Sylvia Selfman - Rushmore Oshansky 01 - Murder Never Retires

by Sylvia Selfman

  Turning down the sound he closed his eyes and found himself adrift in a sea of pink envelopes. It was clear that his desire to find the writer of the pink letters was beginning to absorb not only his conscious but his unconscious thoughts as well.

  Feeling restless, he flipped off the TV, got up from the couch and poured himself a scotch which reminded him that he’d promised Myra he’d drop by for a drink. He noticed in the TV Times thatWitness for the Prosecution, one of his favorite movies, was on later. Hopefully he could make it back in time.

  ****************

  Fifteen minutes later Myra, in a long pale blue silk dressing gown that complemented her hazel eyes greeted him at the door.

  Crackers, cheese and caviar were already set out on the cocktail table along with two long stemmed crystal champagne glasses. “A toast,” Myra said, handing Oshansky a glass. “To our enjoying good times together.”

  Oshansky raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  “You know, Rushmore, I’ve been giving it more thought lately and I decided I definitely want to get to know you better.”

  “I’ll drink to that too,” he said, hoping Myra was hinting at an evening of more than just drinks and hors d’oeuvres. “Like what would you have in mind?” he ventured, figuring he could always catchWitness at some later date.

  “Oh, Rushmore, you’re always so analytical,” she laughed. “You must have been a wonderful detective. You have such good instincts. Tell me about your cases,” she said, handing him a cracker smothered in cream cheese and caviar. “Did you solve any murders?”

  “Solved plenty of them. And I have to admit I was pretty good at it,” he nodded. “If I say so myself. But that was in the past. All that’s over now. Now, I deal only in pleasure.”

  Feeling emboldened by the smoothness of his segue, he placed his hand on her thigh. “You know, Myra, you’re very sexy.”

  “Rushmore, please,” she gently admonished him, removing his hand from her leg. “It’s too soon. We first must get to know each other better.”

  “Too soon? I mean, it’s not like we’re young chickens. Did you ever think about what could happen tomorrow? We could be dead for all we know. Suffer a heart attack like Harry. Or find a huge lump somewhere on ourkishkes or be hit by a car or…”

  A frown flitted across Myra’s face. “Oh, you mustn’t speak of such things, Rushmore. Let’s speak only of pleasant things. Though I must admit to you that I was surprised to hear you’ve been seeing that Bea.”

  Oshansky picked up on the sudden hard edge to her voice. “Yes, now and then. Why?”

  “But she’s common, Rushmore. You deserve better. From the little I’ve seen of her you never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. She’s the kind of person that could say or do anything.” Myra refilled their glasses. “I certainly wouldn’t put anything past her. And to be honest, I could never understand why Harry went out with her. She was definitely not his type. I know that sounds harsh but it’s the truth.”

  Oshansky couldn’t hide his surprise. “Bea dated Harry?”

  “Why, yes, Rushmore, it is surprising, isn’t it? I guess even Harry fell for that innocent, ‘poor me’ act of hers. I would have thought that you’re too smart and experienced for that. But then I thought that about Harry.

  “By the way, Rushmore, I’ll share something with you,” Myra continued. “But you mustn’t tell a soul. The condo board is working with the men’s group to put on a dance. I’m very excited about it. You’ll hear all the details when you go to the next men’s meeting since they’ll be the ones in charge.

  “Another drink, Rushmore?” Without waiting for his answer she refilled his glass. “Then I must catch up on my beauty sleep. I’ve not been sleeping well lately.”

  Oshansky resisted the urge to tell her there was nothing like sex to cure insomnia. Somehow he didn’t feel Myra would appreciate the remark, let alone take him up on it.

  Rushmore glanced at his watch. If he rushed he’d be able to catch most of Witness. He was thankful that Myra hadn’t brought up joining the board again. Hopefully she’d given up on him.

  “Come for drinks again soon, Rushmore,” Myra said kissing him good-night as he was leaving. “And by the way, I hope you’re giving more thought to joining our condo board.”

  Chapter 23

  Oshansky hurried to turn on the TV, hoping he could still catch most of the movie. Just then the phone rang. He hesitated answering but was curious why someone would be calling so late.

  “Mr. Oshansky, It’s Roberto. From the dining room. Sorry to be calling you this late but I have a request to make. I was hoping you’d agree to meet me tomorrow night. I need to talk to you.”

  Oshansky thought back to the extra large portions Roberto always served him at the club. “What’s this about, Roberto?” he asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

  “Look, Mr Oshansky, let’s just say I prefer talking to you in person.”

  If he was reading Roberto correctly he’d ask for a table with another waiter from now on. “Roberto, there’s something you should know about me.”

  “Please, trust me, Mr. Oshansky. It wouldn’t be fair not to share this with you.”

  Could it be that Roberto was obsessed with him? Could he be the one leaving the notes? “Please, Roberto, let me explain where I’m coming from…”

  “I have to hang up now. Just agree to meet me. Tomorrow night at The Pink Rooster on Tachevah Road. Eleven o’clock. It’s a small club set back off the main road. Easy to miss. Look for the Exxon sign and make a right. It’s on the left. I hope you’ll show up, Mr. Oshansky. The Pink Rooster, Tachevah Road, eleven o’clock.”

  “Roberto…” Oshansky searched for the right words. “Let me be perfectly clear. I’m not…” he took a deep breath, “gay.” Then quickly added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  But Roberto had already hung up.

  Roberto’s attentiveness, the extra large portions of prime ribs, extra large glasses of scotch now made sense. Roberto had obviously misread him.

  Whatever Roberto had in mind, he’d nip it in the bud tomorrow before Roberto got off work. He’d be blunt, come right out and inform him that he wasn’t gay. He’d explain he had nothing against that lifestyle or any lifestyle for that matter, other than criminal, of course, but it wasn’t for him.

  And under no circumstances would he meet Roberto at the Pink Rooster or pink anything for that matter.

  Chapter 24

  Oshansky walked into the club’s Regency dining room.

  “Table for one?” The maître d tucked a menu under his arm.

  “I came to see Roberto.”

  The maître d placed the menu back on the stand. “Roberto?” he asked, giving him a suspicious look.

  “Yes, the Roberto who works here.”

  “Of course. Roberto.” He paused as though deep in thought. “Unfortunately, tonight is Roberto’s evening off,” he finally said.

  There was only one other thing to do. He’d have to go to the Pink Rooster.

  In spite of Roberto’s directions, Oshansky passed the narrow dirt entrance to the Pink Rooster twice before finding it and pulled into the packed parking lot.

  He was standing in the doorway of the club, scanning the crowd of men hoping to spot Roberto when a waiter appeared at his side. “He’s over there,” the waiter said, pointing toward the back. “He’s waiting for you.”

  Oshansky maneuvered his way through the crowd of good-looking, smartly dressed, young (and on closer look, some not so young) men milling about, who gave him the once over then turned away,obviously unimpressed.

  “Mr. Oshansky, over here,” Roberto called out, waving him over.

  Oshansky was determined to be diplomatic though tact was never one of his strong points. Nonetheless, he owed it to Roberto to be honest.

  A glass of scotch was already on the table waiting for him, along with a small bottle of Perrier for Roberto.

  “Look, Roberto, I came
because I feel I owe it to you to set you straight.” Oshansky paused. “Actually I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, embarrassed. “I was just using a figure of speech.”

  “Wait, Mr Oshansky,” Roberto interrupted with an amused look. “Before you go any further let me explain why I asked you here.” He motioned to the waiter for another Perrier. “Gave up alcohol a long time ago,” he explained. “I started putting on too much weight. That’s such a turn off, don’t you think?”

  Oshansky nodded, acutely aware of the six pounds he’d gained since moving to Palm Springs.

  “You know, Rushmore, I assume it’s okay if I call you Rushmore when I’m off-duty. For some strange reason, Rushmore, you’ve interested me from that very first time you came into the club’s dining room.”

  “Roberto, you need to understand that as much as I like you…as a person that is …” This was going to be harder than he thought.

  “Please.” Roberto raised his hand to stop him. ”As I was saying, I found you intriguing the minute you walked into the dining room and chose to sit at one of my tables.”

  “Actually, I didn’t choose the table. The maître d sat me there.”

  Roberto shrugged. “It’s clear others also find you intriguing which is why I asked you to come. I felt we could have more privacy here than at Sun Villas. I’m sure you know what a rumor mill that place is.”

  “That’s for sure,” Oshansky nodded, wishing Roberto would just get to the point so he could get out of the Pink Rooster before someone he knew saw him and got the wrong idea.

  “Actually it was Rosa who asked me to talk to you.”

  “You know Rosa?” Oshansky asked.

  “She’s a sweetheart. Worked at Sun Villas for years. We’ve become pretty good friends,” Roberto said. “Rosa sees and knows everything. All the dirt, excuse the pun. Anyway, she always said that of all the people she worked for, Harry was her favorite. And let me tell you, Rosa’s one smart cookie.”

  “Yeah, I’ve gathered that,” Oshansky nodded, hoping she wasn’t so smart that she’d picked up on his mistaking her for a sex therapist.

  “She likes you, Rushmore, and she’s worried about you.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would she be worried about me? She never said anything about it to me.”

  “Of course not. Rosa’s a very private person. Keeps her thoughts to herself. But she feels comfortable enough with me to share her feelings. And she told me she’s worried you’re heading down the same path as Harry. Being a woman, she didn’t think it was her place to tell you.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Oshansky said, more confused than ever.

  “I’m talking about all those women, Oshansky. Plus Rosa told me you were getting pink letters just like Harry did. And of course she saw your vial of Viagra. Now we know all the men here take them. I’ve even taken them myself, just to see what they’re like, of course. Not that I needed them.”

  “Yeah, but what concern is it of Rosa’s?”

  “Rosa didn’t express it in so many words, but I got the feeling—now don’t take this wrong, Rushmore—but I got the feeling she thinks all that sex, pills and women don’t mix in a man your age. And in a way I agree. After all we know what happened to Harry Hermann. How he died so suddenly and tragically from a heart attack.

  “Yeah, well my heart’s fine.” Oshansky said, hoping it was true.

  “So was Harry’s. He used to report to me after every doctor’s appointment. His checkups were always good. “Strong as a stallion,” he’d proudly announce. “Doc says I’ve got a lot of life left in me, Roberto. Comes with good clean living.”

  “Nothing unusual about that,” Oshansky said. “I’ve heard many stories about men leaving a doctor’s office, then keeling over dead. You take my friend, Lennie Hammer, worked on the force with me back in the old days, same thing happened to him. One day here. The next day kaput.”

  “Of course, that goes without saying, Rushmore. Any of us could drop dead at any moment,” Roberto nodded, motioning to the waiter for another scotch for Oshansky and Perrier for himself. “But when Rosa told me that you were getting pink letters, I figured perhaps she was right to worry about you. There seem to be so many similarities between you and Harry.” Roberto took a sip of his Perrier.

  “Yeah, well, I appreciate the concern, Roberto, but I’m not sure it’s warranted.”

  “But there’s more, Rushmore. I’m not sure what it means but the night before Harry died, I was working late at the club. The Korwin’s had their fiftieth anniversary party so I stayed late as a favor to help Vazquez close up the kitchen.

  “Reggie, my new squeeze, came by to pick me up. As we drove out the back gate, I recognized Harry Hermann’s car coming in. Everyone knew his car, Red Mercedes E350 Cabriolet. Pretty hard to miss. I caught sight of the woman in the passenger seat. Now there’s nothing unusual about that since women took to Harry like ducks to water. Seemed every woman in the club had a thing for him. He’d been widowed for like twenty years I heard. Folks couldn’t understand why he never remarried. Probably figured if you’re getting enough on the side why tie yourself down. Of course that didn’t stop the women from trying.

  “As I was saying, my attention was drawn to the woman in the seat next to Harry mainly because I would swear she purposely covered her face with her scarf as we passed each other.” Roberto paused to say greet a man walking by the table, then continued. “Of course I could be mistaken about her purposely covering her face.”

  “That’s very interesting, Roberto, but other than the fact that I’m living in Harry’s condo I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”

  “Well, it so happens that the next day Harry Hermann was found dead in his bed.” Roberto sucked in his breath.

  Oshansky nodded sympathetically.

  “Unfortunately it was Rosa who had the bad luck of finding him. Listen, Oshansky, you’re a good guy. And what I’m trying to tell you––you need to take better care of yourself. Rosa and I don’t want you to end up like Harry. Maybe from too much sex. I know you’re younger than Harry but he worked out and seemed to be in awfully good shape even for someone younger. Not that he was my type.” Roberto paused and studied Oshansky.

  “In some odd way, Oshansky, you’re more my type. I don’t mean that the way it sounds,” Roberto laughed, “So don’t get all hot and bothered. I’m already involved and anyway you’d need too much sprucing up.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Oshansky said.

  Roberto pushed his seat back. “Anyway, I promised Rosa I’d tell you to take better care of yourself.

  Oshansky, noting Roberto’s worried expression, was about to assure him that he would, then realized Roberto’s worried look was not directed at him.

  “That’s him,” Roberto said quietly. “That’s Reggie.” Rushmore turned around to see who Roberto was referring to. The two men talking to each other were almost mirror images. Handsome, slender, tight designer jeans and white tees showing off gym-molded pecs.

  “Reggie’s the one on the left. Anyway, have to go,” Roberto said, standing up. “Drinks are on me, Rushmore. Stay and enjoy the entertainment. It’s good. Tyler Menkler does a great impersonation of Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe. Who knows, hang around here long enough and maybe in time you’ll come over to the dark side. Stranger things than that have happened.”

  “Say, Roberto, tell me something before you go. Would you happen to know who wrote the pink letters to Harry?”

  “Sorry, no idea. But maybe Rosa knows,” he said before bounding across the room to Reggie.

  Oshansky settled back in his chair and looked around in the hope of possibly picking up a pointer or two on dress while waiting for Tyler Menkler to make his appearance.

  Chapter 25

  “Hey, Oshansky, good to see you.” Al draped an arm over Oshansky’s shoulder and accompanied him into the meeting room. “You haven’t been coming to our meetings. Thought we’d lost you for good.”

  “I’
ve been pretty busy lately,” Oshansky said, unable to think up a better excuse.

  “Been painting the town red I heard. Or is that pink?” Al winked. “Maybe it’s time you settled down and found yourself a woman. Or man. You know, Oshansky, there’s nothing wrong with that. People find love in all kinds of places. Even at the Pink Rooster.” Al’s lip curled in simulation of a smile. “Hey, fellows, look who the cat dragged in!”

  “Where’ve you been keeping yourself, Oshansky?” Marv called out. “We figured you’d given up on us.”

  “I heard he found new friends at the Pink Rooster,” Vern piped up.

  The cosmic speed at which gossip traveled through Sun Villas never ceased to amaze Oshansky.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, Vern,” Marv scolded. “People are entitled to live their lives as they see fit. Right, Oshansky?”

  “Okay, guys, take your seats,” Marv ordered. “I called this meeting for a reason. The board has decided Sun Villas will throw a prom this year and the Sun Villas Men’s Club in collaboration with the board will be in charge of the food, music, and tickets.”

  “It was also decided that we’ll have a… drum roll please, maestro,” Marv said, motioning to Vern. From the back of the room came Vern’s vocal simulation of a trumpet heralding the appearance of royalty.

  “A king and queen!” Marv announced triumphantly.

  “You mean Queen Elizabeth and that guy whoshleps around behind her?” Vern asked.

  “Are youmeshuggah? Who needs the King and Queen of England when we’ll have our very own…” Marv motioned to Vern, “another drumroll, maestro…”

  Vern took three deep breaths then sounded the same off tune notes though noticeably weaker this time.

  Hopefully Vern wouldn’t be called on for a third drumroll or, Oshansky feared, it might be his last.