Death in the Polka Dot Shoes (30 page)

“You what?”

“She said, ‘Sir, you're wife is a very aggressive woman.'”

Ned said he agreed with that.

“What did you do, anyway?” Velma asked.

“Well, we were playing duck-duck-goose. About eight of us in a circle. And there was a man standing next to me who had been in an auto crash. His head was all bandaged. But he didn't look any worse than the rest of us. So when the nurse said go, I took off around the circle with my walker and knocked the poor man down. And he hit his head on the floor. I think the nurse thought I had killed him. But he was all right.”

“You are aggressive Martha, and you have to realize the situation.”

“I know,” Martha said. “The Center took us down to Flossie's to get us used to buying food, and paying for it. I pulled out my credit card. But the nurse said no, pay cash. Turns out she wanted to see if I could add up the money. And it turned out I couldn't. I stood there trying to add a nickel, two dimes and a quarter and I couldn't. My mind wouldn't add. I knew what I was supposed to do, but nothing came. So I cried. My God, Velma, what if all this doesn't come back? I sit at the computer, and peck out the letters one at a time, and wonder if this is all I can ever do. I wonder if Ned will take care of me.”

“Martha, I have to ask this. Are you falling in love with Neddie? I'm not sure that's such a good thing.”

Martha said nothing. She stared at Velma as if that question had never occurred to her. She clutched her hands on the velvet arm chair to lift herself in the seat, and Velma noticed her strength was adequate for the task. But Martha looked out the window and quietly said no.

“I have wondered about that,” Martha said. “But it can't ever happen. We're too different. And I would always look at Neddie and see Jimmy. I don't even know what happened to Jimmy. It's funny though, affection toward Neddie has never occurred to me. Every day is a crisis here. Something new about the death, or about my head, or about Mindy, or just living. My God, Velma, I can't even fix dinner so don't ask me those kinds of questions.”

“I'm sorry,” Velma said. “But your strength will come back, a little bit at a time. And we'll take care of you. Ned will take care of you. And we'll take care of Mindy too. Parkers is your family now. You just have to be patient.”

“I'll try Velma. Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Velma asked, thinking about the morning phone call from the Sheriff, and her real reason for stopping by.

“I don't think so,” Martha said. “Of course, I can't remember everything so maybe I'm just forgetting. But I'll think about that haircut, Velma.”

Martha's phone started to ring and Velma got up from the couch. “I'll get out of your way,” she said. She almost said “out of your hair.” Velma opened the screen door, and turned to wave goodbye as Martha picked up the phone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Burl and Marilyn Mansfield were bringing Martha to the Moose Lodge for the fundraising dance. I wanted to be fashionably late, whatever that means, so I went a half hour after the invitation time. I backed the Saab away from my little bungalow and edged into the street. It was easy to miss seeing street traffic because I never expected it. People just didn't come down my street without a reason, and I knew everybody on the block. Also, it was almost dark and no cars lights around, so I whipped it into reverse and backed into the street. My mind wandered. I thought about building the new house, the French chateau on stilts, but things were just too unsettled, especially now that we might have a break in my brother's murder. It was Saturday night in Parkers and by the time I pulled onto Main Street, traffic was heavy, probably people going to Annapolis. The parking lot at the Moose hall was about half full, a good sign.

I parked and walked through the gravel lot, tightening my tie and tugging the tail of my blue blazer, an all-purpose outfit that fit the words of most party invitations: business smart. I loved this jacket because it fulfilled the promise of being wrinkle proof, a promise never before fulfilled by any apparel. This one was tested. I had stuffed the jacket in overhead bins, trunks, car seats, and under folding chairs in the worst of bars. It never wrinkled. I even wore it to the Willard Hotel and felt proud as a peach when Diane Sexton said I looked splendid, especially with the white handkerchief peeking out the breast pocket. I exchanged that for a red silk pocket scarf on this occasion, adding a little dazzle to my charm.

I thought about combing my unruly black hair just before going through the door, but decided it was unnecessary. It seemed unlikely I would meet the love of my life here tonight, but Martha had a lot of girlfriends, and I hadn't met them all. So why not be optimistic? Also, I had written a few brief remarks, hoping to impress somebody with my quick wit. I thought the duck-duck-goose story was pretty funny and reflected well on Martha's condition. With a little flourish, I could paint a vibrant picture of Martha knocking down every patient in the rehab program.

It was dark inside, but the music was in full steam by the local band. The lead singer was my new friend, Chris, the bobcat driver, and on drums was our pile driver Turkey Dressing, who built most of the boat docks in Parkers. I'm not kidding about the name. No one could explain its origins, or what his original name was, or why he relished the name. Everyone called him Turkey, which I shied from until I heard about six other folks call him Turkey and he never seemed to mind. He had large solid shoulders and could really pound that drum. Not so much on finesse, but he could maintain a rock and roll beat that shook the rafters.

I looked toward the bar across the room, and spied Martha along the wall, surrounded by friends. Her walker was nearby. She was wearing a tan pantsuit, stylishly accented by two or three bracelets, and a gold necklace with a madras blue scarf that drifted over one shoulder. But most striking was the red scarf wrapped around her head and fastened in the back with a gold clasp. Her Mohawk hair was gone. And she looked beautiful. I could see the sharp features that must have attracted my brother, and a trim figure enhanced by weight loss that only hospital food can impose. She wore open toed shoes with bright red nail polish that said hello. It was her favorite saying about her dress and she lived up to the billing.

The girls around her felt my presence and edged aside.

“Hi Martha,” I said. “You look gorgeous tonight. I love your hair.”

She started to touch her head, then drew back.

“Oh Neddie,” she said. “Aren't these people nice? I can't believe it. How kind everyone has been.”

“Don't go tearjerker on me, Martha,” I said. “We have a long night. You better save me a dance.”

Burlington Mansfield appeared at my elbow and I backed away from Martha. Like a hole in the water, the space quickly filled.

“Ned,” Burl said, “I understand there has been a new development in the case.”

“I'm not sure, Burl,” I said. “They found the Captain of the boat. Of course, we knew all along who that was, and the cops interviewed him several times. But he did go missing for a while there, which seems suspicious. And now they say he was hiding, or vacationing, or something in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. And today the Sheriff called to say they have another guy who was traveling with this Captain, and he doesn't seem to want to talk about anything. So I don't know what we have.”

“Well, this all sounds good my boy. When the pigs start to squeal, the slop is on the way. I bet we know more soon.”

“Ned,” Marilyn said quietly, “thanks for all you've done for Martha. She looks great.”

“You're welcome, Marilyn,” I said. “It's wonderful to see you again. You take care of Burl. I haven't finished his will yet, but I'll have it soon.”

“Oh Ned, don't you worry. Burl won't leave me anything but three old cameras and a buzz saw anyway.” She was moving away as she spoke and soon disappeared into the crowd.

The knotty pine paneling at the Moose hall had absorbed about seventy years of loud music by every kind of band imaginable, and for at least fifty of those years the music floated on a cloud of smoke, so dense that the odor clung tenaciously to the bleach and ammonia that had been scrubbed into the floor and woodwork. Now it was all part of the concoction of fuels, including beer and wine, that drove the party forward. I had never liked these events, and the memories of the smells and the bodies reminded me of high school, the dances where I never had a date, standing in the corner, trying to stay invisible while I lusted for the homecoming queen who wouldn't give me a second thought. Her name was Sabrina, no doubt in honor of all the conceptions that occurred after seeing the movie by the same name, and she was incredibly beautiful as only freckles can be to a boy of sixteen. In later years, I thought there might be some justice in the fact that I became a lawyer while she married a waterman and still lived in a Bayfront cottage, except for the fact that I had returned to be a waterman and also lived in a Bay-front cottage. There's a morality lesson in that conundrum, but I chose not to sort it out on the dance floor. I wondered if Sabrina was coming tonight, but I doubted it since I had never seen her with Martha, indeed I hadn't thought of her in years. I made a mental note to check later in the week and see if she was still alive.

I danced with Lillian Wildman and thanked her for putting on this affair. She was in a dream world of achievement, generosity and sparkle that left her light as a feather. We pranced around the room. I'm sure she dreamed of being on a television dance show with a professional football player. But for tonight, her husband Pete and Martha were the stars of her show and Lil was appropriately enamored of both.

It struck me that once again I didn't have a date, but unlike high school, I now felt confident that I could change that at will. As I looked around the room, I could feel the eyes on the back of my neck, silently watching my moves. Simy Sims stood in the back of the room with the dark eyes of a sultress. I spotted her and winked, something I hadn't done in years, and I wondered if it actually happened, if the one eye closed and opened while the other stayed focused. A wink denotes a flirtatious gesture carrying invitations of mystery, but if it fails, you're a bungling idiot. And I hadn't felt myself wink in years. Amazing that I was moved to try.

Simy looked terrific, reminding me again that in Washington we see our friends in their professional costumes, while in Parkers we live in our private dress. I had never seen Diane Sexton in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, and I had never seen Simy in heals and a black sheath dress. From across the room, she looked smashing with a previously unnoticed figure, appropriate jewelry, and sling back heels that toned her calf muscles to accentuate her height. Her hair was black, although maybe the darkness of the room diminished the threads of white that appeared in the daytime, at least behind the bar. Her gold earrings were like framing a family photo, and I looked at her anew as she moved toward me.

“Hello Mr. Ned Shannon,” she said as if introducing a stranger. “Martha looks wonderful tonight.”

I agreed. “How are you Simy?” I asked.

“I'm great,” she said. “Would you dance with me?”

“I'd love to.” The music changed almost immediately to a slow tune, not one I recognized but one I interpreted as a good sign, an omen that Simy was meant to be. Of course, how many times had I misled myself on that score? One of my many failings in life involved going to a night club, spotting a beautiful women at a table near the band, and finding her willing to dance and converse with enthusiasm. No matter how many times it happened, I always though it was for me. Is that ego, or what? I always thought the woman by the bar actually liked my looks, and by the end of the night when bourbon had blurred my vision and dulled my senses I learned that suddenly she was gone. The band had stopped and the drummer had led the lady out a side door for a smoke. It was always near this astounding moment that I realized I was just a place card for the evening, a substitute for her husband, or boyfriend, or lover. How could I have missed, or ignored, all the signals? How could I have wasted this entire evening of my life on the drummer's girlfriend? Great expectations down the drain. I finally quit going to bars, with the exception of the Willard, for this very reason, the humiliating and degrading evening in which I dreamed of sexual surrender. I wondered if Simy could be with the drummer.

We moved onto the dance floor and my arm slid easily around her waist, at just the right height so my wrist rested respectfully but suggestively around her waist. She moved into me with a smoothness of motion that surprised me, and I almost flinched, but didn't. I froze for an instant, telling myself to accept the offer of her body, but say nothing that might frighten her or alter the momentum of the moment. She put her hand around my neck and moved with me as if invisible. And I reminded myself it was Simy, the woman who had once made me a bar stool promise that still entranced my nights. But I moved on, afraid to stop and beginning to wonder how to get off the dance floor.

First, I had to get through the public ceremony, which involved my introduction of Martha and her thank you speech. She said she didn't need any help with the words, but I had no idea what she would say. As the band finished the next song, Lillian tapped me on the shoulder.

“I hate to interrupt this,” she said, “but we're ready for the introduction, Ned. Can you tear yourself away?”

I said sure, and tried to hide my total absorption in Simy, although it must have been obvious that I was enthralled. Lillian made that clear. I backed away from Simy and she stood still, watching me move to the microphone. I took it as a signal that she didn't rush away, or return to her friends across the room. Indeed, the signal was that she was with me. Although I had misread so many signals from women, I couldn't be sure. And I really had no choice but to approach the microphone.