by Angela Zeman
At that she turned to look at me. “I did say that. But I never meant Pearl’s oppressor had to be the same person as Solly’s murderer. In fact, I went to great pains to leave the question open. A second person might merely be taking advantage of the opportunity created by Solly’s murder.”
“But who could hate Pearl that much?” I insisted. “She never hurt anyone. She wouldn’t even turn Solly in to the police. She sympathized with his feelings, for Pete’s sake!”
Mrs. Risk shrugged. “It’s not always necessary to do something to gain someone’s enmity. Hatred can and often does spring from someone’s own deficiencies and has nothing to do with the person who is hated.”
By this time, Mrs. Risk’s pace had increased so much that she’d by-passed Charlie and had somehow acquired the lead, although I knew she had no idea of where to go. Symbolic of her personality, I thought, suddenly overwhelmed with affection for her.
Charlie said to me, “Maybe Pearl got in somebody’s way without knowing it. Like maybe someone else was in line to do tonight’s gig on TV, and Pearl got the contract first.”
Mrs. Risk stopped short, bringing Charlie and me to an involuntarily abrupt halt. “That’s an excellent hypothesis! She could’ve inadvertently blocked someone’s career. Emotions seem to rule in her business. Deals can be made on a whim, or—”
She made an impatient noise and suddenly resumed walking. “That’s not what’s going on here, or we would’ve caught an inkling of it before now. No, but the leaking to the tabloids, the anonymous tips to the police. The rumors spread among Pearl’s friends to keep them from talking to us. All have been engineered to shake her confidence and destroy our effectiveness in helping her. And to ruin her comeback! If I’m right, tonight’s show will be used as the ultimate weapon against her. Either she’s expected to flop, or Michael is intended to arrest her before the show.”
“But listen,” I insisted. “That all could still be the murderer trying to frame Pearl for Solly’s death. He’d get away free, plus get his revenge. And you admitted Ilene would never hurt Pearl.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Risk, dismissively, slowing her stride, much to our relief. “You know, you’ve named precisely what I’ve sensed from the beginning. Revenge. This multitude of lies surrounds a vicious plot of revenge.” She sighed heavily. Muttering to herself she led us around a corner. “And on that note, let’s not forget that Bella is still an unknown. We’ve no proof of her devotion to Pearl other than what could be a monumental piece of play-acting. Never forget that a con artist is a consummate actor.” She stopped in front of an alcove. “Just where are our rooms, Charlie?”
“Thought you’d never ask. We have 708 and 709, adjoining rooms.” Grinning, he herded us back toward the elevators.
After we unpacked and settled in, we joined up again in the hall.
“What’s next?” asked Charlie. You would have thought we were tots in playland, from his enthusiasm.
“Lunch,” I moaned. “I’m starving. Where’s the restaurant, and not that coffee shop, either. I don’t want any more coffee.”
“No problem. It’s listed here where we go to lunch, and it doesn’t say anything about the coffee shop. In fact, absolutely everything you could ever want to do is listed here,” said Charlie, shoving a long pink sheet into my hand.
Krasner’s Country Club, said the headline. Daily Activities. The page was crammed with closely written lines—each line a separate event, beginning from 8:00 am through to 9:00 pm, which was labeled merely ‘SHOWTIME.’
“Holy mackerel,” I said, reading. “I can enter a miniature golf tournament, have my makeup redone, or hear from the financial answer man from Shearson. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to finish any of the activities, because I’d be dead of starvation before then.”
“There.” Charlie pointed to a line higher up on the sheet.
“Luncheon is being served,” I read, “from 1:00 to 2:00 pm in the Dining Room. Everybody in this place eats at the same time? Omigosh, it’s 1:30. We’re gonna miss it.”
“Don’t panic. They serve until 2, it’s not that you have to eat and get out by 2,” said Charlie.
At my skeptical look, he added, “I asked. I know you and meals.”
“Lovely. So lets find the dining room,” said Mrs. Risk. And we did.
The elderly maitre d’, after checking our names off a list, scanned the tables in the vast crowded room, selected one, and led us to it. “This will be your table,” he announced, pointing to the large paper sign propped among the sugar packets. On it the number 72 was boldly printed in black.
“You mean, our table, as in, for always?” I asked, teasing him.
“For as long as you stay with us,” he amended, eying me. He stalked away.
“Well, that’s what I meant,” I muttered to Charlie.
Then I discovered that the meals were included in the price of the room. We could order the entire menu if we wished. Afterward, as I staggered to my feet, I swore I’d never eat again. Charlie laughed at the idea.
“We must see if anyone else has arrived,” said Mrs. Risk.
“You mean, if Ilene has arrived,” corrected Charlie.
“I wonder if Bella will come.” I said.
Mrs. Risk said with a grim note in her voice, “Oh, she’ll be here. They’ll all be here. Come. Let’s visit the nightclub. Perhaps some of Pearl’s friends are there setting things up for tonight.”
“Aren’t you afraid of running into Pearl?” I asked. “Remember, you said she was scheduled to arrive at about two. It’s past two now.”
“We must exercise a bit of elementary caution, that’s all.” Her voice trailed away as she became lost in thought. “I must somehow talk to Ilene.” She waved a hand in the air. “Ah, well. We’ll find a way.”
With Charlie again in the lead, we headed back for the lobby, which we scouted for signs of Pearl or Michael before scuttling through to reach the glassed-in walkway again. This time, at the end, instead of turning left to enter the coffee shop, we angled right to confront enormous blue padded double doors I hadn’t noticed before. Charlie rattled both door handles. Locked.
I shivered. The air was cold, despite the bright sun flooding in through the enormous glass walls of the walkway.
Mrs. Risk moved over to a window and, resting both hands on a ledge, stood motionless, staring out over the duck pond. The sun spangled the blue water between the small brown bodies of the ducks. I left Charlie to examine the billboard advertising tonight’s show and went over to stand beside her.
I suddenly found myself too depressed to speak, so I just stood there.
Mrs. Risk glanced sideways at me, then resumed her study of the landscape. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Nestled among the Catskill mountains.” She took a deep breath. “If we’re to be successful, I must use a few moments to balance myself. I’ve been plucking facts from the air, grabbing what I can instead of proceeding in an orderly fashion. My concern for Pearl has thrown me askew. I need to put this chaos into order, and I must be in order myself first if I’m to accomplish it.”
I nodded.
She breathed deeply and seemed to settle into herself. Slowly she breathed, in and then out. I could see her abdomen expand and retract instead of her shoulders rising, like most people. In fact, her shoulders settled downwards and stayed there as she relaxed. The sunkenness faded from her eyes as they gazed steadily outward but she seemed rather to be looking inward. A faint smile crept into the corners of her mouth. Her eyelids drooped and the horizontal lines on her forehead disappeared.
After some moments, during which time people passed behind us, she gave a noisy exhalation and turned to me. She looked as if she’d had a nap. I, on the other hand, felt more upset and depressed than ever. What was wrong with me? Pearl had turned out to be innocent after all, and it looked well within Mrs. Risk’s power to clear her name. Shouldn’t I be happy? Charlie strode over.
“Ready?”
Mrs. Risk nodded. She turne
d back to the doors, tried one, and it opened.
My mouth opened, too. I faced Mrs. Risk. “Oh, uh, huh, sure, you somehow conjured the lock—”
Charlie grinned smugly. “The manager came by while you guys were at the window. I said we were with Pearl and asked if he’d let us in through this door instead of making us go all the way around back. He said, sure, and unlocked one.”
“Well, that’s better,” I said firmly as I followed Mrs. Risk into the room.
“Better than magic, dear?” asked Mrs. Risk with exaggerated innocence.
I didn’t answer.
The semi-circular room was kept from complete darkness by red glowing exit signs and a few small safety lights recessed into the floor of the stage area. Elevated concentric tiers of pedestal tables gave everyone in the house a good seat. Except for behind the stage, the walls were painted deep blue in a wraparound surrealistic night skyscape. Big blue and glitter-painted five point stars festooned the white wall that backed the rounded stage. A raised bandstand edged that same back wall, littered with instruments and musicians’ equipment. Pedestal microphones stood ready downstage. The wings were shielded by midnight blue velvet curtains.
As we threaded our way through the tables, descending the tiers, I whispered to Charlie, “I wonder if Pearl knows Michael’s here.” The walls magnified my whisper, an eerie demonstration of the excellent acoustics of the room.
Suddenly I heard voices coming from behind the wing curtain to my right, from which we were now about five yards away.
Mrs. Risk held up a hand and we froze.
From behind the wing curtain tiny Roselle marched smartly onstage in her customary spike heels, her head still turned towards the offstage area as she finished shrieking to someone, “Make damn sure they deliver—” She then faced front and at the sight of us, stopped short.
After a long moment and some apparent effort, she finally got out, “Who the hell let you in?”
“Hello, Roselle,” said Mrs. Risk. She smiled, albeit grimly, but Roselle wasn’t smiling back. She jammed tiny fists onto her nonexistent hips.
“The nerve of you people. You’re not wanted here. Pearlie can’t be upset tonight, of all nights. She told us she got rid of you for good.”
“She spoke only in the heat of anger,” said Mrs. Risk gently. “She didn’t mean it.”
Roselle spat out, “You’re not getting close enough to her to find out. We’re her friends, we’re protecting her.”
“Who’s protecting her from her friends?” I muttered.
“What’s that?”
I raised my voice. “I said, some friends. Liars, cheats—”
“Do you recognize this, Roselle?” Mrs. Risk interrupted me and whisked out from her pocket a small gold box that she offered to Roselle on the palm of her hand. Then, with a twist of her wrist, she held it up like a conjurer between thumb and forefinger, where it gleamed in the soft light. Roselle turned white.
“Wha—” She gulped and struggled visibly for recovery. “What’s that?” she finally asked, but instead of coming forward for a better look, she edged back towards the wing curtain.
Mrs. Risk slipped it back into her pocket, said, “Never mind. Where’s Pearl?”
“Like I’d tell you!” Her words came out strangled.
Mrs. Risk said softly, “If you were truly Pearl’s friend, you would tell me.”
Roselle bristled and stepped bravely towards us again. “I am her friend. For years.”
“How many years?” I asked curiously.
She blinked confusedly at me. She said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were members of the same temple, growing up. Our parents were friends. Pearl introduced me to Simon.” Her sharp features softened. “Pearlie always did for her friends. And now it’s time we did for her.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Risk gently. “You’re right, dear. It is time that her friends ‘did’ for her.” She tilted her head toward the backstage area. “What are you all doing back there now?”
“Arranging her makeup in the dressing room, pressing her costume. Laying in fruit, drinks, ice.” Roselle’s tone was strangely subdued, as if her bluster had been overcome by this tall gaunt woman in black.
“That’s very nice of you all to gather around her tonight. If you’ll take a little advice, continue doing just that. Be sure to keep strangers away. Is Ilene back there with you?”
After a pause, Roselle let out a shaky, “N-no. Only Vivian and Leeann.”
Mrs. Risk nodded, thought a moment, then asked, “May I speak to Vivian, then?”
Roselle hesitated, then raised her voice in a hoarse, “Viv! C’mere!” She spun around on her heels and clattered backstage, making her escape. In a few seconds, Vivian hurried out to us, swathed in a rust colored wrap-around sheath, her bosom once again threatening to spill out of the low neckline. She also tottered on four inch heels.
Breathlessly, she began, “Whaddya want, I’m busy,” then recognized us, although her gaze lingered for a puzzled moment on Charlie. With one hand she smoothed her dress over her abdomen as she said haughtily. “So you showed up. I expected it.” To my surprise, she leaned towards us and mouthed, “Coffee shop, five minutes.” She shooed us away and hurried back behind the curtain.
Mrs. Risk serenely led us out the way we’d come. As the padded door gently thudded shut behind us, I blinked in the glare of sunlight and asked, “What happened in there?”
Mrs. Risk shook her head. We found an isolated corner table in the coffee shop, far enough from the gaping entrance to avoid being easily seen.
In ten minutes, through the doors rushed Vivian, her exposed flesh quivering with agitation. “God, I could use a drink. I’d have met you in the bar, but I have to get back fast.” She squirmed herself into a comfortable position in the chair and crossed her legs. She pressed a beringed hand on Charlie’s knee. “Get me a caff, would you, sweetie?”
He rose amiably. “A caff. Coffee, anyone else?” No one responded, so he wandered off in search of a waiter.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for the longest time,” she said breathily, leaning towards Mrs. Risk.
“Indeed.”
“Yes.” She pulled the tiny sausage-shaped handbag that hung from her shoulder around to her lap and began digging in it. A handkerchief and a lipstick dropped to the floor, but she ignored them as she retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a pink plastic lighter. She snapped her bag shut. The lid promptly popped open again, but she paid no attention. It was, like the others bags I’d seen her carry, covered with material that matched her dress. Maybe she made them herself. “I’ve been reading the most godawful trash about Bella in the papers, it couldn’t possibly be true! Could it?” Her face was a picture of avid expectation.
“The facts are accurate, yes. The conclusions drawn are the tabloids’ own.”
Vivian lit her cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke.
Charlie returned and as he folded himself down to fit into the little chair, he picked up the handkerchief and lipstick from the floor and handed them to Vivian.
“Thanks, sweetie.” She jammed them into her bag without looking and snapped it shut. It popped open again. “I wonder if the police have been paying attention to the papers. Do you think?”
“I think you’d be surprised just what they do pay attention to,” I said dryly.
She glanced coolly at me. “And you’d know, hmm?”
“Are you referring to the rumor about us being police spies?” I asked, just as coolly.
“I think you know we’re not spies,” said Mrs. Risk firmly.
Vivian shrugged, as if to say, maybe. “I just think all the stuff about Bella is highly suggestive. I mean, we all thought she killed Stanley years ago. Why couldn’t she be the one who killed Solly?”
“Why would she kill either of them?” asked Mrs. Risk patiently.
Vivian took another drag on her cigarette. “To dump an encumbrance.”
“There’s always d
ivorce,” I said dryly.
She gave me a long pointed look. “In some cases, divorce costs too much, and I don’t mean just financially. You should know what I mean.”
At the sight of my face, Charlie coughed suddenly with earnest intention, a regular whooping cough/retching sound that almost made me laugh. He needn’t have worried. To attack her physically would’ve been beneath me. All that well-placed flesh was just expensively supported flab. I pride myself on my fairness.
“Why should Bella think of Stanley as an encumbrance?” asked Mrs. Risk, her eyebrows high. “She’d fled to France with him with romantic intentions.”
“There’s such a thing as second thoughts. I knew him, you didn’t. Booorring. The looks of a bookkeeper and the earning power of a caterpillar. Not enough balls to be his own boss, like my Marvin was. Not that I’m exactly rolling in what he left behind.”
“You don’t have enough money to live on?” asked Mrs. Risk, diverted.
Vivian snorted smoke through her nostrils. “How much is enough?”
“Wasn’t Marvin a bookkeeper, too?” I asked oh so innocently.
“A CPA. Not the same thing. Marvin had his faults, but he knew it and made sure his assets outweighed them.” She made a sharp clicking sound with her tongue and cast an appraising glance over Charlie.
“Have you met Charlie?” I asked. “He’s a milkman.”
She smiled dreamily at him, as if she’d added up Charlie’s assets and they outweighed being a milkman.
“And her motive for killing Solly?” pressed Mrs. Risk.
“His money, what else? She wanted the money without the nuisance of marriage. I mean, it’s giving up a lot, having to accommodate a man after years of freedom like she’d had. Making him happy twenty four hours a day, doing things the way he likes instead of suiting yourself. An independent woman.” She shrugged again. “Or maybe Solly just wasn’t to her taste. You wouldn’t believe what attracts some women. Especially women of a certain age. Their hormones get them crazy.” She shuddered at the thought, obviously feeling far from that tricky age, with her hormones in perfect order.
