The Stairwell

by M. M. Silva

  “I can make a phone call and get you in there whenever you need to,” Gus said as he dabbed his napkin at his mouth. Ever the gentleman. It was quite the opposite of watching Doob essentially forklift the entire contents of his plate into his mouth.

  I raised an eyebrow at Gus. “And how in the world can you do that?” As I recalled, getting on the approved list at Vic’s prison hadn’t been that big of a deal, but if Gus was offering to help, I wanted him to feel useful.

  An impish smile lit up his features. “Meagan, when you’ve lived as long as I have, and in a state this small, you get to know everyone. I’ll make a phone call and get you all set up. Don’t worry about a thing. You’ll be a ray of sunshine in that place.”

  My head fell back against my seat. Ray of sunshine amongst a bunch of felons? Ugh. “Okay, thanks,” I mumbled and then glanced at my friends hopefully.

  “I’m out,” Kayla quipped. “Those prisoners would take one look at me and have all sorts of lewd and filthy thoughts about me later when they do their business. I told you your job sucks.”

  I watched all three men’s faces turn scarlet. Kayla simply didn’t believe in tact. Or decorum. Or modesty. Or a host of other things.

  “I didn’t invite you anyway,” I retorted and turned toward Jeff and Doob.

  “Yeah, uh…I’ve got, um, some stuff going on back in…uh…well, here and there, over the next few days, and weeks, or whenever, so I can’t make it, either, Meagan. Sorry about that,” Jeff said while his face turned one shade deeper.

  “Don’t look at me,” Doob chimed in with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I’d curl into the fetal position the minute we entered the property. You’re better off without having to worry about me getting my ass kicked, Meg. You’d have to rescue me, and you might get hurt. Truly, I’m just thinking of you.”

  Kayla cocked her head. “Don’t kid yourself, Doob. Some of those beefcakes would work you into their fantasies as well.” Doob blanched and set his fork down.

  Staring at each of them for a long moment, I snarled, “You all stink, but I can manage myself, thank you very much. Gus, I’ll take you up on your offer and look forward to my prison visit once we figure out what day makes sense.”

  Gus smiled and said, “Consider it done, m’lady.” Adorable.

  Kayla pulled a face. “When are we leaving, Doob?”

  That thought perked Doob right up, and he said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Soon,” she replied. “I’ve got some stuff to do at the office, and you have your appointment to get measured.” She pointed at his midsection.

  Doob flushed anew.

  “Leave him alone,” I said. “He’s stressed out enough about this tux as it is.” I turned to him. “Doob, you were doing a little digging around on Les for Kayla. We want to let his girlfriend know he’s dangerous, but we need to do it anonymously. Can you tell us what you found out about this guy?”

  Doob picked up his fork and starting shifting some of his eggs around, a stall tactic I’d come to know well. The only thing that ever kept him from shoveling food in his mouth was a topic he’d just as soon avoid. Doob and uncomfortable conversations—not so much.

  “Doob?” I prodded and gave him a confused look.

  “Well…uh…I just think, or rather, I’m kinda wondering if maybe, possibly, not that I’m doubting Kayla, mind you—”

  “Doob!” Kayla shrieked. “Spit it out. Do not tell me you’re waffling on this guy. I know what I know, so if you think you’ve found something redeeming about him, you haven’t. It’s a trick. He’s gonna kill another kid if we don’t stop him.”

  Gus very deliberately set his eating utensils down and scanned each of our faces. “This sounds serious, people. Is there anything you want to tell me? Or better yet, is there something you need to tell the authorities?”

  Kayla screwed up her face, and I could only imagine the colorful language that would be forthcoming if I let her tell the story. So I filled Gus in, and he stroked his chin as I spoke. He didn’t interrupt or ask any questions until I was done.

  “And you all think sending this woman an anonymous package of information will cause her to get this Les character out of her life?”

  “We’re hoping,” I said. “Unless you have a better idea. We can’t really go to the police on a hunch.”

  Gus nodded. “Please be careful. If Kayla’s suspicions are correct—”

  “They are correct,” she interrupted, and I glared at her. Ma always taught me to respect my elders, and I didn’t like her butting in on Gus.

  “Don’t snarl at me, Meagan. You’re all acting like I’m a crackpot, but I’m not. I’m right about this son of a bitch.” She then turned her attention to Doob. “Swallow your friggin’ food, and tell us what you’re hemming and hawing about.”

  Doob slowly swallowed something that looked to be the size of a softball and then cleared his throat. In the smallest voice I’ve ever heard from him, he said, “I think he has a dog.”

  Kayla’s face instantly contorted, leaving her looking like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “You think he has a dog?” She looked around the table, silently asking all of us if Doob was serious. And then, “Who gives a shit? What does that have to do with anything?”

  Doob’s face now appeared to be permanently suntanned, and I felt bad for him. “Well, it’s just that he has vet bills, and he goes to pet stores, and there’s regular grooming, and before I do this, I just want to make sure he’s a bad guy. He at least seems to be good to his dog. I don’t know if killer-bad-guys are nice to animals, are they?”

  Kayla started shaking. “Doob, since you’re pretty much the nicest, most naïve person on the planet, I’ll not rip your larynx out right now. I wish I had your faith in the goodness in people, and I wish I could think well of someone just because he’s nice to man’s best friend, but I don’t, and I can’t. But trust me when I tell you—when I tell all of you—this isn’t me being cynical. I’ve met him, I saw the claim, and he’s doing it again. She reached across the table and put both her hands on Doob’s. “I promise, Doob. You’re doing the right thing by getting this woman and her child away from this maniac. I promise.”

  There was a few seconds of silence at the table before I got back to it. “Doob, other than the dog, did you find anything incriminating?”

  He shook his head. “Not specifically about Les. On paper, his life looks normal.” He glanced at Kayla. “But I also found some articles about that poor little girl, and it sounded really awful. If you want to type up a couple of notes to clip to the articles, we can get them sent to the girlfriend.”

  “Why do you have to type the notes?” Jeff asked.

  “Because they don’t want it traced back to them,” Gus answered for me, and I gave him a little smile.

  Wanting to wrap this up, I stated the game plan. “I’ll clip the articles together and type up a few sentences for Alicia. God willing, she’ll realize who she’s involved with, and we’ll hope for the best. Since you guys are headed to Boston this morning, you can do me a favor. I need my mail from the office, so please swing by and grab it. And if I give you Alicia’s address, will you give the package to Becca, and ask her to send it out for us?”

  “Can do.” Doob nodded. “Isn’t Becca the ditz you’re always complaining about?”

  “She is,” I admitted. “But Norman gets all put out if I don’t give her a few things to do a week. And I haven’t given her anything in several days. So this is my assignment for her—enclosing the paperwork in a manila envelope, addressing the envelope, putting postage on the envelope, and placing the envelope in the outgoing mail. That should take her the better part of four hours. Just emphasize that she is to send it without a return address, and she’s not to enclose a business card. I don’t think she’ll understand the word anonymous, but you can try. Like Gus said, we don’t want this coming back on us.”

  “Wouldn’t be good,” Doob said as he shoveled some bacon in his mouth.


  Truer words were never said.

  CHAPTER 10

  ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, KAYLA AND DOOB TOOK OFF in her car, and despite the upcoming tuxedo measurements, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Doob happier. I’ve told him a hundred times she’d suck the heart, soul, money, and life out of him, and then leave him for dead, but that only seems to increase his attraction to her. Men.

  Jeff had some errands and work-related things to tend to on his computer, so that left me to start the to-do list I’d compiled the day before. I called Eileen and apologized for bothering her again, but she was very gracious. She hadn’t noticed anyone at any of the services who shouldn’t have been there but also admitted she wasn’t exactly paying close attention. I told her my line of thinking, and she said she’d speak with her children to see if they’d noticed anyone or anything unusual.

  I further learned Charlie’s personal effects hadn’t yet been returned to Eileen, and she’d accidentally left the sign-in book back at the funeral home, so she couldn’t help me out on that front, either.

  “Eileen, that gives me an idea. I’m wondering if you could do us both a favor?” I asked.

  “I’ll certainly try, dear. What is it you need?”

  “Well, I’d be glad to go by the funeral home and get the sign-in book, but I’m sure they’d need permission from you. Would you be willing to give them a call to see if I could swing by this afternoon to pick it up? I’d also like to ask them a few questions, if you don’t mind. I know I’m being a pest, but for your sake, and Jeff’s sake, I really want to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Of course. I understand, dear, and I appreciate it. I’ll call them right now. I’ve got your business card, so I’ll call you on that number in a few minutes.”

  As promised, Eileen called me five minutes later and said I could visit Mr. Rosenthal at the funeral home at three-thirty that afternoon. He had a service at one o’clock but thought he could give me a few minutes in his office afterwards. She said he’d give me the sign-in book as well as do his best to answer any of my questions.

  “Such a sweet man,” she said matter-of-factly after giving me directions to the funeral home. “He’s really been so helpful throughout this entire process.”

  Wait until you get the bill, I thought cynically and then silently called myself a bitch. “I promise to not take up too much of his time, Eileen. Thank you so much for helping me with this. Would you like me to drop the book off at your house sometime tomorrow?”

  “That would be fine, dear. If you’d like to come around noon, I’ll make us tea and sandwiches.”

  For whatever reason, my eyes got misty and a lump formed in my throat. This woman was goodness to the core, and I knew many lonely days were ahead of her.

  “I’d love that, Eileen, thank you.”

  “And bring your pretty friend along, too. She’s a pistol, that one.”

  I smiled. “That she is. I’ll see if she can make it,” I replied, knowing full well Kayla would never go to Eileen’s house again.

  “I’ll look forward to it. See you then, dear.”

  “Eileen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like chocolate?”

  She laughed a husky laugh, and I was glad to hear it. “Of course I do. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Then dessert is on me. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”

  It was right around one o’clock, and I decided baking a cake would pass the time until I needed to get to the funeral home. Since Doob and I are junk-food-aholics, I knew we had chocolate cake mix and chocolate frosting from our grocery store extravaganza the other night. What I didn’t know was if Jeff had a cake pan, but after opening several cupboard doors, I was pleased to find a glass baking dish that had a sticky note on the bottom that read: Use this sometime. Love you, Mom.

  Well, Mrs. Geiger, I would try to do right by your gift and make the most fabulous chocolate cake Newport had ever seen. Had ever tasted, whatever.

  By three o’clock, my masterpiece was baked and frosted, and I left a note for Jeff that threatened death if he so much as touched the cake. But I added there was leftover frosting in the refrigerator if he wanted to glom that. After all, it was his house.

  After noticing I had a good deal of chocolate on my person, I decided a change clothes was in order. Call me crazy, but something told me a pink GAP hoodie with brown streaks all over it wouldn’t be appropriate for a meeting with a funeral director. But it did smell great.

  Donned in appropriate black attire, I pulled into the funeral home just before three-thirty. Trying to be conscientious of Doob’s rig, I parked his Mercedes in a spot far away from all the other cars. I don’t think Doob really worries about door dings, but I didn’t want him getting any on my watch.

  As I reached for the handle to hop out of the car, I took a minute before getting out. The last time I was at a funeral home had been last March—to attend the wake of my client’s brother, who’d been killed by Melanie. A horrible time in my life. I involuntarily shivered. Even though this was a completely different location—a completely different set of circumstances—my heart raced and everything in me screamed at me to flee. When it comes to the whole “fight or flight” thing, I’m all about the flight. Getting the hell out of bad situations is a policy I try to strictly adhere to.

  However, that policy doesn’t always work. And besides, this wasn’t a scary situation, so I needed to get over it. Taking several deep breaths, I steadied myself and walked across the parking lot and through the double front doors of the funeral home. The sickly sweet smell of flowers and an aura of sadness greeted me. Again, I fought off the urge to turn around and run.

  I noticed a sign with some family names on it, and it appeared two services were going to begin at five o’clock. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it now. The sooner I did, the sooner I’d be gone.

  Despite my little neurotic episode, the visit with Mr. Rosenthal went quite well. He had a tactful, reserved air about him that suited his profession to a tee. I left his office with the sign-in book in hand but with little information about any potential weirdos at the services. I wasn’t too surprised when he reported that most of the attendees were behaving normally for people who were mourning a friend or loved one.

  Hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. If Eileen was up for it tomorrow, we could take a look at the people who attended the wake and see if anything jumped out at her. If she wasn’t up for it, then we’d have a nice lunch just the same. I’d quickly grown protective of the old woman and didn’t want to upset her any more than absolutely necessary.

  Rounding the corner after leaving Mr. Rosenthal’s office, I breathed easier, thinking of Doob’s fancy SUV waiting in the parking lot, my escape from all things funeral-related. I would get back to Jeff’s and have a glass of…something, and all would be right with the world. That was the plan.

  At least I thought that was the plan until I saw movement to my right and felt someone tackle my legs, sending me to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  CHAPTER 11

  “CECILE! I KNEW YOU’D COME!” A man’s voice came from nearby my feet.

  I leaned up on one arm and tried to assess the situation. A small old man with a few tufts of gray hair had decided to tackle me for no apparent reason. And it was very clear he had me confused with someone named Cecile.

  As I struggled to regain my bearings, a woman who looked to be in her mid-sixties rushed out of one of the viewing rooms and took in the scene. She was plump, wedged into an all-black jacket and skirt, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

  “Herman! What have you done?” she scolded while helping him up off the floor. She then turned to me. “I’m so sorry, miss, so very sorry.” She hefted me back to my feet and dusted me off with jerky swipes of her hand across my backside.

  “It’s, uh, okay,” I said while rubbing my hip. A dull ache spread over my bones, and I winced. Great. I’d probably be sporting a new bruise as a result of today’s events. “Just a li
ttle unexpected.”

  “She came! She came! I told you Cecile would come! And you, with your know-it-all-nose-in-the-air said she wouldn’t. Well, I was right, and you were wrong, Marguerite. So go suck on a lemon, you old witch!” Herman hooked his arm in mine and pulled me toward the viewing room.

  Oh. My. God.

  Fortunately, Herman and I were the only ones in the room, but there was a casket at the far end I surmised had a dead body inside. My crack detective skills at work once again. I prayed to all that is holy Herman didn’t drag me toward it. Assuming there was a dead body and knowing there was a dead body were two very different things. And I believe I’ve mentioned in the past denial is one of my talents.

  The old man steered me to the array of photographs artfully arranged on poster boards, propped up on easels, and it looked like the deceased had been a beautiful woman who’d led a full life. At least I was hoping that was the case, and then I wondered why I was hoping anything at all. I needed to get out of here.

  “Cecile, there you are! It’s you and Betty at your high school graduation.” Herman still had his arm hooked through mine, but he was pointing at a girl in one of the pictures. I leaned in to study it, and damned if I didn’t look a whole lot like her. The banner behind the two friends in the picture read 1955.

  “And here you are again in this one,” he said, dragging me to yet another picture. Again, the resemblance to the girl was uncanny, and I was rapidly developing a soft spot for this old man. Some part of his brain saw me and recognized a face from his past. Some part of him was very happy because he thought he saw a familiar girl from his childhood, and he thought that girl was here to attend Betty’s funeral. But sadly, he wasn’t coherent enough to understand that if I was eighteen years old in 1955, I would be somewhere around his age right now. Which I clearly wasn’t, although some days I sure felt like it.