Pillow Stalk (A Mad for Mod Mystery) (5 page)

SIX

It wasn’t meant for me. It couldn’t be. But it was unnerving to see. My pen rolled off my lap and Rocky chewed on it while I stared at the torn piece of notebook paper. The simplicity of aqua blue lines on the clean white paper did little to block the message. And on a day where someone’s days really
had
been numbered, I was calling this day as over. I tucked Lieutenant Allen’s card between the pages. I’d tell him about it tomorrow.

I let the empty wine glass sit on the coffee table and walked into the bedroom. That was a risk, I knew, because Rocky didn’t understand about breakable items, but I wanted to crawl into my bed with him curled up at my side, and somehow move from the awake world where people were murdered at swimming pools to dreamland, where murders and threatening notes didn’t exist.

The next morning, like every morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn, though this time with a sense of dread. The threat from last night lay on my desk, closed in a notebook, but regardless of whether or not it was intended for me, it was there. Routine dictated that I pull on a bathing suit, pack a bag filled with clothes, underwear, and general what-nots, and drive to the pool. But I couldn’t swim; the pool was closed. I had no car; it was at the—somewhere, I didn’t really know where. At the police impound? Still at Crestwood? Driven on a joy ride around Dallas by a couple of cops who’d never been inside a powder blue Alfa Romeo with whitewall tires and white leather interior? Thinking about my car brought back images I didn’t want to face. I pulled the covers up to my chin and slept for an extra forty-seven minutes.

Rocky woke me the second time, wriggling next to my arm, fishing for attention. I scratched his head and organized my thoughts. It would be another day on foot. Better wear comfortable shoes and pack the bottle of anti-inflammatories.

Just to be certain that yesterday hadn’t been a nightmare, I peeked out the window at the parking lot. Parked neatly in my space, which must have taken a bit of effort considering the size of my space, was a Jeep. And leaning against the front of the Jeep was Lieutenant Allen.

He was wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans that hinted at a once-fit body that had softened with age. Sandy brown hair, partially wet, had been pushed away from his face, but a couple of locks had air dried and dusted his forehead. His arms were crossed over his chest like every man on the planet who finds himself waiting around for a woman. Only, if he was waiting around for me, nobody had told me that we’d had a date. I didn’t know what he was doing at my building. And that made me a little angry.

I looked around for my pink and white terrycloth robe, until I remembered I’d loaned it to Pamela and now it was part of a crime scene. I belted a flimsy cotton duster over my PJs and padded down the stairs to the back of the building. It was going on seven o’clock and I knew from history that most of my tenants weren’t even up yet. Not the best time to make a scene.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, crossing the parking lot to Lieutenant Allen.

“I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

“Am I under some kind of surveillance?” I asked angrily. “Is this your way of keeping an eye on me?”

“You’re not a suspect. Too many credible people saw you swimming and a couple of them know you offered Pamela your robe.” His eyes jumped to my chest and back to my face.

“So you’ve been sitting around my parking lot hoping to run in to me to tell me that?” I asked.

“Consider me your personal escort for the day.” He flashed me a mouthful of pearly whites that hit me like a two-gallon drum of unmixed plaster.

“Let me get this straight. You, a lieutenant, are offering to drive me, a non-suspect, around for the day?”

“Your car’ll be released soon. I thought it best not to keep you under house arrest. Not having a car must’ve been nightmarish.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. I walked to-” I stopped. I wasn’t sure how to describe my relationship with Hudson. Until yesterday, it would have been easy, but something had changed and I didn’t know what. “a colleague’s house,” I finished lamely.

“I thought you were in business for yourself?”

“I’m smart enough to recognize when I can use a little help.”
Smart enough to recognize a chauffeur, too
, I thought. “Are you seriously offering to drive me around for the day?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he answered.

All of a sudden I realized I was standing in the parking lot in my very sheer pajamas and robe. I knew how transparent one layer was, that’s why I’d pulled on the robe. But I’d never looked in the mirror. Instinctively I balled up my fists and brought my arms in front of me, pretending that I was cold so I could cover my chest. In the middle of a Dallas summer heat wave, where it already felt like we’d hit the eighties, it was a wasted gesture.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Night. Go get dressed and meet me out here. I’ll wait.”

I wanted to say something brilliant and snappy. I wanted to tell him he’d better have appreciated anything that he did see because he’d never see it again. But I wanted to get back inside the building more. So I did. But I did make him wait another half-hour while I showered, dressed, made coffee, and took Rocky out the front door for a quick piddle.

Somewhere after the shower and before the coffee I admitted to myself it’s not every day a private citizen gets the opportunity to be driven around by an attractive cop, even if he did seem to be overly aware of his charms, so it was my civic duty to take it. When I finally returned to the parking lot it was in a white cotton v-neck dress with a full skirt, carrying two mugs of iced coffee.

“Peace offering?” I said, extending one of the mugs toward him.

He eyed me up and down before taking the offered blue metallic mug. He took a long drink without asking what it was, and the sun sparkled against the blond hairs on his tanned forearm.

“I almost called you last night,” I said while he was drinking. He pulled the mug away from his mouth.

“I almost called you, too.”

“Why did you almost call me?”

“You first.”

I set my mug on the hood of his Jeep and pulled the notebook out from under my arm. “I borrowed a couple of files from the Mummy and when I got home I found this.” I opened the notebook to the page that had the threatening message. Last night it had really bothered me. Today I felt a little like maybe it was nothing. It wasn’t even my notebook.

His eyes scanned the page, then he flipped the notebook closed and looked at the cover, then opened it again and thumbed through the pages. “What is this?”

“Box office tallies, mostly. I was working on a film festival and wanted to do some research, see if I could determine some patterns to help my proposal.”

“What are you proposing?”

“A Doris Day weekend. It’s all very last minute and I have to convince a lot of people that it’s a good idea.”

“Why don’t people think it’s a good idea?”

“Do
you
think a Doris Day film festival is a good idea?” I asked.

His head tipped to one side then another.

I was curious to hear his answer. Most men acted like a close proximity to Doris Day would threaten their masculinity.

“It has its high points,” he started. “Be good for your business, I bet. People seeing those sets, right?” He reached past me and opened the door to the Jeep. When I didn’t move, he put his hand on the small of my back and directed me into the seat. I gathered up the white eyelet fabric of my skirt and stepped onto the floorboards, then sat down. He shut the door behind me and walked around the car to the driver’s side.

“Are you saying you would attend? Maybe even bring a date?” I challenged, when he was in the car.

“Are you asking me?”

“If you’ll come?”

“If I’ll be your date.”

I felt the heat rush to my face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“So you
don’t
want me to be your date.”

“Can you be serious for a second, Lieutenant?”

He leaned back in the driver’s seat. “You don’t have to keep calling me Lieutenant, you know,” he said.

“What do you want me to call you?

“You can call me Tex.” By now there was a full on smile on his face.

“Is that your name?”

“First name’s Tom. Middle name’s Rex. Most people who know me call me Tex.”

“Why don’t they call you T. Rex? Or Trex?”

“Because I tell them not to.”

“Do people always do what you tell them to?”

He didn’t answer, and it occurred to me that maybe the answer was yes.

“Where’s your hat?” I asked suddenly.

He put a hand on the top of his head for a moment, like he was going to demonstrate that he could rub his tummy at the same time. “I just got this Jeep. Not used to driving a convertible around in the Dallas sun. Yesterday morning when I got the call I was. . . I wasn’t at home. The only thing I could do was grab that hat to wear, or burn the shit out of my head. Seemed lesser of two evils.”

There was so much in that statement for me to think about at another time, things that told me how vastly different the lieutenant’s and my lifestyles were, but right now, the only thing that mattered was the full tank of gas in his car.

“Hey, where’s the little fella?” he asked.

In order to make up for yesterday I had to make a decision about Rocky, and that decision involved leaving him at home for the day. He was in his large cage, easily big enough that he probably wouldn’t notice that he was inside. The interior was filled with plush animals that he would chew on for hours at a time, along with food, water, and the ever-important pee pad. I’d asked one of my neighbors to check in on him later. Her husband was allergic to dogs so she couldn’t have one of her own. I knew she enjoyed the moments she shared with mine.

I explained about the dog sitter and justified it with a quick recap of my need to be productive. I didn’t spell out our agenda because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be willing or able to accept his oddly generous chivalry.

“Okay, fair lady, where to?” he asked.

I scooped the full skirt of my white cotton sundress under my thighs and tucked my feet onto the floorboards. Even though I’d agreed to this chauffeur routine, I’d worn comfortable Keds in the event that something—I still wasn’t sure if it would be his attitude or mine—interrupted the convenience of his offer and I ended up on foot. I was nothing if not prepared.

“I want to go back to the Mummy, do some work on the film festival. Do you know how to get there?”

“I took you yesterday, didn’t I?”

Tex drove to the theater. He pulled into the lot and parked out front.

We both got out and a small puff of dust swelled up from under my white sneakers when they hit the ground.

“You’re coming in?” I asked.

“That okay?”

“Sure.” The truth was, after the note I’d found in the middle of the box office tallies, I was a little wary of entering myself. I didn’t really believe that someone was out to get me, but it seemed the company of a police officer wasn’t so bad as far as security blankets went. I unlocked the front door and he followed me inside.

“So what are you going to be doing in here?” he asked.

“Office work, mostly. On the computer.” I was hoping to reach Susan for that Doris Day dirt, and if I did, that would require a bit of privacy. I crossed the room to the desk, and flipped through a couple of calendars Richard had left scattered on top of his inbox. “You can walk around if you want. Go upstairs and see the projection booth. Not many people get a chance to see that.”

“Sounds good,” he said from right behind me. “If you need me, will I hear you?”

“Why would I need you?” I turned around. I didn’t realize that he’d followed me. He stood close. Too close. His face was inches from mine and he smelled like powdered sugar. It was so unexpectedly charming that I resisted the predictable donut jokes.

“If you don’t need me now, you will soon enough.” His eyes jumped from mine to my lips, where they lingered for a moment, then back to my eyes. He stepped backward and looked me up and down.

I stayed where I was, leaning against the desk. The bodice of my white cotton dress hid anything that he might have seen that morning yet still I felt exposed. I didn’t move or reply.

He turned away and walked to the door. Once he reached the hallway, without turning around to face me, he said, “By the way, Night, that’s a hell of a dress.” Then he disappeared in the hallway.

There was no time to waste questioning the lack of “Ms” or applauding my choice of outfits for the day. The Rolodex was still open to the AFFER listing and I dialed the number.

“I can’t believe you never called me back!” Susan answered.

“I thought you were going to call me?”

“Whatever. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time—”

“Neither do I,” I interjected, glancing at the doorway. Thanks to the old building I could hear Tex’s footsteps in the room above me, but I wasn’t sure how well my voice traveled so I kept it low. “What’s this dirt you want to tell me?”

“It happened about ten years ago. Before my time. It was crazy, at least it sounded crazy. Someone wrote to the president of the company about destroying all of Doris Day’s movies. He said it was the only responsible thing to do, to ‘protect the landscape of American Cinema’. He outlined every movie that AFFER had in the vaults. The staff at the time thought it was some kind of a joke. Then there was a break in. The only thing missing was the second reel of
Pillow Talk
.”

“Did it ever turn up?

“Well, something turned up but it wasn’t a reel of
Pillow Talk
.”

“Don’t hold out on me now. What was it?”

She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “Rumor has it the second reel of
Pillow Talk
was replaced with a home movie starring a certain blonde in a compromising position.”