Stump Speech Murder (23 page)

With that, the sound of Arliss wailing in pain broke the relative quiet of the hallway.

“Are you sure?” asked Joan with a sly glare.

After a few minutes, the nurse who had guided them to the maternity ward, re-entered from Arliss’s room and motioned them to come in.  The two women cautiously stepped forward and walked into the small patient room, outfitted with monitors and devices for measuring the progress of labor and the well-being of the unborn baby.  Arliss was now lying in the only bed in the room, wearing one of those blue and white patterned hospital gowns that never flattered anyone.  She looked miserable and forlorn.  Various wires attached her stomach to the monitoring equipment.

“Is Bob here yet?” Arliss asked.

“No,” said Pamela, “but he’ll be here soon.  Jane Marie is getting him right after his class.”

“She’ll see to it he gets here fast, Arliss,” replied Joan, encouragingly.  “Don’t worry.”

Arliss smiled broadly, but her eyes belied her true feelings.  Joan and Pamela beamed back, but Arliss’s face slowly turned from pleasant beaming to excruciating grimace as another contraction racked her body.  The attending nurse, rushed over to the monitor and began reading the printouts.

“Here comes a big one,” observed the nurse as she looked at the paper, not at Arliss.  “Now, just breathe slowly.  Don’t hold your breath,” she commanded gently.  Arliss looked like she was attempting to follow the spoken directions but as the contraction peaked, she clenched her teeth and appeared to be holding her breath–totally against directions.  When the contraction subsided, she fell back on the bed, gulping for breath.

“You need to breathe during the contractions,” noted the nurse as she re-engaged the electrical nodes that had apparently been pulled off during Arliss’s latest contraction.  “My, these are strong ones.  You’re moving right along quickly, Mrs. Goodman.  The doctor will be in shortly to see how far you’re dilated.”

“Where’s Bob?” repeated Arliss, breathless and flushed, sweat forming on her forehead.

“You ladies can help to keep her calm, until the husband arrives,” suggested the nurse as she exited the room.

Pamela and Joan moved closer to the bed–one on either side.  The medical paraphernalia that surrounded their friend made her look like the victim of some alien abduction.  With her protruding belly, Pamela couldn’t help but imagine Arliss as lying inside a spaceship waiting the delivery of some combination alien-earthling child.  Of course, that daydream wasn’t far off the mark, given Arliss’s passion for animals.  Pamela wondered if Arliss would be able to provide as much mother’s love to her own child as she did to her animal children.

“Does it hurt?” asked Joan inexplicitly.

“Not now,” replied Arliss weakly. 

“When it starts up again,” suggested Joan, “you can squeeze our hands.”  She took Arliss’s right hand and Pamela took her left.  Arliss looked up at her friends and gave a tiny smile.  She squeezed each hand warmly.  Pamela looked at Joan and thought that for all of her bravado and wise-ass comments, when the chips were down, Joan was there.  She was glad that she and Joan could be here for Arliss–particularly when Bob couldn’t be–because the three of them had been friends for years, and Joan and Arliss had supported her and her crime-detecting efforts over the years–even when they thought she was crazy–which was more often than not.  They were–all three of them–a team, and when one needed advice or assistance, the other two came to the rescue.  Needless to say, maybe because she was the youngest and had the most to learn, Arliss was often the most in need.  Pamela remembered how she and Joan had assisted Arliss in her volatile romance with Bob Goodman, their wedding that almost never happened, and now the birth of their first child.  She almost thought of Arliss as her sister, which was hard to do because Pamela was an only child and her long-deceased parents had produced only her.  Even so, Arliss and Joan were both very dear to her, and now as she held her honorary sister’s hand along with her other honorary sister Joan, as they awaited the birth of what felt like the birth of a niece or nephew, she looked down at Arliss’s face and noted the stream of tears dripping from her eyes.  Maybe they were tears of pain, but maybe they were tears of joy.  Pamela reached up to her face with her free hand and felt the tears in her own eyes.  These were tears of joy.  No doubt about it.

“Arliss!  Honey!” called out Bob Goodman, rushing into the room, “I came as soon as I could!”  He ran to the bed and embraced his wife.  Pamela and Joan edged back and out of the room, allowing the couple to be alone.

“It’s good he arrived in time,” said Joan.  Pamela looked at her friend, who turned her head away.  Joan couldn’t fool her.  She saw the tears in Joan’s eyes too.

Chapter Twenty-Six

They had sat in the maternity ward waiting room for hours.  Pamela could have sworn when they brought Arliss in that little Goodwin would be popping out in no time at all.  She was mistaken.  As the hours rolled by, Joan and Pamela utilized the time to mull over the James Grant murder case.  Pamela revealed to Joan what she and Willard suspected about the 911 recording.  As it got to be suppertime, Pamela gathered her courage and phoned her husband.

“Rocky, honey,” she began, “I’m probably not going to make it home for dinner tonight.”  She readied herself for his negative response.

“You’re not down at that jail again, are you?” he queried. “Another political strategy meeting?”

“No, dear,” she assured her mate.  “I’m at the hospital . . . .”

“Hospital!” he cried, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Rocky,” she said, chuckling, “nothing’s wrong with me, dear.  Arliss is in labor.  Joan and I brought her down here.  Bob is here now and Joan and I are waiting.”

“Do you know how much longer it will be?” he asked, assuaged, his voice expressing his relief.

“No,” she sighed.  “I really thought she’d have it by now!  I mean her water broke and that’s usually a sign that things will go fast.  But it’s her first so they’re usually slower.  I just don’t know, but Joan and I are prepared to stay however long it takes, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, but maybe I should come down there.  I don’t like the idea of you driving home after dark, considering the problems you’ve been having lately.”  If he only knew, thought Pamela. 

“I’ll be fine,” she assured Rocky.  “I’ll come right home as soon as the baby is born.  I’ll call you when I leave the hospital.  It’s Reardon General and I just have to drive straight down Jackson–no side streets.”

“Okay,” he agreed, “but call when you leave.”

Okay, bye.”  She hung up.  Joan gave her one of her feminist leers that she liked to do whenever she thought Pamela was acting too “wifey” as she called it.

“So, is he rushing right down here to save you?” she sneered. 

“No,” said Pamela with a glare at her friend, “he trusts me.”

“A likely story,” huffed Joan.  “That man would have you dipped in bronze and set you on the mantelpiece if he had his way.”

“I may have forgotten to mention to you that the police were at our door in the middle of the night a few days back because there was some unmarked vehicle staking out our house.”

“Oh, really?” she replied.

“Yes,” said Pamela, “Shoop is having me followed now ever since I got that threatening phone call.”

“They still don’t know who it was who called?”

“They don’t,” reported Pamela, “but I think I do.”

“Who?” asked Joan, smiling and rubbing her hands together like some Hollywood gossip hound.

“Victor Baines.”

“The same guy who roughed you up after the meeting?” asked Joan, skeptically.

“Yeah,” said Pamela.  “I haven’t told Rocky about that either, so if he asks, don’t let on.”

“My lips are sealed,” Joan replied, giving her the fake key turning at the mouth gesture.  “You know, that Baines guy didn’t exactly seem like the type to threaten anyone.  He’s too–uh, fat.” 

 “Right, and according to Mrs. Brewster, he’s still recovering from by-pass surgery.”

“How did you talk to her?” asked Joan.

“She came to see me after class.”

“The mayor’s wife?  Why?”

“She wanted to plead with me to stay out of the investigation,” said Pamela with a chuckle.

“Wow!” whispered Joan, the hospital setting muting what would otherwise be a much larger reaction from her friend.  “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“I thought it did,” said Pamela, “but after talking to the woman, I get the distinct impression that she’s clueless about the inner workings of her husband’s campaign.  She just heard I was somehow involved with James’s investigation and she’d heard about my involvement with previous cases, and so she just assumed I might damage her husband’s campaign.”

“It could all be an act,” suggested Joan.  “Many very smart people are capable of playing dumb when it suits their purposes.”

“Are you speaking of anyone in particular?” asked Pamela.  Her friend’s knowing expression mystified her.

“No, just something Conrad said,” said Joan with a smile.

“Conrad?” exclaimed Pamela.  “You mean, Martin’s sleazy investigator?  That Gates guy?”

“What do you mean ‘sleazy’?” questioned Joan, with a huff, her jaw decidedly dropped.

“Oh, come on, Joan,” sneered Pamela, “the man had a ton of Vitalis in his hair and a suit jacket at least two sizes two small.”

“Surface features,” said Joan, “totally on the surface.  The man is a fascinating mélange of amazing experiences.  You wouldn’t believe the places he’s been and some of the things he’s done.  I probably couldn’t tell you, because of your sensitive nature . . . .”

“My sensitive nature!” cried Pamela, “Joan Bentley!  You’re smitten!  With a gumshoe!”

“He’s completely different from your average academic,” continued Joan, “who are mostly totally predictable.  Now, Conrad, on the other hand, never ceases to surprise me.”

“Surprise you?” exclaimed Pamela.  “You sound as if you’ve already been out . . . .  Joan, have you gone out with that man?”

“So what if I have?” chirped Joan, sweetly, smiling benignly at Pamela over her shoulder.

“You barely met him,” shrieked Pamela in a stage whisper.

“Who are you, my mother?” responded Joan with a huff.  “I’m of age.  I don’t need your approval to date.”

“But, Joan!” continued Pamela, “The man is so far beneath your usual . . . choices.  I mean, you typically have much better . . . taste.”

“Oh my, aren’t we superior!” scowled Joan.  “You think you’re better than anyone else because you married an Army cook!”

“That’s not the point!” she shot back.

“What is the point?” asked Joan, now nose to Pamela’s nose. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Pamela, leaning back in the hospital chair.  She looked around and was gratified that there were no other people in the maternity ward waiting room at the moment.  The last thing she should be doing is fighting with Joan while they sat here and waited for Arliss’s baby to be born.

“How long have we been here?” asked Joan, changing the subject, much to Pamela’s relief.

“At least six hours,” replied Pamela, looking down at her watch.

“Do you want to wait here while I go down to the hospital cafeteria and get us some sandwiches?” Joan asked.

Pamela’s stomach lurched at the thought of sandwiches made by anyone except her sandwich king Rocky.  Eating a regular sandwich was like eating raw cardboard, she surmised.

At that moment, Bob came out of Arliss’s room.  Pamela realized that the agonizing cries that had been coming from the room over the last few hours (and that she had been trying to ignore unsuccessfully) had slowed and ultimately ceased.  Bob looked around quickly and then noticed Joan and Pamela sitting alone in the small waiting room slightly past the nurses’ station.  He hurried over to the two women.

“It’s a boy!” he beamed.

“Oh, Bob!” exclaimed Pamela, “we’re so happy for you and Arliss!” She flung her arms around Bob’s neck and squeezed him tight.

“Wonderful!” added Joan and also gave Bob a small hug. 

“Here,” said Bob, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out two pink cellophane-wrapped cigars.  “They’re bubble gum.”  He handed one to Pamela and one to Joan.