The Royall Send-Off, page 11
“That’s she’s gone, you mean?”
“Oh, yes, that too.” Winnie decided not to elaborate, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Patty had felt more comfortable being somebody, anybody, but Patty Gordon. There was a tray of glasses on a side table, some sunglasses, some regular glasses with clear lenses. Prop glasses. Okay. She pocketed a pair of each.
She spied a state-of-the-art walker folded up against one wall, complete with a folding seat. And hand brakes. Neon pink plastic streamers had been inserted into the ends of each padded rubber handle. To finish it all off, there was a bicycle bell attached to the front bar, painted in rainbow stripes.
Yes, Patty was going to be missed.
Leaving the dressing room behind, they checked out the kitchen, Barbra making a list of food that would be needed for Rosie and Hildy. Winnie suggested low-carb foods, along with a half-gallon of chocolate ice cream. And a cigarette lighter.
She also asked Barbra to give her the key to the condo, so she could have a copy made. “Just in case.”
Before they left, Winnie to head back to her condo, Barbra off to her chair aerobics class, Winnie grabbed a blonde wig from Patty’s collection. The thing still had the price tag hanging from it. She whistled as she read the price, and then stuffed the wig into her purse. Whoever said you couldn’t buy happiness probably never considered that money at least allowed you to rent it.
She detoured past the exercise center, to see that there was still yellow plastic crime tape strung across the front entrance. The weasel was probably having a fit. But there were no police cars out front, so she couldn’t ask anybody any questions…like, was there water in the security guy’s lungs? The only vehicles were three white trucks, a closed van and two large pick-ups, each with Packwood Elite Construction painted on the doors. The side entrance to the pool filters was open, and there were workmen up on the flat roof, fiddling with what had to be some new H-VAC equipment.
So, nothing to see here.
She had to take a detour on the route back to her own condo because a good stretch of Royall Parkway East was in different stages of being torn up, obviously to replace the surface. There were white trucks here, too. These also sported Packwood Elite Construction in blue lettering on the doors. A huge machine was moving slowly down the lane, leaving a steaming stream of black macadam in its wake while about a half dozen guys stood watching, resting their arms on their shovels.
At least nobody could say Ronald was letting the place go.
Winnie took in a deep breath through her nostrils. I love the smell of fresh macadam in the morning…
But enough of that. The clock was ticking.
16
A stressed-out Rosie stubbed out yet another cigarette as she heard Winnie’s key turn in the lock. She hadn’t really wanted half the cigarettes she’d smoked this morning, but she’d smoked them anyway.
When it came to dealing with stress, everyone had their own thing. Rosie’s mother cleaned. Like, she cleaned anything that wasn’t nailed down, and then she cleaned it all again. Her cousin Jules built things, had to keep his hands busy. Jules was usually under a lot of pressure. His mother had the wall shelves and birdhouses to prove this.
Which was why Rosie had wet down a kitchen towel and kept it next to her all morning, occasionally waving it in the air like a helicopter blade in an attempt to catch the smoke. She wasn’t certain it worked all that well, but that’s how she got the smoke alarm in her apartment to shut up whenever she burned something. Spaghetti-o’s topped her list of things never to let burn again.
She grabbed the towel, raised it above her head, and started swinging.
Winnie closed the door and turned to look at her houseguest. “I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing, although I’ve seen fans doing something like it at football games, cheering their team on to victory. Yay, team?”
“Yeah, yay team,” Rosie said nervously as she dropped the towel onto the counter. “So how is team Fassbinder doing so far today?”
“Not too badly, actually. I think I have a plan. Part of a plan. Possibilities of a plan.” She placed her large purse on the marble island and pulled out the wig she’d taken from Patty’s condo. “Here, try this on.”
Rosie looked at the thing as if it might crawl across the island and bite her. “A wig? Where did you get a—I don’t have the right skin tone for blonde. I look sallow.”
“Really? How does your skin look in jailhouse orange?”
“You’re a barrel of laughs, aren’t you? What’s that?”
Winnie had gone to the side table and pulled the plastic bag she’d taken from Barbra when she’d arrived earlier with the groceries. “They’re Barbra’s, but it’s the best we could do on short notice. Catch.”
Rosie grabbed the bag out of the air and peeked inside at the tan cotton slacks and royal blue collared knit shirt with Royall Crest embroidered on the left side in gold thread. “You’re kidding. You want me to wear this?”
“And the wig. Oh, and try these—pick your poison.”
Two pair of plastic rimmed glasses hit the top of the island. One pair of sunglasses, one pair of tortoise shell plastic clear glasses.
Rosie smiled. “Oh, okay, I get it now. You want me to wear these so I look like an employee. Then you’re going to drive me out of here. I like it.”
“Don’t get too attached to the idea, because you’re wrong. You’re better off here than anywhere. Nobody’s looking for you here. Once you’re changed, we’re walking to Patty’s condo. No reason to wait until after dark if you’re in costume. You’ll be safe there, and already in charge when we bring Hildy to you tomorrow. I checked her out and she’s fine. A few bubbles off-center, but you can handle that. Barbra will come by later with groceries, but in the meantime, you should be able to find another wig you like better, or makeup to fix your skin.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my—what do you mean a few bubbles off-center? Is she dangerous?”
Winnie rolled her eyes. “She’s eighty-two, and I doubt her weight is out of double digits. You’ll be fine. Now, get moving. I’ve got other things to do. You’re not my only problem.”
But Rosie had heard enough, along with not enough. “No. I’m not moving until you tell me about the guy in the hot tub. Have you heard anything yet? And what about Jimmy?”
“Nothing new to report on either of them, sorry. And, before you ask, there’s nothing new on your car or your bag or anything else. Remember, Barbra heard your name on the radio this morning, but Royall Crest wasn’t mentioned. Rotten Ronnie apparently has managed to have his friends in high places put a lid on most everything, which probably is good for us, not that I’m about to send him flowers or anything.”
Rosie punched her fist into her palm meaningfully. “I’d like to send him my cousin Jules and a couple of his muscle bound buddies.”
“Happy thought, but we’ve already got enough dead bodies. Jules, huh? Good to know. But let’s keep him in reserve for now. What we need to do here is stick to our priorities, and stay ahead of Ronnie and his plans. First, get Hildy stowed away someplace safe, while keeping you out of sight as well, since he did allow your name out there, probably hoping that will make it easier to find you. Second, I’m going back to Jameson’s office, to see what I can sniff out there. Third, I’m going shopping. Not all in that order.”
“Shopping? You’re going shopping. Isn’t that just wonderful for you. For what?”
Winnie tapped the side of her head. “Up here. I’m making a list. And you’re wasting my time. Did I mention you can get clean underwear and anything else you need at Patty’s? She was about your size. I know she wouldn’t mind.”
“That’s kind of creepy. I mean, she’s barely dead, right?”
“Honey, there’s no such thing as barely dead. Either you are, or you’re not. She is, but we know she shouldn’t be, so we’re going to find out why. Why Patty’s dead, why Hildy could be dead in a few days if we don’t help her. Why Jameson and the security guy got thunked. We’re going to find out all of it, and save your skin for you while we’re at it, with or without your help. Either that, or this is all coincidence, Ronald Royall is a swell guy, and I’m nutty as a fruit bat. Pick your poison. Are you going to go get changed, or am I going to push you out that door over there and let you see how great you do on your own?”
Rosie had begun backing up halfway through Winnie’s low, controlled meltdown. “Jeez, lady. No need to get all bent out of shape. I’m going. It’s just that…what I’m trying to say is…well, you have to admit this is all a little out there.”
Winnie grinned. “And we’re only just getting started. Now move.”
Ten minutes later, Rosie emerged back into the living room, if not totally transformed, at least altered enough in her appearance that, even with a copy of her drivers’ license photo to use as a guide, Ronald Royall, or whoever the thunker was, wouldn’t immediately recognize her.
“Here, this is yours. I already put the carton of cigarettes and the candle lighter in it for you. Last thing I need to see is you going into nicotine withdrawal.”
“None of us needs to see that.” Rosie looked at the square wire basket Winnie pushed toward her. It was black, the basket part about three feet high and already holding a number of items. It sported four wheels that tended to go in whatever direction they wanted, and was topped by a smooth, molded bar rather like the handle on a lawn mower. In short, it was a collapsible shopping cart, and it fairly screamed old lady.
“You’re kidding, right? My grandmother had one of those. She took it grocery shopping with her, to carry home the bags. My mother made me go with her. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I’m reliving my worst childhood trauma here, just looking at that thing. What’s all this other stuff?”
“Props,” Winnie said, picking up her purse. “Now move it. We’ll discuss therapy once this is over.”
Rosie approached the cart warily, as if it might attack. “Oh, no, not happening,” she said, picking up one of the large plastic bottles—a generic brand of pine soap—and an old, ripped towel. “I’m nobody’s stereotype, damn it. I am not going to be the cleaning lady pushing a cart!”
“Housekeeper. And what’s wrong with it? I use it when I go to the little shops here and nobody snickers.”
“I don’t know you all that long, but I’d lay odds nobody has the nerve. I am not pushing that cart.” Rosie sighed. “Please?”
“Don’t whine. I know it’s not exactly right, but you’ll pass. Nobody pays attention to the housekeeping crews as they go condo to condo. Admit it, that thing’s good camouflage.”
Rosie grabbed the sunglasses before slipping the clear-lensed pair in the pocket of her slacks (she’d only had to roll up the cuffs twice). “I think I’m going to cry. Or kill you. In case you’re wondering, that second one is looking more and more like an option.”
“You clash with orange, remember? Now grab the cart, and let’s go. Stay about ten paces behind me, like you don’t know me, and keep your head down.”
“Definitely kill you.”
A nerve-wracking yet uneventful five minute walk later, Winnie opened the door to Patty’s condo and left it open for Rosie to catch up.
And everything changed for Rosie.
“Wow,” she said, looking around the white leather and chrome living room that was open to the kitchen area, just like Winnie’s condo. “Oh, wow,” she said again when she saw the canopy bed. “Oh, wow-wow-wow!” she exclaimed when Winnie opened the door to the smaller bedroom. She grabbed a fluffy white feather boa and wrapped it around her neck. “I think I’m in love!”
“Patty would be happy to see you enjoying yourself. That’s her, in those photos.”
Rosie’s euphoric balloon burst. “Oh. Right.” She walked around the room, inspecting a few pots on the makeup table, looking at the many framed photographs of Patty posing for the camera in a variety of her costumes.
She picked up a five-by-seven of the smiling woman in a blue pinafore, white blouse, a dark, pigtailed wig—and holding a small, stuffed dog—and pressed it to her chest as she whirled about to glare at Winnie. “What are you standing there for, old lady? We need to get this show on the road, and find the sick bastard who hurt this wonderful woman!”
“That-a girl. Welcome aboard,” Winnie said, heading back to the living room, trying to ignore any notion that her eyes might be stinging with unshed tears. Fassbinders don’t cry. They just don’t.
Rosie, still clasping the photograph, followed her. “And you really do have a plan? Other than kidnapping this Hetty person?”
“Hildy. Learn it. She’s confused enough without you rechristening her.” Winnie avoided the young woman’s eyes.
“I’ll work on it. So? Do you have a plan?”
“To catch the murderer? Not exactly, no. At least not yet. That’s why I’m going back to Jameson’s office tonight for another look around. I’ve still got the key card.”
“What do you think you’ll find?”
“Now, if I knew that, I might not even have to go look, would I? To quote our alleged thunker, although Jameson used a computer, he was pretty, um, detail oriented, prone to keeping written records of everything. So far, all I’m hoping is to find some sort of record of the waiting list for Royall Residences. I’m hoping they’re listed according to Division preference. I want to see who’s number one on the list for Patty’s.”
Now that she had a reason to help, other than her reasonable fear for her own neck, that reason being the sweet old lady who’d once lived in this glorious make-believe world, Rosie at last shifted her brain into Drive. Because, as her mother always told her, she wasn’t stupid…just slow to find a man and give her long-suffering mamacita grandbabies. “And who’s number two on that list, Winnie? And number three? And number four? For the four units the thunker is so eager to get his hands on? Maybe has to get his hands on?”
“Technically, three units, now that Patty’s gone.” Winnie looked at Rosie with what the younger woman dared to believe was growing respect. “So you’re thinking what I’m thinking?”
“If you’re thinking the those people Jimmy seemed so afraid of, then yes, I am. I just don’t know why. Maybe it was something else Jimmy said, or just the way he said it. Not that. That’s what Jimmy said, I remember that now. Not that. Or maybe it was not them? Not those people. I mean, Jimmy sounded scared. Really scared. I wish I could say I remember everything verbatim, but I don’t.”
“I’m just glad you remembered the units. In a way, you’re already a heroine, you know. You’ve probably saved Hildy Gurski’s life. I think you should know that.”
Rosie sort of wiggled where she stood. “Heroine? Well, how about that. I guess I am.”
“We still have a long way to go. Don’t panic if you hear a knock on the door. That’ll be Barbra, hopefully with some gossip she’s going to try to pick up at Leo’s Lunch. Along with a few groceries I asked for, and bringing some hoagies and potato salad for dinner. You might want to check out the kitchen and make a list for her, to add to the one I gave her. She’ll call you later, to get that, so answer the phone, but only if you see her name on the Caller ID thingie. Otherwise, let any calls go to voice mail. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Because you’re also going shopping.”
“Different kind of shopping,” Winnie told her. “You know what, scratch that. You and Barbra get to know each other, I’ll get dinner on my own. You can also help her start sorting through Patty’s things as she decides what she wants to keep and what she wants to do with everything else. She could easily get overwhelmed by all this stuff. I’ll be back by—” she grabbed her purse, counting hours in her head. “By eleven o’clock or so. Hopefully with some news.”
17
Winnie sat on a stool at her kitchen island, munching on a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich while visually inspecting the purchases she’d made at Wal-Mart laid out there.
One plastic, shrink-wrapped one-inch black binder.
One cellophane wrapped pack of three-hole notebook filler paper.
One inch-wide roll of medical adhesive tape.
One black marker pen.
One box of blue disposable rubber gloves, size Medium.
One pack of plastic amber medicine vials with white snap-on caps.
One economy-size bottle of generic aspirin tablets.
One large bouquet of Spring flowers.
One large, remarkably soft throw with teddy bears on it.
One three-by-three inch teddy bear magnet.
One backpack.
One large beach bag.
The two extra keys she’d had made for Patty’s condo were already in her purse.
Shoving the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, Winnie ripped open the box of rubber gloves, snapped on a pair, and began assembling her purchases. She doubted anyone would be dusting for fingerprints, but she also wasn’t taking chances.
Onward!
Filler paper unwrapped and clipped inside the black vinyl folder, to give it some bulk. Strip of adhesive tape pressed to the spine of the black vinyl binder after Gurski, Hildy Suite 2-F had been neatly printed on the tape. Aspirin tablets loaded into six amber pill vials, all six zipped up in a plastic bag, just so a quick open-shut wouldn’t show that Hildy’s drawer was empty. Bag and binder fitted into the backpack, along with a handful of blue rubber gloves. Teddy bear magnet slipped into her slacks pocket.
And the capper, something someone else might dub the piéce de résistance and Winnie had dubbed her you-never-know piece of equipment: a two-story portable fire escape ladder. Length, fifteen feet. Width, built to fit any window more than thirteen inches wide. Weight, only eighteen manageable pounds. It was amazing, the things you could find on Clearance.
Winnie fitted the unboxed ladder into the beach bag, arranged the teddy bear throw on top. “Now to hope I don’t need it.”
