Rehearsal for Murder (Maggie Ryan) (19 page)

“It would have been a good show,” Nick said.

“Yeah! Yeah, it would have been, wouldn’t it? I guess it was the right choice to sign on. Ramona would have put us over. But I feel rotten about the old gal. And it’s just so goddamn disappointing.”

“The school will take you back?”

“Natch,” said Daphne. “They complained when I took time off for this. I’ve got a way with teens, Madame says. Old slave driver.”

“Well, she’s right,” said Jaymie. “You should see her manage those kids, Nick. Or manage me, for that matter.”

“Hey, babe, you’re no teen anymore! Yeah, I do like working with them. ’Course, after all the work you end up with nothing but a roomful of sweaty kids. If you’re lucky one of them might be half as talented as you or Jaymie, the rest just lumps.”

“No Baryshnikovs?”

“Not on my watch. Not yet. Well, I work for the ones with a little something. But I’d hoped to get into more choreography. This job would have opened doors. Freed me a little from Madame.”

“I’ve taught acting in a college,” said Nick. “Kids are so enthusiastic. And it felt good to have a solid job.”

“Oh, I know. It’s got its good side. Even Madame—well, she’s a tough, sour old bitch, but I admire her for that when she’s not cursing me personally. How about you? Any leads yet?”

“A couple of the calls might be interesting. Mostly I’m going to drop by the casting offices, let them know I’m alive.”

“They forget awfully quick.”

“They sure do.” Nick stood. “Do you want to look at m
y
Back Stag
e
? I’m finished.”

“Yes!” said Daphne, accepting it purposefully. “Now, Jaymie, we’ll run through this and make you a plan. Then you can start making rounds while I’m off at the hearing.”

“God, I can’t believe I have to start all that again!” Jaymie eyed the newspaper glumly.

“Come on, buck up! Your mother wouldn’t want you to be a quitter!” urged Daphne.

“I guess not,” she murmured, and took out her appointment book.

Nick glanced back up the steps before going out. They were huddled together at the landing in the gray light from the filthy window. Daphne’s maternal arm stretched around Jaymie, dark as th
e
Victoria
R
death gloves.

XI

Friday, 11:15 AM

March 9, 1973

Nick saw Maggie as soon as he emerged from the loft building: stricken blue eyes fixed on the entrance, one hand patting Sarah on the back, the other holding a fresh disposable diaper. She waved it at him. “Truce?” she offered.

He almost felled a passerby as he bounded across the sidewalk to engulf the two of them in a huge hug. “You bet!”

“I didn’t really mean—” She was trying to hug him too.

“No, no.” He put a finger on her lips. “Don’t take anything back. We really did mean something. Both of us. We need to figure out what.”

“Yeah. But I can’t even figure out me!”

“Same here. Except for one thing. I’ve figured out that you are definitely not a moo-cow.”

“But I’m so flabby!” She pulled away a little, not looking at him, playing with the zipper on the baby carrier. “I try to work out but there’s no time. God, I don’t know how you could stay interested.”

“Oh, I’m interested. Exhausted sometimes, but interested.” He should have guessed; trim and lovely as she seemed to him, her lactating body could not come up to her own gymnast’s standards just now. He added, “‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.’”

Maggie snorted. “Yeah, that’s all very well for Egyptian queens who travel on golden barges. But I’m just a slob who rides the subway and oozes all over the goddamn sheets.”

He grinned. “They say that Cleopatra too stayed beautiful by bathing in milk.”

Her startled eyes met his, then she whooped with laughter. “Nick, you’re a delicious man! But don’t poke fun. I’m serious!”

“I’m serious too, love. We’ve got a problem but it’s not your body, which is obscenely attractive. In every sense.”

A smile flitted across her face, but she turned her attention to the zipper again. “It’s just … well, you’re surrounded by gorgeous people. Ramonas and Didis, and—” She peeked quickly at him before finishing timidly, “And Lisettes.”

Dear Lisette. Nick’s first wife had been a dazzler, true enough. Beauty, talent, vulnerability enough to make men swoon. He certainly had. What could he say now to Maggie, he who had spent the day savaging her tenderest overtures? Attila O’Connor. Well, Attila, try the truth.

“We’ve both had some good yesterdays, Maggie,” he said gently. “But our ghosts are mostly benevolent ones. They don’t interfere much with building a good today. I don’t think they’re the problem now.” She gave a tiny nod and he shrugged. “But hell, I know I can’t wave a wand and make you not feel like a dud. I feel like a dud myself.”

“Really? You?”

“I can’t seem to live up to my own standards anymore.”

“Yeah.” She nodded grim agreement and absent-mindedly jiggled Sarah, who was whimpering. “Nick, I get so ashamed of myself! I mean, you were right the other day, that’s why I got mad. You said I was jealous of my own daughter. Goddamn it, I kick myself, but I can’t help feeling that way! She needs you, and I want you to pay attention to her. I really do! But when she distracts your attention from me, I’m jealous. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Same here.”

“And even worse.” The blue eyes locked on his were dark with shame. “I’m jealous when you distract her attention from me.”

A shock of recognition: Madonna came clear. Double love; double envy. Nick nodded slowly. “Yeah. I watch the two of you when you’re nursing her or playing with her, all wrapped up in each other. And I’m full of love and joy, like a good and noble daddy. Right out o
f
The Walton
s
. But you’re right, I’m also jealous as hell. Of both of you.”

“But you—”

Sarah, her whimpers ignored, escalated to a screech. Maggie burst into tears. “Damn it! Not now!”

“Lunchtime?” asked Nick. It was eleven twenty. “Yes,” sobbed Maggie. “Lunchtime. And then dinner. And then bedtime. And then breakfast. On and on, while everything else disintegrates!”

“Hey. C’mere,” said Nick. He led his wailing ladies back across the sidewalk to the loft steps and settled them in the corner. Sarah set greedily to work, impervious to the storms about her. Maggie, whose needs were more complex, continued to snuffle.

“Is that you again, Nick?” called Daphne. She and Jaymie were still huddled at the landing of the stairs, near the light. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, except the baby’s hungry,” said Nick.

“Oh, okay.” They returned to the notices i
n
Back Stag
e
.

Nick sat on the step above Maggie’s and leaned forward to murmur into her ear. “We can talk Sunday afternoon.”

“Why should Sunday be any different?” she snuffled. “Same as every other damn day. She’ll be hungry just as often. Crap just as often. The laundry will be just as dirty. If Dan gets the program debugged, I may even have to go in to work.”

“Have to? This is a serious proposal, lady. I want a date.”

“Well,” she amended, a flicker of curiosity in her tearful glance, “he says it probably won’t be ready till Tuesday. But I want to get started the minute he’s done. It’s so frustrating, wasting the few hours I have to work.”

“This won’t be a waste of time. I’ve just splurged half my last paycheck on two rooms at the Algonquin Sunday.”

“Two rooms?”

“Different floors. One for you and me. One for Julia, who will take Sarah as soon as you finish nursing so you can slip away for a few hours. I think she plans to teach Sarah all the best Dorothy Parker quips.”

Lively interest glowed now in the blue eyes. “And just what is it that I’m slipping away for?”

“For whatever we decide we need. An uninterrupted talk. An uninterrupted fuck. Maybe even an uninterrupted nap.”

“God, Nick!” She had bowed her head over Sarah’s.

“Is there a problem?” he asked anxiously. “What are you thinking?”

She managed a damp little after-tears grin. “I’m thinking—just in case—I ought to buy some black lace bikinis.”

Nick felt like a triumphant gladiator. He let his lips brush her ear. “Maggie one, moo-cow zero,” he murmured. She chuckled.

Madonna, he knew, might prove a little harder to vanquish. A tough broad, that one, rooted in childhood taboos. But black lace was potent too. There was hope.

Daphne was standing up. “Zero hour, kid,” she said to Jaymie. “I’ll see you later.” She started firmly down the stairs.

“Maybe,” said Jaymie melodramatically.

“Hey.” Daphne swiveled on the steps, one foot higher than the other, and raised an admonishing finger. “You’re going to be okay, honey. I so decree! But Callie comes first. You understand?”

“Yes.” Jaymie’s hands clenched on the strap of her bag. “I understand.”

Daphne surveyed her an instant, then said gruffly, “Well, okay, come along and help me get a cab now. You promised.” She started down again.

Jaymie jumped up and clattered down after her. Daphne had paused to admire Sarah, who was sunny-tempered again now that her gluttony was sated. “Hey, look at that gorgeous kid!”

Sarah gave her a gummy grin. Jaymie, joining them, smiled too. “Hi, baby,” she said, and then sang softly, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, we’ll show Daddy who we are! Up above the world at night, that’s my Jaymie’s name in lights ... I mean …” Her brows contracted in confusion.

“Boy, your mama was ready to do anything to get back at your daddy, wasn’t she?” Daphne laughed. “Come on, babe, let’s move out.”

“Okay.” As they went out the door, Jaymie slipped her appointment book back into her big bag. A small, dark, well-bred volume, not the huge tooled-leather book Ramona had sported.

Ramona’s book.

Something clicked.

Nick turned to Maggie. “Hey, Ramona’s book!” he exclaimed. Hawkshaw O’Connor. Nick the dick. “It wasn’t there!”

“What?”

“Her appointment book. It should have been in the stuff dumped out of her bag in that building.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t under the bag or something?”

“I don’t think so. The billfold and the gun would interest a mugger. But a half-used appointment book wouldn’t appeal much, would it?”

“Not to me,” she said, right with his thought. “Not unless my name was in it, at the wrong place and time.”

“Exactly. So it’s important that it wasn’t there.” Nick went up the stairs two at a time.

But Sergeant Perez, when he answered the phone, was not very impressed. “We’ll ask him about it,” he told Nick.

“Ask who?”

“The suspect.”

“The guy who had her gun?”

“Yeah.”

“Look, don’t you see? If the appointment book is gone, it may be because someone’s name was in it. Someone Ramona knew.”

“That’s only one of many possible explanations,” said Perez wearily.

“Yes, but shouldn’t you check?”

“Look, Mr. O’Connor, if we thought it was someone in the play, we’d still be grilling you. You especially, you were right there. No one else knew where she’d be. But we’ve got evidence on this guy. He hangs out in that area, drugged out half the time. He’s got a record of violence. And he had her gun. That’s solid.”

“Has he confessed?”

“You want miracles? Who confesses? He told us he found the gun in a trash can. You wanna guess how many times we’ve heard that one? But we’ll check out this appointment book thing.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Nick replaced the receiver. Maggie had come up to the landing and was grinning at him.

“Meddler,” she said.

Nick drew himself up indignantly. “No, no, you don’t understand. When you do it, it’s meddling. When I do it, it’s good citizenship.” He rubbed a hand over his bald head. “Anyway, I keep coming back to the same problem. We all had everything to lose and nothing to gain.”

“Nothing obvious.”

“Yes. And if Perez has got the guy with a gun and a record, I should quit worrying about it.”

“Tell you what, fellow meddler. You quit worrying about who killed Ramona, and I’ll quit worrying about Muffin, after we do one thing.”

“Okay. What?”

“Call the babysitting service for me and find out how I can reach Mrs. Golden. I’ll call her, and then I promise to quit worrying and we can get to work on our own lives.”

“Which are worrisome enough. Okay, it’s a deal. What’s the name?”

“Carstairs, he said.”

Nick called directory assistance and dialed. “I’d like to speak to your Mrs. Golden,” he explained. “Can you tell me how to contact her?”

“Mrs. Golden? No, I’m sorry.” The voice was youthful.

Maybe they were just protective of their employees. He said, “Well, can you pass on a message to her? She can get in touch with us.”