Dashing Through the Snow (20 page)

Smith wrapped his arm around her. “Are you
all right?”

Lily nodded and rested her head on his
shoulder as they walked. “Don’t mind me. The tears are par for the
course whenever I drop in to see him. I just hate it that he lives
like this.” He opened the passenger side door and she got in with a
murmured thank you.

“As I remember it, he was nineteen when he
decided to go to Vietnam, right?” Smith asked after getting in and
firing up the ignition. He began to pull away from the curb.

Lily nodded as she fiddled with the heat
dials to warm up. “Yes. He was a freshman at Loyola in Chicago
double majoring in American History and English Lit. The family
tried to talk him out of enlisting, but they couldn’t. Once a long
time ago they had him committed, but I guess he was so miserable
that he may as well have been catatonic. He didn’t communicate,
barely ate and they had to force him to be hygienic. Needless to
say, forced commitment was off the table after that.”

Smith nodded in understanding. “Maslow’s
Hierarchy of Needs. Jesus, I haven’t heard that term since
my
freshman year of college.”

Lily grinned as he pulled onto the highway.
“You mean they actually taught something so lofty and progressive
down in the great conservative state of Texas? Shocker.”

“We have our moments,” he said dryly.

“Speaking of Texas, are you ever going to
tell me why you left? I mean, according to Mom, you had quite a
lucrative business down there.”

Smith scowled and kept his eyes on the road.
“The story’s nothing original. Crazy bitch has delusions of
marriage to unsuspecting good ‘ole boy who escapes in horror when
he learns of them. Crazy bitch runs crying to daddy who just
happens to be a wealthy, well-connected senator. Ass hole senator
confronts good ‘ole boy, demanding satisfaction for a wrong that
never happened. Good ‘ole boy naturally refuses. Ass hole senator
exacts revenge by making a few, but well-placed, calls and over a
period of two months, all of good ‘ole boy’s contracts and contacts
dry up. Always one to recognize a losing battle; good ‘ole boy
leaves home to rethink his options and strategize, and in the
meantime, make his name elsewhere.”

Lily was quiet for a few moments before
saying, “So to translate: you were in what you thought was a casual
relationship with a woman who obviously wanted more. And when you
didn’t deliver, she told her dad who then used his connections to
push you out. Oh, wow, cowboy,” she said with a concerned frown as
she rubbed his arm in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

Smith’s grip tightened on the steering wheel
as bitterness clawed through him. “That’s the thing. There
was
no relationship, casual or otherwise. She was
delusional. You know how we knew each other?” he asked angrily. He
barely waited for Lily to shake her head in the negative. “We lived
in the same neighborhood and would bump into each other in
different places like the dry cleaners or the grocery store. We had
coffee at the neighborhood café a couple of times, but that was
only because she happened to come in while I was there. Now,
though, I believe she planned all of those accidental
meetings.”

Angry now herself, Lily said, “Well that’s
just horrible. We’re going to have to do something about her. Have
you been able to come up with anything? What about checking up on
her past? Her father’s? I’m sure there are skeletons in both
closets. It’s fighting dirty, but sometimes that’s the only way
to
fight. Whatever you need from me, you’ve got it. I mean
it.”

Smith was smiling now and shaking his head.
“That’s my Lily-bud: loyal to the bone.”

“I’m serious, Smith.”

“I know you are,” he said and took her hand
and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

Chapter Seventeen

“Whaaat the fuuuck?” Smith asked in amazement
as he looked up at a giant statue of Marilyn Monroe which stood on
display on Chicago’s famed Michigan Avenue in the area known as
Pioneer Court. The sculpture captured the 1950s actress in one of
her most iconic poses. Standing on a subway grate, she wore a white
halter dress, the flowing skirt of which she was trying in vain to
hold down as imagined air from the grate blew the dress up,
exposing a fabulous pair of legs. “It must be at least twenty,
twenty-five feet tall.”

“Twenty-six,” Lily corrected and shrugged
when he looked at her questioningly. “I was here when they were
putting the thing up. Most Chicagoans seem to hate it, while as you
can see, the tourists love it.” She gestured to the throngs of
people who were taking pictures beneath the spread legs of the
statue. “It’s kind of bizarre,” she murmured as she watched a woman
pose a little boy so that he was hugging a bare leg and looking up
underneath the dress.

“It’s from the
Seven Year Itch
, isn’t
it?” Smith asked.

“Yeah.”

“I want to see her undies,” he said in an
excited whisper, making Lily laugh. Grabbing her hand, he dragged
her around to the back of the statue.

“Well, shit,” he said slowly as his gaze
latched onto a huge pair of white lace panties. “
Granny
panties
? They put the Blonde Bombshell in granny
panties?”

Lily laughed some more at his disappointment.
“Don’t think they had thongs when she was around, cowboy, and my
guess is that the sculptor was trying to be true to history or the
movie. Since I’ve never seen the movie, I wouldn’t know which.
Besides all that, she’s not the one they called the Blonde
Bombshell. That was Jean Harlow…” she trailed off when he gave her
a look that asked how and why. Lily smiled sheepishly. “Mom and Dad
are huge fans of old movies; you know that.”

“Who
does
that?”

The shocked whisper came from her right and
Lily turned to see two little girls looking up at the statue with
consternation and confusion. “Do you think she’s showing them on
purpose?” the smallest one whispered in awe.

The larger child nodded gravely. “And what
makes it worse is that she’s about a million feet tall, so
like…like…
the
whole entire world
can see!”

“She’s a bad girl!”

Lily laughed with delight, feeling completely
in sync with their female pragmatism. Their mother tried to get
them to pose with the statue, saying that it was okay because it
was art. Lily smirked when they resisted. “Don’t blame them at
all,” she muttered. She looked at her watch. “Come on, Smith, we’ve
got to motor.”

They had an appointment at The Elite in
fifteen minutes, and Lily knew with trying to get through the
crowds of shoppers, tourists and business people thronging the
popular avenue, they’d just make it in time. Smith took her hand in
his and they began their five block trek.

When they’d first arrived in the city, they’d
gone immediately to their hotel where they’d checked in and
freshened up. They’d left Smith’s car in the hotel garage because
driving in the city and trying to find reasonable parking made
walking approximately twenty blocks in freezing temperatures seem
like a piece of cake. They’d made reservations at a boutique hotel
right near Millennium Park, one of Lily’s favorite spots in the
city.

“So, what did Mrs. Landry say when you spoke
to her? Anything new to report?”

Smith shook his head. “No, I would have told
you if there was. She didn’t say much, except that she was
miserable without her Charlie-bear and that if us banding together
to work on the case helped bring him home, then she was all for
it.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Charlie-bear? Are
you making that up?”

“No, why would I? That’s what she calls him,
has since the moment I met her.”

Lily laughed. “Seriously? She never did to
me. Charlie-bear, huh? Cute.”

“Okay, here we are,” Smith said as they
approached a beautiful red stone building. Oddly enough, the small
building fit in fine with the surrounding high rise office
buildings made of glass and steel.

They walked together up the short walk. “Oh,
my gosh,” Lily said as she stared at the stained glass above the
door. “It’s exactly the same as the Businessman’s Social Club back
home. I don’t understand Latin, but the words are the same and that
image with the lion and the gazelle is exactly the same.”

Smith studied it. “You’re right,” he said and
watched as Lily copied the words down in her notebook. He waited
for her to finish and then picked up the doorknocker -- which was
exactly like the ones at the Businessman’s Social Club -- and let
if fall. He did it twice more and then they waited. “We still agree
that I should take the lead at this particular place, right?”

Lily nodded. They’d agreed on that course of
action just in case the manager here was anything like the manager
in Sheffield-Chatham. The appointment had been made through the
secretary so they’d had no way of knowing. The door opened, and
just like in Sheffield-Chatham, the man who answered was dressed in
a black tuxedo. That was where the similarities ended. This man was
not as tall; he was Asian and actually offered them a smile.

“Good morning. How might I help you?”

“Hi. I’m Smith Cameron and this is Lily
Carstairs. We’re here to see Casey Townes.”

“Oh, yes. She’s expecting you. I’m Bill Tam.
Do come in.”

Lily looked at Smith with a raised eyebrow as
the man was closing the door.
She?
she mouthed.

The room was decorated in exactly the same
way as the other club, prompting Lily to ask, “Is this a chain of
some sort?”

Tam had been walking towards a side table
that held a telephone. He paused and looked back at Lily with a
confused smile. “Pardon?”

“I wondered if The Elite was part of some
kind of chain. At home in Sheffield-Chatham there’s a club called
--”

“Ah, yes, the Businessman’s Social Club.” Tam
was nodding his head. “It’s no chain, but the clubs were started by
one man, Mr. Andre Gossett in 1958. He was a Chicagoan, but spent
half his time in Sheffield-Chatham because of business interests.
He owned a house in your town and since he was spending so much of
his time there, he wanted a club similar to The Elite that he could
visit while he was in town. Mrs. Townes is his granddaughter. I’ll
call her for you now.”

A few moments after Tam hung up the house
phone, a willowy brunette appeared at the top of the curving
staircase. She rushed down the stairs and towards them, reaching
out her hand as she did so. “Hello, I’m Casey Townes,” she told
them as she shook each of their hands. “Follow me,” she said after
Lily and Smith had each introduced themselves.

They walked toward the staircase and as they
came abreast of Tam, she asked Lily and Smith if they’d like
something to drink.

“I’ll have coffee,” Smith said, “Just your
plain ordinary every day coffee with cream,” he emphasized with a
sidelong glance at Lily.

“All right,” Mrs. Townes said with some
confusion in her voice. “And you, Ms. Carstairs?”

“Coffee sounds good, thank you. I like it
with cream and sugar.”

Townes nodded at Tam. “And bring something
from the bakery as well, Mr. Tam, please.”

“Yes, madam.”

“I’m afraid I can only offer you about thirty
minutes,” Townes said as they started up the stairs. “Things are
quite busy around here.”

“Thirty minutes should do it, thanks,” Lily
said and stepped into an office with white walls and carpeting.

“I can take your coats,” Towne offered.

After they were all seated, Towne gestured
with her hand. “Ask away.”

“Is it all right if I tape our
conversation?”

“That’s fine.”

Before they could get started, there was a
knock on the door and Tam entered. He carried a silver serving tray
ladened with a full silver coffee service; cups and saucers;
napkins, silverware and a plate of cookies. He then set the tray on
the desk and served everyone before leaving.

Smith took a deep drink from his coffee and
asked, “When was the last time you saw Charles Landry?”

“That would have been early December, but he
and his brother have been members since the 1970s.”

“Does he come in often, even though they’ve
moved out of town?” Lily asked and bit into a cookie. She closed
her eyes in surprised pleasure. “Ummm, these are heavenly.”

Townes laughed and took one for herself.
“Sinful, too. Let’s see. You asked how often Mr. Landry visits. I’d
guess we see him at least once a month, sometimes twice, but no
more than that.”

Smith spoke up. “Know who he usually hangs
with?”

“Oh, the usual suspects: his brother Simeon,
James Anders, Terry Howell and Ash Montgomery. But if he’s with
those other three, then Simeon Landry isn’t usually in the
group.”

“Why is that, do you think?” Lily asked.

Towne shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s been
that way since I’ve been here.”

“Do you know if any of the men you mentioned
are here now?”

“Well I know Simeon isn’t. He and his family
are in Aspen right now. They always go this time of year. I saw Mr.
Anders in the billiard room earlier. I haven’t seen the other two,
but I can take you to meet Mr. Anders if you’d like. ”

“We’d like that once we’re finished here,
thanks,” Smith said with a smile. “Did you talk with Charles Landry
the last time he was here?”

“Yes, but it was small talk. He told me he
was in town on business, but he was determined to set some time
aside for a trip to the Field Museum. He said he was interested in
the exhibit on chocolate.”

“Anything else? Did he hang with his usual
crowd when he was here that last time?”

“Yes, he did. I also saw him talking to Tam,
but that wasn’t unusual. They’re both avid collectors.”

Lily frowned. “Of what?”

The other woman shrugged. “You name it, and
they’ve probably both collected it -- stamps, vintage comic books,
Civil War memorabilia, World War II memorabilia, European texts
from the medieval period. I just chalk it all up to them both being
obsessive over rare items. Tam hasn’t the money Mr. Landry has, so
his collection isn’t nearly as extensive, of course.”