by Liz Bradbury
He turned around and nodded, “The closing prayer is about to start, I have to be with the Chaplain to shake hands with people as they leave. Maggie, you can’t see the security today, can you? We worked on their undercover disguises yesterday.”
I turned and glanced around the room, easily picking out four of the security guards. I’d noticed all of them when I’d been in the choir loft. I said to Bouchet, “No, can’t see them... good job.”
He beamed, then got up to make his way to the entrance.
I moved to the back of the Chapel near the door so I could scout all these folks one more time. Jimmy Harmon was gone. When he’d finished directing the musical piece he’d walked right down the aisle. I’d thought he was going back to his seat, but he wasn’t there. He was acting like such a squirrel today. Maybe that was an understatement since there was more than a 50/50 chance that he’d just tried to kill me with a loaded piano.
I made my way to his family, stooping down to speak to his wife. Her name was, I searched my brain... Linda. “Excuse me, Linda?” I said as though I knew her.
“I’m sorry...?” she said courteously. She didn’t know who the hell I was, but this kind of thing probably happened to her all the time, since Jimmy was a celebrity.
“Yeah, hi, I was supposed to help Jimmy with the instruments,” I said vaguely. “Where’d he go?”
She had a slightly worried look, but mixed with it was the knowledge that Jimmy was always disappearing and then turning up later, doing something creative. “I don’t know,” she said. “After the pieces he walked back here, but he just kept going up the aisle.”
“What kind of car did you come in? Maybe he’s out in the parking lot?” I suggested in a helpful tone... but I really wanted to know if Jimmy had an extra car that happened to look like a Neon.
“We all came in the minivan... Oh golly, I hope he didn’t take it.” She glanced at the three cute little redheaded kids sitting with her. They were being really good considering they’d just sat through a long church service.
The Chaplain said loudly, “Let us sing.” Everybody flipped pages. It was that rainbow song that they do at the Metropolitan Community Church. Rainbows, underscoring that Carl was a gay guy. I liked that. There were a heck of a lot of gay people there, transgender people too. And they were singing their hearts out. I wondered if this 100-year-old Chapel had ever had dozens of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people singing a gay hymn in honor of a gay man, with such fervor. Maybe. There have always been gay people in the world, it’s just that now, we no longer buy into pretending we’re the same as the majority, just so the majority won’t be uncomfortable.
I eased out the side door and found a spot near some bushes where I’d be able to see people coming out of both the main entrance and the side. The people exiting from the front were going to have to bottleneck at the handshaking reception line. The side door would be used by the folks who were either incognito or wanted to speed off to a local diner for an artery-hardening brunch. At this very moment however, people were still singing inside. No one had bolted for the doors yet. The old stone sidewalks, which had been shoveled clear of snow and ice, waited silently for Carl’s mourners.
The morning ground fog had all but cleared and the sky was a brilliant blue with puffy white clouds that looked distinctly like pieces of angel food cake, passing only occasionally in front of a bright yellow sun. Patches of pale grass showed around the snow-covered lawn. The air was crisp and clear. It was a beautiful day for Carl’s funeral, which made me suddenly very sad. This was the kind of day that inspired people to want to write music. Carl was one of the rare individuals on earth who could actually do such things well. The edge of a cloud passed in front of the sun, and a perfect rainbow appeared directly over the music building. I made a wish that it stayed in the sky for all Carl’s mourners to see.
Bouchet stepped out with the Chaplain, then the main doors burst open and humanity flowed through. The Cohens, Jimmy Harmon’s family, Bart and Nancy, and Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann were mixed in the crowd. Farrel and Jessie came through the door with Kathryn. Farrel saw the rainbow and pointed it out to Jessie and Kathryn. Then Farrel introduced Jessie to Max Bouchet. I watched Kathryn’s every graceful move. Farrel, Jessie and Kathryn moved along, then stopped just beyond Bouchet to talk to Amanda Knightbridge, who had also spied the rainbow and was pointing it out to others around her. Cora Martin had joined them; so had Judith Levi and Doug Scribner. Sara and Emma exchanged a few words with them, then left for the parking lot.
“Um... Ms. Gale?” Connie Robinson was calling to me, she jogged over to where I was standing.
“Hi, Connie, what’s up?”
“Uh, you know that guy Shel?” Connie was still deeply worried about Druckenmacher, it showed in her face.
“He’s in jail Connie, and I’ll do my best to keep him from bothering you any more,” I said firmly.
“Really, can you do that? That would be really good.” She was clearly relieved but there was something else on her mind. She said, “I wish I’d stood up to him more.”
“You did Connie, you told him no. That took a lot of guts.”
“Oh yeah, um, but that was just me, I mean when he was picking on her, when everyone was there, she was in that little kitchen, she wanted somebody to stop him.”
“Who? Miranda? Miranda was with Shel in the storage kitchen in the Arts Building? When?” This was something new.
Connie shook her head then focused on me. “Oh no, I’m sorry for being such an airhead. Not Miranda, I was talking about that party, not at the College and this was about Shel selling drugs, too.”
“Oh,” I said hiding disappointment that this wasn’t going to be a clue to the bombing. If Shel was linked to the drink bottles, he and Miranda would have moved to top suspects as a team, but I’d jumped ahead. That wasn’t what Connie was saying at all. I said to Connie, “I’m sure Druckenmacher harassed other women in the shelter kitchen, I’m not surprised about that...”
We were both startled by a commotion across the lawn. The young man who’d been sitting with Janie Rasmus was calling out, “Dad! Please!...” to Leo Getty, who was on the sidewalk. Leo just waved him off without looking at him.
Janie Rasmus stood by as the woman she’d been sitting with shouted, “You’re really a fucking asshole, Leo!”
Leo whirled around in anger. I left Connie without saying goodbye and sped toward the group. Leo turned beet red, he looked like a cartoon character who’d drunk a bottle of Tabasco and was about to blow flames out his ears. There are not that many types of personal relationships that could cause that kind of ire. Obviously, this woman was Leo’s ex-wife Barbara. I guessed the phrase amicable divorce wasn’t in either of their vocabularies.
Leo stared angrily at his ex-wife and son, then turned toward Bouchet with the same hate-filled expression. Then he turned again and hurried off toward the parking lot without looking back.
Janie Rasmus, Barbara Getty and Leo’s son got into a car parked at the sidewalk. They sped off before I could run half way across the lawn. Damn, I’d wanted to talk to them, but the Hadesville crowd didn’t seem to have any direct link to the murders. I decided there were better uses for my time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Miranda Juarez looking worriedly toward a group of cars. I was afraid Shel Druckenmacher might have made bail and was ducking around over there, but it wasn’t Shel; it was Jimmy Harmon walking unevenly in the parking lot. He looked like he was crying. He bounced off a parked SUV. I ran after Jimmy, but he got into the passenger side of a minivan and it drove away. At least he’d found the wife and kids. Crap, I was missing everybody.
I went to my van, pulled my little laptop out of my shoulder bag, booted it up and entered some notes to the case file about the piano incident, Jimmy, and Leo. Especially that I had to talk to Jimmy soon, and I added: Bart says he wanted coffee, but is probably lying. Rowlina was well enough to attend. Connie is relieved about Shel Druckenmacher
, who had harassed other women at shelter events. Amanda Knightbridge was getting to be way too clairvoyant. Nancy, Bart’s girlfriend, may be coming to the end of her rope.
And, I thought, This little private eye is hungry and wants to see her gal, but has to talk to the client first.
Chapter 36
“Good grief, Max! How did you manage to get the lab to process the bullet so fast? It’s been less than twenty-four hours! We were seated at the dining room table in the President’s mansion, the police papers spread out in front of us.
“Well, I do have some pull...” he said.
And tons of money, I thought.
“So they found a bullet in a tree near the Language Arts Building door and it matched the one at Skylar’s, and...” I flipped forward to look at another page again, “there were no powder burns on Rowlina’s coat.” Nothing in the report surprised me.
“We can take this to mean that the person who killed Skylar, shot at Rowlina, which removes her from the suspect list... correct?” rumbled Max.
“Possibly... probably,” I nodded, “but suppose this was Rowlina trying to distract suspicion from herself. She sees Kathryn’s light on and assumes she’s there. Rowlina parks, comes down to the Language Arts Building, she shoots the gun right below Kathryn’s window, assuming Kathryn will hear it and call the police. Kathryn isn’t there, but a security guard hears the commotion and comes running. Rowlina falls down hitting her head, calls out, and the guard finds her.”
“But, what happened to the gun? It wasn’t on her and the police searched the area,” said Bouchet shaking his head.
“Yeah, you’re right, it’s a stupid theory. The thing is, I can’t come up with any good reason for someone to shoot at Rowlina, and because I can’t, I’m thinking of all sorts of outlandish possibilities. I’m not sure why Skylar was killed either, although it was probably because he had information about the bombing.”
“I need you to figure this out, Maggie. The inquest is Tuesday...” Bouchet was fidgeting with his collar nervously, displaying an uncommon lack of self possession. He was getting desperate.
“Max, it’s all coming together, but I can’t promise I’ll figure it out by Tuesday. That’s less than two days away!”
“I know, I know... but try, OK?” Max rumbled sincerely.
*********
After parking at my building, I walked over to Farrel and Jessie’s and went right in rather than ringing the bell. These people were my closest friends and family. Most of them were sitting around the big dining table. Doug Scribner and Judith Levi were discussing a play. Cora Martin was talking over her shoulder to Farrel, who was clearing empty dishes from the table. My darling and sometimes annoying sister Sara and her business partner and pal Emma had their heads together trading secrets. Jessie was at the stove. Griswold and Wagner were absent. No doubt Farrel had stashed them in an upstairs bedroom. Otherwise, they’d insist on being the center of attention.
Kathryn was helping Jessie and Farrel clean up the kitchen. When Kathryn looked up and saw me standing in the doorway of the dining room, she put down a dishtowel, fixed her eyes on me and walked slowly forward. Everyone stopped talking. Kathryn put both her hands behind my head and pulled me into a flagrantly sexual kiss. Not to be undone, I tipped her back to make the whole moment more dramatic.
Everyone either laughed or hooted or both. Kathryn breathed in my ear, “After all I’ve had to endure in last two days, I just had to embarrass you a little in front of your friends.”
I whispered back, “Feel free to kiss me like that anytime.”
Emma said in a low voice to Sara, “Kathryn’s like that woman on Star Trek, the captain with the sexy voice.”
Cora said to Judith, “Who is that actress she reminds me of? Patricia Neal?”
Judith responded with, “I’ve been thinking Katherine Hepburn, but more substantial.”
I said hello to everyone, kissing Doug on the cheek because I hadn’t seen him for a while. Then I went into the kitchen with Kathryn to see if Jessie had anything leftover for me to eat. I was starving. Jessie scooped up a helping of egg casserole baked in a crisp hash brown potato crust, layered with cheese, and topped with thick bacon and roasted red peppers. On the side she slipped two light fluffy waffles, which I topped with maple syrup.
“We haven’t had dessert yet,” said Jessie, “so hurry up and eat this so you can have some. Look, I have some andouille for you, just a little piece.” She dropped a chunk of my favorite sausage on my plate, then shooed both me and Kathryn out of her kitchen.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I asked Kathryn as we sat down at the table.
“I’m so full, I’ll never be able to eat again, you should have warned me,” she groaned. I noticed there was a half-full Cafalatte bottle at her place.
“I told you she was the best cook ever.”
Everyone at the brunch had known Carl in one way or another, except me. Though now I felt I knew him well. Judith and Cora were both docents at the symphony and had chatted with Carl when they were on duty. Farrel and Kathryn had known him from the College, and Jessie had met him on several occasions at Irwin musical events. Doug, who was gay and who was about Carl’s age, had been in a play at the local community theater for which Carl had been musical director. It turned out they’d spent quite a bit of time together during the run.
I finished the last bite of waffle and put my fork aside. I was staring out the window into the courtyard when Kathryn reached under the table and squeezed my hand.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered.
“Carl,” I said simply. She smiled sadly and nodded.
As if on cue, Farrel looked around to be sure everyone had something to drink, then raising her glass, she said simply, “Let’s toast Carl.”
We all raised our glasses, saying Carl’s name. I was moved by the sincere expression on each face. Before the silence threatened to become oppressive, Jessie said, “I thought we should have angel food cake for dessert. Carl liked it. I have strawberries to go with it.”
Kathryn asked me quietly, “Does she always cook like this?”
I turned to the crowd, “Kathryn wants to know if Jessie always cooks like this?”
Jessie said, “No, no.”
Everyone else said, “Yes,” in unison.
Farrel added confidentially, “I used to be a lot thinner.” Then she turned to Jessie and said, “Do you want me to get the pies now?” Jessie nodded.
Farrel brought out a sizable dish filled with half-moon-shaped pastries.
“These are really something, but they’re kind of rich,” she said. They were light pie dough filled with apple, blueberry or cherry pie filling, deep fried and covered with a sugar glaze. I’d had them before. They were habit forming.
I took a blueberry pie and shared part of it with Kathryn, who moaned appreciatively at first bite. I rapidly finished the rest trying not to imagine myself expanding into a giant blueberry like Violet Beauregard in the Willy Wonka movie. The others were groaning that they were too full, but I noticed they all took helpings of the fluffy angel food and strawberries and most took at least one of the small pies.
Farrel sat down again helping herself to cake, then said, “Judith, tell that story you told me the other day.” When Judith looked blank, Farrel said, “You know...” then leaned in, reminding Judith in an undertone. Farrel had known Judith for almost thirty years. Judith had been Farrel’s English teacher when Farrel was a college sophomore. They’d eventually become friends, and when Farrel had taken the job at Irwin, she’d encouraged Judith to join Irwin’s English department. Now in her mid-70s, Judith was long retired. Farrel and Jessie treated her like a beloved aunt. They considered her family, so by extension, she was part of my family too.
Judith waved her hand saying, “Oh well, that was really nothing... not really a story, just... what are you always calling it, Farrel? A brush with fame?” She went on to tell a fascinating story about meeting Yardbird at
a jazz club in New York in the 1950s. Judith had actually been on the radio in her early career and had a wonderful speaking voice.
Emma asked in awe, “You hung out with... Charlie Parker?”
Farrel was grinning and nodding.
Judith nodded, “He was very nice. Quite amazing music...”
“Hard to top,” said Kathryn under her breath, so only I could hear.
“She always is,” I whispered back.
“Oh, I forgot something,” said Doug heading for the pantry.
Sara caught my eye and asked softly, “Did you get the list back?” She meant the criminal checklist of people who’d gone to Daria’s party. Emma was listening for my response.
I shook my head. “It might be there now. I’ll call you if there’s anything.”
Sara and Emma nodded, then Sara went on in a more conversational tone, “Oh, I have to tell you all this thing Emma and I found out about our office window in the back.” By now everyone was listening. “If you look down and a little to the right, you can see right into the bedroom window of...” she named a prominent conservative elected official whom she usually referred to as Mayor McCheese, though he wasn’t the Mayor. “And, well, you all know, I’m a notorious peeker.”
“Really?” said Kathryn with mock curiosity. Several people at the table barked laughter.
Sara just wiggled her eyebrows at Kathryn. I would have kicked her under the table but she was too far away. Sara proceeded to tell an interesting story about a bedroom meeting McCheese had had just the night before. It solicited several, “Well, well, well,” comments from the fascinated listeners.
Doug came back into the dining room carrying a large platter piled high with Devil Dogs, still in their clear plastic wrappers.
“Carl loved these,” said Doug. “He used to bring them to the symphony and hand them out to everyone in the aisle he was sitting in, whether he knew them or not. You’re all probably too full, but take some home.”
Farrel picked up a package and looked at it. “Was it Devil Dogs or Yankee Doodles in that old commercial? You know, the guy came on... an adult guy talking about when he was a kid. Some kind of New York accent and he said something about... oh geez, when I was a kid I saw that commercial so many times I could recite it with the TV. He’d say, ‘I lived across from the playground. I was in every game. They couldn’t leave me out.’ And then he’d pick up the package and you could see there were three cakes in there and he’d say, ‘One for me, one for my brother... Save the third one for later.’ Did you see that commercial, or was it only people who were my age?”
