Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  However, precautions should be taken. I opened my handbag and checked the revolver regretting it was too large for the shallow pockets of my jacket and too heavy for the sweats.

  I held the handbag tightly to my side and started across the street to the entrance of the Zoo. Every now and then Richard would ask what was going on, and I had to threaten to turn the phone off to silence him.

  Paying the entrance fee, I walked inside and headed for the large cat area. I fought the urge to run, which would only attract attention and probably start my head pounding. As it was, I was feeling a little delicate and precariously close to getting a headache. I wondered if I had any Tylenol with me, as I approached the door of the stucco building.

  I heard the growls and movements of large animals plus the sounds of an excited crowd. There was also a smell, but we won’t go into that. I worked my way through the throng and came upon the one-year old feline celebrities in their glass enclosed pen sound asleep, oblivious to the pink and blue balloons, gawking spectators and photographers. Okay, I found the cubs but where was the party?

  I looked around and saw a young woman dressed in a faded brown uniform standing by a door marked “staff only” and went to her. I asked about the location of the party and was told the birthday cake had just been cut.

  Pieces of the five-tiered, eighty-five pound cake were now being handed out only to a “select crowd, members who had donated a certain amount of money,” the attendant added, contemptuously.

  Knowing Lila was always part of the “select crowd,” with or without contempt, I asked where that was.

  “Unless you’ve got a gold membership card from the Zoo, you can’t get in. Do you have one?” the young woman asked in a tone of voice daring me to produce one, given how I was dressed.

  “Yes, I’ve got one,” I replied, as I searched my handbag for my wallet. We donated to the zoo under the family plan, so each of us had a card. Flashing it, I smiled as sincerely as I could and pushed past her.

  “Outside in the enclosed green,” the attendant finally said curtly, pointing with a dirty, stubby finger to a door on the far side of the room. “Show the security man at the entrance gate the card.”

  “Thanks, and I’ll bring you back a piece of cake, if I can,” I said over my shoulder.

  The attendant, in surprise, gave me a “thumbs up” sign.

  Buildings surrounded the outside patio on all sides. This was an area usually reserved for private parties. In the center of the grassy knoll, all four sides of a large white tent flapped uneasily in the winter winds. Stakes strained against periodic gusts in water-saturated ground.

  The whole thing looked like it might blow down any minute. I wondered why on earth they didn’t simply have the party inside a building during this type of weather, or better yet, hold it in May. I walked the two or three yards to the entrance.

  Once inside, overhead heat lamps beamed down on over two hundred people crammed in an area that normally should accommodate seventy-five or eighty.

  It was oppressively hot. Balloons bobbed up and down on strings tied to support poles as “The March of the Baby Elephants” blared from overhead speakers. Frankly, I would have rather been in the cage with the sleeping cubs. I weaved in and out of the crowd feeling my head begin to throb.

  With some difficulty, I found an empty corner where I could search my bag for Tylenol, hoping I had brought the bottle along. Fortunately, I found it and swallowed two without any water, one of my least favorite things to do. I grimaced from the acrid, sharp taste in my mouth. I heard my mother’s voice.

  “Liana! My God! I thought it was you! I saw you from over there,”

  Lila gestured to a group of several dozen people talking animatedly to one another some ten feet away. I gagged on the residue of the pills and tried speaking, as Mom continued.

  “What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?” Lila added derisively as she looked down at my battered sweatpants and beat up running shoes. I coughed in a very unlady-like manner, sort of like Tugger bringing up a hairball, while I reached for my mother’s arm.

  “Yvette,” she called over to her friend who was chatting nearby. “Look who’s here. Liana.”

  I managed to swallow enough of the grainy medicine to find part of my voice. “M… Mom, I came to get you. You’ve got to come home with me right…”

  I had another coughing fit and Mrs. Wyler joined us, wearing a thin smile. I returned her smile and continued brokenly,

  “So, Mother, really, you turned off your cell phone and now nobody at the office can reach you. So I came.”

  Lila ignored me as she touched my forehead with her hand.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed, dear. What’s so important they have to track me down at the San Francisco Zoo?”

  Lila looked at her friend and both women turned to stare at me while I choked a little more quietly. I had the undivided attention of both of them, unfortunately.

  I felt my throat become even drier and the coughing started again. I noticed a plastic glass of liquid in my mother’s hand. I grabbed it and drank the green-colored glop down. It was nauseatingly sweet, but at least it was wet, and it washed the pill residue down.

  I made a face as I asked, “What was that? Melted lollipops?”

  “Never mind that,” Lila retorted. “What are you doing here when you should be in bed recuperating?”

  I tried to smile winningly at my mother. “I think it’s too complicated to go into right now, Mother. I’m sure Patti can explain it to you better. Why don’t we just go? We...”

  I could see anger swell in her breast, and she interrupted indignantly.

  “Of all the nerve! Sending my daughter from her sick bed to come and get me.” She pulled her cell phone out of her handbag. “I’m going to give that Patti a piece of my mind. I’ve never in all my life…”

  I reached out and took the phone from my mother’s hand, seeing this was not going as I’d planned.

  If only I can get her away from Mrs. Wyler for five minutes to explain.

  “No, no, Mom. Don’t bother calling. Let’s just go. Come on.” I put my arm around my mother’s shoulder and tugged at her.

  “I’ll explain to you in the car.” I turned to Mrs. Wyler and said brightly, “You don’t mind if I take Mother away, do you?”

  “Liana, give that back to me,” Lila ordered as she took the phone from me and shook her shoulders free. “Now, what’s going on here? You’re acting very strangely.”

  Mrs. Wyler, who had been watching the two of us intently, finally spoke up.

  “Why don’t we all go, Lila? We’ve been here for several hours, and Liana looks as if she really wants you to leave with her,” she said as she looked directly into my eyes. Her smile was tight, and her eyes were cold.

  She took hold of Mom’s arm and began pulling her towards the exit. Lila, too much of a lady to protest, tried valiantly to keep up with her friend as Yvette moved through the crowd like the prow of a ship, with her in tow. Lila reached back and grasped my hand. I followed as closely as possible, while Mrs. Wyler pushed her way through the mob.

  Lila was the first to speak as they returned to the relative open space of the large cat room. “I don’t know what’s happening,” she began as she turned over her shoulder and spoke to me, “but I’m going to take you home and put you to bed, young lady.”

  Then she turned back to her friend who was still pulling her across the lion house and toward the exit. I struggled to keep up.

  “Yvette, you don’t have to leave. Why don’t you stay here and listen to the lecture on The Loss of Habitats across the World? It should be fascinating.”

  We were near the exit of the Zoo, and Mrs. Wyler wheeled around and stopped. She looked past Lila at me and said in almost a whisper, “You know, don’t you?”

  I was so stunned by her words, I took a step backward, then tried to regain my composure. The falter had been slight, but it probably didn’t make any difference. Mrs. Wyler se
emed to know the answer to the question before she asked it.

  “Know? What does she know? For pity’s sake, why are you two acting so oddly?” Lila demanded, in an irritated tone.

  By now, Mom had followed Mrs. Wyler out of the Zoo and stood on the sidewalk buttoning her powder pink coat against the sharp gusts coming off the ocean. She looked from one to the other.

  Mrs. Wyler glanced around her, reached out and pulled Lila closer to her with one free hand. The other was inside her jacket, which had kangaroo style pockets.

  “Stop yanking me around, Yvette,” Lila said, losing her temper. She tried to pull free, but Mrs. Wyler held her in a vise-like grip.

  The woman is much stronger than she looks, I thought.

  “Quit squirming, Lila,” she ordered. “Tell your mother, Liana. Tell her what you know,” she said with a harsh smile.

  “I’m leaving,” said Lila finally pulling free. “This is a highly unorthodox way to behave, Yvette, I must say. I think you’ve lost your…”

  “Shut up,” snarled Mrs. Wyler as she grabbed Mom’s arm again and turned back to me. My mother’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at her friend, who seemed to be going mad before her eyes.

  Mrs. Wyler glared at me. “They never found the gun. That’s because I’ve got it right here. Daddy’s antique derringer.”

  She moved the pocket of her jacket, revealing the vague outline of the pistol inside. “If you don’t want me to use it right now, start walking in the direction of the parking lot.”

  Lila gasped and reached out to me. I moved toward her protectively.

  “Derringer? What are you…?” Lila stuttered, trying to comprehend what was happening.

  “Move!” Mrs. Wyler demanded. “Don’t make me shoot you right here.”

  She started pushing us with her free hand. We crossed the street and headed for the parking lot, about two hundred yards away.

  “Yvette! What do you mean, shoot us? You can’t mean that. Why, we’ve been friends…” Lila broke off and tried to laugh but stopped when Mrs. Wyler did not reply. “What’s going on, Liana?” Mom asked, as she drew me to her.

  I thought of the phone in my pocket and hoped Richard was still listening. Maybe he would call the police, as he threatened before.

  Please, oh, please, call the police, Richard, I prayed silently. I said aloud, “Mrs. Wyler killed her husband, Mom. It wasn’t Grace Wong.”

  “Yvette, you…killed Portor?” Lila asked.

  “Just keep moving,” was the harsh reply from the woman holding us captive.

  “It’s true, Mom. I’m sorry.” I looked back over my shoulder. “How much did you pay your housekeeper to lie for you? I thought it rather telling she went on a very expensive vacation immediately after the death of your husband.”

  “You! You don’t know anything.” Mrs. Wyler’s response was bitter. “Money wasn’t the issue, although I have rewarded her with a considerable sum. She believes in me. She’s on my side. She understands why I had to do what I did,” Yvette told us in a trembling voice. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

  We arrived at her four-door sedan and both of us looked expectantly at Mrs. Wyler, afraid to make a wrong move.

  “Liana, you drive, and keep both hands where I can see them. You get in the front seat with her,” she told my mother.

  I looked around and saw there was no one else either in the parking lot or on the sidewalk. At this time of year, there wasn’t the influx of crowds coming and going you would have in the summer.

  The party for the Siberian cubs was still in full swing, and no one would be leaving for quite a while. It was windy, cold, and lonely. Except for the cars whizzing by on the highway nearly a block away, it was just the three of us.

  I opened the car door, got in and placed my purse by my side. At the first opportunity, I would try to retrieve my revolver. I should have had it more accessible, I rebuked myself. However, a “shoot out” with Mrs. Wyler was almost as repugnant a thought as being kidnapped, I realized.

  I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. We came to the intersection of the Great Highway and stopped for a red light. I watched several cars driving through the intersection at fairly high speeds.

  Directly across the highway were the sand dunes, which led down to a three-mile long stretch of beach. Mother and I sat in the front seat with Mrs. Wyler directly behind, waiting for the light to change.

  Yvette Wyler rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers and said harshly, “Don’t wait for the light. Turn right. Turn right. I remember where we’re going now.”

  She pulled the pistol out of her pocket, leaned forward between us and gestured with it. Actually seeing the pistol for the first time drove home the seriousness of this to us. I saw small beads of perspiration form on Lila’s top lip.

  I turned the car right, trying to stay cool-headed, but my heart pounded.

  Have I brought all this on Mom and me by coming down here? Have I sent Mrs. Wyler over the edge? It’s obvious to me the woman is becoming more unglued by the minute. We have to try to keep her as calm as possible. If we do, maybe nobody will get hurt.

  My mother said in as natural a voice as she could manage, “I don’t understand any of this, Yvette. If you killed Portor, I’m sure you had a very good reason. I know you loved him. You can talk to me. We’re friends.” Mom turned a sympathetic face toward her friend.

  “Turn around and face the front, Lila,” Mrs. Wyler said coldly. “Don’t make me shoot you right now. I will, you know. If you’re so interested, I’ll tell you all you need to know when we get to where we’re going. There will be plenty of time to talk then.”

  “Where are we going, Mrs. Wyler?” I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

  “We’re going to the Dutch Windmill up the road. You know, the one that’s nearly completed, with the vanes. You’re going to park on the side of the road where I tell you. Now drive.”

  I drove slowly toward the two windmills sitting about three-quarters of a mile apart and taller than anything else on this stretch of the Great Highway. I had been reading a lot of newspaper reports recently about the north and the south windmills, named The Dutch and Murphy windmills, both considered an important part of San Francisco’s history.

  Four to five stories high, they had originally been constructed in 1902 to pump water for Golden Gate Park’s irrigation system by using the wind from the ocean. About ten years later, unfortunately for them, electricity came along.

  With the windmills no longer performing a primary function, their maintenance was neglected, and they eventually ceased to operate.

  The Dutch Windmill had been renovated twice and looked pretty good from the outside. It had no innards, from what I understood, but the Restoration Committee of Golden

  Gate Park moved on to the south windmill, which had never had any work at all, to bring it up to a similar state. Both windmills would be worked on internally at the same time within the next few years. These thoughts raced through my mind, as we did the short drive to our destination. Was one of these Dutch behemoths going to be the last place on earth my mother and I saw?

  I dropped my right hand from the wheel, feeling the time was right to get my revolver. I opened the handbag and reached inside, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

  “Give me that!” screamed Mrs. Wyler as she snatched my purse from over the top of the backrest. I’ve watched you clutching that bag to you. You’ve got a gun in there, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t. I was going to get some more Tylenol. My head is aching,” I answered quietly.

  My mother’s old friend sounded out of control. Her hands shook so much I feared the pistol might go off accidentally. If she was having a nervous breakdown right in front of us, I didn’t want anybody to get shot because of it.

  Lila looked at me. I tried to smile reassuringly, but nothing much gets by Mom. She knows a bad situation when she sees one.

  “Never min
d that,” Mrs. Wyler retorted as she rolled down her window and threw my bag into a shrub nearby.

  “Hey! What’s the matter with you? You didn’t have to throw my handbag away. It’s a Kate Spade. I’m going to go back and get it!” It was a long shot, but she was so nutty, I thought she might let me.

  I felt the barrel pressed against the side of my head. “Just drive the car, can’t you?”

  “Leave her alone, Yvette,” my mother said. “She’s not well. Don’t hurt her. She’ll behave.”

  “Both of you just shut up. Stop talking. I mean it. Pull off the road here,” she demanded, gesturing to a spot a little north of the turnoff to the street that actually went by the windmill.

  As I pulled over, I had a terrifying thought that maybe my cell phone might not be working, like before. I started to pray to the Energizer Bunny, hoping it was one of his batteries I was using.

  “We’re going to take that path leading to the windmill. See it? It’s more private. Now get out of the car, both of you.”

  Mrs. Wyler pointed to a narrow dirt path barely wide enough for one person. It cut through the small brush and sparsely limbed trees that fought the constant wind and salt air for survival.

  We moved toward the path as Mrs. Wyler began talking. “Portor and I used to come here when we were young and in love. Portor lived nearby with his parents. That was before he took over my father’s business. You remember those days, Lila. It was our freshman year at Stanford. Sometimes he and I would make love inside the windmill before they sealed it off. If only my mother had known what we were doing,” she said, her voice softening momentarily by the memory.

  It took on the hard edge again. “Keep walking on this path and hurry up. There’s a door on the other side of the windmill. As one of the trustees, I have a key to it. Nobody will think to look for you there, at least, not until after all the work gets done on the south windmill. That won’t be for two years.”

  As if answering my thoughts about whether or not I brought this on by my rushing up to the zoo, she continued, “I wanted you to come with me today, Lila, because I thought you suspected me.”