The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man (23 page)

I should have gotten up and accompanied them. But I felt that the apparent assistance being rendered to Ridley by Alphus served to justify the presence of the latter among us, especially to the diners who had stayed in our area. The performance made Alphus’s claim seem entirely plausible: If a Seeing Eye dog, then why not a Seeing Eye chimpanzee? And if the chimp had table manners, then …

I dawdled there, thinking that we were going to pull this off. I knew there would be more requests in the future. I would simply put my foot down and say no. I buttered and ate some of the excellent bread. I sipped wine. I thought several thoughts. Restaurant time has an odd dynamic: You sit and wait until, of a sudden, it occurs to you that it’s been longer than you think. I wondered where my companions had gone. And what they were doing. I began to grow worried.

Finally, I got up and, as casually as I could manage, went in search of them. They were not in the men’s room, where I availed myself of the facilities, rinsing my hands and looking into the face in the mirror.
Fool
, I said to it.

From the reception area, I checked to see if they were at our table. I glanced into the bar. It was dark so that at first I didn’t see them. They were there, at the far end of the polished counter
with two quite good-looking women. The champagne glasses in evidence indicated that Ripley had been speaking again with his wallet.

“Are these your friends?” one of the women asked me as I approached. She and her companion were expensively and provocatively dressed, one in a short skirt with buckled boots to just below her knees, the other in black, skintight toreador pants.

“Indeed,” I replied. “And dinner is waiting.” I signed as much to Alphus and Ridley, who gave no indication of moving.

“They’re so cute,” said the woman in tight trousers, who, with broad blond features, could have been Ridley’s older sister. “Hi, my name’s Roxanne.” She took my hand and shook it.

“Norman,” I mumbled.

“And that’s Kareena. We’ve never been picked up before by a blind deaf mute.”

“Have you been picked up?” I asked, too distracted to keep the bartender from pouring me a glass of bubbly.

She giggled. “I think so. We’re going to a party … Wanna come?”

“How was this communication effected?” I asked, collusive now in taking the glass of champagne and drinking from it.

“He texted me.”

“Did he, indeed? By the way, his name’s Ridley and he’s not deaf.”

“His friend’s not so bad, either,” said Kareena in the short dress. She had on a thin jersey that showed considerable cleavage beneath a heavy gold cross. “Not that, you know, it’s my thing. I like his jacket.” She gave me a once-over as though I might be her thing.

Ridley signed to me on the side. “Hookers,” he spelled out. Then something about fishermen.

For a moment I thought he meant they worked on the trawlers that dock at the wharves not far from The Edge.

Ridley frowned at my obtuseness and made the hand sign for the letter
X
, tapping his upper cheek and then lower cheek, meaning “sex,” which I got. Still, he made a circle with the thumb and index finger of one hand and gestured vigorously into it with the finger of his other hand.

Roxanne caught it and laughed. “Right on.”

It should not have surprised me that Seaboard has ladies of the night plying their ancient profession. But it did.

Of course it was stupid of me not to have settled up the bill right then and left. And go to a party, go anywhere, anyplace, to hell, if necessary. Because it would have been a way of getting out of a situation that was to be the stuff of bad dreams for years to come. But I am a stick in the mud. I am of the old school. I am a fool. Simply because the restaurant had prepared a meal for us, I felt obliged not only to pay for it, but also to eat it. So I stood my ground and, to the evident disappointment of Alphus and Ridley, insisted that they say good-bye to their new friends and return to their waiting dinners.

“We’ll be right there,” Ridley signed, a bit brusque in his movements.

I went back to our table where, indeed, an anxious Marlen hovered with our main courses.

How I wish we had paid the bill in the obscurity of the bar, left a hefty tip, and disappeared into the night with the two ladies thereof. Because what happened next had all the simultaneity of a freak accident. I had scarcely sat down and sipped some of the
premier cru
when I heard the distinctive, New England honk of Elgin Warwick. Aghast, incredulous, I peered through one of the small, diamond-shaped openings in the lattice and saw the tall, courtly figure of the same sitting down not far away with no
less than three members of the museum’s Board of Governors. There was Carmilla Golden, a woman of fifty who is active in Seaboard affairs; Maryanne Rossini, the university representative and a tool of Malachy Morin; and the ancient but still somewhat alert Dexter Farquar.

Not seconds later, I glanced toward the reception area where Alphus, unleashed, and with all the aplomb of a worldly
roué
, was leading the still-tapping Ridley and the two ladies of the bar into the dining area, Kareena carrying the half-filled champagne bottle by the neck. People frowned. Marlen stood looking on like an idiot, his mouth agape.

“They’re joining us for dinner,” Alphus signed to me as he neared.

“I don’t think so,” I said as firmly as I dared. I did not want any kind of scene. I wanted to pay whatever bill there was and leave. Quietly.

“Will you need two more settings?” asked Marlen, mesmerized again by Ridley, who had his wallet out.

“No,” I insisted. “We need a check. We have to leave. Immediately. It’s imperative.”

“What’s imperative?” the blond Roxanne inquired, meaning, I think, the word.

“The food here is yummy,” said Kareena, whose toreador pants made abundantly obvious her callipygian charms.

“We’ll take it with us,” I said, desperate now. Other diners, napkins in hand, were staring at us.

“You want doggie bags?” asked Marlen quite loudly.

“Doggie bags will be fine,” I said.

“Could I have the peppered steak to go?” Roxanne asked.

“Make that two,” chimed in Kareena.

“No, we are leaving. Right now.” I had raised my voice.

“What about your doggie bags, sir?”

“Bring them to reception. Ridley, give the man enough money to cover this.” I wasn’t being cheap. I didn’t want to wait around while people fussed with my credit card. As I spoke, I was calculating that to get to the reception area, it was necessary to cross a ten-foot space where people on the other side of the lattice would have a clear view of us. If we could make it past there and out to the main entrance, we would be in the clear.

But my augmented party were reluctant to go. Alphus sat down with that look on his face.

“Alphus,” I said, bending down to him, “if we don’t leave right now and if there’s any kind of trouble, the museum will insist you return to the Pavilion and there will be nothing I can do about it.”

“Why?” he signed.

“I’ll explain later. Trust me.”

Alphus glanced at Ridley. He signed, “Okay, let’s go.”

Ridley placed several of his hundred-dollar bills on the table as I lined up the two girls to walk to the right of Alphus, shielding him from sight as best they could. My face averted and my body hunched, I herded my group to the reception desk without incident. People, I could tell, were as glad to see us go as I was to leave.

We had just reached the desk, inches away from what I considered sanctuary, when I heard, with a sudden, heart-thudding thump, the shrill, reaching voice of Royale Toite. Coifed, expensively, pantsuited, with the eyes of a mad raptor, she came looming as though out of the wall, but was in fact leading a gaggle of her women’s-club friends from the cloakroom to one side of the desk. She looked straight at me with a face glowering with indignation.

“What is
this
all about?” She turned her fury to an obviously distressed Simon, who was hurrying over. “How dare you
subject us to this … outrage!” She approached within hissing distance. “Norman de Ratour, have you no shame? A beast just like that one killed and ate my dog, my little Miffy …”

I faced her feeling like I had woken from a bad dream into a living nightmare. I didn’t care in the least what this wretched woman thought, but I wanted to avoid an encounter that would bring members of the Governing Board out to see what the ruckus was about.

“Royale,” I said, my tone invoking a certain class allegiance as I pronounced her name
Roy Al
, the way she liked it, “there’s no reason to …”

“No reason …!” She was all but screaming. “That’s the very ape …!” She turned to Simon. “Unless you get rid of that thing immediately, I am never bringing the club here again. No, no. Never mind. I am going to call the police myself and put an end to this unspeakable … abomination right now.”

With alarm, I noticed one of her coterie keying her phone and then speaking into it.

“Madame, please,” Simon said in an aggrieved voice, “we are required to allow all Seeing Eye dogs on the premises.”

“That thing is not a dog.”

“Under the circumstances he has the legal standing of a Seeing Eye dog,” I lied, thinking,
If she only knew
.

Alphus made some minimal movements with his hands and fingers, the signing equivalent of whispering. “Let’s just go through the bar.”

Royale threw me a venomous look. To no one in particular but loud enough for all to hear, she said, “What else do you expect from someone who would marry his own daughter.”

“My late wife’s daughter,” I corrected her, making it sound worse somehow.

“What are you doing out of jail, anyway? Haven’t you been charged with murdering poor Heinie?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

An audience, including some blinking denizens of the bar, diners with napkins in hand, even staff from the kitchen, had begun to gather.

Royale, voice piping over the murmuring spectators, declared, “Simon, we are not dining in the same place as that … criminal animal, that despicable beast.”

Simon bowed. “Madame, they are leaving.”

We might have made good our escape, as the locution has it, but the words
despicable beast
stuck in my craw. To hell with Elgin Warwick, I thought, as I turned and walked several paces back to the woman. Through clenched teeth, I told her, “He is anything but a despicable beast. He is a gentleman of the first order. He is a considerate, rational, moral being. And that, lady, is more than I can say for you.” I just barely kept myself from adding that she was an overprivileged rich bitch whose family wealth came from a whiskey-running grandfather who had been little more than a mobster.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Ratour,” said Simon, who had a little trimmed mustache, “but it would help matters if you and your party were to leave.”

“We’re just on our way,” I said. “You’ve been most patient.”

Alphus was tugging at me, signing. “It’s okay, Norman. Let’s just leave. Now.”

But we had left leaving too late. The police sirens I had heard a moment before had stopped abruptly. Indeed, we were scarcely at the main door when it opened and two uniformed officers came in with guns drawn.

Keeping my voice steady — there is nothing more intimidating
than the black muzzle hole of a gun pointed at you — I said, “We were just leaving, Officer. Your guns won’t be necessary.”

I felt a push from behind as Royale rushed past me in full screech. “That’s the one, officer! That’s the one that ate my dog!”

“In here?” asked the younger officer, whose gun now pointed directly at Alphus.

“No, no, no, in the Arboretum.”

Marlen appeared holding several white containers. “Your doggie bags, sir.”

I took them and said “Thank you.” I turned and handed them to Roxanne.

When Marlen lingered as though for a tip, I nearly erupted again.

“The Arboretum?” asked the older officer, who was holstering his gun.

“Matt, we ought to call the animal squad,” said the younger one, his gun still at the ready.

More diners and patrons from the bar had begun to gather and watch the show.

The older police officer, bushy browed and sardonic of face, said, “Christ, I thought I had seen everything.”

Just then Alphus turned to me and signed, “Tell them they don’t need their guns.”

Officer Matt caught it and said, “What did he just say?”

“Officer,” screeched Ms. Toite.

He waved her off.

“He just told me you don’t need your guns,” I said.

“Jesus Christ, I have seen everything.” He turned to his younger colleague. “Vince, holster your weapon.”

At which point, I succeeded in handing Lieutenant Tracy’s card with his private cell number to Officer Matt. “Please call him before you proceed …”

“Vince, hang on.” He turned away and I heard him muttering into the mike attached to the front of his uniform.

He seemed to talk for an eternity. Any minute I expected old Warwick and his party to join the onlookers.

Which in fact is what happened. He joined the scene accompanied by Ms. Rossini. “Norman … what is going on here?”

I tried to smile. “Very little, Elgin, I can assure you.”

“Elgin, can you believe it, he brought that beast in here,” Royale cried at him.

Elgin, God bless him, laughed. “Oh, Royale, and why not?” He turned back to me. “And these ladies … Are they in your party as well?”

“Yeah,” said Kareena, checking him out. “We were in the bar.”

Elgin laughed again. “Norman, you old dog …” Then nodded, as though to signal I owed him one as he took Royale and led her away.

Officer Matt finally came back to us. “All right, you guys, it would be best if you got out of here.”

With great relief and with a thank-you all around over my shoulder, we exited. Not far off, I could see one of those television vans lurching into view. “This way,” I signed to my companions, who, I suddenly realized, were either in a fairly inebriated state or too far into their blind act to relinquish it.

We headed for the busy part of the waterfront and a place where I could find a cab. At one point we had to duck into an alleyway to get out of sight from a second television van. We nearly tripped over a homeless man drowsing on a cot of cardboard.