Slugfest

Fifty-nine

“At the El Quixote, Kristi mentioned thirty-five locations,” I said. “Maybe they weren’t distribution outlets. What if they were sprinkler zones? She kept telling the cops it was an inside job. She wasn’t lying.”

“Can you turn off separate sprinkler zones?” Lucy asked.

“Why not? I do it all the time in people’s gardens. You can also turn off individual zones on an alarm system.”

“But why would she sabotage her own show?”

In the course of mingling I’d seen most of my show acquaintances—Connie, Nikki, and David. Lauryn and Cindy Gustafson. I looked around for the one person I knew who might have the answer. She was near the valet parking, having a smoke.

Lucy, Rolanda, and I headed for the entrance as casually as we could for people who really wanted to be sprinting. My new friend, Allegra Douglas, was just stubbing out her cigarette in a portable ashtray when we got there.

“Nice party,” I said. Chitchat over. “What happens if the Wagner Center is no longer deemed fit for the Big Apple Flower Show?” I asked.

“It would be unfortunate. Lots of people at Wagner will be put out of work. Maybe the building will finally come down and new construction go up. Someone makes a lot of money on that. On the director’s recommendation, the board probably moves the show to Javits; Kristi Reynolds quadruples her budget and doubles her salary. Shall I go on?”

“Can one lost show do that? Surely there must be other events at the Wagner Center?”

“None that are subsidized by a billionaire’s widow who’s passionate about gardening. If Kristi can convince Mrs. Moffit that BAFS needs to relocate, that building will lose its staunchest supporter.”

“Then why not sabotage her plants instead of other people’s?”

Allegra was shocked by what we were suggesting. “I suppose there’s a limit to even Kristi’s hubris.”

“Thank you, Allegra.”

Since we were back at the entrance, I asked the attendant again if Stancik had checked in. Still not there. Where the hell was he?

We moved out of earshot and I tried to think how we could find the Wrenthams. Then I remembered he had called me from the airport. His number was the last one on my call log. I hit reply. It rang close to ten times. Finally someone answered. The sound I heard was something between a gasp and a moan.

“Professor? Is that you? Where are you?”

He didn’t speak but I held on, waiting for something, background noises, anything. Then I heard it—ribbit, ribbit. “Are you near one of the ponds? Can you tell me which one?” I thought I heard rushing water but couldn’t be sure if the sound came from the phone or a nearby fountain. His voice sounded a little like Nikki’s after she’d been sedated, but Wrentham’s had the trace of desperation in it, and a little gurgle that might have been blood.

“Hang on, we’re going to find you.”

I pulled out the map they’d given me when we’d arrived. “Lucy, can you get us a couple more of these?” She ran off and was back in less than a minute. There were three ponds on the property and three of us.

“We really shouldn’t go off on our own. Rolanda, how about if you get Lauryn Peete and get her to search with you?”

“How about if I get my gun and go by myself? All right, I don’t have a gun with me, but that little thing? I’d sooner get Connie Anzalone. At least she’s got some meat on her bones. And I know she’s not afraid of anything.”

“Just don’t go by yourself,” I said.

“I won’t.”

I told her to head for Mary’s Pond on the right-hand side of the property. “Don’t do anything crazy—we’re just looking for the Wrenthams. If you see Reiger or Shepard, stay away. One of them is dangerous. Do you have Stancik’s number?”

“Yeah, it’s on my phone.”

“Good. Don’t be afraid to use it. Be careful. I want to come to your graduation.” Rolanda took off in search of a partner. She would make a good cop one day, if she got through the night.

I looked at Lucy in her flowered dress and tight white jacket, rumpled and stained with sap from the tree she’d climbed, and she reminded me of a little girl who’d gotten her Sunday dress dirty. “You stay here and wait for Stancik.” I fished around in my bag for one of Stancik’s cards and gave it to Lucy. “Call him every five minutes until you get him. In fact, plug the number in now. Tell him what’s going on and tell him Wrentham may need an ambulance.”

“Where are you going?” she said.

“To find J. C. so we can look for Wrentham and his daughter.”

“You’d rather go into battle with an old lady than me?”

“Who’s going into battle?” Climbing out of his black tanklike Escalade was Guy Anzalone. The happy teddy bear threw a few pretend punches in my direction.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” I said.

“I been waiting all weekend for you to say that.”

I took him by the arm and led him to the left side of the parking area away from the bright lights. I toyed with the idea of telling him I needed his help, that two lives might depend on it. Then I took a different tack. I whipped out the map and pointed to Horse Pond, on the left-hand side of the estate.

“Meet me there in ten minutes, you big hunk of burning love. I’ll be listening to the frogs near the pond.” I appropriated a long-handled flashlight one of the attendants had set down. “Take this. Wait for me. And watch your footing. There may be landscaping I don’t know about. Watch where you step.”

“I like a woman who knows what she wants when she wants it. Ten minutes. And one of your frogs will soon turn into a prince,” he said. He took off to the left, waving the flashlight from side to side as he walked.

Lucy sized him up in less than a minute. “I get it. He’s got a certain Flintstonian charm.”

“It’s not that. He doesn’t know it, but he’s helping us look for the Wrenthams.”