Murder Unrenovated

by P. M. Carlson

  “They talked themselves into it. And Northrup changed her clothes, you know. Even cleaned up the apartment. She just wasn’t the old slob she usually is.”

  “Really?” Joyce seemed startled. “I wouldn’t have predicted that.”

  “I know. But she was sharp that day. Maggie seemed to think she knew something about the murder. They were comparing notes about the weapon and everything. Listen, you said they’re in the foyer?”

  Joyce nodded absently. “Yes. Hope it’s good news.”

  Len went through the glass garden doors, across an elegant dining room that glittered with gifts of crystal, and through a hall to the marble-floored foyer. Nick and Maggie, both in blue jeans and holding gym bags, were sitting on a gilded bench. From the vestibule, Sanchez squinted at them disapprovingly.

  “Hi, Len.” Maggie bounced up.

  “So you found us,” said Len. “No small feat.”

  “Yes, we got past the gatekeepers.” Nick waggled his fingers at Sanchez, who smiled sheepishly. “Here’s the counteroffer. Lund accepted our basic offer but he wanted a thousand more in cash. So we said, hell, we’ll hock the guitar, and signed it. Is that all you need?”

  Len took the papers, trying to contain the elation spreading through him. He said, “Everything looks okay. He’s agreed to hold the mortgage.”

  “Right.”

  “Great. I’ll keep after the two lawyers and we’ll set up the closing as soon as we can. Oh, Nancy!”

  She had come out of the bathroom off the foyer and joined them with a brave smile. “Hello.”

  “Maggie Ryan and Nick O’Connor, this is Nancy Selden. They’re buying Lund’s place on Garfield, Nance.” He tapped the papers.

  “Great!” She shook hands. “Len told me about it. Some excitement there.”

  “Quite a bit. Are you a realtor too?” asked Maggie.

  “No, I’m in graphics.” With a touch of bitterness she added, “And in this house my official title seems to be Len’s fiancée. Though it’s nothing that formal, really.”

  “Oh, I know. We had that problem too. No good words. I could never bring myself to say that old bald Nick here was my boyfriend.”

  “Right.” Nancy smiled a fleeting smile.

  Len said, “You must be on the way to the gym.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, thanks for coming by. You’re getting an excellent value here.”

  “Yes, with free bonuses,” said Nick, twinkling. “A rent- controlled tenant and a corpse.”

  “Three for the price of one,” agreed Len, and Nancy giggled.

  “Well, at least they’ve got his name now,” Len said. “Dennis Burns. Brugioni dropped by the office to ask if any of us recognized it.”

  “And did anyone?” asked Maggie.

  “No. Only one person had even heard of the hotel where he worked.”

  “It’s a strange case.”

  “I hope they find out something soon. I was frankly a little surprised when you decided to go ahead. I mean, it’s a good value, but a lot of people might just want to forget the experience.”

  “We decided to ignore popular prejudice,” explained Maggie.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I can tell by your party clothes,” said Nancy. “I wish I had the guts to come here in Levi’s.”

  “We’re buyers. We can do no wrong in Mrs. Banks’s eyes,” said Nick cheerfully. “Just ask Sanchez over there.”

  “Well, you’re right, you are wearing haloes just now,” Nancy admitted, smiling. “But generally, Levi’s won’t do. When I went into the restroom just now, Joyce was in the lounge section adjusting that thousand-dollar dress she’s wearing. And you know what? Even her pantyhose are Givenchy.”

  Len grinned. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Suddenly my own best dress felt like a Salvation Army reject.”

  “You impressed Banks even so,” said Len fondly. “He admires your ambition.”

  “Also my fair hair,” Nancy pointed out. “Oh, he’s a sweet old moralistic lech. And who knows? Maybe when I’m stinking rich I’ll spend some of it on designer undies too.”

  Nick asked, “You said you were in graphics?”

  “Yes, layout and so forth. And I paint a little on the side.”

  “She’s marvelous,” said Len warmly. “Oils especially.”

  “Abstract?”

  “The label I’m most comfortable with is ‘gestural,’” said Nancy. “But unfortunately, painting is no way to become rich. Not that graphics is either, but it’s a little more dependable. And I enjoy the work.”

  “Same here,” said Nick. “I’m an actor. But this side of superstardom, there’s not much money around. Except in television. Commercials, sometimes soaps.”

  “Do you like TV?”

  “Sure. I’m good at it. It’s not exactly soul-satisfying, but it’s a lot better than the alternatives.”

  “Yes, exactly.” Nancy had clearly found a kindred spirit. “And it keeps you sharp, in practice, right? I think actually my painting has improved with the discipline I’ve learned in graphics.”

  “Do you have shows?”

  “About once a year, at Bianchi’s. Next one will be in July.”

  “Send us an announcement, okay?” said Nick. “But right now we ought to let you get back to impressing these people. We’ll hear from you soon, right, Len?”

  “Yes. I’ll keep you posted. If nothing unusual turns up, we should be able to schedule the closing within a few weeks.”

  “Fine. We want to start fixing it up as soon as we can. We have to do most of it ourselves in our spare time, so it’ll take a while.”

  “Yes. Three floors is a good-sized place to renovate by yourself. A lot of space for two people.”

  Maggie smiled. “Don’t tell Mr. Lund, because it might worry him needlessly, and we’ll keep up his payments. But we’ll be more than two. The baby is due in October.”

  Len said woodenly, “Congratulations,” and then, not woodenly at all, “Goddamn!” Nancy had bolted past Sanchez and out the front door. Len started to follow, then stopped helplessly.

  “What’s wrong?” Maggie touched his sleeve, puzzled.

  “It’s okay. Not your fault. Goddammit!”

  “Oh hell,” she said quietly. “A miscarriage? No. An abortion?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t decided, dammit. Hey, what are you doing?”

  Maggie was disappearing through the door too. Len ran a step after her, only to be stopped by Nick’s firm hand. “Better wait,” said Nick. “It’ll be okay.”

  “But why—”

  “She didn’t mean to upset her.”

  “I know. Nancy knows too. She doesn’t have to apologize.”

  “It’s as much for Maggie’s sake as Nancy’s. Here, sit down a moment.” Nick led him to the little gilded hall bench and Len realized his own legs were trembling. Nick asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “We’ll be okay,” said Len without conviction.

  “Sure, but it’s still tough at a time like this.” Nick sat comfortably next to him. Len wondered if he should have run after her. Dammit, he was so useless! He couldn’t think how to help her. He noticed he was kneading his hands together, rubbing his knuckles.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about this. But we’re both half crazy with this thing. It’s worse than that dead man.”

  “You don’t have responsibility for the dead man.”

  “Yes.” Len pressed his knuckles into his palm. “Um, Nick, was your wife sort of depressed and distant when she got pregnant?”

  “Not this time. Not at all. Elated.”

  “Oh, hell.” Len looked at the door.

  Nick said gently, “Maggie is very happy about this baby. But a few years back she had a very bad experience. She coped somehow, of course. But she grieved too. She’ll understand what Nancy’s going through.”

  “God, I wish I could!” said Len violently. “A guy is helpless, you know? I mean, dammit, it’s my k
id too!”

  “I know what you mean. We’re responsible and helpless, all at once.”

  “Yeah. God, it’s ironic. Gordon Banks was just saying how hard he and Joyce tried to have kids, to no avail. And Nancy and I try to avoid it, and here we are. I mean, she’s just getting launched at her firm, and I’m just beginning to build a career with Joyce. But right now we’re basically scraping by. A kid now is out of the question. I guess.”

  “But it’s still not an easy choice.”

  “How should I know? I’m not allowed to choose!” He punched his open hand with his fist and shook his head. “Oh, I’m not being fair. It’s her decision. I know that.”

  “Have you talked with her about it?”

  “Not really. It’s painful for her. And I don’t want to pressure her in any way. We sort of avoid the subject.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, you saw her just now.”

  Nick nodded. He was bulky and out of place in his jeans on the antique golden bench, but he had a sympathetic strength that was somehow comforting. Len felt that the man beside him had made difficult choices too. Nick said, “It’s a hell of a decision for anyone to have to make. God-playing, no matter which way you choose. I hate God-playing.”

  “Yeah. I want to help Nancy, though. I don’t know how.”

  “Hold her.”

  “What?”

  “Hell, sometimes all answers are wrong. All we can do is hold each other. Pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.”

  “Yeah. Dammit all.”

  After a while Maggie reappeared. Len jumped up. “Is she all right?”

  The fury in her voice was barely under control. She said, “I’m authorized to tell you that she took your car, and that she won’t be back till late.”

  “Oh, hell. Why?”

  Arms crossed, lips tight, she said, “She’s trying to think things through.”

  “But—oh, hell.” Len sat back down and bowed his head, fingers splayed across his eyes. But he was still dimly aware of Maggie’s accusatory stance before him, and of Nick’s comforting presence next to him.

  Nick was speaking to Maggie. “Is thinking things through alone a good idea for her?”

  “I think so.”

  “Len?”

  “Yeah. If she thinks it’s best.”

  Nick glanced at Maggie, puzzled, then back. “Len? Does Nancy know you want to help?”

  “I keep telling her.”

  “Telling her!” flared Maggie. “Jesus! You worm! You keep—”

  “Maggie!” Nick’s sharp tone checked her. More gently, he said, “Just explain what the problem is.”

  “The problem is—” She broke off again as a group of women, eyeing the blue jeans with the same enthusiasm Sanchez had, crossed the dining-room hall. When they had disappeared, she said in a lower, scornful voice, “The problem is that Nancy is facing one of the ugliest dilemmas anyone ever has to face. And she’s all alone. Because the guy who should care, who should be helping her, is wrapped up in his own problems and ignoring her.”

  “That isn’t true!” Len exploded. “What can I do? The only way I know to help her is to stay out of her way! Dammit, I can’t do anything! That’s the goddamn problem! You think if I could do something, I wouldn’t?”

  Nick said, “Maggie, it’s not like—”

  But she was hurling her response at Len. “You could talk to her!”

  “I try, for God’s sake! But it’s hard to distract her.”

  “Distract?”

  “What do you expect? Hell, it’s the same with me! I think about it all the time. I dream about it, for God’s sake! I try to cheer her up, but she’s obsessed with it as much as I am. So what can I do?”

  Maggie looked at Nick and said, “Whoops.”

  Nick said, “Yeah. We’ve got a misunderstanding here. Maggie isn’t talking about distracting her.”

  “She isn’t—” Len too had to wait while a pair of women returned to the dining room. “You think Nancy wants to talk about it?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “But it’s her decision! I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t seem like pressuring her. Like a condemnation of one choice or the other. And she’s so jumpy. I mean, that’s natural, but it makes it tough.”

  Maggie’s rage and scorn had evaporated. She stepped closer, put a hand on his shoulder. “Len,” she said, “it’s just the same for her. Wildly conflicting emotions. It’s a decision that’s going to hurt someone, no matter what she decides. There’s no painless choice. But you could help her think things through. And for God’s sake, tell her that this is what you’re upset about! She thinks you’re wrapped up in some other problem. The murder, or your job.”

  “I thought—God, yes, I see why she’d think that it was the murder. Both things hit me the same day.” A bad day, a nefarious day. He looked at the two of them and tried to smile. “Okay, I’ll try. But God, it seems I’m dumping all my problems on you. The dead man, and now this. Not a very professional way to treat clients.”

  “We don’t mind being friends too.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Maybe what they said was right, but he’d have to go slow. “You don’t really have to nursemaid me. You want to get to the gym.”

  “No rush.”

  “We’ll be okay. And I’ll get busy on your house tomorrow. Special attention.”

  “Thanks. You’re sure we can’t help?”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  He watched as Sanchez held the doors for them, first the glass ones and then the big steel one. Nick’s arm was across Maggie’s shoulders. She seemed to need comforting too. Len turned back to the party to say good-by.

  There weren’t many trains on Sunday, and the subway ride home was slow. Even so, he had a long restless wait in the apartment before she appeared. He occupied himself with going over apartment properties, as Gordon Banks had advised. He finally settled on a decontrolled eight-unit building that was shabbily kept by its elderly owner, but was in a block that should benefit from the historic zoning. The owner’s asking price was a little high, but none of the offers so far had even come close. Len decided to take a look at it again tomorrow.

  Nancy finally arrived near midnight.

  “Nance, are you okay?”

  She shrugged.

  “Where were you?”

  “Painting.”

  “Yeah. Nance, look, I know it hurts like hell. It’s bothering me too.”

  “Yeah?” she said, skeptical.

  “Yeah. Would it help you to talk about it?”

  She looked haggard, rubbing absently at a spot of white paint on the back of her hand. “Right now we’re both exhausted,” she said at last.

  “Yeah. But tell me when.”

  “We’re both tired now,” she repeated.

  But she did let him hold her.

  7

  Julia poured everyone a last cup of after-dinner coffee. Well, no, not coffee exactly; it was decaffeinated to avoid irritating sixty-year-old nerves at night. But it was hot and strong, a good finish for the three-hour fest of cooking and eating that she and Ellie and Ruth had just completed.

  “So no one knows this Dennis Burns.” Ellie leaned back in the sofa and reverted to an earlier topic.

  “If so, the police aren’t telling me,” Julia said. “Brugioni was back twice, hoping I’d remembered something.” She shrugged. “But I’ve never even heard of that hotel where he worked.”

  “The detectives are working very hard,” said Ruth. “They even came by to talk to me, because I live on the block. Nice young officer. Irish.”

  “I just wish I could remember,” said Julia. “There’s something so familiar about that unfamiliar face. The lieutenant has decided it’s just that I saw him after he was dead.”

  “Well, that sounds reasonable,” said Ellie.

  “Oh, yes, he’s probably right. But if he isn’t—”

  Ruth said, “He was a handsome young
fellow, judging from his picture. If you saw him and forgot him, Julia, you’re slipping.”

  “Nah, he was too young for my taste,” said Julia tartly. “I’m willing to ogle kids my son’s age, but not kids my grandson’s age.”

  Ellie giggled in scandalized delight. “What would Reverend Peters think of you two?”

  “Reverend Peters claims to be thirty, but he’s already older than I’ll ever be,” retorted Julia. “Anyway, Ellie, you’re one of us. A healthy red-blooded American geriatric case. You can’t deny that an occasional salacious thought does cross one’s mind.”

  “But I don’t brag about it!”

  Ruth, amused, called a halt. “Julia, tell me about the birthday party.”

  “Oh, that’s right! It was great. Wonderful weather yesterday, of course. Fred-Law must have ordered it himself.”

  “Straight from heaven. Were there a lot of hippies?”

  “Sure. Happy Birthday, Happy Earthday. There were hippies, kids, dogs, Frisbees, retired schoolteachers, even Vic Jr. He held down the dignified end of the spectrum.”

  “And food?”

  “A giant green birthday cake. Huge. It wouldn’t fit in this room. It looked like Central Park and was made of green cheese.”

  “Ugh,” Ruth laughed. “Wish I could have seen it.”

  “Yes. And there was an actor playing Fred-Law. And there was dancing. Scott Joplin on the greensward. Too bad Pauline is in Utah. She loves Joplin.”

  “I bet Vic Jr. didn’t dance.”

  “On the greensward? Don’t be silly! But Greg and I sure did. He’s going to be as good as his grandfather.”

  “Must have been fun.” Ellie put down her mug. “But Ruth and I should be moving along before it gets dark.”

  Ruth glanced out the window at the lengthening shadows. “Yes, we’d better,” she agreed. “Say, are those Pauline’s begonias? They look great! Well, I’ll see you Thursday at the library meeting, Teach.”

  “And be sure to show up Friday at the mission meeting, because Pauline won’t be there and you’re the only other person who understands those missionary budgets,” ordered Ellie.