The Devil's Interval (45 page)

“No visitors yet,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” I asked. “You're supposed to be guarding the door. And where's the cop who was with you?”

“Officer,” he said, taking a step closer. “We call them officers. And, he's in the men's room, not that it's any concern of yours.” He
turned to glance at the door, and while he did, I slipped my hand from atop Ivory's to the call button and pushed it quickly three times. He looked back at me. “Where's the Lieutenant?”

“On his way here,” I said, hoping that was the truth. “What's the pillow for?”

He looked down at the pillow, as if he'd forgotten he had it under his arm. “Oh, this? I heard Ms. Gifford call out, and she was struggling to sit up.” I looked down at Ivory. That seemed unlikely. “I thought another pillow behind her back would help her be more comfortable.”

“A regular Florence Nightingale,” I said. “Sure you weren't trying to do something else with that pillow?” I watched as he tossed the pillow on the bed, first with relief, and then with concern, as I realized that both his hands were now free.

“You know Gus Reeves, don't you?” I said.

He smiled, and tapped the snakehead at his throat. “Smart little thing, aren't you? Old Gus saved my life in Nam. Killed a very nasty, slithery, poisonous thing for me one night while we were out on patrol. That's why I'm here. Looking out for the lady Gus loves.”

“The ‘silver fox' he loves,” I said. “You're the
officer
who said you saw Gus and Ivory at that movie, aren't you?”

And then the door to the room flew open, as a nurse, Moon and the missing-in-action cop bustled in. Everyone started talking at once, and the nurse rushed over to Ivory's bedside. From the opposite side, I watched in relief as she checked her pulse, the monitors, and put a stethoscope to her chest. She looked up and said, “Sounds good.”

And then, Moon pointed at Pollack and said, “Outside. Now.”

Pollack shot me a look and edged toward the door, with the young officer at his side. “I'm staying,” I said. I glanced at the nurse, “If it's okay.”

She nodded. Moon crooked his finger at me. “Maggie, give me five minutes, please.” I started to protest, and then followed him outside. You've got to know when to compromise, or at least, that's what I think I was starting to learn from Dr. Mephisto.

A
fter briefing Moon on my theories, and my fears, I returned to Ivory's bedside. Periodically, she'd wake up, look over, talk for a few minutes about the klezmer music, and drift off again. Around ten o'clock that night, Michael and Isabella arrived. I could hear Isabella's heels tapping toward the door, before I heard the knock. Ivory was sleeping again, so I went into the hall and shooed them all into one of the visiting-room lounges. I'd seen a shift change of nurses, introduced myself, knew the name of the nurse assigned to Ivory, and the names and ages of all her kids. We'd even traded hat-shopping tips. She leaned more to contemporary, wearable art; I favored vintage. But we were becoming pals. Michael had stopped at Everett and Jones on the way to the City and brought me a big, messy barbecue sandwich and a milkshake. I hadn't known I was hungry 'til I smelled the familiar aroma of burned brisket edges and smoky sauce. Comfort food, which I devoured while we talked, and I licked stray dribbles of sauce off my fingers.

Isabella was so wired, she could hardly sit still. Between bites, I told them what I had learned from Ivory. That the shock of losing The Devil's Interval, sifting through the rubble, and coming face-to-face with the possibility Travis would never come home to the place they both loved, had shaken something loose in her. She'd started to remember—and Gus had tried to help with those memories. At her insistence, Gus had driven her to the movie
theater where
Mitzvah in Mali
had played. She'd walked inside, sat in the seats, and realized that she'd never set foot in the place.

“Where was I if I wasn't at the movie?” she'd asked Gus.

And he had told her. That she'd come home late at night, dirty, distraught, and with a gun stashed in her purse. She'd sobbed and babbled incoherently about protecting Travis from “that woman.” Gus cleaned her up, gave her a sleeping pill, and put her to bed. He'd been to the movies, he said. Later, he found a tape of
Mitzvah in Mali
and brought it home, and convinced Ivory she'd actually seen it that night, and liked it enough that they needed to own a copy.

Michael and Isabella listened. A few times Isabella tried to interrupt with questions, but Michael put his hand on her forearm, and kept saying, “Go on, Maggie. Finish.”

“The next day, Gus told her he had taken care of everything and not to worry. Ivory was frantic to go to the police, but Gus insisted that she think things over. Travis would never forgive her when he found out what she'd done. And what good would it do anybody for her to go to prison?”

“She agreed to wait. And then, a few days later…”

“Travis was arrested,” Isabella completed the sentence. She sank back into the rump-sprung armchair. “I can't believe she was going to let Travis take the rap for a crime she committed. What the hell kind of parent would do that? Where's this famous do-anything-for-my-kid love?”

“The kind of love…” said Michael slowly, “that can't remember anything about what happened.”

“That's right,” I said. “Ivory had a stroke right after Travis was arrested. When she regained consciousness, she remembered nothing—about the crime, about Gus's cover-up, zip. It's as if the hard drive in her brain had been erased about that night.”

Michael was looking at me. “It wasn't erased, was it, Maggie? It was altered. And Ivory just realized how.”

“The klezmer group playing upstairs,” I said. “It shook a lot more stuff loose.”

I
n fact, Isabella was right. The whole thing was about protective parental love gone very wrong—but it wasn't Ivory protecting Travis. It was Gus protecting his daughter, Ginger, from what he perceived as her hopelessly immoral and corrupt best friend. It was Gus who had crashed the Crimson that night and dragged Ginger, disguised in one of her dress-up moments, outside into the night. And, of course, Doc had reported that story to me because he knew I'd hear it anyway, and he could cover for Gus.

“That is so random,” said Krissy, through a mouthful of pizza, the night we gathered the AWE duo and some other selected guests—Moon, Lulu Brown, Andrea, Calvin, Hoyt, and Carol Ann. Beer and wine for the grownups, along with an informal agreement among everyone that we'd keep the details of what went on at the Crimson at the PG level, lemonade for Josh and for Esme, who seemed to be logging more time at our house than hers. Zach, mercifully, was spending the night at a soccer buddy's house. Krissy continued, “I mean, I've heard of overprotective parents, but Ginger's an adult. Get a grip!” She shook her head.

Lulu, now at work on the blue and gold booties to accompany the sweater, looked up. “You haven't met my mother-in-law. She would have murdered anyone to keep me from marrying Prince Hal. Fortunately,” she allowed herself a small smile, ”the senior Mrs. Brown realized there was a new sheriff in town just in the nick of time. So, I didn't have to off her.”

I shot Michael a glance. More things Lulu and I had in common. The senior Mrs. Fiori had been something less than pleased to see “her Mikey” lie down on the nuptial couch with a Jewish harlot. Or wait, had she called me a Whoring Daughter of Zion? I'll have to ask Michael; I seemed to have blocked those particular memories out of my personal hard drive.

Michael and I opened beer bottles, passed pizza, and shared the floor, bringing everyone up to date. About how creepy, old, snakehead Doc Pollack had alerted Gus he'd seen his precious Ginger at the Crimson Club, frolicking with Grace, their husbands, and a few others. How Gus had pled with Ginger to end her friendship with Grace—and Ginger had refused. How serendipitous it seemed that Travis and Grace became involved, and how handy to have the keys to Travis's car and apartment, hanging on a hook in the bar.

“And my mom was smart enough to figure out how that weirdo cop Pollack was connected to Gus,” bragged Josh. He beamed at me. Dear Lord, take me now, I thought. I've impressed my kid—it will never get better than this. In fact, Josh looked delighted with the whole scene. Krissy had brought him a “Hastings Hunk” T-shirt, and though it drowned his still-slender chest, he wore it proudly. And there was that little Esme, glued to his side, and oh, my goodness, were they holding hands?

“Mom,” said Josh, “Mom? Tell 'em how you figured it out.”

“Oh, well,” I said, distracted, tearing my eyes away from the completely fascinating-in-a-disturbing-way sight of my son holding hands. With a girl. In front of his parents!

“They both spelled something out in front of me and they used the military alphabet—when I couldn't understand Doc's nickname at the nightclub, he spelled it: Delta Oscar Charlie. And then, the night of the fire, Gus told us not to worry about Ivory, because he had a gun, and he spelled it out for us: Golf Uniform November. Plus, I knew Gus had been in Vietnam, and Pollack was about the same age. And then, when I saw Doc hanging around the crime scene, it just seemed like too much of a coincidence all
around.”

“And Gus is who I saw at Grace's that night?” asked Carol Ann. “And Doc was the short guy hiding in the backseat?”

“That was our big break,” said Isabella. “That gave all of us some hope that there was some mysterious somebody or somebodies out there.”

Krissy let out a sigh. “Well, all our terrific AWE ideas didn't pan out, did they?”

“Actually, they did,” I corrected her. “You were chasing down financial information to find out who might have benefited from Grace's death. And benefiting from her death turned out to be exactly the right answer—just not for financial reasons. And then,” I added, taking a lovely gulp of Merlot, “Lulu pointed out that what we really needed to figure out was who would benefit from Grace's death, and also benefit from getting Travis out of the way.”

“The elusive Mr. Reeves,” said Moon. “He saves his daughter from what he perceives as Grace's evil clutches, and is suddenly able to be the ‘main man' in Ivory's life, with her son conveniently locked away. Her son, who doesn't really approve of Mom's longtime beau, anyway, is now a nonfactor.”

“At the end, he wasn't so elusive, though,” pointed out Michael. “The cops found him,
cara
.”

I couldn't help a little self-satisfied smile creeping across my face. “Thanks to Maggie,” said Moon, “who remembered Gus mentioning some cabin he had in the woods, and the name of the place he went for bait and supplies, which enabled us to narrow the search.”

“Proust had his madeleines,” I said. “I have my trout po'boy.”

“And I have to admit that was extraordinary good fortune,” said Moon. “Ivory had no idea where Gus had gone. He left her with a glass of Scotch and several Vicodins dissolving in the bottom. And a gun with no pedigree, kindly supplied to him by Doc Pollack, who had, just as Maggie suspected, removed it from an evidence locker. He realized that with Ivory's memory coming
back, the goose was cooked one way or another. He figured he'd let Ivory continue thinking she did it, and just see what happened.”

“Ain't love grand?” said Michael.

“Oh, I believe he loves her,” said Moon. “He told us he was holed up, waiting to hear what happened, If she killed herself, he was prepared to eat his gun and join her in the sweet hereafter. If she confessed, he swore he'd come back and tell the truth.”

There was silence in the room.

I glanced at Josh and Esme. Now things had escalated. He had his arm around her. I looked from them to Moon.

“Poor choice of words,” said Moon. “I apologize.”

“So,” said Michael, giving me the ‘should we throw Josh and Esme out of the room right now' look?

“Who wants dessert? Brownies on the counter in the kitchen, and coffee in the urn.”

We watched the group stream into the kitchen. “What do you think?” Michael asked. “This seems pretty intense for Josh and Esme. On the other hand, it's all been in the papers.”

“Oh, they're already intense,” I said dryly. “They're flooded with hormones. It's
Spring Awakening
right here in the 'burbs.”

Michael put his arm around me. “Lighten up. Don't you remember what it was like to be that age?”

“I do,” I said. “Oh, I do.” We agreed that the worst was behind us in the debrief, and that we might as well let the two of them stay. “And you'll be calling Esme's mom to give her a heads-up about the topics of conversation tonight?” I asked.

“Not my job,” said Michael. “Mom-to-mom. Absolutely your department. Not negotiable.”

When everyone was resettled, Moon picked up the thread.

“When we brought Gus in, he confessed. Frankly, he was so relieved to know that Ivory was all right, I think he'd have confessed to the earthquake and fire of '06.”