Twenty-Two

It was a quiet night at the Last Ditch Motel. Thursday after a holiday, it seemed everyone who’d been on the move was home again and no one was planning a long weekend away. The regulars were there, of course, and one of them needed to be assured that Nemo, Gill, and Dory would be there the very next day with their other friend, who just couldn’t bear to be left behind but needed one more night to pack and say goodbye.

“A seahorse?” Diego said, his eyes now taking up about half his face. “A real seahorse?”

“And the tank it needs and the filter for the tank and the lights and some spare lightbulbs?” said Della.

“Absolutely,” I said, thinking I’d need to go to Sacramento for it. Or down to Monterey and break into the aquarium.

The pool helped. Diego splashed around on an inflatable in a Little Mermaid scuba mask and flippers until he was too tired to scream when Della fished him out and crammed him into his jammies. She sat on a lounger and rocked him to sleep while the rest of us had a little pool-warming ceremony.

Noleen and Kathi went first. Noleen wore a black bathing dress with a long history and a pair of yellow goggles. Kathi wore a polka dot bikini that had me humming for the rest of the night. They held hands and jumped in the deep end and then Todd, in a tiny white Speedo and a ton of oil, walked sedately down the steps at the shallow end with a tray of mint mojitos and served them. Roger shed his robe and dived in with barely a splash. Then it was my turn.

“Oh my GOD!” I said, pointing at the sky and then making a run for it. I fooled everyone except Todd, who pretended to retch and told me my first gym visit was in the morning.

We floated, drank, tried (and failed) to get Della to join us, then when Diego had gone to his bed and wasn’t around to be traumatised, we talked of murder.

“I like the Dolshikovs,” I said. “One of them or both of them or add the cousins and it’s all of them.”

“Families!” Kathi said. “Do you have to keep digging?”

“I promised Mizz Vi I’d present her crackpot theory to the cops, so I should really keep my word. Dob in the olive growers. But I don’t know how to say it in a way that doesn’t sound totally barmy.”

“Blame the language divide,” said Todd. “Dob them barmy.”

“And the other question,” I said, “is whether it should actually be me who goes at all. Detective Mike’s gone off me.”

“Really?” said Noleen. “What did you do?”

“I gave her the benefit of my psychological insight,” I said.

“About whom?” said Roger.

“Cops,” I said. “So … yeah.”

“Well, I can’t go,” said Todd. “And Roger can’t go.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Roger. “Todd, you are thirty-five years old and the ‘adorable’ routine is getting tired. You can’t just blab my business like you blab your own.” Then he lifted himself up like a dolphin and swam away underwater to the far end of the pool.

“Come back, you big dork,” Todd shouted, when he resurfaced. “Lexy’s met my mom. She knows I married up. She’s not judging you.”

“I’m really not,” I called. “I don’t even know what I’m not judging you for. That’s how much I’m not judging you.”

Roger swam back. “I ran with a gang,” he said when he was close enough to speak quietly but still have me hear him. “As you would know if you could read tattoos. I did bad things and hurt good people.”

“And got some piss-poor therapy,” I told him. “I know learned routines when I hear them. Okay, so not Todd and not Roger. Noleen?”

“Too many parking tickets,” she said, and sent a playful splash Roger’s way. “You’re not the only desperado around here.”

“So that leaves Kathi,” I said. And the silence went on long enough for all the waves from Roger’s swim and Noreen’s splash to die down to ripples around us.

“No deal,” Kathi said. “And not just because cops play the stereotypes either. I’m not a good witness. I imagine things. I make mistakes.” She was floating on her back not looking at any of us. Noleen reached over, grabbed her toe, and pulled her close.

“What things do you imagine?” I said.

“Like that guy on the security feed the other day,” said Kathi. “I had a flashback. All the way back to Queens.”

“Queens College, Cambridge?” I said. Probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever said. And that, as Americans say, is a deep bench.

“Queens, New York,” said Kathi. “Where my family lives and works and disowns aberrations like me.”

“Assholes,” Noleen growled.

“I think you won that war,” I said. “You followed the sun and here you are in your own swimming pool with your loving wife and your good friends.”

This time even the ripples from Kathi’s little four-foot journey to Noleen’s side were gone before anyone spoke again.

“Via the old country and a forced marriage,” Kathi said. “Noleen isn’t my wife, Lexy, because I’m married already.”

“What old country is that?” I said. “Katherine Mary doesn’t sound like a forced marriage kind of name. Sorry if that’s racist.”

“It’s not Italy’s fault,” said Kathi. “This is a Poggio specialty.”

I drank a good slug of pool water before I came up spluttering. “Poggio?”

“Lex,” said Todd with eerie calm. “Isn’t that the name of those Sicilians Mrs. Bombaro keeps on about?”

“It is,” I said, just as calm as him. “Kathi, why didn’t you say something?”

“What?” said Kathi. “I did. I told you it was a mafia name and you should be careful.”

“I thought you meant Dolshikov,” I said. “Wait. Let me think. Shoosh a minute.”

“No one else is speaking,” Roger said.

My brain was sparking like a funereal firework show. “Your name is Poggio?” I said.

“Her name is Muntz,” said Noleen. “But carry on.”

“And you think you recognised a Poggio carrying the fake pizza box with the raccoon in it up the stairs?”

“Not just a Poggio,” said Kathi. “The Poggio. Marco Poggio. He’s not active in the family. He’s too dumb for that. But he is my husband.”

“Wow,” I said. “I mean wow. I truly thought Visalia was havering with all this.”

“All of what?” said Kathi. “You said there was a feud and I said ‘that sounds about right.’”

“Visalia thinks one of the Poggios came over here and killed Clovis. Now, wouldn’t you agree that sounds a lot less far-fetched if someone else saw a Poggio here up to absolutely no bloody good whatsoever?”

“You can’t tell the cops about the raccoon,” Noleen said.

“But a man died,” I insisted.

“And a hotel with bluebottles and worms and whatever the hell those red shitting things were will die too and it won’t bring him back.” Noleen had never looked sterner. There wasn’t a slogan t-shirt in print in the world that could have expressed it better than her stony face.

“And if they send the Health Inspectors they’ll take away Diego’s fish before he’s had a chance to name them,” said Kathi.

“And we won’t be allowed so much as a loaf of bread to make toast in the morning,” Kathi said. “We’ll have to take ‘Continental Breakfast’ off the sign by the freeway.”

“But someone has got away with murder!” I said.

All four of them stared back at me.

“Mizz Visalia and my mom are in the clear, Lex,” said Todd. “Isn’t that the main thing?”

“But how can you just wait for him to come back? What do you think the next thing is going to be?” I felt it again. The faint glimmer somewhere, like a dream of a memory, or a memory of a dream.

“I think it’s over,” Noleen said. She lifted her mojito glass and drained it. “Our luck has turned. This pool is the start of good times.”

“Can I at least talk to Mizz Vi?” I said. “Now that I’m taking her seriously? God, what a nerve I had. Dismissing her like that! But now that I’m taking her seriously, can I ask her again for anything else she might know so I can talk to Mike and leave the Last Ditch out of it?”

Noleen gave me a curt nod. “Bombaro understands business,” she said. “You might think she’s some kind of mother hen—keeping the little tidbit about the cable ties from the workers—but if you were a boss, you’d know it’s all about productivity. She’s no fool.”

“Okay then,” I said. I paddled to the edge and hauled myself out. “I’m going to go and call her right now.”

I felt marvellous, climbing the stairs. My skin was tingling all over and even my mouth felt fresh enough to fizz. If that’s what a mouthful of pool water did, I thought, I might gargle with it every morning.

Inside my room, I wrapped myself in a towel and settled down for a nice chat. Except for the subject matter and the late hour and the fact that I had been told not to say the very things that would be most helpful, I was looking forward to it.

“It’s pretty late,” Sparky said when she answered the landline.

“I think I’ve thought of something relating to your uncle’s death,” I said. “Something that will exonerate your aunt. And everyone associated with her,” I added hastily.

“Is anyone associated with my aunt under suspicion?” said Serpentina coldly.

I prickled with either annoyance or embarrassment, hard to say. But this woman literally rubbed me the wrong way. I chafed the goose bumps off my arms and tried again.

“I’m not being very diplomatic,” I said. “I had no idea I needed to be. But I’ll try to step more gently around this area now I know it’s a sore spot for you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Serpentina said. “I’ll transfer you up to Auntie’s room.”

People are so easy to manipulate, it’s a blessing I only use my powers for good.

“Hi, Vi,” I said a minute later. “The day ends as it began, I’m afraid.”

“We’re not going back to the morgue!” said Visalia. I heard the television sound go down and then a lot of fluffy rustling as she sat up. I could imagine her rearranging her bed jacket. I needed to tread carefully. I needed to make this easy on her. I needed to stick to the spirit of what Noleen had said rather than the letter.

“I think one of the Poggios is in Cuento,” I said.

“Not still,” said Mizz Vi. “But yes, of course. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. One of them was here on Sunday. To kill Clovis. Did you tell the police? Did that nice detective convince you I’m not just a crazy old lady after all?”

“I’m going to talk to the police in the morning,” I said. “And he was still here yesterday, you know.”

“How do you know if you haven’t been to the police yet ?” Vi said. “Do you have contacts at the airline?”

“No,” I said. “What airline?”

“Oh!” said Vi, and there was more rustling as she fiddled with her neck ribbons. “I’m such a creature of habit. I still think only Alitalia flies to Rome. Of course, these days everyone with a pilot’s licence and a big box of peanuts flies just everywhere. So what makes you think there was a Poggio in town yesterday?”

“He was caught on video,” I said. “Although, actually, that was before.”

There was a long long long silence. No rustling; no bed jacket work going on.

“Before,” said Vi, at last. “Do you mean to tell me that you have a videotape of my husband’s murder?”

“No,” I said, “I’m saying I’ve got a videotape of someone recognised as a member of the Poggio family, on Wednesday, pretending to be a pizza delivery boy and putting a dead raccoon in a hotel bathroom.”

It wasn’t the sort of sentence a sleepy eighty-six-year-old needs to parse every day and I was ready to have to tell her a few more times before it went in. What she said next floored me.

“For the flies.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well,” I said. “There certainly were flies.” My skin prickled again and all of a sudden I had a sour taste in my mouth too.

“And there have been other … disturbances too?” Vi said. She might have been taking lessons from Noleen, her voice was so cold.

“There have been,” I said. “Several.”

“Figlio de puttana!” she said. “Stupido figlio de—”

“What?” I said.

“They never change, those Poggios,” she said. “This is very bad, Lexy. This is terrible.”

I hadn’t enjoyed the raccoon so I wasn’t going to argue, but my private opinion was that neither it, those nanowhatsits, nor the worms, were in the same league as Clovis and the firework.

“Should I go to the cops tonight?” I said. “I was planning it for first thing but I can easily bob down there. Tell whoever’s on duty.”

Mizz Vi took her time and then said, “No, you’re right, cara. Better to tell the horse’s mouth in the morning. Let’s get our beauty sleep.”

Which was ironic, given what happened next.

I made myself a cup of chamomile tea, snuggled down as best you can snuggle under a thin sheet in a hot room, and drifted off. The dreams that visited me weren’t my usuals (teeth falling out, stuck in a tunnel, still married to Branston) and I kept struggling up out of them, almost to waking, only to sink back again. I was in a church, listening to Father Adam preach in Italian and asking my mother “What’s he saying? What’s he saying?” and then I was in a doctor’s waiting room at a renaissance fair waiting for it to be my turn and hoping my prescription wasn’t leeches. I could see them in a jar behind the doctor’s desk, jumping and landing like Mexican beans. They weren’t leeches. The name was on the tip of my tongue and I couldn’t say it. I turned to my neighbour in the queue to ask them and it was Barb, trying to open a take-out pizza. But, when she finally raised the lid, a jack-in-the-box bounced out, its eyes wide and its mouth a perfect O. I turned and ran, my feet leaden and my voice a plug of glue in my throat. And then they started screaming. I felt myself begin to surface. My feet were freed, the fair was gone, and I was awake.

But people were still screaming and my throat was still closed.

I opened my eyes and what faced me was worse than the Clovis-death-head-jack by far.

I tried to scream for real, failed for real, and thrashed my way out of the tangle of bedsheets. Two zombies were leering at me. My whole body crawled with terror and I spun away to see Todd, wrapped in a bath sheet, tears pouring down his face. And another zombie behind him.

Except of course they weren’t zombies. They were Roger, Kathi, and Noleen, red-eyed and raw-skinned, angry pustules erupting all over their faces.

“Mmrhmhm,” I moaned.

“Open your mouth!” said Todd then, when I did, he took a step back. He looked round at Roger. Rather, at the Quasimodo wreck of Roger’s beautiful face. “Saline gargle?” Todd said. Roger nodded.

“It’s going to sting, Lexy,” Todd said. “But you’ve got it in your mouth for some reason, as well as all over your body.” He went over to my little kitchenette and started mixing.

“How come you’re okay?” I tried to ask Todd. “Huh hm mmuuu ayy?” was what came out, but he understood me and opened the bedsheet to reveal the horrors from his neck down.

“I have no idea,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s Poggio,” said Kathi. “It must be. I just don’t know how he did it.”

“An allergic reaction?” said Roger. “Something in the mojitos? Are you sure it was mint, Nolly?”

“But why does Lexy have it worse than us?” Noleen said. “And how come Todd’s head is okay? Lexy, are you allergic to anything that looks like mint leaves?”

I thought back to the night before. We all drank the mojitos. It couldn’t be that. We all floated around and … Suddenly, I could see it clearly. Kathi and Noleen jumping in; Roger swimming under water; me sinking and gulping. And Todd, his vanity keeping his beautiful face up out of the chlorine like an old lady doing laps in a flowered skull cap.

“Fuh-ing hulll!” I said.

“Telling me,” said Roger. “Let’s all get our asses over to the ER.”

“Ih wa hu wooooo!” I said, grabbing him with my scabby hands and making him yelp. “HEYHO!”

He blinked at me just once. Then he got it. “It was the pool!” he said. “DIEGO!” He wheeled round, but Todd, finished with my salt draught, caught his other arm and made him yelp again.

“Baby,” he said, “you can’t knock on Della’s door looking like that. Let me go.”

“I’m a pediatric—” Roger got out, then he deflated. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Hurry, though.”

We all crowded onto the balcony to listen.

“Do you know what time it is?” came Della’s muffled voice after his knock. Then, “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Is Diego okay?” Todd asked.

Then Diego’s voice, rough with sleep, piped up: “Are my fishies here?”

We heard his scampering feet and then Todd spoke again.

“Hey, little guy! Later today, I promise. Not long now. Ontday etlay imhay in the oolpay, Della. Got it?”

“What?” she said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s locked,” Noleen shouted down and Della came out from under the balcony and squinted up at us. She paled, turned, and ordered Diego to go inside in a stream of staccato Spanish and then looked up at us again.

“What in the name of the Holy Mother is that?” she said.

I had swirled and spat three mouthfuls of Todd’s saline solution. He was right: it did sting. But it worked too and I could speak again.

“Boils,” I said. “It’s a plague of boils.”