“Nah, not really. But I’d heard so much about Harry, I was beginning to feel like l knew him. Anyway I just thought I’d show my respects. After all I live in his condo and I wouldn’t want his ghost coming back to haunt me.” Oshansky glanced around at the standing room only crowd. “I can see he was a prominent member of the Palm Springs Sun Villas.
“A very prominent member,” Bea nodded.
Oshansky fought the urge to make an off-color comment, figuring it might be in poor taste at a memorial service.
“Please, everybody, quiet. Let’s everyone stand to sing the Stars Bangled Banner.” Marv’s voice boomed through the mike.
“Stars Bangled Banner?” Oshansky asked. “Isn’t it Star Spangled Banner? Anyway what does the Stars Bangled Banner have to do with Harry?” Oshansky mumbled.
“Beats me.” Bea shrugged.
“And now stay standing for the Pledge of Allegiance,” Marv ordered.
Following the pledge Marv gave a speech enumerating Harry’s many fine qualities of which, it seemed, there were enough to keep Marv droning on for far too long. He ended by inviting those who wished to come to the podium to share their memories of Harry. “But keep it brief,” he ordered.
Sobs and muffled cries of “Poor Harry” echoed through the room as one by one men and women alike extolled Harry Hermann’s many virtues.
Oshansky glanced at Bea. “I don’t see you shedding any tears over Harry.”
“Why should I?”
“I guess you weren’t one of his many women then?”
Bea didn’t answer.
The service ended with the singing of Harry’s favorite song. “The words to Kumbayah,” Marv announced, “can be found on the back of the pamphlet.”
“Thank goodness, that’s over.” Bea stood up. “Come on, Oshansky. Let’s get some food. That’s usually what these things are good for.”
Oshansky watched with admiration as Bea piled her plate with tuna, lox, bagel and one of every dessert.
“Say,” he ventured, “you wouldn’t by any chance want to go out for dessert with me some evening?” He was acutely aware that he sounded like a wet-behind-the-ears kid asking a girl out for the first time.
“You hit my weak spot, Oshansky. How did you know?”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, staring at her overflowing plate.
‘I’d never turn down a date for dessert,” she said. “When should we go? Tonight?” she asked eagerly.
Oshansky glanced again at her plate. “Let’s make it Sunday.”
“Hold this.” she shoved her plate at him, then searched through her bag. “Here, take my card.”
Bea Ritterman
Chotchkes Inc.
Your source for everything by hand
Everything by hand? Don’t go there, Oshansky warned himself. “You’re incorporated?” he asked.
“No, but I thought it gives the card a classier appearance. Let me know if you need any kind of gift. I’ve got loads of sources.”
There was an unfamiliar youthful bounce to Oshansky’s step as he exited the memorial service.
****************
Oshansky spotted the Bentley with its raised hood from down the street. Drawing closer, he recognized Myra Pfefeneuger from the Hot Coffee Cafe standing next to it.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
“I can’t imagine what happened,” she said, looking cool and collected in her smart white cotton dress despite the afternoon heat. “I was running late for the memorial service thanks to my dental appointment when the car simply died on me. It’s never done that to me before.”
“First time for everything,” Oshansky said. “I can take a look under the hood.”
“That’s very kind of you but I already called my mechanic. He should be here any minute.”
“Hop in then, it’s too hot to wait out here. I’ll give you a lift to your place. Give him a call on your cell and tell him to pick up the key at your house.”
“Rushmore Oshansky, right?” she said, gracefully climbing into his car. ”I met you at the Hot Coffee Cafe. In fact, I had asked you to call me about becoming a member of the condo board.”
No good deed goes unpunished, Oshansky thought ruefully.
“Thank you for the lift, Rushmore,” Myra said as he pulled into her driveway. “My knight in shining armor. You deserve at least an iced tea for your kindness. Do come in.” She stepped out of the car and walked toward her door without waiting for his response.
Oshansky followed her in, admiring her petite, athletic figure.
Oshansky was immediately struck by the quiet elegance of Myra’s place. He remembered Marv telling him that Myra had been married to Otto Pfefeneuger of the Pittsburgh Pfefeneugers. Steel. Old money. And the condo reeked of it with its underplayed, unstudied look. A look that only serious money can pull off. And Myra was, without doubt, serious money.
“You are a dear. Helping a woman in distress.” She poured two tall glasses of iced tea and laid out a plate of cookies decorated with colorful and oddly shaped sprinkles. “All homemade by my very own self,” she said proudly. “I’ve watched you around the club, Rushmore,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “And of course, I’ve heard people speak about you as well. I feel we need someone like you on the Sun Villas board. You’d bring new blood. A fresh perspective.”
Oshansky had met women like the petite Myra. Women who were so quietly persuasive you didn’t realize you’d been hooked and reeled in and lay flopping around in committees you had no intention of joining. He could see it wouldn’t be easy to extricate himself.
By the time he left Myra’s he had agreed to give joining the board more thought.
Chapter 16
“Just on time. I’m surprised.” Bea gave him a perfunctory peck on the cheek. “You seem like the kind of person who’d be late. Wait while I feed the animal.”
That seemed to be the signal for a small disheveled looking dog of unknown origin to come tearing down the hallway and into the room. Mistaking Oshansky’s right leg for a steak bone, he took direct aim for it.
“Down, MacArthur!” Bea grabbed MacArthur by the collar and pulled him, teeth bared and snarling, away from Oshansky’s leg.
“I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”
“He’s not fond of men.”
Oshansky took a few exaggerated steps back. “Is it true dogs are a reflection of their owners?”
“Don’t try to get all Freudian with me. It won’t work. I can match you one on one when it comes to psychobabble. I’ve probably had more therapy than you.”
Which possibly explained Bea’s bitten nails. No doubt a sign of something deeper than wanting to save on nail files.
Bea covered a large floor pillow with a pink baby blanket. Then dumped out a wicker basket filled with various rubber toys and one fluffy stuffed animal of unknown breed which Oshansky felt didn’t stand a chance.
“Don’t forget to leave MacArthur your cell phone number in case of an emergency,” Oshansky said as he ducked to avoid the hard rubber ball Bea threw at him. “You could kill someone with that, you know.”
**************************
“Just as you ordered.” Oshansky placed a dish with three scoops of chocolate ice cream buried under a thick blanket of hot fudge in front of Bea. “You’ll also notice, I had them triple the number of cherries,” he said proudly. “Told them it was for a special friend. I thought it might earn me some extra points. By the way, do you have any idea why places add that extra ‘p’ and ‘e’ at the end of shop?” he asked motioning to the Palm Springs Ice Cream Shoppe sign.
“One scoop, Oshansky?” Bea glanced at the bowl in front of him. “That’s all you’re eating? Good thing I have a strong ego or I’d feel like I’m making a pig of myself.”
“If I tell you something I’ve never told anyone, do you promise to keep it a secret? I shouldn’t even be having one scoop.”
“Interferes with your alcohol intake?”
/>
“Lactose intolerant.”
“Oh my God,” Bea laughed hysterically. “A New York dick with lactose intolerance. That’s precious. Now I can blackmail you.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you. You’re laughing at me. Now you tell me something. Something you’ve never told anyone.” He wasn’t joking. He wanted Bea to reveal something, anything, about herself. He had a need to break through her usual sarcasm.
“I think you’re getting too serious, Oshansky. And personal. I already know your bathroom habits and it’s only our first date.”
“I’ll be honest, Bea, I’d like to know more about you. Like where you grew up. How long were you married? Are you divorced or did you kill your spouse? Ever serve time in the pen? Little things like that.”
Bea studied him a few seconds. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’m 34 and 1/2 B. The 1/2 being filler. The other dimensions are private. And yes, I was married. Once. For eighteen years until he left me for an older woman. His name was Jack. Her name was Jill. Maybe that’s what drew them together. He was very juvenile in many ways.”
“Anyway, one day Jack and Jill went down the road in that old broken down Volvo that he loved more than me.
He shook his head in commiseration.
“You have no idea what that did to my ego,” she continued. “They took off for Las Vegas. I prayed that old Volvo would break down in the desert and they’d die of thirst and be pecked apart by vultures. That they’d die a horrible death. That’s what I wished. Does that make any sense?” she asked, displaying a surprising vulnerability.
Bea picked up her spoon, stared at it for a second, then looked at Oshansky.
“Does wishing that make me evil? She asked sounding almost childlike,
then abruptly changed the subject. “Would you like some of my hot fudge, Oshansky?”
He shook his head “No thanks. So what did you do when J and J took off?”
“What do you mean, what did I do?” she asked angrily. “What do you think I did? Get a gun and shoot the first man I saw which is what I wanted to do? Screw every man in sight? Which is also what I wanted to do. No, instead I did what any sensible, semi-sane woman would do. I got MacArthur who hates men.”
“I guess you don’t have too many male visitors.”
“Not too many.”
Oshansky smiled. Well, she’d accepted a date with him. That was a hopeful sign. Oshansky leaned back and watched her take what could only be described as sensual pleasure in her sundae. She obviously wasn’t one of those women who pretended to nibble her food then later in the privacy of home, ate everything in sight.
What else, he wondered, would give her as much sensual pleasure as eating sweets? He tried to imagine what she’d be like in bed. Vicious, he decided as he watched her devour her sundae.
“What?” she asked looking up from her rapidly diminishing ice cream. “Why are you watching me? I told you I haven’t eaten all day. I’ve been saving up for this.”
“Hey, I didn’t say anything. I like a woman with a hearty appetite. I have a question though. Do you approach everything with such intensity?”
“Only what appeals to me,” she answered.
Oshansky couldn’t recall meeting any woman in his professional career who raised self-protection to such a high art. Except maybe when he’d worked for the NYPD and arrested the beautiful Amy McPherson. She’d murdered her first husband. Also her second and almost her third. She was eventually caught and it had taken all his professional skill to get her to confess.
Bea wiped the last trace of ice cream from her lips and smiled at him with a look of wide-eyed innocence. Yes, he mused, she would make a great criminal. She could drive any police interrogator nuts.
“I guess you expect to come in,” Bea said as Oshansky walked her to her door.
“I’m not sure. That beast of yours is a great man repellent.” Oshansky said,
“If you like, I can put him in the back bedroom.”
“If I like? Are you kidding me?” He couldn’t believe it. What had he done right this evening to deserve this?
“Wait outside then.” She shut the door behind her leaving Rushmore in awe of his sudden good fortune.
Oshansky listened to MacArthur’s loud barking, growling and finally pathetic whining. A few minutes later Bea opened the door. “It’s okay, Oshansky. You can come in now. I put him away.”
“You didn’t have to put him down just for me.”
Just when he was beginning to contemplate the idea that Bea might be up for more than just the triple chocolate hot fudge sundae the beast came tearing back into the room, as if on cue. This time heading directly for Rushmore’s crotch.
“Damn. I thought I shut that door.” She grabbed MacArthur by the collar and dragged him growling and yelping back toward the bedroom.
“Thanks, I wouldn’t enjoy singing soprano,” he said.
Oshansky checked to make sure MacArthur wasn’t following when Bea came back into the room.
“You know, Rushmore, I’m afraid I’m not feeling too good. Too much sugar on an empty stomach I guess. I think we should call it quits for the night.”
“Only if you promise I can see you again.”
Bea kissed him on the cheek. “Why not.”
Driving off he promised himself that the next time he’d take her to a movie, a romantic one preferably, then afterwards, they’d go for a light snack. Or maybe just a soft drink.
Chapter 17
As he pulled up to his condo he noticed the light over the front door was off. He could have sworn he’d turned it on before he left. He knew something was definitely wrong when the door flew open at his slightest touch. Any private dick worth his salt locked his door before leaving.
Oshansky reached for his gun, momentarily forgetting that his days of packing heat were over. He flipped on the hall light, did a quick survey of the living room, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and made his way to the bedroom.
“Hey, big boy.”
He stared at Francine, splayed out on his bed. Naked.
“For God’s sake, Francine, you scared the hell out of me. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Little Francine missed you so much,” she pouted. “I hope you’ve had your fill of Miss Goody Two Shoes and are ready now for a real dessert by a master chef,moi.” She looked at the knife in his hand. “But do put that nasty knife away first.”
“What if I had a gun? I could have shot you.” He tried to avoid looking at her naked body. “How the hell did you get in? Dammit, Francine, you should leave.”
“Leave? Are you crazy? Any man would love to find Francine decorating his bed. And you’re telling me to leave! I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she smiled seductively and adjusting her legs further apart.
“How did you get in?”
She patted the key that hung from a string around her neck. “For a New York detective, you’re not the brightest bulb in the pack. Surely you should have known that there might be a few of Harry’s keys floating around. And since you didn’t bother to change the lock when you moved in…”
“It’s illegal to break into someone’s place.”
“Illegal,shmegal. Get the hell over here, Oshansky. And stop all this blather about arresting me. We have more important things to do.”
Oshansky felt the familiar stirring in his loins. Why not?
Francine patted the space next to her. “That’s right. Take it off. Take it all off and lie right here, baby. Let Francine take care of you.”
What the hell, he thought.
“That’s my boy. Now close your eyes tight, and don’t peek. I’ll get our dessert.”
“What are you up to now?”
“Shhhh, Trust me,” She said, rolling out of bed. “It’s dessert time. Be right back. Remember, don’t peek.”
He was on the verge of falling asleep when he caught the scent of chocolate.
“Keep your eyes closed, Oshansky,” Francine ordered. A few
seconds later he felt a warm liquid ooze over his lower torso.
“What the hell!”
“Shush. Quiet. Just enjoy.”
“Hot chocolate!” Oshansky struggled to sit up.
“Warm chocolate.” Francine corrected.
“It’s on my sheets and I just washed them a while back. I’ll get ants in my bed. And who knows where else.”
“And you’ll be eaten alive.” She shoved him back down and began nibbling at the chocolate.
“Oh my god, Francine. I don’t believe this.”
“Believe it, Oshansky. You have nothing to worry about. It’s me, I have to worry that I don’t get fat. Next time, we go with the fat free.”
“Francine, please…”
“Please what? You surely don’t want Francine to stop. Relax and enjoy, Oshansky.”
“Oh look,” she cried in triumph, “this chocolate popsicle is growing bigger instead of smaller.”
A few minutes later, Oshansky lifted his head and surveyed the remnants of chocolate sauce that was now congealing on his body and sheets. “There’s chocolate all over my only set of sheets. You’re a menace, Francine.”
“A sexy menace,” She gave him an innocent smile. “Tell the truth, Oshansky, wasn’t that better than the little ice cream party you had with Bea?”
“Do you have your spies everywhere, Francine?” It had been less than an hour since he left Bea. How could Francine have already found out about their date? Oshansky sat up in bed. “Listen, Francine, I don’t want you coming into my condo uninvited again. Next time I’ll have you arrested.”
Francine, mouth open, stared at him with disbelief. “You threaten me after what I just did for you! That’s how you thank me? I can’t believe you.” Francine stormed out of the bed, grabbed Oshansky’s robe and angrily wrapped it around her body.
Oshansky groaned as he envisioned trying to get the chocolate out of his robe.
Sylvia Selfman - Rushmore Oshansky 01 - Murder Never Retires Page 6
