Nobody Lives Forever

by Edna Buchanan

  She pranced into the room like a long-legged thoroughbred entering the winner’s circle. A white togalike minidress covered her bright leotard and shiny tights. Her long hair was pulled back and held by a butterfly clip. Her glowing skin bore no trace of cosmetics, and her smile was toothpaste-ad perfect.

  “Where have you been working out, Rick? You’re a total stranger here lately.” She glanced at the other faces in the room and then back at his. “Is this business?” Her warm brown eyes grew larger as she read the note.

  “Boo, hiss,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Sicko alert.”

  Rick explained. “It isn’t just obscene,” he concluded. “Because of my job and the fact that we have a recent unsolved homicide in our neighborhood, I have to take this seriously. Especially since nobody else seems to be a target. I’d be more comfortable if this freak had a scattergun approach and everybody here had little love notes in their gym bags. That’s why I want to know who did it, and why. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. It had to be somebody in your class this morning. That narrows it down to one of the guys in that group…” His voice trailed off as Tawny Marie and Dusty exchanged glances.

  “There were no men in that class, Rick,” Tawny Marie said.

  Rick was irritated during the drive home when Laurel pointedly asked how he happened to know Tawny Marie. He played dumb, his voice casual. “Strictly from the center, sweetheart. I helped organize arrangements to have the guys train there for the Police Olympics. She coordinated it at that end. Did a good job.”

  “Did you ever take her out?”

  His eyes closed in a moment of exasperation. “Nope,” he lied, recalling his conversation with Jim. “I think I bought her a drink once…”

  “Did you…?”

  “No way.”

  Neither spoke again until they rolled into the white gravel driveway and the shade of the canvas carport. “You have any ideas about the note, hon? I felt kind of stupid. Why didn’t you mention that you were in an all-girl class?”

  “I didn’t remember that there were no men.” She sounded vague and looked confused.

  “Have you seen anybody acting strange, giving you the eye?”

  She turned to him. “You mean you haven’t figured it out yet?” Bewilderment no longer clouded the green-gold eyes. They were gray, with granitelike certainty. Her voice was razor sharp and crisp with conviction. “You are the detective.” She studied him boldly, her chin held at an arrogant angle.

  “I wish everybody’d stop saying that,” he said ruefully, only half joking.

  “I know who did it. I know who’s trying to scare me.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He shifted the car into park, left the engine running to keep cold air blasting from the air conditioner, and half turned toward her on the leather seat, looking expectant. “Who, babe?”

  “The only person in that class who knows me and has anything against me.” She paused for a moment. “Dusty.”

  “You mean you think she … oh, come on! She wouldn’t do a thing like that, babe. Count on it. You can take that to the bank. You can’t really believe that.”

  “I don’t want to, but I do,” she said emphatically. “You always talk about motives and opportunity. Nobody else has a motive. She certainly had the opportunity. She was right there.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” he said sharply, and switched off the ignition. “A lot of weirdos out there see somebody and don’t even need a reason. Or they know I’m a cop.”

  Her face remained closed.

  “Why?” he asked. “She wouldn’t do something that stupid. She’s a police officer, for God’s sake, and a friend.”

  “Not my friend. She’s jealous of me because this is my home now.” The voice was slightly louder and higher-pitched.

  “I never heard anything more off the wall. She’s my partner, we work together,” he said flatly, as though that were the bottom line. He opened his door to the moist summer heat that overwhelmed the car in seconds, clasping them both in its breathless embrace.

  She still sat, looking petulant. He walked around, crunched open her door and rested his left hand gently on the back of her neck. “Come on, babe, there’s gotta be some other answer.”

  She stepped out, glancing up into his eyes with a small smile. “I’ll fix you an omelette. Then I really have to get busy. I need to do the baking and then start work on the garden.”

  He stood staring after her, his hands on his hips, then shook his head and followed her slowly into the house.

  Rick thought the accusation forgotten, but that night at the station he could not help but notice that one of the three pens always clipped to the outside pocket of Dusty’s big soft leather handbag was missing. He saw only two. Was the missing pen red? He tried to recall. If the note was a bizarre practical joke that had backfired, he thought, she would be smart enough to toss the pen. He was annoyed at himself for even considering such a possibility. More serious was the possibility that the note might somehow be linked to the Thorne murder.

  The homicide file Mack Thomas had compiled in the convenience-store killing of the Pakistani clerk had finally arrived on Rick’s desk. The contents were disappointing.

  “There’s nothing in here,” Jim said, disgusted, shaking an empty manila enveloped marked “Evidence.”

  “They didn’t even interview the guy who worked on the victim’s night off, to see if anybody had been hanging around or if there had been any arguments or unreported holdup attempts. I don’t believe this guy. I’ve seen misdemeanor investigations that were more thorough than this fucking first-degree murder case.”

  The wind pounded like frantic fists on the windows. Stormy weather was always more fierce on the bay islands. Laurel slammed doors and sobbed out loud. Alone, she thought only she could hear. There were clothes in her closet that she could not remember buying, in styles she would never wear, shapeless cotton housedresses and a leather miniskirt, too many events she did not remember, puzzles she could not explain, gaps in time, missing hours. She had tried to call a dozen times during the past two weeks. Something had always stopped her. Now she managed to dial the number.

  “Mother?” She could barely speak the word, her voice breaking.

  “What is it, Laurel?” The voice echoed trepidation.

  “It’s happening again. I can’t remember. I’m losing time.” The hand that held the telephone was trembling.

  There was silence.

  “Mother?”

  “Are you sure?” The voice sounded resigned and weary.

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  “What does Rick say?”

  “He doesn’t know!” Shrill and hysterical, she was crying now.

  “You must try to stay calm, Laurel. Don’t let yourself get upset. You know that makes it worse. Perhaps,” the tone was hopeful, “since Rick doesn’t know, it’s not serious this time.”

  “It is serious. Terrible things are happening. I’m going crazy,” she moaned, rocking back and forth in her chair.

  “Don’t use that word, Laurel. Never. Especially not to Rick. Try to stay strong and catch hold of yourself. How bad is it?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m scared. Shall I tell Rick?”

  The voice was uncertain. “I don’t think it wise. Do your?”

  “He’ll hate me, and I don’t want to lose him.”

  “Well then, I wouldn’t. If you were married…”

  “We’re not! What am I going to do?”

  “Your father is not all that well. To be truthful, I’m not in the best of health either. It would be a real hardship for us to come down there now, but,” she sighed, “I’ll tell him, and we’ll try to come soon.”

  “Soon, mother. Please! I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” The older woman sounded exhausted. “We thought you were happy.”

  “I was, then all these things started happening, like before, only
worse.” Laurel said good-bye, put her head down and sobbed.

  The tears slowly subsided.

  Several minutes later Alex lifted his head and dialed the same number. Laurel’s mother answered on the second ring. He told her to butt out and mind her own goddamn business. “Just stay up there, outta our hair. Got me?”

  Harriet called again, a few minutes later. She cheerily explained to Mrs. Trevelyn that everything was just fine and that there was no point in a visit now.

  “If you’re truly certain that you don’t need us…” There was hesitation, but obvious relief in the worn-out voice.

  Harriet reassured her, saying a pleasant good-bye. Then she called a conference with the others. Laurel’s precarious state of mind could adversely affect them all. “She’s becoming unhinged. She realizes she’s losing more and more time. We must try to confuse her as little as possible.”

  “So what? I could care less.” Marilyn snapped her gum and crossed her legs. “After all we’ve done for her.”

  “It’s for our own good,” Harriet persisted. “If she becomes any more frightened, she’ll have those meddling parents down on our necks, or she’ll go crying to Rick that she’s nuts. Either way, we wind up back at the shrink, Rick will dump her and we’ll lose this house.”

  “That son of a bitch better not try anything funny,” Alex said malevolently. He paced the room. “I didn’t like that fucking doctor either.”

  “She wouldn’t even have Rick if it wasn’t for me,” Marilyn said, flaunting the fact. “I was the one who met him.”

  “Only because I was driving the car.” Alex jabbed a thumb to his chest, full of his own importance. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Yeah, but the minute you heard the siren, you took off and left me in the driver’s seat,” Marilyn said. “I was the one he liked. I’m the one who called him. Laurel never even met him until we were already out on a date.” She smirked. “I wish I could have seen her face when she suddenly found herself feeding Rick oysters in a restaurant and couldn’t remember how she got there.”

  “It’s a good thing he thinks she’s cute when she’s embarrassed and confused,” Harriet said. “That’s another thing, if you get yourself in a jam in the future, Alex, I really think you should see it through and not leave it to one of us to handle.”

  “Well, it worked that time, didn’t it? Although maybe you’re right, I should of stayed out and shot his ass right off that motorcycle. Then we wouldn’t be stuck with that bastard. And,” his voice rose, “who the hell are you to talk? What about you leaving Laurel in the kitchen with that fancy coffeepot she couldn’t figure out? You’re the one who’s supposed to take care of all that stuff.”

  “I thought it amusing,” Harriet giggled. “It’s about time that dumb klutz learned to use it. She takes all the credit for what I do, and she can’t even boil water.”

  “But you’re the one who keeps harping that we should quit spooking her.”

  “That’s right. But you’re the one who’ll ruin it for all of us if you don’t stop. That note you sent Laurel was really stupid.”

  “Stupid? What about you? You dumb bitch. Was it cool what you did with the kitten? You coulda blown it yourself. Rick was right outside. Laurel almost picked up on the cat hair in the sink. The damn animal lived right next door.”

  “So did Rob Thorne! And the filthy little creature was going to mess up my kitchen!” Harriet shrieked. “You know I will not stand for that!”

  Jennifer began to wail. “See what you’ve done now,” Harriet raged. “You woke up the little one.”

  Marilyn began to buff her nails and complain that she was not getting enough action from Rick because he was never home.

  “I’m lucky he’s not, or I’d never get out,” Alex said. “There you go again, just thinking about yourselves.”

  “At least somebody here thinks,” Harriet hissed from deep in the tunnel. “What were you going to do if the Thorne kid, or that boy on the beach, caught you? Kiss them on the lips? Or leave one of us out there to deal with it?”

  “Leave it alone. I handled it, didn’t I?”

  “Sure, in your usual cavalier fashion, just like your little visit to the Corleys. If I hadn’t found the jewelry you stole strewn around the bedroom … Can’t you ever put anything away? What if Laurel or Rick found it?”

  “She wouldn’t have known what the hell it was,” he sneered. “We all know the broad is no rocket scientist.”

  “Rick would have. We’d all be in trouble.”

  “Speaking of trouble, Marilyn has got to stay away from Barry at the fitness center. He’ll think he’s talking to her and say something that blows Laurel’s mind. It’s too dangerous. Plus he knows Dusty. That fucking bitch has got to go!”

  “Christ, I have little enough sex life as it is!” Marilyn wailed. “I was just getting to know that young stud next door, and you blew him away! My personal life is my business.”

  “Like hell it is,” Alex said. “Your business is our business. Besides, Barry’s gay.”

  “He is not!” screamed Marilyn.

  “You’re right about Dusty,” Harriet said thoughtfully. “She and Rick are out there screwing around together somewhere right now. What if he decided to dump Laurel for her? Dusty has got to go.”

  “For once,” Alex said happily, “we agree on something.”

  Wind punished the trees outside the station, and the air was thick with the threat of rain, though none had fallen as predicted. The weathermen were wrong as usual.

  “They got all that radar, barometers and shit and they ain’t never right,” Jim said. “Put me in a high-rise building downtown, looking out the window with a pair of binoculars, and I can tell ya what weather is coming. Unencumbered by science, I could do a better job than those half-ass jokers any day of the week.”

  A tropical depression was stalled in the Caribbean and weathermen were watching to see if it died at sea or churned up enough energy to give birth to Hurricane Armando, the first of the season. The detectives were still griping about the gaps in Mack’s scant reports when they were dispatched on their first call of the night, a possible jumper at Jackson Memorial, the big county hospital.

  They left the unmarked Plymouth on the emergency room ramp and met Aileen at the door. Usually unflappable, she looked harried.

  “It’s the sixth floor.” She waved them toward a waiting elevator held open by an orderly.

  “Who the hell is he?”

  “A patient.” She handed Rick the chart. “Old guy. Albert Klonsky. In for tests, a little heart, a little emphysema, a little depressed…”

  “Obviously,” he said, his deep-set gray eyes meeting hers for a flick of an instant.

  Her mouth crimped slightly with the suspicion of a smile. “Bring ’em back alive,” she said, flashing a thumbs-up as the doors slid closed between them.

  Rick grasped the sill and leaned out as the others moved away from the open window. The old man’s callused feet groped, inching along the ledge, toes curled as if to grasp the weathered concrete. The wind howled through the canyons of the hospital complex, ruffling his sparse hair and whipping the hospital gown around his bony knees. Chin muscles taut, his eyes bulged as he tried to see the open window without turning his head.

  “Kill the walkies,” Rick murmured to those behind him. To the open air, out in the night, he said, “Hi, Al, Albert Klonsky.” He kept his voice pleasant, his expression earnest. “Stay right where you are, and try not to move.” Cars looked small six stories down. A blaring horn sounded like the cry of a soaring bird. The man on the ledge stood rigid, rolled his eyes at Rick, took a deep breath and sidestepped further away. He looked resigned as though it would be no big deal to take a step forward and ride the wind.

  “Leave me alone.” The voice came thin and cracked, a wail from a distant echo chamber.

  “Nothing is that bad, Pop. We all have our beefs and problems. It’s never too late.”


  Tears streaked the old man’s cheeks and the too-thin shoulders hunched forward slightly like those of a high diver ready to leave the board.

  “Hold it, Al.” Eyes tight on the old man, as if they could hold him in place, Rick shrugged off his tan sports jacket. He handed it to Jim, along with his gun. “I’m going out there,” he said softly, loosening his tie.

  “Whadda you, crazy? You nuts?” Jim whispered hoarsely.

  “I’m afraid the old guy’s gonna go.”

  Dusty hissed through her teeth, her radio to her ear. “Rick,” she said, her voice an urgent whisper. “Wait for fire, they’re going to set up the life pack.”

  “How long?”

  “ETA is fifteen minutes.”

  “Too long. It takes another five to set up the air bag. This guy won’t wait.”

  “For God’s sake…”

  He stepped out of his Florsheims and the window, onto the cold narrow strip of concrete. Wind buffeted his body, stronger than he had expected. It sounded like the ocean in his ears.

  “I’m not coming out after you,” Jim warned, in a low mutter. “You know I can’t stand heights.”

  Rick pressed all of his 170 pounds hard against the face of the building and did not look down. He inched slowly along the ledge.

  “What are you doing? Don’t come any closer!”

  “Albert, this is scary.” Rick’s shoulder blades were jammed hard against the cold concrete. He had not been afraid to step out there quickly; now he regretted it. Was that the pattern of his entire life? He remembered he was wearing his favorite suit, the one he had worn the day he passed the sergeant’s exam. He hoped he would not ruin it, or worse. The damp and penetrating cold iced his spine, reminding him of something. Eight years old—an uncle in Vermont showing him how to leave the imprint of angels on a field of white, lying in the snow, his arms spread-eagled, gazing into a chalk-color sky and a pale and tired sun that radiated no warmth. He was certain that it could not be the same fierce sphere that sizzled sidewalks in Miami, where the sun was a promise of life in a city by the sea exploding in verdant splendor, where trees never stood barren, where the landscape was forever green and alive. Now it was dark and his back was cold and drenched in perspiration, despite the wind that droned and hummed through the surrounding maze of buildings.