Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

  “All right, add them to the bill.”

  “Mais oui. Does Mr. Keyes have a stud set?”

  I sighed. “Add those too,” I said resignedly as Alan returned from the back and put on his coat, hat and camera, which were still sitting on the counter.

  “Are we all ready?”

  “Not quite. I forgot you’re going to need a formal shirt and a tie, and a stud set with cuff links.”

  “Jeepers, Heath, this is getting expensive.”

  “Think of it as an investment, Alan.”

  “A very wise thought, monsieur.” Mr. Blount opened a display case and took out a black velvet tray. “I have a wonderful mother-of-pearl set with gold inlay here that would look most excellent with Mr. Keyes’s tuxedo. Or this fourteen karat gold set. Quite striking, no?”

  “We’ll take the gold inlay with mother-of-pearl.”

  “Heath, no.”

  “It’s all right, Alan, this is something you’ll have a long time. Consider it a late birthday present. Wrap it all up, Mr. Blount.”

  “With pleasure.” He glanced down at Alan’s feet. “Hmm. Size twelve?”

  Alan glanced down at his feet, too. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Goodness, such big feet. But I have a pair of patent leather shoes in back that would look fetching with your new tux.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Blount, but these will do for now.”

  Mr. Blount tsk’d and rolled his eyes. “At least they are black and freshly shined. What about new socks and underwear?”

  “I don’t think anyone will be seeing my socks and underwear.” Alan winked at me and I laughed.

  “I think we’ve spent enough, Mr. Blount,” I said firmly.

  He shrugged resignedly. “As you wish. Please step over to the counter. That will be $50.30 with the alterations and tax. Half now, half when you pick it up.”

  Alan whistled, which I ignored. “How soon?” I asked.

  Blount consulted his expensive wristwatch. “Why don’t we say one o’clock tomorrow?”

  “Fine. We’re planning on wearing our dark suits tonight and the tuxes tomorrow, so that will work out well.” I wrote out a check for half.

  “Perfect, perfect. Here is a claim check, though I certainly won’t forget you two fine gentlemen. Have you plans while you’re in town?”

  I shrugged, putting the claim check in my wallet. “Just some sightseeing, dining out, some of the clubs, the usual.”

  “Two handsome gentlemen on the town.”

  “Yeah, something like that, I guess,” I said.

  Blount turned to Alan. “You are lucky to have such a generous friend, monsieur. Perhaps you can do something special for him this weekend.”

  Alan looked quizzical. “Such as? I’ve never been to Chicago before.”

  “No? Oh, monsieur, you can have a very good time here, a very good time. If you are interested, I have certain connections for an evening’s entertainment. Very beautiful women, very discreet. You both could enjoy yourselves immensely, unlike anything back home in your little town.”

  “What kind of entertainment?” I asked, curious.

  “Oh, monsieur, the French have a saying, vive la difference.”

  “More French,” Alan sighed.

  Blount chuckled. “It just means to embrace the differences, monsieur. Try something new, oui? For a small fee, I could set you gentlemen up for the night with an experience you would not forget. Beautiful women, handsome men, all very discreet. Dark, secluded, private rendezvous in dark, secluded rooms. Music, drink, dancing, song. Together or separate. Enticing, yes?”

  I glanced sideways at Keyes before answering. “Enticing, but we’ll pass. We can find our own entertainment.”

  He shrugged his bony little shoulders again. “If you change your mind, I am always here, ten a.m. to seven p.m. except Sundays and Mondays.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind. Oh, and Mr. Blount, wrap up that blue and white striped tie over there on the rack for me, too, a gift for my father.”

  “Oui, those are the finest quality silk, of course. I will box and wrap it and add it your bill.”

  “Fine. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen. Au revoir.”

  I nodded. “Ah, yeah, thanks.”

  Chapter Four

  When we left the shop we were talking about the slightly creepy Mr. Blount, not paying attention to our surroundings, and consequently ran into a small, frail-looking old woman. She wore a dark green dress, soiled gloves, and an old green velvet hat with an equally soiled ostrich feather, the hatpin protruding out precariously. Beneath the hat was thin, wispy hair the color of a stormy sky. Her fleshy neck was adorned with a sad-looking fox fur whose glass eyes stared out vacantly at no one in particular.

  She lost her footing momentarily as we collided, and I grasped at her bony elbow to keep her from toppling over. She was clearly startled and frightened as she steadied herself. Once she had regained her composure, she pulled her arm away indignantly and looked up at me reproachfully. Her voice was gravelly, and she made noises like an old chicken clucking. “Bruck, bruck, bruck, watch where you’re going, young man.”

  “My apologies, madam. I didn’t see you.” I tipped my hat. “I hope you’re all right.”

  “Humph, you nearly knocked me over, bruck, bruck.”

  “I’m truly sorry. I hope you’re all right.”

  She brushed herself off, then looked me up and down before turning and doing the same to Alan, all the while making those clucking noises. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Mr. Barrington of Milwaukee. This is my friend, Mr. Keyes. We’re just in town for the weekend.”

  “Hmmph. Bruck, bruck, bruck. Mrs. Gittings, Violet Gittings, Chicago.”

  “How do you do?” we both said, tipping our hats again.

  “How do you do?”

  “Not staying at the hotel, then?” I asked, curious.

  “No. I live nearby. I like this place for lunch, which is where I’m going if I can make it the rest of the way without being run down or assaulted. Bruck, bruck.”

  “Well, Mrs. Gittings, we were just going to have lunch ourselves. Would you like to join us? I’d like to make up for running into you.”

  “Bruck bruck bruck. I take my lunch in the bar. It’s late.” She moved away from us and walked somewhat unsteadily toward the Acorn Bar off the east side of the lobby.

  “Was that a yes, Heath? Are we supposed to follow her?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s a curious woman, all right. Let’s lunch in the bar.”

  We followed her into the Acorn Bar. She took a table in a corner as we approached.

  “May we join you, Mrs. Gittings?”

  “Bruck bruck. It’s a free country since we won the war. Sit, sit.” She had pulled off the soiled gloves and placed them on the table. The seam on the left one had split.

  I looked at Keyes, who raised his eyebrows. We removed our hats and sat down across from her as I placed my umbrella on the floor next to my chair. Almost immediately a waiter was at our side, a young fellow, neatly groomed, as all good waiters should be, in my opinion.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gittings. You’re late today.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Fell asleep.”

  “I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re fine. And I see you have guests today.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Two gentlemen from Milwaukee. I don’t recall their names.”

  “Heath Barrington, and this is Alan Keyes,” I said.

  The waiter cocked his head. “Heath Barrington from Milwaukee. Why do I know that name?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. You don’t look familiar. Do you get up to Milwaukee ever?”

  “No, not really.” He looked puzzled but then suddenly smiled. “Wait, I know. You were in the paper here not long ago. You’re the detective that solved that murder case in Lake Geneva, aren’t you?”

  I was quite surprised but flattered to be recogni
zed. “Why yes, that’s right.”

  “I remember because I was hired to wait tables at a garden party at Dark Point several years ago. Mrs. Darkly, as I recall, was charming. I didn’t see much of the old man.”

  “How interesting. It’s a small world.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. When I read about the murder there, it stuck in my mind.”

  “Natural, I suppose, since you had a connection there,” I said.

  “Yes, of course. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. What may I bring you?” He pulled out an order pad and pencil.

  I looked at Mrs. Gittings. “Ma’am?”

  “My usual, bruck, bruck, bruck.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Gittings. And for you gentlemen?”

  “A tuna fish sandwich, please, and a vodka martini with a pickle, no olive.”

  “And for you, sir?” He turned to Alan.

  “I’ll have the tuna as well, and a Schlitz on tap.”

  “Very good. The tuna is excellent today.” He put his pad back in his pocket and headed to the bar.

  Mrs. Gittings stared at me. “Bruck, bruck, bruck. Detective, eh?”

  “Police detective, yes ma’am. Mr. Keyes is a police officer.”

  “Bruck, bruck, bruck. I’m a widow. That waiter knew you.”

  “He recognized me, yes. From a case I worked on in Lake Geneva.”

  She glanced off then, staring across the room at nothing in particular. “You’re a detective. We are known by what we are, aren’t we?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Bruck, bruck, bruck. I was a girl once, you know.”

  “Of course,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “Then I was a schoolgirl, then a wife.”

  “I see,” I said, though I really didn’t.

  “Bruck, bruck. That’s what I was, a wife. Now I’m a widow. We are known by what we are.”

  I nodded, understanding at last. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  “My husband was a field supervisor for the Chicago Gas and Power Company. He never made much money. I did sewing to help out, made most of my clothes, and I did repairs and alterations on the side, bruck, bruck.”

  “Very admirable, Mrs. Gittings. I’m afraid I can’t even sew on a button.”

  “Bruck, bruck bruck. Men. My husband couldn’t cook or sew, not that he needed to, he had me. You’re not married?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.” I was growing tired of that question in my life.

  “You?” She looked sternly at Alan.

  Keyes smiled. “Not yet, Mrs. Gittings.”

  “Bruck bruck bruck. Why are you here?” She looked at us suspiciously all of a sudden.

  “In Chicago? We’re on holiday,” I replied.

  “Bruck, bruck. Holiday. I see. Camera.” She pointed at Alan’s Brownie.

  He smiled at her. “Yes, it’s the new Brownie Reflex. I just got it. A splurge, but an investment, I figure. It even takes full-color pictures.”

  “Pictures. Happy pictures, sad pictures. Bad pictures. Evil.” She brucked, shaking her head.

  Alan looked confused, and I must admit I was a bit bewildered, too.

  Mrs. Gittings looked away then, staring across the room at something we couldn’t see. “We had a wedding picture taken, of course. He looked so handsome. Stanley and I never traveled, except to Michigan for our honeymoon. That was a long time ago. Bruck, bruck. Saugatuck and Douglas, stayed at a little cottage, no running water or electricity, but quite romantic.”

  “I’m sure. I’ve heard Michigan can be lovely,” Alan said.

  “Bruck bruck bruck. I don’t remember much of Michigan, just that little cottage. It was blue with green shutters at the windows. And orange marigolds in flower boxes.”

  “A honeymoon cottage,” I suggested.

  “Bruck, bruck, bruck. Yes. Romantic. Just me and Stanley. We never had children. My brother did, two girls. They live far away.”

  “I see.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Stanley was an only child. What’s Milwaukee like?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly and bringing her focus back to us.

  “Oh, it’s nice enough,” I said. “Much smaller than Chicago,” I offered.

  “Bruck, bruck. People can get lost in Chicago. Swallowed up, and no one notices, no one cares.”

  I nodded. “Big cities are like that, I suppose.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Lonely places. Dark places. Alone in a crowd.”

  The waiter appeared with a tray and set a Bloody Mary in front of Mrs. Gittings, Alan’s beer and sandwich in front of him, and my martini and sandwich in front of me.

  “Anything else at the moment?”

  “Uh, aren’t you eating, Mrs. Gittings?” I asked, pointing to her drink.

  She took a large sip and smiled contentedly. “Bruck, bruck, bruck.”

  The waiter looked at me. “Mrs. Gittings never does, sir. One or two bloodies, every day for lunch, like clockwork.”

  I stared across the table at the little woman, but only the milky glass eyes of the fox stole gazed back at me. She was ensconced in her drink now, and we were apparently forgotten.

  Alan set his camera on the table and we ate and drank in relative silence, Mrs. Gittings clucking contentedly every now and then.

  When she had finished, she motioned for the waiter and he brought her another one almost immediately.

  She drank that one more slowly.

  “Enjoying your, uh, lunch, ma’am?” I asked at last, finishing mine.

  “Bruck, bruck bruck. Good. When Stanley died, I took a job at Blount’s.” She continued as if she had never stopped.

  I raised my eyebrows. “The men’s clothing store here in the hotel? We ran into you as we left there.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Yes. I was a seamstress. Didn’t like it.”

  “No? It sounds like a job you would have been well suited for,” Alan said.

  She glared at Alan through glassy eyes of her own. “Mr. Blount is an evil man, bruck, bruck.”

  “Evil?” I said.

  “The devil himself. Did you know vampires can’t see their reflection in a mirror?”

  I glanced sideways at Keyes, who looked back at me rather comically. Mrs. Gittings was an unusual woman.

  “Uh, I’ve read that, yes.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Bloodsuckers.” She drank again, now more than half finished with her second.

  “But there is no such thing as vampires, Mrs. Gittings,” Alan said.

  She shook a bony finger at him. “Bruck, bruck. Don’t you believe it, young man. What evil lurks in our reflections.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Bruck, bruck, bruck.”

  Keyes and I exchanged looks as the waiter appeared again.

  “May I bring you anything else?”

  “No, thank you, just the check,” I said.

  “Yes, sir.” He turned back to the bar again as Mrs. Gittings finished her drink.

  “So you don’t work for Mr. Blount anymore?” Alan said.

  “Bruck, bruck, bruck. I quit. That was several years ago. I don’t see so well anymore. My eyes.”

  That’s too bad,” I said.

  “Yes, too bad. I’m an old lady now. An old widow. Evil man, evil men in our midst.”

  “I see,” I said, though once again I clearly did not.

  “Bruck bruck.” She pulled on her soiled gloves once more. “Remember, Detective, evil lurks in our reflections. Don’t forget. Bruck, bruck.”

  “I won’t.”

  The waiter returned with the check and I paid him, telling him to keep the change.

  “Well, it was a pleasure, Mrs. Gittings,” I said.

  “Bruck, bruck. Nice that you two could get away down here. To get lost for the weekend.”

  “Uh, yes, yes indeed. We’re here until Monday morning,” Alan said.

  “Come again, come again. Bruck, bruck. I’m always here, if you look.”

  “We’ll look for you again, then,” Alan said.


  “If you look into a mirror hard enough, you can sometimes see the evil within,” Mrs. Gittings said.

  “Are you saying there’s evil within all of us?”

  “Bruck, bruck. Some more than others, Detective. Up to you to find out. Look deeply.” She rose to her feet, more unsteadily than before. “Thank you for lunch.”

  We stood with her. “Our pleasure. We hope to see you again.” Alan smiled warmly at her.

  “Bruck, bruck. Like I said, I’m always here if you look. Though sometimes I can’t be seen.” Without another word she weaved toward the exit, still clucking.

  “Golly, Heath, she was certainly something.”

  “Yes. Yes, she was. Yes, she is. I feel sorry for her, but I like her.”

  “Yeah, me too. What was all that talk about evil and vampires?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Inner demons, perhaps. She’s a lonely old soul, somewhat frightened, I suspect. I imagine she didn’t fit well with the flamboyant Mr. Blount.”

  “She said he was evil.”

  “Indeed. I suppose she resents him for letting her go from her job, but he is rather creepy.”

  “Yes, I agree. All that talk about some different kind of entertainment for the night, for a fee. I wonder what he had in mind.”

  “I have my suspicions, but I don’t want to find out. Why don’t we get some fresh air and see a bit of Chicago? I have my umbrella at the ready.” I picked it up as we gathered our hats and Alan put his camera back around his neck.

  “I’m up for it. Where should we start?”

  I placed my fedora firmly on my head and smiled. “This is your trip, Alan, but may I suggest a visit to the Art Institute? Perfect for weather like this, along with the Navy Pier, some shopping on Michigan Avenue, perhaps the Museum of Science and Industry or the Field Museum, and finally, the Garfield Park Conservatory.”

  Alan laughed. “Jeepers, that’s quite a list.”

  “Did I miss anything?”

  “Well, I would like to see the Wrigley Building and the Carbide and Carbon Building. Did you know it’s got thirty-seven floors and is over five hundred feet high?”

  I smiled. “I did not know that. Well, all right, then. On to Michigan Avenue we go. Some we can walk to, others we may have to take a street car or the L.”