Lady Blues

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Sure. Okay.” My heart sank to the floor.

  Kip? Where are you?

  ***

  After safely delivering Siegfried and Lily home to whooping grandchildren and our hovering mother hen, I headed to the barn to find a quiet spot. I settled on a bale of hay in front of Maggie’s stall and punched in Curtis’s cell phone number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “It’s Gus,” I said. “Any luck?”

  He whispered, his voice dark with worry. “No. We searched the hospital and grounds and haven’t found him. I’m in the security office with two police officers and the head of hospital security right now. We’re reviewing the videotapes from last night.”

  The sound of murmuring voices filtered through the phone.

  “Good idea.” A chickadee hopped into the barn on the north end, pecking at the spilled bits of grain on the ground near the bin. “You said the nurses on his floor said he was discharged, right?”

  “They did. They looked up the records, and it showed that I took him home last night.”

  The thought jarred me. Someone posing as Curtis actually removed Kip from the premises? My heart skipped a beat.

  What if Novacom wanted him vanished, too?

  “Aren’t discharges usually in the morning?” I said.

  My question went unanswered. Against a stirring in the background, the voices grew louder. “Gus, wait a sec. They’ve found it.”

  Rustling, bumping. A surprised gasp. Loud conversation. And the phone crackled again.

  “Gus?”

  “Right here, Curtis. What did you find?”

  “You’re not gonna believe this.”

  I released an exasperated sigh. “Try me.”

  “Sorry. It was Debbie, the nurse from Bello Mondo. She walked my father right out of here. Well, she pushed him in the wheelchair, that is. She wore her uniform, and wasn’t questioned.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Because of the shortage of nurses, we’d seen a different nurse on almost every shift. It would be hard for them to get to know the families and patients well enough to be suspicious of Debbie. And with her background, she’d know precisely how to get around the system. “You’re sure it was her?”

  “Oh yeah. Clear as day.” He paused, then rushed the next words. “You don’t think she’s crazy or anything, do you? She wouldn’t hurt him?” Answering his own question, he added, “No. I really like Debbie. She’s rock solid.”

  “Whatever she’s doing, Curtis, it’s to help him. Maybe even to keep him safe.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Okay. Then I won’t worry. I’ll just wait for her to contact me.”

  “Is Bella going to be upset?” I asked. “She was expecting to see Kip today.”

  “Oh, no. Mother.” He sounded as if I’d woken him from a reverie. “Oh, drat. What time is it?”

  I checked my cell phone. “One-thirty.”

  “I’ll just make it to the airport.” A door slammed and his footsteps echoed along the tiled hall.

  “Would it be okay if I stopped by a little later?” I asked. After weeks of hearing about Bella, I wanted to meet her. And I wanted to assure her Debbie would take good care of Kip, wherever they were, whatever her plans for him.

  Curtis’s breath grew labored, and I pictured him running through the long hospital corridors and parking garage. “Of course. Now that I know what happened to my father, and that he’s in capable hands, I don’t have to panic. It’s bizarre, for sure, but Debbie must’ve had a good reason, right? And I’d very much like you to meet my mother.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Why don’t you come for dinner? I’ve got a pot roast in the slow cooker. Her favorite.”

  I smiled. “Okay. What time?”

  He huffed and puffed some more. I heard his car door slam and the engine start. “We should get back into town by three-thirty. I have to stop for a few groceries and a bottle of wine, so how about four-thirty or around there?”

  Someone honked at him in the background.

  “Okay. But let me bring the wine.”

  “Deal. Bring Camille, too. Bella will love her.”

  I smiled, pleased that he included my wife. “Okay. See you soon, Curtis.”

  “Right. It’s 2121 Turkey Hill. Head south on West Lake Road, cross over to Sliker Hill, then head north up East Lake Road ‘til you see Henderson Hill, your first right. Drive up the hill for almost a mile, and look for Turkey Hill on your left. We’re the second house on the right, with the blue mailbox. It’s wooden, with a heron painted on the side.”

  “Okay. I think I’ve got it. I know the area pretty well. We’ll be there. And Curtis?”

  He sounded distracted. “Yes?”

  “I know this is an unusual situation, but don’t worry about your father. If he’s with Debbie, he’s in good hands.”

  “I know. Thanks, Gus. See you soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Camille put the VW bug into first gear and let out the clutch. She wore a pale pink dress, the kind that swirled on the bottom when she walked. Over it, she’d wrapped a soft white sweater with pearly buttons. The clasp holding her hair was encrusted with pink pearls. I sighed and relaxed against the seat, glad for a few minutes of privacy with my wife.

  She turned right on Sullivan Hill and headed down to the lake. “You’ve got the wine?”

  “Uh-huh. Right here. I brought two bottles.” I lifted one and turned it in the light. The Heron Hill Ingle Vineyard cabernet franc was bottled three years ago.

  “Oh, you brought the good stuff!” she said, flashing a smile. “I love that Cabernet.”

  “Me, too,” I chuckled. “It should go well with the pot roast.”

  I watched her shift gears—always the consummate expert—and we turned right on Barber Hill, then left on Maple Beach, going down the hill toward Conesus Lake.

  Although she’d been at the high school all day, Camille looked fresh and full of energy. Her dark-lashed eyes simmered with excitement and reflected the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. I watched her unabashedly as she braked for a stop at the bottom of the steep hill, and headed down West Lake Road.

  “Take a left on Sliker Hill,” I said.

  She snorted. “I know, Gus. I live here, too.”

  I laughed. “Sorry, hon. I wasn’t sure if you’d been down this way before.”

  She tossed me an apologetic smile, and concentrated on the turn, biting her lower lip. When we reached East Lake Road, she headed north.

  “Okay. Now you can tell me where to go.”

  Smiling, I held up the street map of the Finger Lakes and pointed up the hill. I hadn’t ever driven on the last few roads to Curtis’s house. “So, now you need my help?”

  She stuck out her tongue.

  “Okay. Slow down a little. In just a second you’ll see Henderson. Wait. There it is.”

  It caught her by surprise and she sped around the corner and up the hill.

  “Whoa, honey. Take it easy.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Slow down a little. Turkey Hill is less than a mile from here. On your left.”

  We found it and the blue mailbox with the heron, and Camille turned up the dirt track drive.

  Curtis’s one-story cedar shingled home sat back on the hill, surrounded by tall spruce trees. It nestled into the hillside very naturally, with crushed stone walkways dotted with colorful garden gnomes and statuary. I wondered if they were Curtis’s secret passion.

  We parked next to his red Jeep, and approached the antique blue front door. My anticipation grew as the smell of pot roast and veggies curled out the crack in the slightly ajar door. I pressed the bell, but didn’t hear footsteps. Camille and I exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Maybe he left it open for us?” she said.

  I opened the screen door. “I’ll bet you’re right.” Pushing the heavy wooden door forward a few inches, I called inside. “Curtis? Bella?”
>
  No answer. When we passed through a narrow foyer and into the living room, a loud crash came from the back, followed by a slamming door and splintering glass. It took me a second to take in the surroundings.

  Camille gripped my arm and drew in a loud mouthful of air. “Oh, no.”

  The room had been tossed. Furniture was upturned and cupboard doors hung open. A CD collection lay strewn across the hardwood floor.

  “Curtis? Bella?” I shouted this time, navigating quickly around the tipped couch and overturned coffee table. “Where are you?”

  Camille followed close behind. “What if they’re still here?” she whispered. “I mean, the guys who broke in?”

  I nodded, heading across the room in the direction of the slammed door. I grabbed one of the golf clubs scattered on the floor by the closet. “Stay here.”

  She didn’t listen and tailed me into the kitchen.

  The back door had been slammed so hard one pane of glass had shattered. Food littered the floor where cabinets had been dumped and searched. I skidded through a pile of coffee grounds, and opened the door to see a four-wheeler disappear over the hill.

  “I think he’s gone,” I said. “But if he came in on that four-wheeler, he couldn’t have taken Curtis and Bella with him. “Come on. We’ve got to find them.”

  We split up and stumbled through the main floor, which housed the living quarters and bedrooms. There was no sign.

  Thumping came from below. We met up in the hallway and looked at each other, speaking simultaneously.

  “The basement.”

  After we opened a few closets, we found the door and hurried down the steps. The muffled bumping came again, from our right.

  “Over there,” Camille said.

  I followed her past an obstacle course of canned goods strewn on the floor, past the freezer with the door ajar, and into a finished game room. There we found Curtis and his mother against the wall, bound to two Adirondack-style chairs.

  We hurried to their sides. Camille pulled the gag from Curtis’s mouth and I quickly removed the duct tape from Bella’s lips, hoping quicker would be less painful than slower, just like a Band-Aid.

  She tensed, eyes blazing and fists flailing, ready to fight. “Git away from me!”

  Curtis coughed a few times, and threw his arm out. “Mom, stop. These are my friends. Gus and Camille, this is my mother, Arabella Dubois.”

  Her mobile features let down, and she plopped back against the chair as I untied her hands and legs. “Nice to meetcha,” she said with a long sigh. “But these aren’t the bes’ times, are they, honey?”

  Camille helped her up while I untied Curtis, and we led them to a sofa. My wife found some bottled water on the floor by the shelves that had been ransacked and offered it to mother and son.

  “Lord Almighty, I thought for sure I’d have a heart attack right then and theah,” Bella said, accepting the water and guzzling a long drink.

  Curtis chugged half the bottle, then took a breath. “Are they gone?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Guess we scared them away.”

  He rubbed the red marks on his wrists. “Good. The bastards. They wouldn’t say what they were looking for, but they were certain we were hiding ‘it,’ whatever it was.”

  Camille perched on the arm of the sofa beside him. I found a pillow and offered it to Bella, who flashed a warm, apologetic smile and tucked it beneath her elbow.

  “Sorry I almos’ decked you, big guy,” she said.

  Her voice was rich and deep and almost purred. I could imagine right there, in that bizarre moment, why Kip had fallen for this magnificent woman. I laughed. “I’ll bet you have a wicked right hook there, Bella. Good thing you held back.”

  Bella chortled a loud laugh. “Oh, you. Git away, now.” She batted at my hands.

  Camille began to pace, bringing us back to sordid reality. “Did you recognize them at all?”

  Curtis shook his head and wiped perspiration from his brow. “No. But they were professionals. True thugs. Definitely not kids looking for money or drugs, or anything like that.”

  I righted the coffee table and sat on it. “Any idea what they wanted?”

  Bella answered this time. “It was somethin’ big. Not small enough to fit inside a couch cushion, or in a small space. They kept yellin’ at my son, saying, ‘You stole it from the home, didn’ you?’”

  Curtis added. “It was confusing. They wore ski masks to protect their identity. I was glad for that, anyway, because it gave me hope that they wouldn’t have to kill us to silence us.”

  Bella shivered in response and a chill stole over me.

  “You said ‘stole it from the home,’ Bella. Do you think they meant the nursing home?”

  Curtis sat up straighter. “Oh my. You’re right. And there was something familiar about one of them. The way he spoke, with that husky voice.”

  The silver-haired Novacom rep popped into my mind’s eye. His voice had sounded as if he’d downed a quart of whisky every night. “Could it be some kind of evidence that incriminated the yellow Memorphyl pills?” I said softly, almost to myself.

  “Or maybe records of Kip’s progress and eventual downfall?” Camille added.

  Bella joined in. “Records would be small, wouldn’ they? Like electronic files, right?” Camille nodded and Bella continued. “They weren’t lookin’ for small. Whatever it was, was big.”

  “Something that would fit under a couch or chair, or in a cabinet?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah. And they moved through heah so fast. Musta been no more than a half hour a’fore they tore through the whole danged house. They were waitin’ for us.”

  I touched her hand. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No.” Her gaze was strong. “I put up a helluva fight, but they forced us down heah and then jes’ tied us up. I knocked into that cabinet door over theyah on the way down.” She touched a small gash over her right eye.

  Curtis added, “They were forceful, but they didn’t rough us up or anything. I think they could tell we didn’t know what they were searching for. I was flabbergasted, to tell the truth.”

  Camille picked up the phone on the counter by the mini-kitchenette. “I’m calling Joe,” she said. “The police need to see this.”

  She made the call, and I helped mother and son upstairs to wait for their arrival.

  ***

  After Joe Russell and Adam Knapp scoured Curtis’s place, their teams dusted for fingerprints. They took notes and photos, and departed. It took us an hour and a half to straighten up the house after they left. We finished at seven-thirty.

  Camille looked at her watch and cast a glance in my direction. “Should we go? It’s getting late.”

  Curtis held up one hand in protest. “Absolutely not. You came for dinner, and you’re getting dinner.”

  Bella emitted a deep, throaty laugh, reminiscent of the live recordings I’d bought for Kip. “You folks have been so good to us, comin’ in heah and rescuin’ us, and then helpin’ us clean up this mess. You’d betta park yo’selves at the dining room table right now. We’re breakin’ bread, and that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

  Camille laughed with the same wind chime sound that had made me fall in love with her. She wrapped her arm around Bella’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You’re very convincing, Bella. But we’ll only stay if you let us help.”

  Curtis motioned to the dining room. “Go sit down. There’s nothing to help with. Everything’s in the crock-pot on the warm setting, and it’s still edible. I just checked.”

  The ladies headed for the dining room and I followed him into the kitchen, in spite of his protests. He set the aromatic pot roast on a platter and sliced it. The potatoes, onions, and carrots floated in the crock-pot.

  “Let’s make it really easy,” I said, grabbing a stack of heavy-duty paper plates from the top of his fridge. “I’ll hold the plates, and you scoop the veggies and meat onto them. No serving dishes, no mess to clean up later.” />
  Curtis started to object, but I headed him off at the pass. “We don’t have to stand on ceremony, my friend. Let’s just make it easy. You’ve been through enough today.”

  He chuckled and gave in. “Okay. But we’re not drinking wine out of paper cups. The wine glasses are over the sink, on the right.”

  Dinner steamed on the table minutes later. Curtis lit the candles and put on a CD. I was pleased to discover it was one of Bella’s older recordings.

  We dug into the food. I ate with gusto, suddenly ravenous, and after a few minutes of silence, we began to talk.

  “Bella?” I said, “I wanted to tell you I found your CDs at Crumble’s the other day, and brought them up to Kip at the hospital. Although he lost his memory again, the sound of your voice comforted him, and he recognized you.”

  She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, her eyes puddling. “That means the worl’ to me, Gus. But I jes’ hope that nurse lady of yours is takin’ good care of my man. Curtis says he coulda been in danger from those drug company goons, is that so?”

  “It’s very possible,” I said. I shared an abbreviated version of the whole story with her, and she finally seemed to relax when I gave a glowing testimonial to Debbie.

  “Okay, young man. I’ll trust your judgment. But I wanna see him soon.”

  I finally had a chance to study her, after the craziness of the day. Her face, smooth like a much younger woman’s, seemed to bear a permanent smile. Her cap of short curly hair was black, sprinkled with silver. She wore a magenta kaftan and a yellow scarf in her hair. I found it difficult to believe she was in her late eighties. She looked sixty-five at most.

  Her eyes, a rich chocolate brown, twinkled as she swirled the Cabernet Franc in her glass and took a deep whiff. “Mmm. This is mighty nice. Kip would like this.” She closed her eyes and smiled, humming along with the CD.

  After a few moments, she opened her eyes and turned to me. “I’m glad you met my Kip, Gus. Kipper here tol’ me all about your kindness to his daddy. You went way above and beyon’.”