“Better than I did a few days ago. My head’s clear, that’s the main thing.”
He held out a bunch of late-summer flowers picked from his own tiny, carefully tended plot. I got him to carry them into the kitchen and fill a pitcher for me. Something about the bright gold daisies on the table suddenly gave me an enormous appetite. I wanted pancakes, eggs, bacon, a whole farmer’s breakfast.
Even though he’d eaten several hours ago, Robin obligingly agreed to go to the corner diner with me. He even overcame his own nausea to dress my hands for me. I thought with my palms padded I could manage a bra, but the hooks still were too much for me. It was one thing to get my hands dressed, another to need help with a bra. I put on an outsize sweatshirt and headed downstairs without one.
Mr. Contreras and the dog were coming in the front door as we left. He looked Robin over with critical jealousy. Peppy jumped up on me and started licking my face. I played with her ears and introduced the two of them to Robin.
“Where you off to, doll?”
“Breakfast. I haven’t had a proper meal since Monday night.”
“I told you yesterday you was looking peaked. The princess and me would have brought you breakfast if you’d asked, saved you a trip out. I only didn’t come up because I figured you was still asleep.”
“I need the exercise,” I said. “Robin here will make sure I don’t overdo it.”
“Well, you call me if you need help. You be sure and give him my number, doll. You pass out or something in the restaurant, I don’t want to see it in the papers first.”
I gave him my solemn word that he would have the honor of providing me smelling salts if needed. He scowled at us but went on inside with Peppy.
“Who is he?” Robin demanded when we were out of earshot. “Your grandfather?”
“He’s just my downstairs neighbor. He’s retired and I’m his hobby.”
“Why’s he so rattled about you going out to eat?”
“It’s not breakfast-it’s breakfast with you. If he was twenty years younger, he’d be beating up any guy who came visiting me. It’s tiresome, but he’s essentially so good-hearted I can’t bring myself to punch him down.”
The four blocks to the Belmont Diner wore me out. I’ve been through convalescence before. I know the early part is slow and then your strength comes back pretty fast, but it still was frustrating. I had to work to get the tension in my stomach to subside.
Most of the waitresses at the diner know me-I probably catch at least one meal a week there and sometimes more. They’d all read about my misadventures and crowded around the table to find out how I was doing and who the talent I’d come in with was. Barbara, whose section I was in, shooed the others away when they started offering juice and rolls. When I ordered a cheese omelet, potatoes, bacon, toast, and a side of fruit with yogurt, she shook her head.
“You’re not going to eat all that, Vic-it’s twice what you get when you’ve just run five miles.”
I insisted, but she was right. I got through half the omelet and the potatoes but couldn’t even make a pro forma effort with the fruit. My stomach strained uncomfortably; all I felt up to was napping, but I forced myself to talk a little shop with Robin.
“You know anything about the fire at the Prairie Shores? What kind of accelerant they used, whether things looked the same as at the Indiana Arms?”
He shook his head. “The Indiana Arms job was more sophisticated because there were people on the premises. It looks as though they put a fuse in the wires in the night man’s quarters when they’d gotten him off to the track. They had a trailer going down to a stock of paraffin in the basement and a timer so they didn’t have to be anywhere near the place. The fire you were in they didn’t have to be that careful-they just dumped gasoline in the kitchen and at the doors to the basement, set the thing off, and took off.” He looked at me soberly. “You were lucky, V.I. Damned lucky.”
“That’s what gets the job done. Napoleon wanted lucky generals, not theoretical whizzes.” It gets me edgy when people lecture me on a narrow escape. I had been lucky, but all the luck in the world wouldn’t have helped if I didn’t also keep myself in top physical and mental shape. Why didn’t my skill count for anything?
“Yeah, but he was beaten in a big way in the end… Do you have any idea who did this to you? My management is concerned that it came out of your investigation into the Indiana Arms-that you’re sitting on information you haven’t shared with us.”
I tried to keep my temper even. “I don’t know who did it. It’s possible it’s connected to your claim, but the only person who can tell me is lying doggo. If I had that kind of information, I wouldn’t be so unprofessional as to keep it to myself.”
He hesitated, toying with the salt shaker. “I’m just wondering-my boss and I were talking yesterday-we work with a lot of investigators. Maybe we should bring someone else in on the Seligman case.”
I sat stiffly in my booth. “I realize I don’t have the results you want, but I’ve done the financial checks and a pretty good rundown on the organization. If you want someone else to talk to the night watchman or explore what Seligman’s children may have been doing, that’s your call, of course.”
“It’s not your competence, Vic, but-well, this assault on you just has people questioning your judgment.”
I tried to relax. “I went down there because I got an SOS from my aunt. Since she has a strong proclivity for alcoholic histrionics I wanted to see her myself first rather than share that part of my family life with outsiders. If I’d had any serious inkling of danger, I would have handled things differently. But I am really, really fed up with being chewed out by everyone from doctors to the police to you for saving her and escaping from danger with my own life intact.”
By the time I finished I was panting. I leaned back in my chair with my eyes shut, trying to head off the incipient pain in my head.
“Vic, I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re alive. You’ve been doing a marvelous job. But we wonder whether someone else could bring a different perspective. Just the fact that your aunt is involved may be affecting your detachment.”
“That’s your right,” I repeated stiffly. “But if you bring someone else in, I will not work in a subordinate capacity to him. Or her. I’ll be glad to share my notes and my ideas, but I won’t continue working for Ajax.”
“Well, maybe we don’t have to hire someone else at this point. There is a city Bomb and Arson Squad…” Robin offered tentatively.
“Who wouldn’t even look at the Indiana Arms for you. Don’t put your faith in them just because I’ve gotten some licks-it’d take more than that to get Roland Montgomery to look at the case seriously. He’s even spinning a little story about me setting the fires myself.”
Robin looked startled. “You’re joking!”
When I told him about my meeting yesterday with Montgomery, he made a sour face. “What the hell is with that guy? He hates outsiders horning in on arson inquiries- I know-we’ve clashed before-but this is outrageous even for him.”
His mention of outsider brought the elusive memory of a face at the fire swimming back to my mind, but I couldn’t place it. “You don’t know who called in the alarm, do you? If the fire trucks hadn’t been there, I don’t think my aunt would have made it out.”
Robin shook his head again. “I have pals in the fire department who let me see everything they have on both fires, but the call to 911 was anonymous.”
I ran my fork around in the congealed grease on my plate, trying to come up with questions I should ask about the fire. Did the police have a list of the onlookers, for example, or had anything been left behind at the site that might point to the arsonist?
My heart wasn’t in it, though. The questioning of my professional judgment wounded me as few other criticisms could. At the same time I saw myself in a shameful light, clattering off to the Prairie Shores Hotel like a giant elephant thundering through the veldt. If I’d called the cops-of course, I had called Furey. Still, a full
police battalion might have saved both Elena and me a knock on the head. But the truth was, if it happened again tonight, I would do it the same way all over again. I couldn’t expose Elena to the ribald indifference of the police. I have to solve my private problems privately. I don’t even know if it’s a strength or weakness. It just is.
I paid my bill and we set off silently for my apartment, neither of us pretending the conversation hadn’t occurred. Outside my building Robin played with the bandages on my right hand, choosing his words.
“Vic, I think we’ll let the Seligman investigation go on the back burner for a few days. We’ll get someone to talk to the night watchman in more depth, but we won’t ask him to take over the case. Next week, when you’re feeling better, we’ll see what he’s turned up and you can decide how you feel about going ahead with the rest of it.”
That seemed fair to me. It didn’t stop me feeling depressed as I slowly hiked upstairs, but it did ease the tight knot between my shoulder blades.
As I was unlocking my door Mr. Contreras and the dog came bounding upstairs. When they reached the second landing I could hear him scolding her gently-he couldn’t see where he was going; did she have to keep racing back and forth under his feet? Trip him up and then where would she be with me gone all the time. I felt the knot come back to my neck and faced them without a welcoming smile.
Mr. Contreras was hidden behind a giant parcel wrapped in the striped paper florists use. “This came while you was out, doll,” he panted. “I thought I might as well accept it for you so they didn’t bring it by when you was asleep or something.”
“Thanks,” I said with what politeness I could muster- I just wanted to go into my own cave and hibernate. Alone.
“It’s okay, doll, I’m happy to help. What happened to your friend? He leave you high and dry?” He set the parcel down gently and wiped his forehead.
“He knew I wanted to rest,” I said pointedly.
“Sure, cookie, sure. I understand. You want some time by yourself. You need me to do anything for you?”
I was about to utter a firm denial when I thought of the letter I wanted to express to my uncle Peter. I needed to sleep so badly I couldn’t get to the post office before their early Saturday closing.
Mr. Contreras was more than pleased to mail it for me. He was ecstatic that I’d chosen him for the errand. He was so thrilled I wished I’d fought back my fatigue and taken the damned thing myself.
When he bustled off with the letter-“Don’t give me no money now, doll, I’ll settle with you later”-I dragged the flowers inside. It was a magnificent bouquet, reds and golds and purples so exotic I hadn’t seen them before. They were arranged in a handsome wooden bowl lined with plastic. I fished around among the foliage for a card.
“Glad you’re out of the hospital,” ran the round unformed writing of the florist. “Next time try to pick quieter work.”
It was signed “R.M.” I was so tired I didn’t even want to try to decide if it was a good-natured gibe or a warning. I locked all the bolts, turned off both phones, and stumbled into bed.
30
Preparing for the High Jump
When I got up on Sunday I knew I’d turned the critical corner toward recovery. I wasn’t back to my full strength, but I felt clear-headed and energetic. The lingering depression from my breakfast with Robin resolved itself to a manageable problem-my ability to handle the Seligman investigation was in doubt, not my entire career and personality. Even my hands were better. I didn’t take off the gauze, but I could do simple household chores without feeling that the skin was splitting open to the bone.
The early detective gets the worm. Although it was unlikely that anyone would come into the Alma Mejicana offices at all on Sunday, they were less likely to do so first thing in the morning.
Before taking off I went into the living room to do a modified version of my exercises-I wasn’t ready to start running yet, but I needed to keep limber. Ralph MacDonald’s flowers dominated the room. I’d forgotten them. As I stretched my quads and tightened my glutes, I eyed the tropical rain forest balefully. Whether meant as a threat or a humorous compliment, they were overwhelming, too big a gesture from a man who scarcely knew me.
When I finished my leg lifts-twenty-five with each leg instead of my usual hundred left me breathless-I scrambled into my jeans and a sweatshirt. Straining, I carried the flowers down to my car. I drove over to Broadway and picked up a bagel, an apple, and some milk at one of the delis.
My attempts to eat and drive at the same time showed the state of my healing-two-handed, the steering wheel was manageable. With one hand my palms started smarting and my wrist ached. I pulled over at the corner of Diversey and Pine Grove to eat. The tropical flowers stained the car with their heavy scent, making it hard to eat without queasiness. I rolled the window all the way down, but the smell was still heady. Finally I gulped down the milk and started south without finishing the bagel.
Sunday morning is the best time to drive in Chicago, because there isn’t any traffic out. I made the nine miles to Michael Reese in fifteen minutes without pushing the speed limit.
Getting the massive bouquet up to the fourth floor taxed my healing palms and shoulders almost beyond endurance. When I got off the elevator a sympathetic orderly offered to take it from me.
“These are gorgeous. What room you want them in?”
I gave him Elena’s room number. He carried the pot as easily as if it were a football-as easily as I could have done a week ago. I followed him down the hall and into Elena’s room. A woman about my own age in a yellow nylon gown was sitting in Elena’s bed reading the Tribune.
My jaw dropped slightly, the way it does when you’re taken unawares. “My aunt,” I said foolishly. “She was here on Friday.”
“Maybe she checked out,” the orderly suggested.
“She wasn’t in very good shape. Maybe they moved her.” I scurried back to the nursing station.
A middle-aged woman was making elaborate notes in a chart, I tried interrupting but she held up a warning hand and continued writing.
Finally she looked at me. “Yes?”
“I’m V. L Warshawski,” I said. “My aunt, Elena Warshawski, was here-she’d been hit on the head and was unconscious for a day or so. Did they move her or what?”
The nurse shook her head majestically. “She left yesterday.”
“Left?” I echoed, staggered. “But-they told me she was in bad shape, that she ought to have a month or so of convalescent care. How could they just let her go?”
“They didn’t. She took off on her own. Stole the clothes belonging to the lady she shared a room with and disappeared.”
My head started spinning again. I gripped the counter-top to steady myself. “When did this happen? Why didn’t someone call me?”
The nurse disclaimed all knowledge of the particulars. “The hospital called whoever was listed on her forms as next of kin. They may not have felt you needed to know.”
“I am her next of kin.” Maybe she’d given Peter’s name, though-I shouldn’t push my rights as her nearest and dearest too hard. “Can you tell me when she took off?”
She snapped her pencil down in exasperation. “Ask the police. They sent an officer over yesterday afternoon. He was pretty annoyed and got all the details.”
I was close to screaming from frustration and confusion. “Give me the guy’s name and I’ll talk to him with pleasure.”
She sighed audibly and went into the records room behind the counter. The orderly had been standing behind me all this time holding the flowers.
“You want to take these, miss?” he asked while I waited.
“Oh, give them to the person who’s been here longest without any visitors,” I said shortly.
The nurse came back out with a file. “Michael Furey, detective,” she read without looking up. She went back to the chart she’d been working on when I interrupted. The interview as clearly over.
Back in my car my a
rms trembled-carrying Ralph MacDonald’s flowers in had overstrained them. So Elena’d done another bunk. Should I care? The police knew about it. Presumably they’d keep an eye out for her. I had better things to do.
Instead of driving over to the Alma Mejicana offices on south Ashland, I took the Chevy back to the Prairie Shores Hotel. It started groaning again as I turned onto Indiana.
“You think you feel bad,” I grumbled. “I don’t want to be here, either. And my hands hurt.”
The palms were sore under my mitts. They throbbed against the hard steering wheel. Next car I got would have power steering.
The Prairie Shores made a fitting neighbor now for the Indiana Arms. The two blackened shells leered at each other across the street. Not even Elena could be hiding out in one of them. But there were other abandoned buildings on the block-an old warehouse, a boarded-up school, the remains of a nursing home. She could be in any of them. I didn’t have the energy to hunt through them all. Let the police do it.
I headed down Cermak at fifty, weaving in and out of traffic, sliding through red lights. I was just plain pissed. What kind of cute little game was she playing, anyway? And how much time did I have to spend playing it with her? She’d gotten someone rattled enough to try to kill her. And instead of talking to me about it she was skulking around town thinking she was a smart enough drunk to keep out of his way. Or her way, I amended conscientiously.
I turned left on Halsted in front of a madly honking, braking semi. That cooled me down pretty fast. The worst thing in the world to do with a car is use it when you’re angry. Tony had told me that, as close to angry himself as he ever got, when he took my keys away from me for a month. I’d been seventeen and it was the worst punishment I’d ever endured. It should have cured me of this kind of outburst.
I kept up a sober, alert pace the three miles to the Amphitheater. Alma Mejicana’s offices were behind it on Ashland. Tony used to take me to horse and dog shows there, but it had been a good twenty-five years since I’d been in that part of town. I’d forgotten the maze of dead-end streets between Ashland and Halsted. Even having to double back to Thirty-ninth and make my way on the main streets brought me to the contracting company in twenty minutes.
Burn Marks Page 23
