Grave Designs by Michael A. Kahn

Memorial. The cardiac emergency unit. We grew up together. Next-door neighbors.” Benny had grown up in South Orange, New Jersey.
    â€œOkay. So?”
    â€œHe saw the obituary too. And it didn’t jibe with what he knows about Abbott and Windsor.”
    â€œWhat didn’t jibe?” I asked.
    Benny was grinning. “Lou didn’t think that partners at Abbott and Windsor come to work in skindiving suits.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about, Goldberg?” I asked.
    â€œYou heard me.”
    â€œAre you telling me Marshall was wearing a rubber suit when they brought him to the hospital?”
    â€œYou got it, Rachel. And judging from the evidence, he wasn’t working on a brief when he died.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œNope. He was getting laid. Getting his goddamn ashes hauled in an orange rubber suit.”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding me, Benny.” We were both laughing. “Marshall in a rubber suit? My God, that’s like…like Charles Bronson in fishnets and spike heels.”
    Benny nodded his head. “It’s the truth. Lou saw the obituary and then he went back to check the ambulance log. They didn’t pick him up at the office. They got him over at Shore Drive Tower.”
    â€œFrom whom?” I asked.
    â€œSomeone named Reynolds. C. Reynolds.”
    I jotted it down on a yellow legal pad.
    â€œRachel, this stuff is confidential. Lou swore me to secrecy.”
    â€œNo promises, Benny.”
    â€œScrew you. Anyway, I thought you might find it interesting.”
    â€œDo you know this Reynolds’s first name?” I asked.
    â€œNope. Probably some chick.”
    â€œFirst name starts with a C, huh?”
    â€œThat’s what he said.”
    I picked up the telephone directory and flipped to the listings for Reynolds. There was a listing for Reynolds, C, at Shore Drive Tower. I jotted down the number.
    â€œThink she had a pet named Canaan?” Benny asked, running his fingers through his curly black hair. He stood up, walked over to my bookshelf, and picked up the dictionary. “It means Promised Land, I think.” He sat back down with the dictionary open on his lap. “Here it is. Let’s see. Canaan. ‘The fourth son of Ham and the grandson of Noah.’ What kind of name is Ham for a nice Jewish boy?”
    â€œRead on,” I said.
    â€œOkay. Here we go: ‘In biblical times, the part of Palestine between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea; the Promised Land.’ Some name for a mutt, huh?”
    â€œKeep reading,” I said.
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œNo. There should be one more definition.”
    â€œNot here,” said Benny, handing me the dictionary.
    I read the definitions slowly. “Wait a minute.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out my notes.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” asked Benny.
    â€œI checked the definitions over at Abbott and Windsor. Marshall’s dictionary. I even wrote them down.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œThere was a third definition in Marshall’s dictionary. Listen.” I read from my notes: “‘A village in Massachusetts, founded in 1679 by Reverend Winthrop Marvell and disbanded in 1698.’”
    â€œBig deal,” said Benny. “Different dictionary, different definitions.”
    â€œSame word, though.”
    â€œMaybe you copied the wrong definition, Rachel.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” I frowned. “I’ll check it tomorrow. I’m supposed to drop by the firm around noon.”
    â€œRead me that definition again,” said Benny.
    I read it to him.
    â€œCanaan, Massachusetts?” said Benny. “Never heard of it. I knew a couple of preppies from New Canaan, Connecticut. Real douche bags. But I never heard of a Canaan.” Benny walked to the window. “It’s a weird name for a pet.”
    â€œYou still hungry?” I asked.
    â€œStill hungry?