by Alice Sharpe
Tony’s Tavern must have once been called The Pastime!
The apartment buzzer jerked her from her thoughts. She glanced at the television as she stood in time to see a man pop up on the screen. Ralph Yardley, coming out of a hotel, shading his face from the cameras. Things looked to be sliding downhill for him.
Two officers buzzed from downstairs and seconds later knocked on her door. She was stunned they’d actually reacted this quickly and invited them inside, where they shook their heads as they perused the mess. As one grabbed a notepad from his pocket to take information, the other gazed at the television.
“Can you believe that?” he said, elbowing his partner. “I arrested that gal once for soliciting. Who knew she was the Broadway Madame?”
Sierra looked at the screen. The footage of Ralph Yardley was over and now there was a still photo of Natalia Bonaparte. “Wait a second,” she said. “The woman on the television right now is the Broadway Madame? Are you positive?”
“Yeah. It’s all over the news. Apparently the murdered girl, the one who was drowned in a bathtub or something—”
“Not the river?”
“No, that just came out a few hours ago. The water in her lungs did not come out of the Hudson. Anyway, she called Bonaparte the night she died. Police went to Bonaparte’s apartment to talk to her and found that she was missing.”
“I knew most of that. How did they decide she was the Madame?”
“They came across a secret book filled with women’s names and a code. Who knew people write things down nowadays? Giselle Montgomery was on the list along with a bunch of other girls.”
“And all of it seems linked back to Ralph Yardley,” the other policeman said. “Whether or not he has anything to do with what’s going on, that guy’s goose is cooked. I bet the Jakes camp is as happy as a bushel of clams at high water.”
“Max Jakes strikes me as someone who’d rather win on his own merit than because of something like this,” Sierra said softly.
One cop opened his mouth, looked at his partner and shut it without speaking. He looked around the apartment and cleared his throat. “About your problem. Tell us what’s missing. Do you know when the break-in occurred?”
Sierra sat down because her knees felt weak. The state of her apartment seemed secondary to everything else swirling around in her head. Why was she increasingly sure Natalia and Giselle’s fates were linked with hers? She answered the police questions woodenly, so preoccupied she couldn’t think straight, relieved when they left. Damn it, she wished Pike was here to help her sort through all of this or maybe hold her tight and make the cold sweat go away. She’d missed him since the moment she left the ranch—him, Daisy and her puppies, the mare and those three silly dogs. Even Sinbad.
Angry at her scattered thoughts and growing sense of uneasiness, she went to work putting things back in drawers and on shelves, then pushing her bed against the wall. Eventually, she collapsed in front of the TV. Somewhere during a lengthy weather report, she fell asleep and didn’t rouse until a pounding at the door awakened her.
And thank goodness it did because she’d had another dream featuring bald men. This time she was tied naked to a chair and four of them stood around throwing lit matches at her.
Honestly, this was getting old.
She looked out the peephole before opening the door and found a big man wearing a blue jacket stretched tight over beefy shoulders. He also wore a cap with a black visor pulled low on his forehead. A bushy mustache occupied half his lower face.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Delivery,” he said, holding up a large cardboard-like envelope.
“What is it?” she called. He hadn’t buzzed from downstairs, but that wasn’t terribly unusual. People often held doors for each other or buzzed someone with a good story inside.
“I don’t know, lady. It’s from Internal Revenue. Come on, I ain’t got all day.”
“Put it in my mailbox in the foyer.”
“It’s too big for that. Anyway, it says here you have to sign for it.”
“I’m not opening the door,” she said. “Stuff it in the mailbox or tell me where I can go to pick it up.”
“I don’t have time for this,” he said as her door rattled and the knob turned.
What was he doing? “Go away,” she yelled.
The door rattled louder. Apparently, the deliveryman’s antics drew attention because she heard locks sliding and then the voice of the fireman who lived across the hall. “Dude, quiet down,” he called. “I got a kid asleep in here.”
The deliveryman told him what he could do with his sleeping child. She peered through the peephole, but she couldn’t see anyone. She ran across her apartment and pushed aside the drapes. Her living room window looked out on the street, and she waited for a minute until a man came out of the building. He turned to look up and she stepped back but kept watching. He spoke into a cell phone as he stood on the curb with the big envelope still in his hand. Within seconds, a long white car rolled to a stop on the street in front of him and he slid into the passenger seat and drove away.
That was no deliveryman. For the first time in her life, she was afraid of being alone in her own home.
“Think,” she told herself.
Okay, there had been way too many bald men in her dreams lately. The only hairless man she’d had any meaningful experience with in her life was Rollo Bean. She hadn’t seen him in almost fifteen years, so what did he represent to her? The past, obviously. Her dad. Elections. New Jersey.
And what about The Pastime? Did that bar have any significance? She’d probably seen it as a child, but if it had always been a drinking establishment, she might not have actually gone inside. But then she recalled the feeling of déjà vu she’d experienced sitting at the mahogany bar that night... She’d attributed it to the fact that many bars looked alike.
Who would know? Who could help? There was only one person she could think of and that was Rollo Bean. Where was he now? How could she find him? She opened her laptop, but the first thing she did was write another email to Savannah asking for details about Spiro’s acting experience. To her utter amazement, Savannah wrote back at once. There’s quite a bit to say, she said. Come to my place in an hour. Now that you’re back in the city, we need to plan what to do next.
Sierra responded positively, adding a warning to be cautious until she arrived. Finally, she could start getting answers, but first she took the time to change important passwords.
Next she searched for and found Rollo Bean’s contact information. She doubted she’d be able to get straight through to him but she tried, anyway. Sure enough, her call went to voice mail and she left a message and went to wash up before leaving for Savannah’s.
Her cell phone rang as she ran a comb through her hair. The number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”
“Is this Sierra Hyde?”
“Yes.”
“Sierra, this is Rollo Bean. You just called me on the other line. My goodness, it’s been years!”
“I know. Thanks for returning the call so promptly.”
“No problem. What can I do for you?”
“I have some puzzling questions about a bar that used to be called The Pastime in Dusty Lake. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, sure.”
“Do you know if I was ever in the place?”
“Maybe. They served food so it was okay for minors to sit at a booth with an adult. You’re not going to believe this, but these days I live very close to there. It’s called Tony’s Tavern now.”
“How long has it had that name?”
“It changed hands a few months ago. Why?”
“It’s complicated,” Sierra said. That’s why the dropped matchbook still had The Pastime printed on the cover. “Rollo, may I drive out to Jersey and pay
you a visit? There are some questions—”
“Of course you can,” he interrupted. “I’m on my way home right now. Gave a speech out of town last night. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m involved in Max Jakes’s bid for mayor of New York.”
“But surely those people don’t vote for the mayor in New York City,” she said.
“True, but they do vote for governor of the state and that’s where Max is headed next.”
“Wow, Rollo, that’s the big-time.”
“I know. It’s been a long time coming.”
She paused for a second before adding, “I hate to be a pest, but is there any possibility I could see you today?”
He paused for a second. “My schedule is pretty tight. Heck, who am I kidding? I can’t say no to Jeremy Hyde’s daughter. I could fit you in, say in an hour or so?”
“Great,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
“Why don’t you meet me in Tony’s parking lot?” he added. “It’ll save you trying to find my place.”
“Okay.”
“Gosh, I miss your dad.”
“I know, so do I,” Sierra said. “Can’t wait to see you.”
“Me, too, kiddo.”
She’d no sooner clicked off the phone than it rang again. “Sierra?”
“Pike? Oh, man, is it great to hear your voice. How are Daisy and her babies? Are you just getting up?”
“Not exactly. I’ve been traveling all night. I just landed in New York.”
“You’re here?”
“I’m here. I’m in the process of renting a car. Give me your address, honey.”
“Pike, you’ll never be able to find parking here, you should just take a cab.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out. Just give me your address.”
She gave him her address but had to add that she was literally on her way out the door.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll probably get lost a time or two. I’ll catch up with you when you get back from wherever you’re going.”
“But what will you do while I’m gone?”
“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to meet my father’s old friend at Tony’s Tavern and go back to his place for a chat. I’ll be honest with you, Pike. My apartment was burglarized while I was away. Then, this morning, a fake deliveryman tried to get me to open the door. There’s a dead call girl all over the news because of her possible connection to a guy running for mayor...and then there’s a missing woman called the Broadway Madame who is the same woman in those photographs I showed you taken at Tony’s Tavern, which, get this, used to be called The Pastime. I’m not sure about Savannah... Oh, drat! I forgot all about her.”
“What about her?”
“I made arrangements this morning to talk to her about her husband. Frankly, I just want to make sure she’s okay. She kind of disappeared for a while and I’m worried.”
“Where were you going to meet?”
“At her place.”
“Do you want me to go and make sure she’s all right?”
“Would you really be willing to do that?”
“Why not. Where does she live?”
She gave him Savannah’s address. “Confirm that Spiro was really an actor. Ask her where he was on stage,” she added.
“Okay.”
“I wish I had the time to wait for you.”
“I wish you did, too. I don’t like you going out there alone.”
“I know, but it’s what I do.”
“You’ll take a gun?”
“Pike, it’s early. The tavern won’t even be open for regular business.”
“Take a gun.”
“Okay.”
“Seriously, sweetheart. My gut tells me you’re in danger. Don’t forget what happened in Idaho, okay?”
“I haven’t.”
“Sierra, I want you to know that I love you. That’s why I’m here.”
His comment on top of the past hour of overload jolted her. She mumbled something in response and disconnected. Her heart pounded in her chest.
He loved her? Why hadn’t she said it back? Because she didn’t love him? Because she didn’t know if she did or not?
Was that true?
Face it: she wasn’t sure about anything.
* * *
WELL, PIKE THOUGHT to himself as he navigated the traffic out of LaGuardia, you aren’t in Idaho anymore, that’s for sure. His beloved open fields dotted with cattle had been replaced by miles of blacktop crowded with every kind of vehicle imaginable. After a few minutes, he detected a certain rhythm to the flow and eased into it himself.
Could he live here? Sure, if that’s what it took. He had a degree in agriculture. Maybe he could teach. Everyone always teased him that he looked and sounded like a professor. Maybe they had the right idea.
It didn’t matter what he did to earn a living. They could visit the ranch for vacations. All that mattered was that Sierra and he were together. She might not have been able to say she loved him when he blurted it out, but he knew in his heart that she cared and that was good enough for now.
It was important to keep his mind on the road, but it was impossible not to worry about what was going on with her. He couldn’t shake the fact that she was in danger but he couldn’t imagine why. What did she have to do with dead and missing women and politicians, and what was with the delivery guy?
Eventually, he found Savannah Papadakis’s building a few blocks from Central Park. He pulled up to the curb in front as a doorman immediately shot through the doors and waved his arms. “Sorry, sir, you can’t park here,” he said.
“Do you have visitor parking? I don’t think I’ll be long. I’m here to see Savannah Papadakis.”
“She’s not here.”
“When will she be back?”
The doorman looked around as though to make sure no one was listening to him. “We’re not sure. See, her hubby moved out a while ago. Mrs. Papadakis is kind of a quiet lady, doesn’t socialize very much anymore. But a few days ago, a deliveryman shows up here with an envelope from her husband’s attorney.”
“What did this guy look like? What company did he work for?”
“I’m not sure. Big bushy mustache, wonky eyes, blue uniform.”
“Wonky eyes? What does that mean?”
“They was two different colors. Brown and gray. Made it look like he was staring at you and the guy standing next to you at the same time. Anyway, I called Mrs. Papadakis and she said to send him up. Then she calls down for her car, a big old Cadillac she hardly ever drives, and they both take off, her in that red cape she wears like Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Did she say where they were going?”
“Neither one of them said a word.”
“Did she have a suitcase?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you check her apartment when she didn’t come home?”
“The manager did. Everything looked fine.”
“Have you since called the police?” Pike persisted.
“Why? It ain’t illegal to take a trip. She’s a private kind of woman and she’s rich. You don’t mess with her type.”
“So, she’s been gone several days with no explanation. You need to take a chance of annoying her and tell someone. At least call her husband.”
“She’ll kill me if I call her husband.”
“Then call the police. Something is wrong.” He took a card out of his wallet. It showed green pastures and cattle. Pike’s name and phone number occupied one corner while the other said: Hastings Ridge Ranch, Falls Ridge, Idaho. “Tell them to talk to me.”
“Idaho?”
“Just do it.”
He eased back into traffic and drove until he found a place he could pull over for a minute. He grabbed his phone and called Sierra, alarmed when she didn’t respond. By now, he’d been driving around New York for ninety minutes; surely she’d had time to reach her destination and could answer a phone call. Even if she was still driving she would have put him on speaker.
Maybe reception was bad at Rollo Bean’s house.
Think.
Sierra had been robbed. She said they took her computer. If the mail on all her gadgets was connected like his were, that meant every message she sent and received was visible to the thief and that meant this person would know a whole bunch about her movements.
Grace had mentioned seeing a map of Hastings Ridge Ranch on Sierra’s phone. If she’d taken the picture with her phone and sent it to her laptop, then it would have been on her desktop as well and that meant the people in the mine could have known of its location by studying the map. They would also know whatever Tess and Sierra wrote to each other while they were in LA. That meant they knew that there was a question about Danny being dead or alive, but not that his body had actually been found.
And they’d know all about Savannah Papadakis.
All along, it had worried him that the attackers didn’t kill Sierra and Tess outright. He’d seen no point in trying to stage an accident instead of getting the job done unless the point was that no one dig into possible motives for murder.
What else was on Sierra’s computer? All her work-related information, including the pictures she’d taken with her eyeglass camera at the bar in Jersey—the bar she was headed to right now, the one that used to be called The Pastime, the place the matchbook in the cave had to have come from. And she was on her way to meet Rollo Bean, her dad’s old advisor, the man who had fathered a calculating kid with different-colored eyes.
Too many coincidences; too many questions. He programmed his phone to find out how to get where he was headed and pulled back onto the street, his jaw set, his mind focused. Logic said they’d pass each other without even knowing it. His gut told him to go, anyway.