The Gardener of Aria Manor

by A. L. Duncan

  Janie wriggled away from the woman’s finger and stepped in front of Frank to block his view.

  “You’re supposed to be an aspiring rabbi, remember, Frank?” Janie said with a sneer.

  The woman grasped Janie’s lapels and drew her closer. “I’ve got ten minutes before I go on,” she said in a seductive whisper. “How ’bout a quickie, huh? Care to twinkle my toes? What d’ ya say?”

  “I’m...a little busy right now,” Janie murmured.

  The rear door slammed open and the trio all flinched. At seeing the police officers, Janie shoved Frank ahead of her. “Go on.”

  “What d’ya mean?” shrieked Frank.

  “Just go on! I’ll catch up.”

  Janie ducked behind Lois’ door and held a finger to her lips.

  Lois leaned against the doorway as the officers dashed by. “Hey, Jerry,” she called out after Sergeant Kelly.

  “Oh...hello, Lois,” he stuttered.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I’m kinda busy right now, Lois. Else I’d...gosh, you look swell.”

  “I’ve got a few minutes. Wanna step on in and touch toes?” Janie hid a laugh at Lois’s seductive voice.

  Kelly coughed. “Uh...say, didn’t Janie run in here?”

  Janie nervously pressed herself behind Lois’s coat rack, avoiding Kelly’s glance. Officer Kelly attempted to sidestep Lois.

  “No, coodles,” Lois insisted. “Do you think I’d want to bring you into my secret little corner if someone was here? Hmm?”

  Kelly gushed. “Naw. I guess not.”

  “Kelly,” the other officer’s voice rang out. “Come on!”

  “I gotta go.” He murmured apologies as he departed.

  Janie twisted in front of Lois, kissed her cheek and slapped a few dollars in her hand. “Have fun on me tonight, okay?” Janie politely sidestepped a brunette. “Maybe you and coodles later.”

  “Who they after?” the brunette asked Lois.

  Lois leaned against her door jamb with a gruff. “Well, it ain’t me. Hey, Janie! What am I supposed to do with this? You know I can’t have fun without you. At least, not the kind of fun I’d like to have.”

  Janie winked at her before disappearing round a corner.

  Janie knew this theater like the back of her hand and soon caught up with Frank. They ran past stagehands, who protested the intrusion, and skidded out onto the corner of the stage, then leapt into the seated audience. The officers barreled onto the stage, their blue uniforms and brass buttons gleaming in the footlights.

  “Coppers!” a voice shouted from the crowd.

  Instantly screams and shouts rang out and tables overturned as patrons rushed for the exits like cockroaches in the sudden glare of a light bulb. The fluid mass spilled out onto the sidewalk and dissipated quickly, on foot, in sedans and cabs. Janie and Frank tried to halt a cab by stepping out into the street. Frank let out a yelp and put his arms protectively in front of his head as the cab screeched to a halt mere inches from his legs.

  “What are you trying to do, Janie, kill us?” he cried.

  Janie pushed him into the cab and then jumped in behind him. “I’m trying to save our lives here, Frank.”

  “You sure got a funny way of showing it.”

  The cabbie turned his hard-nosed, leathery face toward the back seat and glared at her. “What are you? Nuts? Get outta my cab.”

  Janie shoved a ten dollar bill before his bulging eyes. “Just get us outta here, will ya?”

  The cabbie snatched the bill and sped away from the furor in the street.

  She slumped back against the seat with a deep breath of relief. The feeling was short-lived. She was instantly seized with an instinctive apprehension of discernment. She turned slowly to the other passenger. At once, awe and shock mingled Janie’s emotions as she stared at features identical to her own. Such an unearthly moment was swiftly taken away as shots from the car behind them rattled out, scathing the back of the cab.

  Everyone ducked, including the cabby. “Jezzus, these fellas are serious.”

  “Of course they’re serious,” Janie raged. “Get us outta here, dammit.”

  The cabbie didn’t hesitate. The pedal struck the floorboard flush. He was a good driver, and despite the snow, he kept an impressive distance ahead of Madden’s thugs until he was sideswiped by another vehicle with more of Madden’s men sticking machine guns out the windows.

  “Janie, what the hell did you do?” Frank asked in horror.

  “Madden thinks I have his money.”

  Suddenly there was a car behind them, shoving itself against the cab’s bumper, and a second car smashing itself into the side panel. More shots echoed through the street and the rear canvas was shredded by bullets.

  Instinctively, Janie pushed Frank and the other woman to the floor. “Keep your heads down.” Janie wished Cross would catch up to her, but even if his cruisers were in pursuit, they would be too late.

  The side panel was rammed again and there was another hail of bullets, and the cabbie lost control of the vehicle and slid on the ice, plunging headlong into the plate glass window of the store on the corner. Glass and brick flew as the cab careened through tables and shelves of clothing, finally coming to a stop as it splintered the counter.

  After a pause and a breath, Frank leaned over the seat to check on the driver and paled at the sight of the cabbie’s lacerated body resting partway through the windshield. “Oh, my God.” He winced as he shifted back toward Janie.

  Janie spotted flames rising from underneath the hood. The engine had caught fire.

  “It’s going to blow!” he shrieked.

  Janie shoved him toward the door. “Go! Go!”

  “I can’t!” he yelled, trying his door. It was crushed into immobility. He glanced at the woman passenger.

  Janie pressed the woman’s limp body back against the seat and kicked open the door on that side. “She’s gone,” Janie said.

  Frank cringed away from the blonde’s bullet-shattered form, but Janie grabbed his sleeve and pushed him past the body, assisting his flailing exit. He had scarcely hit the pavement before the car bucked with an explosion beneath the hood.

  “Janie, come on,” he hissed urgently.

  Janie crawled out of the car and then suddenly stopped with a notion and turned back. She tore off her coat and tossed it over the woman’s lap, then removed her fedora and fitted it on the woman’s head. She grabbed the woman’s purse and stepped back. She was struck dumb by the sight. She knew the grizzly moment would be burned in her mind for a very long time.

  Although Janie tried to shake the thought that even though the dead woman wasn’t really her, somehow a piece of her was gone forever and only half of her walked away.

  Frank had cleared the building with Janie close behind. She was going to alert him of her presence but quickly hesitated, seeing Cross approaching and barking an order to an officer. She ran and hunched down behind a trash can across the street just before a great explosion rocked the building. The blast concussion threw Frank off his feet and behind a parked car.

  Janie craned her neck enough to spy Frank stagger to his feet, uninjured.

  “Janie!” he cried.

  Frank gawked at the flame and debris as it reached out into the cold air.

  “God dammit, Janie,” Cross cried. “Why the hell didn’t you listen to me? Jezzus Christ—”

  Frank’s balance was disturbed from his emotional dishevelment and he stumbled farther across the street. His face was swollen from tears.

  “Frank,” Janie whispered.

  Janie’s voice seemed to startle him.

  “Frank.”

  His feet shuffled nervously on the icy street as he glanced over his shoulder. He wiped the moisture off his face. She met his smile with a grateful sigh.

  Chapter Two

  **Review Copy Only -- Not For Sale Or Redistribution**

  FRANK’S FAMILY LIVED upstairs from their bakery.

  “I can tell
you with assurance my father has been pacing our mustard colored carpet for these many hours waiting for me to come home,” said Frank. “He follows the same worn tread with his slippered feet that began when my mother was in labor with me.”

  Janie looked askance at Frank, eyeing his mussed hair, ripped and dirty clothes, and broken spectacle lens. “Lucky you.” Her father never wore a tread for her. Ever.

  In the kitchen of the bakery, Janie was looking at a shoulder wound in the mirror while dabbing at the blood with a wet cloth when she spied Mr. Ephraim’s features reflecting back at her.

  Janie disregarded his obvious concern. “I’ve come to pick up an order.”

  Frank turned to his father’s stoic pause. “What order?”

  Abraham eased his ruffled brow. “Go get yourself cleaned up. Have your mother tend to your cuts.”

  “But—”

  Abraham snapped back with a mouthful of Yiddish Janie couldn’t understand. Whatever he had said, Frank grudgingly complied by departing.

  Abraham pulled his glasses from the pocket of his housecoat and fitted them over his ears, then closely scrutinized the cut on Janie’s forehead. She reached into her trouser pocket and removed a scrap of white paper which she held up between her fingers, distracting him from his assessment. His eyes darted from the paper to her glare.

  He led her to the wire shelving near the back door and pulled down two bags stuffed with challah bread.

  As he faced her, Janie asked, “Can you sleep at night, Rabbi, knowing what you’ve done?”

  “I can sleep at night knowing I helped save a life,” he returned.

  “How is stuffing challah with stolen mob money saving a life?”

  “Your father wanted to make sure you would be taken care of. He asked me to do him this favor, and because you and Frank are friends...Eh.” Abraham shrugged.

  The silence weighed heavily between them until she couldn’t stand it any longer. With understanding, she pulled herself to her full height. “He knew this was going down, didn’t he?” she muttered. “That’s why he sent me to Addi’s.”

  “When you play with the devil, you’re going to get burned,” Abraham said with resignation.

  “Yeah, well, you’d better put that bag down before your fingers catch fire, Rabbi.”

  Janie turned to leave, but Abraham grabbed her sleeve. “Take it, Janie. Take it.”

  “It doesn’t belong to me.”

  “Well, it didn’t belong to that Irish hoodlum either.”

  “And nobody’s the better for it,” Janie said. “I’ve seen enough bodies for one day. I don’t want your death on my conscience too.”

  Abraham tugged on her sleeve. “Take it, Janie.”

  “Did she tell you everyone thinks she’s dead?” Frank stepped from the shadows.

  “You’re dead?” Abraham peered at Janie. “Good. Take this and disappear. Keep your father from turning in his grave with worry about you for the rest of your life.”

  “My father’s right, Janie,” Frank added. “You can’t stay in New York. You’ll be found out. It was a great trick to throw your pocket money into the explosion like you did, but it might not fool Madden. You can’t be sure he won’t have his thugs at the funeral, or even at the morgue.”

  “She looked just like me, Frank,” Janie said. “How are they going to know it wasn’t me?”

  “Yeah. That was pretty creepy. You couldn’t have planned it better if you’d tried.”

  Abraham stared at her resolutely. “Take the blessing God has given you. Be grateful you are still alive, and show some appreciation.”

  She drew a slow breath and pulled the woman’s passport from her pocket. Carefully Janie opened the book and read the name, “Carolyn Vaughn.” How frightening the notion to step into someone else’s shoes. Janie dropped her shoulders and nervously ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure this is a blessing.”

  Frank stepped closer and smiled gently. “You can do it, Janie. Trust that God is giving you an open door.”

  “My faith isn’t as pure as yours, Frank.”

  “Noah needed no encouragement to flee when God sent the flood waters to destroy the earth,” said Abraham. “Neither did he hesitate to step off the ark onto the slope of Mount Ararat where he would find a new life. He trusted that God would care of him.”

  “No disrespect Mr. Ephraim, but Noah had forty days and forty nights to think about it.”

  “He accepted his inheritance. One that is afforded to all children of God.”

  CAROLYN VAUGHN HAD lived in a stylish Manhattan apartment. Janie drifted through each room, noting that her tastes had been simple and neutral, and that the galley kitchen looked scrubbed and untouched. Obviously, she had not been a cook. The bedroom was cozy and quaint, white linen fabric stretching as a canopy over the four poster mahogany bed.

  “Huh. A romantic. Guess we’re more similar than I might have expected,” Janie murmured.

  The bed looked inviting. Janie tossed her bags of bread on the floor next to the nightstand, along with another bag of necessities picked up at a corner drugstore, and then plopped onto the bed. Even though it was four in the morning, until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how tired she was. The mattress was very comfortable. Like a seductive lover, it induced her to stay. She gave in, kicked off her shoes, and stretched out. Within minutes, deep sleep brought her temporary relief from the life altering events of the day.

  Janie slept five hours without moving so much as a muscle, then woke with a start at visions of being in the cab with her arms on fire. She bolted upright with a gasp, heart pounding and sweat pouring off of her. She caught her breath and focused on her surroundings, finally remembering where she was. After a moment, she closed her eyes and plopped back on the bed.

  After making a mental checklist of things she had to get accomplished, Janie rose grudgingly. She padded out into the living room and opened cabinets and drawers as she searched for a pair of scissors. She eventually ran across a sewing bag near the foot of the khaki sofa. Janie flipped on the bathroom lights and stared at her reflection in the mirror, comparing her features to those of the photo in Carolyn’s passport that had been in the nightstand. She set the passport aside and grabbing a handful of her long hair, began to snip.

  The hot shower was invigorating as it pattered in soft massage against her aching muscles. Water cascaded in ripples over broad shoulders, firm breasts and buttocks. The steam rose and swirled around the room, misting the mirror on the medicine cabinet. Beneath it lay an empty bottle of blonde hair dye.

  The white silk dragon robe was comfortable and smooth against Janie’s freshly moisturized skin. She stepped into the bedroom, her feet appreciating the caramel Berber weave as she rubbed a towel through much shorter and blonde hair. After opening the doors of an ornately carved hickory armoire, Janie grimaced at the casual yet classy female fashions inside.

  “This is so feminine,” she said with a moan.

  The clothes were stored with care, impeccably spaced and arranged by color and type. Janie chose a pair of brown slacks, a white, long sleeved blouse, and a camel-colored lamb’s wool cardigan. She was astonished to find that everything, including the loafers, fit her as if they had been tailor-made. Janie was impressed by what she saw in the full-length mirror. “At least she had good taste.”

  Her hair now dry, she clipped away the straggly ends, polishing the image. Again she eyed Carolyn’s passport photo. A shiver traveled down her spine at their eerie similarity, and the opportunity their chance encounter was affording her.

  “Well, there you go.”

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Janie decided to open all of the braided challah that Abraham had given her. The bread was quite thin, revealing the stuffing of rolled money as quite a significant amount. The bed was a mess, with crumbs and pieces of loaf everywhere. It was nothing compared to the stacks of money. Janie leaned against the doorjamb, staring at the overwhelming sum in her possession.

>   “Christ.”

  Janie’s father had managed to skim a small fortune from the mob, to the tune of about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was then she realized just how good a baker Abraham Ephraim was. And how good a crook her father was. It was certainly the devil’s temptation. If it really was Madden’s money, what was his accountant doing all the time her father had been extorting, and why had it taken them so long to notice that the money was missing? Janie rubbed her head. All this appalling crookedness was tiring.

  She decided to distract herself with getting to know more about the mysterious Carolyn Vaughn. Carolyn seemed to be a woman of class, probably upper crust. The name-brand products in the apartment were of international design. Whatever she did, she had traveled frequently. Janie flipped through the pages of Carolyn’s passport again. She was hoping, like the pages of a childhood story book, such an act would invoke her own imagination to picture Carolyn’s life lived in Paris, Venice, Madrid, London, Uruguay, everywhere she went. An odd desire of discovery melted into Janie’s sinews in layers of sublimity. Unfolding before her was a truth and beauty only she could unveil. Wherever this path led her to next, she knew there was no going back to the life of Janie O’Grady.

  Janie spent the evening drifting around the apartment in idle study of Carolyn Vaughn. She was apprehensive at first, feeling it an intrusion. She finally concluded Carolyn was sensible, and lonely.

  Janie sauntered into the tiny library nook and placed a plate of bread and cheese on the small table along with a cup of freshly brewed tea. She cranked the Victrola and set the needle in place. The record it played was Chopin’s Fantasie-Impromptu. Sitting, she reached over to switch on the little Art Deco table lamp and noticed a small oblong box made of abalone shell. Janie opened it as she nibbled on a piece of cheese. The box held a pair of reading glasses. With raised eyebrow, she placed them on the bridge of her nose. She opened a book she had pulled from the shelf, and was astonished at the clarity of the letters before her.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”