Rehearsal for Murder (Maggie Ryan) (17 page)

“It’s the only answer that doesn’t drive me mad.” Larry sat up abruptly. “Look, we both better switch compartments. Get out there and make the rounds.”

“Right. Job-hunt time again,” Nick agreed.

But after he left Larry, the first thing he did was call Maggie.

She was coming in early anyway, she said, and met him at Canal Street. Sideways, to avoid hurting Sarah, she gave him a hug. “I’m sorry, Nick. Poor Ramona.”

“Yeah. We’re all pretty shaken up. Half expected it and still believed she’d pull through.”

“I know. Same with me. So you’re back to making rounds, then?”

“I’ll see George. Visit a few casting directors. And I have to check back at the loft to see when Ramona’s partner is talking to us.” He removed Sarah’s sticky little hand from hi
s
Back Stag
e
.

“God, I’d hoped so much she’d make it.”

“Yeah. Never came out of the coma, I guess. By the way, your idea about Derek and Ramona was right. Larry says so anyway. On the prowl this week, he said, soliciting every male in sight. Even old bald married ones.”

“They ain’t so bad,” said Maggie calmly. “Look, do you have to see George instantly?”

“Pretty soon, so he can tell me what auditions are coming up. But maybe not instantly. God knows I don’t like making rounds. What did you have in mind?”

“I wanted to visit Buzz’s apartment. I’m worried about Muffin.”

“That’s why you came in early?” Nick found himself annoyed.

“Partly. Mostly to see if you needed bucking up.”

Their eyes met. Hers spoke of love, worry, fatigue, determination. He said, “Damn, why can’t the world leave us alone for a little while? Two careers and Sarah and marriage and a house renovation and a dog is enough to juggle.”

“The world is seldom considerate.”

“I know. Damn, I’m depressed, Maggie.”

“Yeah.” She gave him another of those unsatisfying sideways hugs. “I’d help if I could.”

“Yeah. Let’s go to Buzz’s apartment.” Maybe it would give him a few minutes’ respite from the anger and guilt and discouragement of a friend’s cruel death, of the loss of a wonderful part.

The front door of the building was propped open today, and they could hear hammering and the whine of electric tools to the right as they entered. Nick already regretted coming; there was so much else to do. Or maybe today he’d regret doing anything. They climbed the stairs; though mostly unfinished, the upper floors were quieter. Maggie said, “Let’s go around behind, just in case someone’s in the apartment.”

The building was C-shaped, with an entrance centered in each section. Most of the apartments were on the outside wall, but a few small ones opened onto the ten-foot central airshaft between the wings. The apartments along the south hall were finished, their walls cutting off the hall from the light of the outside windows, but those in the north were just framed in, with workmen’s supplies and piled lumber in the halls. Maggie led the way to the fourth floor and around to the unfinished wing of the building. There were only two small apartments on the inner side of the hall, Nick could see; their windows would afford a view only of the airshaft and the other apartment windows ten feet away. Maggie went into one, picking her way around the stacks of two-by-fours and wallboard, and looked intently across the airshaft.

“That’s the one,” she said, pointing at the window directly across from them.

“Can’t see a thing,” said Nick. What the hell was he doing here? He should be calling his agent, or finding out when Ramona’s partner would be meeting them, or something.

“Guess they’re gone,” said Maggie. “I’m going to check.” She started out again.

“Can’t you just call him and ask?”

“I tried. Couldn’t find any Buzz Hartfords in any of the directories.”

“The sitter, then.”

“Yeah, he told me the agency name. Maybe I will.” But she still led the way around to the opposite, finished wing of the building. At the apartment door she paused, listened, then fiddled a moment with the lock. The door opened quietly.

No one was there. The apartment was as she had described it: small, two windows onto the airshaft, furnished with cheap new furniture. A brief wall of small kitchen appliances, a door to what was probably a bathroom. Maggie looked in it, checked the closet, then picked up a wastebasket and shook her head.

“What have you found?” asked Nick, impatient.

“Nothing,” said Maggie, removing Sarah’s fingers from the wastebasket and putting it down. “And that’s the problem. Muffin had a satchel with the usual kid supplies—paper, crayons, fruit juice, and so forth. And I threw away the note that had this address on it. Threw it right in here.”

“So Mrs. Golden is neat and cleans up.”

“Yeah, but it seems maybe too clean.” She frowned.

He tried to stifle his irritation. “It isn’t necessarily sinister to clean up, you know. Granted, you and I haven’t sighted our own baseboards for months, but out in the real world it is done.”

She grinned absentmindedly. “Yes, I’ve heard of such bizarre primitive practices too.”

“On the other hand,” added Nick, “it usually is considered sinister to break and enter.”

Her eyes darkened but she said evenly, “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get out of here.”

As they descended toward the front entrance, they heard a voice from the hall where the workmen were clustered: “Be with you in a sec, Dino. Left my saw on the front stairs.”

Nick and Maggie hurried back up a flight and through the second-floor halls to the far staircase. Emerging into the side street, Maggie gave a disdainful jab at the insecure doorjamb. “Buzz isn’t very security minded. You could pop that lock with a butter knife.”

“The local burglars probably aren’t as refined as you. Don’t carry butter knives.”

“That’s all that saves him.” She stroked Sarah’s drowsy head and sighed. “God, Nick, I’m tired.”

“Well, why the hell aren’t you home taking a nap?” he erupted. “That’s why we arranged this crazy schedule to begin with, so you’d be rested! Why are you meddling in Buzz’s goddamn affairs here, when you don’t even have time for yourself?”

“Myself?” Like lightning finding the earth, her frustration answered his. “Which self are you worried about? The cow who spends four or five hours a day nursing your baby? The washerwoman and char? The friend who comes in early to hold your hand when you’re down?”

“Yeah, full of comfort, aren’t you? A regular madonna!”

“Look, I’m trying to sympathize, Nick. I’m also trying to earn our mortgage payments and take care of our baby.” She hugged Sarah a little closer.

“Golly, ma’am, is it a thank-you note you want? What with bathing Sarah and collecting my minuscule check, I clean forgot! I’ll put one in the mail tomorrow. Or do you want one for each of your talented selves? Madonna, mom, and moneymaker?”

They were standing under filth-encrusted fire escapes and a sliver of ridiculously cheerful blue sky, their voices seething with pent-up outrage. “You’re forgetting one for the moo-cow!” Maggie stormed. “And for the meddler. That’s part of me too, like it or not! And for the ex-mistress. Though I can see why you’d—”

The pulse in Nick’s temple was seismic. Sarah whimpered. He bellowed, “You’re upsetting her!”

Maggie glanced down at the baby’s unhappy, crumply face, spun away from him, and strode down the street. Nick wanted to strangle her.

Her; or maybe himself.

X

Friday, late morning

March 9, 1973

Susan’s flight was in the afternoon. Calling from a booth at Penn Station, Steve caught her just before she walked out the door. “All packed?” he asked.

“Long since. Just chewing my nails about this new job!”

“Don’t worry,” said Steve. “Once you get a concrete problem or two on your desk, you’ll see you can manage.”

“I hope so. God, I’ll miss you, lover!”

He closed his eyes against the ugliness of the station, the horror of his worries, and murmured, “Same here. But we’ll see each other again. Somehow.”

“Sure you can’t play hooky and come see me off?”

“No, I … well, things have come up. But I wanted to say bon voyage.”

“Thanks. It’s been good, Steve-o.”

“It sure has.”

But hanging up, turning from the brief magical haven of her voice back to the gritty everydayness of the station, Steve was swamped again with the enormity of his problem. It wasn’t just Muffin, though of course he agonized over her. Was she frightened? Were her unknown caretakers kind? Competent at least? But he could do nothing about that. He could just make sure that he got her away as soon as possible, back home. And he must make sure the return was not jeopardized by the police or by stubborn Avery Busby. All that responsibility fell on him. And a mistake could—well, he wouldn’t think about that. In crisis, said the white hunter, best not to think. Precipitate into pure happy action.

He was home again by eleven. “Have you heard anything?” he asked Elaine. She was sitting in the chair nearest the phone, neatly dressed, her perfect face sagging. Rachel, sympathetic and uncharacteristically quiet, was curled on the sofa, changing position occasionally to shift the weight of her belly. A radio droned in the background.

“No. Except Daddy’s on his way. What about you?”

“Nothing. I’ve got our money. And your dad called me too, said he was bringing his.”

“Yeah.” She passed a hand across her forehead. Her hair straggled across her face; her skin was blotchy. For an instant Steve was pulled out of his own mass of worries to focus on her. His beautiful, impeccable wife, Muffin’s joyful mother, Busby’s elegant daughter—all had disappeared into this tense, exhausted despair.

“Lainey, honey, it’ll be okay!” Stooping to hug her, he wished he could undo yesterday. If only he hadn’t been with Susan, if only he’d never even met Susan! He held Lainey’s sweet, ravaged head against his shoulder. “Really, honey, we’ll manage! She’ll be back and everything will be fine!”

“Oh, Steve!” she sobbed. “You know, I keep wondering, maybe I wasn’t meant to have a child!”

“Oh, Lainey, don’t be silly!” Steve was on the verge of sobs too. He looked at Rachel in appeal.

“Elaine, you know you’re the world’s best mother,” said Rachel. To Steve she added, “She’s been like this all morning. I wish there were something she could do besides wait.”

Steve realized that it was true; he at least had had the police to handle, the money to gather. He said, “Now, listen, Lainey. Your dad and I will get her back. Believe me, we will. Your job is to think of what she’ll need when she’s back. I don’t think they’ll mistreat her, but she’ll be pretty confused, and—”

“But the note said all that about her finger!”

Damn that note. “They just said that to warn us, honey. And we’re warned, and the police have agreed not to take any action that will endanger her. Really. And the note also said she was cute. Remember?”

“Yes, but—”

“So they like her too. They won’t hurt her as long as we do what we’re supposed to do. She’ll be fine. But you should be ready to give her a lot of reassurance when she gets back.”

“He’s right, Elaine,” said Rachel, seeing his drift. “She’ll need you more than ever.”

“Yes. I see.” A little determination was coming back into her expression.

“And it’ll really be up to you,” Steve continued, “because I have to be away at work so much. Especially since I’m not getting much done now.”

“Oh, Steve!” She touched his arm contritely. “I know you’re worried too.”

“Yeah, nothing else seems important,” said Steve. “Listen, Rachel, did Elaine mention that the police said not to talk about this?”

“Yes, but we knew anyway. Listen, I brought over some sandwiches but Elaine hasn’t touched them. You want some lunch?”

“I haven’t even thought about food. But you’re right, maybe I should have a sandwich.” He paused; they’d all heard the shuffly sound of the mail sliding through the slot. Rachel was closest and reached the hall first. She handed the stack to them.

There were bills, advertising circulars, and a fat padded envelope. First class. No return address. Steve opened it. Inside was rolled a child’s pajama bag in the shape of a teddy bear, an ugly dusty purple color, with a zipper on its belly and one eye missing. That was all.

“What is it?” asked Elaine apprehensively.

“Some kind of symbolic message?” asked Rachel, shaking the padded envelope to be sure no note was enclosed.

Steve unzipped the bear. Inside it was a paper, covered with cut-out newspaper letters as before.

Money goes in here. Unmarked hundreds and five hundreds. Bear bag goes next to other bears on shelf at Ming Bazaar on Canal Street before 5 pm today. If no police show we’ll ring with news of Muffin before 6. If anyone causes trouble you know what will happen.

Steve looked at Elaine. For the first time there seemed to be a glimmer of hope in her eyes. But all she said was, “Daddy will be here any minute.”