Blackbird 10 - A Little Night Murder (29 page)

“Comeback,” Poppy spat. “The only place you’ll ever see your stupid name in lights is in a courtroom.”

“Take it easy on her, Poppy.” Fred’s voice broke. “You’re only making things worse.”

“And you!” Poppy swung on him wrathfully. “You had to go bake a poison cake and bump off poor old Higgie! What a dumb plan! Who made things worse?”

“She knew everything,” Fred moaned. “She was going to tell the police what Boom Boom did. She was going to end the show for sure.”

“Shut up,” Poppy said. She looked up into the darkness again,
her face hard. “This show isn’t over yet. It’s still my best chance to get back on Broadway. We need to get those two snoops down here and shut them up. Anybody got a gun?”

Bridget whispered, “That’s an exit cue if I ever heard one. Let’s go.”

Poppy said, “Fred, there’s got to be a gun in the stage-door desk. Go get it.”

I said, “I—I’m not sure I can move my hands.”

“Sure you can.” Bridget pried my fingers loose.

She pulled me along the catwalk. Below us on the stage, the three conspirators went on trying to decide how to lure us down. Fred disappeared, but I was too concerned about keeping my feet on solid metal to worry about him.

When we reached the end of the catwalk, Bridget cursed. “No exit here,” she said.

Her voice sounded different. I whispered, “Are you okay?”

“I gotta pee something fierce. But we have to go back the other way. And I can’t get past you, so you’ll have to lead.”

I edged along the catwalk, my hand clamped to Bridget’s. Once I thought I felt her lose her balance.

“Keep going,” she urged when I faltered. “Here,” she said at last. “See it?”

I looked up and spotted what looked like a hatch in a submarine—a small, square door in the grimy ceiling with a red lever attached. The lever was secured by a padlock.

Bridget groaned. “It can’t be locked!”

But it was.

“Wait a minute,” I said. I felt around the edges of the hatch with my fingers. The narrow rim was filthy, but I kept blindly reaching until my hand struck a small hook. I could feel a key hanging from it. “The door must be locked from the inside so nobody can break in from the roof. Here.”

I lifted the key off the hook. But at that moment, Bridget lost her balance. She made a funny sound in her throat. I gasped and turned to her. Her face looked slack and sweaty. I tried to steady her, but her knees buckled. In the dark, she suddenly sank down on the catwalk.

“I’m okay,” she insisted. “Just a little light-headed.”

“Bridget, you’re hurt!”

“I’ll be okay,” she insisted, but gingerly felt her scalp. “My head hurts like hell. Just—hurry up and get us out of here, will you?”

I reached up and inserted the key into the padlock. It sprang open. I dropped the padlock over the catwalk and heard it hit the stage a moment later. I pulled on the door’s red lever, but it was stuck fast. I had to swing on it, using my weight to break the lever free. Finally, it popped with a clang.

From the stage, Poppy shouted up at us, “Come down out of there!” Then, “Hurry up and load that thing, Fred.”

Bridget pulled herself upright. “As soon as you open the door, the sunlight will come in. They’ll be able to see us. So make it quick.”

I gulped down my fear and shoved up on the hatch with all my strength. It flew open and crashed onto the roof. Sunlight blazed down on us, and I was sure we were sitting ducks. That knowledge should have instantly sent me scrambling up the narrow ladder and through the small door, but I couldn’t maneuver my bulky body. The ladder was too narrow. The hatch looked too small. I tried to get my feet onto the steps, but I slipped and fell back. If not for Bridget, I might have gone careening over the metal handrail and plunged to my death.

I said, “I can’t make it. You go first.”

“I’ll pull you up,” she promised.

I grabbed her foot just as I often did when I boosted Emma into a saddle. I realized Bridget wasn’t as nimble as she’d been a few
minutes ago. She was weaker, too. But she gamely grabbed the ladder and heaved herself up through the open hatch.

We heard shouts from below. I wasn’t sure if it was Poppy ordering Fred to use the gun or what, but I knew my life was in danger—and Baby Girl’s, too. When Bridget put her hand down to me, I seized it. I swung wide, gasping, but with her help, I managed to struggle up the ladder. It was a tight squeeze through the hatch. Suddenly I was out in the sunshine, sprawled on my hands and knees in some gritty black mess, gasping fresh air, dizzy from the bright light.

Beside me, Bridget collapsed. She fell to her knees first, then toppled down like a sack of potatoes, out cold.

“Bridget? Bridget!”

I staggered up and slammed the hatch closed again. If Poppy and Fred were armed, I didn’t want them climbing out of there to shoot at us on the roof.

“Bridget? Bridget? Wake up!” I tapped her cheek, but her eyes rolled up, and her head lolled. She was flat on her back, arms and legs askew, her body inert. Her hair was a tangled mess, and I could see the gloss of dark blood on her scalp.

And it was hot on the flat roof. Very hot. The summer sun beat down on the gelatinous goo that made up the roof’s waterproof material, which radiated a wet heat so intense that I could hardly draw a breath.

I looked around. Other buildings surrounded the theater—but the closest ones were smaller. Nobody could see us. The taller buildings were too far away to hail. I forced myself to cross the roof to the edge—sneakers sticking to the tarlike roof—and I looked down at the street below. My head spun as I gripped the top of the stone railing and peered over the edge of the theater. Bizarrely, I felt as if I might get sucked over the side of the building. But I had no choice. I had to shout for help. It was up to me to call for assistance.

I yelled and waved my arms. Pedestrians kept passing by. Vehicles moved up and down Broad Street without stopping. I shouted. I shouted some more. Finally, someone looked up. Someone else used a cell phone. At last, a police car pulled to the curb. A knot of people gathered below me. Eventually, a fire truck arrived, lights spinning, siren screaming. Only then did I stop shouting.

I rushed back to Bridget and tried to revive her. Kneeling in the grit beside her, I shielded her from the sunlight and spoke a lot of nonsense. “We’re going to be okay,” I said over and over. “C’mon, Bridget. You can’t give up now.”

At last she blinked at me. “Boy,” she said, voice weak, “I really have to pee.”

“Hang on,” I commanded. “The fire department is coming. They’re going to rescue us. And take you to the hospital.”

“You go, too,” she said, trying to smile. “We have to make sure my grandbaby is okay.”

I put my other hand on Baby Girl and smiled down at Michael’s mother. “She’s strong. I have a feeling she’s going to take after you.”

T
he fire rescue and the hospital were a blur. But I knew I was okay and Baby Girl was the picture of health, and I told the ER staff that I wasn’t the one who needed their first attention. They looked doubtfully at my belly and reluctantly attended to Bridget, who finally got her bathroom break and then began flirting with the neurologist who came to examine her.

I let the doctors check me out, and they reassured me Baby Girl was fine. I talked to the police, too, trying to make myself sound sane. I had the brainstorm of asking them to call Ricci, who was able to convey the pertinent facts about Jenny Tuttle’s death and the necessity of arresting Boom Boom and Fred and Poppy.

At last, I noticed the time. After five o’clock.

Bridget saw my expression and grinned. “Better run, babycakes. Give your groom a kiss from me.”

“We’ll come to see you afterward,” I promised.

“The hell you will,” she said. “Not on your wedding night.
Besides, I don’t want you cramping my style around here. I might pick myself up a nice young doctor.”

I gave her a hug and rushed out of the hospital and down the street as fast as I could manage. I had lost my handbag and my cell phone, but not my determination. No way was I going to miss my wedding. By the time I reached the city building where Judge Scotto maintained her chambers, I had to hang on to the door handle to catch my breath.

“Nora!”

I turned, and there was my worst nightmare—Gus.

He rushed to my side. “My God, should I call an ambulance? That’s blood!”

“It’s not mine. I’m fine,” I panted. “I can’t be late.”

He had one hand under my elbow. “You’re going to faint.”

“No, I’m not. I’m going to get married.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

I looked down at myself. I was still in Libby’s shirt. The one that read
CAN YOU TELL ME IF MY
SHOES MATCH?

“Oh, heavens,” I said. “I’ve worn some of the most beautiful dresses in the world, and I’m going to get married in
this
?”

“Let’s get you out of the heat.” Gus opened the door and helped me into the blissfully cool lobby. Marble floors, marble walls, marble staircase. High above, light shone through skylights down into the lobby, which was big enough to fly a kite in. In front of the security desk milled a noisy mob of people who sorted themselves out to be my dearest friends.

Mary Jude Yashurik ran up to me. “Oh, Nora, we’ve been calling you for hours. We thought—I’m so glad to see you! Here, I brought your dress.”

I nearly burst into tears of gratitude at the sight of my lovely dress still safely encased in its plastic bag. I wasn’t going to have to
recite my vows wearing Libby’s ridiculous T-shirt, after all. “Thank you, thank you! Have you seen Michael? Did he make it?”

My sister Emma skidded up to us next. “He’s not here yet. You okay? Where the hell have you been?”

“It’s— We— I’m fine. But Michael—”

“Don’t worry,” Emma said. “He’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss it. You know that.”

“Nora!” Libby’s wail echoed in the cavernous lobby. “Oh, thank heaven you’re okay.”

She crushed me against her bosom and wept. “We thought the most awful things. Maybe the FBI arrested you or—”

I barely managed to get my head out of her cleavage before she smothered me. Behind her surged all of her children—the twins looking furtive, Lucy wearing a filthy tutu. Rawlins held Noah in his arms. Shawna balanced Max against her shoulder, keeping him a safe distance from Noah. All of them were smiling. Standing off to one side was Ox Oxenfeld, seeming nervous in a suit with a rose in his lapel, and Delilah, grinning broadly. All of them were ready for a wedding.

My wedding. My heart began to flutter. It might actually happen, after all! If only Michael could get here in time.

“C’mon,” Emma snapped, elbowing everyone out of her way so she could grab me. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into your dress. I’ll help.”

“We’ll all help!” Libby cried.

I felt grubby but full of hope. “How much time do we have?”

“Ten minutes,” Emma reported.

“Michael—”

“He’s coming,” Libby said with certainty. “Let’s move!”

We all looked at the long flight of marble stairs that led up to the mezzanine floor, and we instantly knew there was no way I could climb all those stairs.

The security guard waved us to the elevator. “This way, ladies. You must be the bride,” he said kindly to me. “Better hurry. We lock up in ten minutes.” His gaze fell to my belly, and his eyes popped wide. “Wow, you better step on it!”

My friends bundled me into the elevator, and as the doors closed I caught a glimpse of Gus and Ox dubiously eyeing each other while the children milled around them.

On the mezzanine floor, we all tumbled into a ladies’ room, and everyone pitched in to transform me from a bedraggled wretch into a glowing bride. Emma stripped me down to my granny panties and helped me scrub off the roof grime. Libby carefully pulled my dress from its garment bag. Delilah brushed out my hair and got to work on it with a rat-tailed comb and a can of hairspray conjured from her enormous bag. Mary Jude had her makeup brushes out, and she daubed my face with color.

Everybody spoke at once.

“We were terrified when we didn’t hear from you—”

“Libby called your phone over and over and finally Poppy Fontanna answered—”

“She was so rude and hung up—”

“Then a police officer answered, and he said you’d been taken to a hospital!”

As I popped my head out of the dress, I asked, “Has anybody heard from Lexie?”

“Not yet,” Emma reported.

“But Michael,” I said. “He’s on his way, right?”

“Nothing’s going to stop him,” Emma insisted. “Stop worrying.”

My sisters exchanged a glance. I knew they were concerned. The clock was ticking as they helped fasten my dress.

“It’s almost time!” Libby trilled when all the buttons were done up. “Ready, everyone?”

I hoped the dress was every inch what I’d intended it to be—ladylike, with a hint of sex appeal in the back. There was no hiding how low my center of gravity had become, but surely the dress was pretty and feminine.

“Wait!” Delilah shouted. “Do you have everything? Something borrowed?”

“No—I don’t.”

“Here.” She yanked off her wristwatch. “Put this on. Something old?”

“Take my diamond earrings,” Libby said, immediately unscrewing them from her lobes. “I inherited them from Grandmama.”

“Something new?”

Emma said, “I’ve got a stick of gum in my pocket.” She handed it over to much laughter, and I tucked it into my cleavage.

“Something blue?” Delilah asked.

I held up my right hand, where I always wore Grandmama Blackbird’s sapphire ring. The blue stone flashed in the bathroom light. The sight of the ring made me choke up suddenly. I had loved her dearly, and she was here with me at my wedding.

They all stood back and looked at me for a long moment. I held my breath.

Then, “Well?”

Libby gave a sniffle and groped in her handbag for a tissue. “You look lovely, Nora!”

I tried to get a glimpse of myself in the tiny mirror over the sink, but it was no use. My face glowed, and that was enough.

A moment later, they hustled me out of the ladies’ room. A crowd had gathered on the mezzanine. Everyone milled around in confusion until Gus stepped forward.

“Nora,” he said, “we’ve got to talk.”

Emma gave him a stiff-armed block. “Not now, Crocodile Dundee.”

“But—”

“Where is the judge’s chamber?” Libby asked.

“Down there.” I pointed. Tall oak doors with transoms lined the imposing marble corridor. “Second door on the right. But where’s Michael?” I felt close to tears and fought them down. “They’re going to close the building soon. If he’s not here—”

We heard a commotion in the lobby below, and everyone leaned over the balustrade to see what was happening. A mob of police officers, federal agents and at least one canine unit burst into the building—the dog barking his head off. In their midst was Michael. Behind him charged his parole officer, state trooper Ricci and all the Cannolis.

I felt my trembling knees give way, but Emma was there to hold me up. “See? No worries,” she said to me. Then she shouted, “Hey, Mick! Up here!”

He looked up, and the storm blew off his face. The security team held him long enough to check his pockets, but half a dozen police officers stepped forward to speak for him. He broke loose and headed for the long staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time, he came leaping up to me.

In another instant, I was in his arms, holding back tears of relief.

“You okay?” He touched my face. “Baby Girl, too? God, you look beautiful.”

“We’re fine. Don’t worry. Oh, Michael, are you—? In custody? Arrested?”

He laughed. “No, I’m great. Lexie and I— Well, it’s over now. I’ll tell you later. Let’s do this.”

He had found time to climb into his best go-to-court dark suit, and for a second Noah didn’t recognize him. But then the baby began to howl. He flung his arms out to Michael, and Rawlins could barely hold him. Michael scooped up Noah and held him in one arm, me in the other.

I felt as though we were pushed along by a wave of joyous friends and family—everybody talking and laughing as we dashed into the judge’s chamber. She was there, tall and stately in her solemn robe, with her smiling clerk standing by. The room was lined with bookshelves and had a high ceiling with white trim.

It was almost too small for everyone, but one last person squeezed her way through the door and ducked under Michael’s elbow to come up at my side.

“Lexie!”

“Sweetie,” she said, “you need a bouquet!”

My dearest friend had brought me a lovely nosegay of all my favorites—peonies and tulips and calla lilies—all pink and white—with baby’s breath and hosta leaves, tied up with a creamy satin ribbon. Teary eyed, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I let go of Michael long enough to hug my longtime trusted friend. I had been afraid I’d lost her again, but here she was.

“Thank you, Lex.” The words caught in my throat. “Thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

The judge clapped her hands lightly. “Are we ready to proceed?”

Michael managed to pass Noah off to Rawlins, who handed the baby a stuffed bunny to keep him entertained. Then Michael took my hand and looked down at me, a happy gleam in his gaze. His eye might still be black and blue, but it didn’t mean a thing. To me, he was every inch my Prince Charming.

At long last, we were together. I smiled up at him, trembling a little, but so sure and ready to be his wife, his partner, his soul mate forever, that I thought my heart would burst. In the company of all our dearest friends, I felt buoyant, blissful, bewitched by joy. Baby Girl gave me a nudge to say she was ready, too. In minutes, we were going to be a family. For better or for worse. Forever.

“Now, then,” said the judge with grave authority. The buzz in
the room subsided at her command. She glanced around the room at the gathered throng, and finally she smiled. Everyone fell silent, as if holding one big breath.

When she had everyone’s attention, she said, “Before we proceed, I need to ask the traditional question. Is there any person present who has reason to believe these two should not be joined in matrimony?”

She asked it lightly, in jest, and a politely amused silence passed.

“Uh . . .” At the back of the room, Gus Hardwicke cleared his throat. “That person would be me.”

Everyone turned to him, and I felt Michael go tense. I squeezed him into stillness.

Gus edged his way through the crowd while drawing a long envelope from his pocket. “Your Honor, I apologize for waiting until this unfortunately melodramatic moment, but—”

“Hardwicke,” Michael said with more good humor than I thought possible, “take a hike.”

“Gus, please,” I said.

Gus extended the envelope to the judge. “Nora cannot go through with this.”

“But—”

“Because she’s already married,” he said. “To me.”

The room spun, and every voice rose in protest. It was impossible. Ridiculous. Untrue.

While the hubbub grew, the judge opened the envelope and extracted an official document on vellum. I caught a glimpse of florid signatures and a blue ribbon affixed to a gold seal.

“It’s unorthodox,” Gus continued, “but completely legal. It’s a marriage by proxy from Paraguay. I was there earlier this summer, you see. It’s one of the few non-Muslim countries that allows such marriages, and I thought while I was there, why not—”

Michael moved like a tiger, and I was certain Gus was going to
die horribly right there in the judge’s chamber. Instantly, Gus was down on the desk on his back, gasping for air. I flung myself between them. So did Emma, and soon the Cannolis were throwing elbows, too. Ricci waded in and took a punch on the chin.

The melee sorted itself out as the judge shouted for order. I clutched Michael and pulled him off Gus.

The judge continued to frown over the document. “I’ve never actually seen one of these,” she murmured. “I’ve heard of them, of course, but . . .”

“I assure you, it’s legal.” Gus stood up and straightened his tie again. “Nora is my wife. If she marries this thug, she’ll be committing bigamy. I’m sorry, Nora. I tried to tell you.”

I found my voice. “I never agreed to any such thing. I can’t be married—not without my own consent.”

The judge hummed, shaking her head. “Actually, Miss Blackbird, Paraguay does have a lock on the market for this kind of thing, and I fear—”

“No,” Michael said. “Hardwicke—!”

Another fistfight. Louder, more violent. Some of the women screamed and ducked out of the room. Michael sent Gus hurtling against a bookcase, and a shower of books and knickknacks hit him across the shoulders. Libby pulled me back against the window, shielding me with Lucy and Max. The judge shouted. Her assistant grabbed a phone and called for security.

Ricci pulled his sidearm and his handcuffs.

Emma jammed herself in front of Michael and with all her strength forced him to back away from Gus.