A Tangled Yarn, page 18
“It’s the show tonight. Here it is, my chance to do some big-time illusions that require an assistant, and I don’t have one.”
“What happened to Bridget?” I asked, thinking of how she’d acted when I’d seen her in the morning. She’d made it sound like they were a cozy couple.
“I wanted to make things clear to her. I said I was only interested in her as an assistant.” His shoulders drooped. “I tried to be as nice as possible, but she was coming on too strong. Out of nowhere she was trying to rearrange my life. It’s not my style to be bulldozed like that.” He looked at me. “It’s got to be a mutually agreeable situation.”
He realized he’d gotten off track. “The point is, I made a commitment and I have no one to cut in half.” He didn’t say anything more with words, but I got the drift from his expression. I knew how much this show meant to him. It didn’t matter that he was a highly respected urologist and surgeon—magic was his dream.
“Okay,” I said. “What do I have to do?”
“Just wear this and lie there.” He presented me with something in a bag and I was almost afraid to look.
I agreed. It was probably the last thing in the world I needed to do right now, but Sammy always came through for me and it was the least I could do for him. And, oh, yes, I was glad about Bridget. Not because I was jealous or anything—I just thought he deserved better.
She probably blamed me for what he’d said, so there went any in I had with her to help with the new muffins.
Sammy hugged me profusely and thanked me for saving the show. I wasn’t so sure about that. “Maybe you better wait until after the show to thank me. I hope I don’t ruin it.”
“You’ll be great. I know it.” He told me when to be where and left.
As we were talking, I could see Julius through the window. It looked like he was marching back and forth in protest at being locked inside.
I had planned to just stop in at my place for a short time to arrange his escape places and freshen up, but by now I wasn’t surprised when things didn’t go as planned.
I considered ignoring the phone as it started to ring and the mechanical voice announced that the call was from my mother. Actually, it said “Dr. Feldstein,” which could have been either of my parents, but it was always my mother who called. But it didn’t feel right, so I grabbed it on the fifth ring.
“So things are going well?” my mother said after I’d mentioned being in kind of a hurry. I realized when I’d talked to her before, Don Porter was alive and well. Could I just leave out what happened to him?
If only I had said, “Fine,” in a different tone of voice, I might have gotten off the call without spilling everything. I wasn’t proud of the fact that even at the ripe old age of thirty-five I still cared what my mother thought.
She immediately recognized that the way I’d said, “Fine,” meant there was really a problem. Like the doctor she was, trying to get at a patient’s problem, she started asking questions.
“What is it? Is it the group you have this time?”
“They’re fine,” I said. Not a lie. They weren’t the problem.
“Is it something with that cop who lives down the street? When your father and I came to see you, it was obvious there was something between you. But just remember you’d have to be worried every day if he’d make it home.”
I withheld a laugh, considering that most of Dane’s duties seemed to be telling jaywalkers to go to the corner to cross the street. My mother immediately transitioned into talking about Sammy. She started to say something good about him but caught herself.
“I know my liking him is like the kiss of death to you. I wish I could tell you to steer clear of him and say it like I meant it. Then you’d probably throw yourself into his arms.”
“Oh, Mother,” I said in a withering tone. “I think I’m more mature than that.” And then I added that I was going to be his assistant in the big show he was putting on for Vista Del Mar.
“Enough with the magic nonsense. See, there is something I don’t like about Sammy. I’m one hundred percent with his parents on that. He should concentrate on being a doctor and forget all this other stuff. You know you care about him. Otherwise, why would you be acting as his assistant?” I was starting to make disagreeing noises, but she talked on. “He would walk through fire for you,” she said. I didn’t have a comeback for that because I kind of thought it was probably true. So I diverted her attention the only way I could think of. I told her she was right that there were some problems with the retreat.
“So then, what’s wrong?” she said, getting to the point.
I told her the whole story. “Madeleine is depending on me, and if I don’t come through I’m afraid she’ll take away the deal I have.”
I expected my mother to somehow think that would be a good thing, but instead she was annoyed at the position I was in. My mother and I might argue back and forth, but underneath it all, she was my biggest supporter.
“The best thing you can do is to figure out who killed that travel writer,” she said. “You’ve done it before. Do you have any suspects?” She paused for a moment. “Didn’t you tell me there was a woman who was all wrapped up and claimed she was allergic to the sun? You seemed to think she was suspicious.”
“Now that you mention her, I heard her hat blew off today when she was outside and she didn’t get upset and said that it was cloudy outside.”
My mother laughed. “If you’re going to lie, you ought to think it through. I’m not a dermatologist, but I do know that even with clouds the rays of the sun get through. My diagnosis would be that she was trying to hide something.”
“Thanks,” I said, not sure if I really liked my mother trying to assist me. I was so used to her speech about when she was my age she was a doctor, a mother and a wife, and what was I? This new attitude actually made me uncomfortable, and I wondered if she had some ulterior motive. Maybe she’d gone to some seminar on how to outsmart your patients with psychology or something.
I ended the call, telling her I had to get back to my people. I waited a moment to see if she was going to add some kind of reminder that I didn’t quite measure up, but she just wished me luck and said good-bye. Was she up to something?
I’d barely put down the phone when it rang again. Julius was sitting down, watching me. As I answered the phone, I walked to one of the windows and lifted it so he could have his freedom again. He jumped on the counter and sniffed the air, but then instead of squirming through the opening to get outside, he jumped down and continued to watch me.
I got it. He didn’t necessarily want to go out; he just wanted to know that he could.
“Frank?” I said, surprised. “Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?” My tone was worried. He made such a production when I called him, and here he’d called me twice in one day.
“You seemed to be having trouble with this investigation. I feel like I’m your mentor, so I wanted to help you.”
Then I got it. It was a pity call, and I started to put my back up. But then I faced the truth: he was right. I was stuck.
“Am I going to get a little appreciation, Feldstein? I might be your mentor, but it is Saturday night here, and some of us have plans.”
“Another date?” I asked, and I heard him chortle.
“Maybe that date never ended.” He cleared his throat. “We’re not here to talk about my social life. And I don’t want to stay on the phone all night.” I heard some music in the background. I strained to figure out what it was. The rhythm belonged to another time, and I noted a male voice singing before I recognized that it was Frank Sinatra. I was picturing his lady friend lounging on a couch. Or did he have the same recliner chairs everywhere?
“Feldstein, I’m talking to you. You’re not even doing the customary uh-huhs to show you’re listening.” He spoke in a singsongy voice and I snapped back to attention.
“Sorry,” I said. “How about you run that all by me again?”
“I was suggesting you tell me everything you know about the dead guy.”
“I can do that,” I said. “First, he was a travel writer. I heard that he liked to get the most benefit from trips he took. Like he’d take notes to write different kinds of articles. The hotel clerk said he thought that Don was meeting someone that he didn’t know.” I repeated the details about the paper from the message board with the name Snow Drop. Frank let out a hmmm sound.
“He seemed to be looked up to by the writers who came to this conference, but not very diplomatic when he gave critiques. No one said it exactly, but I don’t think he cared if he hurt their feelings. I know he gave scathing critiques to at least two men. One, who I still haven’t connected with, made a scene and charged out of the room. The other guy . . .” I stopped as I thought of the bird tattoo on his chest. “Well, he claimed to have been upset but then decided Don was right, and he rewrote the piece and took it to Don’s room, which also was right around the time Don was probably shot.
“His name is T Dot,” I said, then explained his name. “He told me that he didn’t tell the cops about the trip to Don’s room. He seemed to be worried because he thought someone saw him in the hall and might mention it to the cops.”
“T Dot?” Frank said. I had the feeling he was shaking his head with disbelief. “You have to believe that someone who comes up with a name like that thinks he’s pretty special and could be someone who freaks out when his work is criticized. He told you he was going to give the guy a rewrite. Or maybe the plan was to give him a piece of his mind and then a bullet to the chest. As for telling you about it, it sounds like he was worried that he’d been seen.”
“He seemed like such a nice guy,” I said, and I heard Frank chortle again.
“Feldstein, if you’re going to track down a killer, you have to keep your perspective. You don’t have to dislike someone to think they did it. By the same token, if you do like someone, it doesn’t let them off the hook.”
“What about the person Don met?”
“You should definitely try to find out more about that. And the other guy who got his work pulled apart—how hard can it be to find him? Do you have any clue about who he is, like a name, a birthmark on his cheek or something?”
“He’s wearing one of those army surplus jackets, like a bunch of the guys here. But his has some initials on the front, which I think are a KC. I explained that Madeleine had remembered the initials because she said they reminded her of me. “But even if I find him, it’s not like he’s going to tell me that he killed Don,” I said.
“But he could tell you something else without even realizing it. Look what T Dot told you.” Frank chortled some more about the name.
“I think you know what you have to do,” he said finally. “So what’s on the agenda for tonight. Some kind of soiree?”
I told Frank about the open mike event, followed by a magic show and capped with square dancing. He reacted only when I mentioned my part in the magic show.
“Geez, Feldstein, I’m really sorry I’m missing your debut. I just hope the Amazing Dr. Sammy remembers he’s doing a trick and not surgery.”
As Frank signed off I heard him say to someone, “I’m all yours now, Cream Puff.” Cream Puff, really?
I finally took the costume out of the bag and gagged. It was a one-piece thing that was flesh colored, except for the middle part, which looked like a tuxedo bathing suit. There was also a pair of tall black boots. What had I agreed to?
I wasn’t going to show up wearing it for the whole evening, but I also didn’t think I’d have time to change, so I stripped and pulled on the ridiculous outfit and put a loose-fitting stretchy black dress over it. The boots were a little stiff, but they worked okay with the dress.
Julius had been watching the whole thing. He didn’t seem to approve, and I half expected him to put up both his paws, as if to say, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
20
It was dark when I went across the street. By now I knew the way so well, I didn’t need the flashlight to find my way. I’d put a black fleece over the dress and added a red scarf. Both felt good as the chilly breeze blew in from the water.
I had thought it over and decided that it was better not to try to find KC in the Sea Foam dining hall after seeing how Kevin St. John had reacted to Lucinda hanging around his writers. If he’d seen through her trying to appear she was helping out, there was no chance he wouldn’t figure I was up to something. It was still free time before dinner and I thought I’d wander around the grounds and see if I could find the green jacket with the initials. Well, really I was after the wearer of the jacket. I passed a few people walking toward one of the guest buildings. Only one wore one of the green jackets, but the front of it was blank.
I looked in on the Lodge next. I was surprised at how crowded it was. The fire going in the massive stone fireplace and the warm glow given off by the amber-colored leaded-glass lamps managed to make the cavernous room seem almost cozy.
The area with the couches and easy chairs had been taken over by Olivia, who had a whole group working on squares. Their yarn covered the table in their midst with spots of color. The writers were scattered all over. Some were shooting pool or playing table tennis. A bunch of people were gathered around a long table hunched over their laptops. They’d all hung their jackets on the backs of their chairs. I noticed that several of them were the army surplus style. Jeff Hunter’s beat-up leather jacket stuck out like a sore thumb. All their screens were covered with writing, including Jeff’s. He seemed deeply engrossed in something and didn’t notice me until I stopped next to him and asked what he was up to.
He sat back from the computer and gestured toward the screen. “I thought about what I said during the workshop about being on the road and someone suggesting I write about it. They all helped me with the format,” he said, indicating his tablemates. “And I signed up to read it at the open mike event.”
While I was talking to him, I was glancing at the jackets hanging on the chairs, hoping to see a KC on the front of one. “I don’t mean to be rude,” Jeff said, going back to hovering over the screen. “But I want to give this another read-through.”
“Of course,” I said, backing away. I did another turn around the table, trying to be unobtrusive as I checked the jackets once again. No letters, just one button that said, I HEART POODLES.
The pool and table tennis players had left their jackets in a heap on a chair. I pretended to be clumsy and knocked into the chair, sending the jackets to the floor. None of them even noticed as I examined each jacket as I picked it up and put it back. I came up empty again.
I was beginning to face the fact that there was no guarantee the man with the right jacket was even in the Lodge, when the door opened and a man walked in. I automatically looked at what he was wearing and felt my heart quicken as I saw the green color of his jacket. There was something lighter on the front.
Before I could get a good look, he moved on and went toward the line of phone booths. By the time I’d crossed the room, he’d gone into one and shut the folding door.
I hovered around outside the booth, trying to appear nonchalant as I peered in the small window to get a closer look at the jacket. I’m afraid my effort to be nonchalant didn’t work very well, and after a moment he opened the folding door and glared up at me. “What’s the problem?” He turned and checked the phone booths behind him, which were all empty. “Can’t you use one of those?” he asked in a short tone.
“Right,” I said, backing off. Rule number one of getting someone to talk to you was not getting off on the wrong foot. He watched me until I picked one of the booths and went inside. The good thing was that I could see him when he left the phone booth; the bad thing was that I could see that all the phone booths were now full and a line had formed.
Then I realized it might not be such a bad thing. The same people who were looking into my booth with impatient stares were doing the same to him. I hoped it would make him as uncomfortable as it was making me and he’d hurry up. I had picked up the receiver and was pretending to talk, while at the same time thinking about how I was going to engage this guy in conversation.
The line was getting longer and the pressure of watching people shift their weight impatiently was getting to me. Finally, I abandoned my booth. I was hoping the guy in the green jacket would feel the same pressure, but when I passed the booth he was in, he seemed deep in conversation.
At least I’d found him, and I tried to make a mental note of what he looked like so I could pick him out from the crowd in the dining hall. In the few moments I’d had to take in his appearance, I’d noted he had dark wavy hair and a fashionable amount of stubble on his face.
I hung around near the wooden counter that separated the lobby-like area of the room from the business section. A new clerk was on duty and I hoped that Gill was home, finally catching up on his sleep.
At last the door folded back and my target came out. All the work I’d done for Frank had been on the phone, and snagging someone in person was much harder. What was I going to say to get him to stop, let alone talk to me?
I caught up with him as he went across the room to the door that went out over the deck. “I’m sorry for hanging outside the phone booth,” I said. “I was trying to watch how you did it.” I let out what I hoped sounded like an embarrassed laugh. “I had no idea how pay phones work anymore.”
His face softened into an understanding smile. “Right. No more dropping in a coin.” He’d stopped now and turned to face me fully. I thought about Frank’s advice to flirt to get information. But my flirting skills were pathetic and way too obvious.
“I couldn’t believe the phone took a credit card,” I said in a friendly voice. “You just seemed like you knew what you were doing with the phone. Again, I’m sorry if I bothered you.”
