Another Senseless Killing (5) “Okay, Margo.” She turned the key in the lock and the door opened slowly and silently. Inside was a spacious entryway with a gray and white slate floor. The bottom half of the walls were also gray and white slate. The top half was smoked glass. Above me was a small but ornate chandelier. It all smelled of affluence. "Kate has money, all right." I didn't hide being impressed. "She likes nice things." Margo said. I tried to interpret Margo's evasive comment as we walked into great room. A large picture window, draped with brown velour, dominated one wall. The opposite wall led to the porch. The wallpaper was a tan pinstripe curio with assorted expensive looking collectibles stood between the two chairs. The carpet was very thick and very white. Recessed lighting added to the rich atmosphere. In the dining room was a twelve foot long glass table with a large gold candelabra in the center and ten chrome chairs against it. Paintings by Schneer and Rothman were everywhere. Tibors and Iladros along with fine china covered glass shelves along one wall. More recessed lighting gave the room that final touch of elegance. On the left, a short walk took us into a small, spotless, and fully equipped kitchen. It was all in white --- just like my sister's. "You told me Kate doesn't like to cook." "She seldom has the time." I opened the cupboard beneath the sink. There was a garbage disposal and trash compactor. "Everything looks brand new." "Just about everything is." Margo said. Then she pointed to the right. "The bedrooms are this way." We turned and took three steps to a short hallway. Two rooms were on one side, one room was on the other side. I opened a door at the end of the hall and took a peek. It was a full bath twice the size of my sister's. This room was also spotless --- just like the kitchen. I opened the door to the large bedroom, all done in lavender: lavender walls, lavender drapes, lavender carpet, lavender comforter. "Is this your sister’s?" My chest was suddenly in a vice and I couldn’t breath. Margo thought for a second. "Sometimes." "Sometimes? That makes no sense." Margo opened another bedroom door. The interior was all done in various shades of green. "This room is never used." "Don't tell me you did the decorating." She turned to me and smiled. "Who else?" "Well --- I don't get the color schemes." "Manny, there's nothing to get." Margo said as she took another key from her purse and opened the last door. I didn't comment. I could see that her hand was shaking. "This is difficult." Margo hesitated a moment, then she took a deep breath and we entered. This room was the smallest of the three. In the center was a queen size water-bed with a red satin spread. The room smelled of a very sweet incense --- almost sickeningly sweet, an odor that even Nick's cigars could never compete with. All the walls and the ceiling were mirrored. I just stood and stared for what felt like days. Finally I heard Margo's voice. "Manny!" She was shouting. "Earth to Manny!" I turned quickly. "What?" "Look. I'm the one who should be all bent out of shape, not you." "I am not all bent out of shape." "Well --- you could have fooled me." “I happen to find strange empty houses --- spooky.” “Don’t worry.” She forced a smile. “I’ll protect you.” “Very funny.” Only it wasn’t Margo then motioned for me to follow her to the far side of the bedroom. "You have to take a look at this." She pointed to a tall and cylindrical lamp that emitted painfully blue light. "Are there any other lights in here?" I had to squint to see. "No. This is it." I ran my finger up and down a lamp that was shaped like a penis. “That lamp is one of a kind.” Margo said. “I believe it.” “Kate had it made for her a couple of years ago in --- I think Sausalito.” “So,” I cleared my throat. “to turn the light on and off, you just rub the --- “ “Penis.” Margo grinned as she finished my sentence. "This room is very --- erotic." I said. My eyes were still on the lamp. "That's the idea, isn't it?" Margo said as she sat on the edge of the waterbed. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like this before.” “I know I haven’t.” Margo spoke dreamily. "This is such an out of character role for Kate. I just don't understand why --- " Her words drifted off. “Margo, I’m very uncomfortable here.” “So am I.” “Then let’s leave.” She stood, then walked next to me. “First I want to see the basement.” “Basement?” "With a finished rec-room." She added. I followed her out of the sensual surroundings and into the hall. Then she carefully locked the door. We walked around the corner, and down a short flight of steps. The temperature, as recorded by a thermometer at the base of the stairs, said seventy-two. It felt more like ninety-two! "Maybe I should go back to selling insurance." She stared at me for a second, then shook her head. "Somehow, Manny, I can't see you as an insurance salesman." "Well, no one else did either --- which is why I'm now a P.I." The huge recreation room was nicely furnished with several Rattan chairs, a Rattan sofa and two matching tables. The walls were a dark paneling and the floor was a tight black and gray indoor-outdoor carpet. A forty-inch TV covered most of one wall. The adjacent walls were loaded with romance novels. "Your sister enjoyed reading these --- " She cut me off sharply. "Why are you speaking of her in the past tense?" I turned away. "Sorry." I would have to watch my verbs from now on. A sliding wooden door led to a combination furnace and laundry room. I lifted the lid to the washer. "This ever been used?" Margo shrugged and we went back to the rec-room. I opened a drawer to one of the tables. There was a pen, some blank pieces of paper, an old romance novel and a framed photo of two very young girls --- maybe aged twelve or thirteen. I took out the photo and showed it to Margo. She froze. "My God! I haven't seen this picture in years." We both looked closely at it. "I assume this is you and Kate." She nodded and smiled. "Even then her face was perfect." Margo took the photo from me, studied it a while longer, then slipped it into her purse. "Well --- nothing else here." I said rubbing my beard. "In fact, besides the --- sexy bedroom, there's nothing anywhere." I took several final glances about the room before we went outside. The door closed behind us as slowly and as silently as it had opened. “I want to talk to Kate’s next door neighbor.” Margo said as she locked the door and put the key away. The sky suddenly became overcast and a brisk wind decided to make an appearance causing a sharp drop in the temperature. I was glad I brought my ski sweater. I walked to the car and put it on. Margo and I looked at each other briefly. We both knew there were things to be said. It would obviously have to wait. “Are you sure you’re up to this interrogation?” I asked Margo shrugged. “Why not?” “Because if we had Nick here --- “ “Well, we don’t!” She snapped. “So just forget Nick!” “What I meant was --- “ “We can handle it ourselves, Manny.” “Right.” Once again I nodded resignedly as I followed Margo next door. She tapped the metal knocker against the door and we waited. “Who lives here?" I asked. "A forty-two year old widow." Margo said quietly. "Her husband was a prominent neurosurgeon." She hit the knocker again. "He died --- of all things --- of a massive stroke." "Recently?" I zipped my sweater up to my neck. "Yes. About --- oh --- three or four months ago." "So maybe you should say a rich forty-two year old widow." "You'll see she's a little strange." “Strange?” I don’t need this! We continued to wait. I looked at my watch. It was twelve-fifteen. We'd left Margo's over an hour ago. “If she’s strange, why bother to question her at all.” I asked. “Frankly I would rather --- “ Just then the door opened. A short and very thin middle-aged woman stood in the doorway. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and had to weigh less than a hundred pounds. Her messy hair was the color of my beard: ratty gray with white specks. Her small nondescript nose, dark deep-set eyes, high cheekbones and prominent chin indicated a face that at one time could have been beautiful. But the lines at the corners of her eyes and on the back of her hands betrayed her. "Can I help you?" Her gaze searched for a place to land. "Yes." Margo spoke up. "My name is Margo Blair and this is Manny Gold. He’s a private investigator. We're investigating the disappearance of my sister, Kate." She hesitated a moment, then gestured toward the house with her thumb. "Your next door neighbor." The woman looked confused. "I know we've met before." Margo said. After several seconds of silence the woman said dreamily, "Well --- perhaps --- " "I didn't catch your name." I said cocking my head. "Oh --- " She looked past me. " --- Martha Bowden." Two cars sped by. This time we all looked. "You say we've met?" Martha asked Margo. "Yes." Margo was having a tough time orienting her. "When I came to visit my sister." "Oh." Martha frowned. Margo and I exchanged a brief but concerned glance. "I --- I do remember meeting you now, but --- " She was suddenly deep in thought. "But --- what?" Margo prodded. "I --- I'm not sure. Something --- " Martha blinked several times. "I --- I can't remember." "It's very important that you tell us all you know." Margo added emphatically. "Tell me, Martha." I spoke slowly. "When did you last see Kate Blair?" There was a long silence. Then Martha asked unexpectedly, "My, aren't my geraniums pretty?" Margo and I again exchanged a quick glance. "Martha --- " Margo started to speak. The tiny woman interrupted. "I'm seldom home anymore since Parker died. And when I am at home, I keep to myself." Then she looked up at the clouds and blinked again. "I don't see much --- like I used to." "Well then." I pressed on. "Maybe you could remember any visitors that Kate might have had over the past few months." She paused and looked around, deep in thought again, wrinkling her nose and narrowing her eyelids. "I'm sorry." She smiled. Her smile was nice and friendly. "My mind just doesn't seem to want to co-operate." Margo and I smiled back. I didn't know where her mind was. I felt sorry for her. She wasn't very old. I sighed and motioned to Margo. "Well, Mrs. Bowden," I said, "we're sorry to have bothered you. If you --- " "Although," she said suddenly, "I do remember a --- black man." "Rowland!" Margo sneered just like she did the last time his name came up. "Do you remember anything about this black man, or anything that may have taken place between him and Miss Blair?" I asked. It seemed like years before she answered. "I --- I'm afraid not." Margo and I glanced at each other again. "Mrs. Bowden." Margo pleaded. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?" There was another interminable pause. It was like pulling teeth. "Well --- yes, there is --- something else --- but --- " We waited patiently. "It --- it was so long ago --- ." She smiled again. "What was it?" Margo had to be ready to scream. "Think, Mrs. Bowden. Please." She shrugged. "I --- I'm sorry." I took a deep breath and returned Martha’s smile. "Thank you anyway. We're sorry to have bothered you." Her smile faded as she quickly closed the door. Margo looked at me with fire in her eyes as we walked to the car. "Herb Rowland!" She spat out the words. "I knew it!" * IX Trying to get the air bubbles out of a new water-bed is a nerve wrecking pain in the ass! But taking the damn thing back would be a bigger pain in the ass. My sister was no help and I wasn't about to ask my brother-in-law. I was about to add the smelly red conditioner when the phone rang. I lit up a Camel instead and picked up the receiver on the third ring. "Manny." I started to respond but Nick kept talking. "I got the damnedest phone call this morning from a guy named --- " I could hear paper rattling. " --- Clem Perkins." "Who the hell is Clem Perkins?" I hate it when people take an hour getting to the point. And Nick was an expert at it. "He's the groundskeeper at Saint Augustine Cemetery." St Augustine Cemetery! "Sorry, Nick." I took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "But I never heard of him." "Well neither have I --- until this morning, that is." I began to get impatient. "So, who is he?" "He says he was appointed by the trustees of the township to take care of this cemetery. But now, he claims he's nearing seventy-five years of age and feels it's time to quit." "And he told you all this over the phone?" I moved the ashtray closer. "There's more." I could hear more papers rattle. "I can't wait." "This cemetery is ancient --- like it's a very old burial ground." St Augustine Cemetery! "Clem says it's small, overcrowded and covered with weeds. And it's been this way for quite some time." "Nick, I hope to hell there's some point to this brilliant dissertation." I took another drag and sat down on the bed. "Just listen, okay?" A certain edginess crept into Nick's voice. "According to Perkins, the people buried there were buried --- oh --- seventy or eighty years ago. And the families of these people are dead, but buried someplace else." "Nick --- " An ash dropped onto the table. "Consequently, no one ever comes to visit." "Nick. What the fuck has all this got to do with anything?" "I'm getting to that." Nick went on. "I guess there's been a lot of red tape to go through over the years to get someone to claim these grave sites and relocate them to a newer cemetery. One where the grounds are cared for on a regular basis." "It's called perpetual care." I offered. "I know." "So, if things are so bad, why doesn't somebody complain?" I put out my cigarette. "Manny, you're not listening. They're all dead. And when Clem retires, it'll be like a ghost town --- excuse the pun." "Nick, I feel I've given you sufficient time. Now what is the reason for all this worthless information?" I got off the bed and sat in a chair, putting my feet up on the table. "Bear with me, okay?" He took a deep breath. "Since this cemetery is so small, Clem knows exactly where each and every grave is located." "I'm impressed." I lit up another cigarette. "It gets better." Nick paused. "One of the markers has a grave on either side of it." "Nick, ole buddy, this time you lost me completely." "Manny. Graveyards, even remote, desolated and neglected --- " "Like the ones at Saint Augustine." I interjected. "Yes, like the ones at Saint Augustine. They all honor a time worn tradition, which allows for one grave per marker." I put out my cigarette and took my feet off the table. "So what?" "So," continued the lieutenant, "this marker has two graves. One is old and one is new." There was a long silence before Nick asked, "Don't you get it?" "No. Look, Nick, I'm really tired. And now I'm totally confused." Then Nick said dramatically, "The point of all this is that someone is buried at Saint Augustine who isn't supposed to be." My heart skipped a beat. "And you think --- " "It's worth a visit." "I'll be right over." * X The seldom-traveled narrow dirt road off Route sixty-eight was surrounded by nothing but farmland. Acres of corn and soybeans on either side made driving it the ultimate in boredom. The four miles seemed more like forty. The scant few isolated shacks and lakes did nothing to break up the monotony. “Nick, the more I think about it, the more absurd this whole business becomes.” I lit up a cigarette. “I mean --- who would dispose of a body this way?” “Well, I guess we’re gonna find that out, aren’t we.” I took a final puff and threw the butt out the window. We drove in silence for several minutes. “I hate cemeteries!” I said bluntly.
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