by Alan Cook
He acquiesced to that so we sat on the couch and read about the cat in the hat. In a few minutes Sandra reappeared down the stairs, wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, with her blond hair cascading down to her waist. She looked years younger and more carefree. I finished reading the book to Winston and then gave him my car keys, as a condition of leaving him.
Sandra and I set up shop on her small breakfast table in a nook beside the kitchen. I opened the manila folder in which I had carried the poems and showed them to her. There weren’t that many so she quickly read all of them. They included the limericks about Mark and Elise.
When she had finished she said, “She has an obsession with Elise and Mark. I knew when I met her that I didn’t want her around Mark.”
I thought about telling Sandra that if she wanted to protect Mark she should take him back. “Let’s concentrate on this poem,” I said, finding the one about dreams and the devil. I asked her what she made of it.
Sandra studied it for a minute and said, “She’s upset with what she thinks is her fate and this may lead her to do something she shouldn’t. Of course, you’ve got to understand that poets write about doing a lot of things they wouldn’t actually do. Many of them are rather passive people, but they momentarily escape from their unhappy lives through their words.”
“Isn’t the line ‘Keep it, Lady Luck’ out of place? The rhythm seems to be different.”
“Yes, it has only three feet while the other lines have four. That’s a good observation, Gogi. Maybe you missed your calling.”
Not likely. “You’re talking about something like iambic pentameter.”
“Well, tetrameter, at least for the other lines. But most of the feet are iambic.”
That was more than I cared to know about poetry. “I was searching for a clever idea, like how Donna put Elise’s name in the limerick about her.”
Sandra studied the poem again. Suddenly she stood up, almost knocking over the table, and said, “Look, Gogi. The first letters of the words, ‘Keep it, Lady Luck’ spell out the word ‘kill.’”
“Now that’s the kind of thing I’m looking for,” I said. “I came to the right place.”
“Of course, it might be coincidence,” Sandra said, sitting down again, “but the way she deliberately used that wording…”
“Let’s look at the next line: ‘Each lass is Satan’s earthly prize.’ The first letters of the first five words…”
“Spell out ‘Elise.’ Holy cow, do you suppose Donna killed Elise?”
“It’s never been very far from my thoughts. Look at the following line.”
“He makes angels run amuck.”
“If you take the first letters of ‘makes angels run’ and the last letter of ‘amuck’…”
“It spells Mark. Holy cow!” Sandra said again.
Teachers are conditioned not to swear, especially in the presence of their grandmothers. I said, “Is that too farfetched?”
“No. After all, it’s hard to find a good word that starts with k, especially at the end of a sentence. Gogi, Donna is going to kill Mark.”
“That may have been her original plan. But when he became a suspect she may have backed off, figuring that if he was convicted of Elise’s murder, she would still get her revenge on him for liking Elise instead of her—if that’s what infuriated her.”
“But with the new things you and Mark found out yesterday about Eric Hoffman, doesn’t that change things? Mark isn’t so much of a suspect, anymore.”
“How do you know about that?” I didn’t think anybody else knew what Mark and I had done yesterday.
“Mark called me last night after you were in bed.”
So that’s what the murmuring was that I had heard through my closed door. And I had thought it was the television set.
“We’ve got to warn Mark,” Sandra said, getting more agitated.
She picked up her cordless phone and called my number.
“He’s not there,” she said. She left a message for him to call her immediately.
Sandra couldn’t sit down. She began pacing around the kitchen. I tried to reassure her about Mark’s safety. She called the restaurant and asked if Mark had left. He had.
“He’s probably on the road between the restaurant and Silver Acres,” I said.
“I’m going to beep him,” Sandra said. She called his beeper number and left her phone number.
While we were waiting for Mark to call, Sandra fed Winston some hash for his dinner. He ate it with a spoon while sitting on a booster chair. He had announced some time ago that he was too old for a highchair. He was ambidextrous and could handle the spoon equally well with either hand. He also drank milk from a sippy cup.
I didn’t think Mark was in any immediate danger, but the fact that he hadn’t called was frustrating. I said, “I’ll go back to my apartment and check my messages.”
“Can’t you check them from here?” Sandra asked.
“Silver Acres has its own message system. I don’t think my messages can be checked remotely. If so, I haven’t figured out how to do it.”
“I can check my messages remotely. I’ll go with you.”
“Good. Then all of us can have dinner together in the Silver Acres dining room, You, Winston, Mark and me.”
“If he’s there.”
“I already ate dinner,” Winston said.
“But I bet you would like some ice cream,” I said.
“Can I have chocolate ice cream?”
Maybe this was serendipity because it would bring Sandra and Mark together.
Chapter 29
We took two cars. In spite of local rush-hour traffic we made the trip to Silver acres in ten minutes. We both parked in the parking lot near my building. My building contains four apartments and residents of several buildings use this lot, but extra parking spaces are available for visitors. Mark’s car wasn’t there.
The sun was still up, its rays slanting through the evergreen trees in the small woods between the parking lot and the buildings. The air was pleasantly cool, neither the cold of winter nor the heat of summer. We walked the short distance to my apartment, with Winston checking out several squirrels and a rabbit we encountered along the way.
Once inside, I went to my telephone and punched in the code for the answering service. The female, recorded voice informed me enthusiastically that I had two messages. The first one was from Tess, asking whether I, or Mark and I, were available to eat dinner with her in the dining room. The second message, I was told, was from an unknown number, meaning outside Silver Acres.
Mark’s voice said, “Hi, Lillian. I’m not going to be there for dinner tonight. I got a call from Donna, saying that she had some new information on the case, so I’m going to meet her for dinner. I’ll see you when I see you. Don’t wait up.”
The last was said facetiously. I hung up the phone and turned to Sandra.
“Well?” she said.
“Mark is meeting Donna for dinner because he thinks she has information for him. He’s not supposed to do this. Burt told him not to talk to her.” Of course that was a minor problem if Donna meant him harm.
Sandra’s expression showed pure panic. “Where is he meeting her?”
“He didn’t say. It may be totally innocent.” I didn’t really believe this and was already wondering how we could find them.
“Gogi, you read Donna’s poem. There’s nothing innocent about her. She’s going to kill Mark. We’ve got to stop her.”
But how? “Let’s call Albert and see if he’s free. He and I can run up to Bethany and try to find them.”
“Dad has a date tonight. I know because I talked to him last night. Besides, I’m going to go.”
“What about Winston?”
“We’ll take him with us. Or he can stay here with you and I’ll go.”
“You can’t go alone,” I said. “You don’t know your way around Bethany or where Donna’s apartment is.” I wasn’t about to be left out of this.
; “Can we take your car? Mine isn’t running very well.”
“Of course.” My car was old, but it ran well. And it was roomier than Sandra’s.
“We’ll have to put the car-seat in it. Winston, where are you? We’re going for a ride in Great-Grandma’s car.”
Winston appeared from the sunroom where he had been playing with a yellow Volkswagen I had bought him. He was always ready for a ride in a real car.
“Where are my keys?” I asked. “I’d lose my head if it weren’t screwed on.” I kept them in a cupboard, but I evidently hadn’t gotten them that far when we came in. I began a frantic search for them.
“Winston, did you take Great-Grandma’s keys?” Sandra asked.
Winston ran back to the sunroom and returned with my key ring. “I didn’t lose your keys,” he said.
It took us another five minutes to get ready. Most of that time Sandra spent trying to get Winston to go potty even though he said he didn’t need to. Then she transferred the car seat from her Toyota to my Mercedes. Finally, we were ready to go. I asked Sandra to drive.
As we drove, Sandra told me how to check her messages from my cell phone. She didn’t have any. Traffic was heavy but moving. Sandra was impatient and I wanted to warn her about following too closely, but sometimes grandmothers have to keep quiet. I checked her messages again just before we got to Bethany. Still nothing.
Once in Bethany I gave her directions on how to get to Donna’s apartment. We pulled into Donna’s residential street, which was parked solid with cars.
“There’s Mark’s car,” Sandra said.
She stopped abruptly beside the car, our bodies jerking forward as they obeyed a law of physics. I turned around and saw that Winston had fallen asleep, his head leaning to one side. Even the jerk hadn’t awakened him. We were 100 feet from Donna’s apartment.
“I’ll check the car and the apartment,” I said. “You can look for a parking place.”
“I’m going to keep you in sight,” Sandra said. “Don’t go into the apartment without me.”
She remained double-parked after I exited the car. I tried the passenger-side door to Mark’s car. It was unlocked, as usual. I stuck my head inside and saw his beeper, lying on the front seat where it could be taken by anybody who wanted it. So he hadn’t gotten Sandra’s message. I didn’t see anything else of interest.
I looked for Donna’s car as I walked to the door of her apartment, but I didn’t see it. No light shone through the window from her main room. I rang the doorbell, not expecting Donna to answer. She didn’t. Remembering that the door had been unlocked when Mark and I were there, I tried the door handle. It didn’t budge.
Sandra had driven to the front of Donna’s building. I walked back to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. I said, “There’s no sign of life.”
Sandra threw up her arms in frustration. “What do we do now?”
“Put out an APB,” I said, but it was a hollow joke. Then I thought of something more practical. “Drive around the block, slowly, so I can look for Donna’s car.”
Sandra did that, but Donna’s car was nowhere in sight. What now? So far, we had been engaged in a flurry of activity, but not much thinking. It was time to think. For several minutes I tried to get my brain into gear while Sandra chattered, nervously. Then I had an idea.
“I think they might be at Club Cavalier,” I said.
“Club Cavalier?” Sandra asked, incredulously. “Why in the world would they go there?”
“Just a hunch.” I couldn’t explain it in a few words. “But we’ve got nothing to lose. If they aren’t there we’ll check some of the restaurants in town.”
I gave Sandra directions on how to get to Club Cavalier. Traffic had thinned out and it didn’t take us very long.
While we were driving, Sandra said, “I can’t understand why Mark would go with Donna to a place like that.”
“Because he’s trying to get information; because he’s trying to clear himself. Rest assured that if we find them there it’s because Donna suggested it, not him.” Sandra had been showing signs of wanting Mark back. I hoped this trip wouldn’t change her mind because she held a low opinion of strip joints. “Maybe I’m all wet,” I said. “Maybe they’re not there at all.”
When we arrived at Club Cavalier we cruised through the parking lot, looking for Donna’s Chevrolet. It wasn’t near the front door, where most of the cars were parked at this hour. I told Sandra to go around the side of building, to the additional parking.
We found Donna’s car in the back corner of the lot. I verified the license plate number to make sure it was hers. Maybe she was afraid of getting her license plate put on the Internet and thought it would be safe from Eric Hoffman there. I looked around to see if I could find Eric’s pickup truck, but there were no pickups in sight and I hadn’t seen any in the front lot that had looked familiar. It was probably too early for him to be on the prowl.
Sandra pulled into the space beside Donna’s car.
“What are we going to do now?” Sandra asked. “We can’t take Winston in there.”
“We could wait until they come out,” I said. “Donna’s not going to do anything to Mark in the Club. However, I think there’s a chance that we may learn something if we go inside. This is what we’ll do. We’ll go in the side door, which is near the dressing room. Believe it or not, the dancers are real women, with the same maternal instincts we have, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to see Winston.”
“But places like this are so…sleazy. And the nudity.”
“He’s too young to be affected by any of that. But I’ll be glad to go in alone and you can stay out here with Winston, if you like.”
That decided her. Sandra wouldn’t let me go in alone, in spite of the fact that I had been here several times before. We got out of the car and she lifted Winston out, half asleep. His head promptly dropped onto her shoulder. We walked to the side door, which was near where we had parked. I tried the door; it was unlocked. Lefty shouldn’t be so careless. Anybody could walk in.
We went through the doorway into the hall. We could hear the distant but insistent beat of rock music. The door to Lefty’s office was closed, as usual. I didn’t know whether he was in there and I didn’t want to inflict Winston on him so we went on around the corner to the dressing room. That door was open.
I led the way inside, where two of the dancers were sitting in front of the brightly lit mirrors, working on their makeup. The music was louder here; another dancer must be onstage. I recognized one of the two sitting here as Cherub. Cherub saw me in the mirror and swung around on her stool.
“Grandma,” she exclaimed, “what are you doing here? And who’s this?”
She was looking at Winston, still on Sandra’s shoulder, who had his eyes open now. He looked around with lively interest.
I said, “Cherub, this is my real granddaughter, Sandra. And this is her son, Winston.”
Cherub and Sandra said hello to each other. Cherub got up and walked over to Winston.
“Hi, Sweetheart,” she said, patting his head. “Ain’t you the handsome little boy.”
“Do you have a car?” Winston asked her.
“Have I got a car? Sure, I have a cool car.”
“What color is it?”
“It’s yellow.”
“That’s good. Yellow is my favorite color.”
Winston had made a friend. Sandra stood him on the floor, from where he continued to talk cars with Cherub. Sandra looked uncomfortable, which was not surprising, but I got the impression it was partly because of her dress: she still wore longish shorts and a baggy sweatshirt while Cherub had on a rather spectacular, if abbreviated, sequined costume.
When I could get a word in edgewise, I said, “Cherub, is there any way of seeing who’s in the audience without actually going out on the floor?”
“So you’re here on official business?” Cherub said. “Still working on the murder of the Shooting Star, eh? Lefty’s wandering arou
nd here, somewhere, up to no good. Let me see if I can corral him. I’ll be right back.”
Cherub went out the door. The other dancer, who was also intrigued with Winston, said her name was Melanie. Winston asked her if she had a car and soon they were deep in conversation.
Cherub returned within a couple of minutes, with Lefty trailing behind her. He wore a suit and one of his beautiful ties. He must be hot; his face glistened with sweat. When he saw me he said, “Lillian. What a pleasure.”
He took my hand in both of his paws, as usual. Fortunately, he had a surprisingly gentle touch or my hand would have been handburger. I glanced at Sandra, who looked as if she was wondering exactly how much time I had been spending here, and I hoped that Lefty’s spectacular tie would impress her. I introduced Lefty to her and Winston.
To Winston, Lefty said, “Take it easy on the girls, you hear? They’re very delicate,” and to Sandra, “So you’re Lillian’s granddaughter. I’ll bet she looked like you when she was your age.”
“Better,” Sandra said, modestly.
“Well, you can have a job here anytime. With that hair and that body, you’d be perfect. You don’t even need a wig. We’ll call you Shooting Star II because you have the same kind of appeal she had. And in addition you’ve got boobs.”
“Don’t pay any attention to Lefty,” Cherub said to Sandra. “He never head of political correctness.”
“In this business I’ve always got to keep my eye open for talent,” Lefty said. “And I know it when I see it. Can you dance, Sandra?”
“We’ll negotiate her contract later,” I said. “Right now, we believe there’s a couple in your audience that we’d like to keep an eye on.”
“No sooner said than done,” Lefty said. “Follow me.”
He led the way out of the dressing room. Cherub said she’d watch Winston and he was willing to stay with her because she had agreed to show him her car keys. Sandra and I followed Lefty along a hallway I hadn’t traversed before and up a flight of stairs I didn’t even know existed. At the top of the stairs I saw a closed door. Lefty opened it and led us into a room with a large window that overlooked the whole club below, including the stage, the bar and the audience.