It's A Mod, Mod, Mod, Mod Murder

by Rosemary Martin

"What about Patty Gentry?" I said.

  Astrid shrugged. "Good riddance, if you ask me. Nigel probably did her in for printing that story in the newspaper about his precious boys."

  Astrid would have said more, but Bill returned with

  her cigarettes. She smiled as if we'd been having the most civil of conversations.

  "Good-bye, everyone. Bill and I are here to get my things. I doubt I'll see you again, as we'll hardly be moving in the same circles. Although you might see me in the magazines or on the runway." She blew a tiny kiss in our direction then waltzed off with Bill.

  Darlene took a big swig of her drink. "Looks like we're back to square one, boys and girls. I can't believe it."

  "Not necessarily," I said slowly. "Maybe we should listen to Astrid. If Nigel's so homesick for England, let's take him out to a British-style pub and get him drunk. Who knows what he might say?"

  "Good idea, Bebe. But let me handle Nigel," Darlene said.

  Though Darlene didn't see it, I noticed Stu frown.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tuesday at the office, Bradley maintained his distance. I did my work, feeling bummed, and went home. Darlene was out, I guessed with Stu. I made myself a box of macaroni and cheese, then couldn't eat much. After The Red Skelton Hour was over at nine thirty, I went to bed.

  The phone rang, waking me out of a deep sleep. Was I late for work? Was something wrong with Darlene? I raced to the phone in the kitchen, tripping over the little daisy area rug I'd found that went with my bedspread.

  In the dark kitchen, I grabbed the phone. "Hello?" I said breathlessly.

  "Bebe, luv. Keith here."

  "Keith?" I stumbled around until I found the light switch. The clock on the wall said quarter to eleven. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

  Keith chuckled. "No, everything's cool. Jean and the baby are asleep, and Reggie, Peter, and I want to have some fun. Things have been too morose here. It's like something out of The Twilight Zone."

  Geez. "You want to go out at this hour?"

  "Oh, come on, Bebe; it's early for New York. You know that. We've been trying to find some slot-car racing, but apparently you Yanks are behind the times and don't have slot cars yet," Keith said with an air of superiority.

  "I'm sorry." My brain began to kick into gear. Keith sounded like he'd been lapping up the vino, if not the bourbon.

  "So what do you suggest, Bebe? We don't have any wheels, and we want to go for a ride."

  "Have you been on a carriage ride yet over by Central Park?"

  "Luv, we've not even been in Central Park, we've been so dull. Are you talking about an old-fashioned carriage?"

  "Yes. It's great fun. Darlene took me when I first came to New York."

  "Okay," Keith said. "It sounds like a tickle. And it's a beautiful night."

  "Well, here's what you do. Get a cab outside the hotel and direct him to Central Park near the Plaza where the carriages are. Be sure to have money with you to pay and tip the carriage driver."

  "Bebe! We want you to go with us," Keith said.

  "Oh, hey, at any other time I'd love to, but I have to be at work in the morning. You guys go ahead, and have a blast."

  "What! That's a ghastly thought, Bebe. It wouldn't be any fun without you. Plus you'll still have plenty of time to sleep. Please, luv," Keith cajoled.

  Heck, why not? I thought. "All right. I'll meet you in front of the Legends in thirty to forty minutes."

  "That's the spirit, old girl! See you then," Keith said, and hung up.

  I went into the living room, lifted the window to the fire escape, and checked the temperature. Mild. I closed the window and dashed to my closet. I selected a pair of slim-cut black pants. Ladies didn't wear pants unless it was for a very casual occasion. Riding in Central Park this late at night seemed to qualify. Plus, I was too lazy to put on a girdle and stockings.

  To go with the pants, I chose a pale pink blouse. After making a few swipes at my eyes with liquid liner and black mascara, and sliding my Mary Quant lip gloss on,

  I was finished with my face. I threw on some flats and my short black flared jacket, and I was ready to go.

  Outside, Harry worked the corner of Lexington and Sixty-fifth.

  "Isn't this past your bedtime, Miss Sweet Face?" he greeted me.

  My chin rose defiantly. "I have a date with three men."

  Harry laughed. "Wish I could see that. Any one of them the one you're in love with?"

  "No," I said miserably.

  "One day, just you wait, he'll come around."

  I noticed Harry's hands shook, and pulled out some quarters from my purse. He took the money and smiled. "You trying to get a cab?"

  "I was going to."

  "Here, let me." With that Harry moved out into the street. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled— loudly. A Yellow Cab stopped.

  "I'm impressed, Harry," I said, entering the cab.

  He blew off the compliment. "You can do it too. Be safe, now."

  I waved good-bye. For the hundredth time the question crossed my mind as to why Harry wouldn't try to kick his booze habit and get a job so he could have a decent place to live. I wondered if I'd ever know.

  Arriving at the Legends, I told the cab to wait. Running inside, I saw the boys in the lounge drinking and eating cocktail wieners. They spotted me, got up, threw money on the table, and zipped on over.

  "Bebe, I dig those pants on you," Keith said, putting an arm around my waist. Hmmm. Did he smell funny?

  Reggie and Peter joined us, laughing and roughhousing with each other. "Hey, Bebe, you look smashing," Peter said.

  "Yeah," Reggie agreed.

  "Well, thanks," I replied. "I've got a cab outside with a jump seat. We can all fit in easily."

  While we were all piling into the cab, Keith—I know it was him—pitched my bottom. I turned to scold him, but the guys were laughing, and I didn't want to be a wet rag. Plus, I suspected what they'd been doing earlier.

  Once everyone was in the cab, and the order for Central Park had been given, my feeling was confirmed. All the guys smelled like they'd been smoking grass. I knew what it smelled like because a group of guys at Philip Morris used to get high in the men's room.

  Oh, well. Nothing I could do about it now. I told myself not to be a fuddy-duddy.

  We made it to the park, where we all tumbled out of the cab. Carriages stood in a line waiting for passengers.

  Keith threw his hands up in the air. "Isn't it grand? A full moon."

  "Why don't you sing a few chords of 'Moon River' for us, Keith," Reggie ribbed.

  Not one to back down from a challenge, Keith began singing at the top of his lungs, hands in the air, but he doubled over laughing halfway through the song. The other guys seemed just as amused, as they laughed uproariously. I thought Keith's dramatic rendition of the song was funny too, but felt the hilarity had more to do with the grass they'd been smoking.

  As Reggie, Peter, and I stood nearby, Keith went up to one of the carriages and began an animated discussion with the driver, an older man with a blue cap. The driver shrugged and pointed at a carriage two down from his. Money changed hands. Then Keith ran back to the carriage the driver had indicated and began talking with him, a younger, rough sort of man sporting a top hat. Again money changed hands.

  The top-hatted driver turned his horses in the direction of the street. They walked up so that the two carriages were aligned.

  Keith pulled me by the hand, urging me into the carriage driven by the blue-capped man. Reggie and Peter got into the other carriage.

  "Keith," I said, "what are we do—"

  The cracking of the whips broke through the sounds of the night. The two carriages bolted ahead. Thrown forward from the seat behind the driver, I landed on my knees at Keith's feet.

  "We're cookin' now, Bebe," he said, helping me up and holding me next to him. "We're racing the other carriage!"

  As the horses gained speed, I was torn between screaming and lau
ghing. The ride was exhilarating. Who knew the old nags could move so fast! And the carriages were right next to each other.

  "A fiver says we beat you!" Reggie yelled from his carriage.

  "Clown! No less than a ten!" Keith shouted.

  The two drivers bellowed curses at each other. I guessed they'd been rivals.

  Peter produced a transistor radio and turned the volume up so high I could hear "Fun Fun Fun" by the Beach Boys over the horses' hooves.

  Peter and Reggie began to sing another version of the song: "Fun, fun, fun, till her daddy takes the carriage away."

  The guys thought this was a hoot.

  Keith yelled, "The joint is jumping."

  More bursts of laughter followed. Suddenly the hijinks were cut off as the two carriages came to an abrupt stop. An NYPD car with its lights flashing came to a screeching halt in front of us. The two carriage drivers jumped down and began arguing with the policeman. Peter turned off the radio.

  Keith stage-whispered, "This is where we make our exit."

  I wasn't about to argue with him. The look on Detective Finelli's face if he found me in jail for drag-racing carriages was not one I wanted to see.

  The four of us crept quietly out of the carriages and ran as far as we could around the park.

  We were out of breath as we came to a stop opposite the zoo.

  Reggie saw it first. "Look, that sign says there are gorillas over there."

  "Where?" Keith asked.

  "Over there," Peter said.

  All three guys immediately started making gorilla noises. I shook my head and chuckled.

  "Come on, over the fence we go to see the animals," Keith said.

  "Stop!" I cried. "I've had enough for one evening, guys."

  "Bebe, you're being a wet blanket," Keith scolded. He came over and kissed me on the lips. A wild thought that Keith had covered up Bradley's kiss crossed my mind. "Come on, baby; you're a cool girl. Let's go down there. Then we can get something to eat. I'm awfully hungry."

  "Yeah," Peter said. "I'm sharp-set."

  I pulled out of Keith's embrace. "Sorry, I'm cutting out on you. Try not to land in jail." I began walking away.

  "All right, be a square," Keith called after me.

  I continued walking, refusing to see what they would do if they could make it down to the zoo.

  Out on the street, I put my fingers in my mouth the way Harry had done and blew. To my utter surprise, a loud whistle came out of my mouth, and a cab stopped for me.

  I felt quite pleased with this accomplishment.

  Wednesday morning, when my alarm clock went off, I groaned. I hadn't gotten in until after two. I sleepwalked my way through getting ready for work, putting on a fitted mint-green suit with embroidered sprigs of flowers in a paler shade of green. It was one of my favorite suits, and I figured I'd feel better in something extra pretty.

  Darlene was still asleep, so I left the apartment quietly.

  At the office, Bradley gave me assignments in a businesslike manner. However, I was cheered considerably when I turned around to adjust my chair and saw him giving me the once-over. Smiling to myself, I began with a letter he'd dictated. I had a lot of work, which made the day go faster.

  As I was leaving, Bradley said, "If I haven't told you lately, kid, you're doing a great job."

  I cleared my throat. "Thank you, Mr. Williams. I want to do my best for you."

  He didn't move. Just stood looking at me. No one was around. I could walk five steps and be in his arms. I felt myself tremble.

  Then he broke the spell. "I'd better go. It's the cocktail hour, you know."

  "Yes, of course."

  A minute later he was gone. I sat at my desk, drawing a deep breath. I told myself I was young and should be dating. That dreaming of a future with Bradley was just that—dreaming. He had different dates all the time. I would only be another conquest. The trouble was, I loved Bradley. Unless that love died, there was no point in seeing other men.

  I pulled on my gloves and left the building, stopped by the cleaners for some of my suits, then walked up the steps to my apartment.

  Darlene had been asleep when I'd left that morning, but she'd written me a note that she hadn't had any luck getting Nigel to go out with her. She said that Stu was taking her to a Broadway show that night and for me to get some sleep.

  No argument from me there. I ate some leftover macaroni and cheese, watched The Patty Duke Show, and went to bed.

  Thursday morning, I put on a long-sleeved, greenish- blue dress. The dress was simply cut, with a matching narrow belt that had a bow of the same material. The

  belt showed off my small waist. From the waist down the dress hugged my body. I was pleased when I looked in the mirror. However, I needed help with the back zipper.

  "Darlene," I called, walking out of my room.

  "In here," she answered from the bathroom. "Come on in; I'm just putting some finishing touches on my makeup."

  I stood in the doorway. Darlene had a perfect face of makeup, her red curls lay in sexy disarray, and she wore a formifitting gold-colored dress. She was splashing cologne on her wrists.

  "That smells good. What is it?"

  "It's Yardley's Bond Street. Stu brought it back from London. According to the ads, it's supposed to give me 'a love letter from Rome, or an invitation to supper at Maxims, or a kitten with a diamond bracelet around its neck.'"

  "I'd take the bracelet unless I could have dinner in Paris with Bradley. Can you zip me up?" I asked, turning and holding my dark hair out of the way.

  "Sure, honey. Hey, be certain to walk away from Bradley a lot today. This dress gives you a great shape."

  "Darlene, you always think the sexiest thoughts," I said, smiling. "That's a good one."

  We laughed; then she zipped up the dress and said, "Listen, I've finally gotten Nigel to agree to go out with me tonight, so don't look for me. Stu knows a British- themed pub. I'm taking Nigel there. But first Stu is taking me for lunch and a matinee. I thought I'd get in a bit of shopping before then. Maybe some naughty lingerie."

  "Naughty lingerie? Darlene Roland, I don't want to hear about it," I said, adjusting my dress.

  Darlene gave me a wicked smile. "Maybe because it makes you think of Bradley."

  I pursed my lips.

  Darlene chuckled.

  I decided to change the subject. "I just don't know what more we can get out of Nigel."

  "Don't worry. I intend to get him drunk and—"

  We were interrupted by the sound of the downstairs buzzer.

  "I'll get it," I said. I walked into the living room, pressed the button, and said, "Good morning. Who's there, please?"

  A muffled voice replied over the speaker, "Mrs. Wainwright to see Miss Darlene Roland."

  From behind me I heard a loud gasp. Luckily I had my finger off the call button. "Who is she?"

  Darlene removed the hand that was stuffed in her mouth. "My supervisor at Skyway! What am I going to do? I'm supposed to be sick in bed with bronchitis, not all dressed up."

  "Don't worry; we'll handle this," I said, taking charge. Into the intercom, I addressed Mrs. Wainwright. "Ma'am, let me wake her for you. If you'll be kind enough to wait just one moment." I snapped the intercom off before she could answer.

  "Quick, Darlene, come into the bathroom." She hurried after me, fretting the whole way.

  In the bathroom I said, "Rip off your false eyelashes."

  "That's gonna hurt!" Darlene protested. "I usually use this solution—"

  "Get them off! We don't have time." I rummaged in the cupboard under the sink.

  "Ouch! Ouch!"

  "Good, now turn your face to me." I took a liberal supply of Johnson's baby powder and spread it all over Darlene's face.

  Darlene finished smoothing it on. "What do. you have baby powder for? Do you want to smell like a baby?"

  I took a tissue and told her to clean off her lipstick. I took another tissue and wiped the baby powder that had landed
on my dress. "No, I don't want to smell like a baby. It keeps me dry when I would dew. I wear Emeraude."

  "That smells good." She turned to the mirror and

  looked at herself in horror. "God, I look like the walking dead."

  "That's how you're supposed to look. I saw it on TV once."

  The buzzer sounded again—urgently.

  I grabbed my pink chenille robe and threw it at Darlene. "Put this on up to your neck and get in bed. I'll let her come up. Remember to cough!"

  Darlene did as I said. For good measure I grabbed a jar of Vicks VapoRub and put it on Darlene's bedside table.

  "Don't put any of that on me," she hissed. "I'll never get the smell off in time to meet Stu."

  "Okay, one problem at a time."

  When Mrs. Wainwright came into the apartment, I could see why Darlene had looked so scared. The woman was a fading beauty in her forties with unnerving eyes that seemed to see right into your mind. Eyes that said she had heard every excuse from every stewardess and could see through every one of them. She must have been a stewardess at one time herself, as she had all manner of Skyway pins attached to her severe black suit.

  "Mrs. Wainwright, I'm Bebe Bennett, Darlene's roommate."

  "Pleased to meet you. Where is she?"

  "I was able to wake her—her coughing keeps her up at night, you see. Sometimes she sleeps late."

  Right on cue from the bedroom came a series of racking coughs.

  "She's still in bed. Would you mind seeing her there?"

  "Not at all. Lead the way, Miss Bennett."

  We went to Darlene's darkened bedroom, which featured a mattress and box spring on the floor. Hung from the ceiling above it was red chiffon that formed a tent over the bed. She had a dresser painted a matching red, and a table holding a phonograph and albums.

  Darlene had pulled the covers up to her chin. She still managed to look like she lived in a harem. The only light was what came through the half-closed Venetian blinds. Good touch, Darlene, I thought.

  Then Mrs. Wainwright snapped on the overhead light, blinding us all, darn her.

  Darlene sneezed. For once her nervous habit came in handy.

  "Hello, Mrs. Wainwright," Darlene said in a soft, pathetic voice. Sneeze. Sneeze.

  "Miss Roland. We at Skyway have been concerned about your lengthy absence. It's been two weeks. When can we expect you to resume your duties?"