Dancing Made Easy (A Flap Tucker Mystery Book 4)

by Phillip DePoy

  “Did you know,” he interrupted, “that Foggy’s troll Daniel Frank was asking around about Foggy’s own New Year’s Eve party?”

  I took a second, then decided that honesty, especially with someone who had recently tried to shoot you, was the best policy. “Yes, he’s asking around at my behest. I’m checking on your idea that Beth Dane and Joepye were at the party.”

  “Good. I thought that might be it.” He sounded relieved that I’d told him the truth. I got the impression he’d known the truth all along, and this had been a little pop quiz.

  “Why do you ask?” I tried to sound completely innocent.

  “Because I just talked to him.”

  That took a few seconds to digest, considering what a mighty enmity existed between the two. Then I managed to get out “Daniel?”

  “Foggy,” he answered. “We have decided to momentarily bury the hatchet, as they used to say out in the Wild West, and try to work together.”

  Stop the presses. Work together? Mickey “the Pineapple” Nichols and Foggy Moskovitz. “Let me check,” I told him, “but isn’t that one of the signs of the Apocalypse in Revelation?”

  “That is amusing,” he told me dryly. “But would you like to crack wise? Or would you instead perhaps care to join us?”

  “I’ll join.” Between Mick and Foggy, just about everything you wanted to know about Atlanta could be known. I was happy to be the third musketeer; it would make my work a snap.

  “Good,” he answered. “So I propose something of a summit. And since I know without your even saying so that you would wish to have Ms. Oglethorpe involved, why not summitize over at her club? What about sometime around eight o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there,” I assured him.

  “Good. I’ll alert Foggy.” Then his voice got fairly serious again. “I hope Ms. Oglethorpe isn’t still sore at me for busting up her bathroom door.”

  “The door’s not all that happy, yet, but Dally seems to be right enough.”

  “You know, of course, I have every intention of paying for the damage.”

  “Which you could do,” I invited him, “tonight, when we all meet.”

  “Exactly what I had in mind.” There was a commotion on his end. He stayed calm. “So I will be saying goodbye now. Foggy Moskovitz and Daniel Frank have just come in with your friend Paul. They seem to be waving their guns around and insulting everything in sight, so I should probably go now.” And he hung up before I could say anything about it.

  23. Eclectics

  I did a lot of pacing and tapping on things for the next few minutes until Dally got home. She hadn’t even turned off her car when I came bounding out onto the porch.

  “Mickey and Foggy have Paul.” I was not calm.

  She opened her car door. “What?”

  “Daniel’s there too. I was talking to Mick on the phone just now, and the last thing he said before he hung up was that they had just come in with Paul and guns.”

  She stopped still. “That can’t be good.”

  “My thinking exactly.”

  “Where was Mickey?”

  “He’s home,” I told her as I shuffled her back into the car. “And he was driven there by the police themselves, which only makes me suspicious, but I’ll deal with that later.” One difficulty at a time. We’d solve the question of why the cops had been so friendly after we visited the Pineapple at home.

  I’d only been to the Nichols mansion once before, but it was quite impressive. He lived in a part of North Atlanta where seven-million-dollar houses were the norm, so his own palace only stood out a little. Greek columns, Italian landscaping, French doors, Chinese carpets, Japanese ponds, and British antiques combined in such a way as to give the impression that a world-traveled diplomat — or an addled art historian — of some sort might live in the house. But I knew for a fact that Mickey hadn’t left the southeastern portion of the United States for over ten years.

  It must have only taken about a half hour to get to the place, but it seemed like six. Still, I was able to fill Dally in on the highlights of my little internal experience.

  When I was finished, she made her usual keen observations. “Well, this time you’ve really gone off the deep end.”

  I nodded. “For once, I’d agree to that — even though, as you know, I like the deep end.”

  “The better to dive into.”

  “Exactly. But in this case, it actually does seem more like a scene from a cheap Fellini imitation than a clue from the universal unconscious. I mean, look at the picture I’m getting. It’s all over the place.”

  “‘It always is,’” she told me. “Maybe you’re tense and trying too hard.”

  “I think it’s the opposite, that I’m not really concentrating.” I looked out the window. “I think that’s the problem.”

  “You have a lot on your mind.”

  I blinked. “Hold it.”

  “What?” She looked around like she’d missed a turn.

  “This is more or less the conversation I had with the Pineapple about his shooting pattern in your bathroom door.”

  “Interesting.” She returned her eyes to the road. “You mean you told him the reason he shot up my bathroom door was that he had too much on his mind?”

  “No. The reason his pattern was so messy was that he had too much on his mind. The reason he shot it in the first place was to keep from shooting me.”

  “Which would have been lots messier.”

  “Right.” I turned to look at her. “Lots.”

  “Still, what’s that Zen archery book you made me read?”

  “Right. Zen in the Art of Archery, Herrigel. A perfect little book. And I see what you mean. Your aim is your aim is your aim.”

  “To quote Gertrude Stein.” She smiled.

  “Ah. Erudite patter.”

  She stole a glance at me. “You’re not seriously worried about Paul?”

  “Not really,” I said, but I sounded anxious even to myself. “But you’ve got to wonder why Foggy snatched him to begin with. And why there are guns involved.”

  We were nearing the house.

  She pointed. “That’s it?”

  “Once you’ve seen it, you really can’t forget it.”

  Most people’s houses don’t loom the way that house did. It loomed. Even in the clear, cold air, it seemed a little vague and ominous. Maybe because it was just too damned big for a human being to live in.

  Most sensible people wouldn’t have been quite as bold, but I lumbered right up to the front door and banged.

  Seconds later Mickey himself opened the door. “Ah. Tucker. Party of two? You’re expected.”

  I stared. “You were expecting me?”

  He stared right back. “What did you think I meant when I said Foggy and Danny had your pal Paul and there was gun waving? I meant for you to come over.” Blink. “And you did.”

  “I see.” I peered into the foyer. “And how is that particular situation?”

  “Fine.”

  That was all.

  “Fine?”

  He smiled. “It seems that our cohorts in this enterprise were concerned about coming into my house unannounced. Given that I have offered to pop Foggy on several occasions, and in fact that I did do some damage to his melon once, I felt I had to be sympathetic about it. Philosophical even.”

  “I see,” I told him slowly. “So the only reason they were waving guns is that they were just being … cautious.”

  “In a word.”

  “And Paul’s okay?”

  He peered in the direction of the study. “Go ask him yourself, why don’t you?” He looked past me then. “And Ms. Oglethorpe. What a pleasure it is to welcome you into my humble palace.”

  “Pleasure to be here,” she told him, smiling.

  We followed him into the other room. Paul was seated on a thick burgundy art deco-era settee, still in his lab coat work duds, smiling nervously. He seemed relieved to see me.

  “Flap.”

 
; “Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”

  “Oh” — he glanced at Daniel, who was standing close to him, still holding his pistol casually at his side — “I can’t complain.”

  I looked around at our company. “Well, this is really something. Who would ever, in his wildest imagination, have thought that this group of people would be standing in this room?”

  “Of all the gin joints in all the world.” Dally rounded it out.

  “So,” I continued, “even though I had my mind set on our meeting at Easy a little later tonight, I see that the moment might be ripe for some genuine meeting of the minds.”

  Foggy still had his pistol out too, but it was resting in his lap. “I’m glad you feel that way.” Then he stood slowly. “Ms. Oglethorpe. Please forgive me for not getting up sooner. But this pistol is quite delicate, and I would hate for it to go off accidentally and mess up something in this lovely — if overdecorated — room.” “Overdecorated?” Mickey hung the word in the air.

  I took just a moment to reflect that the entire room was in fact a little excessively eclectic.

  “You heard me.” Foggy turned calmly to face the owner of the room.

  Silence.

  “I will speak to my interior designer,” Mickey answered finally, “when she gets back from Nice. Perhaps we could put our heads together and come up with a more simplified look. I myself have always found it to be a bit” — he glanced amiably around — “much, now that you mention it.”

  Foggy seemed to relax a little. “Well, Mick, despite our previous encounters, you do genuinely seem to be making the effort in this particular case.”

  “It’s important to me.” He looked down at the floor. “Important to both of us, I guess.”

  Foggy started to speak, then thinned his lips, and finally put away his revolver.

  It seemed up to me to act as master of ceremonies. “So. Shall we all have a seat?”

  Dally and I sat beside one another in matching Louis XlV-style chairs, not much on comfort, and Mick took a seat with Paul on the sofa. Foggy returned to his secretary’s chair by the window box. Daniel kept his place standing beside Paul. It was hard to tell, but I got the impression that Daniel felt he was acting more on Paul’s behalf — more like a bodyguard than, say, a kidnapper.

  “To business.” Mick began. “I believe that everyone in this room has information germane to the matter at hand, to wit: Who iced Janey?”

  “And the ancillary: Who hung those two girls up in the park?” Daniel offered matter-of-factly. Then he cast his eye about the company. “Ms. Oglethorpe may have something to offer in that regard, though she might not know it.”

  “I know lots of things that I don’t know,” she answered him — in a koan I was proud of.

  “Precisely.” Mick smiled. “So let’s get to it.”

  “First” — Foggy spoke right up, holding up his famous index finger — “let me apologize to everyone for waving this gun about the place.” He stole a glance at Paul. “I’m certain if you had seen the side of Mr. Pineapple here to which I have been privy, you would have come in with a little protection too.”

  “It’s okay.” Paul’s voice was just slightly shaky.

  Mickey nodded. “Accepted under the circumstances. But if you don’t mind, let me ask the question that is on everyone’s mind: Why is this nervous man in a white lab coat here in my house in the first place?”

  “Yes.” Paul shifted a little to face Foggy. “What about that?”

  “He is here in the capacity of the color man,” Daniel spoke up, not moving. “I have been asking around, and it comes out that Joepye Adder and Hepzibah — called Beth — Dane were, in fact, uninvited guests at a certain New Year’s Eve party a few weeks back. They ate food and drank champagne —”

  “Which is fine by me.” Foggy picked up. “That’s what it was there for. But they also took some snapshots, which is strictly NG in my book. I had too many notables in attendance who would wish to remain anonymous. So I had Daniel here nab the camera —”

  “At which point,” Daniel finished, “I asked the strange little couple to split. In fact I even had one of our hired security men call them a taxi, because I had been instructed to behave in an extra gentlemanly fashion on that particular evening.”

  Mick turned to me, nodding approvingly. “It was quite a fine affair. Even with all the trouble I caused, everyone treated me discreetly.”

  “I thought,” Foggy pressed ahead, “it might be worth something to see what those two had taken pictures of. So with a little effort, I found the confiscated camera amongst the evening’s — shall we say ‘lost and found’ items? — and developed the film.”

  Dally leaned forward. I smiled. Foggy was really playing this for the Oscar nomination. He just sat, surveying everyone in the room for a moment, then slowly reached into his coat. A tribute to Mickey’s nerve, the Pineapple didn’t even flinch.

  Foggy produced five shots and laid them out on the table between our chairs and Paul’s sofa.

  There were three of Janey, one of Mick, and one of a burly man I didn’t know.

  “Who’s the big gent?” I looked up at Foggy.

  “Exactly,” he said, raising the finger again.

  “That,” Daniel said, “was one of the outside security men I had hired for the night.”

  “Yes.” Big smile from Foggy. “But his usual occupation was security at none other than the Centers for Disease Control here in Atlanta, GA, and his main station was the section where our special guest, Paul, is currently working.”

  Foggy paused, and it took Paul only a second to realize he was on.

  “Oh.” He sat up. “Well. The deal is, it looks like the commotion on the outside of the building, my building where I work at the CDC? The night of the theft? That was our boy, Joepye — the commotion. He was drunk and leaning on the buzzer out front and wouldn’t go away.” He looked at Foggy. “I used to know him, you know. He used to work at Tech with me. He said he was there to say hello to me.”

  “Ah.” Foggy looked at me and raised one eyebrow this time instead of that finger. “The plot, as they say …” And he trailed off.

  “And the security guard on duty that night,” I said, “was this guy, the Charles Atlas guy in the photo.”

  Paul nodded. “Uh-huh, good guess, and he has since resigned.”

  “And,” Daniel interjected quickly, “disappeared.”

  “But.” That’s all Foggy said.

  “There’s more?” Mick leaned forward, smiling what seemed to be quite the approving smile at Mr. Moskovitz.

  Foggy returned the favorable look. “There is.” He sat up straighter. “Tell them what we discussed, Paul.”

  “Okay, Foggy.” Paul’s shoulders relaxed, and he exhibited a little wan smile of his own. “Here’s the deal: Each one of those toxins that was stolen? In the form that we had it in for travel, it was safe to handle. Get a little on your skin, you wash it off quick and you’re okay. But if you happened to inject a bunch of it, with a big old needle or something, into a person? That person’s esophagus would mostly likely seize up right quick, and that person would suffocate. Toxic shock — you get the same reaction from a lot of things.”

  “Sort of like, for example,” Foggy slipped in quietly, “if they had been choked — if you didn’t look too closely.”

  “Of course,” Paul went right on, “the second you did the ordinary toxicology screen on somebody, you’d pick up a good blast of these toxins —”

  “If you did the test.” Mickey interrupted. “But what if the body was cremated or buried before you got to do such a test?”

  “Well, then, obviously …” Paul started to reply before he realized the rhetorical nature of Mick’s question.

  “It strikes me” — Mick settled back and lowered his lids in my direction — “that if someone had a gimmick that would help put all these bits and pieces together, now would be the time to use same.”

  “Yeah, Mick.” I nodded. “I alre
ady tried.”

  “But Detective Huyne tossed a monkey wrench into your works. You told me on the phone.”

  “Well” — I stared down at the pictures on the table — “even before that I was shuffling through some pretty strange snapshots of my own. I’m not sure it’s working right, my trick.”

  Mickey put his fingers together. “Why not share? Maybe all of us at once could help with the assembly.”

  “It’s not like that,” I told him. “It’s not committee work.”

  “Well, you talk it over with our Ms. Oglethorpe, this odd little experience, don’t you?”

  “Usually —”

  “So why don’t you just do that now and let the rest of us … overhear?”

  I looked at Dally. “I feel like I’m in a sideshow.”

  “Where else would you fit” — she looked around — “in this particular circus?”

  Good point. “Okay.” I sighed. “In a nutshell: I saw Janey’s face, then Beth Dane’s face. Her uncle was playing his bass in the background, only with a hacksaw, and the bass was in the shape of a woman’s torso — like in that Dalí film. While I was watching that, Joepye Adder picked my pocket. Then there was a long line of girls dancing the tango, and spiders crawling on a corpse. Finally there was this gallery, like an art gallery, with a long line of photos, only one of the images, one of the photos, came to life and climbed out of the frame. A second later that person brought another photo of another girl and hung it where the original had been, tossing away an empty frame. Now, the spiders are for the tarantella, obviously, and the tango, from the second note, comes from the scarlet fever toxin because it was from an outbreak in Argentina, where the tango was born. But the rest …” I shook my head.

  “So,” Paul spoke up, “the phrase nutshell actually does apply.”

  Mickey Nichols shook his head. “Okay, my fault. I had no idea what your thingus was like. I get nothing out of it.”

  The atmosphere in the room had turned strange.

  I turned to Dally. “This is why I don’t like to discuss it.”

  “So why did you?” she asked me, reasonably.