Whole Lotta Trouble

by Stephanie Bond

  A knock sounded at her door, and she frowned in the direction of the clock—8:35 A.M. If it were Keith Wages, he was going to get an eyeful of what she looked like just rolling out of bed…in fact, she thought, tromping to the door, it just might be enough to extinguish any thoughts he could be having about them hooking up.

  She unlocked the dead bolts and opened the door as far as the chain would allow. Mr. Emory stood there and, from the disheveled state of his—gulp—Finding Nemo printed pajamas and his wiry hair, he also was not long from the rack.

  “Someone dying in there?” he asked.

  “What? No.”

  “Then what’s with all the screamin’?”

  She blanched. “Oh…I…was happy.” She gave him a wry smile. “Was being the operative word.”

  “Yeah? Well, keep it down. The residents got me jumping at every little noise since that man crawled up in the ceiling and died.” He stomped off down the hall, muttering under his breath.

  Tallie closed the door—her good mood would not be compromised. She’d scarcely slept a wink last night, which was actually preferable to the nightmares that had dogged her the few times she had managed to doze off.

  She stepped into a lukewarm shower and hummed to try to keep troubling thoughts at bay—Jerry’s murder, their involvement, Ron’s disappearance. It was almost too much to comprehend. Yesterday seemed surreal…cartoonish. She desperately hoped that finding her bag was a good omen. Maybe the police had found the killer…or maybe someone had confessed. Either way, her mother was right: By the light of day, things did seem better.

  Her mother. Guilt tugged at her—she had to remember to pick up her mother’s package at the post office. And she needed to set aside an hour to call and listen to her mother’s stream of consciousness with good-daughter patience.

  She turned off the water and dried quickly, eager to get to the taxi terminal and put her paws on the manuscript. Dressing was harder now that she had so many clean clothes to choose from, but she opted for soft corduroys and a sweater that she’d picked up at the Salvation Army. Her shopping at Goodwill made her mother crazy—it was all dead people’s clothes, Merrilyn declared, and who knew what kinds of plague germs could be lurking in the yarn, just waiting to infect cheapskates who didn’t properly disinfect the garments before wearing them. In deference to her mother, she sprayed the sweater with Mountain Breeze Lysol and pulled it over her head.

  She called Kara Hatteras before she left. After four rings, the woman’s groggy voice came on the line.

  “Hel…lo.”

  “Oh, Kara, did I wake you?” Tallie asked, smiling.

  “Good God, Tallie, this has to be you. No one else has such deplorable timing.”

  “I’ll be there with the manuscript in a couple of hours.”

  “Well, fucking finally—did you have to bond with it first? You’d better not have made a copy, for Christ’s sake. Gaylord Cooper is a psycho just waiting for a lame reason to fucking snap.”

  “Good-bye, Scary.” Tallie disconnected the call and opened the coat closet to find a hat. Her gaze landed on Felicia’s beautiful coat, and she felt a rush of affection for her friend for offering to have her cleaners get the coffee stain out of the chubby striped wool coat that Tallie loved. One of these days, Felicia was going to make someone a great wife—she knew all the best service providers, from maids to dry cleaners to bakeries to seamstresses.

  On her walk to the train, she called Felicia, who was an early riser for some ungodly reason.

  “Hello,” Felicia said, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Oh, I woke you…I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Felicia whispered, obviously trying to rouse herself.

  “Are you sick?” Tallie asked, immediately concerned.

  “Just tired,” she said. “I didn’t get much sleep…can’t imagine why.”

  “I hear you,” Tallie said, although she sensed Felicia was hurting over Jerry’s death more than she was letting on. “But I have some good news.”

  “Well, let’s hear it.”

  “The taxi company found my bag with Gaylord’s manuscript, and I’m on my way now to get it.”

  “That is good news…I know you’re relieved.”

  “Yeah,” Tallie said. “I just might be able to keep my job…if I can stay out of prison.”

  “Don’t even joke about it,” Felicia said. “What did you do last night?”

  “Alphabetized the books on my bookshelf.”

  “Hm?”

  Tallie sighed. “Let’s just say my apartment is benefiting from me lying low and trying to keep my mind off…things.”

  “Have you talked to your cop since yesterday?”

  “He’s not my cop,” Tallie said. “And no, I haven’t talked to him. I don’t want him to think that…I’m interested. But I’ll probably call him today or tomorrow just to see if there have been any developments.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Ron?”

  Tallie’s stomach clenched. “No, I haven’t, and I’m really worried about him. Do you think he could have had anything to do with Jerry’s death?”

  “Are you asking me if Jerry was bisexual?”

  “Well…was he?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Felicia said dryly. “But it has been a year since we were together, and I guess things change.”

  “Did you ever hear rumors about Ron being into S&M?”

  “No,” Felicia said, then made noises as if she were rearranging herself in bed. “But it’s strange…I always suspected that Ron had this secret life, you know a side that no one else knew about. He was such a contradiction in terms—he was an intellectual, but he preferred to work on genre fiction. He was in the Army, but he collected midcentury chairs. He was like this…chameleon.”

  “Did you ever meet any of his lovers?”

  “No, but Ron was very private. I ran into him once after I left Parkbench—I was in Albany with my mother for some sort of legal symposium, and when we went to dinner one night, I looked across the restaurant and there was Ron, having dinner with a distinguished-looking gentleman.”

  “Did you say hello?”

  “Sure—and Ron literally came out of his chair. It was obvious he didn’t want anyone to recognize him, he didn’t even introduce me to his dinner companion. I kind of got the idea that the guy was military, so I figured it was someone Ron knew from the Reserves.”

  “So why would he care that you saw him?”

  “Because the other guy was wearing a wedding ring.”

  “Oh.”

  “Right. He called me at work the next day and tried to make light of the whole thing, said he’d appreciate it if I didn’t mention to anyone that I’d run into him.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him that was cool, and I didn’t mention it…until now.”

  “So, do you think this ‘secret’ life of his had something to do with Jerry’s death? The police don’t think it’s a coincidence that no one can seem to find him.”

  Felicia’s sigh whistled across the line. “I have no idea, Tallie. The truth is, Jerry knew a lot of people personally and professionally and eventually pissed off nearly every one of them…anyone could have done it. Or it could have been a complete stranger.”

  “The serial killer theory?”

  “Or someone he met at a club or online.”

  Felicia sighed. “Tallie, I have something to tell you.”

  Hearing the dread in her friend’s voice, her stomach clenched. “What?”

  “The other day I received something in the mail…something disturbing.”

  “What was it?”

  Felicia hesitated for so long, Tallie thought she might not even answer. “It was a picture…of me…nude.”

  Tallie gasped. “What? Who sent it?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think it was Jerry.”

  A sick, sick feeling pooled in Tallie’s intestines. “But…why?”

&
nbsp; “Who knows why Jerry did half the things he did?”

  Felicia’s blasé tone worried Tallie the most—she sounded…disconnected. Unease roiled in her stomach as the implication became clearer. “Felicia, is that why you suggested we take the photo of him?”

  “Yes,” Felicia murmured, her voice anguished.

  “You should have told us,” Tallie said, her voice more angry than she’d intended. She felt betrayed that Felicia hadn’t told her everything…as if she’d been set up.

  “Would it have made a difference?” Felicia asked.

  “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Felicia’s silence spoke volumes.

  Tallie pulled her hand over her mouth, sickened by the revelation.

  Tallie looked up and saw the subway sign. “I’m almost at the station. I need to go.”

  “Tallie, when you talk to your cop…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you wanted to tell the police everything when this first happened, but you realize, don’t you, that if we come forward now, we’re definitely going to look guilty.”

  Tallie frowned, puzzled. “Are you afraid that I’m going to tell Keith what happened?”

  “All I know is that sometimes it can be tempting to trust someone…to trust a man and to believe that he’s going to fix things.”

  Tallie stopped abruptly, and a guy behind her clipped her shoulder as he dodged her suddenly stationary body. He glanced back, then kept walking, but a sense of déjà vu struck her like a whip. It took a few seconds for her memory to catch up. A sweatshirt hood obscured his hair, but she was sure it was the baby-faced shooter from the coffeehouse. A chill traveled up her spine…coincidence? Keith had said the guy lived in her neighborhood, so it wasn’t out of the question that he would be walking down the same street. Was he already out of jail? He kept walking and didn’t look back, disappearing in the crowd a few seconds later.

  “Tallie, are you there?”

  “Yeah,” she said, craning her neck, but she didn’t spot him again.

  “Are you angry?”

  She blinked and tried to remember what Felicia had said…something about a man fixing things? Oh, right—Keith Wages. “Felicia, you of all people know that the last thing in the world I want to be is a damsel in distress.”

  “I know that,” Felicia said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Tallie said. “We’re all under a lot of stress right now. I have to go, but I’ll call you later.”

  “I’m glad you found your bag.”

  “Me, too.”

  Tallie disconnected the call and cast another glance in the direction the hooded man had taken. Nothing. She sighed, telling herself that she was reading too much into every situation. True, this week had been a doozie—the shooting, almost being run down by a car, the dead guy in the HV/AC shaft, losing the manuscript, Jerry’s death, then Ron’s disappearance. But New York was a dangerous place with dangerous people walking around, and this week she seemed to be separated only a degree or two from the danger.

  Shaking off the heebie-jeebies, she descended the stairs to the train station and waited on the platform, studying the cross section of people around her—grungers, punkers, skaters, tourists, artists, athletes, bankers. Tattooed and pierced, swathed in cultural clothing, all colors and languages…it was what she loved about New York, and if she had to live with a little danger in her life in order to experience it, it was worth it.

  A train came quickly (another thing she loved about New York), and a few stops later, she was climbing the steps to the taxi terminal, her heart thumping in anticipation of getting the manuscript back. Mr. Hooks at the lost-and-found counter remembered her from the exuberance of thank-yous. She showed her picture ID, then with no pomp and circumstance whatsoever, was handed her manuscript bag. She glanced inside to make sure the envelope was intact, then clasped it to her chest and breathed a lung-emptying sigh of relief.

  “Says here that there’s a reward,” Mr. Hooks said.

  Tallie blinked, then remembered that Keith had added that tidbit for incentive. She pursed her mouth, then opened her purse and scrutinized her slim wallet—twelve dollars and a book of stamps. She handed over the ten and the stamps, then tossed in a free drink coupon from Starbucks. “Thanks.” Then she turned and fled.

  While waiting for the train, she reached inside the bag and withdrew the thick manila envelope. On the back flap, over the wide piece of clear packing tape, were the letters G.C. in her handwriting. No one had tampered with it, no one had read the manuscript. She sent a thank-you skyward and returned the envelope to the bag.

  In deference to the sunny day, she walked from the train station to Kara’s, welcoming the bite in the air. She hoped the cool air would clear her head, help her come to grips with the decision she’d made yesterday to go along with Felicia and Jané about not going to the police immediately. Her stomach contracted painfully. Operating under a state of shock, the consequences of coming forward had seemed too costly to contemplate. She had assuaged her guilt with the knowledge that they were innocent of Jerry’s murder.

  But what if their story could help with the investigation? What if one of them had seen something or someone that had seemed insignificant at the time but in fact could lead the police to the killer?

  And she hadn’t counted on the weight of her conscience, which seemed to grow heavier with each breath…breaths that Jerry Key had been denied. Trying to sleep last night had been pure torture, and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to it again tonight.

  Felicia had suggested that the three of them not be seen together in public for a while. She had said it might look suspicious, or might jog the memory of someone who had seen them together at The Bottom Rung the night of Jerry’s murder. Felicia was especially concerned that Bert Nichols would recall their conversation about Jerry and become suspicious. But Tallie wondered if Felicia was simply afraid that if they got together, tempers would flair and something incriminating might be overheard. Or if Felicia was trying to distance herself from Tallie and Jané altogether so she wouldn’t have to face what they’d done.

  For now, it was probably the smart thing to do, but Tallie felt secluded…lonely. She didn’t mind being alone when things were going well, which was most of the time—until lately. But with the ground shifting beneath her feet, she conceded the advantage of having someone…substantial to grab onto.

  A woman race-walked by her on the sidewalk wearing a coat that reminded Tallie of her striped wool standby—she hoped that the coffee stain wasn’t set in. If so, she thought wryly, it would be a lasting reminder of Keith Wages after his attention moved on to a more adoring woman. She was very grateful for his assistance…and even for his company. It was nice to know that there was someone in town whom she could call if she was in trouble.

  Again…or more.

  Tallie shivered in her lighter-weight coat and considered taking a shortcut or two to get to Kara’s building. She glanced up to get her bearings and saw a bicyclist barreling down the sidewalk toward her, paying no heed to the pedestrians leaping out of the way. The woman who had bustled by her didn’t move fast enough. The bicyclist reached out and ripped a dark bag from the woman’s arm, then the purse snatcher, his face obscured by a full-face knit cap, sped past Tallie, who barely had time to fling herself in the bushes.

  She lay facedown in prickly landscaping, trying to process what had happened. Cold wetness seeped through her gloves and clothing. She groaned and slowly pushed to her feet, managing to grind elbows and knees into the muddy mulch in the process.

  She slung her hands to free as much of the debris as possible, then collected the manuscript bag and her purse and hurried over to help the woman who had been knocked down.

  “Are you okay?” Tallie asked, relieved to see the woman was trying to stand.

  The young woman nodded, although tears ran down her cheeks. Tallie’s heart squeezed with sympathy—the woman couldn’t be more than twen
ty-two, and to have your purse stolen was a life-altering experience. And she felt a tad guilty, too, because she was so damned thankful it hadn’t been her. Gripping the seemingly cursed manuscript bag a little tighter, she was antsy to give it to Kara and be done with it.

  She used her phone to call 911 and stayed with the woman—who had been hurrying to get to the bank before it closed and happened to have had a wad of cash in her wallet, unlike Tallie, who had a whopping two bucks left—until a police cruiser arrived. She ignored the barb of disappointment when Keith Wages didn’t emerge from the car, then reminded her silly self that he wasn’t her personal police force. She and the young woman tried to describe the purse snatcher and his bicycle, but they couldn’t give the officer much to go on. He offered them both a ride home, but Tallie explained she was almost at her destination and said good-bye to the poor woman.

  She jogged all the way to Kara’s building holding the manuscript bag with a death grip. She was panting by the time she sprinted past the tall pointy potted evergreens and flung open the door. The doorman sitting at the desk was startled by her sudden appearance, dropping the newspaper he was reading.

  Tallie stopped to catch her breath, then walked over to the desk. “My name is Tallie Blankenship, and I have a package for Kara Hatteras.”

  He frowned at her appearance, and she realized she looked a mess. “I was almost mugged,” she offered.

  His face reflected zero sympathy. “You were here Thursday night.”

  “That’s right.”

  He smirked. “Feeling better?”

  He’d found the puke in the potted plants. Warmth crept over her cheeks. “Um, yes, thank you. Kara is expecting me.”

  He dialed a number, and spoke in low tones, then hung up and gave her a placid smile. “Fifth floor, apartment 512.”

  “Thank you.”

  She soaked in the snazzy décor and muted music while she waited for the elevator. The building reminded her of Felicia’s, and while it was probably doing wonders for the property values of the neighborhood, she felt a twinge of sadness that the area was becoming gentrified. She worked her mouth from side to side, realizing that she was starting to sound like a native.