Murder in the Air (36 page)

May 15, 1959

My dearest Justin:

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. After my last letter to you, your stepfather became gravely ill. He was rushed to the emergency room on April 24 with chest pains. The doctors kept him in the hospital until they were sure he was all right and then sent him home. Two nights later he had a heart attack while I was away from the house. When I got home, I found him on the floor in the den. He was unconscious, but still alive. I called an ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital. Thank God he
survived the attack, but the doctors tell me the chances are slim that he'll survive another.

My life has been nothing but constant running for the past few weeks. I've split my time between the station
—
I've taken over Cedric's duties
—
and the hospital. Alfred has been a big help, but he can't provide me with more hours in the day. Every minute I'm away from the hospital I worry about Cedric. His spirits are sometimes good, sometimes very bad. Yesterday he said that if Eisenhower can survive a heart attack, so can he, but then today he was very down. I know his medication makes him feel awful, but when he just stares out the window and doesn't talk, I don't know what to do. He has almost constant chest pain now. The doctors have tried everything, at least it feels like they have, but nothing seems to help. We're flying a specialist in tomorrow from Johns Hopkins. It's my hope that he will have more answers.

I don't know what I'd do if I lost Cedric. I can't even think about it without crying, and yet I'm no good to him if I can't be strong and keep a positive outlook. I know it hurt you, Justin, when I remarried, but Cedric is a good, loving man who has tried hard to be a father to you. He's been my rock for so many years now, I just can't envision life without him. Losing two men from my life in such a short time would be too much to take. That's why, deep down, I know he'll be all right. I don't believe the Good Lord gives us more than we can handle in this life, and I simply wouldn't survive if I lost Cedric as well as you. Pray for your stepfather, Justin. He needs all our prayers.

As you can imagine, I don't feel much like writing today. I'm tired and I know I'm not always thinking as clearly as I should. But since Cedric is sleeping, it seemed like a good time. Actually, there are two other matters I need to discuss with you.

First, several days ago I received a letter. There was no return address on the envelope, but the postmark said it was from Butte, Montana. When I opened it, I discovered the letter was to you from your friend Jonnie Apfenford.
All she said was that she was okay. She left Minnesota when it became clear to her that her health would suffer if she stuck around. She said she wished she could talk to you
—
she had a hard time believing what she'd read in the newspapers, but she had to be careful. She didn't know who to trust anymore. Her instincts told her to get lost and stay lost and that's just what she was going to do. She wished you good luck, but said you'd never hear from her again. I was glad to know she was all right, especially after what we found out about Sally Nash recently. I knew you'd be glad, too.

This next bit of information is going to upset you. Believe me when I tell you that it scared the daylights out of me. If you recall, I explained to you in a previous letter that I took all your personal papers from your apartment and stored them downstairs in that old wooden box just outside the rec room. Well, last Friday night I didn't get home from the hospital until quite late. When I put the key in the back door, I noticed that the lock was damaged. I knew immediately that someone had broken into the house.

I can't explain what I did next, Justin. Again, maybe I wasn't thinking clearly because of Cedric. Whatever the case, I walked right into the kitchen and turned on the light. Immediately, I heard noises coming from upstairs. Whoever had broken the lock was still inside the house. Well, I was frightened, of course, but I was also angry. You know me and my temper. Instead of running across the street to a neighbor's house to call the police
—
which is what I should have done
—
I turned the light back off and crept to the edge of the stairs. I thought of all your stepfather's beautiful jewelry. The idea that someone was stealing it made my blood boil.

I stood in the dark for a couple more seconds and tried to formulate a plan. I knew I couldn't physically overpower the person, but I also knew where Cedric kept a gun, so I crept to the study. Unlike the kitchen and the living room, this room had been ransacked. Cedric's books and papers were
scattered all over the floor. I rushed to the desk and opened the bottom drawer, but the gun was gone.

“Looking for this?” asked a voice. Even though all the lights were off in the house, when I looked up, I could see a dark form holding a gun on me. He was big and had on a mask. It was a silk stocking, or some such thing, pulled over his head. It made him look smooth and formless.

I asked him what he wanted. He said that he'd already found what he wanted. He told me if I made a sound or caused him any trouble, he'd shoot me
—
just like that. He tied my hands behind my back with what felt like another silk stocking, sat me down in the desk chair, and then tied my feet. Before he left the room he told me I wasn't to report the break-in to the police. Nothing of any value had been stolen. If I did report it, I'd pay dearly for my interference. Then he said it was too bad I had to have a son like you. A murderer and a coward. He pitied me.

I sat in the dark until I heard the back door slam. The stocking around my hands was tied tightly, but after struggling with it for a few minutes I got it off. The first thing I did was to check all the doors and windows. Everything was secure. Then I got a hammer and a bunch of nails and nailed the back door shut. Cedric always said that if someone really wanted to get into your house, they'd find a way, but I had to know the house was locked up tight, at least as tight as I could make it.

I spent the next few minutes assessing the damage. What the burglar had told me was accurate. While he'd obviously looked through every part of the house, all he'd taken were your personal papers. I suspected as much after what he said.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I packed a bag and spent the night in a hotel. As I was driving away from the house I couldn't help but think about all your warnings. Believe me when I tell you that if I didn't take those warnings seriously before, I do now. I still haven't been back to the house to sleep. I go get the mail, make sure the plants are watered, and then I return to the hotel. I couldn't tell
Cedric the truth, so I lied and said that the hotel was closer to the hospital, which it is. I explained that I didn't like driving home alone every night. He understood and even agreed that the hotel was a good idea.

Don't worry about me, Justin, because I'm fine. But I am apprehensive. What's going to happen to you
—
and to us? With Cedric so sick, and the house no longer my safe haven, I feel rootless, and very, very alone. I wish everything could go back to the way it was. I don't mean to hurry you, son, but I desperately need for you to finish your story. I understand why you've taken your time. You were sick, and then you needed to examine your feelings, to make sense of what happened. But please understand my need for clarity. Especially now.

I miss you, and send you all my love.

Mom

29

Christmas morning arrived gray and cold. Heda Bloom stood before her living-room window and gazed at downtown St. Paul, searching the streets below for signs of life. A thick fog obscured the skyline, making everything look ill-defined, vague, much like her own mood. The town was unusually quiet today, nearly empty of traffic. Watching from her remote penthouse suite, she felt cut off from the world, cut off also by her own physical limitations and her growing sense of impotence.

Several hours earlier Heda had awakened from a fitful night's sleep feeling deeply unsettled. The plan she'd come
all the way from Florida to carry out had somehow gotten away from her. Matters were no longer simple and straightforward. It had taken some time to work out, but she'd finally come to the conclusion that she was no longer the only one pulling the strings. While her attention was focused on the radio drama, someone else had entered the game.

She recalled the advice her father had once given to her older brother. When you're in the ring with another prizefighter, he said, don't ever look at the guy's hands. If you do, you're finished. Instead, watch your opponent's shoulders. They tell you where the punch is coming from. That gives you time to react, to duck out of the way and counter with your own move.

She'd never forgotten those words. Even as a kid she'd known they had a larger meaning. Right now she couldn't just watch those unseen hands and wait to be knocked down. She had to figure out who they belonged to, find the bigger picture. But that was easier said than done. Nothing was ever as clear-cut as two guys beating each other bloody in front of a roaring crowd. And yet, in a way, wasn't that ^ perfect metaphor for what was happening?

“Morning,” muttered Dorothy, shuffling wearily into the living room. After taking a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her purse, she joined Heda at the window.

Heda glanced over and saw that Dorothy was already dressed. “You got home earlier than I thought you would last night. Did you and Bud have a lovers' quarrel?”

Dorothy gave her a pained smile. “Hardly.”

“What happened, then? I had the impression that you planned to be there for quite some time.”

“He got a visitor.”

“Ah.”

“Don't you want to know who the visitor was?”

Not as much as Dorothy obviously wanted to tell her. “Who?”

She flicked the lighter to the tip of her cigarette. “Wish Greveen.”

“Why on earth would he go see Bud Manderbach?”

“Because Bud wanted to see
him
.”

Heda was confused. “What did they talk about?”

“I don't know,” said Dorothy, tapping some ash into an ashtray. “Bud asked me to leave before they got down to business. I'll call Wish a little later and find out.”

Heda watched a pigeon land on the building directly across from them. Since she owed Dorothy an apology, she might as well get on with it. “Listen, I'm sorry I got so upset with you last night. I'm sure you have your reasons for seeing that awful man. I just don't like being kept in the dark.”

“I doubt I'll be seeing him again.”

Heda's first reaction was to say “good,” but instead she said, “How come?”

“I think he's pretty much finished with me. You know Bud Manderbach. Love 'em and leave 'em. Have you ordered breakfast yet?” She turned her back to the window and leaned against the ledge. Taking another drag, she said, “I'm famished.”

Heda jumped at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Is our regular bodyguard on duty this morning?” asked Dorothy, stubbing out her cigarette.

“Yes,” said Heda. “Nobody will get past him without being thoroughly checked out.” Even so, she could feel herself tense as Dorothy opened the door.

“Excuse me,” said an attractive woman. She was dressed in tight black jeans and a tan cashmere sweater. “I'd like to speak with Heda Bloom, please.”

“May I ask your name?” said Dorothy.

“Why, sure. I'm Cathy Quinn. Mitzi Quinn's daughter.”

Heda couldn't help but smile at the Southern drawl. The woman looked a bit like Mitzi, but could easily have passed for a fashion model. “Please,” she said, moving away from the window. She used her canes to get her over to a chair. “Come in. This is a wonderful surprise. I'm delighted to meet you.”

“That means you must be Heda,” said Cathy, ignoring Dorothy as she passed in front of her.

Heda noticed now that the woman wasn't smiling. “Would you like to join us for breakfast? We were just going to call
room service. By the way, this is my assistant, Dorothy Veneger.”

Cathy gave her a stiff nod. “I can't stay. I have to leave for the airport in less than an hour.”

“Really?” said Dorothy. She remained by the door, her hand on the knob. “If I'm not mistaken, I thought Mitzi said you were staying the entire week.”

“No,” said Cathy. “There's been a change in plans.”

“I hope it's nothing serious,” said Heda, pushing a pillow behind her back. She had a hard time getting comfortable in these club chairs.

“That depends on how you define ‘serious.’” Cathy walked a few paces closer, examining Heda as if she were part of a science experiment. “I had to come and look at you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I needed to see my grandmother with my own two eyes. I figured this would be my only chance.”

“Your… grandmother?” Heda stared at the woman, dumbfounded.

“Mitzi Quinn is my mother. Justin Bloom was my father.”

“What?” said Dorothy. She pushed away from the door and walked around in front of the woman, clutching her long strand of pearls in both hands.