Sallie ambled over to me, held out her hand, and said, “Want one?”
I took a silver-sprinkled star, involuntarily thinking of Jimmy’s silver apples. My expression gave me away, because Sallie said, “You still upset over Jimmy?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too bad about him. His craziness sure got out of hand. But maybe he’ll be better off where he doesn’t have to fend for himself.”
“Maybe.” I bit into the cookie, watching Jenny Vang chase her brother Billy around a potted fruit tree that stood near one of the planter boxes.
“The papers said you solved the case. They called it a ‘literary puzzle,’” Sallie said. “Was that because of Jimmy’s poetry?”
“Yes. Mary said something to me after Jimmy brought that ornament for the new tree—”
“Out of guilt for ripping mine apart, the swine!”
“Well, yes, out of guilt. Anyway, she said something to the effect that what Jimmy chose to recite reflected what was going on in his life. She mentioned his old favorite poem—‘The Song of Wandering Aengus’—and how that was like his search for a home. And she also said he had a new favorite lately—‘All Souls Night.’”
“So?” Sallie said around a mouthful of cookie.
“I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I was interested enough in Jimmy to look at some of Yeats’ poetry. I noticed he used a lot of italicized refrains, like a songwriter might. And I realize Jimmy had quoted some of them to me. But I still didn’t connect him with the disturbances here or the murders or Duc’s disappearance—in spite of knowing he sometimes did odd jobs around the hotel.”
“Mary did hire him occasionally. He knew the place, and no one ever thought it odd, him being here. But what made you realize he was the one?”
“He phoned in to the radio show I was on. He disguised his voice, but he used one of the refrains from Yeats—All things remain in God, from ‘Crazy Jane on God.’ I still didn’t connect it because it was religious and made me think of Brother Harry.”
“That one! Did you know he got run in for disturbing the peace in front of the Sensuous Showcase last night?”
“No.”
“Well, he did, and I hope he spends Christmas in the slammer where he can’t ruin other people’s enjoyment of it. But he’ll be back; he always comes back.” Sallie paused, looking censorious, then added, “You want another cookie?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m getting some. And those brownies look good. Have a brownie.”
Chocolate is one of my weaknesses. I said, “Okay,” and watched her waddle to the table and load up a paper plate.
When she returned, she said, “I still don’t understand how you connected it.”
“Italics. I was looking at a letter where something was written in italics and that triggered an unconscious association. I looked up Yeats’ poems again, and it was all there.”
“Explain.”
“First there were the words ‘All things remain in God.’ I knew it was Jimmy who had called me on the radio show then. Then there was the poem about wandering Aengus—like Mary said, Jimmy’s search for a home. But he’d replaced it with a new favorite, which told me he might have found someplace to live. Everyone in the neighborhood who I’d talked to thought so, but no one knew where. So it had to be someplace very secret. The new poem, ‘All Souls Night,’ described something that might take place in an old, closed-up speakeasy like the one under the Crystal Palace.”
“But how’d you know it was there?”
“I didn’t, but Otis Knox had told me it might be, so I looked.”
“And found Duc. How’d you know Jimmy had kidnapped him?”
“Right after Duc disappeared, Jimmy was very agitated and recited some lines to me, crying. They came from a poen called, ‘The Stolen Child.’ When I finally put things together, I decided he had to have Duc imprisoned in the theatre.”
“And Otis Knox?”
“The night he was killed, Jimmy was in a very manic state and quoting lines about death. They were appropriate to what had happened—too appropriate.”
“Holy Jesus,” Sallie said, “there were times when I was in prison that I thought I was going crazy. But I’ve never been that nuts.”
“It happens, though,” I said.
“I’ll say.” Sallie glanced longingly at the buffet table. “We’ll at least some good’s come of all this. The owner’s turned human. And speaking of the owner, here he comes.” As LaFond approached us, Sallie escaped toward the food.
“A nice party Mary’s throwing, isn’t it?” he said, leaning against the parapet next to me.
“Very nice. But it wouldn’t have happened with you giving her a reason.”
He made a gesture of dismissal and looked fondly at his tenants, eyes crinkling at the corners against the wintry glare. “I wish I’d done something sooner. Never occurred to me. I was too wrapped up in my projects. But when you told me about their Christmas tree being ruined—well, that did something to me inside. You see, when I was a kid, we never could afford a tree.”
So much for Carolyn’s theory of LaFond as a spoiled rich brat, I thought. And, thinking of Carolyn, where was she? The party had been going on for over an hour and she still hadn’t arrived.
“Of course,” LaFond added, “I checked with my insurance broker. The additional premiums to cover people being up here on the roof aren’t really all that expensive.”
So much for my theory of LaFond as a complete altruist.
He paused, then said, “You didn’t do too badly by these people either.”
“It was my job to help them.”
“But with you I sense it’s more than just a job.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You’re like your friend Del Boccio. I can tell he also lives for his work.”
“Yes, he does.” I smiled fondly at Don, watching him interview Jenny—probably about what she wanted for Christmas.
“So now what?” LaFond asked. “Do you have other cases?”
“Not at the moment. I’m hoping to get my Christmas shopping done. And get my house in shape for when my brother and his kids come for the holidays.” My brother John was divorced and shared custody of their children with his ex-wife. She had wanted to go to Mexico for Christmas with her new boyfriend; he’d promised the kids a trip to San Francisco to see Aunt Sharon. I was actually looking forward to the excitement and upheaval, but it was going to be difficult having them there unless I got that bathroom finished. Barry the contractor had completely disappeared, leaving me with a pile of nails and a set of surgical tools, I didn’t know how to return.
I looked speculatively at LaFond. “Roy,” I said, “you deal with a lot of contractors, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“I have this problem with my house that you may be able to help me with. It involves hooking up a shower.”
“Shower-tub combination?”
“Yes.”
“No problem. I’ll send someone out tomorrow.”
“It’ll have to be someone cheap. This project has been more expensive than I planned—”
“No charge.”
“What!”
“Guy owes me a favor.”
“Roy, I can’t—”
“Take advantage of me while I’m feeling generous. Who knows—next month I’ll probably come around badgering you to buy one of my condominiums.”
“Well, thanks, then. I accept.”
Suddenly the door to the roof opened and Carolyn tip-toed out, smiling mysteriously. When she came up to us, I said, “Where have you been?”
She put a finger to her lips. “It’s a surprise. Watch the door.”
I watched. In a moment, it burst open, and a hearty “ho-ho-ho” boomed out over the roof. Santa Claus—in the person of Mr. Forbes, Sallie’s friend from Macy’s—stepped out.
He bellowed, “Are there any good children here?”
Everyone on
the roof turned—everyone except Sallie, who beamed proudly, watching their faces. Jenny stopped racing around the refreshment table and stood with her mouth open. Billy almost choked on a cookie. The teenaged girls dropped their blasé poses and giggled. Even Duc smiled gently, as a murmur rose from both children and adults.
Santa said, “I’ve heard there are a lot of good children here.” He lumbered over and sat on a lounge chair, opening the pillowcase that served as his sack.
Don came over and stood beside me. “This is terrific! What a great show it’ll make, babe.”
I nodded, watching Billy accept a package that looked to be the size of the toy truck his mother had said he wanted.
“Babe?” Don’s voice was worried. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”
“No, I told you I wasn’t. But in the future, you stick to radio and I’ll stick to crime. No more heroics.”
“It’s a deal. Your kind of work is hard on a man’s heart.”
Or on a woman’s, I thought, but not in the way you mean.
“Is Sharon McCone here?” Santa said.
I looked up, surprised.
“I hear you’ve been a good girl this year, Sharon. Come get your present.”
I went over, took the gaily wrapped box he held out, and began opening it with eager fingers. The people clustered around me, watching. Inside was another box, and another, and another. The crowd laughed, and I unwrapped and unwrapped. Finally I came to a cotton-swaddled object and unwound the white fluff.
Inside was a gold heart on a chain. It was inscribed “To Sharon McCone, from her friends at the Globe Hotel.”
Tears stung my eyes, and to cover them I turned and hugged the nearest Vang daughter, Dolly.
Most of the time my work was bad for my heart, but there were also others when it was very, very good.
We hope you’ve enjoyed this McCone mystery. Now check out the rest of Marcia Muller’s SHARON MCCONE series – all available as ebooks and audiobooks from AudioGO!
1 Edwin of the Iron Shoes
2 Ask the Cards a Question
3 The Cheshire Cat’s Eye
4 Games to Keep the Dark Away
5 Leave a Message for Willie
6 Double
7 There’s Nothing to Be Afraid Of
8 Eye of the Storm
9 There’s Something in a Sunday
10 The Shape of Dread
11 Trophies and Dead Things
12 Where Echoes Live
13 Pennies on a Dead Woman’s Eyes
Plus two short story collections: McCone and Friends, and The McCone Files.
There's Nothing to Be Afraid Of Page 21
