Sylvia Selfman - Rushmore Oshansky 01 - Murder Never Retires

by Sylvia Selfman

  He noticed that the answering machine was still blinking. He’d been too tired to check it when he’d come home from Brenda’s.

  “It’s Marv,” the voice on the machine boomed. “Just a reminder, Oshansky. We haven’t received your $150 for Prom Night. Remember it’s in three and a half weeks so you need to send in your money immediately.”

  Oshansky heard the sound of the front door opening as he scrambled his eggs. In an attempt to eat healthy he used only one yolk, three whites and very little oil. Looking longingly at the two yellows in the sink, he thought of his mother’s constant admonition, ‘Eat your food, Rushmore. Children are starving in Europe.’ Feeling guilty, he shoved the yolks into the drain, turned on the water and flipped on the disposal.

  “Ah, Mr. Ushmoe, you up early this morning. You have big day maybe?”

  “Not really. Just looking forward to another day in condo heaven.”

  “You lucky be in heaven.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said absentmindedly. He was thinking that if Harry had been murdered by the note writer—a big ‘if’—it looked enough like a heart attack that there was no investigation. In fact, the police had probably not been involved at all.

  “Rosa, I was wondering…”

  “You no be happy with my work?” she interrupted, a worried look on her face.

  “No, I’m very happy with your work. My place hasn’t been so neat since I moved in. I was thinking about Mr. Harry.” He paused, gauging her reaction. When she didn’t show any emotion, he continued. “Rosa, you said you found Mr. Harry dead that morning. So wh…”

  “Oh, yes, I find Mr. Harry dead. Very sad.” She shook her head.

  “So when you found him,” he paused, “what did you do? Could you describe exactly what you did after you discovered him?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Ushmoe, I run out of room. I peek out.”

  “You peek out? Peek out at what?”

  “Go crazy, peek out.”

  “You mean freak out.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, “peek out. I run out of room. I call 911. They take poor Mr. Harry.” Rosa ‘s eyes welled with tears. “I cry so much. I love Mr. Harry.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosa, that you had to be the one to find him. It must have been quite a shock.” He waited to give her time to calm down. “So when they took Mr. Harry away…,” he stopped. Rosa had begun sobbing again. “Sit down, Rosa.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I don’t want to cause you more pain,” he said, bringing her a glass of water, “but this is important. When they took Mr. Harry away, did you go back into his room?”

  Rosa nodded.

  “What about the room? Can you remember anything about it? Was there anything unusual about it? Maybe something that was out of place. Or something that didn’t belong there.”

  Rosa began to cry again.

  “What is it, Rosa? What did you see?”

  Rosa, blushing, lowered her eyes. “I see pink day underpants in bed,” she said quietly.

  “Day underpants? I don’t understand.” Day underpants? Day underpants that women wore only during the day? Were there night underpants that they wore only at night as well? How come he never heard of them? Did his Marsha wear them and he just never noticed?

  “Day underpants say Wednesday,” Rosa explained.

  “Oh. The underpants had the word, Wednesday, on them. I get it,” he said, disappointed.

  He remembered Roberto saying he’d seen a woman in the car with Harry that last night. Whoever that woman was, the underpants most likely were hers. Could she have been the killer? That is, if there was a killer.

  “Do you remember what day of the week you found Mr. Harry dead?”

  “Oh, yes, I find him on day my mother come stay for vacation. Thursday, Mr. Ushmoe.”

  “What did you do with the Wednesday underpants? Maybe you still have them?” he asked hopefully. He knew it was a long shot but she had kept that last pink note to Harry.

  Rosa’s eyes grew wide with fear. She stared at him a few seconds. “I take them, Mr. Ushmoe,” she said lowering her eyes. “So no one see them.”

  “Ah, good,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Then you have them. Can you get them for me?”

  She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her answer. “I throw them out, Mr Ushmoe. Garbage men take them away. I no want people see underpants in Mr. Harry’s bed.”

  Oshansky made no effort to hide his disappointment. “Would you happen to know who they belonged to?” Say, yes, he prayed.

  “Oh no, Mr. Ushmoe. I not know Mr. Harry’s woman friends. I mind own business,” she said proudly.

  “Of course you do.” Which in this case, happens to be too bad, he thought. “Did you by any chance happen to see anything else? Anything else that didn’t belong in the room?”

  Rosa shook her head. “Only pink Wednesday underpants.”

  Was it possible the writer of the pink letters and the owner of the Wednesday underpants were one and the same?

  Chapter 31

  “You’re early, Oshansky. Come in while I get dressed,” Bea greeted him. “I was lying on the couch watching some stupid mystery so I’m glad you called. I hate when I can figure out who the killer is right from the beginning. Don’t you think screenwriters could make it a little more complicated?”

  Oshansky nodded, his attention drawn to the short pink terry robe tied loosely around her waist. It was obvious she was wearing little else underneath. He had promised himself that he was going to focus on looking for pink stationary. He had after all seen what appeared to be a pink envelope in her purse that time she’d come to his house for dinner. But the way Bea looked was making it difficult to think about anything other than sex.

  “Anyway make yourself at home while I throw something on,” she said.

  “Don’t,” he said taking hold of her arm. Checking her desk for pink stationary could wait, he figured. No way was he going to miss out on this opportunity. Not with Bea looking sexier and more vulnerable than ever.

  Oshansky decided to risk it, “I recommend you stay just the way you are.”

  Bea paused and looked at him. “Perhaps I will.” She gave him a small smile.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. Then to his surprise he was overcome by anxiety. What if he didn’t measure up? Couldn’t perform. Would Bea understand or would she zing him with one of her usual sarcastic remarks? She was unpredictable. Relax, he ordered himself. Worrying won’t do you any good, as the old saying goes. And certainly not when it comes to ‘getting it up.’

  “I fixed us drinks,” she announced, emerging from the kitchen holding two martini glasses.

  Oshansky stared into the glass. “What’s that floating around?”

  “Sorry. Ran out of olives. I could only find a bottle of maraschino cherries in the cupboard. They look nice in the drink, don’t you think?” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. A gesture Oshansky found so erotic that any fear he had of being unable to perform was quickly overcome by the unmistakable stirrings in his loins. He certainly wasn’t going to make an issue now over a simple cherry in his martini. “Cheers,” he said taking a small sip.

  After Bea’s second martini, this time with two maraschinos, and without any encouragement from Oshansky, she shrugged out of her robe and pulled Oshansky down on top of her. His tongue hungrily searching her mouth while she struggled with his zipper. His hands and tongue moved slowly down her body. He was overcome with desire and lust as her moans egged him on. When suddenly—he lifted his head and stared at her panties.

  “What? What’s wrong? Why are you stopping?” she asked.

  Let it go, he begged himself. Forget you saw it. You can think about it later. Just continue on with what you were doing. You were kissing her belly button. She wants you. She’s waiting. She needs you.

  It was too late.

  Oshansky sat up.

  Bea’s panties had the word Tuesday embroidered on them. Perhaps, he hoped, it was just a coincidence.
>
  On the other hand, if Bea were the owner of the Wednesday panties that Rosa had found in Harry’s bed, it could mean only one thing. Bea was the woman who’d been with Harry Hermann on his last night on earth. The woman who Roberto had seen coming through the gate with him—who had covered her face so as not to be recognized. Add that to the pink note he’d seen in her purse and two and two were now adding up to four.

  “Can you possibly tell me what’s going on?” Bea demanded.

  He didn’t blame her for being angry but it was too late. He knew he wouldn’t be able to continue. The panty issue had to be resolved first. But how? If he confronted her outright, she’d deny it. She was too clever. He needed to come up with a plan. And fast.

  “Tuesday,” he answered.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Your panties say Tuesday,” he said absentmindedly as he tried to figure out what his next step should be.

  “So what?” Bea sat up. “So what if it says Tuesday? Today’s Tuesday. I have a panty for every day of the week. Just go back to what you were doing. Please.” she cajoled.

  He hesitated for a moment, looking hungrily at her body. No, he thought, he needed an excuse to come back the next day, Wednesday. If she were wearing Wednesday panties it could mean that she hadn’t left hers in Harry’s bed. That the panties Rosa found belonged to someone else.

  What he needed to do now was come up with a credible excuse to leave.

  “Oshansky, are you still with me? You haven’t said anything.” Bea suddenly looked alarmed. “Is everything okay with you?”

  She had just inadvertently supplied him with the excuse he needed. “As a matter of fact, no. I’m afraid I’m going to have to go home,” he said placing his hand over his heart. “I just realized I forgot to take my blood pressure pills. Martinis and sex have this terrible effect on my blood pressure.” Also maraschino cherries, he wanted to add but decided not to. “My blood pressure goes way over the top if I don’t take my medicine. Very dangerous to my health. Could even be deadly.” Yeah, he thought, and his explanation was going way over the top too. Cool it, Oshansky, or she’ll really become suspicious.

  “Then why’d you drink the damn martini?” Bea asked angrily. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Try to be understanding, Bea. Believe me, I don’t want to leave but I have to get my medicine. Before it’s too late.” He patted his chest. “I…I can feel my heart pumping right now,” he coughed.

  “You’re going to leave me.” Bea said with an expression of disbelief. “You’re actually going to leave me like this?” She fell back against the sofa cushions. Then, all of a sudden, she sat up again, “You’re going to be okay, aren’t you?” She looked at him curiously. “I mean you’re not going to drop dead on me I hope.”

  “Hopefully not,” Oshansky said, feeling guilty about lying. “Of course one never knows. Believe me this is more painful for me than for you.” At least that part was true. “Just promise you’ll let me make it up to you.”

  Bea groaned and put her hand over her eyes. She didn’t answer.

  “Bea? Are you okay, Bea?” When she still didn’t answer, he decided to plunge ahead, “Tell you what, I’ll come back tomorrow. Wednesday night. I’ll make it up to you big time then. It’s a deal. Okay?”

  “You are a strange man,” she said slowly shaking her head. “You come to see me but forget to take your blood pressure medicine. I don’t know, Oshansky. You may be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “I’m worth it, Bea. I promise you. Give me one more chance to prove I’m worth it.”

  “All right, Oshansky, one more chance. But only because I think you have potential. At least from what I could feel.”

  Oshansky breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, a supplicant giving thanks for being given a second chance to enter the pearly gates.

  “But only one more,” she admonished. “So don’t blow it.”

  Oshansky resisted the urge to bow his way out of her royal presence like onThe Tudors, which he’d recently seen on TV, but felt that might not go over too well.

  Oshansky banged his head in frustration against the steering wheel before driving off. Thanks to a pair of Tuesday panties, he’d just walked out on an evening that promised the best sex ever.

  Chapter 32

  The next evening couldn’t come soon enough. All day Oshansky could think only of Bea and her panties. With any luck she’d be wearing the Wednesday panties. Or better yet she wouldn’t be wearing any at all.

  “No martinis this evening,” he said as he handed Bea the bottle of Trader Joe’s chardonnay. “By the way, you look very ravishing this evening.”

  Bea had greeted him at her condo wearing only a man’s shirt, open almost to her navel. It was clear she’d forgiven him for the other night. Now if she were wearing the Wednesday panties, he could relax and proceed full steam ahead.

  “It pains me to admit this, Rushmore, but I was looking forward to this all day. We’ll have the wine afterwards so as not to risk anything getting in the way.” She took his hand and led him into the living room. “I hope you remembered to take your blood pressure medicine.”

  Oshansky felt a sudden pang of guilt which he quickly shrugged off.

  As if to prove how much she’d been looking forward to the evening, she unzipped his pants and pulled them off. Then she broke into hysterical laughter.

  “What?” he asked with alarm. “What’s so damn funny?”

  “Teddy bears,” she screamed, then pushed him down on the couch and fell on top of him. “Teddy bear boxers. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “You’re making fun of me,” he said, pretending to be indignant. “And I bet your panties are no better. Probably covered with little red hearts.”

  “Guess again, Oshansky. Maybe I’m not even wearing any. What would you say to that?”

  “I’d say great!” he answered without hesitation.

  “Don’t move, Oshansky. And don’t peek.” Bea said, shifting position.

  Right, he told himself. Don’t move and don’t peek. Later you can check to see if she was wearing the panties.

  Unfortunately though, he couldn’t heed his own advice. Oshansky opened one eye. Then quickly closed it. With sinking heart and receding dick, he said quietly, “Thursday.”

  “Now what?” Bea stiffened, looking at him.

  “Thursday. Why are you wearing Thursday? Today is Wednesday. Why aren’t you wearing Wednesday? Where’s Wednesday?”

  Bea rolled off him. “That’s it, Oshansky. You’ve just used up your second and last chance. What the hell is going on with you?”

  “I’m just asking where the Wednesday panties are?”

  “What are you? Some obsessive panty deviant? We’re about to have sex and you start on some craziness about Wednesday. You’re certifiably nuts.”

  “You don’t understand. Yesterday was Tuesday and you wore Tuesday. Today is Wednesday. And you’re wearing Thursday. All I’m asking is, where’s Wednesday?”

  “I have no idea where Wednesday is.” Bea’s eyes flashed with anger. “Maybe the washing machine swallowed Wednesday. Maybe they’ve gone to Wednesday heaven!” She rolled off the couch, picked up his pants and threw them at him. “Who gives a damn where Wednesday is!”

  “Maybe if you look for them, we could still salvage the evening?” he asked hopefully. “I’ll help you.”

  “You’re crazy, Oshansky. What business is it of yours where they are? You’re a dirty old man with a fetish. Just get out.”

  “Bea, just tell me the truth,” he said, deciding to confront her outright. “Rosa found pink Wednesday panties in Harry’s bed…”

  “So? So what?”

  “They were your panties, weren’t they? Please. I need to know.”

  “Get out, Oshansky. Get out now!”

  As Oshansky drove home he felt a sense of remorse that he hadn’t waited to confront h
er about the panties until after they had sex. But he knew he wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a woman under false pretenses. Which is too bad, he thought ruefully.

  Chapter 33

  To his surprise, Bea called two days later, saying she needed to come over. She insisted that she come immediately which surprised Oshansky. He wondered what she was up to now.

  Ten minutes later the doorbell rang.

  “I have a confession, Rushmore,” Bea said. upon entering his condo. “I was probably too hard on you the other night. Anyway we shouldn’t have been engaging in sex. It was much too premature.”

  “No,” he protested, “that’s not true.”

  “You can go ahead and gloat all you want because you were right,” she continued, ignoring him. “I wasn’t wearing Wednesday because I don’t have them. And you’ve probably already figured out that I was with Harry that last night. And, yes, they were my panties in his bed. Harry and I were…,” she hesitated. “I guess I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

  It was the first time he’d seen her blush. “No. I think I do need it spelled out for me, Bea,” he said.

  Bea looked at him and Oshansky could sense her ambivalence about opening up.

  “Harry and I had gone out to dinner that last night,” she said finally. “When we came back to the condo, we had another drink. Then Harry took one of his little blue pills which he’d forgotten to take earlier.”

  “One thing about Harry, you could always count on his being well prepared,” she laughed tenderly. “I used to joke with him about that bottle of little blue pills always being next to his bed. I said it was like being in a threesome. Anyway there we were, lying in bed when suddenly Harry said something about not feeling good.”

  “What’d he say was bothering him?” Oshansky asked.

  “Just that he was feeling ill and I should leave. Of course I wanted to stay and see if I could help. Maybe make him tea or something. But he insisted I go. He said he probably just needed to sleep it off.” Bea wiped away tears . “He said something about playing too much golf in the heat.” Her voice broke with emotion. “He was adamant that I leave but I never should have gone. I told him I’d call him later to see how he was.”