Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 (23 page)

43

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

W
hat a nightmare! It jolts me
up from a deep sleep. It's so strong that I find myself sitting bolt
upright in bed, heart pounding, body sweating.

I was dreaming about two people dressed as ninja
assassins, standing in the middle of Oakland Park Boulevard. Having a
tug-of-war. And what a tug-of-war it was! I recognized Denny holding
the rope at one end, but his opponent's face was fuzzy and
unrecognizable. The rope was made of a daisy chain of white oleander
flowers. I remember thinking
How pretty,
until I realized that
they were entwined around dead bodies! Selma was there. And Francie and
Greta and Esther. But then there was Maureen, and Enya's husband and
children who were killed in the Holocaust. And there was Enya on her
knees, praying. I could hear her whisper. Injustice, she was crying.
Injustice.

It is when the dead bodies all turn to me and open their
eyes accusingly that I catapult into wakefulness, and fast. Wow!

Someone once told me that if I had a problem I wanted
solved, all I had to do was state it before I fell asleep. And by next
morning I'd have my answer. Well, last night I went to bed and framed
my question, and asked my subconscious to tell me the answer.

I got my answer; now all I have to do is interpret it.

Forget about falling back to sleep. I am wide awake and
my mind is going a hundred miles an hour. I make a pot of coffee, but
it takes two pots to keep me going. Another night of hardly any sleep.
I'll be a wreck tomorrow, but who cares.

So I pace and think and pace and think and talk to myself
out loud. I can feel the pieces falling into place. Click. Click.
Click. And then I make notes and I'm still at it when it gets light.

I remember my grandchildren, when they were small, loving
Bugs Bunny and that funny thing he always said when he made a huge
mistake. Well, Bugs, so did I. Boy, did I make a left turn at
Albuquerque.

I go over and over my conclusions, and now all I have to
do is prove them. Not easy, that. But I know I'm right. Everything
fits. I have to tip an imaginary hat to my opponent, tugging at the
other end of Denny's oleander rope. I have to give the devil its due.

Plain and simple,
I've been had!
All of us have.

First things first. I have to be patient until Detective
Langford gets to his office. I need to ask him one question.

Then I need to get permission to visit Denny. He has all
the answers. Only he doesn't know it.

Look out, world. Here comes Gladdy Gold, Private Eye. On
track at last!

44

Poor Denny

I
'll bet Detective Morgan
Langford hadn't had time for his first bitter cup of police department
coffee before my call came in. I guessed right and he tells me so.

"How come you're calling and how come this early?"

I'm still rattling around in my bathrobe. I'm too wired
to bother getting dressed. "I couldn't sleep. There's an important
question I have to ask."

"Not to worry. Everything's moving along smoothly. I told
you I'd call and keep you in touch."

I can tell from his voice he is giving me only half his
attention. He's probably looking through his day's workload. "That's
not the question. Did Denny actually confess to killing Esther and the
others?"

"Sort of."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"He admitted his dead mother made him do it, but he
doesn't remember doing it."

"Doesn't that answer bother you?"

"Not really. Many psychotics admit to hearing voices."

"Yes, but don't they usually remember doing the killing
as well?"

"Maybe it's too traumatic to remember. So he shuts that
part out."

"Believe me, if you had known Maureen Ryan,
she's
what he'd want to shut out."

"Why is this suddenly so important?"

"I need a favor, Morrie. Excuse me--Detective. I need to
see Denny. As soon as possible."

Now I have his full attention. "That's not a good idea.
He isn't in very good shape."

"Why? Didn't the marks from the rubber hoses fade away
yet?"

"Very funny, Mrs. Gold."

"I
thought so." I feel like I'm losing him
again.
He's covering the phone and talking to someone who's come in and I can
hear him rattling through papers. "As your possible future stepmother,
I'm asking you to do this for me."

"What did you say?"

I knew that would grab him. "This may change everything.
I can't tell you any more right now."

"No, not that. Go back to what you said before that."

I play dumb. "What did I say? I forgot."

Langford sighs, and I know I nagged him into giving in.
Besides, he owes me. And he knows it. "Maybe you could help. All we got
out of him was gibberish. Maybe he'll tell
you
the truth."

"He's already told you the truth, Morrie. At least the
truth as he understands it. Denny Ryan has never uttered a lie in his
life."

"All right. All right. I'm a busy man here. I'll arrange
it and let you know when."

The sight of Denny makes me want to cry. This big man,
in such a small, narrow hospital room with bars. He looks like a big
bear with all the stuffing knocked out of him, frightened and confused.

"Did you come to take me home, Mrs. Gold?" he asks
plaintively.

"I can't do that right now, Denny, but I do want to help
you." Carefully I put my hand in my purse and turn on my tape recorder.
I have a feeling I'm going to need it later. Forgive me, Denny.

"I don't like it here."

I look around at the plainness and the coldness. "I don't
blame you."

"There's no window. How can I see the sunshine? I need
the sunshine."

"I know you do."

"Why am I here?"

"Don't you know?"

"Because of Mama, isn't it?"

Denny is seated on his narrow cot, his legs spread wide,
his hands splayed across his knees. How does this poor man sleep at
night in that tiny bed? I sit down opposite him on the edge of the one
small chair in the room. Our knees are almost touching.

"Is that why you've been so upset lately? Because of your
mother?"

He hangs his head, ashamed. "Yes. I'm sorry I've been so
mean to you."

"It's all right. I know you didn't mean it. Tell me about
your mother."

"That's what those policemen kept asking me, and I told
them but they wouldn't believe me. They got me all mixed up. Why did
she have to come back? Everything was so good."

"I believe you, Denny. When did she come back?"

"The night before her birthday."

Bingo! I'm excited but I don't show it. I make a quick
calculation in my head. Two weeks before Selma died. "How did she come
back?"

"She called me on the phone. Ten o'clock in the night."

"The phone? Just like that?" I keep my chatter
nonthreatening and interested.

"Yeah. I just finished watching the wrestling show. I
like that show and they really don't hurt each other, it's just for
pretend." He smiles, then remembers where he is. "And the phone rang
and I answered thinking maybe one of the ladies had a problem. Like
last week Mrs. Fox thought she had a cricket in the bedroom but it was
only the smoke alarm. She was so funny. When I came in she was standing
on a chair and hitting the alarm box on the ceiling with a broom and
trying to kill the cricket." He laughs hard at that and I join him.

His face turns ashen. "But it wasn't one of my ladies. It
was
her
!" He reaches for a cup of water and his hand is
shaking. "At first I didn't believe it, she sounded so funny. I could
hardly understand her. I thought somebody was playing a joke, like Mr.
Hy Binder likes to fool me. But she said it was her and what did I
expect, she was calling from a billion miles away. I said yeah, yeah,
like they got phones in heaven. Then she got mad and yelled at me and
called me Dennis like she used to when she was mad, and said I better
pay attention because she came back for a reason."

My God, I think to myself. This is not of heaven, but of
hell.

"And she tells me the names of the CDs on my shelf over
my bed and the plants I got in my garden. I didn't have CDs or a garden
seven years ago. How does she know all this stuff I ask her? She tells
me she can see me plain from up there. She sees everything I do and
hears everything I say." He lowers his head in misery. "She always
could. Know everything I did."

"Why did she come back, Denny?"

"Because I killed her, that's why."

Oh, no, I think. Not that. "Why do you say you killed
her?"

"Because I had this fight with her. I got mad because she
wouldn't let me go to the movies, so I ran out. Then Mama ate that
steak and choked on it. It was all my fault, because I wasn't there."

"But you didn't kill her. It was an accident." Such guilt
this boy suffered all these years.

"She said I had to pay."

"How?"

"By killing all the nice ladies. Every night she called
me. Every single night 'til it made me sick and she just kept calling
me and she wouldn't let me alone. And then she left that rat in my bed.
I didn't want to do those bad things, but she made me. I loved Miss
Francie." Denny starts to cry.

"Did you kill them, Denny?" I can hardly breathe waiting
for his answer.

"She said I did it when I was sleeping, but I don't
remember. But I must have, 'cause they're dead, aren't they?"

"The night Mrs. Feder died, tell me about it."

"Mama called and told me I had to go over there right now
and carry some rolls she left in the kitchen. I didn't even know there
were rolls in the kitchen, but there they were in a little basket."

Denny puts his head in his hands, shaking hard, as if to
rid himself of the demon mother inside.

I take his hands in mine and hold them. "It's all right,
Denny. Tell me what you did then."

He looks at me with tormented eyes. "I didn't do nothing.
I just stood there in the kitchen. I didn't want to hurt Mrs. Feder.
But if I didn't . . ." His eyes tear.

"How long did you stay there?"

"Maybe an hour. But I had to do what Mama said. So I went
outside. I looked careful each way--she said make sure nobody saw me--so
I went across the street and went inside, and just then Mrs. Feder
started screaming she was dying and she ran in the street and I ran out
after her."

"Did she eat any of the rolls you brought?"

"No. Like I told you, I just got there."

"The garden, Denny. I need you to tell me something."

Denny frowns, worried. "Everything's gonna die if nobody
waters."

"I promise your garden will be taken care of. The white
flowers, Denny, where did you buy them?"

He smiles. "Aren't they pretty, those whachamacallits? I
always like to read the little tag that comes on them, but those
flowers never got a tag."

"They're called oleander."

I watch his face for a reaction and there is none. He
doesn't have a clue. "They didn't have a tag when you bought them?
That's unusual."

When he answers me, my heart skips a beat.

"I didn't buy them. They were a present."

"From whom, Denny?" I know the answer, but I need to hear
him say it. When he does, I send a silent prayer to God to thank Him.

I promise Denny he'll be home soon, and that's a promise
I intend to keep.

45

Scavenger Hunt

I
call an emergency meeting of
the Gladiators and they march promptly up to my apartment where the
coffee and bagels are already waiting. Why is it nothing can be done
without food as part of the proceedings? The girls are all atwitter.
Anything out of the ordinary is met with eagerness.

I tell them we are going on a scavenger hunt.

"You mean like when we were kids?" Evvie asks me.

"Something like that." I don't dare tell them about my
visit to Denny and its result. It would blow them away, and within five
minutes, since they are incapable of keeping a secret, everyone in the
building would hear about it. That mustn't happen. What we accomplish
today is crucial.

I'm encouraging their nosiness. As Sherlock would say,
the game is afoot. I dramatically announce that by the end of today
they will be amazed and dumbfounded. It will be a day they will never
forget. I can sense them fairly drooling with anticipation. You want to
know the secret of staying alive? Stay curious.

Well, that sure got their juices going and they started a
barrage of questions, like what are we doing and why and where and
when, which I immediately nip in the bud.

"Listen, dear friends and sister. Later for questions and
answers. Now we have work to do."

I hand them each a sheet of paper and they read what's
written with puzzled looks.

"But what does it mean? . . ." starts Bella, and I shush
her.

"Just do everything it says to do, and over dinner
tonight you'll find out. I know it doesn't make sense right now. It
will later."

"But--" says Sophie.

"No buts."

"I really, really need to ask this question," Sophie says
pleadingly. "Where are we eating?"

"No place you've ever eaten before."

They are all so excited they can hardly contain
themselves. "At least give us a name," says Bella.

I smile. I am on such a high today that I feel silly. So,
I improvise.
"Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant."

"Huh," says Ida. "I never heard of it."

"Or you can join me at
My Dinner With Andre
."

"Who's he? You're bringing a stranger?" asks Sophie.

"You might like the
Fried Green Tomatoes at the
Whistle Stop Cafe
."

"That sounds awful," says Ida.

"Or how about
Dinner at Eight
?"

"But you said five," Bella wails in confusion.

I stop. This is cruel, since they haven't a clue to what
I'm talking about. Except for Evvie, who's beginning to catch on and is
watching me as if I've got a screw loose. "I'm only teasing. You'll
learn the name of where we're eating when we get there. Come on, get in
the spirit of the game."

The girls study their sheets of paper.

"I need the applesauce crumb cake in an hour," I say to
Ida. It's her finest creation. "Can you do it?"

"Of course," she says proudly.

"But we already talked to Meals on Wheels," Evvie reminds
me.

"Go in person. That might jog their memories," I say.

"How are we supposed to get around? Are you driving us?"
Ida demands to know.

"No, I have my own errands to run. Take taxis."

"Taxis?" Sophie, the cheapskate, asks in horror. "Spend
our own money?"

"All right," I say wearily. "I'll pay you back."

"I see a lot of walking on this one," Ida points at her
paper.

"A little real exercise won't kill you."

"Every phone booth?"

"Every single one."

"So, what's the prize?" Sophie asks. "For winning the
scavenger hunt."

Evvie shakes her head. "We're all doing this together,
Soph. There's no winner."

"Oh."

"Believe me," I tell them, "you'll all be winners. Now
the most important thing of all: Tell nobody anything! Talk to no one.
And I mean
no one.
Not one person! Can you do that?"

I get a chorus of yeah, sures.

"This is a matter of life and death. No mistakes this
time." This is my only reference to the Kronk cremation catastrophe and
they hear me loud and clear. Now I get steady nods of assent.

"Promise. Swear to me on your children's heads."

This is the most serious of all promises, and one by one
they swear.

And we are off and running.