Rehearsal for Murder (Maggie Ryan) (13 page)

“I’m afraid I can’t talk long, Mr. Jenkins,” said Maggie as the big machine glided, purring, into the street. “Have to get back to my work.”

“You’re not involved with this damn show, then?”

“No. I’m a statistician.”

Jenkins scowled. “Financial? Never heard of you.”

“No, consultant for people who want to analyze survey results, evaluate programs, that kind of thing. We work with corporations, academics, government projects. But that’s not what you want to know from us.”

“No, I—look, where are you going? I’ll drop you there.”

She gave the address and he shifted lanes. “What I wanted to know,” he said, “was how the bastard got away. The police kept evading the question.”

“They probably don’t know,” said Maggie. “I could give you our theory. We think that the kid ran through the building to the next street.” She explained once again about the sheltering scaffolds, broken plywood walls, and the emptied handbag.

“Nobody saw him running away?”

“No. So our guess is that he ran back to the next street. There was a construction scaffold. Good cover.”

“I see. Look, you said ‘kid.’ Why ‘kid’?”

“Mr. Jenkins,” said Nick, struggling to lean forward from the depths of the upholstery, “the police apparently haven’t told you much.”

“Damn evasive,” Jenkins agreed.

“Well, you see, we’d like a trade,” explained Maggie. “The police have been evasive with us too.”

“Well, you were the last to see her! How can I know you didn’t shoot her?”

“You can’t,” said Nick. He wished the seat weren’t quite so deep and soft, engulfing him in yielding luxury that made movement difficult. He shoved himself awkwardly forward to balance on the round front edge of the cushion. “We can’t know that you didn’t shoot her, either.”

But Jenkins seemed more astonished than offended. “Me? My God, why?”

“Quicker than divorce,” explained Maggie drily.

“And you get her money,” added Nick.

“Her money! Goddamn it, she won’t die! And who the hell do you think wants the goddamn divorce? Not me!”

“That wasn’t exactly a friendly discussion you had with her at rehearsal.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not. But she did tell us you were having an affair,” Maggie said.

“God, that stupid woman!” Jenkins groaned. “And Ramona too. I wouldn’t have expected her to be spreading that around. Yes, okay, I was seeing someone. But it didn’t mean anything! It’s just that Ramona gets involved in these projects and nothing else exists for her. I might as well be on the moon. So, okay, this time there was someone … well … available. And I thought I’d keep myself amused.”

Nick had heard this story a hundred times: the devoted actor, obsessed with a role, neglecting everything else in life. And the bewildered partner reacting in jealousy against the loss of primacy, calling the reaction revenge or self-discovery or amusement, like Jenkins. Jenkins repeated, “But it didn’t mean anything.”

“I guess it did to Ramona.”

“I don’t know why she couldn’t understand! She’s got all these Catholic hang-ups even though she hasn’t been to church in years. I’ve explained to her before, when she got into these spells—but Ken Martin told me she was really over the edge this time. Really furious.”

“She just found out?” asked Maggie.

“That idiot woman phoned her! Of course Ramona hit the ceiling. Ran straight to Ken to file for divorce. Didn’t have any Catholic hang-up about that! He tried to talk her out of it, of course. Been my friend for years. But he couldn’t.”

“She was very upset,” said Nick. The car bumped over a pothole and he slid helplessly back into the enveloping seat.

“But we’ll work things out. Somehow. She’d promised to talk to me, that very night.”

“So you want to save the marriage?”

“Of course I do! Ramona—well, she’s special.”

“You’re right,” Nick agreed, but wondered how much of Jenkins’s disclosure was true. He watched the streetlights sliding past the rear window. “You think Ken Martin is helping you? And Ramona too? I don’t understand.”

“It’s awkward for him, all right. But he’s been the family lawyer for quite a while. It’s not the first time she’s gone sneaking off to him behind my back. You knew before I did that she’d roped him into this idiotic musical project. But he said he told her he’d insist on her getting someone else for a divorce action. She stormed around, of course, and … well, in the end he told me I might have to get someone else. But all this—what the hell difference does it make now?”

Nick hitched himself forward again. “Is her condition that bad, then?”

“She’s—and those idiotic cops! Say they’re doing all they can, but they won’t tell me anything, and from what I can gather, they’re convinced it was one of those men in the photos.”

“And you’re not convinced?” asked Maggie.

“Well, she was in such a mood after that stupid woman called her. I wondered if she’d got herself into trouble. If it was someone she knew.”

“Such as us.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, it’s true that she was ripping into us that day,” said Nick. “You’re right about the mood. But she didn’t seem suicidal, if that’s what you’re suggesting. More like distracted. Maybe not as alert as she should have been. And the police seem to think there’s evidence that there was a mugger.”

“What evidence?” he asked, gruffly eager.

“Please, Mr. Jenkins, tell us how she is.”

Jenkins glanced at Nick in the rearview mirror and shrugged. “Bad,” he said brusquely. “Coma. Looks … well, she’s full of tubes, wires. It’s just not Ramona. She got a little better the first few hours, then something happened, a blood clot or something. Set off all their alarms. They added some tubes and she’s stabilized again now. But the nurses … well, I don’t know how to put it exactly.” His voice thickened. “They all became more distant. More mechanical. Stopped telling me to buck up. Just told me occasionally to go get something to eat.” He gave a sidelong glance at Maggie, who had hidden her face against Sarah’s head, and said furiously, “Look, you asked!”

“Yes. We wanted to know,” said Maggie, turning to look at him directly. “It must be hell for you too.”

“God, if only—” Jenkins broke off, scowled out at the traffic. His hands tightened on the wheel.

Nick cleared his throat. “You asked why we said ‘kid.’”

“Yes.” Jenkins drew his thoughts back to the present. “Did the police show you photos?”

“Yes. They weren’t kids,” Nick confirmed. “But there was a witness, a woman who had been walking a few steps behind Ramona. She said it was a black kid. But she admitted she didn’t see him well, just a glimpse as he dragged Ramona farther into the building.”

“I see. A witness. What was her name?”

“I don’t know,” Nick lied, suddenly reluctant to expose Carlotta to Jenkins’s inquisition. “Besides, she only caught a glimpse. The other thing is that I think the police found the man who stole her gun. One of the photos.”

“But how did he get the pistol?”

“Maybe he’s a small man. Maybe he’s the kid’s big brother. Maybe the witness was wrong.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Jenkins. “She’d hang on to her bag. He couldn’t get the bag without the gun, could he? And he couldn’t get the gun without the bag.”

Nick pondered that. Carlotta had said nothing about a struggle or screams. But then she’d been running away, screaming herself, before the shots were fired. She might not have heard Ramona. He said, “Suppose the guy snatched her bag and she chased him. He happened to find the gun in the bag and shot her.”

“Must have found it pretty fast,” said Maggie dubiously. “Look, here’s our corner, Mr. Jenkins.”

Jenkins double-parked and Nick got out and took Sarah from Maggie. Maggie leaned back in and touched Jenkins on the arm. “Thank you. Take it easy, if you can.”

He met her sympathetic gaze and his jowly face crumpled. “I’ll never forgive myself!”

“She was upset, yes, but when you explain—”

“Oh, I know, we would have worked it out about the divorce. I don’t mean that,” he said roughly. “I mean, I bought her those goddamn pistols. For her goddamn fortieth birthday.”

He was pulling away almost before she could shut the door.

Evening offered no relaxation. Nick fed and bathed his daughter as usual, but when Maggie arrived at nine thirty he had to leave again instantly for a late appointment that his vocal coach had arranged. When he let himself back in, well after eleven, he found them in the bedroom rocking chair. Sarah was still nursing, drowsily euphoric at her mother’s breast. Maggie too was dreamy, absorbed in the baby’s happiness. Nick felt a wrenching at his roots, a surging primeval love for both of them. “Ahem,” he said.

Maggie smiled up at him through mists of contentment. “She’s almost done, love.”

“I can change her.”

“Good. I need a shower. Hey
,
chouchout
e
, you ready to go?” She sat the baby upright on her knee. Sarah woke up a little and belched.

“Go team,” said Nick. Sarah noticed him and cracked that awe-inspiring grin of hers.

“Nick, how’re you doing?”

He sat on the bed. “Okay. Made real progress on the Gladstone numbers tonight. But I still worry about Ramona.”

“Yeah. So do I. Jenkins wasn’t encouraging.” Maggie handed Sarah to him and got out a clean diaper.

“Things okay with you?” he asked.

“Well, Dan’s having some trouble at the office.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“You remember that job we got from the Department of Corrections analyzing parole board decisions?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“They awarded it to us because I’m a whiz at multiple regression and Dan’s a whiz at computers. When I told him how it should be set up, he thought it would be easy to adapt his regression program.”

“And it wasn’t?” Sarah was squirming. Nick propped her on his knee.

“We can’t put in all the variables we need, it turns out. Program itself takes up too much room.”

“I don’t follow.” Sarah was beginning to bounce on his knee. He held her delicately under her tiny arms.

“See, this program has a lot of options we don’t need, and they take up core space. So Dan has to write a whole new program for this one analysis.”

“Hey, look at that! You little Amazon!” Sarah had straightened her legs and was standing upright, her plump little body leaning into his supporting hands, her little toes kneading his thigh as she tried to jump.

“Yeah. Anyway, things are sort of at a standstill for my part of it,” said Maggie morosely. “Until he gets the program done. Next week, he says.”

Sarah’s delight in the bouncing game was infectious. Nick was overwhelmed by her amazing trust in him, her joy in the developing abilities of her uncoordinated little body, her sheer glee in being alive and healthy and loved. After a moment he noticed that Maggie had said something. “What?” he asked, eyes still homed in on Sarah.

“Goddamn it, Nick, I’m here too! I asked you a question!” She jerked her bathrobe from a hook.

“Hey, c’mon, Maggie! Don’t be jealous of your own daughter!”

“Yeah, okay. But I want to talk, and you’re cooing to her.”

“Well, it’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Isn’t it? I thought maybe you, of all people, would understand!” She disappeared into the bathroom with a slam.

Dismayed, Nick stared at the door, then took Sarah to her table to change the diaper. “Your mother baffles me,” he told her, worried.

“Ah-yah.” Sarah grinned, not worried at all.

At the arrival gate, Elaine was pleased and surprised. Damn, she was a nice woman, thought Steve. So full of love and beauty. She exclaimed, “Steve! You didn’t have to come!”

“I wanted to. Had to stay late at the office anyway. I’ve had quite a day too.”

“Where’s Muffin?”

“Home. With Rachel. No problem.”

“Oh, I hope she’s still awake when we get there!”

He grinned at her. “If she is, she’ll be cranky.”

“I don’t care!”

“Listen, how’s your dad?”

“He sailed through it. The doctor seemed pleased. Dad was awake and grumbling before I left. Made me promise to call when I got home. But Mom whispered that I’d better not, because she’d been told to give him a sleeping pill as soon as she got him home tonight.”

“I knew he’d be all right,” said Steve. Avery Busby was too tough to die. Occasional unworthy thoughts had crossed Steve’s mind, especially after he’d lost the Japan job. But Steve had to admire Avery Busby, crusty as he was. A formidable father-in-law.

“How’s your mom holding up?” he asked Elaine. She discussed her family and her trip as they drove home through the rain. It had been good for her to go, Steve thought, getting her out of her routine a little, seeing her parents, her roots. She was relaxed now, relieved that her father had had no problems. Thank God for that.