Styx & Stone (11 page)

“Why don’t you play a record from the shelf?” asked Gigi.

And there, untouched by the burglar, wedged between Prokofiev and Ravel, was a row of LPs: the complete symphonies, “
Vocalise
,” the four piano concertos,
Vespers
. . . Enough to keep me intoxicated all night long.

But once the music and sherry were flowing, once Gigi had removed my clothing, loving, gentle, deliciously naughty, I caught sight of a pair of my father’s reading glasses on the desk. I froze. Folded casually on the blotter, they were catching the lamp’s glow and mirroring it in both lenses, like a cat’s eyes reflecting light off the retina. I looked away, tried to think of something else, of Gigi’s warm breath on my skin, his lips brushing so nimbly over my neck, his hands stroking and caressing my thighs, his torso pinning me against the divan. But it was no good. I could only see the glasses glowing at me.

“Ellie, tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered.

“Let’s get out of this room,” I said, and slipped off the divan, out the door, and into my old room across the corridor.

At midnight, there was a knocking at the door. I slipped into one of my father’s paisley robes and padded out to the foyer to see who was there. Through the peephole, I made out three hunched figures in overcoats. When one of them turned, I recognized Victor Chalmers’s needle nose.

“Who is it?” came a whisper from behind me: Gigi, clutching a sheet around his waist to conceal his nudity.

“Chalmers,” I said, and he dropped the sheet.

“
Oddio!
Don’t let him in!”

I shooed him away, telling him to wait in my bedroom. He took off on a run, and I watched him go, too distracted by the view to worry about the sheet he’d left behind.

“Rather late to be calling,” I said to Chalmers after I’d opened the door. His wife, Helen, wrapped in a long fur, stood behind him, and son, Billy, the same patrician expression on his face as at the reception, slouched against the wall in the rear.

“May we come in?” said Chalmers finally. “I hate to intrude at this hour, but I must speak to you about Ercolano.”

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

The professor shook his head, then Mrs. Farber’s door popped open a crack. It was one of those sudden noises, not loud but abrupt, and the four of us were startled. Angela Farber peered out tentatively.

“Walter?” she asked. “Oh, Ellie,” she said, the disappointment obvious on her face. “I heard voices.”

“I’m sorry,” said Chalmers, staring at the woman in the doorway. “We must have been too loud.”

Her eyes shifted from me to the three figures in the hallway, inspecting each in turn. Victor Chalmers was ever more embarrassed by the scrutiny, his wife stared coolly ahead, ignoring the woman, and Billy yawned.

“Good night, Ellie,” said Mrs. Farber. “Good night,” she said to the others. Chalmers nodded curtly, and she closed the door.

“Do you know her?” I asked him once we were all inside my father’s apartment. Then I noticed the bedsheet and bent over to gather it up. It must have looked strange to my visitors, but they didn’t ask.

“She does look familiar,” said Chalmers. “But I can’t remember where I’ve seen her, other than this morning when I stopped by. Maybe on a visit to your father. Of course,” he said, touching his forehead. “She’s been to a couple of lectures at the department. Taking an interest in Italian culture, it seems. Your father introduced us at a symposium. Let’s see,” he wondered, tapping his chin. “Was it Verga or
I promessi sposi
?”

He really was trying to remember.

“How did you get up here?” I asked, wondering if Mrs. Farber and Victor Chalmers weren’t better acquainted than he admitted. “The elevator man is supposed to call.”

My guests exchanged looks. “I must have asked for the wrong apartment. The man just let us up,” said Chalmers, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who’s on duty?” I asked, piling the sheet onto one of the sofas.

Again the shrug. “A middle-aged man. Stocky.”

Raul, probably. I let it go for the time being, but I intended to find out.

“Would it be too great an imposition to beg a drink?” asked Chalmers, heading toward the study without waiting for an answer.

Billy, his mother, and I followed him down the hall, a few feet from the bedroom where Gigi was cowering naked. I knew he was still naked, because his clothes were on the floor behind my father’s desk where he had shed them a couple of hours earlier. Chalmers made for the liquor cabinet as if mounting a frontal attack, helping himself to a tumbler of vodka and two ice cubes in a trice. I stood by my father’s desk and toed a pair of men’s briefs out of view. Chalmers had downed half the glass before remembering his manners.

“I’m sorry, Ellie. May I fix you something? You drink Scotch, don’t you?”

Helen Chalmers sniffed.

“Nothing for me,” I said, lighting a cigarette instead. Still no ashtray, so I used an empty paper clip box. “What about you, Mrs. Chalmers? Billy?”

The young man smiled. “No, thanks.”

Helen Chalmers licked her lips without realizing, debating an answer, then asked for a sherry. Victor glared at his wife, but in company held his tongue. Wedging myself between Chalmers and the bar, I reasserted my rights as hostess and poured her a medium-sized glass. No sooner had Chalmers relinquished his claim to the liquor cabinet, than he appeared to have designs on my father’s desk. I nearly knocked him over heading him off. His drink sloshed around in his glass, but nothing spilled. I took a seat, Gigi’s underclothes safe once again.

Chalmers removed his coat, folded it gently on the arm of the leather sofa, then refilled his vodka. He sat down and invited his wife to do the same. Billy slumped into the adjacent chair.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.

“Ruggero Ercolano was not alone the night he died,” announced Chalmers
père
. “He was keeping company with a young woman.”

“So? Why tell me?”

“Because you asked Franco Saettano, among others, how it was that I discovered Ruggero in the tub after midnight on a weekend.” His tone was as accusatory as he dared, given the circumstances; he obviously needed something from me. “I want you to know the truth. He was not alone.”

“Are you suggesting there was foul play?” I asked, rocking lightly in my father’s chair.

Chalmers shook his head. “Of course not. Ruggero died stupidly, accidentally. But I’m worried about the implications of me being the one who found him. Thanks to you, Ellie, people are wondering what I was doing there.”

“Well,” I said, “what were you doing there?”

“You must understand, Ellie, that my reputation cannot suffer this scandal. I feel as much a victim as poor Ruggero. I was minding my own business, reading in bed. The phone rang, and someone told me Ruggero was dead in his bathtub, please rush over right away.”

“Who phoned you?”

He bowed his head. “I can’t say. I gave my word that I would never implicate her in this. She had nothing to do with Ruggero’s death; it would be devastating, intensely embarrassing for her. It could ruin her life.”

I stubbed out my cigarette. “You’re not asking for my help; you want me to keep quiet.”

Chalmers drew a sigh and stood to fix himself another drink. Billy just sat there on his chair, penny loafers and argyles crossed over each other at the ankle. I wondered why he and his mother had come.

“You might want to keep the bottle close, Professor Chalmers,” I said as he poured, and just as wise as it sounds.

“It was Hildy Jaspers,” he said in a low voice, ignoring my remark. “I don’t know if you’ve heard the gossip about her at the department, but she’s something of a good-time girl. That’s her business, of course, and in these times I don’t wish to pass judgment. But it has no bearing on Ruggero’s death; that was an accident. She swore to me he was dead when she arrived.”

I wondered what to believe. I had no ax to grind with Hildy Jaspers, even if she did seem awfully cozy with Gigi. Still, what she did on her own time was her business.

“Why did she call you?” I asked.

“She naturally turned to a person of authority, integrity, and discretion,” he huffed. “Since I knew both her and Ruggero, she figured I was the one to call.”

“What do you think, Billy?” I asked, baiting the father. “Does that seem logical to you?”

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess. She was in trouble, so she called him.”

“Leave him out of this,” said Chalmers. “Billy and Helen came along as a show of support. In the meantime, I would rather you not tell Miss Jaspers that I betrayed her confidence. She’s a nice girl, after all. A little too giving of herself perhaps, but a nice girl.”

I didn’t like swearing to the promises of others. “In essence, Dr. Chalmers, you’re asking me to put the whole thing to bed, just on your word.”

“Look,” he said, eyes steely gray, “I was in Bronxville Friday evening for dinner. Helen and Billy were with me. I only got the call from Miss Jaspers when I was ready to retire for the night.”

“I’m not investigating you,” I said. “Tell the police, not me.”

“What about Miss Jaspers?” he asked. “Are you going to tell her I betrayed her confidence?”

“I can’t say I won’t ask her if it’s true.”

Chalmers slapped his glass down on the table. “Go ahead,” he sneered. “Tell her you know she’s just a randy little slut with the devil under her skirts!” Helen Chalmers choked on her sherry. Billy couldn’t quite suppress a naughty smile. “You’ll do it to get at me,” continued Chalmers. “Because you’ve always hated me. You and your brother both.” He paused for almost thirty seconds, then he picked up his drink. He continued in a softer tone: “So, go ahead and tell Miss Jaspers what you will. I’ll stick to my original story if I must.
I
found Ruggero Ercolano in his bathtub.”

“All right, then,” I said, unwilling to retract my statement, especially if he was giving me the out. “Anything else?”

“Well, there’s one more thing,” he said. “I’m concerned about Bernard Sanger.”

“Why so?”

“I don’t trust him,” said Chalmers.

“He conspired with Ercolano to make your father chairman,” said Helen, and Chalmers threw another wicked look her way.

I remembered Hildy’s caution on Bernie Sanger earlier that evening.

“He’s a schemer, Ellie,” said Chalmers. “Don’t trust him.”

“And a lecher,” injected Helen Chalmers. “He asked Ruth for a date at the reception this evening. Imagine! He soiled Hildy Jaspers. Of course, she’s just a tramp. But my Ruth? Never!”

“Don’t fall off that high horse, Mrs. Chalmers,” I said.

“Of all the nerve! Victor, aren’t you going to say anything? I’ve a good mind to walk out of here right now.”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to finish your drink,” I said, and Billy laughed.

Chalmers took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “You are on a high horse, Helen,” he said. Then to me: “But as for Sanger, I intend to say my piece in his reviews, and what I write will not bode well for his career in academe.”

“What about my father?” I asked. “I understand Bernie’s quite close to him.”

“What of it?”

“I’m no expert, but as long as Bernie Sanger is my father’s protégé, he’ll get a fair shake.”

“That won’t be long,” muttered Helen Chalmers.

I didn’t answer her remark. Her husband, however, wasn’t quite so magnanimous. He snatched the glass of sherry from her hand and dashed it into the wet bar sink. Then he turned to me.

“I must apologize for my wife, Ellie. Believe me, we’re all hoping Abe makes a full and speedy recovery.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then grabbed his coat, and nodded to his family. He’d said his piece. I showed them to the door, where I asked one more question:

“Where’s Ruth?”

They paused in the hallway. “She’s at home,” said Chalmers. “Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t have a chance to speak to her this afternoon. I’ve always liked Ruth.”

Chalmers smiled and shook my hand. “Give her a call, Ellie. She’d love to see you. It would do her a world of good.”

I waited in the hallway for a couple of minutes, listening to the elevator chain click its way down fifteen floors. Then, confident my visitors had left the building, I buzzed the elevator.