Land Sakes (13 page)

The next morning I was fit as a fiddle. Since Mrs. Winchester was still dead to the world, as soon as the maid showed up I planned to go downstairs for breakfast.

This Peninsula Suite we were staying in was like a mansion. Of course, I never been in a mansion, but it was a far cry from anything I ever seen in the movies. Everything about this place was made to pamper and spoil a body. Right beside my bed was a panel with buttons for climate control and for operating all the lights, TV, alarm clock, drapes—even a button to call housekeeping. All I had to do was roll out of bed and get myself dressed. I guess a body can get used to living in the lap of luxury, but as far as I was concerned, I'd never get used to it.

In addition to everything else, there was a safe in the suite. I figured I could leave my apron with her jewelry in the safe until I got back from breakfast.

I went to fix my face in the bathroom—everything in there was marble. They had a phone beside the tub and a big TV. Now, considering the way I like to soak in a tub, a
small TV in my own bathroom might be a luxury I could afford, but never in a million years would I spend money like that. The night before when I was taking my time in the tub, there was this soft music playing so sweet it near about put me to sleep. Now, what if I had fell asleep in there? I'd probably have drowned before them martinis wore off and Mrs. Winchester realized something was wrong. Even if I was only half drowned, she wouldn't know how to give me artificial perspiration.

The carpet in the suite felt like it was a foot deep. And there were oil paintings on the walls that must have made many a starving artist rich overnight. The living room was so big it had room for two divans, stuffed chairs, straight chairs, footstools, a chest of drawers, tables, lamps, and, would you believe, a baby grand piano! That piano reminded me of Priscilla Home and Albert. The day he got our baby grand back in shape, he sat down and played “Twelfth Street Rag” by heart. That was one red-letter day for us.

I walked out on the terrace to have a look-see. We were so high up that I couldn't hear the street traffic below. Made me swimmy-headed looking down. I figured Mrs. Winchester would eat breakfast out there on the terrace because the dining room table was as long as a bowling alley and had these silver candlesticks with more candles than ever I saw at a wedding.

I would have give my eye teeth to know what she paid for that suite. No ordinary high flyer could afford it. It would take a supersonic high flyer and then some.
It's a sin and a shame to spend money for such as that when there's so many hungry people in the world
.

Two maids arrived, Mozelle and Tanya. That they knew my name came as no surprise; when we arrived everybody on staff knew our names—the hotel manager who made a big fuss over Mrs. Winchester, the desk clerks, bellhops, you name it. I told the women I was going to the lobby for breakfast and that if Mrs. Winchester woke up before I got back, tell her where I was at.

The lobby was on the fifth floor, and on the way I picked up two complimentary postcards with colored pictures of the hotel to send to Beatrice. They were huge cards. Glancing at those pictures I decided that if there was time after I ate, I'd take a tour of the top floors, where they have got this spa and swimming pool.

When I walked in that lobby, I felt like I was in one of them Baghdad palaces they had talked about on the news. The room was bathed in this golden light streaming through the windows. I'd say the windows were twenty feet tall, reaching from the marble floor to the gold ceiling, and there were enough tables in there to seat busloads of people, only I doubt it's the kind of place busloads come to.
Esmeralda
, I thought,
this ain't no food court
!

I could have gone for the eggs benedict again, but that cost two dollars more than two poached eggs served with peppers, onions, potatoes, and some kind of tomato coulis, whatever that was. It came with chicken, which any short-order cook will tell you is not breakfast food. I ordered the poached eggs anyway. Of course, I could have bought anything I wanted, but no matter whose money I spend, where I come from, the Great Depres
sion is still going strong, and naturally I have got built-in principles about money.

While I was waiting to be served, I wondered where Nozzle Nose was—sleeping or reading a book. We got in so late the night before, I doubt if he took the dogs to a pet hotel. Maybe the Peninsula accommodated dogs. If not, chances are he slept with Lucy and Desi in the Rolls.

I took my time eating and watched the people coming in for breakfast. They were all well-heeled, in that big-bucks class that wear FedEx watches. Most of them looked like they were on the run, but there was this one weasel-faced man come in with a swivel-hipped girl in a miniskirt, and they were in no hurry, mainly because he wasn't up to it. One of them May and December marriages, maybe. Else he was her sugar daddy. Married or not, that bimbo kept herself busy making eyes at a businessman at the next table. To his credit, the businessman kept his nose in a newspaper and didn't give her the time of day. A man like that don't get where he got being stupid.

Percival didn't show up in the lobby before I finished eating, so I signed the bill. Glancing at my watch I figured I had time to go up to that spa they have got on the two top floors.

That was something to see! The spa was all enclosed in glass and made me feel like I was up in the clouds. People were working out on exercise machines, and according to the postcard there was a lot more than that—massages, manicures, skin care, steam baths, classes in relaxation, nutrition, you name it—even refreshments.

What bowled me over was the swimming pool. It reminded me of that picture of the Taj Mahal Beatrice has hanging on the wall of their RV. The hotel pool looked just like that one in front of the Taj Mahal. In my day I could have swimmed it from one end to the other, but not anymore. From that sun deck I got a good view of what the postcard called the “Miracle Mile.” No miracle about it—just one fancy store after another, restaurants, and who knows what else. If you ask me, if you can't get what you want in a discount, hardware, or grocery store, you don't need it.

I glanced at my watch again and decided I better get back to see if Mrs. Winchester was awake. When I got back to the suite, the maids met me at the door. One look at their faces and I knew something was wrong. “What's the matter?”

Mozelle pointed to the bedroom.
Uh-oh, it's her
.

Mrs. Winchester was not only awake, she was almost historical. “Esmeralda, Percival called from the police station!” The phone was ringing. “Answer it—that'll be him.”

It
was
Nozzle Nose, his voice pitched so high he was screeching. “Calm down, Percival,” I told him. “Now, what's the matter?”

“It's Desi. I took the dogs to walk in Lincoln Park, and Desi's gone!”

“He just run away like before?”

“No! Desi saw this female dog and struck out after her.” I didn't know a man's voice could go that high. “That female broke away from her mistress and took off with
him! I tried to give chase but couldn't—Lucy refused to run after them and I couldn't leave her.”

“What are you doing at the police station?”

“I've been assaulted. That female is an AKC Samoyed show dog worth a fortune, and her owner lost her mind, screaming and beating me over the head with her umbrella. Police came and took me to the police station to swear out a warrant for her arrest.”

“Where's Lucy?”

“Right here with me. Please, Miss E., if that Samoyed doesn't come back there'll be the devil to pay! You'll have to find her. The police won't let me leave until they get a deposition from me and I pay a fine—a public nuisance fine.”

“A deposition?”

“Yes. To bring charges against that woman for assault and battery.”

“Percival, pay the fine, drop the charges, and take a cab back here.”

“But don't you understand—that purebred Samoyed is a National Champion show dog! And Desi—if I don't get him back, Philip Win
chus
ter will fire me!”

“Calm down, Percival. Don't Desi always come back?”

“Please, Miss E., find those dogs or that woman's going to sue the Win
chus
ters.”

“All right, now where is this Lincoln Park?” I asked him. He straightened up enough to tell me how to get there and exactly where he was when all this happened.

I don't mind telling you, I was about as scared as a body can get just thinking about going out in that strange
city looking for two runaway mutts in a park that was probably full of weirdoes. I told the maids what was up and that I'd have to go, but Mozelle asked me to wait a minute. I think she called security or somebody, because when she hung up she told me, “One of the bellmen is going with you. He'll take you to Lincoln Park in one of the vans and stay with you until you find the dogs. He'll be waiting for you right in front of the main entrance.”

What a relief!

That was one nice young man. He whipped through traffic like a pro and was obviously looking forward to this as some kind of adventure. “I do this all the time,” he told me.

“What? Look for dogs?”

“Dogs, cats, husbands—anything that gets lost, we track 'em down.”

I wasn't so sure that was the truth, but at least it was encouraging to hear.

When we reached the right place in the park, I saw plenty of weirdoes sprawled on benches, stumbling around, going through trash cans—bag ladies, druggies, winos, loonies—and there was no question who the owner of that Samoyed was. She was so historical she was standing on a picnic table screaming, “I'll sue! I'll sue!” with a bunch of them homeless people gathered around watching her. Then I saw a television remote crew was driving up. I had to do something right away or the Winchester name would be on the evening news. I jumped out of the van and hurried toward the crowd.

“Coming through! Coming through!” I yelled, and seeing I was somebody important, the crowd parted. That woman was in her pajamas and was wearing a raincoat with her feet in bunny slippers, looking about as trashy as anybody in the crowd.

“What color's your dog?” I hollered.

“White! White!” she screamed.

I turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” Since they weren't doing much anyhow, it wasn't hard to get their attention. “Here we got two dogs missing, and there's a big reward for anybody finds the white one. Her name is...” I turned to the owner.

“Samantha! Her name is Samantha!” the woman screeched.

I turned back to the crowd. “There's a fifty-dollar reward for the white one—her name's Samantha, and when you find her, the other one will not be far behind. His name is Desi.” I didn't have much faith that they could do anything with Desi, but knowing how much fifty dollars meant to the homeless, if Samantha could be found, they would find her. They slowly started moseying away, but one by one they must have realized what I had said, because they mustered a little more energy and commenced hollering out her name.

As it turned out, it didn't take them long to find her. Within half an hour, here come a wino holding Samantha by the collar and practically dragging her to where we were at. The dog was so dirty she didn't look very white, but that woman grabbed her, hugging and kissing her. I waited to see if she would think to pay the reward or if I would have to. Well, she didn't so much
as thank me, and the man was standing there with his hand out, so I dug down in my bottomless pit and took out my wallet.

“Here, hold my pocketbook,” I told the bellman, and I counted out five ten-dollar bills to the wino. He grinned from ear to ear. “Wait a minute,” I said and reached for my pocketbook. “This is from Jesus,” I told him and handed him a Gospel of John. Then all the homeless in earshot wanted one. I guess I passed out five or six. With one Gospel left, I offered it to that rich woman. “It's a Gospel of John,” I explained.

Well, land sakes, you'd think I had offered her a rattlesnake. “No, thank you!” she said and stormed away toward the street.

The wino was tugging at my sleeve. “Fifty for the other dog?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Here he comes now.”

Desi was wet all over and muddy from the tip of his muzzle to the tip of his tail. There was no telling where he had been or what he had been up to, but I had a pretty good idea. If I was right about that, it was good we were traveling and would be miles away when the blessed event took place.

We got Desi in the van and headed back to the hotel.

By the time we rolled up in front of the Peninsula, Percival had arrived with Lucy. He looked terrible—his nose was all swole up, and there was dried blood on his little mustache. That lady had really whacked him good! He had a lump on his head the size of my fist. One lens of his glasses was cracked, and that made him look cross-eyed. He was so bedraggled I told the bellhop to
see that his clothes were sent to the cleaners and that his glasses got fixed. I also asked the bellhop to get Desi cleaned up. He said he would and got another fellow to help him with the dogs.