A Minor Case of Murder Page 10

  Donna waited for Madame Alexina to resume the reading, but Madame Alexina sat there, tension growing in the silence, like bacteria.

  Suddenly Madame Alexina announced, "The Moon," before slipping back into silence. When Madame Alexina continued, she chose her words with care.

  The Far End of the Boardwalk

  "Why didn't you pick up the phone?" Long after Cheyenne had said her goodbyes, her words hung in the air like a blimp, taking aerial shots of Cassie's condo.

  Cassie spent the afternoon ducking reflexively each time the question passed overhead. Why didn't she pick up the phone, she wondered. She tried to work on a new story, but the question floating overhead continued to get in the way, bumping up against her computer screen. She spent the afternoon and evening trying on excuses, but none of them were a good fit. She missed Andy already, perhaps more than she was willing to admit.

  That night, Cassie fell asleep thinking about the dirigible in her bedroom. That night she dreamt of the dirigible exploding in her bedroom. Oh, the telephony.

  Cassie awoke at 3:30, a dull ache above her left eye, part sinus headache, part heartache. A hot shower took care of the headache. Cassie understood what she needed to do to take care of the heartache. Throwing her essentials in an overnight bag, Cassie selected a few of her favorite CDs for the drive. Settling in behind the wheel of her rebuilt '67 Ford Mustang, Cassie bypassed the parkway, meandering along back roads through the Pine Barrens, Count Basie on the piano, setting the mood for her pre-dawn drive.

  It had been more than a year since Cassie, or anyone else, had reported a mysterious dead deer sighting. Still Cassie found herself scanning the roadway, peering into the pine forest for evidence of the elusive Jersey Devil. Briefly, Cassie considered the DEP's attack on her integrity. Had she exaggerated her findings? She accepted that some might find her explanation far-fetched, but her account of the events she knew to be accurate. Cassie was satisfied with her reportage. While Cassie considered the question, Count Basie slid in some stride piano, echoes of Fats Waller reverberating in the Mustang.

  By the time Count Basie was finished, the aroma of cranberry bogs and pine needles gave way to sand and salt air. Moments later, Cassie found herself pulling into Andy's driveway. She looked at her wristwatch. The time blinked 5:00 a.m.

  Cassie felt silly sitting behind the wheel of her Mustang, but she could not bring herself to knock on the door at that hour. It would make her, she decided, look desperate. Cassie was determined to wait for sunup.

  At eight that morning, stepping outside to get the morning paper, Andy MacTavish discovered Cassie O'Malley fast asleep in his driveway. Opening the car door, Andy kissed her lightly on the cheek. Cassie looked up at Andy. "I got your phone message."

  Andy smiled. "You've got style, Ms. O'Malley."

  "I was worried maybe it was a little pushy, showing up on your doorstep without calling."

  "I'm glad you're here, Cassie."

  "I love you, Andy MacTavish." Cassie paused. "But I need more than love. I need a cup of coffee."

  Andy smiled. "Let's go inside. I just put up a pot."

  Sitting on the deck overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, a mug of steamy hot Arabica warming her hands and her heart, Cassie understood why she had been scared to pick up the phone. "I love it here, Andy."

  There was so much that Andy wanted to say. It was hard to know where to start. "Have you ever been to the zoo?"

  "Huh?"

  "The zoo. I was thinking maybe we should go to the zoo today."

  Cassie was confused. "When you found me in the driveway this morning, you weren't … I mean … really … the zoo?"

  Andy began tidying up the coffee cups. "You'll see. It'll be fun."

  Strolling through the county zoo with Andy as her tour guide, Cassie allowed the day to unfold before her. They watched as prairie dogs peeked out from their underground tunnels, as otters swam lazily in the cement pond. They admired, from a distance, the Bengal tiger and, from behind glass, the Burmese python. They lamented the solitary bison, and its cloud of insect admirers. They spotted leopards, zebras and giraffes, camels, cougars and capybara. The prairie dogs and the otters, the Bengal tiger and the Burmese python, the bison and its cloud of insect admirers, the leopards, zebras and giraffes, the camels, cougars and the capybara all watched as Andy and Cassie strolled through the county zoo, holding hands, pointing and laughing and pausing every few hundred feet to remind themselves of their good fortune, and kiss.

  "That was fun."

  Andy wasn't certain whether Cassie was referring to the zoo or to the kiss, but he was certain it really didn't matter. "Are you tired?"

  "What did you have in mind?"

  And so, when they exited the county zoo, Andy took them to the boardwalk, to the rides, to the carousel. Cassie felt like she'd already caught the brass ring, but she rode with Andy, again and again, the universe spreading out around them as they rode their brightly painted wooden steeds.

  Each time they made a revolution, Cassie noticed another food stand on the boardwalk. "Can we get something to eat?"

  Andy suddenly realized they had not eaten all day. "Of course, Cassie. What do you want?"

  Cassie was ready with a most unusual response. "You know what I always wanted to do when I was a kid? I always wanted to see if I could eat one of everything. What do you say, Andy? We'll start at one end of the boardwalk and eat our way down to the other end, stopping at every food stand along the way. Are you game?"

  Andy laughed. "Are you serious? You wanna eat all that crap? I bet you don't make it past the second food stand."

  "You don't know me very well, Andy MacTavish. You just try and keep up with me."

  With that, Cassie set out on her quest to eat at every food stand on the boardwalk, a skeptical Andy scrambling to catch up. They started with a slice of pizza (Cassie adding onions and peppers to her slice) and washed it down with a Dr Pepper.

  "Give up yet?" Andy teased Cassie as she emitted a most unladylike burp.

  "You better just worry about yourself, Andy. How about we try one of those foot-long hot dogs?"

  They each had a foot-long topped with mustard and sauerkraut. Andy was giggling with delight, mustard flying off the end of the frank, miraculously missing them both.

  Cassie showed no signs of slowing down. "Not bad," Andy admitted as she polished off the last bite of frank. "You know what I'm in the mood for?" Andy asked, hoping he could bring their effort to a quick conclusion. "How about we try the cotton candy?"

  Their snack was turning competitive. Extreme eating. Cotton candy. Saltwater taffy. Pistachios. Clam chowder (first Manhattan and then New England). Onion rings.

  By now the boardwalk was beginning to buzz as word spread regarding their adventure. A small crowd began to follow the couple, rooting for their favorite, editorializing on their selections and making side bets regarding the possible outcomes.

  Sausage and pepper on a torpedo roll. Corn on the cob. Fried clams. Italian ices. "Genuine" Philadelphia cheese steak. Orange Julius.

  Andy was in serious gastric distress, but Cassie only seemed to gain strength with each order. Andy was impressed. This was a woman of diverse talents, he told himself.

  French fries. Zeppoli. Custard cones. Steamers. Chocolate fudge. Pretzels.

  They reached the far end of the boardwalk, Andy grateful to have come to the end.

  "Are you quitting, Andy? Give me a minute for a pee break and I'll start back the other way."

  "To make things a little more interesting," Cassie suggested upon returning from the ladies' room, "why don't we try some of the amusements as we eat our way back?"

  Andy tried to keep up, finally accepting defeat halfway back, between the roller coaster and the whip, and halfway through a bucket of fried chicken.

  In the car, riding back to Andy's oceanfront home, Cassie realized that Andy had yet to explain the purpose of his telephone call. "It sounded like you were in some kind of trouble."

&nb
sp; Rumor, Gossip and Story Ideas

  "I had a visit yesterday from the police." Andy and Cassie were sitting on the couch in his family room, watching TV, recovering from their bout of extreme eating.

  Cassie changed the channel, looking for an old movie. "About the dead girl Heather?"

  Andy did his best to explain. "No, I don't think so. They were asking me about Donna."

  Cassie had almost forgotten about Donna. "You mean she hasn't turned up yet?"

  "No." Andy was worried. "I'm worried."

  Cassie tried to downplay the situation. "I'm sure she's fine, Andy."

  "I hope you're right, Cassie."

  Cassie waited, giving Andy time to figure out what he wanted to say. "I need you to help me find her, Cassie."

  Cassie continued to work her way through Andy's cable TV menu. "Let the police do their job, Andy. They'll find her."

  "I need you to help me find her before the police do."

  For the first time, Cassie grew concerned. "Tell me you're not involved in this somehow, Andy."

  "I'm not involved in this."

  The pain Cassie felt in her gut was not from overeating. "I mean it, Andy. Tell me again."

  Andy met Cassie's gaze. "I mean it, Cassie. I'm not involved."

  Again, Cassie sensed she needed to give Andy more time.

  "Only I think maybe my kid brother Billy is."

  Cassie turned off the television. "What does your brother have to do with all of this?"

  "Do you need anything?" Andy stood up and walked into the kitchen. Retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator, Andy explained. "Billy and Donna were dating."

  Cassie was reminded of how much she didn't yet know about the life of Andy MacTavish. "That doesn't mean he was involved, Andy … unless … unless there's something more you're about to tell me."

  "Billy and I don't talk much, but he called me a couple of days before the end of the season, to ask a favor." Andy explained how Billy had asked that he give Donna the last night of the season off so that Billy and Donna could go to a concert in Philly.

  There were too many years of bad blood between Andy and Billy for Cassie to fully understand the hostile subtext, but the point was obvious. Cassie understood what concerned Andy: that Donna had skipped the ball game to keep a date with his brother and now, a week later, Donna still had failed to reappear. Cassie understood why Andy would suspect that his brother was involved, but when she said as much, Andy explained that there was still more to the story.

  "The morning after Heather died, Billy told me that he and Donna had a fight."

  "What happened?"

  "Billy talked Donna into skipping the ball game. It was Billy who engineered having Heather cover for her, but the night of the game, when he picked Donna up, he says that they got into a fight. Billy says that Donna refused to go to the concert with him after all and Billy, being Billy, says that he went to the concert without her."

  Andy stopped to catch his breath. "I never know how much of Billy's stories to believe, but even if I accept everything he told me as gospel, he was still the last person to see Donna before she went missing."

  Cassie considered the story carefully before asking, "How much of this have you shared with the police?"

  Andy examined his hands. "None of it."

  Cassie made a decision. "Okay, here's the deal. I can help you look for Donna, but we better find her fast, before the police realize that you've been withholding information."

  Andy remembered the detective's parting comment, as she was leaving Andy's office at the ballpark. "It may be too late for that already."

  Cassie debated her next move, knowing it might be awkward. "I'm gonna call the magazine."

  "Do you …" Andy thought better of the question he was about to ask. "I'll be right back." Andy walked down the hall to his office, leaving Cassie to speak privately with her editor.

  "Morris, it's me."

  "Cassie, sweetheart. Where are you?"

  "White SandsBeach."

  "The beach? What are you doing at the beach? Following a story, I hope."

  Cassie took a deep breath, knowing the answer would hurt her editor. "I met a man."

  Cassie listened for his pain on the silent phone line. "That's wonderful, Cassie," but the silence had lingered a half-beat too long for Morris to hide his disappointment. "Who is he?"

  "Andy MacTavish." Cassie didn't wait for her editor's reaction. "Listen, Morris. I need your help with something. You remember the dizzy bat race?"

  "What's wrong, Cassie?"

  "The girl's still missing."

  Morris was confused. "I thought the girl was dead."

  "No, Morris, the other girl." Cassie reminded Morris of the details of the dizzy bat tragedy. "What are you hearing at the magazine?"

  Morris had developed an effective network of sources feeding him rumor, gossip and story ideas, but he had heard nothing about the missing girl.

  It seemed odd to Cassie that Morris had no lead for her to follow. "You'll let me know if you hear something?"

  "Of course." Morris hated himself for what he was about to ask. "By the way, is this for the magazine, or for Mr. MacTavish?"

  Cassie hated herself for letting Morris hold on to a false hope for all these years. "It's for me, Morris."

  "I'm sorry, Cassie. I was being petty." Morris tried his best to sound upbeat. "Where can I call you, sweetheart?"

  Cassie wasn't ready to give him Andy's number. "My cell."

  Morris knew that she never bothered to check her cell phone. "Your cell?"

  Cassie laughed. "I know, Morris. I'll try. Look, I'll call you in a couple of days. Okay?"

  "I'll see what I can find."

  "You're the best, Morris."

  Morris knew he was, at best, second best. "Yeah, okay."

  Cassie had barely hung up the phone before it began to ring. She stood there looking at the ringing telephone.

  Andy, returning from his office, grabbed the receiver.

  "I hope it's not too late for me to call." Andy knew that his attorney was just being polite.

  "What is it, Mr. Garibaldi?"

  "Andy, are you watching TV?"

  Andy was puzzled. "No."

  "Turn on the television, Andy. Channel sixty-two."

  The Unasked Question

  When Madame Alexina proposed to read the Tarot, Donna tolerated the reading as a means to gain Madame Alexina's cooperation and her own ultimate release from purgatory. With each card, however, she had been sucked further into Madame Alexina's world of prophecy and omen. The universe had narrowed until all that Donna could see were the baseball cards that lay exposed before her.

  At some point, between cards three and four, between Mickey Mantle and Ozzie Smith, night fell like a pop fly dropping between short and center field. Donna found it hard to believe that she had spent the entire day watching Madame Alexina read the future in Spit's old baseball cards. It didn't seem possible that a full day had elapsed. And yet, at the same time, Donna felt as though she had spent her entire life seated there at Spit's card table. She looked out the window at the deepening night.

  "The moon signifies darkness," Madame Alexina explained. "Unless it signifies a light in the darkness. The moon reveals a path in our darkest hour or it serves to warn us to choose our path wisely, for the dangers are enormous should we lose our way. The moon reveals to us our fellow travelers and challenges us to distinguish friend from foe."

  Madame Alexina chose her words with care. "The moon is a powerful card, not to be trifled with. It holds its meaning close, daring us to act, mocking us. The moon is deception."

  "So what do you think it means in my case?" Donna blurted out her question.

  "For that, I must go see my own spiritual advisor. I am sorry, but I must take my leave." Madame Alexina announced her impending departure, but made no effort to stand.

  "But …" Donna wanted an explanation.

  Madame Alexina would only say, "My corporeal
form will be here with you the entire time, but my astral body must travel an extraordinary distance if I am to interpret the final card correctly."

  "But …" and this time Donna would not be cut off. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

  "In the meantime, you wait with Spit. You wait for my return."

  Madame Alexina lapsed into silence, slumped in her chair, her physical body an empty vessel.

  Donna looked at Spit. "What do we do now?"

  Spit shrugged. "I guess we wait."

  Donna stood up, pacing in the small room, trapped in a cage with a chemically imbalanced cabbie and his astral fare.

  "How do you live like this?"

  "Me?" Spit was startled by Donna's question. "I never gave it much thought."

  "Never?"

  Spit was philosophical. "I try not to think too much. It just makes my head hurt. You know," Spit offered by way of explanation, "I wasn't always like this."

  "Like what, Spit?"

  "Please, I know I'm not the brightest bulb in the deck. I used to be a Young Republican. Worshipped President Reagan. Nancy too. Just say no. When George Bush invaded Iraq—not Dubya, his father—I volunteered to go. Figured we could take out the A-rabs and cement a generation of Republican rule and be righteous all at the same time."

  Donna's perspective on life in south Jersey was decidedly apolitical. "You mean George Bush had a father?" She realized the question had not come out right. "You mean George Bush's father was named George Bush? And he was president? And he invaded Iraq too? That's just weird."

  Spit agreed with Donna's assessment. "Tell me about it."

  Donna suddenly wanted to hear more from this most unlikely teacher. "What was it like in Iraq?"

  Spit had spent years trying to forget Desert Storm. Now he did his best to remember. The sand. The blood. The dead. The pride in a job well done. "I just wish we'd been allowed to finish what we started. When I hear about these young kids today, more killing and more dying … You know, when Madame Alexina turned over the Billy Ripken card, I was convinced the card was trying to tell us something important about your family."