TWENTY-TWO
Mandy lived on the Upper West Side, and it took Kate forever to find a parking place, and when she did it was three blocks away. It was getting on towards evening and raining, just a slight drizzle. She didn’t have an umbrella, but that was okay. The moisture felt refreshing. Cars swooshed by, lights reflected on the street, the smell of the rain and the closeness of people, people everywhere. A couple passed her by, laughing under an umbrella, speaking Russian?
Kate breathed it all in. She’d forgotten what it felt like being in the city – the energy, the privacy of being just one in many.
And here she was at the apartment building where Mandy lived, a nice building. Doorman.
‘Mandy and Phil,’ she said to the doorman.
He smiled a big smile, hustled her over to the elevator, and up they went to the fourth floor. She walked down a short hall and stopped. The sound of a party in full swing came from behind Mandy’s door.
No. No, no, no.
She’d woken up still tired, and the energy she’d summoned up for the drive from Vermont to New York, the energy the rain had given her, was that false second wind that comes just after total exhaustion.
All she wanted was to go to sleep in a safe place.
Her mind seemed to fog up, and she couldn’t trust her own thoughts. Maybe she’d simply gone to the wrong address to meet Ellen, to the wrong state, and Ellen was waiting impatiently for her arrival somewhere in Pennsylvania or Connecticut or Kansas. She knocked on the door.
A man answered it, a big man, balding, with a kind face.
‘You must be Kate,’ he said. ‘Phil. Come in, come in.’
She followed him through a foyer into a large living room. Seven or eight people were sitting around, on chairs and the couch. There was music coming from somewhere, but it was drowned out by people talking, chattering, it seemed to Kate, like the monkey house in a zoo. A woman close by, brown-haired with tiny pink framed glasses, looked over at her, face distorted by a smile.
Somewhere someone laughed loudly, braying like a donkey. The air in the room felt close, full of too many bodies.
Kate felt dizzy. She steadied herself on the back of an armchair.
‘Hey. Hey, you okay?’ Phil asked.
‘Tired.’ Kate said. She heard herself say it from a distance as if someone else were saying it instead.
‘Kate?’
Kate turned. It was Mandy in long black leggings and a blousy print tunic top. Dark hair, olive skin, very thin. They hugged.
Mandy stepped back. ‘It’s wonderful to see you again. I was so excited when Phil told me you’d called.’ She paused. ‘How are you?’ She asked it as if she were a little worried and really wanted to know.
‘Tired,’ Kate said. ‘But other than that I’m fine.’ She felt as though she’d been saying I’m fine for weeks and weeks and it hadn’t been true for a while. ‘I mean—’ Her lower lip trembled involuntarily. ‘I guess.’
Mandy gave her a look. ‘Not so fine, huh? Let’s go somewhere quiet and talk.’
The rain pitter-pattered on the bedroom window pane. The curtains were half drawn, and Kate could see the glimmer of lights that lit up the private lives and the public places in the city outside. Kate and Mandy sat on the bed in the guest bedroom where Kate would be sleeping.
‘Phil said you were asking about Ellen Wilson.’
‘I was,’ Kate said.
‘Were you guys close? I mean, I know you knew her, but I wasn’t sure how well.’
‘Don’t you remember? You and me and Ellen and Sandy and Karen, fifteen years ago by now. We called ourselves the Ooblecks?’
Mandy smiled. ‘I do remember. Of course. I’ll send you a JPEG file of this DVD I’m putting together. Or maybe I’ll just make a bunch of DVDs. It’s kind of a mishmash of various events from the old days. You guys are in it, you and Rick. You before Rick. Tom Litmus, remember him? He got really rich, something to do with Wall Street, and now he’s poor.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Kate.
‘Yes, ha ha. And Buzzie? Didn’t you go out with Buzzie?’
‘Once,’ said Kate. ‘It was boring.’
Mandy giggled. ‘You know what? He joined the military after nine-eleven. He got really hyped up over the whole thing.’
‘Wow,’ said Kate.
‘And of course Ellen’s on it too.’ She smiled. ‘All of us Ooblecks, being silly. So, anyway, what was it you wanted to know about Ellen?’
Kate took a deep breath. ‘Ellen emailed out of the blue and told me about this house she’d inherited in New Jersey. To make a long story short, we were supposed to meet there, me and Ellen, and maybe some other people. I flew in from Arizona and drove to the house, but she never showed up. There I was waiting in this empty house, no electricity, no water, nothing.’
‘Wait,’ Mandy said. ‘The time frame is a little skewed here – I’m not sure when you’re talking about. Phil didn’t explain very well. She wasn’t Ellen Wilson any more, you know.’
‘No?’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.’
‘Not as surprised as I am.’
‘Wilson was her married name from one of those early doomed marriages, and she kept it out of inertia she always said. But she’d changed it back. It was Ellen Wallace. I gather this empty house stuff was quite some time ago.’
‘Not really. The last email I got was right before I left Dudley. I guess it was four days ago.’
Mandy looked at Kate strangely.
‘What?’ said Kate. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I went to the house where we were supposed to meet, and she never showed up. That’s that, basically.’
‘Kate,’ said Mandy. ‘Ellen’s dead.’
‘No.’ Kate stared at her. ‘What happened? Oh, no, I was afraid something had happened to her. Was she in an accident?’
‘She died of pancreatic cancer.’
‘Cancer? She didn’t mention being sick.’
‘Eight months ago. She died eight months ago, Kate. Someone’s playing tricks on you.’
There was a silence. Kate didn’t know what to say. She got up and went over to the window. The cars swooshed by. Somewhere out there was her rental car, three blocks over, or was it four?
‘I bought a plane ticket and everything,’ she said finally. ‘I went to the address she’d given me and waited. Who would do that to me, trick me like that?’
‘Some people never grow up. Maybe it was one of the guys we used to know,’ said Mandy. ‘But that’s hard to believe. It would be so lame.’
‘Too lame. No. I don’t buy that idea.’ Kate covered her eyes. ‘She mentioned the Ooblecks, so I never doubted it was her. God, I’m such an idiot.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Mandy reached out, touched Kate’s arm. ‘It’s not so bad. Look what happened. You’re here. In the city. So where’s the tragedy? I bet you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for this Ellen thing. I’m having a little party. Come on out and meet some people.’
Kate lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.
‘Or not,’ Mandy said. ‘Whatever.’
Later, Kate woke up. The party sounds were gone. Outside cars were still going by, but it wasn’t raining any more. Her watch said 12:03. She sat up and texted Dakota that she was in New York City. Then she lay down again, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. Thoughts kept running through her mind; she couldn’t stop them. Maybe take that last Ativan? She decided not. Who would have sent her those emails, played such an elaborate trick? Someone who knew something of her past, it had to be – but who? Harry? Had she mentioned Ellen and the Ooblecks to Harry?
She didn’t think so.
And would he have come all the way from California, found a vacant house to lure her to? Or maybe he had an aunt who had died and left him the house? She hadn’t had a nasty email from him in a while. She’d thought it was a good sign, but maybe he was moving to the next level.
She got up and went to the window. It was after mi
dnight, and there were still people out, shadowy as they passed beneath the street lights, the sidewalks still rain slick. Maybe, she thought, when I’m very old, I could come back here and end my days looking out a window on to New York City. She thought she’d be peaceful then, faraway from the life she had been leading.
Her return flight was the day after tomorrow. I have to find out who did this, she thought. I have to go back to New Jersey.
TWENTY-THREE
‘What!’ said Stuart Ross, all righteous indignation. ‘You don’t have a warrant? Since when do you guys come in like Nazis and think you can search the home of two perfectly innocent and vulnerable women without a warrant? Luckily, Lupita is well informed about her rights and thought to call me before letting you into the sanctuary of the home she shares with her elderly nana.’ Stuart gestured at Lupita and at Ariana.
Oh, cool it, Lupita thought. What a windbag. ‘She’s not elderly,’ she said out loud.
They stood, all of them – Officer Debbie Hannigan, and Detective Sergeant Ben Luna, and Lupita, Ariana and Stuart – in Ariana’s crowded kitchen. It was after ten p.m., and Ariana wore an attractive negligee and fuzzy slippers, Lupita, an old black sweatshirt of Chico’s and gray sweatpants.
‘We were only inquiring, Counselor,’ said Officer Hannigan, with dignity. ‘Not to mention it’s against the law to harbor a fugitive.’
‘We’re not harboring anyone!’ Lupita cried.
Ariana put her hand on her heart and closed her eyes.
‘It wasn’t a smart move on Chico’s part, and you know it,’ Officer Debbie Hannigan said to Stuart Ross. To Lupita she said, ‘He should know he’s a lot better off in the safety of the county jail than he is if he’s gone across the line.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Stuart Ross. ‘All this brouhaha about crime along the border is all Republican bullshit and you know it.’
Officer Hannigan’s face got bright pink. ‘Not when there’s drugs involved,’ she said.
‘There isn’t. Chico’s an artist not a doper, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Anyway, he hasn’t gone across the line!’ cried Lupita. ‘I mean, I hope not.’
‘I can assure you as an officer of the court,’ Stuart Ross said to Sergeant Ben Luna and Officer Hannigan, ‘that if Chico shows up here you will be duly informed.’ He looked meaningfully at Lupita and Ariana.
‘Of course you will be!’ lied Lupita.
‘And now I’d like to talk to my clients alone if you don’t mind,’ said Stuart.
Lupita, Ariana and Stuart watched as Officer Hannigan and Sergeant Luna walked away and down the steps from the house.
Stuart turned to the two women. ‘I cannot believe,’ he said through his teeth, ‘that Chico absconded like that. It’s about the dumbest thing he could possibly have done.’
‘He’s an artist!’ Lupita cried. ‘Not like other people.’
Stuart ignored the remark. ‘Do you know that if this goes to trial, the judge can instruct the jury to take into account as a factor that he absconded, when they consider his guilt or innocence?’
‘Absconded, absconded,’ cried Lupita. ‘Speak English, please. You said it wasn’t going to trial, you said he’d be out long before that, that we just had to be patient.’
‘Not only that,’ Stuart said, with just a touch of sadist glee, ‘this is a man who’s charged with a double homicide. That means, technically, he could be considered armed and dangerous.’
‘Armed and dangerous!’ said Lupita. ‘That’s nonsense.’
‘Technically. I said, technically. He could get shot, killed. It just takes one trigger-happy idiot, which, believe me, includes several Cochise County law enforcement officers that I can think of right off the top of my head, or the Border Patrol, for that matter.’
‘Malcolm,’ Lupita said suddenly. ‘We need to tell Malcolm.’ She reached for her cellphone.
His cell rang and rang, but no one answered, and his voicemail box was full. She texted him, Call me. Urgent. Urgent. That should do it.
She turned to Stuart. ‘Malcolm can fix this,’ she said. ‘I know it.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Jet-lagged but valiant, Malcolm parked his rental car outside the Jack in the Box in an undistinguished sort of shopping mall, in the suburb of Millville, Pa. Suburb was what it was: middle-class tract houses, going on and on, though for some reason Malcolm had imagined a fantasy small town, tree-lined streets. Still, it was certainly green around here, green green green, obscenely green.
Inside the Jack in the Box he ordered a Sourdough Jack and ate it sitting on a plastic seat next to the big plate-glass window that looked out on to the Crafty Woman Arts and Crafts store.
What the hell did I just do? he wondered. Hopped on a plane and flew to Pennsylvania? What the hell am I doing here? I must be crazy. But a good kind of crazy.
He took out his cellphone, still switched off for the flight, and turned it on. A text from Lupita. Call Me. Urgent. Urgent.
Such drama. It would have to wait.
The window of the Crafty Woman was draped in black and garnished with black artificial roses. On a stand in the center place of honor was a framed photograph, a head and shoulder shot of a smiling blonde woman. Carrie Cooper. Malcolm opened the door, and a bell tinkled. He walked inside. A blonde woman who resembled Carrie Cooper was sitting on a big wicker chair near the back, knitting. She wore jeans and a pink T-shirt with spangles on it. Beside her was a small wicker table that held a stack of books.
‘Rose Kelly?’ Malcolm asked.
She smiled: pretty, dimples on both cheeks. ‘That’s me.’
‘Malcolm MacGregor. I’m an investigator.’
‘Yes?’
‘I flew in this morning from Tucson.’
‘Are you with the media?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘No. I’m an investigator, like I said.’
‘Good,’ said Rose. ‘They twist things around and don’t even listen sometimes. One of them even got in to see my mom, and my poor mom isn’t even clear that Carrie’s dead, she’s so confused. I had to close up my shop to hide for three or four days ’cause of these photographers, and then this woman from the newspaper – this local weekly – came in and asked a bunch of questions, but she didn’t use my answers, just made some up. This is about Carrie, I assume.’
‘Yes.’
‘Personally, you know what I think? She and Wes should never have gone to Arizona. I’ve been reading up on it online, and it’s full of people waving guns around just about everywhere, on the streets, in bars, on college campuses.’ Her voice rose. ‘Then they have these drug cartels, shooting across the border at people, then more people from Iowa and Wisconsin come down and they shoot at all those illegal immigrants. Plus—’
‘Wait,’ Malcolm said.
She stopped, in mid sentence.
‘It’s not as bad as all that, trust me.’
‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘Listen, Carrie called me and texted me the day she was killed, did you know that?’
‘No,’ said Malcolm, ‘I didn’t.’
‘She texted me three times. Call me, it said, and she called me twice, and I was really busy so I just never got back to her.’ She covered her face for a moment. ‘I’m so sorry. I just think about it all the time, over and over. It’s like I can’t stop. I’ll never, never know what she had to say to me.’
‘You have no idea what it might have been?’
‘None.’ She sighed. ‘Please. Sit down. You can ask me about Carrie all you want. Except for the media, you’d be surprised how many of the people who come in here – regular customers, I mean, who take our classes – will do anything to avoid even mentioning her name.’ She paused. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Who are you investigating for?’
‘The defense.’
‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘Oh. Then maybe I shouldn’t talk to you.’
‘Look,’ said Malcolm. ‘Legally you have the right not to. But I’m sure you want to fi
nd out the truth, don’t you?’
Rose stared at him. ‘The truth?’
‘Yes, hear me out – I’m with law enforcement, but I’ve been taking a break. Then Chico’s sister Lupita persuaded me to look into this, and now I have.’
‘His sister,’ breathed Rose. ‘She must be going through hell too, in her own way, but at least her brother’s alive.’
‘I don’t think Chico killed your sister and Wes. The shots were too accurate.’
She blinked. ‘What do you mean – too accurate?’
‘Really accurate. Like a hired hit man.’
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘A hired hit man?’
‘Chico’s just an arty kind of kid.’
‘Then why would they arrest this Chico?’
‘They needed to arrest someone right away. It’s a tourist town. Assuming your sister and Wes weren’t involved in serious drug dealing—’
‘Of course not! She didn’t even like to take Tylenol, for heaven’s sake. But a hired hit man?’ She looked bemused. ‘Well, then, I guess I’d say Polly. It could have been Polly—’
‘Wes’s daughter?’
‘Yes. She hated Carrie.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Polly’s mom, Nancy, died of breast cancer four years ago, not all that long after Wes left her for Carrie. So she blamed Carrie. And Polly hated Wes too – for leaving her mom for Carrie. But Wes and Carrie, they were in unhappy relationships. No one was happy. Who wants that? Carrie’s ex went off and got married to someone else, and Polly’s mom would have done the same probably if she hadn’t … um … died.’
There was a small silence.
‘Anything else you can think of that might be helpful?’ Malcolm asked. ‘Anyone else mad at them?’
‘I don’t think so, for heaven’s sake, I mean not really, really mad – who goes around killing people, anyway?’
‘Okay, then what about Polly Hampton? She’s married, I take it? What’s her husband like?’
‘She is married, but her husband? He’s a mouse.’ She paused. ‘You could talk to Paul Sanger. He’s close to Polly still, I think.’
Empty Houses Page 13