by Rita Lakin
Hy is curious, ‘What’s in Homestead?’
Ida grins, ‘Dummy, nothing is in Homestead. That’s where I’ll say I went running down a wrong clue.’
Hy is touched, ‘You would do that for me?’
Ida is back to her grumpy self. ‘Yes, but don’t ask me why. I have no idea why.’ She helps gather up the food plates. ‘You go home. I go home. And don’t bring any flowers. Guilty men bring flowers. And you never, never mention my raincoat. Just remember this forever: you owe me. Big time.’
Hy grins. ‘Agreed. I would hug you, but I can’t reach you in all this chaos.’
Dolly-Ann points, ‘Speaking of chaos …’
The door swings open. Manny stands there, arms outstretched. Drunk as a skunk.
Dolly-Ann is mad at him. ‘Where were you? You were gone for hours! And you’ve been drinking!’
‘I was out celebrating with my new buddy, Julio. (He doesn’t know from Hulio). Hi, gang. I’ve got great news. I’m selling this piece of junk and taking out all my bank savings. I’ve signed on at the Twenty Palms Retirement Community! I move in next week.’
He spots what they’re eating. ‘Hey, Indian food. And beer. Any left for me?’
Who’s Julio? Dolly-Ann wonders. At the same time thrilled; her problem is solved.
My Julio? Ida wonders.
Julio? Hy wonders. Who’s he? Who cares? I’m outta here.
But by now it’s midnight. Think sleepover.
THIRTY-SIX
A Mystery Call from Far Away
My cell phone is ringing. I squeeze my eyes open to peer at my watch. One a.m.! Is that Ida waking me again? In the middle of the night. I glance over to Evvie. Good. She’s still asleep.
Before my caller can speak, I say, ‘Ida, couldn’t you wait until morning?’
‘Good morning, my darling.’
I fairly leap out of bed and hurry into the bathroom, shutting the door, so I won’t wake Evvie. I am smiling so hard, my teeth hurt. I sputter, ‘Jack, is it really you? Where are you? You’re still in Africa, aren’t you? What time is it?’
I can hear him laughing through his words. ‘Sorry I woke you. But you called me, sweetheart. You needed me, so I got to a satellite phone and here I am, at your service. And since you asked, it’s eight a.m. here. We’ve just had breakfast.’
I smile, ‘I hope not bugs. Tessie was sure you were eating insects.’
We both laugh. ‘Actually I ate hard-boiled eggs, sans bugs. And so did Joe and Sol. What’s new back home?’
I sigh. ‘We’re not at home. The girls and I caught a case in Key West and here we are in a lovely bed and breakfast. Wait a minute. You said I called you? I didn’t call you! I said I needed you? I wouldn’t even know about … satellite phones. How odd.’
‘I heard you in my head. As if you were sending me a message. ESP, maybe?’
‘That’s amazing. I was actually dreaming about you. Wishing you were here.’
‘And I heard your dream, obviously. So, what’s the problem, sweets?’
‘Well, it’s a very long story, my dear, and I’m sure this call is expensive, so I’ll toss out a quick summary. The girls were bored, no new case. Woman calls from Key West, wants us to solve a murder. So I say yes, too quickly. Ida can’t go, but that’s a different story, so I won’t digress.’
I grab for my bathrobe and struggle into it, then I pace.
‘Never mind the cost, tell me.’
‘We get to Key West and we meet this odd couple and they take us to their boarder, who says he is the only witness to the murder. A murder that no one else in the entire city thinks is a murder. The cops, townspeople have their own proof; they insist, they know it’s an accident!’
Jack jumps in. ‘But you have this witness …?’
I sigh again. Wait ’til he hears this craziness. ‘Are you sitting down?’
‘No,’ he says, ‘do I have to? Right now I’m standing next to our jeep watching gazelles galloping by. Waiting for the others to finish eating. Why do I need to sit?’
‘How lovely. Because I’m about to take you into fantasy land. The one and only witness, the person who can solve this crime is annoying … no, he’s cantankerous, stubborn, impossible … and dead.’
There is silence. I’m not surprised.
‘Run that by me again, dear. Dead?’
‘Are you ready for this? He’s a ghost. A very famous ghost, the very dead Ernest Hemingway.’
A bit more silence. ‘Really?’
‘The couple who hired us can see and hear him. And, brace yourself, so can Bella.’
‘Bella? That’s interesting.’
‘We’ve been debating going home and leaving this nonsense but … somehow we feel we would be letting that fragile couple down. The Wassingers, and our ghost, Mr Hemingway, are upset that justice won’t be done. They want us to believe: a) that there is a ghost; and b) that we believe that the ghost knows exactly how the murder took place.
‘So, we who don’t believe in ghosts, are stymied.’
I can almost feel my Jack taking this all in. Finally he speaks.
He says surprisingly, ‘You know, in the many years I was a cop I had cases that felt strange. I’d get a feeling there were unusual goings on. Finally, I had to open my mind to the possibility that something maybe other-worldly was involved.’
‘Really? You? Mr Rational?’
‘Think about it. There are people who believe in UFOs. Big Foot. The Lochness Monster. Even earlier alien invasions.’
‘Even ESP, darling. You say I called you in my dreams. I needed your advice. And here you are.’
‘Right. Now you say that Bella can see the ghost. That actually makes sense to me. She has always been the innocent, naive one of your group. I can believe she is open to seeing a ghost.’
I smile. ‘Or a Loch Ness monster.’
‘Why not?’ Jack starts to laugh. ‘Shall I tell you what I am looking at right now? I am sitting under the very shadow of the snows of Kilimanjaro!’
‘Omigod! I can’t believe it!’
He is delighted. ‘Think back, former librarian and devourer of gazillions of books …’
‘That very famous short story by … Ernest Hemingway!’
‘Even made into a movie with Gregory Peck and that sexy Ava Gardner.’
‘What an amazing coincidence!’
‘Is it? Is it a coincidence, my dear Gladdy? Remember Shakespeare’s Hamlet? “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”.’
I sigh again.
‘There you are. Enjoy your sleep.’
‘Enjoy your day.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you more.’
For a moment, I lie there. My mind computing everything we now know. Then I jump out of bed and make a quiet phone call.
Evvie starts to stir. ‘What’s up,’ she says sleepily.
I am excited now. ‘Get up, get dressed and get the girls. We’re going on a night-time tour!’
THIRTY-SEVEN
A Tour. Thieves in the Night
Black and murky as the night is, at least the air is pleasant. The girls are surprised, waking up and going out again way past our bedtime. But this hurried meeting was deemed necessary by me and our guide and ‘new best friend’ Louie Wassinger. Therefore, here we are out walking at crazy three a.m. We are not surprised that there are still people wandering the streets.
It’s only a few blocks until we reach 907 Whitehead Street, the important tourist site that Evvie had intended to read to us from her travel book. The Ernest Hemingway Mansion.
The girls still can’t believe I woke up Louie and he was willing to do this immediately. But I insist I have a plan and I think it’s a good one.
I say, ‘We have to ignore reality and assume, for a while, that ghosts really exist.’
Evvie jumps in, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’
Sophie asks, ‘What does that mean?’
&n
bsp; She answers, ‘If you have a penny, you might as well have a pound. Odd expression; the penny is American money, the pound is English.’
Sophie, ‘I still don’t get it.’
‘Me, neither,’ choruses her buddy, Bella. She, mistress of confusion.
We are getting close to the address and I’m searching for Louie. ‘We are going to give Mr Hemingway what he wants and he is going to give us what we want.’
Evvie nods, as she patiently explains the saying. ‘It means if you are involved in doing something, you should complete it, though it might be more complicated than you expected.’
I agree, ‘What can be more complicated than having to continue to deal with a ghost we don’t believe exists, in order to solve a crime?’
‘Good question,’ Sophie adds.
We’re here, and there’s Louie, waiting for us; another ‘complication’.
I feel like bursting into song out of the Gilbert and Sullivan’s songbook, H.M.S. Pinafore: ‘Carefully, we tiptoe stealing, breathing gently as we may.’ Here we are being led by ninety-ish, frail Louie, inch by elderly inch, carrying a huge flashlight, through the closed, getting darker-by-the minute grounds of the Hemingway Mansion estate.
We are moving in a conga-type line, behind him, each holding onto the shoulder of the person in front of us. We can barely make out the building ahead of us, as Louie informs us in a tour guide voice, ‘The French Colonial Hemingway Mansion. Built in 1851. Hemingway only lived there from 1931 to 1939.’
With her free hand Sophie keeps poking at me. I ignore her because I’m busy watching my step, so I don’t fall and break my neck while following and listening to Louie’s lecture. Finally, she shoves me hard.
‘Rats,’ she hisses hysterically, ‘rats running all over the lawn! Rats running over my feet! I’m gonna scream!’
Louie hears her and is amused. ‘Those are cats. The mansion is famous for them. Polydactyl, six and seven toe cats. There are approximately forty to fifty of this breed living on Mr Hemingway’s property.’
Sophie clutches my arm, screeching in my ear. ‘Fifty cats! That’s supposed to make feel better? I’m allergic! I wanna go back to the car.’ She’s ready to cry.
Evvie, behind her, reaches over her shoulder and puts her hand over Sophie’s mouth for a moment. ‘You are not allergic, so shut up and keep moving.’
‘Okay.’
Louie drones on. ‘The gardens are magnificent.’
Evvie agrees, sarcastically, ‘Especially in the dark.’
Louie unlocks the front door. It squeaks. We stop, standing still, expecting guards to throw us out, but Louie is not perturbed.
We enter the building. ‘I dassent turn on the lights, but if you look up, you’ll see one example of the amazing chandelier collection. Well, you actually won’t see them too well.’ Louie wiggles the flashlight beam from right to left. Yes, one could guess there’s something on the ceiling that looks glittery.
Bella says, ‘I’m not looking up. There could be spiders.’
Louie and I decide to leave the two nervous girls near the front door with one tiny light turned on and instructions not to touch anything. Hah, they’ll hardly breathe, let alone touch.
Louie, Evvie and I climb upstairs, and down a hallway to a special locked closet that Louie is familiar with. His key is whipped out, and in moments, we have a box of Cuban cigars and a red bullfighter cape.
Before going back downstairs, he touches my arm. ‘You should know Mr Hemingway cannot leave us. He must stay until his mission is completed.’
Evvie blurts, ‘And what mission is that?’
Louie smiles at her. ‘He is trapped in purgatory until his soul is cleansed; which will only happen if justice is served for Mr Strand. And we hope that you succeed in getting that justice for him.’
Evvie still on it, ‘And if we don’t succeed?’
Louie shakes his head mournfully. ‘He is stuck in purgatory forever.’
And the Wassingers are stuck with a guest who can’t leave. Well, thanks a lot for letting us know how heavy our burden is.
The girls can’t get out of the mansion fast enough.
I’m amused. I decide to say, ‘Well, we can tell people we were in the Ernest Hemingway mansion, when there was a sudden eclipse of the sun. That’s why we never saw anything. Sounds believable?’
The girls do a quick happy hop. Now that they’re safely off the grounds.
Louie promises to get the two items to Papa as I try to imagine how an invisible man will wear a cape and smoke a cigar.
‘I hope you enjoyed the tour, ladies,’ he says cheerfully. ‘See you later.’
He races off; thrilled at being able to tell Sadie how well it went. Oh, and of course, to report it to the ghost guy.
‘Happy. Happy,’ grins Sophie.
‘Bella,’ I announce, ‘get ready for another chat with your buddy, Ernie. This time he’ll talk … or else …’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Farewells to All. True Feelings Unspoken
Day Five
Manny and Dolly-Ann stand at the doorway of the trailer, after a very early morning group breakfast of cold cereal, saying their goodbyes to their somewhat guests, Hy and Ida. Multiple conversations and thoughts are going on at the same time:
‘Bye, Hy, it was so nice seeing you again.’ Dolly-Ann gives him a good manners kind of kiss on the cheek. She sighs. They had one last chance last night. Not really. With Ida, she made three. Dolly-Ann would have liked to go to bed with Hy, but truth be told, he’s just an old man. And, she reasons, if she’d married him instead of Johnny, they’d be divorced by now anyway. Dolly-Ann thinks of herself as a tragic heroine in her own life story.
‘Ditto,’ from me,’ says Hy, having learned something from this experience. He had no longer been tempted to cheat last night. He is reminded of the title of a book he read long ago. You Can’t Go Home Again. Thomas Wolfe. Yeah, he can’t go back to the past. But his future with his wife is hopefully still intact.
Manny says to Hy, ‘Sorry, guy, that I was so tough on you. Only kidding.’ Manny thinks, he’d still like to mangle him into the shape of a pretzel. He hides his clenched fists.
Hy with false bravado, ‘No big deal. Truce, okay? We were just a couple of foolish kids back then.’ Hy would like to smash that idiot’s face in. If he wasn’t such a coward. Truth be told; the dork could still hurt him. Besides, he just wants out of this awful place. In one piece.
Ida to Dolly-Ann, ‘Probably won’t see you again, but so nice meeting you.’
Ida, who determined at midnight that it was too late to return home, decided to stay over. She’d informed Julio. He said he’d pick her up in the morning. He lived close by, not a problem for him. So she was invited to stay the night.
What a hoot! Last night in a sleeping bag on the kitchen section of that old floor in the trailer a couple of doors down. She giggles to herself; she was to become chaperone over Hy and Dolly-Ann. But, surprise, there he was, happily sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
Dolly-Ann to Ida, ‘So nice meeting you, too.’
Hy and Ida leave. But not together. Hy, in his mind, emotionally preparing for the denting of his precious Mazda and pretending a concussion. Ida climbing into Julio’s truck. Glad to be rid of the bunch of them.
Julio thinking when he tells his family about these gente loca, how they will laugh.
THIRTY-NINE
Bearding the Lion in his Den
We arrive later in the morning, sleep-deprived, hoping to get this business over with. The Hemingway ghost promised us an answer in return for his cigars and cape. In and out fast, I hope. I’d caught Evvie up with my incredible phone call with Jack. She is in agreement. We settle this fantasy-adventure today.
The Wassingers are thrilled to see us yet again. And they thank us again for going to the mansion last night. Would we like a tour of their garden first, before going upstairs? So many new buds are blooming. They’d like to show us the tulips, asters, mum
s and sunflowers. Here they go again, in delaying mode.
‘But are the Calla lilies in bloom?’ I ask, parodying the famous Katherine Hepburn line in a movie that few young people are old enough to remember. Of course Evvie, my movie buff, knows exactly that the 1937 excellent movie, based on the stage play, was called Stage Door. And done again as a radio play in 1939.
We’ve come to see the wizard. (The wonderful Wizard of Oz.) And only that.
We do not wish any pre-discussions of world affairs, or special room exhibits or antique displays or flowers; or anything else they come up with to slow us down.
Why the hindrance? Since they desperately need us to solve the crime? Because we are a puzzle to them. They cannot ‘read’ us. They worry about our behavior. And our disrespect. And our cynicism. But they have to put up with us. We’re all they have. They hope to bribe us into kindness to their ghost. They’re lucky, at least they have Bella.
By now they should be used to townspeople jeering them about their imaginary resident. But they are the only ones who see and hear the late Mr Hemingway. What does that make them? Nutcases? Bella, also?
With a promise of best behavior, we head up the stairs, with the befuddled Wassingers clambering right behind us, chattering, muttering, how glad we’re on their team again.
Louie. ‘Warning. It’s been a difficult day.’ Uh oh, now what?
Sadie. ‘He’s always cantankerous when his ex-wives visit. They’re all here. His last wife, too.’
Time to play our part in their game. I ask sweetly, ‘What do the ex-wives want?’
Louie. ‘The usual, more alimony.’
Sadie. ‘That second wife, Pauline. She always wants more money to add on expensive things to the mansion. That swimming pool must have cost a fortune. Drives him crazy. Papa swears she bankrupted him. Mary is different; she doesn’t want anything.’
Evvie is nodding, following my act. Sophie is surprised. Bella is delighted.
Evvie comments, tongue-in-cheek, ‘Such a pity. Do the ex-wives visit often?’
Louie. ‘Usually the end of the month, when they’re broke.’
