Murder She Typed

by Sylvia Selfman

  Could his scratches have been caused by Sherlock? Was Merv the man Lorna had overheard arguing with Sondra outside her condo?

  I needed to read Sondra’s manuscript quickly and get it back to Dr. Linda.

  Hunting through the fridge for something that would satisfy both my appetite and my latest diet, I settled on a small container of strawberry yogurt and granola. I could already feel the pounds melting off and it was only the first day of my new diet! I was definitely on a roll.

  I carried the yogurt along with my coffee into the living room and settled down on the couch. Then I leafed through Sondra’s manuscript hoping to discover some clue as to what might have happened to her.

  I was particularly intrigued by the chapter in which Sondra described her ambivalence about putting her life story down on paper. It seemed that once she’d made up her mind to go ahead with it, she hoped to find the strength to see it through and ‘let the chips fall where they may.’ It had an ominous ring to it, in light of her disappearance.

  The more I read, the more interesting it became and I hated to quit. However, I couldn’t help but wonder where the chips would fall if I didn’t return the manuscript before Dr. Linda discovered it was missing. I quickly skimmed another ten pages, then rang Flo. “I need your help.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait! You can’t leave me hanging out to dry!” I said. I tried to remember where I’d heard that phrase before. It was something from back in the Nixon era—and we all knew how that turned out. “Look, I’m desperate.” I pleaded. “Help me this once and I promise to never ask you for anything ever again.”

  Once I explained that I needed to return the manuscript to Dr. Linda, Flo immediately agreed to help. Of course, I thought bitterly, she would want to meet with Dr. Linda again to talk about her nonexistent best seller.

  “So what’s the scoop?” Flo asked. “When do we go in?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to call Dr. Linda with some excuse to meet with her. Hopefully today.” I paused. “Say, I have a better idea, why don’t you call Dr. Linda and tell her you’ve started your novel but need to go over a few things. Try to set the meeting up for this afternoon. And don’t forget to mention that you’re bringing me along.”

  “As it happens I do have a few questions to ask her. I’m really hyped about my story.”

  “What story?” I scoffed. “You don’t have a story.”

  “Oh yes I do. I already have some pages written. I’m thinking that when I’m finished with the novel I’ll do a screenplay and then…”

  “Just do me a favor and call Dr. Linda.”

  “Maybe even an opera version. Something along the lines of Les Miz or…”

  I hung up.

  Ten minutes later, Flo phoned back. “Okay, we’re on. I just talked to Dr. Linda. She’s going to her bridge game this afternoon but she invited us for supper––unfortunately chicken salad–– not my favorite.”

  “Perfect.”

  “And she’s looking forward to discussing my manuscript.”

  “Your manuscript? Please, what have you written—three pages? That’s not a manuscript. And it’s your turn to drive.”

  “What do you mean, my turn? You’re the one who wanted me to set up this meeting.”

  “Yeah but you’re going to get a book, a screenplay and an opera out of it.”

  “Be ready,” Flo ordered. “I’ll pick you up, five o’clock sharp. I hope Dr. Linda is as good a cook as she is a critic of fine writing.

  ************************************

  Obviously hyped about discussing her book, Flo arrived on the dot of five. I clutched my bag which held Sondra’s manuscript and settled into the worn leather seats of her Mercedes.

  Flo floored the engine and took off for Dr. Linda’s at forty-five miles an hour when I announced that we had to stop at Kinko’s. I needed to make a copy of Sondra’s manuscript before heading to Dr. Linda’s.

  “She’s expecting us for supper. I don’t think we should be late.”

  “But we’re 20 minutes early. Anyway it’ll only take a few minutes. Besides, the bio was just getting interesting.”

  Flo grumbled something which I ignored, then made a u-turn and headed to Kinkos.

  I loaded Sondra’s manuscript into the copier and inserted coins, then pressed copy. Flo and I watched as the machine spewed out page after page after…nothing. It had stopped dead.

  “It’s jammed,” I moaned. “Get the guy over at the counter to help me out.”

  “There’s no time,” Flo said. “Look at that line. Forget copying it. We can’t keep Dr. Linda waiting.”

  “We still have a few minutes.”

  Flo sighed and went to wait in line.

  Chapter 29

  He had to hurry. He didn’t know how much longer Dr. Linda would be out. He finally found it in the bottom drawer of Dr. Linda’s desk but there wasn’t time to look through it now.

  He stuffed the manuscript in a grocery bag, then dumped in the other writings lying on the desk for good measure. He quickly made his way to the back door and opened it. He glanced around. Seeing no one, he walked out and––so as not to draw attention––leisurely strolled to the grocery store four blocks away where he’d parked his car. He tossed the bag into the trunk and took off.

  It had been stupid of him to think there was only one copy of Sondra’s manuscript, the one he had found in Sondra’s condo. He wondered how he’d slipped up. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d share her life story with the writing teacher. Thankfully that was now taken care of.

  He pulled into his garage, shut off the engine, popped the trunk, and got out of the car. He walked around to the back of the car to retrieve the grocery bag. There would be no more slip ups, he vowed, as he buried the bag full of manuscripts underneath the papers in the recycling bin.

  Chapter 30

  “But how could Kinko’s have only one employee to help ten people? It just doesn’t make sense!”

  “Cheer up,” Flo said. “You might not have been able to copy Sondra’s book, but you can always steal it again when Dr. Linda returns from her trip.”

  I shrugged, feeling irritated with myself. I should have just read through the whole book when I had it, instead of going out with Merv again. Because no matter what Flo said, I didn’t think I could go through the stress of re-stealing it.

  “I can’t wait to show Dr. Linda the novel I’ve been working on,” Flo chirped as we drove away from Kinko’s.

  “What manuscript? Your three pages?”

  “Check out the glove compartment.”

  I pulled out a stack of papers held together with one of those important looking large black metal clips. “What is this?”

  “It’s my erotic novel,” Flo said proudly. “I’ve been working on it day and night. And to think how I’ve been wasting my life doing other things when I could have been writing novels! I can’t wait for Dr. Linda to read it. She’ll be so pleased.”

  “Great,” I said bitterly as I stuffed the papers back in the glove compartment. Then I folded my arms across my chest and stared glumly ahead while Flo prattled on about how grateful she was to me for introducing her to Dr. Linda.

  “What’s that?” I cried, staring at the crowd of police cars and gawkers standing out in front of Dr. Linda’s home. My hand flew to my heart as I squinted through the windshield. “Stop! Stop the car. Something’s going on at Dr. Linda’s.” I counted four police cars in front of her house then quickly ducked down in my seat as far as I could. “Turn around. We have to get out of here.”

  “Why? Maybe we can help. What if something’s happened to her?”

  “No, turn around.” Whatever was going on, something told me it was related to the manuscript I’d taken.

  Clearly Flo had the same idea. “Oh my goodness! Do you think Dr. Linda discovered that Sondra’s bio was missing? Wow!” she said excitedly shaking her head. “Wouldn’t they like to know you have it right here in your b
ag. You know, I could turn you in and collect a reward.”

  “This is no joking matter. Turn around and go back. I need to hide it. Now!”

  Flo maneuvered her car into a u-turn. “On the other hand, maybe Dr. Linda invited the cops to join us for dinner and they’re waiting for us.”

  “Just speed it up.”

  Ten minutes later we pulled into my driveway. “Hurry up and hide it,” Flo said, “Then let’s get dinner. I’m starved.”

  I ran inside with Sondra’s manuscript, and buried it underneath my underpants and bra. A few minutes later I settled into the passenger seat of Flo’s Mercedes. “That was a close call. Nobody will ever find it now. And you’re to keep your mouth shut about this or else…”

  “Or else what?” she scoffed, revving the engine.

  Chapter 31

  Five minutes later we were at Froyotogo. We took a seat in a booth by the window with a view of the main drag. After I finished off a hotdog, I dug into a frozen yogurt banana split sundae drenched in full fat, hot chocolate sauce. Unfortunately it wasn’t giving me as much pleasure as it normally would thanks to the sound of police sirens outside.

  “Do you hear that?” I said to Flo.

  The sirens grew louder.

  Then dead silence.

  “Oh no! Don’t look,” I said shading my face with my hand.

  “What?” Flo looked out the window. “It’s the police! And they’re getting out of their cars. Oh my God! They’re coming in. Now you did it, Izzy.” She grabbed her bag and stood up. “I’m outta here.”

  Sit down,” I ordered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Izzy Greene,” the familiar voice announced.

  I stared at my yogurt banana split, wishing I could dive into it and die a peaceful sweet death. Instead I looked up and forced a smile. “Officer Martini, how nice to see you.”

  “Martinelli.” he replied. “It seems we meet again.”

  “Yes,” I managed another weak smile. “And I can…I mean I can explain everything.”

  “Yes,” Flo interrupted, sitting back down. “Izzy can explain what are the best flavors. Just ask her. She’s a regular yogurt maven.”

  “No kidding,” he said looking at me with what I felt was renewed appreciation. “So, yogurt maven, what do you suggest?”

  I had a brain freeze both from the yogurt and the shock of seeing Officer Martinelli, not to mention everything else that happened that night. “I…I…like all the flavors,” I managed to squeak out.

  “Yes,” Flo interrupted, “Izzy’s an equal opportunity yogurt lover, but she especially likes the pistachio. Don’t you, Izzy dear?”

  I nodded mutely.

  Flo asked, “Do you come here often? What I mean is…are you here on official police business?”

  “Should I be?”

  Flo and I stared, open mouthed, at him.

  “Ladies, I’ve never seen you speechless. Something bothering you? Perhaps there’s something you’d like to get off your chests?”

  “No,” we mumbled in unison.

  He flashed that irresistible smile of his. “Then it’s nice to see you two young ladies again.” He turned to walk away, then turned back. “Say, you wouldn’t by any chance be stalking anyone again, would you?”

  “I…I’m not sure what you mean,” I mumbled.

  “Yes,” Flo said, “what, may I ask, are you implying?”

  “Just want to make sure you young ladies stay out of trouble, that’s all.”

  Flo and I watched as he walked away. “Do you think he suspects me?” I whispered.

  “Don’t be silly,” she replied. “How could he?”

  Despite Flo’s reassurance, I was still in heart attack territory when we left the yogurt shop. “I thought cops only stop at donut shops. I could have sworn they were coming in to arrest me.”

  “Obviously you haven’t read Poe’s Tell Tale Heart,” Flo said adopting her teacher-of- English Lit-mode. “If you haven’t you should. It describes what happens when one has a guilty conscience. Which I fear will be your undoing,” she announced with a smug look.

  “I could destroy the evidence. If I burn Sondra’s manuscript no one can connect me to the theft.

  “I can’t believe you, Izzy Greene! First you steal her artistic endeavor. Then you want to destroy it. As a writer myself, I can only say that would be an act of ultimate cruelty.”

  I got in the car and slammed the door.

  ****************************

  The next morning I avoided even a glance in the mirror as I threw cold water on my face. I knew I looked dreadful since I’d barely slept a wink the entire night. And at my age one can’t afford less than a full night’s sleep. In my experience every night spent tossing and turning, added another wrinkle to my face.

  Even Sherlock shied away from me when I tried to pick him up.

  “Et tu Sherlock?” I said as I tried brushing my hair into some semblance of order. I’d spent almost the entire night envisioning what would happen when I was arrested for stealing Sondra’s manuscript. When I finally did manage to fall asleep I dreamt I was in prison, forced to wear pink and black striped pajamas ––horizontally striped pajamas––that made me look at least ten pounds heavier than I was. I asked the matron if I could at least dye my hair to cover up my gray. “You know,” I said, “it’ll make me feel better about myself––help build my self-esteem.”

  “Dye your hair?” she screamed. “Self-esteem! Dye your hair?” she repeated in case I missed it the first time. I nodded innocently. “I’ll show you dye your hair!” She pushed me into a padded cell where I was forced to watch, The Kardashians, over and over and over and…

  My eyes flew open. Sondra Sockerman’s manuscript! I hurried over to open the bureau drawer. It was still there. I had to do something with it. It was taking a toll on my health.

  I could always burn it––though a fire in August might draw suspicion. Besides I never had the flue cleaned and the sound of chirping birds coming through the fireplace suggested there was some kind of nest up in the chimney. I’d probably end up burning down my condo, not to mention those noisy birds if I tried to dispose of the evidence that way.

  What were the cops doing at Dr Linda’s anyway? Had she discovered the missing manuscript and called them? But why would I be a suspect? The only one who knew I had it was Merv. And since he didn’t know Dr. Linda, it seemed highly unlikely that I’d be connected to the theft.

  As much as I dreaded going to the writing class I needed to find out why the cops were at her condo.

  I padded into the kitchen for a cup of coffee which I knew would only add to my already rattled nerves but I needed it to clear my head. When the phone rang I was so on edge, I sloshed the hot coffee down the front of my tee and screamed in pain.

  Who’d be calling this early? It was only 7 AM. The police. Wanting to question me.

  The caller I.D., however, announced Dodi Feinstein, the town shrier––yiddish for town crier. She probably wanted to fill me in on the latest Palm Springs Sun Villas news.

  I was always up for a bit of juicy gossip––but not this morning. I had other more important things on my mind. Then it occurred to me that if anyone had news about what the police were doing at Dr. Linda’s it would most likely be Dodi Feinstein.

  “Okay, Dodi. What’s the scoop?”

  “Two scoops.”

  I took my coffee and walked out to the patio and settled into the lounge chair. “Let’s have it.”

  “Honey Admenson’s husband left her!” Dodi screamed so loudly I had to move the phone away, a good four inches from my ear.

  “Already? They haven’t been married all that long.” I was relieved she wasn’t calling about the break-in.

  “Long?” she repeated sarcastically. “They were together eighteen months to be exact. I kid you not. And get this, her husband had set up the pre-nup in such a way that Honey will get bobkas when the divorce is finalized.�
�

  Dodi could be forgiven for her lack of understanding of the Yiddish language since she’d only recently converted at the insistence of Manny, her third husband. ‘He wanted me to convert in case we had children,’ Dodi had explained to the bridge group. That made sense, since she was only seventy. After all, ninety year old Sarah gave hundred year old Abraham a child.

  “The word is bupkes, Dodi. Not bobkas. Bupkes means, literally, nothing. Honey Admenson got bupkes from her husband. Bobkas is cake. Which is what I’m trying to avoid now that I’ve decided to go on a diet.”

  “It’s about time you’re on a diet,” she said. “I noticed at bridge that you’ve put on few.”

  I was about to hang up on her when I heard the words, ‘break in.’

  “What? What did you say?”

  “I said I heard there was a break in at Dr. Linda’s yesterday afternoon.”

  I had a quick vision of peeling potatoes in the prison kitchen, while wearing the same unflattering horizontally striped pajamas from my dream. “Is that so?” I said, pretending innocence.

  “Yeah, I heard it from Danny just this morning, who heard it from Yettah who heard it from a neighbor of Dr. Linda’s.

  I was afraid to ask but I had to find out. “Was anything taken?”

  “Oh, it’s all hush hush.”

  “So you haven’t heard anything else then?” I felt my heart pounding and waited for a heart attack to fell me on the spot. Then someone would find the manuscript in my underwear drawer.

  What would I care? I’d be dead.

  Nonetheless I vowed to get rid of the manuscript as well as any and all underwear with holes in them, just in case.

  “Unfortunately I didn’t hear anything else.” Dodi replied. “Though I’m sure we’ll soon find out more. I can’t wait.”

  Neither could I.

  The minute Dodi hung up I phoned Flo. “We’re in trouble,” I moaned.

  “You mean you’re in trouble,” Flo replied.