by Bud Crawford
"Yes. Of course. It was a judgment call, Detective Sprague. My judgment is well informed, on the battlefields of two wars in Europe, and fifteen years on the streets of New York City. It was the best call, yet possibly still a wrong one. Emergency medicine doesn't come with a warranty."
"You are ninety-one years old, Miss Staedtler?"
"Yes, sir."
"Looking for work?"
"Not presently." She said. "I'm both retired and fully employed."
"May I say that I am in awe of you?" Sprague asked her.
"That's very flattering, Detective, though also quite silly. Be assured that if you continue to pay attention, your accumulating body of experience will inform your work and life. It's the reward that comes as all the other faculties diminish." She smiled at him, and wrote several lines in her notebook.
"You get all of that, Apple?"
"Up to the awe, sir."
"Okay, moving on. Does anyone have anything to add to or contradict either Mr. Vingood's or Miss Staedtler's account? Mrs. Fletcher?"
"My husband and I are both certified in CPR, Jerry, too, I think. Honoria didn't just toss the injured guy in the nearest taxi. Plus four cell-phones in the car, so we could have called 911 if there had been a problem."
"Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher. Other comments?" He drained the last of his coffee. "Let's get on with the one-on-ones. I'll take the dining room, and begin with Mr. Fletcher. Apple, take the desk in the foyer, start with Miss Staedtler. Ladies go to Patrolman Apple, gents come to me. Mr. Fletcher? Follow me."
chapter thirty-seventh
Geoff told Sprague about the travels of the bamboo pole, and mentioned the bruise on Dwight's back. Sprague in return told him very little about the cabin outside Chimney Rock, except to confirm they had not got hold of anything conclusive. It still was an official criminal investigation, or more precisely, the process of determining whether to open an official investigation. Geoff said that he and Ellen were thinking of going for a drive tomorrow. Knock yourself out, Sprague told him, you won't find less than we did. Be careful though. Evidence of connection may be thin, but accidents are in the air. Sprague dismissed Geoff and asked for Andy Ross.
Geoff sent Ross into the dining room and sat beside Ellen. Honoria came in from the foyer, and summoned Marti. David Ickes asked Geoff if Sprague had indicated whether they were all going to be kept in Asheville. Geoff said, no, it didn't sound like it. Sprague was still trying to figure out if they had a crime.
He asked Ellen for her phone, found Jerry's number, and called. Were they ready for a ride back? He was quiet for several minutes, listening to the phone. "Okay, you have our numbers, whenever. Oh, Jerry, I've got a question I keep forgetting to ask. Did Dwight ever say what his 'solution' was to Harold's puzzle? Either to you or to the detective?" Geoff listened. "Yeah, ask him if you remember to. Nothing important, just my curiosity. Okay, call if you need anything, if there's news."
Geoff folded the phone and handed it back to Ellen. He noticed the room was quiet, everyone watching him expectantly. "Sorry," he said, "I should have gone into a phone booth. Jerry says, shortly after Sprague left, Dwight seemed a little disoriented, and he vomited. The neurologist has decided to do some scans after all. They've got him in the MRI chamber right now. And they're keeping him overnight."
"Is it serious?" Stephanie asked.
"They say no, at least not necessarily. Jerry isn't sure he believes them."
"It's not unusual," Honoria said, "a delayed reaction isn't necessarily more serious."
"What was that about Harold's puzzle?" asked Madison Markey.
"Probably nothing." Geoff said. "There was a mathematical aspect to the questions Harold was working on for James. Dwight and I were wondering about it the other night. He said he thought he'd figured it out, but I never heard his solution."
Honoria asked, "Do you think there could be any connection between all the recent accidents, and this puzzle?"
"Can't imagine how." Geoff leaned back into the cushions and stretched his left arm along the back of the sofa behind Ellen's neck. "Just riddling for riddling's sake I think."
"So what was your solution?" Ellen asked. "You said this morning you wanted to match answers with Dwight."
"It wasn't a solution of the problem, I couldn't claim that without seeing some data." Geoff said. "But I have a guess what his answer was."
Madison said, "You mean like calculus? You haven't solved the equation, you've solved the first derivative? I really do like math."
Geoff laughed. "Yeah, exactly, that's it."
"And your solution is ... ?" asked David.
"If I say now," said Geoff, "I won't ever know if I was right. Word gets back to Dwight, he'd have to decide whether to confirm my guess, or concoct a new one just to confound me. It's a puzzle person thing."
The Farley sisters giggled, audibly. They blushed, lowered their eyes, and covered their mouths, one left-handed, one right, in precise unison. Beth-Ann said, "Psychobabble."
"Pure ego," Stephanie said, "sounds like to me. Competitive silliness. If you won't tell us, will you tell Sprague? Have you?"
"I expect I should," Geoff said.
Andy Ross came back into the parlor. "Guess I missed the fun. Is Alistair here? Sprague asked for him next."
"I'll go get him." Toni rose from her chair in the far corner, and went through the door into their apartment. Half-a-minute later, she returned, Alistair behind her. He paused in the doorway looked once briefly around the room, lowered his eyes, and walked across to the dining room.
Geoff stood. "Since my interview's done, I'm going for a ride. I'll have my phone if anybody needs me, but I'm getting a little chair-crazy."
Ellen looked up at him. "Lucky you. I'm going running, as soon as Ms. Patrolman Apple has done me, same reason. Wanna come, Stef?"
"If we can start slow, yes. I just finished my fifth cookie, which means I've got the calories to burn, but they're all sloshing around in a belly full of oolong."
When Sprague was done with him, Alistair waved David towards the dining room, and returned to his apartment. Stephanie and Ellen had gone upstairs to change. Ross had left a few minutes earlier for "a quick check in at the office." Apple had finished with Beth-Ann Farley, who had gone to her room, and she was now talking to Mary-Beth. Honoria had gone for an amble to walk off her cookies. Marti sat slumped in a chair turned to face outwards towards the garden. Madison pulled around the chair next to Marti so it faced the same way.
"May I?" Madison asked. Marti started to stand up. Madison pressed her hand on Marti's shoulder. "Don't be silly, dear. There's no reason to be formal. I'm not a guest here, and even if I were, well, I just don't go for formality."
"Sorry, ma'am."
"Now, what did I say? I'm not a ma'am, just plain Madison. And I'm sorry, sorry to interrupt your meditations over here. I just wanted to tell you I admire your fashion sense. Every time I see you, you're completely turned out, even when you're wearing an apron over it. So many girls your age just don't bother, and most of the ones that do try have no individual character. They look like the magazines, only shorter and heavier, and the clothes don't fit."
"Thank you, Madison." Marti hesitated on the name. "It's true, that I try. People tell me I go too far."
"Jealousy, pure and simple. Anyway, you're young, you should go too far. What's the point, otherwise? Take what you've got on, right now. Do me a favor, Marti, stand up. Take off the apron and do a turn."
Marti pushed up from the chair. She reached behind for the apron ties, loosed the half bow, lifted it over her head, and dropped it back on the chair. She pressed her fists against her waist, tilted her head and smiled, cocked her left hip towards Madison, and turned slowly to her left, rolling her hips in a figure eight. Her hands reached down as she turned then traveled up her sides until they were overhead, wrists flexed down as she completed her turn, hip and ribcage thrust out again.
Madison clapped as Marti came round. "Oh yes, oh
, yes! I see why James was so taken with you, you are the sexiest. So confident, so strong. Okay, the boots are perfect. Black can't be wrong. The heel is just right, the top of the calf bulges that little bit to show some muscle tone and set off your legs. Skirt's a whisper too tight around your hips, ease that back seam half-an-inch. Length is good, mid-thigh gives a lot of leg and also hides a little. Bit tricky sitting down, if you care. Blouse tucked in is good. That's a killer waist, flaunt it. Personally I don't mind the gaping over the boobs, but it looks like the buttons could pop. I bet it fits perfectly without the jellies? Well, it definitely draws attention, but you're already getting that from the plunge. I'd go less tight, and maybe even a little deeper. You and me, we've got that hourglass shape, what nine guys out of ten prefer over those stick things on the runways."
Marti said, "I appreciate your critique, Madison, it means a lot, because you obviously know what you're doing. James was the only guy I've ever met who knew about clothes. And even most women are so clueless they might as well wear flour sacks."
"So right, Marti. A distinct personal style is really rare. Now, sit back down, I've seen what I need. The belt is wider than you want, I think, narrow works better when you're a bit short-waisted, but that's not hard-and-fast. Color is the main thing for you to think about. That fantastic brown skin can carry really bright shades, shades that would make me just disappear. The peach blouse is fine, but you could handle orange, even acid orange. That tan skirt could be dark chocolate, it would brighten up you legs."
"Do you really think so? I'm a little afraid of really hot shades." Marti plucked at her blouse.
"Let me put it this way. Your skin's not black, so you don't need to wear super bright. But your skin's dark enough you can go either way. Very saturated, and you look lighter, but not washed out like I would; softer shades and you have the chocolate thing. Same with makeup. I need the whole job, so it looks like I actually have features. You can just highlight what you feel like, pick up colors off your clothes, or contrast them. I've got to go foundation/liner/shadow/highlight/blush, just to look like a girl."
"I shouldn't use anything?" Marti asked.
"It's your choice. You can highlight the cheekbones, darken the dimples, lighten the eye sockets, pull out the lashes, a little blush on the cheeks. Going out fancy, for sure, do it all. For everyday, you got a pass if you want it."
"What about the freckles?" Marti asked.
"What do you think?"
"Sometimes I think they're cool, like the red in my hair. Sometimes I hate them." Marti held her hand to her cheek.
"There you go." Madison said. "Take 'em out with a good foundation when you want to, go a little darker than normal. Or just leave them alone. I think they're cute. Hair, now, that's more difficult. You're a little kinky. If it bothers you, you can relax it, but that's harsh long-term. You could go afro, let it go long and scratch it up. But if that would make you self-conscious, keep it shorter, comb it down, relax it just a little, and stay out of the rain."
"What do you know about rain? You're white all over."
"Perms, girlfriend. Plus having black lovers, meeting their other ladies. It isn't a secret." Madison smiled, Marti smiled back.
"Was James with you, Friday afternoon?"
"He came to my office, we talked about his brokerage account."
"You talked?"
"Well, first we talked. Then I locked the door, and we acted, you know."
"He'd recovered by the time he got to me that night. But it wasn't like the night before. You must have about used him up."
"It's practice, honey. You keep them on the edge, but don't let them go, until they can't help popping off. You'll learn how. It's a control thing. Let them have control, ten minutes is good. Run it yourself and you can get thirty, sixty, basically whatever you're up for. And they'll thank you."
David came up behind their chairs. He put his hands on Madison's shoulders. "So this is how the craft gets passed, generation to generation?"
"This isn't a coed conversation, wrassler man. Forget anything you just heard, or we'll have to kill you."
Marti stood up, face flushing, eyes down. "Excuse me, sir, I need to clean up from tea."
"When you're done with that, could you bring a couple extra pillows to my room. Ms. Markey is staying over tonight."
"I will, sir, of course." Marti put her apron on as she hurried towards the dining room door.
"You've frightened the child," Madison said.
"Might be fun, frighten her some more," said David.
"You have the evil streak, Davey. But I think you're right. Let's see what fun we can find." Madison reached across David's back and pulled him to her, side-to-side. He reached his hand around, found the nipple of her left breast, squeezed and twisted hard..
chapter thirty-eigth
"Goose egg for me, except that pole. Nothing useful now under all that dirt. You get anything?" Sprague sat in the squad car beside Patrolman Apple. He tilted the steering wheel up, and crossed his ankle over his knee.
"No," she said. "But there's a funny something about those sisters."
"I thought you were going to tell me Markey hit on you."
"Well, she did, but that wasn't unexpected. I don't think she can help it. The thing about the Farleys is twins. I've got a twin brother, don't know if I ever mentioned it. His name is Jon. And my twin-dar is pretty good. I'd swear the two I interviewed today were twins, identical. But I'd also swear the two we interviewed the last time, maybe were twins, but not identical."
"That's what you got?" He slapped his hands against the wheel. "Case closed, two murders solved, plus an assault. Call the reporters."
"Sorry, sir, you asked. I know it's loopy." She turned to face him, leaning against the door. Her note book was open on her lap.
"Anybody but you, Apple, loopy as hell. So what, if you're right?"
"Not a clue of a clue, sir. When you're sure of something that's impossible, it's a little bit interesting, even if it doesn't seem useful. Oh, they think that we should be checking out Andy Ross. Say he's always sneaking in and out, and asking funny questions. They think he's pretending, about something."
"Can't say I got much out of him. NOAA has confirmed employment, and the reassignment from Oregon. His story seems to hang together. But he's a little too volunteery, too quick with his answers. Did the sisters have any specifics we could actually follow up on?"
"They've spent a lot of the past few days sitting in the big room and think they've seen him come downstairs more than they've seen him go up. And vice versa."
"Say, what?" Sprague turned towards her, twisting his back against the driver's door.
"Took me a minute, too, sir. They mean, not alternating, once up, then once down."
"Maybe he likes the back door, the kitchen stairs?"
"They said, no, but couldn't say why not. Which takes me back to my own feeling that there's something about the two of them we're not getting."
"Okay. Tell me about Markey."
"You want it as testimony from a witness, or as salacious gossip?"
"Oh, give it all. I'm an aging lonely divorcee."
"She liked my uniform. That big gun hiked up on my tiny waist (sorry, sir, her words), was just so unsettling. She wanted to know if I bind my breasts under the shirt, or if they are actually as delicately girlish as they seem. And my hips, she thought, the swell of them promised ..."
"Okay, okay. She's equal opportunity. Any overt moves, or any information about our possible case or cases?"
"She had a tryst with Richter the day before he died, when he came to her office. They spent an hour or so trying out all the furniture, as she told it. Said she thought she'd better confess on the record, what with all this new DNA testing we can do. I assume she was telling the truth, more or less. Her talent for deflection is highly developed. You never have to answer a question you don't want to if you're prepared to say things that render your questioner speechless. I expect Richter didn'
t get a word in edgeways."
"Whatever else he might have got in edgeways? Sorry, strike that. She's a oner. But she never saw Harold Alden this trip, except two minutes in front of several witnesses. And even if what she did to James might have finished a lesser man, he went home for some more with Spence. Plus we think she was at her condo when Dwight went over. Okay, Ellen Fletcher. What's your take?"
"Good people. Get grandma out of the burning building, then go back for the cat, good. Also smart. And a lot more my type than Markey." Apple smiled.
"Mine, too. Geoffrey also. Not in that way, Apple. Good witness, wish he'd seen something we could use. I guess I believe him about Alden's flash drive, but it doesn't take us anywhere. Like the damn pole. One more time, a promising something that just stops with itself." Sprague ran his hands through his hair. He was letting it grow longer as it thinned, trying to maintain a constant volume, he supposed.
