Scarecrow’s Dream

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “Amazing. My exact thought!”

  We both grinned.

  “I’d like to give up driving for the day. Do you mind? We can walk or take the train if we decide to do any more investigating or interviewing this afternoon.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Holly? You sound odd. What’s up?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

  “What? Investigating?”

  “No. This. Being with you but not being with you. Scared I’m going to disappear any moment. I just…can’t take this.”

  Shane was silent for a moment. Then he turned my direction. “Holly, as crazy as it sounds, since I almost got shot yesterday and I’m chasing around like some spy in an old Ludlum thriller, well, the last two days have been the happiest I’ve had for years. I understand all your angst about us at this moment. I feel the same. I’m scared, too. I don’t have a clue where this is all going to end up, but I’ll take whatever time has been granted us for this chance to hear your voice, even if only for a day.”

  I began to cry the moment he said these last days were his happiest. I straightened my non-existent shoulders and leaned over and kissed Shane’s cheek. “Okay, you Irish charmer, you did it again. Convinced me to be brave and see this through.”

  He drove back to West 200th and the garage where Addie housed the car.

  “I’d like to see if Jordan Matthews received any mail yesterday,” he said after he’d parked. “Check if any little notes were slipped under the door or messages left on the answering machine. It’s just a few blocks from here.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now. What if you’re recognized by any goons our killer may have hunting for you?”

  “Hey! This, Holly, my love, is where your special talent could come in handy.”

  I got it. “You want Invisible Girl to go in your place?”

  “Why not? They can’t see you, let alone hurt you,” he said. He stared down at the keys he held and burst out with, “God, I hate this! It’s ’73 all over again. All the uncertainty and the feeling of not being in control of my own life. Wondering where and when the next attack is coming.”

  “We need to stay positive,” I said. “We’re learning more all the time. It’s going to be fine. Absolutely fine.” I was trying to convince myself as well as Shane. “Okay. I’ll sneak into your place, grab your mail, and water the plants. Why don’t you head on up to Addie’s and I’ll meet you there in an hour?”

  Shane responded with, “Sounds like a plan. Are you going to be all right?”

  “No problem. As you said, if someone is there, he’ll never see me.” An evil idea grabbed me. “I can take advantage of my spectral state. Call out nasty things in a spooky voice. Any intruder will freak.”

  Shane laughed. “I do love you, Holly Malone, for all yer wicked ways.”

  We exchanged keys. Shane headed north and I headed south, cutting through the edge of Fort Tryon Park over to the numerous apartment buildings on Thayer Street. I checked the entrance in case anyone was about to enter or leave and glanced down the street as well. Quiet. Not even an inquisitive stray dog was out.

  I let myself into Shane’s building and took the stairs to the third floor. I stopped in front of 3C—frozen and terrified.

  The door was ajar.

  I leaned toward the gap and heard two people. They were making no effort to be stealthy or quiet and were casually chatting with each other. One turned on Shane’s answering machine. The next voice I heard had an odd, muffled tone.

  There were two messages. The first was from a dentist’s office confirming Jordan Matthews’ status as a new patient. The second was from the girl who’d unwittingly leaked Shane’s name, as Jordan, to the Village Voice.

  “Hi, Jordy. It’s Tina. Just wanted to tell you a group of us are getting together Friday for the Save the Earth climate change demonstration. It’s going to be held at Bryant Park, like the last one, but we’re meeting at the diner at the corner of Dyckman and Broadway at five, if you want to join us there first.”

  The machine clicked off. One of the intruders said something crass about protestors before adding, “We need to be there. It may be our chance to grab Halloran.”

  “Alive, right?”

  “For now. The damned script is what we’re after. Once we’ve got it, Halloran is expendable. But it needs to look like an accident. That moron Morgan had no idea what he was doing. Mugging in a park? Amateur hour.”

  “We’re sure this Jordan fellow is Halloran?”

  I heard laughter. “Take a look and tell me he’s not.”

  I peeked through the crack in the door. Two men, both wearing sweatshirts and jeans, stood by a table in Shane’s living room. One of them held up a photograph. “Found this in the desk. It’s an old picture and I do mean old. But it’s him.” He handed over the photo.

  The second man flipped it over and read aloud, “‘Shane and Holly. Cloisters Museum. March 1973.’”

  “Obliging of him to name names.” He snickered.

  “Yeah. Shit. Chick was a looker, wasn’t she?”

  “A bit too thin for my taste, but pretty face. Is she someone else we need to find?”

  The first man laughed again. “Only in a graveyard. She’s the one who went over the bridge the night Halloran got away. She was working with Rob Stutzgraft.”

  “Who?”

  The first man gave the second a look of disgust. “Shit, don’t you ever listen when you’re given a job? You’re worse than that idiot Morgan. Do a little research, man. Stutzgraft wrote the goddamned play.”

  “So why not get it from him?”

  “Crap, you’re beyond clueless! He’s already dead. Script is all that’s left. Okay. We got what we needed; let’s get the hell out of here. Make sure nothing’s out of place. Don’t want to scare the old man off. If he comes back here Halloran will be at the diner or the protest on Friday.”

  “Unless he hauls his sorry ass out of town again. He knows how to hide. Did it well enough for forty-three years.”

  The two men approached Shane’s front door. I ran to the window at the end of the floor’s hallway, brushing up against several plants on the sill.

  They checked the hall, which looked empty to them, then locked Shane’s door.

  I could have waited for them to leave, but I didn’t. I was furious, and I had the power to do something. Time for a little spook action. I opened the windowsill and then slammed it shut.

  The sound startled them both. They glanced to the end of the hall to see if someone was lurking on the fire escape. Then they ran to the window. I didn’t let them get far. I pitched one plant and hit Creep Number One on his shoulder. He cried out but continued to run down the hall. I pitched the second plant and nailed Creep Number Two dead center in the chest. He fell to the floor and yelled at Creep Number One to “get” whoever was outside.

  For the first time since I’d been back I was having a great time being a ghost. I raised the window again and once more slammed it shut.

  I gave it about five seconds before letting loose with a huge scream, and following it up with my spookiest, “Leave Shane alooooone!”

  “What the hell?” Creep Number Two was up again. “Who’s there?”

  Why not answer? He couldn’t see me but he could hear me so I’d use whatever advantage I could. I called out, “I’m Holleee. I diiieeed but I’m back! I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you hurt Shane. I’ll torment you for all eternity. Leave him aloooooone!”

  I ran past them as they headed toward the fire escape and took the stairs two at a time. I’d decided any more howling would be overkill at the present time. Anyway, I doubted they’d heed the warning. They’d just convince themselves it was some trick Shane had set up. Stage effects. Still,
anything I could do to put them off their game might help keep Shane alive.

  Both men made it onto the street about five seconds after I came out the front door. They each looked down the street, trying to figure out who’d thrown potted plants at them while claiming to be a ghost.

  Nothing. Not a single car was cruising down Thayer. The only person on the sidewalk was a very old lady walking with a cane. One thug went to the north end of the block, the other to the south, both looking for doorways their invisible tormentor could be using as a hiding place. Again, they found nothing and met each other in front of Shane’s building.

  “Shit. This is stupid. We’re just freaking out over Morgan’s death,” the shorter of the two declared.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Morgan. I just want to find Halloran before he finds a way to go public.”

  I was going to follow them and see if they’d lead me to the man behind all this but they got into a car, and I couldn’t exactly climb in with them. But I leaned close to the open window and said, loud enough for both to hear me, “It’s not ooveerr. Leave Shane alooooone. I’ll be watching!”

  The driver again yelled, “Shit!” His partner shouted something far nastier, and they sped off.

  I began the walk back to Park Terrace, about thirty blocks. I stopped at the small children’s playground in Fort Tryon Park. It was a school day so the kids were safely in a classroom somewhere, learning great things. There were only one or two nannies who’d brought their toddler charges out. It was a windy day and I figured no one would notice if I rocked in the swing for a few moments. I needed to sit. I needed to be away from everyone, including Shane, and let the past few days fly into the air. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to worry.

  But thinking and worrying were all I did, because I knew the assassins who’d been sent to hunt Shane weren’t going to stop. They wouldn’t be deterred by a voice in a hallway—no matter how spine-chilling—and loud noises, a few plants flying around, or a window opening and closing by itself.

  Worse, I knew goons had the photo of Shane and me. Soon they’d start tracking down anyone who was close to Holly Malone, and that would lead them to Addie. The apartment was listed under Kennedy but it wouldn’t be hard to discover Adelaide Kennedy had been born Adelaide Malone. She and Shane weren’t safe anymore. We were losing time. We had to find out who was behind this. We had to stop them. Anyone this organized had resources we’d never be able to match.

  Resources that would ultimately get Shane and Addie killed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shane buzzed me through the front entrance, and then waited for me to arrive at Addie’s door. “Glad you’re all right. Is my apartment still intact?”

  “Yes and no. I didn’t quite make it inside.”

  My tone warned Shane something other than listening to messages and collecting mail had gone down.

  “What happened?”

  “You had visitors. Can we say hit men?”

  “What?” Shane stood still for a moment then sank back onto Addie’s couch. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah. I got the proverbial earful. They called yesterday’s mugger a moron. His name was Morgan, which isn’t relevant at this point, although it’s a cool name—”

  “Holly…”

  “—and would work perfectly for the ex-spouse of the drug dealing gang leader’s mother in Salacity City—”

  “Holly!”

  I snapped out of it. “Sorry. Babbling, on a tangent, and still shaking. Anyway, the two gentlemen, and yes, I use the term loosely, were very open about their purpose in life. Find Shane Halloran and the script. I gathered they’d prefer to have you, the script, and whatever else looks interesting in hand for their boss, but would be happy to settle for having you join me in the hereafter as long as they got their hands on the script. I didn’t hear any major yearnings expressed by either goon regarding the cultural merits of owning a copy of Rob’s play.”

  Shane took several deep, calming breaths. “No chance this was some other script, then? An old copy of Ebony Dreams for some memorabilia freak?” He tried to smile.

  “I wish.”

  “And you’re positive they’re going after me as Shane and not as Jordan?”

  “No chance, no other film, and yes, I’m sure. They want Shane Halloran and will accept no substitute. Ready for more bad news? They found a photo of you and me from years ago. Kind of put the topper on your identity as the real Shane.”

  Shane was silent for a moment before stating, “Well, that settles it. Trapped in the Basement was definitely the motive behind the killings. Not that we had any doubts.”

  “We need to talk to Wynn, Chandra, Rick, and any hangers-on who knew as much as they did. I seriously can’t imagine Chandra was ever a captain in the US Army who collaborated with the Viet Cong, but it’s always possible she was involved with someone in the military.”

  Shane’s voice faltered. “God, please tell me none of these folks are stone-cold killers. They were all my friends. Yeah, Wynn was my agent and in it for the money but we got along fine when he wasn’t bitchin’ about you or films. Chandra was nutty about you and me being together, but believe it or not she had some self-esteem issues, and her way of coping was to act like she was a…”

  “Bitch?”

  “No comment.” The sides of Shane’s mouth twitched.

  “Well, before we start slandering anyone, do you remember anybody else, apart from Frannie Stutzgraft, who knew as much, or more, about the play as the actors? I remember we didn’t have a stage manager yet, although Derek did have an assistant who was there the day Rob was mugged.”

  “Derek had already fired one director and hadn’t hired a new one yet. It was pretty bizarre. The backers were going on blind faith in Derek and Rob’s reputation.”

  “I’m not sure bizarre covers it. Honestly? I recall it as a major disaster.”

  “You recall correctly. The only good thing is the lack of anything solid to work with back then means not as many folks were involved. It cuts down on suspects. On the other hand, we can’t forget that people have relatives. Spouses. Romantic partners. You mentioned Angela and her brother yesterday. And we need to get the name of Derek’s assistant if nothing more than in the interest of being thorough.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Plus, we need to find out who was related to whom, or married to whom, or banging whom back in the day.”

  “I agree. But, before we do anything else, we have to call Addie.”

  Shane grimaced. “She’s in danger now, too, isn’t she? Because of that photograph.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn! I never should have come back.”

  “Shane! You didn’t start this. Remember? Crimson died before you made it to the American shores. You were led here to find answers. There’s no way to have stopped this from happening. All we can do now is keep you and Addie safe and pray we find a little justice.”

  Shane smiled. “True. Thanks.”

  “While I’m on a tear, let’s put the blame where it belongs—on whomever Rob recognized. Whoever murdered Crimson Cloverly’s brother while he lay helpless in a hospital bed.” I shuddered. “Rob was going to talk to this traitor, from what Frannie told you. Give him a chance to tell his side. Talk about a crock! But once the killer realized he was about to be outed, everyone connected became expendable. Beginning with Rob. Actually, beginning with Private Mike.”

  “Damn this bastard!” Shane spat. “How many lives has he ruined and how many more does he want to take?”

  “Even one is too many. I’m going to try my best to make sure yours and Addie’s aren’t next.”

  The phone was on the table. I grabbed it as Shane said, “Call. Please. Let’s at least save one life today.”

  I dialed Addie’s cell number.

  “Yo?”


  “Addie, it’s Holly. We have a problem.”

  “Just one?” She chuckled. “Did Shane eat all the leftover tandoori chicken and samosas?”

  “Well, yes, but that’s not the issue. I’m talkin’ a big problem.”

  “Hit me.”

  I told her what I’d overheard discussed at Shane’s apartment. “They’ll find you.”

  Addie was a bit skeptical. “Hey, we’re not talking about the NSA here. They have to figure out I’m related to you first, and whether I’m still around and where I live.”

  “Addie, Shane’s photo as Jordan Matthews appeared in the Village Voice on Wednesday morning. Wednesday evening a goon named Morgan, imitating a mugger, was sent to kill him. He skipped the step where he was supposed to see if Shane had a copy of the script, and if so, where it was, but at any rate, I’d call it damned fast work. The person behind all this is connected. Rich enough to hire private assassins who can track down people who wouldn’t normally be easy to trace. Ruthless enough not to give a shit who gets in the way, including aunts who don’t act like senior citizens but are.”

  Addie didn’t argue. “What do I need to do? Hell, what are you and Shane going to do?”

  “Well, I would suggest you spend the next few days holed up at a hotel under a different name. Preferably in Jamaica, and I don’t mean the neighborhood in Queens. Do you have cash?”

  “I do. Withdrew a large chunk from my ATM yesterday. I may be modern but I try to avoid using a credit or debit card. I have enough to worry about. The good news is my last column is in and if I need to use the Internet for anything I can hit a café someplace.”

  I cheered. “You, Miss Adelaide, are so cool! Any idea where you’ll go?”

  “I’ll come up with a plan. And in case your villains are capable of tracing calls, I’ll use pay phones once I’m someplace safe. Or buy scads of burners. Either way, I’ll call you on the cell I lent you the other night—it’s registered under A. Kennedy. After you hear from me, trash it. Technically, it belongs to the Chronicle but who cares? Give me an hour. Love you.”