David Rosen opens the door. He’s still wearing the white shirt and suit pants he wore to the funeral, but he’s taken off his tie, unbuttoned his top button, and untucked his shirttails. He’s also gripping a twelve-ounce can of Milwaukee’s Best Premium beer-always the cheapest brand in every package store.
“Detective Ceepak. Boyle. Come on in.”
He leads us into the kitchenette of his tiny home. I notice a guitar propped up in a corner.
“Again,” says Ceepak, “condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you. And thank you for attending the services. I wanted to play my guitar at the funeral. Maybe do my slow hand version of ‘Stairway To Heaven.’ Judith wouldn’t let me. Hey, who was that little old lady who came with you?”
“My mother. She knew your father from the Sea Haven Senior Center. Thought very highly of him.”
“Huh. Small world.”
David yanks open the refrigerator. Looks around for something to eat. Doesn’t find anything to his liking. Closes the door.
“Hey, do you or your mom know a guy named Joseph Ceepak? ‘Ceepak’ is such an unusual name, it kind of stuck with me.”
“He is my father.”
“Really?” David smiles and nods like a kid who just guessed what was inside his birthday surprise bag. “Okay. I thought there might be a connection. He’s working for us. Sinclair Enterprises.”
“So I have heard.”
“I head up the HR Department. That’s Human Resources. Anyway, the other day, Friday I think, we get some mail, a Guns And Ammo magazine or something, that’s been forwarded to Joseph Ceepak, c/o Sinclair Enterprises, 1500 Ocean Avenue, Sea Haven, New Jersey. That’s our address …”
“David?” this from Judith out in the living room. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”
“Just a second,” says David, eager to finish his story. “Every year, it’s the same thing. We hire so many seasonal employees, I end up playing mailman from early June to just after Labor Day.”
“Fascinating,” says Ceepak even though David is boring me to death.
“So, is your dad still at the Smugglers Cove Motel, or has he moved in with you and your mom?”
Now Judith, dressed in her black funeral dress, clutching a clear plastic cup filled with white wine, comes into the kitchen.
“David? Why are you bringing this up, now?”
“I still have Mr. Ceepak’s magazine. I’d like to make sure I forward it to the right location …”
Judith rolls her piggy eyes. “Honestly, David. You can be such a child.”
And she walks away.