by J. R. Ripley
“Spy stuff,” mumbled Floyd.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Spy stuff?” I was too late. Floyd had gone over the edge. Next he’d be telling me that Esther had been kidnapped by aliens.
“You know, the Mysterious Esther case.” Floyd found an itch to scratch at the back of his gray head.
“The Mysterious Esther case?” I looked from one to the other.
“We can’t just let her rot in jail, Amy.” Floyd sounded pleading.
“Of course, not, Floyd. Nobody wants that.” Two men stepped out from behind the closed hall door. I motioned for Karl and Floyd to follow me to a quiet corner. “The truth is, Esther isn’t in jail anymore. But she is missing.”
“We know that.” Karl poked me with his cigar.
“She isn’t missing,” Floyd piped in.
“Not exactly,” refined Karl.
I wiped a mix of damp spittle and tobacco from the middle of my sweater. A wet, brown spot remained.
“Sorry about that, Chief.” Karl smiled weakly.
“You know about Esther being out of jail?”
Both men nodded.
“How?”
“I have my sources.” The ex-lawman puffed out his chest.
“Yeah,” repeated Floyd, “Karl has his sources.”
“Do any of these sources happen to know where Esther is now?”
Detective Locke and a second uniformed officer were moving down the hall. I turned my back to them.
“No,” admitted Karl. “But we do.”
“You do?”
Floyd nodded enthusiastically. “Me and Karl rented a car and we’ve been sleuthing.”
“Investigating,” Karl said.
“Investigating,” Floyd agreed. “We want to help Esther.”
I wasn’t sure if Esther needed or wanted our help but it seemed she was getting it anyway. “Is that why the two of you never returned to the inn last night?”
“We were on a stakeout,” boasted Karl.
“Who and what were you staking out?” I squeezed my eyes shut a moment to still the dizzy spell coming on. “And where were you conducting this so-called stakeout?”
“It’s like this,” Karl explained. “We were looking for Esther.”
“We went to see her at the police station.” Floyd interrupted. “We watched her leave.”
“Who’s telling this, me or you?” Karl snarled.
“I don’t care who tells the story, just spit it out all ready.” Detective Locke was watching us from afar, like we were specimens under the microscope. It was making me nervous.
Floyd motioned for Karl to take over.
The ex-chief of police cleared his throat. “I had my feelers out. I got to hand it to the Pester. She leaves little trace.”
“Don’t call her that,” interrupted Floyd.
“Right. Sorry,” Karl replied sheepishly. “The lovely Ms. Pilaster.” He rolled his eyes at me.
“I saw that!” said Floyd.
“Anyway, at the police station,” Karl continued, “I went in to talk to the officer at the desk.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“Sure. He was giving me a hard time at first, but when I showed him my badge, he opened right up.”
“Did you talk to Esther?”
“Yep. She told us to get lost.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know,” moaned Floyd. “We only wanted to help.”
“She acted like she wasn’t happy to see us at all.” Karl shot a look at his friend that was full of pity. “After, we went out to the car and sat for a while, pondering our next move. That’s when we saw Esther come out.”
“Alone?”
Karl nodded. “She came out alone but she climbed into a car with that fella Marty.”
Floyd’s face darkened, whether it was at hearing Marty’s name or knowing that Esther had left the police station with him, I couldn’t tell. Probably both.
“Do you know where they went?”
“Sure, we followed them.”
“And? Where is she?”
“Holed up in some small apartment house in Philly. I got the address right here.” Karl pulled out a mangled notepad bearing the inn’s name.
“With him,” Floyd added with a pang of jealousy.
“Show me.”
As we moved towards the exit, Detective Locke stepped into our path. “Hello, Ms. Simms. I’d like a word with you.”
I turned to Karl and Floyd. “Why don’t I meet you two outside? We’ll find someplace nice for lunch.” I smiled at the detective. “You are a local. Any recommendations?”
The detective named a spot down the road and Floyd and Karl bustled out.
“What can I do for you, detective?”
“I’m looking for Phoebe Gates. I was told you were with her in the food court earlier.”
“I was but she went to her office. I haven’t seen her since.”
“So you have no idea where she is?”
“None at all. What’s this all about?”
Detective Locke blinked, his face betraying no emotion. “We received an anonymous phone tip that Ms. Gates had been having an affair with the deceased. Did she say anything to you about that?”
“I had no idea.”
“Rumor has it, she abandoned her husband and children to be with Mr. Fuller.”
“You consider her a suspect in his murder?”
“I do. Because, according to Lorna Fuller, JJ had been known to have a fling or two but would never, under any circumstances, leave his wife.”
“What makes you, and her, so sure of that?”
“Lorna Fuller comes from a very wealthy family. The widow claims, and our background check confirms, that JJ Fuller liked the good things in life. The best things in life. All that world traveling he was so fond of did not come cheaply. If he left his wife, his world would crumble.”
“I don’t know where Phoebe is. She left the food court with one of the exhibitors, Irving Shipman, to check on something. That’s the last I saw of her.”
“Thanks. She is not in her office. She may have gone offsite.”
I left the detective to his own devices. Phoebe had had an affair with JJ Fuller? If that was true, had the cad promised to leave his wife for her?
If so, Phoebe had been duped. She had left her husband and children, abandoned her home, to be with a man who had had no intention of being in a committed relationship with her.
When she had found out the truth, it must have crushed her, knowing what she had done and what she had given up to be with him. Her family, her entire life, ripped apart, torn asunder.
She must have been furious too. Had JJ’s betrayal made her angry enough to kill?
12
I climbed into the back seat of Karl and Floyd’s rental and settled back for the ride. Some minutes later, we were driving along an all too familiar sight.
I leaned forward in my seat. “That’s Laurel Hill.”
“What’s that?” Karl eyed me in the rearview mirror.
“The cemetery the deceased Martin Ritter calls home.”
“I don’t get it,” said Floyd.
“Neither do I,” I admitted.
Karl squeezed up to the curb outside a six-story brown brick apartment complex. I pressed my nose to the car’s rear side window. “This is it?”
“Yep.” Karl killed the engine.
“I wonder what apartment they are in.”
“I wonder what sort of hanky-panky they are up to.” Karl chuckled.
Floyd shot him a death ray look.
“They are in 3C,” Floyd said stiffly.
“How do you know that?”
“We saw them.” Karl lifted an expensive pair of binoculars.
/> “Until somebody pulled the curtains.”
“Where did you get those?” I demanded. “That’s a two-thousand-dollar pair of optics.”
“We borrowed them.” Karl laid the binoculars at his feet.
“Yeah,” Floyd said. “Borrowed them.”
“From who?”
That was a top-of-the line pair of Ornitho Optics glasses.
“It’s not important,” Karl said. “What’s important is what do we do next.”
“Yes, but a pair of binoculars like that—”
Floyd turned around to face me. “We took them from the exhibit hall late last night. It’s okay.”
“It’s okay? Are you telling me that you broke into the Expo Center after hours and stole a pair of expensive binoculars?”
“Not stole,” Karl countered, stuffing his damp cigar between his lips. “Commandeered.”
“Stole.” I gaped at the two men. “You could both be arrested for burglary, grand theft maybe.” What were the laws in Pennsylvania regarding crazy old coots who commandeer pricy binoculars from a locked facility?
Derek might have to do some more fact-checking.
I scolded them with my finger. “You could both end up in jail. Isn’t it enough that Esther’s there?”
“Uh, Amy.” Floyd tapped my shaking knee. “Esther’s out now, remember?”
“Yeah,” said Karl. “She’s up there with spy guy.” He rolled down the driver’s side window and spat his cigar out on the sidewalk. “The question is do you want to talk about what’s been done or about what we are going to do next?”
I fell back against the seat and blew out a breath.
“And we are going to give them back,” Floyd said patiently.
“Fine. You two wait here.” I slammed the door shut behind me. “I’m coming right back.”
I picked up Karl’s cigar stub and handed it to him. “No littering.”
Floyd leaned across the seat. “We checked in the lobby. The unit is registered to a K. Bergdorf.”
I thanked him and climbed the concrete stoop. The front entrance was unlocked and the door hung loosely. The entryway was dark and dreary. There was a well-worn track in the olive green carpet which laid lifelessly on the floor. A bank of brass mail slots was built into the wall on the right.
Sure enough, K. Bergdorf was listed as the occupant of 3C of the Laurel Cove Apartments. I climbed the narrow steps to the third floor and knocked. I waited, breathing in years of mold that was probably sucking years off my life. There was no answer.
I tried again. “Esther?” I knocked harder. “Marty? Mr. Bergdorf?”
An old woman popped her head out of 3B. “Nobody’s home.”
“Hello. I’m looking for my friends. Esther and Marty.” I glanced at the door of 3C. “Are you sure nobody is home?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“Yes, yes, you did. Sorry. I guess I missed them.”
“Left more than an hour ago. Maybe two.”
“Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Nope.” She sniffed as if testing the air. Not a good idea, under the present toxic conditions. Her hair was silver and her skin white and age-lined. She wore a long black dress and slippers.
“I don’t suppose you know where they went?”
“Try the cemetery.”
“The cemetery? You mean Laurel Hill?”
“It’s the man’s favorite spot. He practically lives there.”
If she was talking about Marty Ritter, she didn’t know how meaningful those words were. “Do you know Marty?”
She eyed me blankly.
“Martin Ritter?”
“Never heard of him.”
I gave as good a description as I could manage.
“Sounds like an old fart,” the woman replied, rolling her tongue across her upper lip. “This building is full of them. And when it’s done with them, they end up across the street.”
I was stumped for a minute, then realized she meant the cemetery. “Well, thank you for your help.”
“Be careful when you leave,” the old woman admonished me. “Don’t talk to strangers.”
I smiled at her. “Don’t worry. I am not planning to.”
“See that you don’t. There’s been two weirdos hanging around downstairs.”
My brow went up. “Oh?”
“Yep. They were here for a spell then drove off. That’s when I heard 3C go out.”
“I see.” Though I wasn’t sure that I did.
“They’re back now.”
“Who’s back?” I was confused all over again. Had Esther and Marty and this Bergdorf character snuck in behind me. I glanced at the door of Bergdorf’s apartment.
“The weirdos.” She wrapped her hands in the folds of her expansive dress.
“They are?”
“Perverts, if you ask me.” Her eyes bounced around the foyer. “I called the police. When I heard the knocking out here, I thought you was them.”
“Perverts?”
“Parked in that dark sedan at the curb. Peeping in the windows.”
“You mean—” I had a feeling I knew exactly which perverts she was talking about. I needed to warn them. We needed to get out of there before the police showed up and arrested them for peeping.
“Thanks for your time. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
I bounded down the stairs and flung myself in the backseat of the car.
“Hey, Chief,” Floyd said. “Where’s Esther? Did you talk to her? Is she coming?”
I banged my fist twice on the back of Karl’s seat. Was that a police siren I heard in the distance? “Drive.”
Karl switched on the engine and floored the gas pedal. The car lurched forward, missing the truck in front of us by mere inches.
Karl threw the transmission into reverse and, after backing and twisting the wheel hard, managed to gain the road.
“Turn here,” I directed.
“Sure.” We slid around the corner butt first.
“Left!” I shouted next.
A police car, lights flashing, was coming on fast. I swiveled my head in every direction. “The cemetery,” I shouted. “There’s the entrance.”
The ornate Laurel Hill entrance was ahead on our right. Thankfully, no cars were coming our way down the narrow road bifurcating the main complex.
I hoped that Karl could negotiate through it without mishap.
“Slow down, you old fool!” Floyd said what I was thinking.
Karl cursed and lifted his foot. With a screech of brakes and a lurch, we turned off the main street. We dashed through the entrance. Karl was forced to slam on the brakes as an unfortunate groundskeeper in a slow-moving golf cart crossed our path.
He looked at us in surprise and angrily waved a rake at us. “This is a no wake zone! Slow it down!”
Karl waved back. We moved slowly up the hill to the right. I looked out the rear window. The police car had not followed us.
“Stop here,” I said finally.
Karl pulled the car over to the side of the lawn. He lit a fresh cigar with a shaky hand.
“Where to now, Amy?” Floyd asked. “Back to the Expo?”
I pushed open my door. “I want to show you something first. Follow me.”
After a little trial and error, I found what I was looking for.
“What does it mean?” Karl scratched the back of his neck.
Floyd stood with his hands folded. “According to his headstone, Marty died nearly forty years ago.”
“Maybe he’s one of those zombie guys.” Karl chuckled.
“Zombie guys. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” I spun around. “Back to the Expo.”
We hurried back to the sedan as quickly as we could.
“There’s
a piece of paper stuck under the windshield.” Floyd pointed.
Karl puffed out a cloud of foul smelling smoke as I plucked the paper from behind the wiper blade and unfolded it.
“What’s it say?” demanded Karl.
“Probably a ticket for parking on the grass,” Floyd said.
“No.” I reread the note then scanned the horizon. There were few people about and didn’t recognize any of them. Between the trees, the shrubbery and the tombstones, a body—a living body, that is—could hide just about anywhere, even near at hand, and not be seen. “It’s from Esther.”
“Esther?” Floyd pressed against me. “What does she say?”
I handed Floyd the note. “She wants me to meet her at some bar later.”
Floyd read the note. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.” I slid inside the car. “Let’s ride.”
13
“There you are.” Derek leaned across the display table and planted a kiss on my lips.
“Sorry.” I threw my purse on the rear table. “Something came up.”
“No problem.” He reached under the table and pulled out a book. “I got you a present.”
“The latest Crossley ID Guide!” I flipped through the photos. “Where did you get this?” Richard Crossley was a noted photographer and authored a unique series of birding guides.
“The author was signing books a couple booths down. Look.” Derek turned to the frontispiece. “He autographed it.”
I read the inscription and smiled. “We carry his books in Birds and Bees.”
“I know. I told him.”
“You, sir, are too sweet.” I pushed up on my toes and kissed him hard on the lips, and I didn’t care who saw me.
“Thanks. Right now, I’m too hungry. Where’s my sandwich?”
I groaned. “I am so sorry—”
“No problem. I’ll go get something in the food court.”
“No. I feel awful.” I fished my wallet out of my purse. “I’ll go. You stay here. Karl and Floyd should be along in a minute.”
“They’re back?” Surprise showed on his face. “Where did you find them?”
“Long story.” I hurried across the crowded floor. “I’ll explain when I return.”
The food court was filled with zombies. Tall ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones. The only thing they had in common was that they were all recognizably undead.