A Really Cute Corpse

by Joan Hess

  I hurried down the hall to the nurses’ station. “Where did you move Cyndi Jay?” I asked a nurse with stern black hair and a harried frown.

  “I didn’t move her anywhere, nor did anyone on the staff. The patient decided to leave without her physician’s permission. Outside of utilizing physical restraints, there was no way to stop her.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “More than an hour ago. If you require further information, you’ll have to speak to her attending physician. He makes rounds at six o’clock tonight.”

  “But she did leave voluntarily?” I said, perplexed.

  “She made several extremely rude remarks and stomped out like a pouty child. For some reason, she seems to feel the hospital is more of a television studio than a place to care for the sick. Once I shooed that cameraman and interviewer out of her room, the patient became most abusive and said she was leaving.” The nurse shot me an unprofessional look. “I hope she collapsed in the lobby for the camera’s benefit—without her mascara.”

  “And you have no idea where she went?”

  “I was not at all interested in her destination.” The nurse picked up a clipboard and strode down the hall to administer TLC to a more worthy patient, whether he desired it or not.

  It seemed we’d lost Miss Thurberfest.

  NINE

  The elevator door opened. Eunice Allingham gave me a vaguely surprised look, then started down the hallway toward Cyndi’s room, a small canvas bag swishing briskly at her side.

  “She’s not there,” I said. “She left an hour ago.”

  Eunice halted and, after a pause, came back to join me. “Oh, that’s good news. The doctor must think she’s completely recovered if he’s already sent her home.”

  “The doctor hasn’t seen her lately. It seems the floor nurse was not willing to allow the cameraman and the interviewer to linger in Cyndi’s room for a little press conference. Cyndi was so miffed that she packed her bags and walked out. I suppose she went to her apartment.”

  Eunice shook her head. “She wasn’t there fifteen minutes ago. I stopped by to fetch her a pretty nightgown and a few things, and the apartment was vacant.” Her eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and leaned forward to peer at me. “That aide, Warren Dansberry—did he come to the hospital to visit the gal?”

  “I have no idea,” I admitted. “He certainly could have been here.”

  “That young man cannot be trusted, any more than his boss. The Senator promised he’d keep Warren away from Cyndi, but I didn’t believe him at the time. If he weren’t a capable liar, then he couldn’t be a politician. I can see it all as clearly as I can spot a potential winner in a pageant well before the talent presentations. Warren either came here or called Cyndi to suggest she meet him at some sleazy motel for a continuation of that tasteless affair. Poor Cyndi was so dizzy from the gas that she probably didn’t know what she was saying when she agreed to meet him. This is vile, vile, vile. We must take steps immediately.”

  I resisted the urge to click my heels and salute. “We don’t know that the two are in a sleazy motel. Cyndi might have gone to a friend’s house. She might be at her great-aunt’s house, or shopping, or …” I shrugged, out of ideas where Miss Thurberfest might be at the moment.

  “There is no time to lose,” Eunice continued. “This town is riddled with sleazy motels, and that man is devious enough to register under an alias. Not that he would do so to protect Cyndi’s reputation, of course. He undoubtedly aspires to follow in his boss’s path. Warren Dansberry is a very dangerous young man. I’ve said it before, and I do not hesitate to say it again.”

  She said it with such volume that a nurse carrying a tray stopped to stare, and patients along the hallway peeped out of their rooms. I took Eunice’s arm and led her toward the elevator.

  As we waited, I said, “We can’t raid every motel in town. Heaven knows how many city directors, lawyers, doctors, and judges we might find in flagrante delicto on a sunny Saturday afternoon. We could go by the Senator’s hotel, however, and see if he has any theories.”

  She muttered in agreement and followed me to my car. We drove down the street in relative silence, she huffing like an overaged jogger and I frantically praying Peter would be gone by the time we appeared at the Senator’s doorstep. Wincing at the possibility, I suggested we swing by Cyndi’s apartment, the great-aunt’s house, Eunice’s house, and even my apartment next to the campus.

  “Why would she be there?” Eunice said, eyeing me intently.

  “She wanted me to be at the hospital this morning while she was questioned by the police and the FBI. She seemed to think I was the only person who would believe she was being stalked by a madman.”

  “Is that what she said?” Eunice turned her head to stare out the window. “And did you believe her, Claire?”

  “I did at the time,” I said with a grimace. “Now I’m not so sure. I’m beginning to suspect Cyndi arranged those little pranks in order to get publicity. She could easily have staged the incidents with the nail, the weight, and the message on her mirror.” Love of humanity required me to pay attention to the driving, although I wished I could see Eunice’s face. “The bullet fired during the parade was a blank. I suppose the shot could have been fired to frighten the Senator, but it’s equally likely that Cyndi arranged it in hopes the media would think it was fired at her. If that is indeed the case, then she had to have an accomplice.”

  “An accomplice? I suppose she would have needed one, wouldn’t she?” Eunice said slowly. She shifted the overnight bag in her lap, arranged the sun visor above the windshield to her satisfaction, then turned to study my profile. “Do you think I crouched on the the rooftop of a bar in order to fire a gun at the convertible? I’m a fifty-one-year-old woman who’s overweight, out of shape, and hardly a member of the National Rifle Association. Don’t you find it hard to imagine me in the role of a calculating sniper?”

  I had been thinking that precise thing, but she had a point. “It had to be someone who was willing to take a risk for the perceived betterment of Cyndi’s career,” I said at last.

  “Beauty pageant queens do not desire that sort of publicity. The gals represent a fragile fairyland where poise, charm, and beauty are everything. They’ve won a piece of the dream and they cherish it as they would a delicate butterfly. Negative publicity might give the public the idea that the gal is involved with undesirable people—like Warren Dansberry or Senator Stevenson. Yes, there are some things I could tell you about the golden boy with the dimples.”

  “Oh?” I said encouragingly.

  “But I shall not say a word. I never allow my gals to gossip, and I refuse to set a bad example. Now I shall give you directions to those various places, although I am certain we won’t find Cyndi. Once we’ve wasted our time, we will go to the hotel and confront the Senator.”

  Eunice’s porch was unoccupied, and Cyndi’s great-aunt was sure that she had seen neither hide nor hair of her niece. My porch was cluttered only with leaves. Cyndi’s apartment, one of dozens in a pseudogarden setting, was messy but empty. On the way to the hotel we stopped by the theater, but the doors were locked and the interior dark.

  We took a circuitous route to avoid the Thurberfest, and eventually found a parking place in front of the hotel. As we entered, I crossed my fingers and mentally transported Peter and the Feds to a distant locale, but once Eunice had pounded on the door and we were ushered into the hallowed suite, I discovered that my telepathic powers were, as usual, inadequate.

  Patti Stevenson brightly introduced everyone. The Feds were disgruntled to see me, and Peter managed nothing more than a grim smile. I mumbled something about needing to discuss the evening schedule with Senator Stevenson, but it was such a feeble ploy that everyone graciously ignored it. I opted for a corner chair, feeling as if I’d been caught shoplifting in a bargain basement.

  In contrast, Eunice was unswayed by the invisible currents in the room. “Where is Warren Dansberry?” she ask
ed the Senator’s wife. “I demand to see him at once.”

  “He and Steve took the twins to the street festival,” Patti said, remarkably composed for someone caught in the eye of the storm. “I needed a break, and it requires at least two people to chase after Cassie and Carrie. They ought to be back soon.”

  “Why are you looking for Dansberry?” a Fed asked.

  Eunice turned on him. “Because he is responsible for Cyndi’s abrupt departure from the hospital. Although it was voluntary, I can sense his insidious presence. He may be with this woman’s children at this time, but I am more than confident he has planned a tryst with the gal.”

  “She left the hospital?” the Fed said. He and his cohort had a whispered conversation. I could see Peter was itching to join them, but civil service has it privileges. He passed the time shooting dark glances at me, which I excused on the premise he was offended by his exclusion. One of the Feds went into another room and closed the door. The other said, “Once we’ve confirmed this, I think we can terminate the investigation, Rosen. The girl got wind of the results of the lab report. She knows we’re aware the bullet was a blank and therefore part of some crazy scheme of hers to get free publicity. She obviously has fled to avoid further questions.”

  “She has not,” Eunice snorted.

  Patti went to Peter’s side and put her hand on his arm. “Then you won’t have to question Steve? He truly had nothing to do with the girl’s misguided ideas. He may have leaped to an erroneous conclusion about the sniper, but I can assure you that he never intended to mislead you or the FBI agents. He’s wanted all along to offer you his fullest cooperation.”

  Peter glanced at me, no doubt assessing my reaction to the hand resting on his arm. I smiled politely and said, “Then you aren’t interested in where Cyndi Jay is at this time? What about the attempt to asphyxiate her in her dressing room?”

  “We have reason to believe she was responsible for that, too,” he said. “That aspect of the official police investigation is under local jurisdiction, and we’ll need to question her concerning it. At the moment, however, her whereabouts are not pressing. Someone will go by her apartment later today or tomorrow to take her statement.”

  The Fed came out of the bedroom and nodded at his partner. The nod must have been laden with implication, because the three men left before I could ask Peter what his remark meant. From her expression I could see that Eunice was as perplexed as I. Patti Stevenson, on the other hand, looked relieved. She asked if we wanted coffee, and we accepted. She called room service, then sat down on the sofa, neatly crossed her ankles, and folded her hands in her lap. Someone’s cotillion had had a lasting effect.

  “You mentioned that you wanted to speak to Warren?” she said to Eunice.

  “I thought Cyndi might … be with him,” she said. Her face was gray and her voice unsure. Her eyes, usually glittering with beady authority, were confused; they darted about the room as if seeking a haven. She sat down next to Patti and let out a sigh I could feel several feet away. “It’s obvious that I don’t know what’s going on, though, and I must ask your forgiveness for barging into your hotel room like this. Something very odd has happened to Cyndi. She’s not the gal I nurtured through the early pageants. I had hopes for her, you know, the highest of hopes. Her talent presentation is strong, and her dedication admirable. Before she began that tawdry affair with Warren, she talked of nothing but Atlantic City. Now she makes disparaging remarks about the Big One and reads movie magazines rather than hair-styling manuals and makeup guides.”

  “I know, I know,” Patti said soothingly. “I did everything I could to stop the affair, as did Steve. Both of us pleaded with Warren to leave Cyndi alone so that he could concentrate on his job. I know you won’t believe me, but Steve spent hours and hours at Warren’s apartment trying to reason with him. He did everything he could short of firing Warren.”

  “But it’s definitely over now?” I asked.

  Patti smiled grimly at me. “It is definitely over; I can assure you of that. Warren was upset at first, but he’s settled down and has his eye on a more suitable girl who works at the state capital. She’s from a family very much like my own, with a strong tradition of political involvement and dedication to serve the public.” She gave a little laugh. “It must run in the blood. My great-grandfather and grandfather were both judges, one circuit and the other on the state supreme court. My father is serving his fifth term in Washington,” she added, mentioning a powerful figure from a Southern state. “And I married Steve, who’s always dreamed of rising through the system to serve his country. I’ll be at his side, as willing as he to make whatever sacrifices are necessary.”

  I decided she would make an elegant First Lady, at whatever level she and her husband were aiming for, including the Big One. Rather than delve into it, however, I nodded and said, “Then Warren’s not likely to want to stir up an old affair?”

  “Heavens, no. It was all over and done six months ago, and he hasn’t even mentioned her name. She’s a”—she glanced at Eunice and reconsidered—“an ambitious girl who was willing to use Warren for her own purposes. Her dalliance with him opened the door to the state film commission and resulted in the Hollywood trip.”

  “But I had the highest hopes,” Eunice said in a wavery voice. Her eyes filled with tears, and one spilled over to dribble down her cheek, leaving a wet zigzag over the webbing of wrinkles. Patti hurried into another room and returned with a box of tissues. Eunice wiped her cheek, then looked up with a hint of her more typical beadiness.

  “Yes, I see now that Cyndi did use Warren,” she said. “By using him, she also used your husband’s political office for her own dark purposes. She used me, too. I devoted a great deal of time and energy, not to mention giving her a substantial discount at my store. I had thought I could dissuade her from her plan to give up the pageants for a seedy existence in some Hollywood apartment, working at a menial job while offering sexual favors for bit parts. But I must force myself to swallow a bitter, bitter pill and admit that she is still determined, despite my warnings. All these endeavors to get publicity … the wrong sort of publicity. A faked murder attempt, vulgar, simply vulgar. We cannot have that sort of gal in our pageants.”

  I was startled at the transition from mourning to condemnation. Before I could consider it, the door flew open and two children came into the room in a flood of screams, laughter, accusations, and tears. Warren followed more sedately, holding a limp cone of cotton candy in one hand and several balloons in the other.

  “Mrs. Allingham, Mrs. Malloy,” he murmured as he sat down and loosened his tie. “You’ll have to forgive me; we rode the ponies eleven times.” He glanced at Patti, who was picking whisps of pink off the girls’ chins as they shrieked about a clown. “Is it too early for a stiff drink?”

  “Where’s Steve?” she said.

  “Daddy has to shake every single person’s hand on the whole street so every single person will vote for him,” one of the twins explained shrilly.

  “But when he shaked the clown’s hand, it fell off!” the other added. She proceeded to fall off her mother’s lap in a paroxysm of giggles.

  Warren’s smile was forced and he sent a hungry look toward the bottles on the wet bar. “The Senator is working the street, but he ought to be here soon. I was there when he did a spot for a roving local news team, and he did a fairly good job. We got in at least a minute and a half. Not a lot of substance; just the standard bit about how much he enjoyed spending time in his district and that sort of thing. Thank God, the reporter didn’t mention the industrial tax incentive.”

  Patti smiled tightly. “I’ll review it with him first thing tomorrow morning. Anything else?”

  “When the terrorist threat issue came up, he squared his shoulders and declared himself above intimidation and willing to fight for the American way. All he needed was a blue leotard and a red cape. He was going to hold the twins while he spoke to the camera, but they decided to stick out their de
ar little tongues.”

  Patti frowned at the girls who were flopping merrily on the floor. “I am very disappointed in you,” she said icily. “We all want Daddy to win the election, don’t we? We’ve talked about how we behave when Daddy takes you out to meet his constituents.”

  I stood up and started for the door. As Eunice joined me, I asked her in a low voice if she still wanted to speak to Warren. She shook her head. We made appropriate noises and left Patti to discuss campaign demeanor with her girls.

  I drove Eunice back to the hospital so that she could fetch her car. She remained pensive and quiet, but as she climbed out of my car, she said, “What about that gal named Julianna? Has she had any pageant experience in the past?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’ve been told she intends to go to medical school to become a neurosurgeon.”

  “They do have their dreams, don’t they?” Eunice strolled away, looking very much brightened. Her pink Cadillac roared out of the parking lot in a rosy haze of dust.

  I consulted my watch. It was three-thirty, which meant I had two and a half hours to idle away before going to the theater for the glorious finale of the Miss Thurberfest pageant. The street festival and sidewalk sale were perilous options, since I was likely to bump into Sally Fromberger. Peter was busy with his officious Feds, and I had no desire to be subjected to a lecture. I had no reason to go to the theater; we would go on at eight o’clock no matter how hot the hell or high the water. Cyndi Jay was loose on the town, but I had no idea how to find her. According to Peter, she was not in any danger from anyone but herself. She would be found eventually, and would dutifully confess to her manipulative scheme. Her accomplice would be named. What the police would do to the pair was beyond my meager grasp of the law, but I supposed the police would not be especially gracious about the expenditure of time and energy.

  The pageant would be history within eight hours, I thought. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and its batteries were working. On that note, I went home and took a sinfully hot bath and a lovely nap.