Fatal Reservations (15 page)

“We’d like to come in and take a look around,” said the smaller man.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” said Miss Gloria. “I bet sometimes people call for help but they’re being held hostage. And the hostage taker catches on to what’s happened and tells them to answer the door but
warns the prisoner: ‘If you say one word about us, we’ll shoot you in the head.’”

The cops exchanged glances. “Something like that,” said the smaller cop, looking from her heart pajamas to mine. “You had an incident here last December, didn’t you? Can we come in?”

“Of course,” said Miss Gloria. “Maybe we can get you something to eat while you’re casing the joint.”

I glared at her behind the big man’s back. The longer they stayed, the harder it would be for Lorenzo to remain quiet, crammed into that little cubby. And besides, I’d just foraged through the refrigerator and polished off the edibles. There would be very little of interest to an uninvited guest.

Neither one took her up on the offer of snacks, but they began searching through every space on our boat where an intruder might possibly hide, including the tangle of clothing and shoes that constitutes my closet. They finished by flashing their lights on the back deck, all through Miss Gloria’s plants, where I’d foolishly imagined that Lorenzo would be safe.

We perched on the living room sofa, waiting for them to reappear. I buried my fidgety fingers in Evinrude’s fur. The policemen clomped back down the short hallway, the bigger one tripping on the heart-shaped rug. Miss Gloria leaped up.

“Oh, silly me, we are always stumbling over that, too.” She kicked the rug back into place, took his elbow, and marched him safely to the living room.

“I’m sorry we were a bother, Officers,” I said. “I’m a friend of Officer Torrence, and he’s always telling me, ‘Call the police even if you’re not sure you need help.’
I have a little reputation for trying to do things myself.” I pasted on a silly grin and bobbled my head.

“You may very well have had an intruder in here,” said the big cop, his face looking fierce. “You ladies need to be more careful about locking your door.”

“We need to get the latch fixed,” said Miss Gloria, fibbing so quickly my head was spinning. “It just gave out this week. I’ve called a fellow to come do that and a few other odd jobs. But it’s so busy on the island this time of year. They tell you they’ll definitely be here and they don’t show up. I’ll tell him tomorrow that it’s urgent.”

“We’re going to have a look up and down the dock, just to be safe,” said the small, round policeman. “It’s a good thing that you called. You should always call if there’s a question. Trust your instincts. When women don’t pay attention or don’t want to raise a fuss, that’s when they get into trouble.”

I nodded vigorously and got up to show them to the door. For ten minutes we watched the flicker of their lights as they went up the finger, illuminating our neighbors’ decks with beams of light. Finally, after waving as they passed our boat, they trooped back to their cruiser and drove off on Palm Avenue.

“Sheesh,” said Miss Gloria. “I’ve never known them to be quite so thorough.”

We hurried back inside to the hallway, removed the rug, and opened the hatch door. Lorenzo scrambled out. He was drenched in sweat, even his hair soaked into damp rings. And he was trembling.

“Coast is clear,” Miss Gloria sang out.

“What in the world is going on?” I asked. “I’ll get you a glass of water, and then come sit and tell us.” I
was beginning to realize that, as much as I wanted to protect Lorenzo, I was sick with apprehension about whether he might have done something terrible. Was this really the right thing—hiding him? I filled a glass with cool tap water and brought it to the living room, determined to squeeze the facts out of him. He was sitting on the couch with Lola on his lap. Miss Gloria was perched next to him, massaging his shoulder, which looked as hard as concrete. Lola sputtered her kitten purr—the only one of us happy and relaxed.

“I went to see your mother last night,” I said, handing him the drink. “Might as well get that out on the table.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I came. She said you were so worried. I feel bad about all of this.”

“She mentioned something about protecting a girl. Supposing we start there.”

“Or we could start with those wacky night vision goggles,” said Miss Gloria. “Hayley here got into man trouble on account of those.”

He cringed, then covered his face with his hands. After a deep breath, he dropped his hands back to Lola, buried his fingers in her fur, and looked at both of us. “It’s all the same; it’s all part of the same story. This girl—I’m loath to say her name because it was given to me in confidence—she came for a reading and she was very agitated. And I became worried about her, though not necessarily for the reasons she mentioned.”

We waited for him to gather his thoughts, each of us with a cat on our lap, Miss Gloria and I in the goofy matching pajamas. “So she came for a reading,” I prompted. “On Mallory Square?”

He nodded and took a sip of the water. “I noticed right away that she had an aura of danger around her.”

“An aura of danger?” asked Miss Gloria. “What color is that?”

“Red,” he said. “Of course. And then after I read her cards, which were very disturbing, she started to talk. She was keyed up, too, like she was on drugs, though I’m not certain that she had taken anything.”

“What were the cards like?” I asked.

“Every dangerous combination you can imagine. Past, present, and future. Worse than anything you’ve ever drawn.”

Evinrude dropped off my lap with a thunk and headed into the galley to hunt for stray kibbles. I hugged my knees to my chest. “And that’s saying something.”

“She kept alluding to the fact that she had done something dangerous, something illegal. And this obviously frightened her but also gave her a rush.” He pressed one hand to his cheek and the other to his chest. “I think that’s what upset me most. She was feeding off the danger.”

“And then what?” asked Ms. Gloria.

“Then I suggested she come back the next night. I suggested that she slow down and think things over before she got too involved. And she did come back, a few more times. I thought we’d really forged a connection and were making some progress.” He ruffled the white kitty’s fur. “But then she disappeared. When I heard the news the other night about Bart Frontgate’s death, I really panicked.”

“I’m not following,” said Miss Gloria. “Why would you think she’d murdered that man?”

“It’s hard to explain. Just that the sense of danger—violence even—was so strong in her cards.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “I couldn’t know for sure, of
course, but murdering someone would fit with the level of agitation I was seeing.”

“But then,” I said, “the murder weapon turns up wrapped in your tablecloth.”

His expression grew pained. “I couldn’t imagine why she would divert the police in my direction, unless she killed him and then panicked. Maybe she chose to shunt the blame off on any reasonable target, even me. Or maybe she worried that I would turn her in. In that case, did she think that if I was in jail, I couldn’t hurt her?” He looked so sad. “I would never reveal what she’d said. Since I’d gotten this information in a confidential relationship, I simply couldn’t go to the police. What would I possibly say? I didn’t know what she’d done or what had happened to her. When I thought of her, that bright red color kept coming to mind—the sense of danger. So I ran.”

“That’s not a long-term solution, young man,” Miss Gloria said, patting his knee. “Why did you put those goggles in the cat food?”

“It won’t make much sense to you,” he said, keeping his gaze on his lap. “It barely makes sense to me. I got so worried that she’d panicked and done something crazy. So I went to her home.”

I felt my eyes widen. “You broke in to her place?”

“I didn’t break in; she left the back door unlocked. And there on her kitchen counter were the goggles. And then I got spooked by someone on the sidewalk
outside and grabbed them and ran. And when I got home, I said, Marvin Junior, for the love of God, what have you done?”

I couldn’t help snickering a little, because his voice sounded exactly like his mother’s.

“So I stuffed them in the cat food bag so I could deal with them later. And then the cops came sniffing around, suggesting I was responsible for Frontgate’s death. I swear, I never meant for you two to get involved. I’m so sorry.” His voice broke and he fought back tears.

“Well, you can’t do much tonight—what there is left of it,” said Miss Gloria, patting him again. “I think we should all try to get a couple hours of sleep. I’ll bring you a pillow and a blanket and—” She looked at Lorenzo and then the couch. “You’ll barely fit here.”

“You can have my room,” I said.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I’ll be fine right here.”

“We’ll figure the problems out in the morning,” Miss Gloria said. “Things are always easier in the morning after a cup of coffee. And maybe Hayley will make us some of those once-in-a-blue-moon pancakes. That will definitely improve our situation.”

13

I don’t have to tell you I love you. I made you pancakes.

—
Kathleen Flinn,
Burnt Toast
Makes You Sing Good

I was the first one up in the morning, unusual for me. But Lorenzo’s appearance and his worries about his client had churned through my dreams overnight. When it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to drop back off for a couple of extra z’s, I rolled out of bed. I fed the cats and then headed to the galley to make coffee and begin to collect ingredients for the once-in-a-blue-moon pancakes. These were not the delicate silver dollar pancakes of my youth, but rather a crusty, robust cousin. The kind of food that would stand up and roll out of the room if it didn’t approve of the condiments served alongside it. Aunt Jemima fake syrup?
I’m out of here.
Margarine or other fake butter?
Hasta la vista, baby.
These were the kind of pancakes that would stick with a person through a long morning. And I had a feeling our whole day could be a long one.

I measured out the blue cornmeal, coarse like the sand used to make cement, and then added unbleached white flour, baking powder and soda, a little sugar, and salt. Into a glass measuring cup, I poured buttermilk
and whipped in eggs and vanilla. Then I mixed both bowls of ingredients together and added a heap of blueberries. The chunk of butter I plopped into my cast-iron frying pan began to pop and sizzle.

Within minutes both Miss Gloria and Lorenzo were up and seated at the kitchen banquette. Lorenzo looked pale and exhausted. I poured them each a cup of coffee and went back to watching the stove.

“How did you sleep?” Miss Gloria asked Lorenzo.

“I didn’t do too much sleeping. A lot of worrying,” he said.

“We should make a plan, then,” Miss Gloria said, slapping the table with her palm. “A plan always helps.” All three cats jumped up on the bench and nuzzled Lorenzo.

“A plan sounds good,” he said, as he rubbed each cat’s head in turn. “But right now it feels impossible to come up with anything sensible.”

“You should lie low,” I said to Lorenzo as I flipped the first pancakes onto a plate and delivered them to the table with syrup and cinnamon butter. “It won’t do any of us any good if you’re arrested and thrown in the slammer. I’ll talk to Eric while I’m at lunch and get his read on the situation.” I squeezed Lorenzo’s shoulder, trying to communicate caring—and more confidence than I actually felt. “You didn’t really get a chance to see this the other day, but Eric’s very empathetic and he can totally be trusted to keep a secret.”

“I was also thinking,” Miss Gloria said, “that if you didn’t kill Bart Frontgate and this girl didn’t, either, who did? Can’t you tell us who to talk with at Sunset? We didn’t have too much luck the other night, but you
might have a better idea who we could approach. You know the characters. You understand the action.”

“Let’s go back to Bart Frontgate for a minute,” I said, bringing another steaming stack of blue pancakes to the table. I served Miss Gloria first, then scraped a couple of them onto my plate, where I slathered them with cinnamon-scented butter and doused them in real maple syrup.

I took the first bite—loaded with texture and flavor. “Are they too gritty?” I asked.

“No, fantastic,” Lorenzo said, and Miss Gloria, her mouth full, nodded her agreement.

“The only guys we really got to talk to at Sunset were the homeless men,” I told Lorenzo. “And some new jugglers dressed like pirates and the man who makes hats. None of them were saying a whole lot. But if you could make some suggestions about who might be in the know, we’d follow up.”

Lorenzo laid his fork down on his plate and swallowed hard. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to send you nosing into people’s business. Some of those characters are very rough. And if one of them is a murderer . . .” His voice trailed off. “I don’t want any part of putting you two in danger.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t actually try to arrest anyone,” said Miss Gloria with a peal of laughter. “Just gather intel. You know, like undercover spies used to do when they were fighting the KGB.”

Lorenzo put a hand to his forehead, glancing from Miss Gloria in her red heart pajamas to me in mine. “It would break my heart if anything happened to either of you.”

“Well,” said Miss Gloria, “suppose you lay out some cards and see what kind of trouble’s in the future?
Whether any of us are in danger? Maybe you could get tips from the other side?”

He snorted and began to eat again. “These pancakes are amazing. I love the blue color. And the texture. And that little hint of cinnamon. They make ordinary pancakes look like tissue paper.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. He was distracting us from Miss Gloria’s question, but he’d get around to answering when he was ready.

When he’d powered through the remaining hotcakes and a second cup of coffee, he turned back to Miss Gloria, a sad look on his face. “My channels feel completely blocked right now. It happens when I’m scared, I think. I freeze up and forget to keep my heart open to what the universe is saying. And my mind, the place where I usually see things, is just a big white space. Nothing. I tell my clients—choose love instead of fear, and then your path will become clear. But it’s so much harder than it sounds.”