Pushing Murder (7 page)

“I don't want any flowers, Janet!”

“—and get some flowers for the chapel.” Oops. “Then please let me come up.”

“Of course! But stay in the flower shop till Dan comes for you. He's in the cafeteria, and he'll be back any minute. Don't budge out of there till he comes.”

“Okay. But now we have to go to the police.”

“With what?” Hadn't I spoken those words recently?

She seemed to hesitate. “Well—with … something I've got.”

Ah. A flicker of light. I said, “Was this ‘something' by any chance mentioned in your letter?”

“Yes. It could put him in prison.”

“Why didn't you—”

“I know. I should have leveled with you this morning. Well, I will now. See you shortly.”

She hung up, and Tina and I did the same. She said, “Do you want me to go down?”

“Maybe.” I groaned. “I won't rest till she's in this room. If only Dan and Kit would—”

And at that moment they did, bearing pungent trays. Sadd fell upon his, and Tina said, “Where's my son?”

“He spied his dad in a phone booth down the hall,” said Kit.

I said, “Will one or both of you please go down to the flower shop in the lobby? Janet Folsom is there buying flowers for the chapel.” They simply gazed at me. “There was a zinger in that letter she neglected to tell us about.”

Dan was halfway to the door. “Better come with me, honey. I'm Captain Hook without the hook.”

“And by the way”—I drank milk—“you're both rehired—for Janet. But she lives in Connecticut. Can you handle that?”

Dan said, “We could handle Nome, Alaska, for you.” Then he grinned and looked down at his cast. “And here's some good advice from your grandson: ‘Next time don't be a stupid dope/Look out for the curves and watch the slope.'”

“Fresh kid,” said Tina, but she was smiling as we all were.

“Quite a subtle metaphor there,” chuckled Sadd. They left, and he added, “And by the way, Clara,
budge out
is redundant. The word
budge
stands alone as meaning—”

“I can't eat any more.” I pushed my tray away.

“May I have your roll?” he asked.

“Take it.”

“You haven't eaten three bites,” scolded Tina. “And you've lost weight already. I can see it in your face.”

“Really?” Why is the thought of weight loss so cheering even in the midst of terror and tragedy? “Tina, how much of all this have you told Hen?”

“Not everything. He knows you're involved in a ‘situation,' but he's known about your ‘situations' since babyhood. We don't want him to know you're in direct danger. He's pretty fond of his gran.”

“He is also”—Sadd sipped his coffee—“showing sinister signs of inheriting qualities from both his paternal grandparents such as stubbornness, king-sized curiosity—”

Henry and Hen walked in. Henry said, “Dr. Cullen will be here shortly. She wants to talk to us. I think you may be discharged.”

“Lovely!” I cried.

“You'll be home for Christmas, Gran!”

“I know! What are you giving me, by the way?”

Hen considered. “How would you like a board I painted in camp with hooks on it for keys?”

“You gave me one of those last Christmas.”

“And I made a rack that holds neckties.”

“I don't wear them a lot.”

Hen started through his inventory, and Henry turned to Sadd and Tina. “What's this I hear about Janet Folsom? She's
here?
”

As they told him, I began to feel the tiniest kernel of dread forming inside me somewhere. How long since Dan and Kit had gone down? I asked the question aloud, and Tina looked at her watch and guessed fifteen minutes. Sadd closed his book.

“—and I made some place mats,” Hen was saying. “One of the kids brought this big book from his father's store. It had pieces of wallpaper in it with—”

“Place mats will be fine, dear.” A reassuring thought had occurred to me. The chapel. Janet had probably insisted that they take her to the chapel with her flowers, in which case—

Kit's face, as she opened the door, was white as chalk, but she spoke calmly. “Hen, how would you like to go to the movies?”

“Yeah!”

“I just talked to my mother on the phone.” Kit's eyes went from one of us to the other, and she spoke very quietly. “She's taking Danny, and she'd like to take you too. She's coming down in a cab, and she'll go to the side entrance on Tenth Street. Your folks can pick you up later at our house, okay?”

“Okay?” Hen looked eagerly at his parents, and the poor things could only look at Kit, who said in a pleading near-whisper,
“Please?”

They nodded mutely.

“Neat-o!” Hen darted to the door, and Sadd stood up.

“I'll take him down. Tenth Street entrance?”

“Yes. Don't use the elevator. The lobby's … er … crowded. Take the stairs—turn left out of here, across from the restrooms.”

Tina and Henry moved a little. She said, “Hen, stay with Uncle Sadd every minute.”

Henry said, “Will you give him some money, please, Sadd?”

“Sure thing.” Sadd took Hen's hand, and they went out.

*   *   *

“Where?” I heard myself say. “Where?”

“In the chapel.” Kit, who hadn't moved from the door, leaned against it. “She'd told the lady in the flower shop there would be somebody asking for her and to please say Mrs. Folsom had gone to the chapel and would be right back.”

Strains of “Silent Night” drifted up from that unending source on the street. Henry came to the bed and took my hand. He said, “How, Kit?”

“She was strangled from behind, very expertly. She was slumped over in the front pew. Pocketbook ransacked, of course.”

“Who found her?” I think it was Tina's voice.

“Dan and I did.”

There was a pause, an empty few seconds, then Kit spoke again. “She was clutching something, and I got it out of her hand. I should have left it, but it looked like something religious and you never know what happens to personal effects in a situation like this. I thought you might like to have it, Mrs. Gamadge.”

Kit put something in my frozen hand. Blurrily, I saw that it was two little squares of brown burlap on a string.

8

The snow-packed window was the first thing I became conscious of in the low light of the room, then the presence of both D.N. and Sister Agnes, and then the feeling of being perched on the wretched bedpan.

I said groggily, “What time is it?”

“Two in the morning,” said D.N. “Through with the pan?”

“Yes. Why do I feel like this?”

“Dr. Cullen gave you a shot.” Sister Agnes spoke very gently. “You said the woman who was murdered in the chapel was a friend of yours, and you were real upset.”

Oh, real,
real
upset. I thought idiotically of Sadd's repeated complaint that it should not be
real
but
very.
Sadd. Where was he? Where was the rest of my family? Gone home to bed, idiot. How much do you think they can take?

D.N. started out with her burden. She said, “Your son's here.”

Henry came in, his outline in the dimness of the room so like his father's. Sister Agnes said kindly, “Dr. Cullen said he could stay all night, and I'd have let him anyway.”

“Sister, you're a saint.” Henry smiled at her, and she went out.

“Henry, go home,” I said, weeping.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm absolutely and completely okay, and I'd give a million dollars to be able to go to the police.”

He shook his head. “Can't yet. There's the small matter of evidence, you know.”

I did indeed know, and my heart sank. “We'll get it,” I almost shouted, and my head throbbed. “
Why
did I have to have that shot?”

“Because you sort of went to pieces.”

“Well, I'm together again, and I'd like some coffee.”

“There's a pot at the nurses' station. Be right back.”

I lay staring into space, gradually realizing that the dead eye of the television was staring back at me. Should I turn it on and possibly be treated to the sight of Janet's sheeted form being carried out, a prime item on the late-night news? Would it do me any good to see that? Would I benefit from the press's gabby speculations? No. Kit's terse report was all I'd ever need.

Henry came back with the coffee, and I said, “Did Hen get picked up?”

“Yes. Tina and Sadd collected him. He had a great time. Kit said she knew it was a school night, but it was the only way she could think of to get Hen out of here. I consider it inspired.”

“So do I.” My estimation of Kit soared. Coming up with a quick, clever, humane move under appalling circumstances, she could still regret it being a school night.

Henry said, “I insisted she and Dan stay home tonight.”

“Good. Now, you go home too, dear. Is the snow very bad? I hope you're not driving in this.”

“No, Tina has the car. I'll cab it.”

“So go.”

“Not till Dan comes in at six.”

I believe there's an expression that “something snaps inside you.” In my case it wasn't so much a snap as a surge of pure rage.

“Henry, I'm sick to death of bodyguards and special food and long-suffering relatives standing by! I almost wish Dwight Dunlop would walk in this room right now. I'd spit in his eye as he killed me—just so you saw him do it.” I gulped my coffee. “Damn! I wish I could just
talk
to the police, I mean, in a sort of general way—”

“Mom, you'd never forgive yourself if you tipped your hand. Remember, we have to consider Sal's safety. She's going to be Dunlop's ultimate shield.”

“Oh, poor Sal, poor Sal…” I realized my voice was trailing. “Why do I feel weird again?”

“It's the shot. Dr. Cullen said it's the kind that will let you come up for a while and then you'll go down again. It's—”

“It's a plot to keep me woozy!” I cried, as indignantly as wooziness would allow.

“Yes, actually.” Henry leaned over and kissed me. “We knew you'd be like a raging lion. Don't fight it. By the way, I'm taking a few days' vacation. See you later.”

“Must you sit outside that door?” I murmured, wishing terribly that someone was sitting outside Sal's door …

*   *   *

I surfaced to halfhearted light and the snow on the window turning to rain. A young nurse was washing my face, and Dr. Cullen was standing by the bed.

“Mrs. Gamadge, I know you'll be disappointed, but you can't go home just yet.”

I glared at her around the facecloth. “What's ‘just yet'? Not today?”

“And not tomorrow. You've suffered a severe shock.”

“You bet I have. I need to go home and recuperate.”

She didn't smile. “You need to stay right here. Don't fight me, and I promise to let you go on Christmas Eve.”

Christmas. Was that still going to happen in the midst of all this horror? I put my hands up and pressed the warm, damp facecloth against my eyes. I said, “I'm in a fog. When's Christmas?”

“Saturday. This is Wednesday.”

I looked at the wall. Dear Santa, for Christmas I would like Dwight Dunlop behind bars. The nurse dried my face and left. Dr. Cullen drew a chair to the bed and sat down. Her hand on my pulse, she said, “Your son told me you know who killed your friend but you can't prove it.”

“Yes.” I turned my head and looked at her. “Were you in the hospital when it happened?”

“No. I was at home. I'd just talked to your son on the phone, and I was coming to the hospital to see another patient, so I said I'd stop by to tell you…”

“I could go home.”

“Yes. When I got here the police were all over the place. Of course, I didn't connect it with you when they said a woman had been murdered in the chapel.”

Murder in the cathedral. I am in no danger, only near to death …

She released my wrist and sat back in the chair. “Your son also told me this man is the same one who tried to kill you.”

“Yes.”

“And that you know a woman who is more or less hostage to him.”

“Yes.”

“And of course you yourself are still a threat to him.”

“Yes.”

The door opened, and Dan put his head in. “Want some breakfast?”

“No, thanks.”

He smiled at Dr. Cullen and closed the door.

She stood up. “I'd do anything in the world to help.”

“Thank you. For one thing, you can let me dispense with the bedpan.”

“Okay. If you'll be careful and let a nurse help you up.”

“And don't jab me with any more of that sleep stuff.”

“Promise.” She squeezed my hand. “You'll probably doze off once more. I've stopped all calls till noon. You'll be fine by then.”

“And if you
really
want to help, you can let me go home today.”

She smiled and walked to the door. “I don't believe I've told you that my father was a New York City police officer.”

“Really?”

“Believe me, you're a lot safer here than you would be at home.”

I said ungraciously, “Is that the police officer's daughter speaking or the doctor in cahoots with my family?”

Now she laughed. “Some of both.”

*   *   *

Dr. Cullen was right; I woke up refreshed and hungry. Lunch trays rattled in the hall. I hobbled to the bathroom—the heck with the nurse—hobbled back to bed, and was pouring myself the last of Sadd's tank car when Dan came in with steaming soup and a salad.

“Wonderful,” I said, tackling the soup. “Dan, we need a conference.”