Just in Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m from Etonville.”

  “Never been there,” he said.

  “I get over here a lot. In fact, the Creston Players are doing a show with the Etonville Little Theatre. You heard about it? Bye, Bye, Birdie?” I asked.

  “Not much into theater. Usually here anyway.”

  I was starting to feel for the guy. A deli that was ready to go out of business consumed his life. “A friend of mine used to live across the street. Ruby Passonata? She was the accompanist for the Creston Players.” I paused to see if her name rang a bell.

  The clerk frowned. “Don’t know her.”

  “She died in Etonville a week ago. Really tragic. She was—”

  “Murdered! Yeah, I read about that. She used to come in here.”

  My radar system freaked out. “She did?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know her name. I saw her picture in the paper,” he said. “She was one nice lady.”

  Again, a description that was at odds with the Ruby I knew. “Why do you say that?” I was truly curious.

  “She always asked how I was doing. Ordered the same thing. Coffee, cream, two sugars, and a bagel with cream cheese. And she always left me a great tip.” He nodded at the tip jar by the register.

  Oops…I was still clutching the change from my bill, which I deposited in the glass container. “That’s nice. I felt bad about her being all alone,” I said sincerely. “I don’t think she had many friends. I never saw her with anyone.”

  “Me neither. Except for that one time last week.”

  “One time?”

  “Yeah she came in with this guy. He looked a little tense while she ordered, didn’t say anything. She looked like she got a kick out of him feeling uncomfortable.”

  Now that was the Ruby I knew. Was Dale the man she made so uneasy?

  “I think I know who he was. An actor from the Creston Players…leading man type, handsome, broad shoulders,” I said, and then added, “Black hair.”

  The guy considered my description. “Not sure.”

  “Do you remember what day Ruby came in here with him?”

  He stared at the ceiling. “Last Monday morning. A week ago.”

  The morning of the last rehearsal that Ruby attended. A cold chill ran down my spine, though the deli was warm and stuffy.

  “Why are you asking about her? Are you involved with the police?” His friendly, open face shut down, replaced by a wary, suspicious one.

  “Me? No. I’m a friend…who feels terrible about her death. She went too soon,” I said.

  The guy relaxed a bit. “Yeah. I agree.”

  I stepped into the gloom of the late afternoon and checked my watch. I had to hustle if I was going to get into Ruby’s apartment and then back to the Windjammer in time for the dinner rush. I hurried across the street and through the courtyard, with its fractured walkway and patchy brown grass. Nothing had changed since Lola and I were here a few days ago. I pressed the super’s button, tapped my foot impatiently as I awaited a response. Nikolas might be away, or doing repairs in someone’s apartment. I hadn’t thought of that. Now what? I was about to give up when a voice boomed out of the speaker.

  “Yes?”

  It was the same Eastern European accent. “Nikolas? Hi, I’m Dodie, Ruby’s friend. Could I speak with you?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Come in.”

  The buzzer sounded and I opened the door. Nikolas met me in the lobby within seconds, dressed in a similar plaid work shirt and tool belt, as before. He was reluctant to let me back into Ruby’s apartment, especially since the police had been there and, apparently, had scrubbed the place for evidence. What could I possibly want to see now? What indeed. But I was prepared.

  “Ruby had some books she’d been meaning to give me. And then she died before she could.”

  “You were her friend?”

  “No” was ready to hop out of my mouth, but if a friend was someone who was concerned about your welfare—dead or alive—then maybe I was becoming Ruby’s friend. “Yes,” I said, and it didn’t feel like I was lying.

  Nikolas beckoned me to follow him into the elevator. Again, we rode in silence to the third floor and walked down the hallway to Ruby’s unit.

  “I will be back in ten minutes,” he said. It was an order.

  I entered the apartment, and, as Nikolas kept me under observation, beat a straight path to Ruby’s bookshelves, touching several volumes until Nikolas shut the door. I looked around. Everything was much as before except that the investigators searched the bookshelves—tossing books on their sides. They left the cupboards in her efficiency kitchen open. Ruby’s laptop was missing.

  I thrust my hand into my bag. In the rush to get to Creston, I’d forgotten I had Ruby’s iPad. I needed to get it to Bill. I scanned the room again. Was there anything else here, besides the scrapbook, which might provide a clue to Ruby’s life? I skimmed the books, opened and closed drawers and the cupboards. Nothing but a minimal number of dishes, silverware, assorted packaged foods, and canned goods. I dashed into her bedroom. The bed was unmade, the wardrobe door ajar, with clothing pushed to one side. I assumed the police had done a thorough search. The dresser drawers were half-filled with underwear, socks, sleeping gear, and tee shirts. “Speak to me,” I whispered.

  As if some otherworldly spirit had heeded my call, I walked over to a bedside table. I yanked on the drawer but it was empty except for a pack of cigarettes and a flashlight. I felt around the inside of the drawer, and then yanked it out. I reached into the opening and my hand touched paper. I carefully withdrew a yellowed newspaper article. Folded in half, it was from the Greenburg Chronicle dated August 1986. Ruby’s hometown paper…

  Nikolas’s voice in the hallway jerked me out of my reverie. “You are the second person to come to Ruby’s apartment today. I left a woman here before.”

  Instinct told me I didn’t want to meet whomever was in the hallway with Nikolas. Maybe it was the police. I’d told Bill I’d sworn off murder investigations and I’d meant it.

  Nikolas’s key turned in the lock. I panicked and dove under the bed. It was a tight squeeze and I struggled to inch my way toward the wall. I shut my eyes hoping that if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me. I heard the thud of footsteps as they entered the apartment.

  “Hello?” Nikolas said. “She must have left.” He sounded peeved. “You see the size of the piano. It’s gonna take four guys to get it out of here. You want to measure it now?”

  The other party must have given his assent, because Nikolas continued to talk about the piano, the difficulty of removing it, Mets baseball, and the weather.

  Though the rest of the apartment was neat and orderly, someone had neglected to mop under the bed. Dust bunnies were everywhere, my nose so dangerously close to inhaling one; I had to bury my face in my arm to stop a sneeze. Not a smart thing to do, according to Aunt Maureen. Stifling a sneeze could cause the brain to explode, she’d told me. Her warning gave me nightmares as a kid, so I sneezed regularly. I edged forward until my head was near the frame of the bed. I craned my neck to see around the half open door, but all I could spot were Nikolas’s work boots and the hem of his jeans. Nothing of the other person in Ruby’s living room.

  A cell phone rang. “Hello?” said Nikolas. Silence. “Okay. Be right there.” He must have ended the call. “Hey, have to go. When you finish, shut the door behind you. It’ll lock on its own.”

  The apartment was eerily quiet, except for the pounding of my heart. Footsteps thudded again and now, from my location beneath the bed, I could see white sneakers for a moment before they disappeared. In my sight and out of my sight as though the man was walking back and forth. Was the person searching for something? All of a sudden, the sneakers vanished. Had he left? I heard a soft bump like a cabinet door closing and the outer door slam shut. H
e was gone.

  I waited a full ten minutes, and then scooted out from under Ruby’s bed. My back was sore from holding myself at an odd angle; maybe it had been silly to hide from them. After all, Nikolas had given me permission to be there. Who was the other person?

  I inspected the living area. Nothing was out of place. I grabbed two books off a stack on the shelf, crept to the door, cracked it open an inch, and scanned the corridor. Then I remembered the “soft thud.” The bathroom! I looked inside the medicine cabinet. The Ambien was gone. My neck hairs danced in a frenzy. Had the police taken it? Or the visitor to Ruby’s apartment?

  In the hallway, the coast was clear. I sprinted to the Exit sign and ran down the stairs to the first floor. I hesitated as I grasped the handle, composing myself. I’d have to be convincing if I bumped into Nikolas. I would have to explain how I checked Ruby’s books and left the apartment. Needing the exercise, I walked down the stairs but then I sprained my ankle and I had to sit down and…blah, blah, blah.

  I casually limped into the lobby. Nikolas was nowhere to be found. I race-walked to the exit, flew out the door, and shuffled my way to the Metro, in case Nikolas happened to see me. My heart was doing double time as I dove into the front seat. It was ten minutes to five. I was running late so I cranked the engine and pulled away from the curb, blowing down Hamilton, hitting every green light. I barely slowed down as I sailed through intersection after intersection. The entrance to State Route 53 was half a mile down the road.

  My trip to Creston was very successful. I discovered that Ruby had contact with a man the morning of the day she died; that Ruby kept an old hometown newspaper article tucked away for safe-keeping—instead of pasting it in her scrapbook; that someone was in her apartment measuring her piano for removal; and that that someone might have taken her Ambien. How did it all add up?

  I darted onto the highway, my mind mulling things over. Traffic was heavy, but in the past, I’d usually keep my Metro in the slow lane and maintain the speed limit. Tonight was an exception. I put the pedal to the metal and stayed in the passing lane. Things were dicey enough at the Windjammer with Henry taking off tomorrow and Wilson experimenting with his small plate menu. They didn’t need me waltzing in later than usual—

  A black Honda Civic in the slow lane whizzed by me, and a pick-up truck began riding my back bumper. I veered into the right lane and tapped the brakes—nothing happened. The brake pedal hit the floor, but my Metro maintained sixty miles an hour. My breath caught in my throat. What was wrong with my brakes? I was approaching an SUV in front of me and now the Honda Civic zipped back into my lane, squeezing itself between me and the SUV. I pumped the brakes ferociously knowing, rationally, that there was something drastically wrong—no amount of applied force would stop my car. I kept my foot off the accelerator, held the steering wheel steady, and frantically surveyed the shoulder ahead for a place to stop. I flicked on the emergency flashers. The car behind me grew impatient, as I slowed and I wound down the window and gestured for it to go around me. Meanwhile, the Honda zoomed out of my lane again, and harassed a much larger automobile in the passing lane. Where were the state police when you needed them? The shoulder was a narrow strip of tarmac, with a drop off down a steep embankment. Not promising. There was an exit ahead. If I could make it to that spot, I could coast onto the ramp and off the road.

  I sat forward and gripped the wheel with clammy hands, my breathing ragged, my pulse throbbing. The exit was coming up. I eased my Metro to the shoulder, then steered off the highway onto the ramp. I turned the wheel gently, rolling into a patch of dirt and gravel, and jammed on the emergency brake. My car shuddered to a halt.

  13

  Timothy scratched his head and replaced his ball cap. “What you got here is a failure of the brake system. Your brake fluid moves from the pedal to the brake-line system.” He gazed at the underside of my car which was perched atop his hydraulic lift. “Liquids can’t be compressed so they move around.” He whooshed his hands back and forth, and shifted his gaze to make sure I grasped his automotive explanation.

  “So what caused the brakes to fail?” I asked.

  “Well, the movement pushes against the instrument that stops the vehicle. When the fluid…”

  “The brake fluid?”

  “That’s right. When the brake fluid runs low, you got a problem,” he said.

  No kidding. “How low was my brake fluid?”

  Timothy formed a goose egg with his thumb and forefinger. “Zilch.”

  How did that happen? I drove to Creston with no problem. What had occurred in the time I was in Ruby’s apartment? “I don’t understand. I didn’t see anything leaking.”

  “I’ll take a look and figure it out. Meanwhile, I’ll get you a ride back to the Windjammer. You gotta stay on top of car maintenance,” he said, reminding me of my father.

  “Thanks Timothy.” I’d texted Benny and Henry while I’d waited for the tow truck back on Route 53 to let them know I would be late. That was five thirty. It was now seven o’clock.

  Timothy assured me that I could pick up the Metro in a couple of days, and that it would be safe to drive. Meanwhile, he’d drop me off at the Windjammer since I declined his offer of a loaner until tomorrow. My cell rang and I checked the caller ID.

  “Hi stranger,” I said, deepening my voice. “You slipped away early this morning.”

  “I had an appointment with the Creston department at eight a.m.” Bill was irritated.

  “Anyway I was about to text you. I had a—”

  “I received a call from them half an hour ago. They got a call from the super in Ruby’s apartment. Evidently, a woman, whom he’d met before, stopped by and asked to get in to the apartment to take some books. He got suspicious when she disappeared.”

  Geez. Why did Nikolas have to rat me out to the Creston police?

  “Her description sounded familiar.”

  His unspoken accusation filled the silence.

  “I can explain,” I said.

  “Dodie, you promised you would stay out of the investigation.”

  I didn’t exactly promise…

  “And now the Creston police are getting their noses out of joint.” He exhaled loudly.

  “Sorry.”

  “What were you looking for anyway? We’d already gone over her place. There was nothing to find.”

  What about the newspaper article? “I’m not sure. I have this feeling about Ruby—”

  “And the sudden end of her career. I know.”

  I’d always believed that the best defense was a good offense. “Did the Creston police mention that someone else was in the apartment? A guy measuring the piano for removal?”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “I was there.” Oops…how was I going to explain my time under Ruby’s bed inhaling dust?

  “What?”

  “Look, I was in Ruby’s apartment. As I was leaving, the super and another guy arrived. I overheard the super mention measuring the piano.” Partly true. The part that mattered most, anyway.

  “Dodie, that doesn’t make sense. How did—”

  “But do the police know that? They should be investigating this piano-measurer. Maybe he was a friend of Ruby’s who knows something.”

  I had a sudden thought. Could he have been the same guy who accompanied Ruby to the deli? I heard muffled speech, then Bill came back on his cell. “I gotta go.”

  “See you tonight?” I asked.

  “I doubt it. Might be a late one here.” He ended the call.

  Might be a late one here…what kind of a romantic sign-off was that? I had pushed one too many of Bill’s law enforcement buttons.

  * * * *

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said hastily as I rushed into the restaurant. “Benny, you can take off.”

  “Are you okay? What happened to your car,” Benny
asked as he whipped off his apron.

  “I lost my brakes.” I inspected the dining room, which was half full at the moment. “Apparently, I ran out of fluid.”

  “On the highway?” Benny asked aghast. “You could have had a bad accident. Or worse.”

  I avoided contemplating the obvious. “Yeah, I was lucky.”

  Benny grabbed my hand. “Are you shaking? You’d better sit down. I should stay. I can call the babysitter—”

  I tugged my hand away, gave him a gentle shove, and pointed toward the door. “Go. Take care of the princess.”

  Benny left and I collapsed onto a barstool.

  Lola texted: I heard you almost got killed and your car is totaled!!! I texted back: All good. Can you pick me up at closing? Lola agreed to be here at eleven.

  Gillian had the dining room in hand and Carmen was picking up the bar, so I took a moment to let reality seep in. I could have been killed. I could have killed someone else. Goosebumps emerged on my arms. Something was going on.

  * * * *

  “Do-dee, I hear you have ze accident?” Wilson said dramatically. His brown eyes concerned. He reached for me.

  I backed off. “Oh…uh…I’m fine.”

  “You need ze bicycle instead of ze car,” he said.

  That wasn’t a bad idea. Carmen was closing the bar and Gillian was wiping down the tables. Henry had offered to lock up since he would be off work tomorrow. This meet-the-in-laws event was taking a toll on his mood which was iffy under the best of circumstances. Wilson was making some last minute edits to the tapas menu.

  “All set to run the kitchen tomorrow?” I asked him.

  “It is my dream!” He hummed “A Lot of Livin’ to Do” from Bye, Bye, Birdie, and when he couldn’t contain himself, he burst into song. He had a deep, rich baritone.

  “Wow, you have a lovely voice, Wilson.”

  He leaned closer. “Thank you Do-dee. When I am growing up in Haiti, I see American musicals on DVD. I learn English that way.”