by Gary Ruffin
“I know that I will, Agent, and thank you so much again. If Chief Cooper calls, I’ll tell him to get in touch with you immediately. If you don’t hear from him, try back in a couple of hours. I’m certain he’ll be back by then.”
“Will do, Ms. Page.” He chuckled, and said, “Pardon my pun, but I’m glad we can finally turn the page on this one.”
Cherry chuckled too, and said, “You’re forgiven for that one, Agent Carver.”
“Thanks. Bye now, and you take care.”
“I will, Agent Carver. You, as well. Bye-bye,” Cherry said, and placed the receiver back on the cradle. She smiled to herself as she thought about what a joy it would be to get back to filming, and then giggled as she realized the only maniac she would have to fend off now would be her unctuous producer, Lawrence Lyndon-Bowen.
She spent the next couple of minutes flossing, and was tidying up the sink area when she heard a knock at the door of the suite.
“Just a minute,” she called out, grabbed her robe from the hook on the bathroom door, and pulled it on as she walked to the suite’s entrance. Expecting housekeeping, she looked through the peephole and saw a yellow mass of flowers in the hands of a deliveryman.
“Yes?” she asked through the door.
“Delivery for Ms. Page,” the uniformed man said, and pulled the flowers to the side so she could see his cap. It read: “FTD.”
Cherry opened the door and said, “Oh, how lovely! Tea roses!” She put her nose into them, and smiled at the thought of Coop remembering Poppy’s favorite flower. “Come in, please, and put them on the corner table if you would. What a lovely surprise!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the deliveryman said. He took the huge bouquet over and set the big crystal vase down on the table.
Cherry followed, gently ran a hand over the spray of yellow, and said, “There must be two dozen of them!”
“Three dozen, ma’am,” the man said as he held out a clipboard and pen for her to sign. “Somebody must really like you.”
Cherry signed, and said, “Yes, someone does. And I know just who that someone is.”
The deliveryman pointed and said, “There’s a card on the vase.”
Cherry handed him his pen, tightened the sash on her robe, and pulled the small white envelope free from the vase and opened it.
The handwritten card read: These should do nicely for your funeral. Welcome home. Sincerely, Baal.
Cherry slowly backed away from the flowers as if they were a bomb set to detonate, fainted, and fell into the arms of the deliveryman.
76
AS UNABLE AS I WAS TO MAKE UP MY MIND ABOUT THE WOMEN IN MY life, I was more than able to get out and about after all the indoor living of late. It was another gorgeous day in Atlanta, and I hummed to myself as I trotted across Lenox Road into the Phipps Plaza parking lot.
It was filling up, and there were so many expensive cars and SUVs that it resembled a high-end car lot. The majority of the vehicles were new, or almost new, and all of them seemed to have just come from the detailer.
There was a gorgeous white Rolls Royce that I just had to stop and take a look at; it was so clean and shiny it could only be described as dazzling. Looking into its spotless white interior, I felt a slight touch of melancholy as I realized that I would no longer be tooling around in the bulletproof Bentley. Then I smiled as I realized I might be back in it again, and soon.
Might.
I hummed some more, and headed to the mall entrance.
When Cherry came to, she was lying on her back on the sofa, and the deliveryman was standing over her with a look of concern on his face.
“Are you all right, ma’am? Can I get you a glass of water?” he asked.
Sitting up and making sure the robe covered her nakedness, Cherry said, “Yes, please. Water. That would be nice.” She felt woozy as she tried to come to her senses, and when she did, she wished she hadn’t. The words on the card flooded back into her mind, and she felt a shiver as she considered what they might mean. Surely there was some kind of a mistake, or it was a bad practical joke. That was it, wasn’t it?
The deliveryman brought her a glass of water from the pitcher that sat on the buffet table, and watched as she slowly drained it.
“More?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Cherry said. “Thank you very much. Give me a moment, and I shall go into the bedroom and get you a tip.”
“I can’t let you do that,” the man said pleasantly.
Still slightly woozy, she asked, “Pardon?”
The deliveryman smiled sheepishly, and said, “Really, ma’am, I can’t let you do that. It wasn’t no problem. Besides, I never delivered to a famous movie star before, especially one as pretty as you.”
Cherry smiled weakly, and said, “Nonsense. You worked hard, bringing that big bouquet all the way up here. I’ll just go and get you a tip.”
“I said, I can’t let you do that.”
Cherry felt a growing uneasiness as she looked at the expression on the man’s face. He looked at her like a cat might look at a mouse that had stumbled into its path. She pulled her robe tighter, and said, “I don’t understand. Why on Earth can’t I get you a tip?”
“Because you might wanna use the phone to call someone while you’re in there, and I just can’t let that happen.” He then changed the tone of his voice, and said, “Pardon my pun, but I’m glad we can finally turn the ‘page’ on this one.”
A chill ran up Cherry’s spine as she realized where she’d heard that voice.
She said, “It was you on the phone just now? You’re Agent Carver?”
He laughed, and said, “Yeah, that was me on the phone just now. But no, I’m not Agent Carver.”
77
I FINALLY MADE IT TO THE FRONT ENTRANCE OF THE MALL, WENT INSIDE, and was immediately impressed with the overall look of the place. Lots of highly polished granite and marble, all in soothing colors. Sunlight beamed down from the skylights in the high ceilings, and the place screamed “money.” Or should I say it gently whispered it. Everything was immaculate, and it seemed there was a beautiful woman everywhere I looked.
The women were perfectly dressed, and had that air of confidence only unlimited credit can bring. If I hadn’t been honing my acting skills all week, I would’ve felt like a fish on the dock. But since I had been living and traveling with a beautiful, world-famous movie star, I wasn’t intimidated in the least. Besides, a few of them looked at me as if they recognized me but couldn’t quite put their finger on who I was. That’s what being all over the national news can do for you. I played it cool, and acted like being stared at by beautiful women was part of my everyday routine.
Tiffany’s was on the lower level, and I took my time doing something I’ve never done. I went inside and pretended to shop for a ring. It was ridiculous on more than one level, but dough was the main concern. If you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford it, right? I couldn’t afford, so I didn’t ask. The reward for catching Cherry’s stalker wasn’t mine to claim, so there was no money burning a hole in my pocket. There was a burning question, but I still had no answer, so I moved on.
As I walked around the downstairs level, I tried to get interested in the other pricey stores, but was just bored by them. There was one store that looked pretty interesting—Abercrombie and Fitch—but it didn’t have the kind of stuff Cherry would find appealing, so I didn’t bother going inside. I did make a mental note about the store though, that I would tell Neal to get my Christmas present there, seeing as it was so convenient for him. I’m nothing if not considerate.
When I’d had enough pointless window-shopping, I found the mall directory and noted the locations of Feagin Investigations and the British store. I thought I’d find Cherry’s present first, then check out Neal’s office, and finally head across the street to get souvenirs for Penny, Adam, Earl, and Mrs. Wiley.
The Brits were upstairs, so I took the escalator to the second floor, ready to go on the hunt for Che
rry’s gift. I wanted to get her something really special, a souvenir of our time together that would make her think of me every time she looked at it, and remember what a swell chap I am. Whether I stayed with her, or not.
Then I took into account the state of my bank account, and decided to settle for something that she wouldn’t throw in the trash can as soon as I left for the airport.
The deliveryman pulled off his cap, and out fell a mass of blond curls. “Recognize me now?” he hissed.
Cherry froze. She recognized him, but couldn’t place where she’d seen him. She said in as placating a tone as she could muster, “I feel as though we’ve met, but I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember.”
“Let me tell you then,” he said, and tossed his cap on the sofa. “I was at the charity benefit for your precious Poppy at the High Museum last Monday night. I was among the group of stupid men, including that moronic cowboy, who asked you for a date. I also told you we’d met in London last year at another of your Poppy charity benefits.” He let the words sink in, and then asked, “Now do you remember me?”
Fear rose in her voice, but Cherry managed to reply, “Oh, yes. I remember. You said you had made your fortune in—oil, was it?”
“Dot-com stocks!” he spat, his face reddening. “How many times do I have to tell you? Dot! Com! Stocks!”
“Yes, I remember now. How smart of you to get out before the big crash!” Cherry said. She put her hands in the pockets of her robe so he wouldn’t see them tremble.
The man walked around behind the sofa, and said, “My name is Kenneth Hammond, and I’m well-known not only as a brilliant software designer, but as an astute businessman as well. But all that meant nothing to you, Miss World-famous Movie Star. When we met in London, you blew me off as if I were just another fan, some zero you could ignore and send on his way.” He walked back in front of the sofa, stopped in front of her, and glared as he said, “Well, let me tell you something, Miss Page. That was your first mistake.”
I got off the escalator, and saw the sign for the British store straight ahead about a hundred feet away. I strolled towards it, hoping to catch the eye of a few more rich babes, but, alas and alack, it was not to be. Oh well. My fifteen minutes really were up.
The shop was smaller than most of the others, but it had a nice feel to it, and everything seemed pretty exotic, being as it was all from Great Britain. There was a section for English snacks—candy and crackers and stuff—and a big tea section, and a wall devoted entirely to Royal Family merchandise. Princess Diana trinkets were prominently displayed, and I wondered if she was still a big seller over there, too.
There was also stuff from Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, but mostly the goods seemed to be from England. I was checking out a black-and-white-striped rugby jersey when a nice-looking young woman came over and asked, “May I be of assistance?”
I immediately liked her for her British accent, and because she had that genteel manner that so many of Cherry’s countrymen and -women possess. Her brunette hairstyle and small black eyeglasses reminded me of Sally Allen, and I knew I’d come to the right place.
I read her brass name tag, and said, “Yes, you can be of assistance, Daphne. I’m looking for a gift to give a young Englishwoman that will make her think of me every day. Nothing too expensive, but not a gimcrack either. Got any ideas?”
She smiled, no doubt at my bumpkinish American ways, and said, “I think I have just the thing. Would you follow me over here, please?”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said in my best queen’s English, and we walked over to a section that had silver tea services and porcelain cups and saucers on display.
She picked up a silver spoon, and said, “Perhaps your lady friend would think of you often if you purchased something she would find useful in her daily life. An antique teaspoon perhaps, or a silver tea strainer?”
“Hmm,” I said. “I like the idea of somethin’ related to tea, but antique silver may be out of my price range.” I looked at the prices on the spoon and strainer, and saw that I was right.
There were some nineteenth-century teacups that looked good though, and as I checked them out, I saw it: A hand painted porcelain teacup and saucer with cherries on them. That was all I needed to see.
Another thing I could see was Cherry waking up and having a cuppa in her antique “Coop cup.” Too good to be true.
I held the cup and saucer up, and said, “These are perfect. Can you wrap them as a gift?”
Daphne frowned, and said, “Oh, sir, I’m sorry. Those only come in sets of six. Would that put you over budget?”
Too good to be true was right.
I carefully put the cup and saucer down, gave her my best hangdog expression, and asked, “Isn’t there some way you could sell me just the one?”
She bit her lip, and said, “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but you see, they’re part of a set.”
As I stared at the cherries on the cup, my newfound fame came to the rescue.
Daphne looked at me, cocked her head, and said, “Hold on. You seem awfully familiar. Are you the man I’ve seen escorting Cherry Page? Her bodyguard?”
I knew I had her then, from the excitement in her voice, and the look in her eyes. Gazing around as if I needed to make sure we were alone, which we were, I lowered my voice and said, “Yes, I am Cherry’s bodyguard. Can we work somethin’ out?”
She squealed a stifled, businesslike squeal, took hold of my arm with both hands, and exclaimed while hopping up and down just a little, “I knew there was something special about you the moment you walked in the door! I worship Cherry Page! Knowing that she has been right across the street this past week has been driving me mad!”
“Then you can help?” I said, and leaned closer in order to give her a full dose of my fame and star power. It worked.
Daphne pulled me over to the doorway that led to the back of the shop, looked around as I had done, and said, “The items you chose came in only yesterday, so I’m the only one to have seen them. Tell you what. I’ve one trick up me sleeve. I can give you the cup and saucer, and write it up as ‘arrived damaged.’ Then I’ll just send the others back, and Bob’s your uncle!”
I said, “But wouldn’t they want to see the damaged pieces, for verification? I’ll be more than happy to pay for it, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
She shook her head, “I’ll not hear of it. You let me worry about damages, and verification. It’s a bit underhanded, but under the circumstances—I’ll take care of everything. It shall be my gift to Miss Page and her handsome bodyguard.”
I wanted to ask about my uncle Bob, but just kissed her cheek and said, “Daphne, you’re a living doll. Tell you what. I’ll make sure you get an autographed picture of Cherry. Maybe I can even persuade her to throw in a personal item too. Would you like that?”
Tears formed in her eyes, and she said, “Aren’t cha kind? Aren’t cha kind?” She picked up the cup and saucer, and said, “I don’t really even think my boss, Mrs. Walsh, would be angry if she found out about our little scheme.” She looked at me mischievously, and added, “Now that we know each other a little better, tell you what. I’ll be more than happy to do this for you, but you must do something for me in return.”
Uh-oh. Too good to be true again.
Her eyebrows were up as she waited for my answer.
“And just what exactly must I do for you in return, Daphne?”
She hopped a little again, and said, “You simply must tell me! Is it true what all the tabloids are saying? Did you really and truly have a romance with Cherry?”
I looked her straight in her British eyes, and said, “Sorry to let you down, Daphne, but, no, I didn’t have a romance with her. She’s waaay outta my league. And besides, my girlfriend would kill me if I tried anything with Miss Page.”
Daphne was disappointed, but took the news with a stiff British upper lip.
“Oh, dear. That’s such a shame. I was so hoping she had finally found a good man.
” She sighed, and said, “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe,” I replied.
She winked and motioned with her head for me to follow her into the back room. No one came into the shop as I watched her wrap the perfect present. While she worked, I decided to buy the rugby jersey for myself.
Now that I had Cherry’s gift, I could go across the street to Lenox Square and buy stuff for Penny and my Gulf Front friends. When Daphne finished her wrapping, we walked out of the back, I picked up the rugby jersey, and we headed to the checkout counter to seal the deal.
78
CHERRY LOOKED AT HAMMOND, AND SAID, “I DON’T UNDERSTAND. What was my first mistake?”
Kenneth Hammond reached down to his boot and pulled out the biggest knife Cherry had ever seen.
“Understand now?” he said.
Unable to speak, Cherry tried to keep calm as her hands trembled in the pockets of her robe.
Hammond slowly waved the knife back and forth in front of his face, and said, “Take off the robe, and get on your knees here in front of me.”
Cherry stared at the moving knife dumbly, then in his eyes, and realized she was in the presence of a psychopath. It was time to decide how to play the role of a trapped victim once again. But this time, Poppy would not be there to save her.
Cherry asked in a shaky voice, “Can’t we talk and get to know one another without—without me having to?”
Hammond said with a snarl, “It’s a little late for you to get to know me now, don’tcha think? You had two chances to do that, and you looked right through me, as if I didn’t exist.” He pointed the huge knife at her, and said, “Kinda hard to look right through me now, isn’t it, Miss Page?”
His twisted smile took Cherry back to that terrible night in the London park. But as she sat on the sofa looking at him, something unexpected happened: Instead of being overcome with panic, she suddenly felt a calming influence come over her. It was as if Poppy were coming to her rescue again. Cherry gave in to the inevitable, much as she had that night in the park. But it wasn’t out of a sense of resignation this time; the thought of joining Poppy in heaven gave her sudden strength. She consciously relaxed her body, refusing to show any more fear.
