. To my relief, Arthur soon switched it up, talking about life in Rio and what TV shows he’d been watching. We walked for forty minutes. He was polite, kind, and intelligent, and I could see he shared many of Miguel’s traits—maybe because, to my business mind, a pharmacist and a doctor did similar jobs.

He quickly grew on me: the deliberate way he expressed his ideas, his conciliatory tone, his shrewd eyes that captured everything around him. It was like taking a nostalgic stroll through my best days with Miguel. Arthur had undoubtedly already noticed that I was gay, but I didn’t sense any judgment or different treatment because of it. Despite his undeniable good looks, at no point did I feel any attraction toward him, only respect and affection. He was a sensitive man who wasn’t ashamed to reveal his weaknesses. We said goodbye around noon and planned for more walks during the week.

Back at home, Piglet was pigging out on pepperoni pizza for lunch while watching Mr. Bean on TV. Beside him on the sofa, Cora was content with a grilled chicken salad and didn’t seem at all interested in Mr. Bean’s antics: She repeatedly checked her phone between mouthfuls. When he noticed me, Piglet turned off the TV, sat up on the couch, and signaled for me to come closer.

“I’ve got new info, handsome.”

“Me too.”

Cora didn’t even look up from her phone.

“Where were you?” Piglet asked.

“I went for a walk,” I said, not wanting to tell him about Arthur. Our meeting had a sort of hush-hush feel that I wanted to maintain. “Where’s Hugo?”

“He went out, didn’t say where,” Cora replied. “He was out all day yesterday, too.”