by J. R. WRIGHT
“I did,” Marti said cheerfully. “Do you like it?” She eyed the empty seat hoping to be invited to sit. But when that didn’t happen promptly, she eased down on it anyway, as if just temporarily, her legs still in the walkway.
“Very pretty.” Gwyn continued to glare. “It’s a fad, I guess. Women always wore their hair long, in my day. Now it seems everyone is doing it. Susannah had hers long until just after she divorced Raym Koffee. Then she whacked it all off. Did it herself. I was so disappointed. She looked like a porcupine for the longest time.” She chuckled and took a sip of her tea. “In fact, and I never told anyone this before, but my pet name for her was Sprout, and it was particularly fitting for her then, I thought.”
“Sprout,” Marti repeated. “Oh, that’s so cute. But you didn’t call her that?”
“Oh, no, never. It would have hurt her feelings, even as a child, and I didn’t want that.” Gwyn laughed. “Would you like something, dear?”
“Yes. I think I’ll have the apple turnover. I bought one to go for my roommate last time I was here with you. She said it was scrumptious.” Marti thought it was alright to move her legs under the table now, seeing the waitress Gwyn had signaled coming her way.
“Apple and black,” Gwyn said before the girl could ask. “Did I do okay?”
“You did fine.” Marti smiled to her, then nodded approval to the waitress. “You remembered I drink my coffee black.”
“Perhaps there’s hope for me yet,” Gwyn said, sarcastically. “I think I would be better if I had some closure on Susannah’s death. It consumes me, Martina…. leaves little room for me to think of anything else.”
“Oh, Gwyn. I’m so sorry.” She reached over and laid a hand on hers.
“Did the things I gave you help, dear?”
“They did.” Marti brightened. “At least I know what he looks like now.”
At that moment, unbeknownst to either of them, the baby blue Thunderbird pulled into the Koffee building parking lot across the street, and from it stepped Raym Koffee, wearing a large, white, western hat. Determinedly then, he marched to the building’s entrance and went inside.
Acknowledging what she said, Gwyn looked out the window, expecting to see across the street. “Usually he shows up over there this time of day.” She leaned, in an attempt to see around Martina’s 1949 Chevrolet sedan parked at the curb, but discovered that impossible from where she sat.
Since Mondays were predominately slow days at the library, Gwyn lingered on with Martina until after three pm. And by the time the two finally parted, plenty of laughter had passed between them. Marti had successfully brightened the day for another person dear to her, and hope seeds were planted for a lasting friendship. She discovered Gwyn was a charming and delightful person, once her mind was taken away from what troubled her the most.
Entering Spencer House a half hour later, Marti saw Gloria was with a client. She did, however, signal she wanted to speak to her, when finished there. “Give me ten,” was the double hand sign used. From that, Marti gathered she had time to go upstairs and change, so as to be ready when her shift began at four.
Back down at a quarter of four, Gloria said as she approached, “I don’t know what to think of your taste in sleepwear, Martina.”
Marti hadn’t a clue what Gloria was talking about, and could only watch as she produced a box from under her desk. It was pink, and ‘Natalie’s’ was clearly printed on it, just like the one she had left in the car, containing the nightdress she had purchased for her.
Gloria opened the box and whipped out a frilly black, see-through nightie with a skimpy bikini bottom to match. “Don’t you know what a nightdress is?”
“I didn’t buy that!” Marti pointed suspiciously. “Where did that come from?”
“Natalie’s delivered it just an hour ago,” Gloria said blankly. “If you didn’t have it sent, then who did?” She dug through the paper in the box and found nothing in the way of a note, or card.
“There was a man in the store… Gloria, what does Raym dress like, normally?”
“Western suits, mostly. Sometimes blue jeans and a western shirt. Why?”
“Does he ever wear a hat?”
“Now that his hairline is receding, yes. A white Stetson.”
“Oh my God!”
“You saw Raym?”
“I think so. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but there was a man wearing a white hat in Natalie’s while I was there,” Marti said. “He wasn’t there at first. I know that. He must have come in later. What kind of car does he drive?”
“He just bought a new baby blue Ford Thunderbird.”
“Then it was him. I saw that car behind me on Main Street. He even turned around at the gas station where I did. Then I saw it again parked up the street when I drove away from Natalie’s. Gloria, I think he was following me.”
“Why would he do that? What could he possibly want with you?” Gloria said. “And this nightie? What was the reason for him sending it?”
“I think he’s sending a message. Black is the color associated with death,” Martina said, her eyes widening. “Gloria, I don’t want you leaving here at five without me. I’ll come up with an excuse to get away long enough to walk you home.”
“And miss going to Hannity’s after work? Not on your life.”
“Oh, Gloria. Please don’t do that to me!” Marti pleaded. “I’ll worry the entire night.”
“I’ll go straight there after work… and stay there till you get off at midnight. We can have a drink or two together before they close. Okay?”
“Oh, Gloria!”
“Don’t worry,” she said and took Martina by the arms. “I’m packing heat, remember?” Her eyes twinkled as if she meant that to be humorous.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When midnight rolled around, Martina didn’t waste time changing out of the uniform. She took her purse and rushed to the elevator. Within a minute, she was out of the building and running toward Hannity’s, five blocks away. At this hour on a weeknight there was zero walking traffic and she covered the distance in no time. Entering the bar, she spotted Gloria at the far end and made an attempt at acting normal… which was near impossible to do, when one’s lungs were screaming for more air.
Lenny spotted her coming and glanced at the clock on the wall behind the bar. “There she is, right on time.”
This prompted Gloria to spin on the stool to face Martina. In front of her was a cup of coffee. “You see, I’m perfectly fine.” She tossed her hands feebly into the air. There was no doubt she was drunk. But, with all that had happened, perhaps she deserved to be. Could be the black nightie was the final straw that drove her to do it.
Martina took the stool beside her. “Yes, you are that,” she said sarcastically. “Would you like to go now, or can I have a glass of wine to settle my nerves, first?”
“Have the wine. I’m in no hurry,” Gloria said and turned back to her coffee. “After seven hours on this stool, my ass feels like a flat tire.”
Lenny brought a glass of merlot. “It’s on me, sweetie. And you may be interested in this…” He slid a cupped fist across the bar and deposited the Beretta 32 in her hand. “She was waving it around a little. I thought it best I take it for safe keeping.”
Marti shot Gloria a look and slipped the small pistol into the pocket of her nurse uniform.
“I mean, it wasn’t a big deal,” Lenny said. “We were quiet tonight.”
“Thanks, Lenny.”
“Want I should take you home, after you’ve finished your wine?”
“Thanks, but I think the walk will do her good.”
“I’m fine!” Gloria said again. It was meant in protest to all the talk passed around about her, as if she was unaware.
Out on the sidewalk, twenty minutes later, Gloria yanked her arm free of Martina’s gentle guidance, and went reeling toward the gutter, until Marti regained her grasp. “Oops! I guess I am a little tipsy.”
“A little?”
>
“Oh, Martina! What am I going to do?” She swayed into her as she staggered along. “I know Raym. He won’t give up until I’m dead. I know him… I know him, better than anybody.”
Marti didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
“You know how he likes to do it?”
Vigilant of her surroundings, Marti looked up and down the empty street — the street lights leaving empty puddles of brightness periodically. “Do what?” Her mind was elsewhere.
“You know… sex?”
“No! And I don’t care to know, Gloria! How can you be thinking of something like that, in the state you’re in?” And she wasn’t speaking of her state of drunkenness.
“I just thought…” She burped. “I just thought you’d want to know?”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Bastard!”
In the next block Marti heard a vehicle coming from behind. Quickly, she pulled Gloria into the shadowed alcove of a storefront.
“Who is it…?” Gloria slurred, pulled free, and stepped back into the light.
In haste, Martina regained Gloria’s arm and yanked her back out of sight. “Now, be quiet!”
The car was closer now, but she dared not look, pressing tighter against the door behind her. She turned to see if Gloria was doing the same… She wasn’t. Her head was drooped as she used the glass at her back as a prop. Marti slid a hand into the pocket of the uniform and gathered her fingers around the Beretta.
A second later, the car slowed and came to a stop at the curb, just out of sight of where they were. The door squeaked open and boots sounded on the concrete sidewalk. Martina pulled the Beretta from her pocket and gently slid a cartridge into the chamber.
Then a man’s voice said, “Miss Spalding? Gloria?”
“Officer Ripley!” Gloria lunged from the hiding place and staggered toward him. “What brings you here?” She then fell off her high heels, into his arms, nearly knocking him over.
Seeing this, Marti applied the safety to the pistol and returned it to her pocket. Stepping fully from the alcove, then, she rushed to remove Gloria from Ripley’s arms, but needlessly. By the time she got there, another officer had come from the patrol car, and reached her first.
“Oh, there you are,” Ripley acknowledged her presence. “I thought it was you two. I saw from up the street.”
“What was it about us that brought you to that conclusion, a block or more away?” Marti asked.
“Well, we were patrolling the area, when a call came in to be on the lookout for you gals. Somebody from Hannity’s phoned it in.”
“Lenny… Was it a man named Lenny that phoned it in?”
“They didn’t say, ma’am. Just that you might need assistance, and then gave your names. Both of which I recognized, of course.”
There was that M word again, she noted. “Of course. So, now that you have us, what’s your plan?” She noticed the other officer assisting Gloria into the car.
“Well, I was aiming to give you a lift home. That is unless you’d rather walk?” He smiled.
“The ride will do just fine, Mister Ripley.” Martina smiled pleasantly back, happy neither of them were going to jail.
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped the bill of his cap and offered a hand.
At the apartment building, Ripley was quick in getting to the curb and opening the rear door. “I’ll walk you to the door. It appears Ms. Gillen will need some assistance.” He eyed her slouched in the seat, sleeping now.
“I’ll help you.” Martina came from the car, pulling Gloria along with her, until Ripley could take an arm over his shoulder. The two of them then walked toward the building, Gloria between them doing little to assist in the effort. But it became worse when they started up the stairs inside. Gloria just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it, so they ended up dragging her most of the way, which was exhausting. Finally, on the landing between the second and third floors, it became essential they stop for a breather.
Due to the hour, they were doing their best to be quiet, so as not to disturb the other tenants, again. That’s when Gloria said, “I think I’m going to be sick,” and broke away to head back down the stairs. Knowing for sure she would fall without her, Marti went along-side the entire way down and on to the exterior, where there was a patch of grass. There Gloria fell to her knees and retched miserably several times, before swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, and weakly regained her feet.
“Better?” Marti patted her back.
Gloria nodded and burped again, before saying, “Why am I so stupid?”
“Sometimes we, as humans, have no control over that, dear,” Martina consoled, noticing Ripley coming from the building. “She’ll be okay now. You can go if you want.”
“I’d feel better if you let me see you safely inside the apartment, ma’am,” he said. “There was a specific instruction given by Lieutenant Dunbar when he assigned me to this patrol.”
“I’d be interested to know what that is, if you care to tell me?” Martina began walking Gloria to the door.
“I don’t know as I’m at liberty to say, ma’am.”
“It’s okay,” she said, passing him by, “if you don’t want to tell me. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble over it.”
“Treat those two as if they were your daughters… if a bad guy wanted to do them harm,” he finally said.
Marti allowed herself a smile at the thought of Dunbar thinking of them as daughters. “Do you have daughters, Mister Ripley?” she asked.
“Call me Ben.” He got the door. “To answer your question: no ma’am. But I know what he meant.”
“Tell the Lieutenant, thank you. And, thank you… Ben.”
“You’re welcome,” he said and hurried up the stairs ahead of them.
Once secured inside the apartment, Martina got Gloria into the shower. She then went to the kitchen to put water on for tea. She would put a little brandy in hers. The single glass of wine at Hannity’s hadn’t quite soothed the tension that had bottled up in her over the past nine hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Officer Ben Ripley came out of the building, he skipped down the front steps, proud of himself for having gone the extra mile in seeing the girls safely home. Dropping into the shotgun seat of the patrol car, he turned to his partner only to find Officer Bright was no longer under the wheel. Looking around briefly, he reached for the radio transmitter. What went out over the airwaves moments later, however, was no more than a gurgling sound. It was a last ditch effort on Ripley’s part to save himself, once his throat had been sliced through, from ear to ear. He never saw the person who came up from the rear seat — only the flash of a knife blade, and a gloved hand. But none of that mattered now. He wouldn’t be telling anyone anything, anymore.
Twenty minutes later, the phone rang in the apartment. Gloria, fresh from the shower, picked up: “Hello?” She heard heavy breathing, but nothing more. “Hello,” she said again. And again, nothing but breathing came over the line. Her heart began to race, even though she didn’t really know why she should be afraid. Just when she was ready to hang up, a muffled voice finally said, “They can’t protect you.”
“Who can’t protect me? Who is this?” Listening for a response that never came, she finally cradled the receiver.
“Was that Lenny? Checking to see if you made it home?” Marti said, coming from her room in a white terrycloth robe, toweling her hair. She had taken a shower, as well.
“No. It wasn’t.” Gloria looked at her strangely. “Now that was weird,” she said, glancing back at the phone.
“Gloria!” Marti came closer. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know? Some guy just said: They can’t protect you.”
“That’s all? They can’t protect you! Nothing else?”
“That’s all.”
Just then, the sound of a siren found its way into the apartment, and continued to get louder with every passing second. Then there were two, maybe three
, sirens. Marti raced to Gloria’s bedroom. The windows there were the only ones that faced the street, out front. What she saw below were two police cars, lights flashing. And then an ambulance arrived, along with another car; this one unmarked, with a single flashing light.
“What is it?” Gloria came up beside her.
“Oh, my God! I just noticed Officer Ripley’s car is still there,” Marti said. “The ambulance crew is working on someone there. Did something happen to him, I wonder?”
“Maybe he had a heart attack, from climbing our stairs,” Gloria said and laughed.
“Gloria! That’s not funny.”
“Well, what could have happened, then? If someone was out there, why didn’t they come after us?”
“Because Officer Ripley and the other one were there to protect us,” Marti said, and turned away from the window. “The message… over the phone: They can’t protect you. Oh my God! Whoever called you must have done something to Ben…… Oh no!” Marti glared, then refocused on what was happening below.
Gloria went to the other window and lifted the shade. She could see a dozen or more people milling about, under the street lights. Then she spotted what looked like Dunbar, just arriving on the scene. At least the hat was similar. In no time, then, the hatted man raced toward the building and entered. “It looks like Dunbar is coming up.”
Martina had seen it too. She also saw several uniformed officers swarm into the building, directly behind him. She then went to the door where she pushed aside the brass cover plate and put an eye to the peep hole. Moments later, seeing Dunbar huffing and puffing toward her, she unlatched the door and pulled it open.
“Where’s Gloria?” were the first words from his mouth as he came through the door, gun in hand. “Oh, there you are!” He spotted her coming from the bedroom. “You two okay?”
“We’re fine,” Marti said. “What happened down there?” Her words, however, fell on deaf ears.
Dunbar looked around the room, then went back to the door to confront the officers arriving. “They’re okay,” he said exhaustedly. “Check every nook and cranny on your way down. I want two men on the front door from here on out. Nobody leaves this building unless they are confirmed residents. Understood?”