Taken In (4 page)

“Wow. Makes me want to run right out and form a club myself.” Melly tucked the letter beside her hip and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’d like to take a few more moments to get to know each of you and share some of the pictures you brought with our studio audience. Then when we’re done, maybe some of you will join the ranks of our next guest’s fans—women just like you who are ready for a new chapter in their life,” Melly said by way of a segment transition that brought her focus back to the camera at the edge of the stage. “A chapter that could include finding love again, just like Gavin Rollins writes about in his blockbuster sensation,
Finding Love After Sixty-Five
.”

A smile bright enough to rival every camera light in the room crept across Dixie’s face. “I think I may have started that chapter over breakfast this morning.”

Tori did her best to keep pace with Leona and Margaret Louise as they made their way from the elevator to the front door of the hotel, but short of running, it was difficult. Leona was on a mission involving a man, and there would be no asking her to slow down. Then again, the doorman posted just inside the revolving glass door could be handsome, muscular, and single . . .

She looked up just before she smacked into Leona from behind, the woman’s sudden halt just shy of the exit, allowing Tori to catch her breath while her stylish friend basked in the glow of approval from not one, but
two
uniformed hotel employees.

“Margaret Louise?” Tori stepped closer to the grandmother of eight and lowered her voice. “Do you really think we should be tracking John down without speaking to Dixie first?”

“You know my twin. When she gets somethin’ in that thick head of hers, there ain’t no talkin’ sense with her. Especially when it’s ’bout a man.”

“But he’s Dixie’s man now. Or could be if Leona would stay out of it.”

“I know, Victoria. I know. But it’s the way it always is with—”

Leona’s elbow found its way into Tori’s side. “Samuel and Ryan would like to know if they should hail us a cab.”

“Hail us a cab?” Margaret Louise pushed at the air with both palms. “Are you pullin’ my leg? My knuckles are still white from the taxi we took after spyin’ on Dixie! Why, if that plastic thingabobbin’ hadn’t been between us and that driver, I’d have smacked him over the head with my bag after he nearly ran over that woman with the stroller.”

“My sister, here, is from the backwoods of South Carolina. She’s having trouble adjusting to the way things are done in this wonderful city.” Leona rested her well-moisturized hand on the taller of the two doormen and flashed her pearly white capped teeth up at him. “Do you have another suggestion for how we could get to West Sixty-eighth between Columbus and Central Park West?”

Five minutes later, they were underground and shoulder to shoulder with a dozen or so other people, awaiting the arrival of the first of two subways that would take them to their destination. Margaret Louise looked around, clearly mesmerized by her first experience on a subway platform, while Leona pulled Paris and her purse closer to her body.

“Leona?”

“Yes, dear.”

She tried to formulate the best way to pose her question but finally gave up and just let it flow, unchecked. “Assuming John is indeed Paris’s namesake the way you claim, why, after six-plus years of never mentioning him beyond his part in her moniker, are you suddenly so interested in him that we have to spend a few hours of our limited time in the city trying to track him down? It makes no sense to me.”

“Is it so far out of the realm of possibility to consider I might be trying to protect Dixie from having her heart broken?”

Margaret Louise’s laugh echoed around them. “I’m not sure what you were seein’, Twin, but that man looked mighty taken by Dixie ’cross that table this mornin’.”

“And that alone doesn’t send up warning bells for you?” Leona spat through clenched teeth.

“No . . . why would it?” Tori asked, confused.

“You saw John. You saw those eyes and that smile. There’s no way someone who looks like that could be taken by someone who looks like Dixie. Certainly not after having spent time with”—Leona threw back her shoulders, elevating her bosom as she did—“
me
.”

“You mean someone who didn’t even know his name was John until this morning?” Margaret Louise teased before turning her attention to the approaching subway. “Oooh, goody! It’s here! It’s here!”

The doors swished open in front of them, and a throng of people exited the train. “When we get inside this thing, sit quietly,” Leona hissed. “Don’t make eye contact. We’re not in Sweet Briar, Margaret Louise!”

When the doorway was clear, they stepped inside and quickly claimed three seats in the middle of the subway car. All around them passengers were reading, listening to music, studying scripts, and in some cases, closing their eyes.

“Now, to address your comment, I knew John’s name . . . at one time. I just misplaced it against a backdrop that includes far too many suitors to keep track of on a moment’s notice,” Leona said quietly. “But I remembered enough. And I recognized him the second I saw him this morning.”

“But even you, yourself, said you had one dinner with him. That’s hardly enough to stake a claim on him now.”

Leona’s eyes widened in horror. “Stake a claim on him? Is that what you think I’m doing, dear?”

“Well, isn’t it?” Tori waved her hand across her lap, the frustration she was feeling inside making its way into her voice. “Isn’t that why you suddenly have a need to see him after all this time? Because
Dixie
might actually end up with him?”

A voice from their left prevented Leona from answering. “Good evening, everyone! My name is Wurly Rhoades, and I’m here to play you a song on my ukulele.”

Not a single head moved around them. People who’d been reading continued to read. People who’d been listening to music continued to listen to music. People who’d been engaged in conversation with the person next to them continued talking. And those who’d been sitting with their eyes closed merely shifted in their seats and turned their heads in the opposite direction.

“Did you hear that, everyone? Wurly is goin’ to play a song for us, isn’t that nice?” Margaret Louise clapped her hands. “You go ahead, Wurly, we’re waitin’.”

Leona threw an elbow into her sister’s side and followed it up with a foot stomp. “Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?” Leona whispered. “Don’t engage him. Don’t look at him. Just do what everyone else is doing.”

Following her sister’s pointed gaze around the subway car, Margaret Louise’s shoulders slumped, the surprised-tinged sadness on her face making Tori wish she could live in her friend’s world rather than the real one. But still, she knew Leona was right and did her best to distract the kindhearted woman. “Look, Leona, I don’t know what your deal is, but John looked happy with Dixie this morning.”

“Which is why my antennae are pinging loudly.”

“That’s a Beatles song you’re playin’, ain’t it, Wurly. That’s real nice.” Margaret Louise dug her hand into her tote and pulled out Beatrice’s camera and the Kenny Rogers bobblehead. Turning, she shoved the camera in Tori’s hand and stood as the subway bumped and swayed along the tracks. “Beatrice wants me takin’ pictures so take one of Kenny and me with Wurly! Melissa will love this one!”

Leona covered her face with her hand and turned her legs away from Tori, whispering as she did. “That sister of mine is going to get us killed.”

“It’s just a picture, Leona. What harm can that do?” Tori lifted the camera to eye level and snapped a picture of her friend and the subway musician just as the subway came to a stop and passengers around them jumped to their feet. “Besides, Margaret Louise is right. Melissa will get a kick out of this. Georgina, too.”

“If we’re still alive to show them the photograph when this is all over . . .”

“Quit your bellyachin’, Twin.” Margaret Louise dropped Beatrice’s bobblehead into her tote and sat back down in time to clap for Wurly’s final few notes. “That was a treat, Wurly. An absolute treat.”

The shaggy-haired man flashed a crooked smile in their direction then pulled off his hat and held it out in front of Margaret Louise, an expectant look widening his otherwise hooded dark eyes.

“Why, thank you, Wurly, but I’m not much of a hat wearer. Besides, it looks real good on you.”

Wurly’s mouth hung open for a count of ten, then slowly shut as he shook his head and wandered farther down the car, muttering under his breath as he did.

“He wasn’t trying to give you his hat,” Leona hissed through clenched teeth. “He was trying to get you to give him money.”

Margaret Louise drew back in her seat. “Money? For playin’ that little ditty of his?”

Leona’s answer came the way of an exasperated eye roll.

Instantly, Margaret Louise’s hand dug into her purse, only to get smacked away by her sister. “Oh no you don’t. Are you trying to get us mugged?”

“No, I’m just tryin’ to pay him like you said.”

“Too late!” The subway lurched to a stop, prompting Leona to reach across Tori and dig her nails into her sister’s upper arm. “It’s time to get off.”

They made it out of their seats and through the door just as it was closing, the roar of the fast-moving subways around them making it difficult to hear much of anything.

Tori peered up at the sign above the closest staircase. “What’s the next train we want?”

“We don’t. We’re walking the rest of the way.” Leona shot one final glare at her sister then made her way up the stairs. “I’d rather take my chances walking through the park than ride on another subway with”—she turned around and pointed at the plump woman two steps behind Tori—“
that
one. She made me look like a—a . . .
tourist
.”

“You
are
a tourist, Leona.”

This time it was Tori who bore the full brunt of Leona’s glare. “I’m a
traveler
. There’s a difference, dear.”

They emerged onto street level and crossed at the light, the lushness of the trees in Central Park calling to them with a sense of familiarity. But Leona retained point and had them skirting the edges of the park in favor of the Fifty-ninth Street sidewalk. “Dixie will be getting out of her hair appointment in the next ten minutes or so, and I don’t want her getting back to the hotel room and calling
John
with some ludicrous idea to move up their dinner date before I have a chance to see him.”

“What exactly are you hoping to accomplish, Leona?” Tori quickened her pace until she was in step with Leona.

“The man I met in Paris all those years ago had standards. Goals. Obviously something has changed.”

“Because he was enjoyin’ Dixie’s company?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Leona’s chin jutted upward as they turned right on Central Park West. “Dixie is far too simple for the man I remember. She’s a retired librarian of all things. She does nothing except sit around and deliver an occasional meal to the infirmed. I can’t imagine anything she had to say about herself being interesting enough to make him suggest that date this morning.”

Tori’s feet automatically slowed but not enough to compensate for Margaret Louise’s sudden stop. “Maybe he found her ability in a kitchen to be commendable.”

Leona turned around. “What ability? She makes soup seven days a week.”

Margaret Louise’s cheeks grew crimson. “She’s . . . well read.”

“In high school classics and children’s books maybe.”

“Maybe it was her—her charm!” Margaret Louise said, looking down at Beatrice’s camera.

“Since when is bitter and snappy considered charming?”

“It works for you, Twin.”

Uh-oh.

She rushed to head Leona’s hissy fit off at the pass. “Okay, your point is taken, Leona. But
something
attracted him to Dixie, right? Does it really matter what it was?”

“It might.” Leona stopped at the nearest light and crossed at the signal, her stylish shoes clicking against the pavement. “I’ll know more soon.”

They turned left and then right, the parade of flashing police lights stealing their attention from the street sign they’d been seeking. A turn at the corner revealed more lights, a mob of onlookers, and a line of police tape that ran from one side of Sixty-eighth Street to the other.

“Quick! Take our picture!” Margaret Louise shoved Beatrice’s camera into Tori’s hand and backed up to the edge of the yellow tape, the bobblehead in her hand. “This will be a good one! Real New Yorkish.”

Shaking her head, Leona stalked away, leaving Margaret Louise and Tori to fend for themselves.

“I don’t know why her panties are in such a bunch, do you, Victoria?”

Tori followed Margaret Louise’s line of vision just in time to see Leona disappear into a crowd of uniformed officers. “Because Dixie had a date this morning and Leona didn’t?”

“I’d like to say that’s not it, but I can’t.” Margaret Louise dropped the bobblehead back into her bag and took the now-zippered camera bag from Tori’s outstretched hand. Then, turning to an elderly woman to her right, she got down to business. “Any idea what’s goin’ on ’round here?”

The woman, whom Tori judged to be about Margaret Louise’s age, nodded sadly. “I’ve lived on this street since I was a little girl and never, in all that time, have we had a murder. Until now, that is.”

“There was a murder?” Margaret Louise gasped, her eyes wide. “A real live New York City murder?”

Tori stepped forward, quieting any further talk from Margaret Louise with a well-placed hand to her friend’s back. “Did you see anything?”

The woman shook her head. “No, but I heard it.”

“You heard the gunshot?” Margaret Louise prompted.

“I heard his body hitting the road from”—the woman lifted her index finger into the air to indicate the third floor of a brownstone midway down the block—“up there.”

Tori and Margaret Louise sucked in their breath in unison.

“I live in the apartment just below his.”