Chapter 9

I didn’t want Maddie present while I questioned Cynthia. I called Bebe to get her okay, then handed Maddie over to her at the hotel and returned to the Upper West Side. Two more jerky cab rides. I almost wished I’d had enough time to take the subway. The in-cab video service, with looping news reports and talk shows playing on the screen in front of me, did nothing to make the ride smoother. Neither Maddie nor Cynthia was thrilled with the new arrangement. As if I were having a good time.

“Sure,” Bebe had said when I called with the request. “I can always use Maddie’s help.” The unspoken implication was “since her grandmother is too busy to be useful to me.”

Maddie’s reaction was too fraught with emotion to be recalled verbatim, but I know that phrases like “You don’t love me” and “I never have any fun” were thrown around, and I thought I heard “You said it would snow.” As if I’d make a promise like that. As if I had control of the weather. Or of anything else this week.

“This is not your most attractive moment,” I told her.

She got it immediately and gave me her most sheepish look. To further establish peace, I told her Henry’s idea—that there might be two people, partners in crime, working the exhibit hall thefts. I got the positive reaction I wanted when I suggested she review the security videos with that in mind.

Cynthia wasn’t in a great mood to begin with, either. She’d missed my message about needing more than thirty minutes, ­because of the round-trip taxi logistics to and from our hotel to deposit Maddie. It was nearly three-thirty and almost dark by the time Duncan opened the door of my cab in front of Cynthia’s building.

“Evening, ma’am,” he said, gracious as always, though it had to be near the end of his shift. In fact, the second of two New York doormen that I knew by name, Cody, was waiting inside the building to call the elevator for me.

“Aren’t you early for your shift?” I asked him.

“I’d like to claim that I’m conscientious, but really I’m planning to leave early. This will be my first evening off in over two weeks. Big date, so I made a deal with the graveyard guy. He’s going to replace me in a couple of hours.” Cody responded to my confused look with further explanation. “Midnight to eight in the morning? The graveyard shift?”

I nodded, understanding at last. It occurred to me that I should arrange to meet the graveyard guy. Who had a better opportunity to sneak around the building without interruption? I wondered what precautions were in place to ensure that no one, even one with a key, could enter an apartment in the middle of the night. My small, unattached home in the suburbs had its advantages.

“And what’s the graveyard shift’s name?” I asked Cody, all casual, as if I were writing checks for holiday bonuses.

“Paul. We call him Pastor Paul, because he’s a seminarian.”

Really? A man of God? It wasn’t impossible that he could be a closet killer, but I doubted it. I had to draw the line somewhere. I gave myself a painless mental slap. In about an hour I’d gone from a slacker to an overzealous sleuth. I erased Paul’s name from my suspect list as quickly as I’d added him moments before.

* * *

Cynthia and I sat at her dining room table, a lovely, flower-patterned tea set in front of us. The cookies—our now traditional black-and-whites—on a matching china plate seemed to be giving me sardonic grins. The hot, fruity drink seemed to calm us down, however, and after a few minutes of deep breathing and reconnecting, we took on her problem in earnest.

“Let’s start with what was new in Aunt Elsie’s life lately,” I said.

“I can’t think of a thing,” Cynthia said. “Until she became ill and lethargic that last week or so, she had her routine. Daily walks, church, her theater group. I’m the one who was busier than usual. My case load nearly doubled this fall and I was often gone from dawn to dusk, driving to New Jersey, spending the day with clients on Long Island or up in Yonkers, all over.”

“So you needed more helpers for Aunt Elsie? Maybe people who were new to you and her?”

“That’s right, but they were all bonded, from the same agency. You met the principal caregivers at the memorial service. Ashley and Candace. I doubt that anyone who was here once or twice could have done this. It had to be someone with long term access, don’t you think?” I agreed with a nod, since my mouth was busy with the chocolate half of the black-and-white. “Have you talked to Ashley and Candace since the service?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Don’t you think you should?”

I felt my face flush. I needed to gain control of this exchange, to take Cynthia up on her suggestion, and Skip’s, that I should forget we were friends. I braced myself and prepared to use my stern-teacher voice, the voice I used about once a month in the classroom, whether I needed to or not. “I will talk to them, but I’m not a detective, Cynthia. I have no clout, no insider information, and no way to obtain it in this city. You’ll have to set it up. You can start by giving the agency a call and asking them to send the women by. You can say there are a few loose ends to settle for insurance or tax purposes. I’ll figure out a way to talk to the doormen and the super.”

“Okay.”

Could it be this easy? Maybe Cynthia had been waiting for me to take charge all along. “Let’s get started. While you call Ashley and Candace’s agency, I’ll call down to Duncan and see if I can catch him before he leaves.”

Cynthia looked at her watch. “He’ll be going off shift soon. You should just go down there now.”

I took a last sip of tea and pushed away from the table. Cynthia was back in charge. That didn’t take long. Henry would not be happy.

* * *

In the lobby, Duncan was preparing to relinquish his position to Cody. As I approached the men, I heard talk that signaled the transfer of duties.

“Watch out for Nine-A, he seemed a little out of it today and might need help getting to his flat,” Duncan advised. “You can forget about the entire third floor. Looks like they’ve all taken off for a long weekend.”

“I saw Nine-A get in a cab with Nine-B. I’ll be on the lookout for them. Don’t worry. Did you fix the problem with Eight-A?” Cody asked.

Duncan nodded. “All set.”

I was amused at how the doormen referred among themselves to the building’s occupants. Not surprising; however, both men had called Cynthia “Miss Bishop” in her presence. It seemed they were bilingual.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Could I speak with you for a few minutes, Duncan? I know you’re almost on your way home and I won’t take long.”

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

I half expected him to add “Friend of Fifteen-D” at the end of his question. “My granddaughter is writing a report for her class about her trip to the big city. She’s lived in California suburbs all her life, and is fascinated by the idea of doormen. I think she’s calling that chapter ‘The Eyes and Ears of Manhattan’s Buildings.’ ” Duncan grinned and didn’t correct my (Maddie’s) impression. “Since you’ve had such a long career in this magnificent building, it would be very helpful to have your view of things.”

“Sure,” Duncan said. “She’s such a cutie, your granddaughter.” He looked around. “Where is she?”

Uh-oh. I cleared my throat and thought of one of Skip’s mantras. When lying during an interview, stick to the truth as much as possible. I decided to give it a try for a change. “She’s been pressed into service over at the Lex, which is where we’re staying. We’re getting ready for a big crafts show there and she’s the talented one.” All one hundred percent true.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen the banners for the show on the lampposts along 42nd. Didn’t know you were involved.”

I explained how Maddie and I came to be in Manhattan in the first place, leaving out the part about the incident in 15-D.

“I’ll cover,” Cody said, apparently not offended that he wasn’t considered a spokesperson for the building.

“I might have some questions for you, too,” I said to Cody.

“Cool,” he responded, and straightened his ill-fitting jacket.

Duncan led me to a pocket door that blended in so well with the ivory-colored wall and light wood of the lobby that I wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t slid it open for me. We entered an area that was clearly a break room for the staff, with lockers, a vending machine, and a sofa that looked like a castoff from an upstairs apartment. Another door led, I assumed, to the employee bathroom. Duncan unfolded a metal chair from a row of them, and directed me to sit on the sofa. I sat, sank almost to the floor, and immediately wished I’d been offered a folding chair. The door slid back a few inches and Cody stuck his head in.

“Would you mind if I just picked up my cap?” he asked. “I left it in my locker.”

“No problem,” Duncan said, and Cody came and left, cap in hand, in a matter of seconds. “Cody’s a good kid, majoring in art. Don’t ask me what he’s going to do with that.” I made a note to ask my daughter-in-law if she’d mind doing a little long-distance mentoring. “A lot of the part-timers, mostly college kids, aren’t invested as much. They usually don’t bother to get to know the residents. But I have to say, Cody makes an effort. Not like some of the others.”

I sympathized with “the way the world is going” and prepared my notepad and pen, trying to look like an interested, dedicated surrogate reporter. “If you don’t mind, Duncan, we’d love to have a description of what you do.”

Duncan sat back and seemed to puff out his chest a bit. “We do more than open doors and say cheery ‘Good mornings,’ ” he said, letting go with a hearty laugh that reinforced his Santa image. I tried to mimic the laugh, hoping it would establish a bond of trust between us. “Our first priority is the security of the building. That means screening all visitors, whether they’re workmen, deliverymen, or guests of the residents, and keeping a log.” I wrote “check log” on my pad, acknowledging to myself the slim chance that a stranger intent on doing evil to one of the residents would sign in. “You’d be surprised at what our residents expect of us. We can’t know everything, but we try to respond to questions about the weather, or sports, or what time the concert starts. One of the things we get asked most by people off the street is ‘Are there any units for sale in this building?’ and ‘How much?’ ” Duncan grinned. “I base my answer to that one on how rich they look.”

“I never would have guessed,” I said. “I’ll bet people tell you things they wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

“I have stories,” he said. “Like what I’d like to do when someone snaps their fingers at me. But probably not for your granddaughter’s report. Let me just explain the serious side a little more. We have staff to do the actual maintenance and repair work, but it’s up to us to monitor the needs of the facility, as well as the neatness of the lobby, elevators, hallways, and even the flowerbeds outside. We help with packages, of course, take care of pets—sometimes for long periods while the owners are away.”

I stopped writing. “You actually go in and feed the pets?” I hoped Duncan didn’t grasp the underlying question, which was “Do doormen have keys and free access to all units?”

Duncan nodded. “You bet. Or, we can be asked to simply keep an eye on a resident’s car while it’s double-parked and they just want to run upstairs for a minute. I should say that the residents of this building are very generous with tips on these occasions, even though most of these services fall under the normal doorman’s job description.” Now who had an underlying meaning to his statement? I was glad I’d thought to take my purse downstairs with me, and was already estimating the worth of Duncan’s interview. “Then there are those times that are more delicate,” Duncan continued, “like when a guy might be entertaining someone, if you know what I mean. That’s what we call a ‘you-didn’t-see-nothin’ tip.’ ” Duncan’s laugh was a notch higher at that revelation. “Not that that ever happened with your friends upstairs on Fifteen, but Aunt Elsie—we all called her that, by the way, affectionately, of course—her old boyfriend did show up a lot lately and I got the distinct impression from the large bills he gave me that he’d prefer the niece didn’t know, if you get my meaning.”

I nodded to show that I grasped the meaning in Duncan’s last comment. I was beyond thrilled and relieved that Duncan had opened that door, so to speak, in television lawyer talk, and we could now talk about Aunt Elsie and let Maddie’s report needs slide. “You mean Aunt Elsie’s friend, Philip Chapman? Has he been here? I thought that relationship ended decades ago.”

“That’s what I understood also. Not that we spread gossip, but when my old retired buddies come back to visit, we naturally reminisce and share a bit of history. After a long absence, old Phil has been coming around lately. I don’t know whether the younger Miss Bishop likes him or not. As I say, from the size of his tips, I gathered he wanted to keep it between him and Aunt Elsie and the lamppost, and that’s what I did. It’s not like they were underage.” Another big laugh. “And something else, though I don’t want to get him in trouble, a couple of times he walked out with a package he didn’t come in with.”

I felt my own tip to Duncan mounting in size. “You don’t say.” It was all I could do not to ask the size, color, shape, and weight of the packages.

“Nothing big, like furniture, mind you, but a bag or a briefcase he didn’t have when he got out of the cab. He seems like a nice enough guy, though, so I figure it’s possible Aunt Elsie was cleaning out and maybe passing some things on, could be some sentimental things, like photos or gifts from their early days.”

“That sounds reasonable.” And worth looking into, I added to my notes.

Duncan checked his watch. “Hey, I gotta go or the missus will be on my back. We like an early dinner and some TV, you know? Then I’m back here at eight tomorrow. Dressed and ready, you tell your little granddaughter.”

I assured Duncan that he’d been very helpful. I handed him the largest bill I had in my wallet. His smile of thanks seemed to signify that I could have a sit-down with him again some time. When he slid the door open, he nearly knocked Cody, ostensibly straightening a dark green plastic garland, off balance.

“Have a nice chat?” Cody asked as he called the elevator for me.

“Very nice,” I said. I had the feeling that Cody hadn’t missed much. “I just thought of one other thing, though,” I said, in a move that Skip would have called “too Columbo.” “Do all of the doormen have keys to the apartments, or just the day shift?”

“They’re on a board in there,” Cody said, pointing to the room I’d just exited. “But they’re locked up, too. You need a key for the keys.” He laughed. “Funny, huh?”

I didn’t think so, but before I could follow up, the elevator doors opened. Cody touched his cap and walked away.

* * *

When I got back to her apartment, Cynthia was waiting, still at her dining room table, her laptop open in front of her. Once again I was struck by the spectacular view of Central Park behind her. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it as Cynthia seemed to have. Would I have been able to work on my dollhouses? Prepare materials for my tutoring at the library? Would I have managed to turn my back on the windows at all? Another question: Would my little rose garden in Lincoln Point, California, ever again seem like the perfect view outside my kitchen window?

Cynthia had been busy while I was lounging on a secondhand couch. She’d contacted the agency that supplied Aunt Elsie’s home care.

“The girls can come over tomorrow morning,” she said. It took a moment to realize she meant Ashley and Candace, Aunt Elsie’s nurses.

“It was that easy to set it up?”

“They do a lot of business in this neighborhood, and they know word gets around, both plus and minus, so they want to please.”

“I’ll be here right after breakfast, but I’ll have to be back at the hotel for the afternoon workshops.”

I took Cynthia’s grunt to mean “I understand.” What she said aloud was “I left a message with Neal Crouse, our super, to call you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I considered grunting, but passed on the idea.

I’d had the whole fifteen-floor elevator ride to consider whether I’d tell Cynthia about the alleged return of Aunt Elsie’s old boyfriend. I was curious whether there was a tip threshold such that Duncan would look the other way as Philip neglected to sign the log book.

I took a seat at the table, my back to the windows so I could concentrate. “Did you get anything interesting or useful from Duncan?” Cynthia asked.

“Definitely interesting to me,” I said, deciding on the spot that sharing and openness with her was the best course from now on. “Supposedly, Philip Chapman has been stopping by to visit Aunt Elsie.”

“I knew that,” Cynthia said. I sat back. Apparently, open and complete sharing wasn’t one of Cynthia’s resolutions. “For one thing, the man has been smoking the same pipe tobacco since World War Two. After he’d leave, Aunt Elsie would spray the rooms with the same rose-scented air freshener every time, but I’m a little smarter than that.” I nodded agreement. “A few times I thought of telling her she didn’t have to hide anything from me, but what was the point? I’m pretty sure she knew I knew; it was like a little game. I’m not sure why she thought I’d mind, since there was never any real animosity between Philip and me, just this unspoken competition for her affection. But that ended long ago. At least it did for me.”

“You didn’t think to tell me all this when he showed up at her memorial service?” I asked, in a surprisingly (to me) calm tone.

“I was trying to keep your focus on possible suspects. Old Philip certainly had no motive to kill the love of his life. He’s a harmless old man who never let go of his first love.”

Selective sharing, I thought. Which gave me permission to keep from Cynthia the small matter of Philip’s takeout from the apartment. If her assessment of him as a harmless old man was correct, he probably didn’t steal the Bishops’ money. And if he was poorer than he looked, and Aunt Elsie decided to give it to him, that could stay their little secret. For now.

“Did he have a career in acting after Aunt Elsie quit?” I asked, revealing my ignorance of New York theater. Other than watching the Tony Awards every other year or so, I’d been out of touch with that part of my cultural history. Maybe Philip Chapman had won Tonys the years I wasn’t tuned in.

Cynthia cleared up that thought. “He lost ambition after that. I heard he made a lot of money in real estate and became a patron of the arts. He produces now and then, I think, but he never acted again. I never understood why Aunt Elsie and he couldn’t have worked something out. I was only a kid, but lots of people, couples and singles, raise a kid while following a career.”

I put my hand on Cynthia’s arm, almost feeling the heaviness of the load she’d been carrying. “Did you and Aunt Elsie ever talk about the breakup? It may not have had anything to do with your coming to live with her.”

Cynthia raised her eyebrows. I could tell by her look that she’d never considered that possibility. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Things look different to kids. Everything is simple. They see A, then B, and figure A must have caused B. You were six years old, right?” Cynthia nodded. “For all you know, they were about to break up for any of the usual reasons couples decide they’re not right for each other. But you had just come to live with Aunt Elsie, and it looked to you as if your arrival sent him away.”

Cynthia shook her head and made an unpleasant chuckling sound. “One big coincidence, huh?”

“Think about it. Hasn’t that ever happened to you at work, for example? Maybe you dropped a patient for reasons of distance or time, and the person thought it was because he’d said something that displeased you. Or maybe that patient developed a pimple on his forehead just before you terminated your arrangement and he blamed the pimple.”

“How did you know?” Cynthia laughed again. “Thank you, Gerry.”

I relaxed in my chair, an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment taking over. Maybe we’d made a little progress in one arena. If I couldn’t clear up the matter of Aunt Elsie’s death, I could try to remove a load of guilt from Cynthia over ruining her aunt’s life. I resolved to come back to this topic before my trip was over.

“I still think it’s worth my having a chat with Philip, by the way.”

“I don’t know why you would.”

“Aunt Elsie might have shared something with him that she wouldn’t necessarily tell you.”

“Like what? We talked a lot, shared everything.”

She didn’t share the real reason for the breakup between two budding actors, I mused. “No one shares everything, Cynthia.” I had an image of Henry, and how I might need to be more open about my reasons for not wanting him in New York this time. “Aunt Elsie may have had a fear or a suspicion of some kind,” I continued. “She wouldn’t want to worry you, but she might have shared it with Philip. Now, since we’re considering that she may have been murdered, that becomes important.”

“I suppose it’s possible he knows something,” Cynthia admitted.

Or that he has something, something that would fit in a small bag or briefcase. “Do you know how to get in touch with him?” I asked.

Cynthia reached in the drawer of the hutch behind her and surprised me by pulling out a cell phone. “Aunt Elsie’s,” she said. “I insisted she have one. It’s not too smart or anything, but it’s lightweight and she could keep it with her at all times.”

“In case her alert bracelet and security system both failed,” I said, slipping in a reminder of how well Cynthia took care of her aunt.

“You can’t be too secure,” she said. She scrolled through a list of numbers, stopped at Philip Chapman’s, and read it off. Techie that I was, I entered the number directly into my own contact list. Maddie would be so proud.

Maddie! Bebe! I’d forgotten that they’d be waiting for me, tapping their feet by now. “I have to go,” I said, nearly knocking over the teapot in my haste. “If I don’t show up for dinner, my life won’t be worth much.” I grabbed my coat and accessories before Cynthia could dissuade me.

“Do you want me to ride down with you?”

I shook my head. “I’m on good terms with the doormen.”