A Conventional Corpse: A Claire Malloy Mystery Page 21

  Peter did not follow me into the Azalea Inn.

  Chapter

  15

  Just in case Peter changed his mind, I locked the door and hurried up the staircase. He was a big boy, capable of creating enough havoc so that someone would eventually let him in.

  I began opening bedroom doors and whispering Caron’s name. The rooms were uniformly dark, and not so much as a whimper was offered in response. She had been kidnapped, bound, and gagged on one occasion; even then, she had not been an acquiescent victim, and the perpetrator had been eager to hand her over to me. And there was no reason why any of the authors would have detained her in such a crass manner. She was a teenager, granted, but her interactions with them had been minimal, and no one had complained about her. She knew almost nothing about what had happened, and she most definitely had not been present when Roxanne had been pushed into the cistern.

  But she had not been in the sunroom, the kitchen, the parlor, or Lily’s office. The rookie officer in the garden and Jorgeson on the front porch had barred the exits, although I suppose they would have allowed us out in an emergency. The Farberville Police Department deplores bad publicity in the same way the rest of us deplore the odd relative with stale jokes and the tendency to pass gas at the dinner table.

  Sherry Lynne’s room was as dark as the others, but I did pause in the doorway. The good news was that Wimple was not protesting his most recent incarceration. It was also the bad news, since he should have been. I switched on the light and gazed glumly at the bathroom door, which was open. The garbage bag that Caron had taken from the apartment was on the floor. Lily would have no doubts regarding the presence of a banned lodger when she spotted the kitty litter strewn across the floor like gravel in an alley.

  Wimple was not crouched in the bathtub, or spitting at me from behind the commode. There was clear evidence of his presence; patches of wallpaper had been shredded and a bottle of shampoo still oozed on the floor.

  It seemed obvious what had occurred. Caron had helped Earlene with the boxes of books, made the call to Inez, and then taken the bag up to Sherry Lynne’s room and opened the bathroom door. Wimple had bolted; Caron had gone after him.

  But where were they? They had not left through either the front or back door, and it did not seem probable that Wimple could have leaped out a window on the ground floor without attracting attention, much less a red-haired adolescent who was likely to have been loosing a stream of anti-feline statements. Jorgeson could not have failed to notice a cat racing across the porch with Caron in pursuit. Even a rookie officer would have reported the incident once he’d recovered from momentary paralysis.

  I returned to each of the bedrooms on the second floor, this time turning on the lights, peering under beds, opening closet doors, and making sure the bathtubs contained no hostages. The sheets and towels in the linen closet had not been disturbed. A door to the nonexistent attic had not materialized with a crescendo of lugubrious organ music.

  That left downstairs, which was trickier, since Jorgeson would be returning to his post at any moment. Peter would not be pleased with my little ploy, and might, in all reality, have me hauled to a cell. I would not encounter Arnie’s biker buddy, but I might spend the rest of the night being regaled with professional tips from prostitutes. And, of course, there was the lice thing.

  I paused at the top of the stairs. The front door was still closed, and there was no way of knowing if Peter was pacing on the porch or Jorgeson was blithely eating pesto pasta.

  My lips pursed, I hurried down the stairs and into the parlor, where Inez was packing away the remaining books.

  “Have you seen Caron yet?”

  “You scared me, Ms. Malloy. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said brusquely. “I’d just like to know where Caron is.”

  “IS she still missing?”

  I sat down and forced myself to take a deep breath. “Would I have said that if she weren’t, Inez? I searched upstairs. If she’s on the first floor, someone must have seen her.”

  Inez’s eyes widened. “All I know is that she told me on the phone that she was supposed to sell books until you arrived to take over.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “She wasn’t very happy about having to deal with the cat again. My grandmother has a cat, but it doesn’t do much more than eat, sleep, and demand to be stroked. If it typed a message, my grandmother would pack it off to the animal shelter and call her preacher to have the house cleansed of demonic forces. After she found a bat in the broom closet, she moved in with us for three months. She wore this necklace made out of garlic the entire time, and the house positively reeked.”

  “So Caron hadn’t yet taken the provisions to the cat when she called you?”

  Inez looked as if she wanted to slither under the coffee table. “She was going to do it right after she hung up. The cat tried to bite her last night, and she was afraid she might end up having to take rabies shots. Last fall Emily told us how her cousin was attacked by a stray dog and had to take all these really painful injections in his stomach. They used a great big needle, and—”

  “Wimple may not have manners,” I said, “but. I can assure you he does not have rabies. He’s undoubtedly had more vaccinations than you’ve ever had. Sherry Lynne is devoted to her assets.”

  “So what do you want me to do, Ms. Malloy?” asked Inez. “I think everybody is pretty much done buying books. The cash, checks and credit card slips are in the bottom of this box of leftover books. Should I take it out to your car?”

  “My car’s in the garage, and Caron has the key. Leave the box behind the sofa and go undercover. Ask the woman in the kitchen if you might be allowed to make a quick call to your parents, then make sure Caron’s not hiding under the desk. I think there’s a bedroom adjoining it. Take a look around there, and if you get caught, say you were searching for a bathroom.”

  “What if the woman won’t let me use the telephone? Some people don’t trust teenagers, you know. I went into a shop on Thurber Street last week, and the clerk practically perched on my shoulder.”

  “Lily allowed Caron to use the telephone,” I said. “Concoct some story about your ailing grandmother if need be.”

  “But she’s on a Caribbean cruise.”

  “Inez, you may pretend to be an ingenue, but I know from past experience that you can be quite as devious as my daughter. Now finish packing the box and then go worm your way into Lily’s private sanctum. If Caron’s not there, mingle in the sunroom and take surreptitious peeks under the furniture.”

  She peered at me with the solemnity of an owl awakened by the sound of scurrying rodents. “What are you going to do, Ms. Malloy?”

  The one thing I wasn’t going to do was run into Peter, but I was not inclined to explain. “Please see if you can find Caron. For all I know, the people attending the convention have found her so adorable that they’re keeping her glass filled with wine.”

  “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

  “Go, Inez. Paste on an ingratiating smile and tell everyone how honored you feel to be in the presence of real writers. Simper if you must, but find Caron.”

  As soon as she left, I went to the window and cautiously squinted through the sheers at the porch. Jorgeson was back, but rather than eating or even smoking a cigar, he was in conversation with someone concealed by the azaleas. I made sure Peter was not lurking near the parlor, then went out the front door.

  Jorgeson gave me what might be described as a baleful look. “Fancy that, the Senator has joined us. Do remind me to vote for you in the next election.”

  “It’s not Arnie, is it?” I whispered.

  “I reckon not,” said the black woman with the multilayered clothing who’d been on the balcony outside the skyboxes. “I don’t know where he is, but he told me to find you if there was an emergency at . . . the apartment complex. Well, we got us one.”

  “What sort of emergency?” I said. “I can find you
a phone if you need to call 911, or Sergeant Jorgeson can send a squad car.”

  “Think it through, honey,” she said impatiently. “If you ain’t gonna help, just say so.”

  Jorgeson looked at me. “What’s this about, Ms. Malloy? Has she got information concerning Arnie Riggles? The lieutenant would like very much to hear it if she does.”

  The woman put her hands on her hips. “I barely got the shoes on my feet, and I don’t keep track of trash like Arnie Riggles.”

  “She’s not going to say anything in front of you,” I said to Jorgeson. “Let me have a minute or two with her in private.”

  “I’m not supposed to let you leave.”

  “I am not leaving, Jorgeson; I am merely asking the woman to go out to the sidewalk and explain what she meant when she said there was an emergency.”

  He scratched the tip of his nose. “That’s all?”

  “We’ll stay where you can see us.” I went down the porch steps and beckoned to the woman to accompany me to the end of the walk. “What’s this about?” I asked her in a low voice.

  “It’s about this skinny little girl going by the name -of Wal-Mart who’s having a baby.”

  “Arnie said she was due any day.”

  “Not any day—now. She says she can’t make it down the steps so I can drive her to the hospital. If we call an ambulance, she, the baby, and all the rest of us will be sleeping in cardboard boxes. It can be mighty cold when the wind howls long about January. Most years I get myself arrested and do three months in jail. Better’n frostbite, if you ask me.”

  “What about the father of this girl’s child?”

  “She won’t say nothing about him, but she was braised and limping bad when Arnie found her slumped between two garbage cans behind a restaurant a couple of weeks ago. He’s been looking after her since then, making sure she has milk to drink and something to eat every day. I think he has some kind of deal with the cafeteria workers to save the leftovers. I figured I’d hit bottom when I tasted the chicken divan.”

  I glanced back at Jorgeson, who was watching us. “What do you want me to do? I’m not an obstetrician.”

  “You had a baby, which is more than the rest of us can say. Arnie says it’s like riding a bicycle.”

  “More like riding a bicycle into a brick wall. I wasn’t paying attention to the details at the time. Is this girl local? Does she have family?”

  “They kicked her out of the house when they found out she was pregnant. White folks might should go to church more often and learn about taking care of each other. Maybe that’s why their skin’s so pale. Nothing but ice underneath.”

  “How old is this girl?”

  “She looks to be sixteen or seventeen, but she’s getting older every second we stand here. Are you coming or not?”

  I made sure Jorgeson was still on the porch. “What will you do if I refuse?”

  “Arnie, that scuzzy crackhead that lives at the end of the row, and I are gonna birth a baby. You run along and have champagne and caviar with all your fancy friends inside.”

  I took a few steps toward a rusty behemoth of a car parked at the curb. “That yours?”

  “It’s a loaner. My Mercedes is in the shop.”

  Caron and Inez were sixteen. Had they found themselves in a dire situation, I would not have wanted them dismissed as unworthy of help. I’d seen a lot of deliveries, albeit fictionalized ones on TV and in movies. The vast majority of women in the world gave birth without sterile rooms, stethoscopes, and camcorders.

  “Okay,” I said, glancing back at Jorgeson once again. “I’ll go with you and determine if there’s anything I can do. Get in the car and start the engine. As soon as I jump in, drive like the wind. By the time the policeman on the porch realizes what happened, he won’t have a chance to get a good look at the car or the license plate.”

  “What makes you think I got a license plate?”

  The woman, who’d grudgingly allowed that her name was Bettina, parked on the sidewalk next to the stadium. “So they tow it,” she muttered as she cut off the engine. “It’ll cost ‘em more than it cost me in the first place.”

  I felt as though I should be carrying a medical bag as we ascended to the tier of skyboxes. I also felt as though I needed to rededicate myself to aerobic exercise. “Do we have towels and blankets?” I said between gasps. “Is Arnie boiling water? Is there a phone if we have no choice but to call for an ambulance? Do you know the girl’s name or how to get in touch with her family?”

  Bettina stopped so abruptly that I bumped into her broad hips. “All I know, honey, is that the Lord is intent on bringing a new person into the world. It’s gonna have a little-bitty heart, but a soul as big as yours and mine. We could stand here and talk about it, or we could get our butts upstairs and try to help this girl.”

  “Sorry,” I said, then fell back into step behind her. We arrived on the balcony, passed several doors, and went into a skybox. The girl had fixed a makeshift bed of blankets and a stained sleeping bag. She was sitting on it, her arms resting on her bloated belly, but her face was ashen and her eyes dull above dark circles.

  “Lemme have some water,” she said to Arnie, who was kneeling beside her.

  He looked at us. “Yo, Senator, am I glad to see you! Wal-Mart here’s experiencing considerable pain, which may or may not be natural.”

  I sank down next to the girl. “What’s your real name?”

  “Ginger. This here’s Gilligan, and the woman by the door is Mary Anne. The Skipper went out to score some crack. Who are you?”

  “Claire Malloy,” I said, then stopped as the girl flopped back and began to moan. Whenever she could catch her breath, she cursed quite adeptly for someone her age. I looked at Arnie. “How far apart are the contractions?”

  “My stopwatch is currently on the blink, but I’d estimate less than a minute.”

  There was no reason to think paramedics could arrive in time to take charge. Arnie was nearly as pale as the girl, and Bettina, although not pale, looked perilously close to fainting.

  The girl gripped my hand so tightly I had to bite my lip. “I’m sorry about this, you know,” she rasped. “Not about having my baby, but making you come here. I know it’s not any of your concern.” Her face contorted as another contraction began.

  The time between contractions had been less than a quarter of a minute. “We need towels and blankets,” I said as calmly as I could, although I doubted I’d be nominated for any awards in that area. “Some string and a pair of scissors, or at least a pocketknife. Alcohol to sterilize the blade.” I waited until Arnie left, then gestured to the woman. “Help me get her out of her socks and pants. This baby is on its way.”

  Less than five minutes later, the baby boy was wrapped in a towel and cradled between the girl’s breasts. I was sitting on the end of the sleeping bag, unmindful of the bodily fluids that accompanied the birth. No matter how tiny his heart, as well as his fingers, nose, and dimpled knees, his soul had swelled to fill the room with a sense of awe. For the moment, his emergence into the world had quieted the tides of cynicism and hatred. Like every baby, he was the prophet who could bring us hope.

  Bettina handed me a tissue. “Now we got to figure out what to do. She can’t stay here.”

  “I’ll take care of them,” Arnie said, puffing out his chest but stopping short of passing out cigars.

  I shook my head, gently so as not to disturb the baby. “No, Arnie, the baby needs to be checked by a doctor. If she was beaten, the battered women’s shelter might take her in and help her get free medical care and a safer place to stay.”

  Arnie gave me an offended look. “What could be safer than the Wal-Mart box?”

  “Almost any place without a crackhead living five doors away. Perhaps a reconciliation can be arranged with her parents. This is our baby, too; we have to do what’s best for him.”

  “Little Arnie,” he said.

  The girl’s eyes opened. “I changed my mind. I think I’m
going to name him Skyler on account of where he was born.”

  “May I hold him?” I asked the girl whose name I’d never know.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I eased the baby into my arms, made sure all but his face was covered by the towel, and looked down at his smooth brow and curled eyelashes. Caron had looked much the same sixteen years ago: both innocent and wise.

  Bettina said, “Arnie, you pack up Wal-Mart’s things. Soon as I get back, we’ll ease her and the baby down the steps to my car. I don’t suppose I’ll have any problem finding the shelter.”

  I should have asked where she was going, but I was mesmerized by the life I’d helped bring into the world. My hands had supported him as he took his first breath. While Arnie had washed the girl’s face, Bettina and I had tied off the umbilical cord and severed the lifeline to the womb. Skyler had fussed, but he hadn’t cried. I dearly hoped he wasn’t resigned to a future of homelessness, transient shelters, and abusive men who preyed on young women and children.

  “You’ll allow someone to contact your parents, won’t you?” I asked the girl, now a mother.

  She nodded, but held her arms out to reclaim her child. I stood up as Bettina returned with several items of clothing.

  “I think you’d better change before you go back to the party,” she said, thrusting them at me. “Arnie, find a clean blanket to wrap these two in while we drive to the shelter.”

  For the first time, I became aware that I was drenched with blood. “Unless I’m planning to haunt the garden, I guess I’d better.” I took off my blouse and pulled on a man’s dress shirt that could have contained two or three of me. The cardigan sweater was shapeless, missing all but one of its buttons, and smelled as though it had provided a bed for a wet dog.