“You know Dick Tracy as Dan O’Keefe, the chief of police and Batman’s sidekick,” Oscar said as he looked out the window. “He’s the third mischief-maker in our North End trio of Musketeers.” He folded his arms and watched her. Then he turned to Mabel, “When will he be getting here, dear aunt?”
“A few minutes. It’ll be a shock for him to see you.” She turned to Grace. “It’s a sensitive topic for Dan and David to have associated with Oscar, so we don’t talk much about it and they certainly don’t talk to others about it, I imagine.”
The doorbell rang. “We’ll see now. He’s here,” Oscar said.
Mabel rubbed her hands together and nodded to Marsha, who appeared in the hall to answer the door. Grace jumped up from her seat on the couch and held her breath.
“Yap, yap, yap, that’s all this dog does. I got a good headache on the way over here, so there better be a good reason for this.” Sophia-the-Pixie carried Noodles into the entryway, stroking the tiny dog’s head. She saw Grace and walked toward her into the middle of the parlor.
“Well, if it isn’t Tinkerbell.” Oscar threw his arms open for a hug. Grace watched her friend spin around and moved in to rescue Noodles. Sophia’s hands flew to her face, Grace caught the dog and the Pixie shrieked. Mabel cackled and had to sit down on the nearest surface, which was an end table—almost knocking over a priceless ivory Erte-inspired lamp.
Oscar caught Pixie, who immediately squirmed out of the man’s arms while he laughed more genuinely than Grace had seen yet. Maybe he was okay, she thought and realized she was worried about him—the same way he was worried about her. That warmed her insides better than a hot cup of tea. But even so, it was nothing like the heart-melting feeling that David gave her.
“What the heck is going on here? Oscar? Oscar!” Pixie shouted and backed up a step as if he were a ghoul instead of a long-lost friend.
“Don’t worry, he’s here for a friendly visit. He’s not here to shoot us.” Grace patted her diminutive friend on the shoulder and winked at Oscar.
“You here to help with the murder investigation? Are you somehow involved?” Pixie looked from Oscar to Grace, still not convinced of the man’s ability to pay an innocent visit. His eyebrows shot up to where his hairline used to be at that question.
“Murder investigation? Why, and more importantly, who would I be helping with a murder investigation?” He looked from Pixie to Grace. Then his eyes stayed on Grace, expecting an answer and figuring she was the one to give it to him somehow.
Geesh. How would she explain this?
“Didn’t Grace tell you she’s practically a junior detective? A regular Watson,” Pixie said. “If you’re not here about the murder, then, I repeat, what the heck are you doing here?” Pixie looked up at him and Grace thought her neck must be strong from looking up at people all the time—it looked darned uncomfortable. She couldn’t wait to hear Oscar’s answer to her friend’s question.
“Putting aside the murder investigation for just a moment, I came here to rescue Grace from the clutches of David “Batman” Young. Wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?”
“Oh, Batman—hey, wait a minute—how do you even know about him? Have you been spying?”
“I prefer to call it watching out for my love’s interests. And believe me, I know all about him. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t make any tragic mistakes with her life.”
“Oscar! How could you? If David is your childhood friend, and he’s Batman—a genuine hero, and I didn’t hear you arguing that point—then how could it be so tragic? And you better not be referring to the thing about his late wife—”
Mabel cut her off. “I agree with Grace. The tragedy would be if he and Grace never got together. It’s my mission to see that they do—and as quickly as possible, I might add.”
“A democratic romance. Everyone has an opinion on it. How about you, Pixie? You may as well cast a vote too.” Grace folded her arms. She stopped herself from tapping her foot, aware that she’d turned herself into a live cliché, but she did narrow her eyes at Oscar.
“I think…” Sophia began, but paused and looked around.
“Come on, Pixie,” Oscar said. “You know Grace better than anyone. You couldn’t possibly think it would be a good idea for her to marry an old man and expect to have the family of her dreams with the picket fence in the country?” Oscar started pacing around again and looked at his watch.
“Sure, it sounds like an unlikely match. But the thing is, I’ve seen them together. I’ve seen the chemistry and I like David,” Pixie said. She turned to Grace and scratched Noodles behind the ears. Pixie never could talk sentimentally very easily, so Grace knew her friend had something mushy to say. Grace felt a lump in her throat coming on. She braced herself for her friend’s rare words.
“And strangely enough, I trust Grace’s judgment on this. She’s let a lot of Mr. Wrongs go in the past—including you—while she’s been holding out for Mr. Right. So if she says David Young is Mr. Right, then he’s the man.” Pixie fluttered a quick look into Grace’s face before turning away. There it was, the most beautiful thing her friend ever said. Grace took Noodles from Pixie, then pushed her puppy into Oscar’s arms. He frowned and held the dog away from him. Then she took her little Pixie into a massive hug and gestured Mabel to join in. The older woman didn’t bother holding back the sentimental tears.
“Hey, okay, okay. You guys!” Sophia-the-Pixie said in mock protest as she held onto Grace with a surprising grip of her own.
“I agree. This is all ridiculous,” Oscar said. He put Noodles on the floor, and the little pooch marched back to her mommy with a whimper and a wag of her tail.
Grace picked her up and swiped at a tear. No matter what else happened, she was lucky to have these wonderful friends all looking out for her. A warm flush of connection spread through her. She knew she would need those friendship bonds more than ever.
“You could be right, Oscar baby.” She used their old endearment. “Because as of this moment, David wants nothing to do with me. Not even as a decorator,” she admitted. She turned to Sophia, whose mouth opened and eyebrows flared. “Not even to decorate his townhouse. He fired me. That’s why I called you and came here,” she finished. Her friend flew back to her and hugged her again.
“I’m so sorry. You poor thing. Why didn’t you say something while we were all plotting your wedding?”
“Because we’re not letting David off the hook so easily yet,” said Mabel. “Which is why I called him to come over. He should be here any minute.”
“You’re shitting me.” Pixie sat on the nearest settee.
“While we’re waiting, tell me about the murder. And why would you think I have anything to do with it?” Oscar continued to pace. Grace could tell he was growing bored and possibly anxious about David’s impending arrival, in spite of his pretense at cool.
“You’re a natural, Oscar. You’re on the other end of the same business as David, aren’t you?” Pixie didn’t give him an inch.
“Yes, you’re almost like David’s alter ego. Do you feel that way?” Grace looked at him and wondered.
“Enough about that,” Mabel said, coming to Oscar’s rescue. Grace thought he looked distinctly uncomfortable and decidedly uncool.
“Isn’t anyone going to tell me about the murder?”
Sophia pointed her thumb at Grace. “Ask her. She’s the one playing Robin with your pal Batman.”
Grace smiled in spite of herself. She’d been having a ball uncovering clues with Batman until…
“That’s all over with now. Besides, we’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
They all looked at her. It was true. And it was one more thing she would miss if she couldn’t win David back. Well, not exactly “back,” since technically she never had him, but back in contention at least.
The doorbell rang. They all looked toward the entry hall beyond the parlor door. Mabel went to answer the bell. Grace’s gut fluttered and tumbled like a bingo wheel
at a Catholic church on Wednesday night. She sat in silence. They all remained silent. Oscar and Sophia stood still.
“…lucky that I got here tonight at all,” David said as he walked with Mabel through the door to her parlor where they all waited for him.
Chapter 10
DAVID shoved the Matisse tickets in his pocket and put the phone to his ear. It could have been a call from I.C.E. or his Interpol contact, he told himself, so he couldn’t hesitate to answer it. He attempted to smile at Frenchie.
She stood frozen. She almost looked scared. “Is it someone from the police department calling?” she asked in a church whisper.
“Young here,” he said, still with the schooled expression of remorse and annoyance for Frenchie’s benefit. He shook his head. She watched him and waited.
“Hello, David. It’s Aunt Mabel. We have an emergency here, and you must come over,” she said without any emergency-like urgency in her voice.
“What kind of emergency?” With a hand over the phone he told Frenchie, “It’s my Aunt Mabel and she says there’s some kind of emergency.”
“Oh my!” Frenchie said.
“Who is that? Where are you?” Mabel asked.
“I’m on a date at the Museum of Fine Arts with a lovely woman named Maria who speaks French,” he said loud enough for Frenchie to hear, and congratulated himself for remembering to call her Maria. She smiled big at that.
“Well then, the emergency is bigger than I thought,” Mabel said, and before he could think what to say in response to that, she continued.
“David, you must come over as soon as is gentlemanly possible given your circumstances.” Mabel lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know you would never behave less than a gentleman, but there’s no sense in leading this French woman on.”
“How did you come to the conclusion that I am?” He continued to smile. He was curious to know what gave him away, but not yet inclined to let his aunt know she might be correct.
Mabel laughed quietly into the phone. She knew him too well.
“Okay, fair enough. What’s going on?” he asked, still looking at Frenchie and hoping his aunt would come up with a good excuse for him. He had an inkling that she might be entertaining Grace and playing matchmaker, but that so-called emergency would most definitely not fly as an explanation for Frenchie. In any event, he’d have to spend some time at the museum and then accompany her home by taxi—the way they’d come. Some day he’d have to entertain the notion of purchasing an auto.
“A good friend of yours needs help. You may also find some useful information for your murder investigation.” She lowered her voice again. “I know how important it is for you to solve this crime. I know it’s not enough for you to merely contribute, but to be the one to crack the case in a big way. It’s important for you to establish this exchange program so you can stay a while and start over,” she said. It would seem his aunt had turned into an even wiser old woman than he remembered—that or she’d taken up mind reading. Or rather, soul-reading.
“All right, I understand. I’ll be over as soon as I can—but I am busy at the moment.” He nodded at Frenchie but didn’t bother with a reassuring smile. The goal was to be a gentleman, and not lead her on.
His aunt satisfied, David slid the phone into his pocket and surveyed the area, aware that Frenchie was staring up at him. She clearly expected an explanation on what was to happen with their evening. He met her gaze.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our evening short, as I’m sure you heard,” he said.
“Is your aunt all right?”
“A friend of mine has some information on the investigation—and needs my help,” he told her. He wondered what Grace was up to now. David tried to keep his mind from racing ahead.
“Well, now that I’m your assistant of sorts, maybe I can come with you—I don’t mind. It might even be fun.” He could see her warming to the idea as her smile brightened.
“No, I’m afraid not. This won’t involve any translation. I’m afraid we won’t have time to take in the exhibit or have dinner. I’ll call a cab and accompany you home.” He used his most definitive tone to confer that there was no room for alternative suggestions.
Frenchie’s smile faltered and he hoped those weren’t tears glistening in her eyes. “Then our courtship is over, isn’t it? It’s my age—you think I’m too old even though I’m the same age as you, really. Esther assured me that you didn’t want any children, but—”
“Maria,” he halted her. “It has nothing to do with your age.” It was only a partial lie.
She gave him a sad look. “It’s that decorator woman. You’re interested in Grace Rogers.”
“Grace,” he said in a quiet voice. “No, she has nothing to do with why you and I are not going to work out as a couple.” He knew he was distressing her, and he didn’t like the notion of causing this lovely, if timid, woman any misery.
“Oh?” she said with a slight lift of the corner of her mouth that might have been a knowing smile. But then she took a deep breath and, with a rigid back as if she were resigned to her execution, she turned and marched toward the exit. He stayed with her through the doors and past the ticket counter.
They reached the curb and he hailed a taxi. He would accompany her home and do his best to redeem the situation for Esther’s sake.
“You did a great job with the translation for us. Any chance you might be available as a consultant in future?”
She examined his face and then gave him a relieved and genuine smile.
“Actually, I found that whole experience very stimulating—much more exciting than my usual line of work. If you’re serious, I’d love to consult with the police department any time you need a translator.”
“The department has people, don’t get me wrong. But there are occasions when we might need someone off the books or in a pinch. It’s good to know I can call on you for that.” He patted her hand.
“Yes,” she said with her shy smile in place. The taxi pulled up to her home, a modest place in Somerville on the other side of Charlestown from Boston. He got out, went around and opened her door, reaching in to hold her hand as she got out.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“I apologize for cutting the evening short and for being a complete boor. You are a lovely woman, Maria. I’m sure you are right for some lucky man.” That’s all he could think to say honestly.
“Okay, well, if you think of someone, let me know.” She walked up the steps to her door while he watched. Then she turned. “Don’t forget to call when you need a translator,” she said and disappeared inside.
He got back in the taxi and pulled the door closed in one quick motion. The taxi driver turned and looked at him.
“You botched that one, didn’t ya?” the driver said. David glanced at the cabby, who turned out to be far from deaf and not particularly discreet, and nodded.
“Yeah. Take me to number twelve Pinckney Street in Beacon Hill.”
The cab driver whistled as if he were impressed. “Moving up, are ya?”
“One can hope, but no. It’s my aunt’s home. And why am I explaining anything to you? Just drive the car, will ya?” he said in a good-natured mock of the driver’s speech.
He reached in his pocket and put his phone on vibrate. It would be his luck to get the call from I.C.E. now. He would call back later, no matter what time it was. Mabel had been right about him needing to crack this case—no matter what distractions he had to work through.
The cab let him off and he walked up to the front door of Mabel’s townhouse with a healthy mix of trepidation and, god forgive him, excitement. He decided to give them a warning and rang the bell.
Grace’s legs wobbled as if she were a newborn lamb—no, make that a lamb ready for the slaughter. David had arrived. She looked at Oscar and couldn’t help the thought that leapt to her mind—in her comic strip character scenario he’d be cast as the Joker. The smile leapt to her face. She knew Oscar woul
dn’t appreciate the title, but he’d laugh at her imagination. He always had.
Oscar had that look of restrained amusement that reminded her of David. But there the resemblance ended. Oscar didn’t do restraint for long before exploding, then ebbing. David stayed even keeled. She knew this even in the course of their short relationship. After all, she was practically his partner in crime solving.
“…lucky that I got here tonight at all,” David said as he walked with Mabel through the door to her parlor where they all waited for him. Whether he’d finished his sentence or not, he stopped speaking and snapped his head around the room, first looking at her with a warm if fleeting smile and then bouncing off Pixie-Sophia, doing a double take to Noodles, who trembled in Pixie’s arms, and then landing on Oscar.
Grace had never seen anything like the shuttering of all emotion that she saw in that moment. It was impossible to see what he was thinking. She knew there was turmoil—there had to be because he wasn’t really made of stone, even though he gave every appearance of that now.
The thoughts that sprinted through his head—no, bulleted through his head like a silver-liner rail car—started with what the hell is Oscar doing here? He hoped to god if it was about the murder attempt and smuggling operation that his old friend had information and not trouble. Next, he wondered why Oscar had come to Mabel’s, but then remembered she’d always been his neutral ground. Third, he wondered what the hell Grace knew, and finally, what were the pooch and Pixie doing here? Was this some Alice-through-the-looking-glass party? Had his drink at Dan’s house been laced with LSD and he was on some kind of rabbit-hole trip to Wonderland?
The Pixie and Mabel at least looked like they were enjoying the tableau. What had his life come to but a series of mini-dramas, coincidentally, since he’d met Grace Rogers? He looked back at her and gave her a wan smile. She looked expectant and he knew how she felt. But since no one else was stepping up, it looked like it was up to him to run the show.
The Throwbacks Page 12
