A Motive For Murder (32 page)

“When did she move out?” Auntie Lil asked.

Nikki looked at her in surprise. “How did you know
that?” she asked.

“I saw her room. It was obvious.”

“She left right after Bobby died,” Nikki explained.
“I think Julie knew they were going to take the role away from her
after Mikey pulled out and the door was opened for Fatima Jones to
take over. She didn’t want to deal with her father about it. Andrew
pushed her too hard. He was just like Bobby in that respect. He
wanted his child to make up for all he’d never achieved himself. I
told him to back off but he wouldn’t listen.”

 “Where is she staying?” Auntie Lil asked.

Nikki shrugged. “I have no idea. I see her at the
Metro between classes and sometimes Andrew tries to talk to her,
but she just walks away. But at least we know she’s okay. I assume
she’s with a friend.” Nikki sighed. “Andrew raised her to skip
right over childhood. Now she’s operating like an adult. That’s
what happens.”

“Why did you see Andrew tonight?” Auntie Lil
asked.

Nikki raised her eyebrows. “We had dinner. Am I to
assume that I’m being followed, too?” Her tone was dry.

“An acquaintance happened to see you picking him up
at Lincoln Center,” Auntie Lil explained. “ I would never have you
followed without permission.”

“That’s a relief,” she said sarcastically. She stared
down the hallway. “One day your life is perfectly normal. You get
your kids up in the morning, dressed, and off to school. You wait
for them to come home at night. The next day you’re surrounded by
murder, your son runs away from you in fear, and the entire world
is asking you questions.”

“You think Mikey is running from you in fear?”

Nikki’s voice was steady. “I believe my son no longer
thinks of me as his mother, so he has not even considered turning
to me in his fear. I also believe Bobby did this entire family
irreparable damage when he took Mikey away with him to Los Angeles.
I don’t think I will ever be able to make up for it now. Besides,
Mikey is angry at me right now.”

“Why?” Auntie Lil asked.

“He wants to continue his movie career and I think
it’s time for him to take a break. He can wait out a few years,
make the leap from boy to young man, and then maybe try again. God
knows we have enough money.”

“But it’s not what Mikey wants,” Auntie Lil said.

“I’m his mother,” Nikki replied firmly.

Auntie Lil sighed. “Mikey is already a star,” she
pointed out. “He’s learned how to throw his weight around and get
what he wants. Take my advice. Compromise. Let Mikey be in one more
movie, then he can take a break.”

She thought for a moment. “Kill two birds with one
stone,” Auntie Lil added. “Save yourself years of litigation. Let
Mikey do the movie for Gene Levitt after all, if it’s not too late.
Everyone will be better off.”

Nikki stood. “Maybe. I’ll talk to my lawyers about
it.” She yawned involuntarily and shrugged an apology. “If you’ll
excuse me, I have to get up at six o’clock to marshal the troops.
Do I have your personal assurance that Mikey is perfectly safe? Or
do I need to lie in bed awake and worry?”

“You have my word,” Auntie Lil promised. “He’s in no
danger whatsoever.”

His coffee table was heaped with empty Chinese food
containers. Hot mustard was smeared across one edge. A pair of
dirty tennis shoes marred the pristine nap of his living-room rug
and the dining room table was littered with white paper bags and
empty take-out plates from a nearby diner. Brenda and Eddie were
crouched in the center of the table, snarling at each other over a
leftover chunk of bagel and lox. Syrup from a double serving of
pecan waffles had left a trail like a snail across the polished oak
surface of his beloved heirloom.

T.S. surveyed the mess and sighed. Mikey Morgan
looked upon the telephone as his umbilical cord. In the past twelve
hours, the boy had ordered in both a late-night dinner and his
breakfast—never in his life had T.S. been so decadent as to order
breakfast delivered—and had then spent an inordinate amount of time
talking to a woman named “Candy.” Once T.S. discovered that Mikey
was watching a soft-porn cable channel consisting chiefly of
phone-sex ads, he put a stop to the Candy business. But he was
dreading the day his phone bill arrived. Mikey was now napping on
the sofa with his stockinged feet propped up on a raw silk pillow.
T.S. had no intention of waking him to tell him to remove his feet.
So long as Mikey was silent, he would endure any indignity.

He tiptoed to the telephone and called Margo McGregor
to request the photographs of last spring’s Metro Los Angeles ball.
The columnist was persistent in demanding why he needed them, but
after T.S. assured her Auntie Lil would keep her promise to break
any news through her first, Margo agreed to the request. She
promised to put a rush on the order and would messenger them over
in early evening, if possible.

T.S. hung up feeling the first small flush of
satisfaction that day. Unfortunately, Brenda and Eddie had finished
their tussle over the salmon and, before they could be stopped,
pattered over to the couch to leap on Mikey’s stomach. They landed
with a solid thud, waking the boy at once. “What time is it?” Mikey
asked, swatting the cats to the floor. “I’m hungry. Let’s order
something in.”

“It’s only eleven o’clock,” T.S. protested, suddenly
realizing that he was missing his favorite talk show. “And you just
had breakfast.” The child had slept disgracefully late, not rising
until nine o’clock.

“Oh, yeah.” Mikey swung his feet around until he was
in a sitting position, knocking a take-out carton off the table as
he did so. A dried-up dumpling tumbled to the carpet and lay there
like some sort of alien egg. “I’m bored. There’s nothing good on
TV.” As if to illustrate his point, Mikey proceeded to click
through all seventy-seven channels.

T.S. sought refuge in the kitchen and sipped his
fifth cup of coffee of the day. Auntie Lil would pay for this, he
vowed. He’d think of a way.

“I’m bored,” Mikey announced again, appearing at the
kitchen door. “Let’s go buy some computer games. With your big
screen, it will be cool.”

“Computer games?” T.S. repeated, his mind leaping
with optimistic fervor to one key thought: if he could plug the boy
into electronic pastimes, maybe he’d get some peace and quiet.
“What kind of games?”

“Let’s get Sega Genesis and Nintendo. I can afford
it.” Mikey produced a platinum American Express card from a jeans
pocket and held it up. “My treat. Mom never lets me buy Sega games.
She says they’re too violent. But you’ll love them.”

T.S. did not hear. He was too busy staring at the
credit card. Fourteen years old and the kid probably earned a
hundred times more per year than any annual salary T.S. had ever
pulled down.

 “Where can we buy the games?” Mikey asked.

“There are a couple of electronics stores over on
Third Avenue,” T.S. said. “But I thought you were too afraid to go
outside.”

“No problem.” Mikey tucked his credit card back in
place. “I can disguise myself in your clothes.”

Auntie Lil hurried down the pathway toward the
Metro’s back entrance. She had overslept and then taken longer than
usual to go through her morning routine. She should never have used
growing old as an excuse to T.S. the night before. It was a jinx.
Her bones had woken up tired. At least the glorious sun revived
her. She breathed in the fresh air and admired the day. Behind her,
she heard a tap, tap, tap approaching—it sounded almost like a
machine gun— and turned to find Herbert hurrying after her.

“Lillian!” he called out. “I’m so sorry. I was
delayed.”

Auntie Lil stared at his feet. He wore black shiny
shoes that did not fit his casual attire.

“I know they don’t match,” Herbert apologized. “I’ve
just had a ballroom dancing lesson.”

“What kind of shoes are those?” Auntie Lil
demanded.

Herbert looked perplexed. “Ordinary men’s dress
shoes. The kind one would wear with a tuxedo. I wear them to
ballroom dancing practice since I dance most often at formal
events.”

“That’s it,” Auntie Lil decided. “The Reverend
Hampton heard a man wearing dress shoes running down this path.
That’s the tapping sound he was talking about.”

“Does that narrow it down?” Herbert asked.

“Not on opening night, it doesn’t,” Auntie Lil
conceded. “But it does rule out anyone wearing dance shoes. They
would be softer and less likely to make a sound.”

“What is the purpose of our visit this afternoon?”
Herbert asked her, falling easily into step beside Auntie Lil.

“To catch a liar,” Auntie Lil replied.

The Metro’s backstage halls were deserted. Most of
the dancers were in class. Classical tunes mingled and overlapped
as they passed by each door. Auntie Lil peeked in a few windows and
saw solemn rows of Metro dancers bending and stretching to the
steady beat of piano music. But the legendary Lisette Martinez was
not among them.

“Maybe she doesn’t need to practice?” Herbert
suggested.

“Everyone takes classes at the Metro,” Auntie Lil
said. “She’s here somewhere.” They passed by the dancers’ lounge
and Auntie Lil stuck her head inside. Lisette Martinez sat on the
lumpy couch, her feet tucked beneath her, holding an unlit
cigarette and gazing at it with longing. She did not seem to
recognize Auntie Lil when she entered the room.

“You don’t remember me?” Auntie Lil said. Herbert
stood at the doorway quietly, saying nothing.

Lisette looked up at her and her expression was
unreadable. “I remember you now,” she said flatly.

“May I sit down?” Auntie Lil asked.

“Can I stop you?” the dancer replied.

Auntie Lil took a seat at the opposite end of the
couch. “The first time we talked, you said you didn’t meet Bobby
Morgan until
Nutcracker
rehearsals began,” Auntie Lil
said.

“That’s right. What of it?” Lisette raised the
cigarette absently to her lips, realized it was not lit, and
dropped it back down in her lap.

“But you attended the Metro charity ball in Los
Angeles last spring,” Auntie Lil said. “And Bobby Morgan was
there.”

“So were six hundred other people and I didn’t meet
all of them.”

“You’re the prima ballerina of the Metro,” Auntie Lil
pointed out. And you yourself told me that he always flirts with
the most famous women around. I believe you said that he had a need
to do so.”

Lisette yawned. “I can’t remember every man I meet.
It would be impossible. I am frequently approached.”

“Bobby Morgan did not strike me as a man who was easy
to forget.”

Lisette shrugged. “Why is it so important when I met
him?”

“Someone’s coming,” Herbert announced from the door.
“And I do not think that you will like who—” He stopped abruptly as
Raoul Martinez charged into the room.

“Why aren’t you in class?” he demanded of his wife.
He saw Auntie Lil and his face flushed with anger. “I told you to
stay away from my wife.”

“I was just passing by,” Auntie Lil explained
innocently.

The artistic director stepped close to Auntie Lil and
towered over her as he spoke, trying to intimidate her with his
size. He was a powerful man and his muscles quivered against his
tight-fitting leotard top as he struggled to maintain his temper.
“I am going to tell you this one more time,” he said. “The board
may have given you the right to poke around and stick your nose
where it doesn’t belong, but I have absolute power when it comes to
what goes on backstage or onstage here at the Metro. If you ever
come near my wife again, I will have to see that you—”

“See that she what?” Herbert asked, sliding in
between the larger man and Auntie Lil. Herbert was small, but his
power seemed all the greater for being so compact. He waited
quietly for an answer and his body was still and calm. His
breathing was slow, but his eyes never left Martinez’s face.

The artistic director looked away and his gaze
settled on his wife. “Get to class now,” he ordered. “I won’t have
you evading classes when the others must be there.”

Lisette stood and stretched elaborately, knocking the
unlit cigarette to the floor. She glanced down at it then
deliberately ground it into the carpet as she strode by her husband
and glided gracefully from the room. Martinez glared at Auntie Lil
as if it were her fault.

“I have a right to be here,” Auntie Lil said, more
calmly than she felt.

“Stay away from my wife,” Martinez ordered again.
“And stay away from me.” He turned abruptly and stomped from the
room, but the effect was spoiled by the shoes he wore. It’s hard to
stomp in soft leather slippers.

As Herbert and Auntie Lil approached the door of
T.S.’s apartment, strange noises emanated from inside. They heard a
series of beeps, then a boing, a squawk, and the sound of a gunshot
followed by a plop. “What in the world?” Auntie Lil asked, knocking
on the door.

“Who is it?” T.S. yelled, not bothering to come to
the door.

“Me,” Auntie Lil said firmly. “Let me in now.”

“Go let her in,” T.S. ordered Mikey, his voice
muffled by the door.

The door opened to reveal the back of Mikey Morgan’s
head. Unconcerned with whoever had just arrived, he was looking at
T.S. in scorn and complaining loudly, “Come on, that’s a dumb game.
It’s for babies. Let’s play Sega. The one where you hang
cheerleaders from meat hooks.”

“Just let me have one more round,” T.S. said, not
bothering to greet his guests.

Auntie Lil and Herbert stepped inside the chaos of
T.S.’s apartment. The floor was littered with plastic bags, clear
wrappings, fast-food sacks, and articles of T.S.’s clothing that
Mikey had discarded once they returned home from their shopping
expedition. Brenda and Eddie had knocked the top bun from a
leftover hamburger littering the floor of the foyer and were busily
licking the meat patty. Every surface in the room was covered with
video-movie and game boxes, comic books, bags of snacks, and
half-eaten cookies. T.S was oblivious to the mess. He stood
mesmerized in front of his large-screen television set, holding a
green plastic device up in front of his eyes like a visor. As an
animated duck flew out of the bushes depicted on the screen before
him, T.S. bent his legs slightly and pressed a button on the
control device. The duck squawked, flapped its wings, and tumbled
from the video sky to the sounds of T.S.’s triumphant yell. “Got
him!” he shouted. Another duck flew out of the bushes and he fired
again, sending it plummeting to earth with a plop.