Pushing Murder (15 page)

Liza was still “Oh, Mrs. Gamadging,” but I broke in, “Liza, I want that letter, and of course you won't let him in when he gets back because you won't be there. In less than an hour my daughter-in-law, Tina, will pick you up and she'll—”

“Oh, but I can't—”

“You can and you must. But I want you to write something now. Get a pencil and paper and an envelope.”

“Okay.” It was a pathetic whisper, and I seethed as I waited. “What shall I write?”

I dictated slowly: “‘I am waiting for you at the hospital … with more money than you were promised … I am leaving today … I am not going to the address on that letter … so if you want the money … hurry.' Underline
hurry.
”

A pause as she scratched. “Really? You're not going home?”

“No, I'm going to my son's in Brooklyn, where you're going, and we'll have Christmas together.” A sob that tore my heart. “On the envelope write ‘From Clara Gamadge' and tape it over your buzzer. Then throw something in a bag and wait for Tina. Goodbye for now, Liza—and courage.”

I hung up and started to punch Henry's number with shaking fingers. I had a feeling that our mugger would sense Dunlop was a deadbeat and wouldn't waste time on a second visit to West End Avenue. Quite possibly he was on his way to St. Victor's this minute! Then, with a combination of elation and shock, I realized that, because he had failed to make the rendezvous, the same progression of events would undoubtedly occur to Dunlop. My words to Henry, “Why would that creep Dunlop come here?” rang hollowly. He wanted the letter, and I wanted him to want it, but might some appalling twist of fate cause his path to cross Mugger's before my very door?

The phone was saying something about hanging up and trying again. I concentrated and punched.

“Merry Christmas, this is Jane Fortina.”

“Janey, get your mother for me quick!”

“Is this you, Gran? Mommy said that would be a nice way to answer the phone today.”

“Get your mother, Janey, or Aunt Tina!”

Another receiver was picked up, and my daughter's indignant voice said, “Mom! You never told me all this was going on! Are you okay?”

“Paula, tell Tina to go to the address Dan gave her and get Liza Halcombe—tell her to leave this minute.”

“Will do.”

“I love you, darling. See you soon.” What a family I had!

Now, money. Christmas Eve, after three o'clock—wouldn't you know. One more phone call. Dan answered instantly.

“Dan, I need you right away.”

“I was just leaving. Anything wrong?”

“No. Is your bank near you?”

“Branch right down the street.”

“Does it have an automatic teller?”

“Yes.”

“Will you lend me five hundred dollars and bring it here in a hurry? You'll kill me when I tell you who it's for.”

“On my way.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and agonized. Suppose Mugger didn't show up before four o'clock. Having agitated for days to leave the place, how could I reasonably delay? Exhaustion, palpitations, a fainting fit? I looked around at the total disarray of the room—enough to make anyone faint. Mustn't pack, mustn't dress. Stay in bathrobe. Lie down and look wan. Wonder aloud if, after all, I really do feel strong enough to—

The phone rang.

“Is this Mrs.…?” He pronounced it something like “garbage” and I knew my prince had come.

18

“Yes—yes—this is Mrs. Gamadge. I believe you have something to sell me.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I'm anxious to buy. Where are you?”

“No dice. How do I know you won't—”

“My dear child, believe me I won't. I only ask because it will take about thirty or forty minutes to get the cash. Can you be here that soon?”

“Yeah.”

“Will five hundred dollars be satisfactory?”

“Yeah!”

“Then bring the letter as quickly as possible. You know my room number. You were here last night, weren't you?”

“Yeah.”

“If you get here before the cash does, we can chat while we wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A blank pause. “Perhaps we can discuss a career change for you.” Clara, don't be cute. “Believe me, I have absolutely no interest in detaining you, and I'll be out of here very shortly, so hurry.” I became aware of a sort of dim roar in the background. “Can you hear what I'm saying?”

“Yeah.”

“What's that noise? Are you in a subway station?”

“I'm downstairs in the lobby. The place is mobbed. Santa Claus just came in.”

My heart stopped. Santa Claus. I told myself there
was
a children's party here today and probably a thousand Santas operating in Manhattan at this moment. But if—but if—and if—had he seen Mugger? From the level of noise, I judged the phone to be in an open row of slots, not in a booth. I envisioned the boy standing in full view, turned toward Santa.

I said, “Do what I tell you. Go stand at the main door of the lobby. In just a few minutes a dark-haired man with a mustache will come in. His wrist is in a cast, which you put there.”

“Huh?”

“He's the man you took the letter from in the parking garage.”

“Yeah? I broke his wrist?” Definite note of pride.

“He won't know you, of course, so say to him, ‘Mrs. Gamadge said I should give you the letter and you give me the money.'” I couldn't add the insane words “And don't let Santa see you do it,” so I settled for “Maybe you better wait outside. You might miss him in the crowd. Is Santa Claus still there?”

“Yeah. I hope this guy ain't long. It's starting to snow again. Hey—wait.”

“What?”

“How do I know you won't have me picked up?”

“What for? You could have just found the letter and be kindly returning it to me. Don't be dumb. Dumb crooks go nowhere.”

I hung up, mad with impatience. Sure enough, the window was white again. Traffic would be at a crawl. Oh, Dan, get out of the cab and
run.
I started to pull my clothes on, at the same time moving around the room pitching stuff into the wastebasket or my suitcase. As I tipped the contents of the bedside table drawer, something caught on my fingers—the string of Janet's scapular. I stood staring at it, then I wrapped the string around the two little squares and laid it beside my pocketbook. An amulet. I'd hold it in my hand till I was clear of the hospital. See me safely out, Janet.

Dr. Cullen and a beaming Sister Agnes walked in. I had a feeling they were both immensely relieved to see me go.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gamadge, you're a free woman.” The doctor held out her hand smiling, then took my wrist. I hoped my pulse wasn't pounding. “How do you feel?”

“Just great.”

“Let me see you move without the walker.”

I limped about a little, and she talked about how I should rent one of the things but not rely on it too much, how I was to … Dan should be coming through the door just about now, just about now … and she would see me at her office in two weeks.

I said, “Thanks for everything, Doctor. Thanks so much.”

“I hope all the grief and trouble will be over soon.”

“I hope so, too. Thanks again.”

She went out, and Sister said, “Who's taking you home?”

“Mr. Saddlier and Dan Schenck. They should be here any minute.”

“Here's your instruction sheet and a prescription for medication if you need it.” I stuffed them into my pocketbook. “Dr. Cullen will want to see you in two weeks, and Dr. Purdy in four.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Purdy. The orthopedist.” Was that the name of the ridiculously young man I'd seen twice? “You're going to your son's home in Brooklyn, I understand.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I guess that's everything. You'll go down in a wheelchair, of course.”

“Must I?”

“Oh, yes. You'll be wheeled right to the car. I'll be back when you're ready to go. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Not a thing. You've been wonderful, Sister. I'm very grateful.” I added lamely, “I hope I haven't upset things too much.”

“Of course not.” She patted my hand. “You were fine. You were—well, as one of the nurses said—you were
different.
”

She went out, and I smiled to myself.
Different.
A pleasant euphemism for
weird.
Now, if only my two escorts would show up.… I went to the window and looked despairingly out at the thickening white veil. A tap on the door made me turn.

Santa Claus stood there.

I was speechless and motionless as he started to ho-ho-ho cornily. With an effort, I reminded myself that I was not lying helpless in the bed but was at least ambulatory. I said, as steadily as I could, “Thanks for dropping in, Santa. You look real good.”

He said, “
Real
is colloquial.
Very
is preferred.”

“Sadd! You wretch!” I grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it at him, then burst out laughing with relief. “How could you terrify me like that?”

“Sorry. I didn't think I'd fool you.” He pulled down his beard and stood comical and contrite, one cotton eyebrow askew. To think it was only dear Sadd, and me envisioning a disguised Dunlop descending on me and Mugger!

I picked up the pillow. “What are you doing in that rig—you, of all people.”

“I'm doing the hospital a favor, that's what I'm doing.” He pulled off his pom-pommed cap and grinned. “Did you think I was a certain other Santa of our acquaintance? But he's huge. I thought you'd recognize my foreshortened form.”

“You nearly foreshortened my life.” I stuck his eyebrow back up. “What brought you to this pass?”

“It seems their regular man, one of the hospital custodians, called in sick at the last minute, so they dug out the costume and waylaid the first sucker to park near the cafeteria door. I told them I was about as suited to the role as Herod, but they dragged me in anyway. Lord, this outfit is hot.” He tugged at his throat. “The hospital is overheated as it is, and I'm a walking sauna.” He put his cap back on with a groan. “Well, I'd better get it over with.”

I stopped in the act of adjusting his padding. “You mean you haven't done your stint yet?”

“No. I just came up to tell you I can't go home with you. Will Dan be sufficient escort?”

“Of course.” My mouth was a little dry. “Er … were you in the lobby just now?”

“The lobby? God forbid. I sneaked up the back stairs. No, my contract calls for one hour in the cafeteria, no more, no less. Well, see you at Nice Ugly tonight. And I'll bet it will never look nicer or less ugly to you.”

I nodded, trying to smile. He went out with a wave, and I waved back, my arm feeling stiff. I stood staring into the hall. Berobed patients passed as usual. Nurses passed as usual. One or two, noting my attire, said, “Going home?” “Merry Christmas,” “Take care of yourself,” and the like.

The phone rang. When I got to it, Dan's voice was low and his words rapid. “Be at your door with your gear. Stand there and wait for me. Don't be alone. Grab somebody to talk to.”

“They say I have to go down in a wheelchair.”

“Then get in it. I'll be—wait!” Silence. Or rather, he stopped talking; there was the same dim roar I'd heard before. I envisioned a dangling receiver.

“Dan? Dan?” Oh, God, what had happened to him? I shouted into the phone, “Hello! Hello! Can anyone hear me? Dan!
Dan!
”

His breathless voice said, “I'll be right up. I have the letter, but he's killed the kid.”

19

My first thought was that I'd be grateful for the wheelchair; I doubted my legs would carry me even to the door. But I made them take me to where my coat and bag lay, then to the bedside table for my pocketbook, and—what was this object?—of course, the scapular. I picked it up and closed my fist over it. Normal circumstances would then call for a final check of closet and bathroom, but now normal called for walking trancelike to the door.

D.N. was passing. She asked happily, “Ready to go, Mrs. Gamadge?”

“Yes.”

“Sister said to let her know. She wants to go down with you. I'll get a chair.”

I stood leaning against the door. An elderly woman with a cane was approaching.
Don't be alone. Grab someone to talk to.
I said, “What a pretty robe. It's just the kind I've been looking for. Where did you get it?”

“My granddaughter gave it to me for Christmas, and I wouldn't know where she got it, dear. Going home? Aren't you lucky.”

“Yes, I certainly am. How about you?”

“Not for a while, I guess. The doctor told me…” She was launched on what promised to be complications enough to last till my chair appeared. In fact, it might be wise to hang on to her right to the elevator—safety in numbers.

“… after my hip replacement but before the pin in my knee…”

Sister Agnes appeared with my chair. She smiled at my companion and said, “Don't stay up too long, Mrs. Potter.”

Mind your own business, Sister. “But her case is so interesting.” I got into the chair, piling my gear in my lap. “And I've never known a great deal about hip replacements. Do go on, Mrs. Potter.”

Sister said, “Where are Mr. Saddlier and Mr. Schenck?”

“Just Mr. Schenck—he's on his way up.”

“… but the cartilage was so torn that the pin…”

The elevator door opened, and Dan ejected like a bullet. In three steps he was beside us seizing the handle of my chair from Sister.

“Not this elevator, Sister. The lobby's a madhouse. There's been an accident, and the police are there. Can we use the service elevator?”