The Resurrection Man

by Charlotte MacLeod

  13

  “DISGUSTING!” SARAH WAS MUCH too properly brought up to hurl the morning paper across the room, she folded it back together with a petulant swipe of her hand and handed it to Mariposa. “Here, use it to line the garbage pail. Why can’t those ghouls let up on poor old Anora? Has she phoned yet?”

  “Nope, I’d tell you, wouldn’t I? Dave, you quit playin’ with that egg an’ get down to business, or I don’t give you no tortilla to take with you on the swan boat. No sense holdin’ out your cup, Señor Max, you already drunk up all the coffee an’ I ain’t makin’ any more.”

  The alleged man of the house snorted. “Well, you’re in a gorgeous mood this morning. What’s the matter, Mariposa? Charles giving you a hard time?”

  “He wouldn’t dare. Some fool kid climbed over the back fence an’ started poundin’ on the back door about two o’clock. Woke me up an’ I couldn’t get back to sleep. You know me if I don’t get my sleep.”

  “What did the kid want?”

  “You think I’m dumb enough to open the door an’ ask? I come up to kitchen an’ hollered out the window. I says what do you want? He just up an’ over the fence like a monkey, I never seen nobody move so fast. Might have been my cousin Tito, he’s goin’ to get an earful next time I see him.”

  “You didn’t get a good look at his face?” said Sarah.

  “Nope. All I saw was a skinny backside in red joggin’ pants whizzin’ up over the fence. Tito wears red joggin’ pants, that’s how come I thought of him.”

  “But surely Tito wouldn’t have run away from you, Mariposa.”

  “Hey, right on, now that you mention it. Tito’d have hung around and tried to hit me up for a loan. Sarah, I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I. Maybe Brooks had better string some barbed wire above that fence.”

  Sarah didn’t feel like elaborating. Charles must have told Mariposa about the man in the alley behind Marlborough Street, but as far as Sarah knew, nobody had told either of them about the red-garbed runner George Protheroe had seen the day before he died, nor about Anne’s nudist with the rhubarb leaf. Could it possibly have been the same man each time?

  Anyway, it was reasonable enough to surmise that Mariposa’s late-night visitor had been the man from Marlborough Street; or rather from Commonwealth Avenue if he lived on the opposite side of the alley. He must have followed Max and Brooks home yesterday after they’d visited the atelier. It would have been easy enough to do, now that Max had to walk so slowly. She ought to be grateful that Max was walking at all, she leaned over the table and gave him a rather ferocious kiss.

  “I was thinking of taking a run out to Anora’s and taking Davy with me, but now I’m not so sure. What do you think, dear?”

  “I think you’d better wait to find out whether Anora wants either one of you. They’re not having visiting hours at the funeral home, are they?”

  “Oh no. Anora wasn’t about to let herself in for a pack of sightseers, even if the police hadn’t advised against it. She wouldn’t even let the undertaker put an obituary notice in the paper, she just got her friends to phone around to people who might have reason to come. There’ll be a mob anyway, I suppose. The Protheroes knew everybody.”

  “So she’ll still have a lot to do getting ready for the funeral.”

  “That’s true. It’s ten o’clock tomorrow morning at the Church of the Redeemer, we ought to leave here about a quarter past nine. The service will be High Church, I suppose. Anora will want to talk with the vicar. Mrs. Harnett will pick her up, they’ll have lunch somewhere. It shouldn’t be too bad a day for Anora, considering. What about the office? Do you want me there today, or do I get to stay home with Davy?”

  “You get to stay home with Davy. Brooks will be along in a while, and Theonia shouldn’t be too late, I hope.”

  The older couple were both already out on company business. Brooks was with a professional photographer who had the facilities to make multiple prints of the sketch Sarah had made of the stolen primitive. Theonia, with Charles as chauffeur, had gone to call on an elderly gentleman who needed to be politely pried apart from a collection of Staffordshire figurines to which he had no legitimate claim.

  Theonia had the advantage, though it hadn’t seemed one at the time, of having once been married to a fairly accomplished swindler. Knowing what to expect and how to beat the old rogue at his own game, she’d anticipated being able to wind up the matter over a cozy luncheon at the gentleman’s expense, return the figurines to their owner, collect her fee, and be home in time for tea. The family were betting on her to come back with both the figurines and a proposal of marriage.

  Anora telephoned at half past nine. It was as Max had predicted: She had her day all organized for her, she didn’t need Sarah, she’d see them at the funeral tomorrow morning. They’d be coming back to the house, of course; could she borrow Charles and Mariposa to help with the serving? Phyllis and Cook were both feeling the strain, and naturally they both wanted to attend their long-time employer’s funeral.

  “Of course,” Sarah assured the widow. “They’ll be delighted to help. We’ll drop them off at your house on our way to the church, if that’s all right.”

  It would mean starting earlier than Sarah had planned and getting a baby-sitter for Davy, but what else could she have said? Anora said that would be fine and hung up because Mrs. Harnett and Mrs. Pratch had arrived to take her to the church. Sarah turned to her trusty henchwoman.

  “Mariposa, Anora wonders if you and Charles would be willing to take over at the reception after the funeral? Cook and Phyllis will be too pooped to do anything by the time they get back from the funeral, but they’ll have organized the buffet in advance. It will be mostly a matter of bartending and passing things around.”

  “No sweat,” said Mariposa. “How about if I bake a couple of my chocolate rum cakes to take with us, just in case?”

  “That would be lovely. I’m afraid you’ll have to wear that black uniform you don’t like and take the orange ribbons off your cap. Anora has old-fashioned ideas about mourning.”

  “Yeah, sure. Anything for a pal. What’ll we do about Davy?”

  “I’m going to call Miriam and see if she’d mind coming in for the day.”

  By marrying Max, Sarah had gained a sister. Miriam Bittersohn Rivkin had many irons of her own in the fire but was never too busy to lend her younger brother and his wife a helping hand. She didn’t like driving into Boston, as who in her right mind would, but she could park her car at the Prides Crossing station and come in by train if Sarah needed her; she was always willing to postpone her other engagements in the family’s interests. On the other hand, the toys and the crib she kept ready for her only nephew had been too long unused. Why didn’t Sarah bring Davy out today and let him sleep over?

  Why not, indeed? Davy adored his aunt, his uncle, and particularly his grown-up Cousin Mike. He’d stayed with the Rivkins plenty of times, he wouldn’t get homesick, he’d have room to run in their big backyard, he’d probably enjoy the visit more than they would. Now that skinny little men in red jogging suits had started climbing over the back fence at Tulip Street, Davy might be better off in Ireson Town than in Boston.

  Sarah thanked Miriam and went to pack her son’s blue canvas duffel bag with his toothbrush, a couple of changes of clothing, little boys’ habits being what they were, and his stuffed llama who was named for Cousin Dolph Kelling. She needn’t wait for Charles to get back with the big car, she could drive herself in the gas-saving compact that had been bought mostly for her and Brooks to use on short trips.

  “No swan-boat ride today, Davy. You and I are going out to see Aunt Mimi and Uncle Ira, and you get to stay overnight. See, here’s your bag, all packed. Let’s phone daddy and tell him we’re coming to kiss him good-bye, then we can walk back to the Common Garage and pick up the car.”

  Once he’d been assured that he could take Dolph along for company, Davy thought that was a great idea. So did Max.


  “I’ll meet you halfway if I can. At the moment, I’ve got a guy from Acapulco on the line.”

  “That’s all right,” Sarah assured him. “We’re starting right now, before Davy has a chance to get dirty. We’ll come past the frog pond and take the path that leads to the corner. If we don’t find you along the way, we get to ride the elevator up to your office. All right, Davy, time to go.”

  Sarah buckled her son into his harness, knowing full well that she was going to get a few glances and quite possibly a scolding from some presumably well-meaning person who didn’t think children should be treated like animals. Sarah didn’t see why a small and particularly precious human being who hadn’t yet learned to avoid hurtful and possibly life-threatening situations shouldn’t be given as much protection as she’d have given a pedigreed pup. It would have been unthinkable to let Davy run loose in the city, and uncomfortable for his arm to have been kept upstretched for a parent’s grasp, for his short legs to be always having to accommodate themselves to a grown-up’s longer stride.

  The easy-fitting red-webbing harness, with its silvery bells and its six-foot leash, enabled Davy to move freely within a safe radius, to set his own pace, to have both hands free for coaxing a squirrel or waving to a passing pigeon, to enjoy as many small adventures as a very little boy could comfortably handle without being a nuisance to other people or giving his mother heart attacks. Juggling her handbag and his duffel as well as the leash, Sarah couldn’t help feeling a tad envious of her happily unencumbered child. When she caught the expected dirty looks, she smiled sweetly back and let Davy go on enjoying his walk while other parents screamed or tugged at their fleeing or whining offspring.

  They paused for a minute or two at the frog pond to watch other children playing under the great spray of water, something Sarah hadn’t been allowed to do as a little girl and wasn’t about to let Davy try at so tender an age. They’d barely turned back to the path when Davy shouted, “Daddy!” and started to run. Fortunately his run was no faster than his mother’s trot, so the rendezvous was accomplished without skinned knees.

  “Hi, Dave.” Max scooped up his son and settled him on the paternal shoulders, holding him by one leg and not seeming to mind being gripped around the neck.

  Sarah took hold of Davy’s other leg, telling herself that it wasn’t far to the garage, that Davy wasn’t going to fall, that Max wasn’t about to die of strangulation or trip over his cane. They were almost to the garage entrance when a jogger brushed past them, smelling strongly of sweat; as well he might since today was even hotter than yesterday and the man was swathed from neck to ankles in a thick red jogging suit.

  “There he goes,” said Max. “My God, doesn’t that guy ever sleep?”

  “Are you sure it’s the same one?” Sarah asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, kid. Maybe the whole Tamil track team’s over here training for next year’s BAA Marathon. Look, would you like me to ride out to Miriam’s with you?”

  “Max, you don’t really think that man’s going to leap on a bicycle and follow us all the way to Ireson Town?”

  “More likely I’m the one he’s been following. He wouldn’t have known what you look like. Only now he does, damn it.”

  “Not necessarily, unless he’s peeking at me from behind a litter basket. Which he isn’t, because there he goes. See, up by the Shaw Memorial. He’s making very good time, he can’t have stopped to look back.”

  “Maybe he’s got a trusty see-back-o-scope, like Charles.”

  “Well, pooh to him, I’m not scared. Come if you’d like but don’t feel you have to. Haven’t you rather a full agenda for today?”

  “First things first. Brooks will be back pretty soon, he can hold the fort for a couple of hours. I’ll phone him from the car.”

  Now that car telephones were generally available, it would have been unthinkable for so dedicated a phoner as Max Bittersohn not to have one installed even in the little puddle-jumper. He spent a good part of the hour-long ride to the north shore first calling up the office to let Brooks know where he was and why, then checking around with various of his informants in unlikely places. Max’s success in his odd profession was due not only to his doctorate in art history, his phenomenal memory, his expert’s eye, and his flair for detection; but also to his knack for maintaining an almost worldwide network of useful informants and for never wincing at the size of his telephone bills.

  Sarah concentrated on her driving, keeping a sharp eye out for any vehicle that might contain a Dravidian or reasonable facsimile in a red jogging suit, but she didn’t see one. Davy was an experienced traveler, he sat back in his car seat and beguiled the time showing his llama the sights along the way, or catching a few winks so as to be fresh and rested for whatever adventures might be awaiting him at Aunt Mimi’s.

  What awaited them all, of course, was food. Miriam hadn’t had time to do more than whip up a batch of prune muffins, a pot of corn chowder, and a magnificent garden salad to keep body and soul together in lieu of what she considered a decent meal. Dessert was a melon sorbet Miriam had made from scratch in her handy home ice-cream freezer, served with pizzelle fresh baked in a remarkably hi-tech reversible waffle iron she’d got for Mother’s Day.

  “This is marvelous, Miriam,” Sarah commented. “And you’re an angel to take Davy for us. I only hope we haven’t got you into trouble.”

  Miriam Bittersohn Rivkin was a handsome woman, or could be when she got dressed up. Sartorial elegance was not her top priority, however, her present outfit of a venerable denim wrap skirt and one of her husband’s old shirts was about as classy as she generally got around home. Her hair was naturally dark and wavy like Max’s, but now showing a fair amount of gray. Another woman of her age might have started touching it up, Miriam believed in taking life as it came. She finished nibbling the spear of endive she’d fished out of the salad bowl and wiped the dressing off her fingers with a cotton-print napkin.

  “How, for instance?”

  “We don’t really know,” said Sarah. “There’s this little man in a red jogging suit who keeps popping up. Charles saw him in an alley in the Back Bay, he passed us this morning as we were going into the Common Garage. Last night he climbed over our back fence and pounded on the basement door, then ran away. At least we think he was the one, Mariposa only saw the seat of his pants going back over the fence. You tell her, Max. Davy, why don’t you eat your chowder with a spoon the way daddy does, instead of picking out the kernels with your fingers?”

  “Max ate with his fingers when he was Davy’s age,” said Miriam. “So did Mike, it’s probably hereditary. He’ll grow out of it. So what else with the man in the red suit, Max?”

  Her brother explained, she nodded. “That’s interesting. But he hasn’t actually done anything, has he? I mean, you don’t seriously suppose he’d have gone running through the Protheroes’ yard if he’d been planning to come back and shove a spear into that old man? And you don’t really know whether he was the man in the rhubarb leaf, or that he stole Mrs. Percy’s painting. Maybe he was trying to keep somebody else from stealing it and they took his clothes to get back at him. Maybe”—Miriam was ever on the side of the underdog—“you should try to make friends with him.”

  “How?” said Max. “Hold out a fortune cookie and whistle? Hey, Kätzele, not to break up the party, but I promised Brooks I’d be back by half past three. He’s got a date with a bird of paradise.”

  “Well, he’d better not let Theonia know,” Sarah replied rather crossly. “All right, then, if we must. Oh, I’ll be so glad if we ever get to come home! Thanks for everything, Miriam. Whatever would we do without you?”

  “I’ve often wondered,” said her sister-in-law. “See you tomorrow. Or the day after is fine with me. Come on, Davy, let’s fill your wading pool and give the llama a drink.”

  14

  “MAX,” SAID SARAH, “WOULD you mind if we swung by our house for just a minute?”

  “Of course
not.” Max’s glance was both tender and sober. “I feel like a louse for keeping you and Davy in town all summer.”

  “Darling, don’t. Actually it’s been rather fun. Some of it, anyway. We’ve had no problems managing your therapy, as we would have had out here. It proves how right we were to hang on to the Boston house, having a place of our own to stay in has made all the difference. Brooks and Theonia have been marvelous, though I expect they’ll be well enough pleased to have the house to themselves when we move back here. It shouldn’t be long now, should it?”

  “About another three weeks, the doctor thinks.”

  “Then we’d better get on with finding someone to work full time in the office. I don’t intend for either of us to be shuffling back and forth any more than we can help. What a pity Mike didn’t decide on an art major.”

  Max shook his head. “Mike’s a great kid, but he’ll make a far better engineer than he would a detective. You know, Sarah, crazy as it sounds, that oldest boy of your Cousin Lionel’s might not be such a bad assistant if he had the right training.”

  “Jesse? Are you out of your mind? Anyway, Jesse’s not even in college yet and I can’t imagine which one would take him. Unless there’s a school that offers courses in vandalism and pillage.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve talked to the kid a few times at those get-togethers your Aunt Appie puts on. He’s sharp, he’s got imagination, and he’s resourceful, to put it mildly.”

  “Oh yes, Jesse’s full of resources. So are his brothers. So were the Visigoths, I believe. I don’t know though, Max, you could be right. Remember that time a mob of reporters tried to invade us from the beach and Lionel’s boys held them off with a barrage of fish heads? I remember feeling quite proud of them, though not for long. I suppose you could sound Jesse out a bit if you feel up to it. Just be sure to handcuff him to his chair first so that he won’t be able to pick your pockets.”