Daddy took offense. "Boy, are you laughing at me?"
"No, sir," Bradley said, looking properly humbled. Well, as humble as he ever got.
Daddy's eyes narrowed. "Were you laughing at my little girl's nickname?"
There was a terrifying pause when I thought Bradley might actually answer yes, but Daddy charged on ahead. "Because if you were, youngster, that proves you don't have eyes in your head."
"Daddy!"
Bradley removed the steak from his eye. He turned his intense blue gaze on me, and I flushed. He put the steak back over his eye and said, "That's where you're wrong, sir."
I felt a flutter in the region of my heart.
Daddy made a sound that could have passed for a dog growling. "Anyway, what's this got to do with Bebe?"
Darlene spoke up. "It's got to do with me. Bebe is trying to help me, Mr. Bennett. As you know, the police suspect me of being the killer. Of course, I didn't do it, and Bebe wants to help prove that by finding out who did."
Daddy's face turned the same shade of purple as Darlene's lounging pajamas. "What! Do you mean to tell me
you're up here in New York City investigating a murder?"
Bradley removed the steak from his eye and looked at me. "Is that what you're doing, Miss Bennett? If so, I would advise you to leave matters to the police."
Traitor! I looked from one man in my life to the other. "But the police aren't as close to the band as I am." Boy, was that an understatement. Keith wasn't smooching with Detective Finelli out in the New York sunshine. "I can ask questions, and they'll answer me better than they will the police. I've got to help Darlene."
Daddy set his Coke down on the floor. "What you've got to do is pack your bags and come back on the train with me to Richmond. New York is no good for you. The whole country's gone to hell in a handbasket since the assassination of President Kennedy." Daddy stopped as tears formed in his eyes, and he wiped them away.
There was silence in the room. I think each one of us was remembering where we were when we'd gotten the horrible news. I had been sitting at my desk at Philip Morris, typing. One of the other secretaries, Dorothy, told me the president had been shot to death in Dallas. Tears had begun streaming down my face, tears that would continue on and off for weeks. In the days following the assassination, Daddy, Mama, and I watched all the coverage on the black-and-white TV in our family room.
Daddy brought us all back to the present. "Now go get your things together, Bebe. We're going home."
"Daddy, I can't do that! I love it here. I love my apartment and my job and my friends." And Bradley.
"Then you'll stay away from police matters, young lady. Or I'll take you back to Richmond myself."
Bradley held the steak away from his eye long enough to look sternly at me.
Darlene gazed pleadingly at me.
Here was a problem. I wasn't by nature a liar. And I certainly did not make it a practice to he to my parents.
But I wasn't going to stay out of the investigation of Philip Royal's death. I had to help Darlene. I had to help Bradley come out of this mess looking good in front of his great-uncle, whether he liked it or not. No, there was no way I could make Daddy the promise he wanted.
Of course, there was always a compromise. "Daddy, I won't get in the way of any police business, I promise."
Daddy looked skeptical. Perhaps he remembered the time when I was five and I promised not to hit Francine Mayer, the neighborhood know-it-all, then just pinched her real hard instead. Sometimes the wording of a thing could be important.
"We'll discuss it more after church tomorrow morning," Daddy said. "I'll come by and get you at seven thirty."
I barely suppressed a groan. Couldn't we go to a later Mass?
Then Daddy sat back in his place, totally prepared to wait Bradley out. It didn't take long. Bradley took the hint. "Here, Miss Bennett, I think your steak has done the job."
He handed me the meat and gently wiped his face with the towel.
"Let me wrap it up for you, Mr. Williams, and you can take it home." I hurried to the kitchen and found some Saran Wrap and packaged the steak, then washed my hands. I brought the steak back to him and noticed that his eye area had gotten no worse but still looked dark red and puffy.
"Thanks, Miss Bennett. See you Monday. Good night, Mr. Bennett, Miss Roland."
Daddy grunted again, and refused to meet Bradley's gaze.
Darlene gave Bradley a little wave from the couch, so that I could walk him to the door alone. But he only said, "Your father has a hell of a right hook."
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Williams."
"That's okay, kid. I've had shiners before."
Then he was gone.
I went back into the living room. "You should have apologized to Mr. Williams, Daddy."
"Why? I've known his sort in the army. Likes women and lots of them. Tell me, am I wrong?"
I looked at the floor. "He doesn't see me that way."
Darlene said, "He keeps Bebe at a distance because he knows that dating her would mean marriage. He's not ready to settle down yet."
My head came up at that.
"It sure would," Daddy said firmly. "My Little Magnolia is no man's toy."
"Oh, Daddy," I said.
He rose to his feet. "I'd better go get settled at the hotel. Good night, Miss Roland. I'm glad to find that you're not a murderer. I'll see you in the morning, Bebe." He bent and kissed the top of my head, and then he left.
Darlene and I looked at each other.
"Darlene, I'm sorry my father accused you of murder."
"Honey, don't worry; he wasn't the first."
"How was your trip to the Hamptons?"
"Great! Stu treated me like a princess. I've got to diet after all the food I've been eating. But, Bebe, you did a wonderful job with the furniture. It's beautiful, and this turquoise fur rug is a blast!"
"I'm glad you like it. I wanted to do something for you, since you're not charging me much rent, and your last roommate took all the furniture."
Darlene waved a hand. "I love having you here. So you've got two men on the line, Keith and Bradley."
"Hardly. Keith did kiss me, though."
"Oooooh," Darlene breathed, leaning forward to hear more. "How was it?"
"Nice."
"Just nice?"
"Keith is good-looking, and he has a cute accent, but he drinks too much, and he has a temper. I think he might well have had it in for Philip."
"So it's only Bradley for you."
I nodded. "Yes. Isn't he gorgeous?"
"He's choice, even with his eye all messed up."
"I don't think he notices me as a woman, though. All he sees is a kid."
"Come on; it's stuffy in here. Let's sit out on the fire escape for a few minutes," Darlene suggested.
We walked through Darlene's room, opened the window, and crawled out onto the iron fire escape. Darlene had placed a mat there that we could sit on. We'd come out a couple of times before.
Darlene looked at me in the light coming from the living room. "Now listen and remember what I said. Bradley doesn't impress me as being ready to settle down, and he knows you're the type of girl a guy doesn't play around with."
"You think so?"
"I do."
"Really?"
Darlene nodded her head. "Men like him eventually get tired of dating and decide to get married. When that day comes, you'll be right there, Bebe."
"Oh, I do hope so. I'm in deep where he's concerned. Thanks for the words of encouragement, Darlene."
At that moment, two male voices could be heard coming from the apartment above us. Apparently they had decided it was a nice evening too and had opened their window.
"Do you know them, Darlene?" I whispered.
"I saw a moving truck out front back in February," she whispered, "but I never saw who moved in."
Darlene and I eavesdropped shamelessly.
The first man said, "All I know is that the guy is not working for me like he s
hould. I've had it with him."
The second voice said, "Do you want to rub him out?"
Darlene and I exchanged shocked glances.
The first male voice said, "I don't really want to— he's not a bad guy—but this is a business. He has to be eliminated."
The second male voice said, "Problem is, how are we gonna cover it up?"
The first male voice answered. "Simple. The girl. We'll use her."
I grabbed Darlene's arm and pulled her back into the apartment. She shut the window—quietly, so the men would not know they'd been overheard—and turned to me.
"Bebe, they're planning a murder!"
"Keep your voice down," I warned. "We don't know how thick these walls are. God! We have to do something, or else the man they were talking about is going to die."
Darlene put her hand on my arm. "They sounded like mobsters to me, Bebe. You don't want to mess with them."
"Darlene, are you suggesting we do nothing?"
"What are you recommending? Calling Detective Finelli?"
I thought for a moment. "Wouldn't that be a tea party. No, but there are other officers of the law in New York. We could call the police station anonymously and tell them what we heard."
"Okay, anonymously works for me, but we can't tell them we heard anything. If we do, the mobsters will figure out we were the ones who ratted them out."
"You're right. We'll just say that we have information that there's a murder being planned," I said. "Darlene, do you realize we're living in a building with coldblooded killers?"
Darlene sneezed. "They won't bother us. After all, what have we done to them?"
"I hope they feel the same." I went into the kitchen. Next to our phone was a list of emergency numbers. I
found the one for the police department and dialed it. Thinking back to TV shows, I decided I'd better be quick or they might trace the call. At the last minute, I grabbed the kitchen towel, folded it, and put it over the mouthpiece.
"Sergeant White speaking."
"There's a murder being planned in apartment four- B, 138-140 East Sixty-fifth Street. I can say no more." I hung up the phone, relieved, feeling I'd done what I could.
Darlene and I waited for the police to arrive. She said, "Did you know Joan Baez withheld sixty percent of her income tax from the IRS to protest military spending?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked.
Darlene chewed her nail. "Nothing. Just trying to pass the time."
"Don't chew your nails, Darlene. You want them to look nice when you start flying again."
"IF I start flying again."
I kept a lookout for the police. Then I saw a black- and-white pull slowly into a parking space across the street.
"They're here," I whispered to Darlene.
Darlene and I stared at each other, listening. Eventually we heard two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs, passing our floor and going up to the next.
After about ten minutes, we heard the same set of footsteps coming back down.
Curious, Darlene and I peeked out our door.
A stocky policeman said to his partner, "You get these types of calls all the time."
His partner said, "I never realized how many crackpots there are in New York."
"Probably a jealous girlfriend. Sarge said it was a dame who called."
Their voices faded away as they continued on down the steps.
Darlene closed and locked our door. "When that man
gets killed, I'm going to take great pleasure in telling Detective Finelli that we had warned the police and they had let the mobsters talk their way clean."
"I can't believe it! I thought we'd see two men in handcuffs being taken away by the police."
"I'll buy an extra bolt for our door Monday," Darlene offered.
"Okay," I said, and sighed. "Now if only I can get through this visit from my father. And keep the investigation going. That reminds me. I have a plan for tomorrow, once I can shake Daddy and find a costume shop."
CHAPTER TEN
My father and I stood in beautiful St. Patrick's Cathedral, the air heavy with the smell of incense and beeswax.
"The Mass has ended. Go in peace," the priest said in Latin. We really couldn't leave yet. There were still prayers to be said, responses to be made. I didn't mind because I loved going to Mass, although maybe not this early in the morning.
As the priest recited the first part of Saint John's gospel, I wondered how I could gracefully lose my father for the afternoon, so I could proceed with my plan. Surely nothing could keep him from the afternoon sports games on TV, nothing ever did on Sundays at home.
Everyone in church responded, "Thanks be to God." I tried to concentrate and prayed the Hail Mary and the Salve Regina, but the murder case made my attention wander again. Darn it. I supposed that Daddy and I would go out for breakfast after Mass. But heck, it was only nine o'clock in the morning. How long could that take? Then Darlene and I could be on our way. I needed to find out what floor of the Legends Hotel Daddy was staying on, so he wouldn't get mixed up in my plans.
At the end of the Prayer to Saint Michael, we were free to go. I stood up, smoothing the skirt of my toffee-colored suit. An ancient woman in a black dress and
black lace headcovering in front of me turned around and stared at me.
"The young people of today," she began, shaking her rosary at me. "Just look at the length of that skirt. And in church, too," she said.
I blushed.
True, I had shortened all my skirts two inches to show off my legs for Bradley. So far Daddy hadn't noticed. Now this woman threatened to get me in trouble.
Daddy took a step away from me and leaned his head back so he could see what the old bat was talking about. His eyes narrowed, and his face turned that bad shade of purple. "Bebe, why is your skirt so short?"
"It may have happened at the cleaners, Daddy," I said. Which wasn't a lie. I said it may have happened, not that it did.
Daddy glanced at the old woman, arm in arm with a younger lady who appeared to be her daughter. "Well, it's too nice a suit to give to Goodwill, so don't worry about it. It's not like all your skirts are that short."
"Yes, Daddy," I said meekly, wondering if I had another skirt that wasn't this short now. Darlene had said that skirts even shorter than mine were becoming the fashion in London.
"Let's go get breakfast. They've included a breakfast buffet in my room rate at the hotel, so we'll go there."
I barely prevented myself from groaning out loud. I could only hope that none of the band were up at this hour. Pop stars slept late, right?
Wrong.
Daddy and I had just returned to our booth at the hotel restaurant, with plates of bacon, eggs, toast, and sausages, when Reggie and Peter entered the room.
I tried to be invisible, which meant that they saw me immediately and gave me a cheery wave. I waved back.
"Who are those two fairies?" Daddy asked, a forkful of eggs on its way to his mouth.
"Daddy! They are not fairies!"
"Two long-haired fairies, if you ask me."
"Just because they wear their hair long doesn't mean they're homosexual."
"Yes, it does. Couple of fruits. I was in the army; I know about these things."
I buttered my toast. "Well, you don't know in this case. Reggie, the one in the green shirt, is married and has a baby son."
Daddy wiped his mouth. "So? Lots of them queer guys get married and have kids. Don't mean they're not queer. Just means they've duped some poor woman into marrying them so they can have kids."
Mentally I counted to ten. "Listen to me, Daddy. They are in a pop band. You know, like the Beatles. They wear their hair long to achieve a certain look. A pop-star look. It doesn't mean anything else."
"Are you friends with them?" he asked, a warning tone coming into his voice. Translation: If you are friends with them, I'm hauling you back to Richmond on the next train south.
I swallowed so
me orange juice. "I know them."
Daddy leaned across the table toward me, waving a piece of toast. "These are just the sort of people your mother and I warned you about. Worldly people who use innocents to their own advantage and then, when they're done, toss them aside without a second thought. Your boss is one of them, too."
"Mr. Williams is not using me," I said firmly, and stabbed a sausage with more force than could strictly be considered necessary.
"That's because you've wisely kept him at arm's length. But I tell you I know his sort. Love 'em and leave 'em. Now, am I right or am I right?"
I could feel the bite of sausage go down and settle at the bottom of my stomach like a ball of lead. I reminded myself of what Darlene had said about Bradley waking up one day and finding himself ready to get married. I
repeated the words to Daddy. "Mr. Williams just isn't ready to settle down yet, that's all."
"You keep that in mind. I don't want my Little Magnolia's reputation tarnished by that man. Oh, God, here come the fairies."
I looked up to see Reggie and Peter walking our way.
"Now, Daddy," I hissed. "Please be nice. These are my friends."
"So they are your friends. We'll talk about that later, young lady. They'd just better not try getting friendly with me," Daddy hissed back.
"Bebe," Reggie said. "Good morning."
"Hullo, Bebe," Peter said.
"Hi, guys," I said. "Let me introduce everyone. Daddy, this is Reggie, bass player for the Beefeaters, and this is Peter, the band's drummer. Guys, this is my father, Earl Bennett."
Reggie stuck out his hand.
Daddy looked appalled, then reluctantly took it and gave it a shake. I hoped Reggie didn't notice Daddy wiping his hand on his napkin afterward.
Peter, dressed in a shirt and tie with the usual line of tie tacks, was not to be outdone. He extended his right hand.
Daddy grimaced, then shook his hand as well, his gaze going to Peter's tie.
"I see you're admiring my tie, Mr. Bennett," Peter said, and smiled. Then the smile faded. "That is what you were doing, wasn't it? I mean, I haven't eaten anything yet, so I've not got anything on it." Peter's neurosis was in full gear.
Daddy was cornered. "I, um, noticed it."
Peter nodded. "It's like I told Bebe, you've got to have a gimmick. Ringo has the rings. I've got the tie tacks."
It's A Mod, Mod, Mod, Mod Murder Page 8
