by Abigail Keam
“Aw Toots, you’re the best. Thank you. Thank you. Now one more thing. I put the keys to Bunny and Emma’s New York apartments and the security codes in your mailbox. Check them out for me.”
“I’m not going to ask how you obtained those, but how will I get in touch?”
My answer was the dial tone, which sounded like an angry honeybee buzzing, and buzzing, and buzzzzzzing.
38
Wearing a beige trench coat over my black funeral dress, matching leather gloves, oversized sunglasses, a big floppy hat, and a strand of pearls, I crept into the memorial service for Bunny Witt at the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer on Lexington Avenue.
I slid into a back pew and listened to various grand dames of Park Avenue spout platitudes about Bunny Witt of the Philadelphia Witts, not to be confused with the Boston Whitts. None of them sounded sincere, but appearances must be maintained. It wasn’t long before everyone ran out of steam and the service ended. Mourners–and I’m using a little bit of latitude with that word–began drifting outside.
Several women and a few tottering old men went to speak with a woman entrenched on the front pew. Keeping an eye on the queue, I checked out the floral arrangements, even noting who had sent them and from which flower shop. You never know what detail might be important.
When the line had shrunk to several people, I got behind the last person and waited my turn. In a matter of a few minutes, I was face-to-face with an obviously traumatized, wizened old lady who looked to be in her late seventies or early eighties. She had been the only person in the vast cathedral to show genuine sorrow.
“Mrs. Finkelstein?”
The woman wiped her teary eyes with a crumpled handkerchief before focusing on me.
I felt like I was getting ready to kick a dog.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Finkelstein, my name is Josiah Reynolds. I’m from Kentucky. I knew Mrs. Witt. She stayed with my friend, Lady Elsmere.”
Mrs. Finkelstein’s face lit up. “I know who you are, and you’re an answer to my prayers. Please sit. I have so many questions.”
As I sat, Mrs. Finkelstein grabbed my hands in a firm grip and squeezed. “I keep calling a Detective Goetz, but he won’t answer any of my questions.” She looked at me for sympathy. “I just can’t believe it. Both Bunny and Emma gone.”
“It has been quite a shock to us in Kentucky as well.”
“How could this have happened? I understand they have arrested a man for Emma’s murder?”
“Oh? That must have been after I left Kentucky.” I paused while processing the fact that Walter might have been arrested. I hope that twerp didn’t squeal on me. I didn’t want to be arrested for being an accessory after the fact.
I continued, “Mrs. Finkelstein, I have some questions I would like to ask you, too.”
“Please, call me Theda. Finkelstein is such a mouthful.”
I managed a tease of a smile. “Thank you. Please call me Josiah.”
Theda nodded.
“Do you know who was arrested?” I asked. It could have been someone other than Walter.
“Some man Bunny hired to help find out who had been breaking into her apartments, but I don’t see why he would murder Emma. It doesn’t make sense unless he is insane.”
Feeling that I had limited time with Theda, I went straight to my questions. “Bunny told me you had worked for her mother.”
“She was a fine lady. Gracious. When she died, I stayed on, perhaps longer than I should have, but Bunny,” Theda threw her hands up, “needed guidance. She was given to impulsive decisions. I did the best I could, but as you can see, it wasn’t good enough.”
“You don’t need to take on such a burden, Theda. Lady Elsmere tried to reason with Bunny, but she was very headstrong.”
“Is headstrong the word you would use?”
“I’m trying to be diplomatic.”
Theda chuckled. “Damn stupid is what I would call her.”
It was my turn to chuckle now. “But I understand she could be a great and generous friend. Emma told me how Bunny paid the medical bills when her father took ill.”
Theda’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Emma’s parents were dead by the time Emma started working for Bunny. They died in a boating accident while she was still in high school.”
I tried not to look stunned. “I must have misunderstood.” I hurried on to another question. “Had Emma worked for Bunny long?”
“Over ten years, I think. Maybe longer.”
“Do you have any idea how someone could have gotten into the New York apartment without forcing the door?”
Theda looked down at her lap as she began smoothing out her dress.
“Theda. Do you think Bunny was creating the illusion of a stalker to get attention?”
“Absolutely not. That was too imaginative for her. Bunny was strictly a literal person.”
“Emma?”
Theda nodded slightly.
“What makes you think that?”
“Emma was a hardworking girl, very ambitious. I don’t think Bunny realized how much Emma did for her, nor did Bunny appreciate Emma. Emma might have grown to resent that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Bunny was not a perceptive person. She simply couldn’t conceive that Emma might envy the lifestyle Bunny was born into. I would watch Emma study Bunny. She seemed almost predatory. She copied how Bunny spoke, walked, her manner of dress, how she conducted herself. I warned Bunny, but she took my warning as a compliment. She thought it was cute.”
“Did you feel Emma was up to mischief?”
“I felt she needed to see someone–a therapist. Emma was becoming too possessive. Perhaps obsessive might be a better word.”
“You used the word becoming. What tipped Emma from simply emulating Bunny to something more serious?”
“It started about a year ago. I noticed a change in Emma. She was very excited about something, and I figured it must have been a man.”
“Did she say she had a boyfriend?”
“No. Emma was very closed-mouthed about her personal life, but I did overhear her talking to someone on the telephone. When I walked into the room, she hung up abruptly. I asked her who it was, and she said it was a wrong number.”
“So?”
“I listened to her conversation before I entered the room, Josiah. She was speaking to a man. You know how the voice changes, special words that are spoken when talking to a new love, and I distinctly heard her agreeing to meet someone. Later, Emma became more secretive, and would be gone from the apartment for long periods of time, supposedly running errands, but I knew better. She would always come back looking a little disheveled.”
“Like she had been enjoying a midday romp.”
“Exactly.”
“Did you ever see this man?”
Theda shook her head. “When I teased her about having a secret boyfriend, Emma would become defensive and deny it. I could tell she was lying. She wouldn’t look at me.”
“I met with Emma on the day she died. Among the many things she told me was that she was going to be in charge of Bunny’s philanthropic foundation, and also receive the New York apartment with a maintenance stipend. How did that come about?”
“That nonsense arose a little after Emma started sneaking off. The will is almost the same. The main difference was that Emma was going to take over the charities. Initially it was to be the law firm that handled Bunny’s affairs. They were the most qualified to handle all that money, in my opinion.”
“That’s one. Others?”
“All property, except for Ravensnest, was to be sold, and the money put in the philanthropic fund.”
“What was to become of Ravensnest?”
“It was to go to a distant cousin.”
“In other words, the farm was to stay in the family.”
“Yes, that’s correct. There was never a question about that.”
“Emma told me Ravensnest was to be sold.”
“Bunny would never have agreed for Ravensnest to be sold out of the family. Never.”
“Who brought up making the changes? Bunny?”
“It was Emma. She kept badgering Bunny, saying that she was better equipped to handle the estate as the executrix since she knew all the details of Bunny’s finances and property.”
“She had a point there.”
“Emma did, but it was not her place to say so. It was as if she was counting on Bunny dying. If the will needed to be upgraded, it should have been Bunny’s idea–not Emma’s. I thought the entire line of discussion unnecessary and morbid.” Theda paused and looked at the memorial’s oversized picture of Bunny strolling down Fifth Avenue in a Gucci outfit, looking young and vibrant.
“Who would have thought I would outlive my employer’s daughter and her young assistant,” she whispered while wiping her moist eyes. “Life isn’t fair, is it, Josiah?”
“No, ma’am. It sure as hell fire isn’t.”
A distinguished-looking man in his late fifties entered the church. He was wearing a navy double-breasted pinstripe suit with an orange patterned tie and matching handkerchief. Appearing overly dramatic by taking large, hurried steps, he came up to us, smiling.
Theda’s face lit up when she saw him. “Josiah, this is my son, Harry . . .”
I held out my hand. “Harry Stein. I recognize you from your picture in the paper. I take it Stein is a stage name.”
Harry shook it vigorously. “Finkelstein took up too much ink, and no one could pronounce it or spell it correctly, so I shortened it.” He turned to his mother. “Sorry, Mom. My meeting took more time than I anticipated.”
He addressed me as though he needed to explain his absence. “I was calming a leading lady who didn’t like her dressing accommodations. It seemed the paint in her dressing room was not the correct shade of blue, and the toilet leaked.” He raised his eyes as if to heaven. “That should be the extent of everyone’s problems. Right? No illness. No money problems. No funerals. Just leaking commodes and bad paint jobs. Well, enough about me. Have you seen my current play?”
“Yes, during my last trip to New York. I enjoyed it very much.”
Harry beamed. “Much gratified. Critics be damned, eh?”
Theda confessed, “I didn’t want him to go into show business, but it’s in our blood, I guess. My parents were a famous vaudevillian couple.”
“Thus the name Theda, after Theda Bara, the silent screen actress,” I guessed.
“She was a close friend of my mother’s. I’m surprised you remember her.”
“I’ve seen several of her films. She’s hard to forget.”
Theda put a finger up to her pursed lips and said, “That reminds me.”
Harry asked, “What does, Mother?”
“I seem to recall that before Emma left for Kentucky, she was very agitated. When I asked what was wrong, she mumbled something about gaslight.”
“Gaslight? Do you know what she meant?” I asked.
“When I pressed for more information, she cut me off, saying she needed to check something when she got to Lexington, but she wouldn’t say what.”
“And you have no idea what she was referring to?” I wanted to sit down with Theda and have a long talk, but knew my time was running out.
“None. I’m so sorry.”
“Josiah, I’m sorry too,” Harry said, “but we must take our leave of you. As you can see, this has been a considerable strain on Mother. I need to take her home to rest.”
Jumping Jehosaphat! I needed more time. “Of course. Thank you for talking with me,” I replied, wanting to appear sympathetic, but feeling quite put out. One does need to be polite under such circumstances. See? I’m not that bad.
Harry reached into his coat and took out his wallet. Handing a business card to me, he implored, “If you have any news about these dreadful murders, please call me at the number on the card. We would be most grateful to be kept updated on the progress of the investigation.”
Theda nodded. “Yes, please keep us informed.”
Taking the card, I slipped it into my purse. “I will do my best,” I promised. After saying my thank-you’s, I headed back to Asa’s apartment, my home away from home in the Big Apple.
39
Feeling surprisingly strong with energy to spare, I directed the cab driver to the Dakota instead of my daughter’s apartment, but the traffic was so horrible that by the time we arrived, my energy had been sapped. Well, I was here now. Might as well get out.
I paid the cab driver and wondered how I could waltz past the doorman. The last time I had been with Bunny, so it had been no problem. I remembered that Bunny had called him Bob. I decided on the tactic of bravado.
Walking past Bob with an imperial air, I inclined my head just a little and said, “Good afternoon, Bob.”
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” replied Bob, tipping his hat. Puzzled, he glanced down at his clipboard and then at me, but all he could see was my back. I was hightailing it to the elevators.
So far, so good.
I pushed the buttons for three different floors in case Bob decided to rush after me and check my ID. It would take him a while to locate me after the elevator doors had closed. Getting out on Bunny’s floor, I hurried to her door and let myself in, glad no one had seen me. Checking the security system, I saw that it was disarmed.
I flipped the light switch and the lamps came on. Good! The electricity was still on.
The apartment was musty, not having been used in over a month. There was a faint layer of dust on the furniture. Quickly looking around, I discovered there was no mail and no newspapers. The building super must be collecting for Bunny. Nothing I could do about that.
Now to search, but where should I start? Where do people hide things?
I went into the kitchen first. Knowing Bunny, hidden items would be where she could find them readily. I checked the freezer. Nothing concealed with the brisket or lamb. Checked all the dry goods canisters, dipping my hand in the flour and sugar containers. Nada. Looked under the breakfast table. Clean.
Now moving to her office. Sitting at Bunny’s desk, I shuffled through her papers. Nothing exciting. Coming across an address book, I shoved it into my bag. I imagined it must be her mother’s. Most people put phone numbers and addresses on their cell phone these days. Only dinosaurs like me still have an old-fashioned address book. I would read it later. Who knows? Might have a contact in it that would solve her murder.
I continued my search by checking behind paintings, opening the backs of frames that held family photographs. Bunny said she had had a safe, but where was it? This search was getting boring.
Yawning, I made my way to the master suite. Starting with the bathroom, I checked inside the toilet tank. Just blue water. Checked the medicine cabinet, the linen closet, even insides of toilet paper rolls. A total blank.
With what little energy I had left, I pulled out the drawers from her dressers, checking underneath and behind them.
Felt underneath the mattress. Having no luck there, I finally faced her walk-in closet. This would take some time.
I went through every piece of clothing, checked every pocket, felt every lining, looked through every shoe, hat, glove, purse, piece of luggage until I was utterly spent. I tapped the walls for hidden safes. Still, I couldn’t find the safe. Didn’t Bunny say she had a safe? Finally, I gave up the ghost.
If there was something here that would shine light on Bunny’s death, I couldn’t find it.
Exhausted and having difficulty breathing, I fled the apartment, going by the way of the service elevator. A half a block away, I hailed a cab and gave the address to Asa’s apartment. It was dark now, and I needed some serious rest.
Emma’s apartment would have to wait.
40
I had four hours before my plane left for Lexington. That should be enough time to check Emma’s apartment before heading out to the airport.
The cab driver stopped i
n front of Emma’s building in Greenwich Village. I promised him a hundred-dollar tip plus fare if he waited for me. I thought it was fair since he was also keeping an eye on my luggage, and I had no idea how long he would have to wait for me.
Emma’s apartment was on the fourth floor of a five-floor walk-up. Great. It took fifteen minutes to climb those stairs. By the time I reached her door, I was sweating so profusely, my makeup was slipping down my face and onto my clothes. I didn’t even want to imagine what a fright I looked.
I unlocked the front door and slowly opened it, peeking inside. I don’t know what I expected. It just pays to be careful.
Sometimes a little paranoia comes in handy. You caught me. I will admit I’m paranoid. Wouldn’t you be, if you were me?
Again, there was no sign that the police had visited, which I thought odd. There was no crime scene tape sealing the front, nor any visible signs of dusting for prints inside. It had been the same at Bunny’s apartment.
Perhaps the police hadn’t gotten to the apartments yet because they were snowed under with New York murders. Anyway, that was all the better for me, but I still made sure I had on gloves. I was taking a big risk. It could be interpreted that I was tampering with evidence if I had the misfortune to be nabbed by New York’s finest.
Emma’s apartment was a small, one-bedroom affair. Unlike Bunny, who had expensive, prestigious beige furniture, Emma was an Ikea gal and liked color–big blocks of bold, fun color. I could say that I preferred Emma’s apartment. It was light and airy as much as it was exuberant–the kind of exuberance that comes with being young and believing everything is possible.
Looking around at the cheerful apartment, I felt a little sad. Emma had been hopeful about something. What was it? Was it because Emma knew she was going to inherit a lot of money because she had planned Bunny’s death? Or was it that she had met someone and was in love?
I hoped it was the latter. Maybe I could find the answer by searching. I hurried after looking at my watch. I was running out of time. No way was I going to miss my flight.
