Maggody In Manhattan

Chapter Ten

Geri remained rigidly angry as she repeated what Kyle had said concerning the schedule, nodded grimly when Frannie presented her case for inclusion, and ordered the contestants to follow her to the kitchen.

"Isn't this exciting?" Frannie said as she, Ruby Bee, Gaylene, and Durmond trooped out the door. No one answered.

I refilled my cup and sat down across from Estelle. "Okay, we're here all by ourselves. I'm not saying Ruby Bee found a body in the kitchen, but if she did-what was she doing down there in the middle of the night?"

"You'll have to ask her why she went there. I ain't her psychiatrist, for pete's sake, and I gave up a long time ago trying to second-guess her motives for most everything she does."

"Don't try to spoonfeed me that nonsense. Why'd she go to the kitchen at three in the morning?"

Estelle took a compact and a tube of lipstick from her purse. "Maybe she was looking for a glass of warm milk. I myself was asleep, so I didn't even know she was gone until she came back and pounded on the door." She deftly outlined her lower lip in a shade I would have dubbed "Virulent Cerise," clicked the compact shut, and dropped it and the lipstick back in her handbag. "I wonder how long they're gonna be in there? I was thinking we might try again to go to the Statue of Liberty and-"

"You didn't ask her why she'd been creeping around the hotel in the middle of the night? Get off it, Estelle. I don't know what you two are-"

"Has either of you seen Jerome this morning?" Kyle asked from the doorway. We shook our heads. "Brenda's locked herself in the bathroom of 211 and she won't come out. She's not making much sense, but she sounds really upset about Jerome. You don't think she'll…do something, do you?"

"I have no idea," I said uneasily.

Kyle groaned as if someone had crunched on his toes. "Oh, God, this is the last thing we need. Has Geri come yet?"

"She took the contestants to the kitchen about five minutes ago," I said. "If Brenda's locked in the bathroom, how'd you get into her room?"

"I got a passkey from Rick." He stared down the hallway, his expression increasingly bleak as he no doubt visualized the likely scenario. "Maybe you two could go up to her room? She might be more willing to talk to women. I'd call Jerome's office to see if he's there, but I don't even know where it is. They live out on Long Island somewhere, so his office could be there or in the city or almost anyplace, and I have no idea what the name of the firm is." His knees buckled, and he grabbed the back of a chair to catch himself. His voice rose in pitch and volume as he gazed imploringly at us. "Please see if she'll talk to you. I don't know what else to do. If she harms herself, the police will investigate and I might as well go ahead and slit my own throat."

"We're going," I said before he wet his pants in front of us. "Take it easy, Kyle. Brenda and Jerome were bickering last night. I didn't hang around for the finale, but it's likely that he stormed away to his house, or to his office, or even to another hotel. Of course she's upset about it. That doesn't mean she's going to end it all by drinking an entire bottle of Pepto-Bismol."

"She sure was upset at the reception," Estelle contributed thoughtfully. "She might be depressed enough to slash her wrists like Fizzy Westend did when his third wife ran off with that janitor at the high school. I can still see him staggering down the road like a three-legged calf, and bleating like one, too, while the blood spurted out like ribbons."

I grabbed her elbow and hustled her to the stairwell before she could come up with any more bright ideas. I knew we were both thinking about the purported corpse and the missing man, and I was not ready to dismiss it as a whimsical coincidence-if there had been a body. Estelle was convinced Ruby Bee had seen one, but she was as gullible as the local girls who swore you couldn't get pregnant if you were drunk. We have a lot of youthful mothers in Maggody.

I opened the door of 211 and cautiously said, "Brenda? Are you okay?"

Opting for the less delicate approach, Estelle pushed past me and knocked briskly on the bathroom door. "Brenda, honey, it's Estelle and Arly. Kyle said you were upset, and we thought we'd better come up and see if there's anything we can do for you."

The only response was the flushing of the toilet. While Estelle continued to make soothing noises to the scarred door, I ascertained that the only clothes hanging in the closet were Brenda's. All the shoes were pastel pumps. There were no manly items on the top of the dresser, and only one bed had been disturbed. "He's gone," I reported quietly. "It's obvious he packed his bags and left at some point last night. We're dealing with a straightforward marital problem, not some dark mystery. They fought, he left, and she's crying her eyes out in the bathroom."

Estelle nodded, then raised her voice. "Brenda, there's no point in staying in that little bitty room for the rest of your life, just because your husband walked out on you. Why doncha come out? You could call your daughters. Wouldn't it make you feel better to talk to them?" She waited for an answer that failed to arrive, and she tried a new approach. "If I have to, I'll stay out here beating on the door the rest of the day. Unless you want to be responsible for some bruised knuckles, you wash your face and come out here on the double, you hear?"

The door opened, and Brenda emerged, her face blotched and puffy, her eyelids so swollen they were almost closed. Her hair was damp, as was her nightgown, and she was shivering despite the feebleness of the air conditioner.

Estelle took her arm and solicitously placed her on the bed. "That's being more sensible. You want me to dial the telephone for you?"

"I don't want to call them," Brenda said dully. "It's not going to make me feel better to tell Vernie and Deb that their father's a satyr and a sadist. They probably know it, but I'm not going to be the one to say it aloud."

"Oh, honey," Estelle said, sitting beside her to hold her hand, "you and Jerome just had a spat, that's all. All married couples do, even newlyweds on their honeymoons. He'll come back before long, his tail between his legs, and apologize for being such a brute. I'll bet he's already sitting at his desk, feeling guilty and fretting over what to say when he calls you. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up real soon with flowers and a box of candy."

"I would be," she said in the same listless voice. "For one thing, he and his girlfriend are on an airplane to some city in South America…Rio, I think. I can just see them with their champagne and caviar, chuckling about how poor, stupid Brenda never knew a thing until he was packed and halfway out the door. All I can say is she'd better keep an eye on him, or she'll find herself replaced by the next young thing that rumbas into the room and snuggles in his lap."

"That's awful, but maybe it's for the best. You've still got your girls, and your house, and your bridge game, and your volunteer work. You'll stay so busy you won't even miss him."

Brenda toyed with her wedding ring but sounded a bit brighter as she said, "Jerome insisted on watching ball games on television every night. I've always been fond of those exotic nature programs, myself."

"Like the mating rituals of insects?" Estelle suggested. "I saw the most amazing thing…"

I let myself out of the room, relieved we hadn't found Jerome wrapped in a shower curtain and Brenda attempting to drown herself in the commode. As I'd tried to tell Kyle, it was nothing more than a man with a midlife crisis and a sudden interest in the mating rituals of younger women. Not all of them flew to Rio to play out their pathetic fantasies; I personally knew of one who'd settled for a seedy residential hotel two blocks away from his paramour until she could dispose of her spouse and free up some closet space.

I went to my room and lay down on the bed to think-not of the maladies of marriage but of more current events. Jerome was not missing, in a manner of speaking, and therefore no longer qualified as our mischievous corpse. Perhaps Ruby Bee had been sleepwalking, I proposed to myself. She'd managed to get outside the room, gripped by her bloody vision, and awakened when she found herself in the corridor. It had taken her an hour to persuade Estelle to buy her story, and then they'd come knocking on my door.

As for the missing cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut, it was more likely that Geri or Rick had arranged for them to be moved to a less obtrusive location, such as the pantry. All the other odd little things that had happened didn't matter one damn bit. Durmond had been mugged by an overly conscientious sort who wanted to make him comfortable in Ruby Bee's bed. Mr. Cambria was a doorman in Miami, and this was a busman's holiday. Magazine reporters were earthy.

The telephone rang. Remaining supine (mentally as well as physically), I fumbled for the receiver and said, "Yes?"

"Oh, Arly, it's awful!" Eilene shrieked, nearly piercing my eardrums. "There was gunfire at the café last night! Nobody's real clear what happened, but the police haven't seen either of the kids this morning!" She began to hiccup so loudly that I could barely understand her. "The killer's not dead, though. The police know that much."

"How do they know that?"

"He ordered a pizza. A large supreme with anchovies and extra cheese. The delivery boy had to take it right up to the door, hand it over, and then run for his life. The deputy said the poor boy had the tip clutched in his hand so tightly they had to pry his fingers open."

I searched the ceiling for guidance, but all I saw were waterstains, one of which bore an eerie resemblance to a pizza. "Well," I said weakly, "it sounds as if everybody's okay. They're certainly not starving if they've got pizza."

"But, Arly," she wailed, "Kevin hates anchovies!"

It occurred to me that despite my earlier bout of self-congratulatory analysis, I didn't exactly have things under control.

Mrs. Jim Bob figured no one could possibly recognize her, not dressed as she was in a shapeless tan raincoat, drab scarf, and sunglasses. She'd driven all the way to Fort Smith just so she could do her business in private. In that she was the brightest beacon of the congregation, along with being the president of both the Missionary Society and Citizens Against Whiskey, she didn't want to risk letting any of the more impressionable members get the wrong idea.

She parked on the far side of the lot on the off chance someone might see her car and start speculating about why it was parked in front of a store called "Naughty Nights." Clutching her handbag with the tenacity of a quarterback, she darted across the lot and into the store, and only when she was well away from the window did she take a breath.

"Hi," said the teenaged girl seated behind the counter. She put down a magazine and idly tried to guess why the woman was dressed like a Russian spy. "Need some help, ma'am? All the teddies on that rack are on sale this week, and we just got in a new shipment of peekaboo bras."

Mrs. Jim Bob recoiled, but managed to stammer, "I-I don't believe-no, not anything like that." The girl merely waited. "I'm looking for-a gift. It's for a niece who's getting married. I don't approve of this kind of thing, naturally, but her mother said it was exactly what she-the bride, not her mother-wanted."

"What exactly does she want?"

"Not a peekaboo bra," Mrs. Jim Bob said, getting hold of herself. "Something to wear on her honeymoon to make her look"-she struggled but couldn't bring herself to say the pertinent word-"romantic. Cut kind of low and with lace, made out of material you can almost see through."

"Would she prefer black, scarlet, or apricot cream?"

This was harder than Mrs. Jim Bob had anticipated. Here she was in a store with shameless underwear, being forced to choose from colors that sounded filthy. But she had vowed to herself to do it to save her marriage. She was on a Christian mission, even if it might look otherwise to ignorant busybodies, and she wasn't going to allow the snippety clerk to deter her. "Black will do nicely," she said.

The girl went over to a rack laden with perverted merchandise. "What size does your niece wear, ma'am? Does she prefer long or short? These little nighties are cute, and they come with bikini-cut panties."

"Long, I should think, and without any bikini-cut anythings, " Mrs. Jim Bob said, proud of her steady voice. "She's about my size, so she ought to take a medium."

Various gowns, all long and black, were pulled out for consideration, and within a few minutes one had been selected and whisked to the back room to be giftwrapped. Mrs. Jim Bob kept an eye on the door, but she righteously avoided letting the other eye drift to racks that might have items like peekaboo bras and bikini-cut panties.

"Here we go," the girl said as she returned with a box wrapped in silver paper and a white ribbon. "Will this be cash or charge?"

"Cash." Mrs. Jim Bob took out her wallet. "How much is it?"

"Thirty-seven fifty. With tax, it comes to forty dollars and twelve cents. There's no charge for gift wrapping."

She counted her cash, then sighed and took out a credit card. "Use this, I guess."

"Sure," the girl said as she accepted the card and read the name. "If you'd prefer, you can put it on your charge account, Mrs. Buchanon. That way you can settle it with one check at the end of the month."

"My charge account?"

"Your husband opened one more than three years ago; he's one of our best customers. Haven't you ever noticed the gold NAUGHTY NIGHTS stickers on our boxes?"

"Yes, of course I have," Mrs. Jim Bob said with a tight smile. "The gold stickers with the name of the store, right there on the boxes for the last three years. I forgot all about it, but indeed, let's put this on the charge account. In fact, before you ring it up, maybe I'll take another look. My cousin Sharon in Shawsville has a daughter who'll be marryin' soon, and this way I can save myself another trip. Why, now that I think about it, the McIlhaney girl's engaged and so is the oldest Riley girl."

Mindful of her commission, the clerk came out from behind the counter, and an hour later she was in the back room, gift-wrapping half a dozen lacy gowns of all lengths, a silk teddie with a little satin bow, and a single black peekaboo bra for some cousin or other with an approaching birthday.

Mrs. Jim Bob nodded when she was presented with a charge slip. "Four hundred twenty-seven dollars and eighty-two cents," she murmured as she wrote her name very carefully. "But worth it, don't you think? This will save me so much bother down the road."

"Yes, ma'am," the clerk said dutifully.

"Yoohoo," Estelle called as she knocked on my door. "Brenda's feeling chipper enough to go down to the kitchen. You want to come with us? Ruby Bee ought to be finishing up afore too long, and if she's not supposed to make her cake till later in the afternoon, I thought we might do some more sight-seeing."

"No," I called back, too appalled at the idea to lift my head, much less unlock my door. "I think I'll take a nap."

"Suit yourself. Come on, Brenda, Miss City Slicker is too high and mighty to visit the Statue of Liberty."

I listened to their voices until they faded, then rolled over on the bed and burrowed my face into the scratchy bedspread. Despite the temptation to call the airline and find out when I could catch the next flight south, I was reluctant to do so. Or perhaps too cheap, since I might get a call from Estelle the minute the plane landed in Maggody, and find myself in the identical position I'd been in two days earlier-but this time with a depleted bank balance.

A noise from beyond the adjoining door caught my attention. It had occurred to me that Geri might not react well if the cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut had disappeared without a flake. She was angry enough to turn on Kyle, who was dangerously tense. We very well might end up with more than one bloodied body in the kitchen, this time along with a handful of witnesses.

I went to the door and tapped. "Durmond? I was wondering how it went in the kitchen."

There was no response. I told myself it was a helluva lot more sensible to go downstairs and see for myself, then eased open my door and gave his a tiny push. Marveling at my lack of judgment, I opened his door and said, "Durmond? Are you here?" He was not, nor was anyone else. Guilt battled with curiosity, but it was a piss-poor war and two seconds later I was at the dresser, stealthily opening drawers and flipping through the neatly folded shirts, handkerchiefs, and socks. In the bottom drawer I found a faded red sweatshirt emblazoned (at one time, anyway) with the logo of a school called Drakestone College. That answered one question of noticeably minor significance.

One of greater significance came to mind when I saw the butt of a gun under said sweatshirt. It turned out to be a.38 Special just like one all the way back in Maggody, although mine was rustier from not having been used since the year before Eve ate the apple. He'd mentioned having a gun, but he hadn't elaborated on his reason. It was obvious he hadn't been kidding, though.

I replaced the sweatshirt, closed the drawer, and did a quick search of the rest of the room, the closet, and the bathroom. He'd not left his wallet for my perusal, nor had he written any letters and forgotten to mail them. I would have settled for a postcard. The wastebasket held only a crumpled potato chip bag, the copies of the insurance paperwork from the hospital, an empty bourbon bottle, and the stub of a train ticket, His toothbrush was in sorry shape, as was his encrusted razor. Wet towels had been kicked in a corner.

I went back to my room and stood in front of the window. A creature lacking opposable thumbs could do a better job of putting the puzzle pieces together than I was doing, I thought as I watched the traffic inch along. I was trying to come up with something clever when Gaylene Feather appeared below, crossed the street, and took off at a brisk clip, a large leather purse bouncing off her hip with the beat. A moment later, Ruby Bee and Estelle stopped at the curb, exchanged remarks inaudible to me but likely to be heard on Staten Island, and headed in the direction Gaylene had gone.

I would not have described myself as suspicious by nature, but the nurturing of the last thirty years had left its mark. Ruby Bee and Estelle were not taking a nice walk; they were following Gaylene. It did not give me a rosy glow of contentment to see they'd found a new hobby.

As they disappeared around the corner, I looked down to spot yet another intrepid traveler. It was Durmond's turn to hesitate for a moment, cross the street, and walk past the coffee shop to the corner. He stopped, however, as the door of the coffee shop opened and a man in a khaki jacket came out to the sidewalk. The grime on the hotel window prevented me from seeing with perfect clarity, but I got a fairly decent view of the man's long, stringy hair and unkempt beard. After a furtive glance toward the hotel, Durmond slapped the man on the back, and the two began to talk as they went around the corner.

I didn't know what to make of it, but I was certain something ought to be made of it. Morose professors from Drakestone College in Connecticut did not seem the type to relish the company of disreputable street bums. To add to the problem, the encounter lacked spontaneity. I may have been a bumpkin cop, but I could spot a prearranged meeting a block away, and just because I hadn't seen any lip-licking didn't deter me from leaping to a conclusion, maybe two.

It seemed like a good time to go downstairs and persuade Geri to part with information about various contestants. How I was going to do this was not clear, but I figured inspiration would come to me before I arrived in the lobby. I made sure my bun was firmly pinned, grimaced at my image in the cracked mirror above the dresser, and went down the stairs.

The front desk was deserted, as usual. Brenda sat alone in the dining room, a cup of coffee and an untouched danish on the table in front of her. She was studying a recipe card rather than a dagger, so I continued to the kitchen.

"He called me at home," I heard Geri say, and not in a pleasant voice. "I cannot believe you went tattling to your father like a little snot-nosed crybaby!"

Kyle sounded no more convivial. "Just run the damn contest like a big girl, okay? Stop with the princess on the pedestal routine, unless you'd like to end up without a nose or anything else. All you have to do is let them make their entries, and then we'll taste them, decide, and present the prize. If you can't stomach it, we don't have to taste them. We'll draw straws. This nightmare could be over in ten hours, if you'll keep your eyes dry and your act together. We're not messing with a bunch of clowns from Ringling Brothers."

I went into the kitchen in time to see Geri start toward him, her fingers curled into a fist and a less than regal expression on her face. "How's it going?" I asked. Geri reluctantly lowered her fist. "Peachy. We've worked out the time frame and everyone's checked to see he or she has the necessary items. We begin at one with Catherine."

The four cases of Krazy KoKo-Nut were stacked ever so innocently next to the wall. On the island were the five boxes, now crisscrossed with silver tape. If Geri and Kyle were standing in a puddle of blood, with a mutilated corpse at their feet, they were handling it with admirable aplomb.

"Well, good," I said with what aplomb I could muster, which wasn't worthy of anyone's admiration. "Where are all the contestants now?"

Geri stiffened. "How should I know? I'm not a babysitter; I'm a marketing professional-to my regret. I'd imagine they went out sightseeing or to grab a bite of lunch. Now that we've confirmed times, no one is obliged to hang around this dismal dump except for me."

"I'm here," Kyle said sulkily.

I hadn't yet been blessed with inspiration, but I forged ahead. "I was wondering how the contestants were selected for the finals of the contest. Did a panel of judges make all the submitted entries and select the five best ones?"

"In your dreams," Geri said with a harsh laugh. "Mr. Fleecum himself selected the winners, based on demographics. He then sent the list to the Krazy KoKo-Nut office for approval. Had his list not been trashed, we would have had a second man and better geographic representation to lure in regional press."

"So how did you end up with these five?" I asked.

Geri pointed her finger at Kyle. "You'll have to ask him. He's the one who blundered into my office with the updated list of finalists."

"I got the list from my father," Kyle said, squirming at her scarlet talon, "and he got it from Interspace Investments. They'd asked to see it, and he could hardly refuse, could he? Some of the finalists were unavailable, and they produced the replacements."

"Which makes this whole thing even more of a travesty," Geri said. She paused as a garbage truck rumbled and squealed to a halt in the alley, then added, "The integrity of Prodding, Polk and Fleecum is on the line. If word ever gets out on the street that the finalists are nothing but a bunch of ringers, we'll be the butt of cocktail party jokes for months."

"Not all the finalists," I said over the increasing din as the truck jockeyed with a dumpster, the men yelling and metal cans clattering as they bounced against the pavement. "Ruby Bee was on the original list, wasn't she? Who else was?"

Geri touched her temples. "This is giving me a migraine. Can't they do whatever they're doing out there and go away? Why must they make so damn much noise?"

"Maybe they're doing their job," Kyle began, then stopped as we were engulfed in silence.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," said a stunned male voice. "We got one."

"Why the fuck can't these deadbeats find a better place to sleep?" said another. "It's too late for the medics. You guys wait here and I'll call the cops from inside here. Damn it to hell, I was counting on getting off early so I could take my kid to the ball game."

Geri, Kyle, and I waited with all the animation of the teenaged finalist in one of her sulks. Even though we were anticipating the knock on the back door, we froze as if it were a spate of gunfire.

"I'll get it," I said at last.

I admitted an odoriferous man in a jumpsuit, who shrugged and said, "We got a sleeper in the dumpster. Would you call 911 and tell them we're waiting in the alley out back? And tell them we don't got all day."

"A sleeper?" Geri said carefully.

"You know-one of those homeless people who sleep wherever they can. This one chose your dumpster for his final resting place. Could you call the cops?"

Geri and Kyle crowded behind me in the doorway. The sanitation truck had opened its mouth to receive another meal, and the dumpster hovered above, having dislodged its contents. Resting on the mound of garbage within the truck was a body, one arm thrown back and the face turned toward us. Dried blood and rotting vegetable matter made a garish mask, but Jerome Appleton's features were identifiable. Behind the shattered lenses of his glasses, his eyes were wide and flat.

"The cops?" the man repeated. "We're already behind schedule for the rest of the run. You want I should make the call while you enjoy the view?" Geri began to whimper. "This is too much. I was packed and ready to leave for the Cape when Mr. Fleecum called and ordered me back. I was willing to make the effort one last time, but this is it." Not surprisingly, tears began to dribble down her cheeks. "I don't care if Mr. Fleecum fires me or not!"

Kyle put his arms around her and allowed her to sob on his shoulder. I beckoned to the bemused sanitation worker and took him to the office midway along the hall, pointed out the telephone, and left him there while I went to break the news to Brenda.

The dining room was dark, and all that remained of her earlier presence was the untouched danish and coffee cup. I started for the stairs, then spotted Mr. Cambria at his post and veered out the front door.

"Good morning, good morning," he said, beaming at me. "Are you off to shop or are you meeting your mother and her friend for lunch?"

I shook my head. "Did Brenda Appleton leave the hotel a few minutes ago?"

"The little woman with the dark hair?"

"Yes, and wearing"-I tried to remember something that had been of no interest-"a dark blue dress with white buttons."

"Then I must admit she left not five minutes ago, and in such a hurry that the litter has not yet settled back in the gutter. Is she the one you're meeting for lunch?"

Sirens shrilled at the end of the block as two police cars sped by, their blue lights flashing. I had a pretty good idea where they were going…and whom they would want to question about the body in the garbage truck. Simply because she'd been questioned two days earlier about an attempted homicide.

I gave Mr. Cambria a goofy smile. "I think I'll run along now. So many shops, so little time."

"I wish you much success."

"So do I," I muttered as I headed for the corner. Only when I was out of sight of the Chadwick Hotel did I slump against a concrete wall and permit myself the luxury of a howl. In Maggody, someone would have rushed over to inquire about my health. This was not Maggody, not by a long shot.