by Gloria Dank
This had the desired effect. There was a sudden, total silence from the other side of the wall. Bernard imagined Snooky and his girlfriend startled from their absorption in each other, lying in bed with their heads up, eyes startled, ears straining to hear.
“MAYA, I THINK I SHOULD GO INVESTIGATE. THERE WAS A TERRIBLE NOISE. IT SOUNDED LIKE SOMEBODY WAS BEING KILLED, OR LIKE A PIG BEING STUCK. DON’T STOP ME. I’M GOING TO GO OVER THERE. SOMEBODY SHOULD WARN SNOOKY.”
Maya pulled the covers up over her head.
Bernard listened. There was a deep, tranquil silence from the other side of the wall; the proverbial silence of the graveyard. He smiled grimly.
“ALL RIGHT, IF YOU THINK I SHOULDN’T, I WON’T, BUT I’M TELLING YOU, THERE WAS SOMETHING. SOME KIND OF STRANGE NOISE. ALL RIGHT. GOOD NIGHT, MAYA.”
Maya giggled sleepily.
“SLEEP WELL. ARE YOU SURE IT WASN’T ANYTHING? ALL RIGHT. GOOD NIGHT.”
Bernard lay down and plumped the pillow up around his head. There was silence from the direction of Snooky’s bedroom. Outside his window, a lone owl hooted eerily. There was the sound of the wind in the trees, the owl, his own and Maya’s breathing, Misty’s snoring, and nothing else. Over the cabin, peace and quiet reigned.
6
Sarah stayed at the cabin for a few days—during which time Bernard’s sleep was undisturbed—and then thanked them all and left. “I really have to get back,” she explained to Snooky. “Irma still needs me, and God knows what Gertie’s been up to. I know they can’t fend for themselves in that big house.”
“They did fine while you were in college.”
“I know, but it’s different now. Irma still isn’t herself.”
“All right. I’ll drive you back. Are you sure you’re not letting Bernard drive you away?”
“Not at all,” said Sarah. “Bernard is … is a poppet.”
“Sarah says you’re a poppet,” Snooky said later that day.
Bernard looked offended.
“She says she enjoys your company.”
Bernard shrugged.
“Yes,” said Snooky. “I don’t get it either. What are your plans for today?”
“We’re going antiquing,” said Maya.
“Antiquing? What an excellent idea.”
“Want to come along? You might find something interesting.”
“Not me. I don’t have any place to put anything. You know me, Maya.”
Maya nodded. With his succession of rented or borrowed homes, Snooky had learned the difficult lesson of keeping his possessions to a minimum, like a Zen monk. He typically appeared on her front doorstep with a brown paper bag containing his toothbrush, a few items of clothing, and little more. He supplemented any deficiencies in his wardrobe by borrowing freely from Bernard’s.
“There are some good stores around here. The two of you should go take a look. You can’t come to Vermont and not go shopping for antiques, anyway. It’s against the law.”
“Give me the names of some stores we can go to, will you?”
Snooky tilted back his chair. “Let’s see. There’s the Pink Boar in Lyle. You can’t miss it. It’s very distinctive. It’s got this enormous scarlet pig painted on a sign above the door. You go past the main square and turn right on Oak Street. And in Wolfingham, there’s a whole street full of shops. Ask anyone there, they’ll be able to direct you.”
“All right, Snooks. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Somehow,” said Snooky, “I had guessed that.”
“What’s this, Maya?”
Bernard held up a small polished spindle of wood. It had a rounded knob on either end and fit snugly into the palm of his hand.
“I don’t know, darling.”
“There are two of them. Like miniature dumbbells.”
“I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
“Or how about this?” It was a tiny, but unexpectedly heavy, black metal box with the name SYLVIA in raised metal letters on the top.
“I have no idea. I can’t imagine what Sylvia used it for.”
Bernard pawed through the pile of clutter in the back of the shop. “This is great, Maya. Look at this.” He showed her a small white ashtray with a red crown in the middle. Underneath the crown were the gold letters E II R. Around the letters was a golden scroll that read, THE QUEEN’S SILVER JUBILEE, 1952–1977.
Bernard was delighted. “It’s English, of course. The Queen’s Jubilee. This is terrific stuff, Maya.”
“Add it to the pile, darling.”
They were in the Pink Boar in Lyle. For the past half hour they had been shuffling around the limited floor space, edging their way past long cherrywood tables and piles of rickety wooden chairs. There were chests of drawers, tables, chairs, desks, broken lamps and crockery. In the back, Bernard had discovered, to his joy, a huge cardboard box filled with odds and ends. Now he was snuffling through it, unearthing strange and unlikely objects with small whimpers of delight.
“Look at this, Maya. What is this?”
Maya regarded the latest object wearily. It was a long brass utensil with a rounded spoon at one end and a fork at the other. “I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Bernard spun it experimentally. It was nearly two feet long from fork to spoon. “I could hang it on the wall of my study.”
The walls of Bernard’s study, and in fact the study itself, were so cluttered that Maya doubted he would be able to find room for this latest acquisition. “Fine. I’ll be over here, by those chairs. I could use some extra chairs.”
She left Bernard with his hands buried in the cardboard box, his eyes aglow, and moved over to the pile of chairs. Bernard gravitated naturally to the small and unusual objects, while her forte was the large furniture. She was disentangling one of the chairs from the pile for a closer look, when there was a strangled cry of joy from the back of the store.
“Maya? Maya, come look at this.”
When she reached her husband, he was sitting on the floor, oblivious to the layers of dust and clutter all around him. In his lap, he was gently cradling an antique typewriter. He held it up for her to see. It was one of the very old manual ones, with a dull black exterior and tiny raised round keys. There was a roll of ancient typewriter ribbon hanging disconsolately off the spool. It looked as if it had not seen the light of day for perhaps thirty years.
“It’s very nice, sweetheart. You’ve been looking for one of those, haven’t you?”
Bernard cradled it on his lap and stroked the keys lovingly. “This is it, Maya. Exactly what I wanted. I’ll put it on the bookcase in my room. Once I shine it up, it’ll be beautiful. Or maybe it’s more interesting if I leave it this way. It’s one of the old ones, Maya. One of the early ones. Isn’t it something?”
She admitted cheerfully that it was indeed something.
Half an hour later they paid for their purchases and left. The stores in Wolfingham proved to be a disappointment, and they were back at the cabin by late afternoon. Bernard arranged his newly acquired possessions in a semicircle on the floor. Then he stood in front of them and gloated openly.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Snooky. “Look at him. It’s pathetic.”
Bernard picked up one of the wooden spindles and began to play with it, tossing it from hand to hand.
“And it’s all nothing but trash,” said Snooky in amazement. “Except for that typewriter, maybe. But everything else is just trash. Look at this.” He picked up the Queen’s Silver Jubilee ashtray. “I can’t believe my eyes.”
Bernard took it away from him. He put it lovingly back on the floor and continued to gloat silently.
“Does he always get this kind of junk?” Snooky asked.
“Yes.” Maya was standing by the window, drinking coffee, gazing out into the deepening twilight.
“Did you get anything for yourself, My?”
“I found a chair. It’s in the back of the car. We can bring it i
n later. It probably shouldn’t be left out in the cold.”
Bernard picked up the ashtray, put it down, then picked up the metal box named SYLVIA. He picked up the brass fork-and-spoon combination, held it aloft triumphantly like a trident and spun it once or twice over his head. He smiled fiercely.
“He’s like a little boy,” Snooky remarked. “A child at Christmas.”
Bernard picked up the pair of wooden spindles and hefted them over his head, up and down, up and down. Maya took another sip of coffee.
“I have some news that will interest you,” she said. “Detective Bentley is here.”
Not even this disturbed Bernard’s concentration. He was twirling the spindles thoughtfully, one in each hand, testing their weight.
“He’s parked his car out front, and he’s getting out of it now.”
“Lock the door and turn out all the lights, Maya,” said Snooky cheerfully. “We can all hide under the table until he’s given up and gone away.” However, he did not budge from his position, supine on the sofa.
“He’s here.” Maya put her cup down and went to the front door. “How nice to see you, Detective.”
Bentley grunted and shoved past her. “Have some questions for the two of you,” he said to Bernard and Snooky. Bernard, lost in contemplation of his new treasures, did not look at him.
“Please sit down, Detective,” said Snooky. “Make yourself at home. What can we do for you today?”
“I need more information about this alleged girlfriend of Bobby Fuller’s.”
“I don’t have any more information. I’ve already told you everything.”
Bentley looked unhappy. “I can’t find her based on a physical description of her as a ‘brazen hussy.’ It’s not enough.”
“I can’t help that, Detective. That’s how she was described to me. You didn’t find anything useful in Bobby’s apartment?”
“No. Nothing—no names, no addresses, nothing. He was careful, all right. If this woman you’re talking about really exists, that is.”
“I only know what I’ve told you so far.”
“It’s not enough.”
“I’m more sorry than I can possibly say. There’s nothing I can do about that.”
“You can give me the name of the person who saw her. Your source may know more about it than you do. That wouldn’t be hard.”
Snooky gazed at him reproachfully. “I can’t do that. You can pull out my tongue and flay me alive, but I can’t do that. It’s not right.”
“I wouldn’t say who had told me,” Bentley said cunningly.
“No.”
Bentley sighed. “There’s nothing else you can tell me?”
“She was blond, around Bobby’s age, maybe younger, and attractive enough to be described as a hussy. They were seen together on the main street in Wolfingham. That’s it.”
“It’s not very much,” Bentley said heavily. His shoulders drooped. Snooky, looking at him, realized that the little detective was honestly depressed over how the investigation was going. He was overcome by a sudden friendly wave of compassion.
“Listen,” he said. “I can’t give you the name of my source, but I can try to get more information. If I come up with anything, I’ll give you a call. How’s that?”
Bentley nodded. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
The next afternoon, Snooky stationed himself by the massive pile of Maine potatoes at Harry’s Market. He waited patiently. He knew that Charlotte Grunwald came in most days around three o’clock to do her shopping. He had run into her several times since their conversation; she had seemed nervous and apprehensive and not at all talkative since then, although she had flashed him a shy smile before she hurried away.
Promptly at midafternoon, Charlotte appeared like a gray smoky vision at the door of Harry’s Market and Fresh Produce Stand. She was wearing, as always, her gray cap and gray wool winter coat, firmly buttoned up to her pointy chin. She carried a basket in one arm and her purse slung over her shoulder. This time, however, she was accompanied by an elderly white-haired man with deep blue eyes. Snooky smiled affably and made his way over to the heaping bins of apples near the door.
“Charlotte. How nice to see you.”
“Oh, Snooky.” She seemed flustered. “Hello. You know Frank Vanderwoort, our neighbor, don’t you?”
Snooky gave him a friendly nod. “Hello, Frank.”
“Hello, Snooky.”
“Charlotte, there’s something I wanted to ask you about, if you don’t mind …”
“I’ll leave you two to chat,” said the white-haired man, and moved away toward the vegetable display.
Charlotte regarded him nervously out of the corner of her eye. “What is it?”
“It’s about that woman you described to me the other day—”
She gave a small half-gasp. “Oh, Snooky, I felt so terrible afterward. I really shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me. It was none of my business …”
“Oh, I understand completely, Charlotte. If you’re uncomfortable and you don’t want to talk about it anymore, that’s fine with me.”
“Well … I don’t think I really should …”
“I’m sorry for bringing it up. Can I help you with the vegetables?”
Charlotte stood on one foot, storklike, and stared at him, her mind clicking over slowly. Her curiosity was piqued. “Well … what is it you wanted to know? I really shouldn’t talk about it, but since you bring it up …”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just idle curiosity.”
Charlotte peered at him, waiting.
“To be honest with you, I’ve been wondering what Bobby’s girlfriend really looked like. I mean, ‘brazen hussy’ isn’t much of a description, is it?”
“It’s a perfectly good description. That’s what she was.”
“How could you tell?”
She dismissed him with a contemptuous glance. Men, her look said clearly. Men! How could I tell? They simply don’t understand!
“I know I’m being stupid,” Snooky said. “If you could just describe her a little more fully …”
“Well, she was wearing an orange-colored dress, much too loud and truly tasteless, if you want my opinion. Very lowcut in front. She had an open cardigan on, but that didn’t really—well, it didn’t really cover anything up, if you know what I mean.” Charlotte sniffed disapprovingly. “A hussy. And she had short blond hair, curled all over. She was a little overweight. Plump, I mean. And she was short, around Bobby’s height.”
“How old was she?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Around his age, I would think. Late thirties. Lots of dark eyeshadow and mascara and bright red lips. No—no restraint at all.” Poor Charlotte, who had been forced by circumstances that she had never chosen—the personalities of her father and older sister—to be restrained her whole life, shuddered in distaste. “No restraint, no taste, simply—simply flamboyance. She had a round face and I’m sure her hair was dyed. Why, now, it’s funny how it all comes back to me when I think about it. Yes, her hair was dyed—it was too yellow, you know, no highlights in it, all the same shade.” Charlotte sniffed again and unconsciously lifted a hand to pat her own dull, graying mop of hair. “She had her arm through Bobby’s, and they were laughing and talking. I never saw him laughing like that with Irma,” she added meanly, then blushed at her own words.
“You’re amazing, do you know that, Charlotte? I think you have a photographic memory. I really do. All those details, just like that.”
She preened and began to glow, heating up from within like an incandescent sun. “Oh. Do you think so? That’s very kind. You know, it surprises me too, how it all comes back so clearly. It’s as though I can almost see her now.”
“It’s a gift, Charlotte. A gift. You should be very proud.”
“Oh … oh!” She stood gazing at him with the sheepish smile of a young girl. He thanked her and hurried away, leaving her pink-faced and pleased, standing i
n the aisle of Harry’s Market all by herself, glowing with deep inward warmth on a cold winter’s day.
“You are a heartless flatterer,” Maya said disapprovingly.
“I know.”
“You should be taken out back and your head should be boiled in oil.”
“No doubt.” Snooky ran his finger down a list. “Dyed blond hair, short curls. Overweight. Lots of makeup. Short, around Bobby’s height. Loud, low-cut orange dress. Big breasts.”
“How do you know she had big breasts? Charlotte couldn’t have brought herself to say that?”
“In so many words, Maya. In so many words.”
Maya was peeling potatoes over the sink. “Bobby didn’t seem attractive enough to me to have two women falling all over him.”
“Women are a strange species, Maya. There’s no accounting for their tastes. Bernard, for instance, found somebody to marry him.”
“Bernard is a very handsome, a very sexy man.”
Snooky gazed at her reproachfully. “Please, Maya. Please. You cannot imagine in your wildest dreams how profoundly I don’t want to hear you talk about him that way. Do you think this will be enough for Bentley to find her?”
“The mystery woman?”
“Yes.”
“I doubt it, Snooks. He hasn’t been able to find her so far. He doesn’t seem to be able to follow up on things very well.”
Snooky gazed at his list despondently. “Well, I don’t think I have any choice. I’ll have to give him a call and read this to him. Maybe it’ll help, who knows.”
“When you’re done, come back and help me with the potatoes.”
Detective Bentley was, as Snooky had hoped he would be, profoundly grateful for the information.
“That’s it?” he barked.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“That’s all you got?”
“I think it’s quite a lot, myself,” snapped Snooky, his hackles rising.
“Okay.” Bentley slammed down the phone. Snooky came back into the kitchen with a thunderous look on his face.
“There is no gratitude in this world,” he informed Maya. He took the peeler away from her and picked up a potato from the basket near the sink. “No gratitude, Maya, do you hear me?”