Soap on a Rope

by Barbara Silkstone

  Irma looked down at him and said, “Sit!”

  He did.

  Lizzy and Pam rushed in the door and ran to my side.

  “Grab Irma!” Grams shrieked at them.

  Outnumbered, Irma looked about for a way to escape. She faked a run at the rose garden staircase, then dodged to the right, and ran out the open front door. She took to the stairs with all of us, including Grams with the candlestick, hot on her heels.

  Irma galloped down the stairs at a good clip—considering the tripability of her long dress she made good time. She threw her weight against the lobby door, broke through, and picked up speed. The yards of sky-blue fabric made her look like a fast moving cloud come to earth. She ran down Central Avenue causing heads to turn and cars to screech to a halt.

  “Wait! Irma!” I yelled as if I believed she would stop.

  Pam and WonderDog led our posse—I followed with Lizzy wobbling on her wedgies. I could hear Grams hollering but dared not look back for fear of losing track of the killer cultist.

  Where was she headed? When she visited our shop she arrived in a brown car—I glanced up the street. There were plenty of vehicles—some brown. Was she hoping for Cosmos to pick her up?

  Irma bolted across the road, cutting through traffic and nearly smashing herself into a mini-van but safely making it to the other side.

  WonderDog stopped at the curb and looked back at Lizzy.

  Pam dodged through the traffic. A pickup truck screeched to a halt but not before Pam rolled off the fender with cat-like agility.

  “You okay?” I yelled, running past her.

  “Get her!” Pam screeched, rubbing her hip.

  Lizzy was now running at my side. “Does she have the key?”

  WonderDog came up beside Lizzy. I glanced down as she wiggle-wobbled along at high speed. “Watch the curb!”

  She didn’t and went flying, skidding along the sidewalk on her stomach with her arms outstretched and her palms upright. They stopped her from slamming her head into the brick wall where she finally came to rest.

  I stopped to help her. Her arms were skinned and her chin was scraped. Her Capri pants protected her legs, but her ankle was already swelling. WonderDog licked her face.

  “Did Irma kill my father?” she asked through a grimace of pain.

  “Not intentionally, but she did.”

  “What’s a little scratch? Let’s get her!”

  I pulled her to her feet. She leaned on me as I scanned the street. I saw the blue caftan flow down the stairs that led to the Magician’s Hat.

  Chapter 36

  “Why is she going in there?” Lizzy said, as she limped along leaning heavily on me.

  “She knows the magicians are Nelson’s enemies. She may have already talked to them. She’s going to them for help.”

  WonderDog charged ahead leaving us in his wake. His Brillo-like body disappeared down the stairs. Nothing could stop that dog—except Irma’s commands.

  “You’re hurt!” Pam caught up with us, holding her hip with one hand.

  I left Lizzy and Pam to hobble along and sprinted to the Hat.

  The moldy steps were slipperier than I remembered. I grabbed the grimy metal railing with my left hand, still gripping Irma’s key in my right. Carefully planting one foot after the other I entered the cigar-smoke contaminated and mildewed magicians’ haven.

  The ever-slimy Bart Bottom, still in his tuxedo-printed T-shirt stood in front of me.

  “You still looking for Harry? You’re out of luck. No one here except me.” His lie as obvious as his comb-over.

  A snarl from WonderDog came from behind the stage curtain—the same one we’d crawled under while chasing Whodunit. I pushed past Bottom.

  Déjà vu all over again. The full body slide worked before so I tried it again—a splintery glide along the wooden floor and under the musty velveteen.

  I rolled to my feet. Same dusty magician props as before. No Irma in sight.

  WonderDog lay growling in front of the blue, red, and yellow phone booth-looking thing adorned with the evil man-in-the-moon face and the word Vanish.

  I smiled. Vanish wasn’t an appropriate word for Irma. She trapped herself by hiding in there.

  Lizzy, Pam, and—amazingly enough—candlestick-wielding Grams clambered under the curtain.

  As they stood—Grams using the candlestick as an aid—I put my forefinger to my lips and pointed at the Vanish Booth.

  I stepped toward the booth and saw WonderDog’s jaws clamp on a piece of sky-blue material sticking out from under the door.

  Perfect. She wasn’t going anywhere once we opened it. I said, “Irma, come out peacefully. We’re all here and WonderDog’s anchoring your caftan.”

  Irma’s voice came out of the Vanish Booth. “WonderDog, sit!”

  Darned if he didn’t heed her again, dropping the caftan hem and going to a sitting position. The material swooshed under the door. No matter, she wasn’t going to get by the three of us when we opened the door. Not to mention Grams itching to bop her with the candlestick.

  I yanked the door open. Empty! I yelled, “Check the backdoor!” Whodunit had gotten

  out that way. I pounded the walls hoping to trigger the secret exit that had to be there.

  Lizzy stuck her head in the booth. “She didn’t get out that way. The backdoor’s padlocked.”

  “Impossible!” I said. “Pam, check the padlock and make sure it’s not a trick lock. “

  “Never mind, Pam.” Lizzy said. “I already did that. It’s a real lock and a real door.”

  “Then there must be a trapdoor under my feet. She got out of here somehow. She was in here. I heard her voice. Saw the hem of her caftan.”

  “I did too,” Grams said, thumping the candlestick on the floor for emphasis.

  Of course, that’s the stuff magic tricks are made of. I continued tapping and pounding on the inside. Lizzy and Pam did the same on the outside. Nothing.

  Grams stomped up and stuck her head inside then announced, “This must be the work of that cult.”

  WonderDog circled the area sniffing. He wore a stunned look in his dark eyes and a frown over his brow.

  I stomped on the floor. “Sounds and feels solid!” I looked at the top again.

  In the near-darkness, something gleamed in the seam where it met the back wall. I stood on tiptoe and pulled. Holding it gingerly, I stepped out of the booth.

  The light was barely bright enough for me to see—Irma’s gold charm—seven small circles linked together—glowed in my hand. Had she intentionally left it for me?

  “We have to see what’s under this booth! Lizzy and Pam, please help me slide this thing.”

  As we lined up to push it, Bart Bottom came through the side door to the stage. “Ladies, move that thing at your own risk. It belonged to the Great Silas. We all think it’s haunted. That’s why it hasn’t been moved since the day he died.”

  Now a ghost on top of cosmic essence, interplanetary travel, illusions, and a vanishing cult leader. I was sick of it. I dealt in reality. “You can tell your attorney we were duly warned.”

  I put my shoulder to the Vanish Booth. “Let’s push.”

  We moved the booth three feet—the floor beneath it was definitely solid. No trapdoor. But in wrestling with the heavy thing, the back wall sprung open a few inches.

  “Aha!” I pointed to the gap. “It had to be! It’s a prop for a magic trick.”

  Pam put her hands on the edge of the moveable wall and pulled. It squealed open another six inches then stopped moving. The wall wasn’t so movable. The concealed hinges had frozen after all these years.

  I didn’t want to believe it but Irma might have truly vanished.

  Kal had to get here immediately and do a thorough search for her. Kal! I got another charley horse in my eyebrow. How many things had I done in the last twenty-four hours without keeping him informed?

  I took the chicken way out and texted him that Irma was the killer and possibly hiding
in the Magician’s Hat.

  “Okay,” I said to the crew, Kal can finish up here. For us, back to Nelson’s apartment.

  I pried the key off my tender palm.

  “Let’s see if we can find what this fits.”

  Chapter 37

  A guy in a flamingo-printed shirt eyed us as we crossed against the traffic on Central Avenue. “Do you ladies need help?”

  “We’re fine,” I said. “But you should see the other gals.”

  The hike back to the apartment seemed longer than the mad dash over. Lizzy blotted at her scrapes, Pam rubbed her hip, and WonderDog looked up at us with blank eyes.

  We squeezed into the elevator. I pressed six and then reached down and patted WonderDog’s head. “You did good, boy!”

  The apartment door stood wide open as we had left it.

  WonderDog trotted in and began snuffling. We went in the kitchen to cleanse Lizzy’s scrapes and ice her ankle and Pam’s hip. A few minutes later WonderDog joined us, evidently satisfied that no danger lurked in the apartment.

  “Do you think that lunatic is gone for good?” Grams reluctantly placed the candlestick on the kitchen table.

  I shrugged. “If Kal doesn’t find her, there’s no reason for her to return and stand trial. Same with Cosmos. The way Nelson abused Irma is no excuse for their actions, but they didn’t intend for Nelson to die.”

  Lizzy nodded. “A part of me feels sorry for her but I want her brought to justice.”

  “It’s hard to hide in today’s world. Maybe if Irma believes hard enough—then clicks her heels three times while saying ‘there’s no place like Karma’ she might just be able to make it. I don’t think Kal will be able to extradite her.”

  Despite the tension showing on her face, Lizzy laughed.

  “The thing is—we have the key. I placed it on the table. “Think. Does this key remind you of anything?”

  Pam looked around the kitchen. “Irma and the bald guy tore this place apart searching for a connection. The key is small—stands to reason it fits something small—a tube safe?”

  Lizzy closed her eyes, placed her hands over her cheeks, and rubbed the sides of her nose. “I keep thinking about the scented rope. If Irma knew Father at all she knew that he hated the smell of flowers.”

  “Your father hated flowers?” Little chimes went off in my head.

  “The smell bothered him.” Lizzy said. “Sometimes he blamed it on allergies.”

  “And yet he maintained roses on the roof?” I stood up. “Ladies, we begin our hunt in the garden.” I pocketed the key.

  We trooped up the stairs and out into the roses. Most of the blooms were now withering and gave off the heavy odor of dying flowers. WonderDog tried to help out by watering a couple of them.

  “I always wondered why Father kept a garden but never dared ask him. He could have buried a treasure box in anyone of these plots,” Lizzy said, waving her arm in an arc. “We could dig up the whole garden but that’s going to take forever.”

  “We have to try.”

  I looked at the low-rise concrete bunker blending in with the landscaping. A room air conditioner stuck out of one wall.

  “Over there.” I pointed at the structure. “That’s the first place we have to look.”

  I dashed to the bunker. “It’s padlocked.” I lifted the lock and let go. It slammed against the hasp with a thud. “I’m not sure about breaking this off even if we had a really heavy hammer.”

  “That’s one big old lock,” Grams said. “Never noticed the lock before.”

  “Grams, that doctor’s assistant who called you about Nelson—do you have a friendship with her?”

  “Millie? I wouldn’t call it a friendship—more like she enjoys a good gossip.”

  A doctor probably wouldn’t have a big hammer in his office but he might have a can of liquid nitrogen to freeze off warts. We can use it to freeze the metal shackle to the point of brittleness. Then I can hit it with a rock and crack it off.”

  Lizzy, Pam, and Grams stood there with their mouths hanging open.

  “There are times when you frighten me,” Lizzy said.

  “Saw it on television.” I nodded at Grams. “My turn to give orders. Fetch a can of liquid nitrogen from that doctor’s office.”

  With a military salute, Grams headed down the stairs, Pam close behind.

  WonderDog continued to wander the bushes, occasionally relieving the drought for one of them.

  Lizzy and I were left to our worries.

  “Once again the shop is unattended,” I said. “Not that we could avoid the last few days. But if we get Sophia’s endorsement we can’t brew cold cream, make soap, and add products to our line without hiring a shop girl.”

  Lizzy stared at the storage bunker oblivious to me. “Do you think my father was really that mean? Could he have driven Irma mad? What if there’s a body in that shed?”

  “Sweetie, your father was a serial monster—not a serial killer. In your wildest imaginings can you see him hauling a body up those stairs? If we get in that bunker we’ll be looking for a lock that accepts the small key.”

  Grams returned followed by Pam carrying a canister. “I showed the doctor’s assistant my nursing license and told her it was an emergency.”

  “And I promised Millie a full accounting of Nelson’s murder.” Grams looked pleased with herself.

  “You can’t!” I gave her my best bossy look while reaching for the canister.

  Grams smirked. “I’m not going to tell her the truth. Celestial beings and seven spinning planets? They’d have me on senile meds before I could scratch my nose.”

  “Somebody find a hard rock—not sandstone,” I said.

  It was too bright out to read the instructions on the canister, but I remembered what I’d seen on that murder mystery show. I turned the canister upside down and sprayed. The air was freezing cold—the blowback of nitrogen fog began to numb my fingers. I dropped the can.

  “Look at that ice!” Grams eyes were twice normal size. “That stuff’s dangerous.”

  Lizzy handed me a rock—it was a fairly heavy chunk of white marble with a slightly pointed end.

  I struck the frozen lock once and it shattered in three pieces. Continuing to use the rock, I knocked the icy sections to the ground and opened the hasp.

  Chapter 38

  It was cool in the low-slung shed—but not cool enough to store a body. An assortment of garden tools hung from hooks along the left wall. A bag of soil and some clay pots lined the right side. But it was the trunk against the back wall that caught my eye.

  Grams stood at my elbow. “That trunk. That was from Nelson’s Masked Dangler days.”

  She trotted across the concrete floor, her excitement overcoming any sense of caution.

  I followed her. Lizzy, Pam, and WonderDog crowded into the small space behind me.

  With what I’d learned about Nelson, the trunk might be booby-trapped.

  Three quick strides and I was at her side. “Let me do this.” I gently moved between Grams and the trunk and inspected the lid. I held my breath when I lifted it.

  The contents were mostly papers. I moved aside and let Grams have the first look at her son’s treasures.

  She reached in and grabbed a stack of programs with cover photos of the Masked Dangler and placed them on the ground. Next came a sweat-stained black and gold bodysuit and a full head mask.

  She skipped past magical do-dads, and with a gasp pointed at a brown leather album wrapped in clear plastic and sealed with packing tape.

  Grams fell backwards into me.

  I held her up. “You okay?”

  “It’s Nelson’s journal—worth a fortune to a blackmailer.”

  Pam and Lizzy helped her stay on her feet. She stared at the journal lying in the trunk. “It’s vile!”

  I lifted it out and held it in my hand. “You’re certain it’s the blackmail book. I have to peel off the plastic wrapper to try the key. Is that okay with you, Grams?”
r />   “Do it out in the sunshine—please?” Grams said with a tremor in her voice.

  We went to the patio table. I placed the book in the center. We pulled up chairs and for minutes nobody spoke.

  “What would Irma have done with it?” Lizzy asked. “Use it for blackmail? Sell it? What?”

  “She wanted money to fund her Seven Planets cult and thought the key held a treasure—money or jewels. I doubt she would have had the time or inclination for blackmail. I’d like to think she wouldn’t have exploited the journal but she might have sold it to someone more vicious than Nelson.”

  I began to peel back the plastic.

  WonderDog stuck his pointy snoot onto the table—a low growl coming from his throat.

  The plastic and tape had melted together—with gentle prying I was able to peel it away. I took the key from my pocket and inserted it in the lock on the strap that held the book closed.

  The key fit. I pulled back the strap and opened the cover. In a large scrawl was written ~ Property of Nelson Dingler ~ For His Eyes Only!

  I hesitated flipping the pages— Pandora’s Box.

  “We’ve got to destroy this!” Grams said.

  “I don’t think it’s evidence but we should let Kal make that decision.” I slid the book closer to me.

  “Olive, please.” Grams had tears in her eyes. “I’ll never ask you for another thing as long as I live. My son created this evil tool. It’s destined to fall into the wrong hands—his wicked legacy will go on!”

  Grams grabbed my arm and squeezed. “Please destroy this book!”

  Even if Kal found Irma was the journal necessary to charge her? It seemed like just the key would be enough.

  “Destroy it?” I stalled trying to decide. “Grams, we might be committing a crime.”

  “More likely preventing a crime. Think what a professional blackmailer could do with this…thing.”

  The tears in her milky eyes did me in.

  “Okay. There’s a barbecue pit in the community area of my condo,” I said.

  Grams relaxed, the lines in her forehead softening.