Dinner at Castellanos
by M. M. Vaz
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
Through a series of backroads and byways, Dave overcame the obstacles inherent to the morning commute and delivered on his promise. Anne had arrived at her conference five minutes after it began.
“You’ve done it. I can’t believe I’m only five minutes late. Thank you, dear,” said Anne as she stepped out of the car before the conference center’s doors, the relief evident on her face.
“You’re welcome. Didn’t I say I could do it?” he said proudly. Dave always kept his promises to Anne; in thirty years of marriage, not once had he ever failed to do so. “Pick you up at 4:00 p.m. sharp, right here.”
“Okay, love you,” said Anne as she closed the car door and walked towards the conference doors.
“Love you too. Later!” shouted Dave. He watched her enter the conference doors and then steered the car back into the morning traffic.
* * *
Anne stepped through the conference doors and into the waning afternoon sun, relieved it was over. The snide remarks from her boss about her ‘tardiness,’ the arrogant and boring speakers, and her lack of interest in the topics presented left her feeling that she was being punished rather than educated.
A gust of cool air brushed against her cheeks. As she breathed in the crisp outdoor air, she was determined to put the memory of the stale and stuffy conference behind her, at least for tonight.
A familiar voice called to her as she scanned the portico for their car.
“Anne, Anne, over here!” It was Dave, waving out the window of a yellow cab.
Anne rushed to the passenger door. “Hi, Honey! I’m so happy to see you!”
“Me too,” said Dave.
Anne kissed Dave’s cheek as she fastened her seatbelt. “What’s going on? Where’s our car?” she asked.
Dave hesitated, “Uh... it broke down.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with it?” she asked.
“Nope. It just stopped running,” he replied.
Anne looked into his eyes with gratitude. “So, you hailed a taxi, and here you are right on time to pick me up.”
“Of course,” he said, “as promised.”
“Excuse me, ma’am. Where to?” interjected the taxi driver.
“Do you know Castellanos’ restaurant?” Anne asked.
“No, ma’am. I usually work in the airport area, not the conference center. Do you have an address, ma’am?” he replied.
Disappointed, she replied, “Sure, just give me a minute to find it.”
Turning to Dave as she searched her cell phone for the address, she asked, “How was your day otherwise?”
“Fine, I guess,” replied Dave flatly.
“You guess? That doesn’t tell me much.” She insisted, “Any details?”
“Not really. Routine stuff. I suppose that’s why it’s kind of a blur, and I don’t remember much...” Dave offered dully.
Anne nodded in affirmation as she studied his face. Something wasn’t right. He seemed tired, almost to the point of exhaustion. She searched her mind for an explanation. Unlike her, he loved his job and the people he worked with, so she couldn’t imagine how anything at work could wear on him so quickly. Perhaps the chaos of this morning’s commute had overwhelmed him.
She replied, “Dave, you look tired.”
Puzzled, he responded, “I do?”
She noticed the intense gaze of the taxi driver on her in the rearview mirror and thought, He’s rather nosy.
Just then, her cell phone rang.
“Hello, is this Mrs. Anne Neubauer?” asked the voice on the other end.
“Yes, yes, it is. Who is this?” Anne asked.
The voice identified itself as that of Sergeant Ingersoll of the metro police department. “Ma’am, we need you to come to the station right away. How soon can you get here?”
“Well, I suppose it would take about 20 minutes to arrive. But can’t this wait? It’s getting late, and I’ve had a long day...” Anne replied.
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid it can’t,” said Ingersoll. “I’ll see you in about 20 minutes.”
Feeling compelled, she responded, “Okay,” and hung up.
“Where to, ma’am?” asked the taxi driver again, now impatiently.
“To the metro police station, please,” she replied.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” he replied.
Anne turned to Dave, “The police want us to come to the station right away. I guess they are in a hurry to get their hands on our dashcam footage because the officer said they can’t wait till tomorrow. Let’s go there and get it over with so we can go home and rest.” She noticed the intense look of sadness that suddenly permeated his expression. A tear flowed down his right cheek.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Anne...” he whispered.
She tried to comfort him. “Dave, it’s not a big deal. Castellanos can wait. Besides, there’s always next week.”
Her words seemed to affect Dave’s mood. The expression on his face turned serene, almost peaceful. “Next week. Yes, next week...” he repeated as they rode together in silence towards the police station.
* * *
Eighteen minutes later, they arrived at the police station. Anne suggested that the taxi drop her off by the front doors. “I don’t think they need both of us, and this shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back in a jiff.” She grabbed her purse and cell phone and exited the car. She could see the reflection of Dave sitting in the taxicab on the glass entry doors to the police station as it made its way to the parking lot.
Anne stepped through the doors. A middle-aged female officer with a tag sporting the name Officer Bradley was seated at the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Sergeant Ingersoll,” declared Anne.
“Your name?” asked the officer dryly.
“Anne Neubauer. I think he’s expecting me.”
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Neubauer, he is.” Bradley picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Sergeant Ingersoll, Mrs. Neubauer is here. Okay, yes...be right there.”
“Mrs. Neubauer, please follow me,” instructed Officer Bradley.
Anne followed her down a long, narrow hall. They stopped in front of a door labeled ‘Interview Room, * * *3.’ An unexpected flash of fear coursed through Anne as Bradley opened the door. “Mrs. Neubauer, this is Sergeant Ingersoll.”
Sergeant Ingersoll was a hulking man of about six-foot-five with thinning auburn hair and a kind expression. “Hello, Mrs. Neubauer,” said the Sergeant, extending his hand, “It’s good to meet you. Please have a seat.” He nodded to the female officer and pointed to a chair next to Anne. Understanding, Bradley sat down as well.
“Hello, Sergeant, it’s nice to meet you as well. I have the dashcam for you.” Anne reached into her purse, grabbed her cell phone, and started to play the footage for Sergeant Ingersoll.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s the dashcam footage for the road rage incident that I reported this morning. My husband Dave and I witnessed it on our way to work.” She studied the look of confusion on their faces. “Isn’t that why you wanted me to come here tonight?”
Ingersoll and Bradley shot a glance at each other. Then, Ingersoll spoke: “No, Mrs. Neubauer, I’m afraid that is not why we asked you to come in.”
“Then what is it?” she asked, her apprehension growing.
He looked into her eyes. “Ma’am, I wish there was an easy way to tell you this, but there just isn’t. Your husband, Dave Neubauer, was in an accident this morning, and he did not survive. I’m sorry, Mrs. Neubauer. Your husband is dead.”
On hearing those words, her apprehension turned to disbelief. Anne shook her head, “That’s impossible. Is this some kind of a sick joke? Who put you up to it? Don’t you people have anything better to do?”
Ingersoll responded patiently, “Ma’am, I can assure you this is not a joke. Your husband was involved in a severe accident on the freeway this morning.” He reached into a folder and placed photos of the accident scene before Anne. “He veered into the right lane at approximately 73 mph, hitting a car that we believe was in his blind spot. Three others were injured, but he did not make it.”
The car in the photo was the same make, model, and color as theirs but transformed into a crumpled mass of fiberglass with a yellow tarp hiding the driver’s seat occupant. Still, there was no way it could be theirs.
Exasperated, Anne shouted, “No, it can’t be true! This is a case of mistaken identity! My husband is alive; he picked me up after work in a taxicab and rode with me to this station. He is sitting in it outside in the parking lot, waiting for me right now!”
“There’s no mistake. We have his driver’s license...” replied Bradley pitifully.
Anne rose from her chair and rushed out of the interview room. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you,” she said defiantly.
Ingersoll and Bradley followed Anne silently as she stormed down the long hallway and through the station’s front door. Anne stood at the top of the steps, scanning the parking lot for the taxicab. Spotting it, she ran for the passenger door and opened it.
“Where is Dave?!” she screamed at the driver.
“Who?” he replied.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Dave, my husband, the man who rode in your taxi with me to the police station!” she replied.
The driver responded with a befuddled look: “Lady, no one was in the cab but you,”
Confused, she replied, “What? No, he sat right here next to me...”
Pleading, the taxi driver turned to the officers, “Officers, this lady needs help. She was talking to herself the whole ride up here...”
On hearing those words, the realization of the dreadful truth swept over Anne. “No! God, please, no!” she screamed as she sank to the ground, Ingersoll catching her before she hit the concrete.
* * *
Anne arrived home well past midnight in a zombie-like state. She could remember little of how she got there, only that Officer Bradley had offered to drive her home in her police car.
She entered the house; it felt cold and empty. So many plans she and Dave had, gone in an instant. She walked up the stairs and got ready for bed. As she pulled the covers over her body, her cell phone rang. She recognized the number. It was her boss. Anne did not answer it and, in the morning, she resigned.
Copyright © 2024 by M. M. Vaz
