Hit & Mrs. (12 page)

The girl at the desk interrupted his thoughts. She gave him the number for the florist. He thanked her and hurried away.

Gracie and Keaton spent the night at the Vanderbilt Y on 47th Street as the Waldorf was close by, between 49th and 50th streets. She'd spent the money because she and her son were exhausted and needed a bed behind a locked door. Fortunately, she'd picked up a bite to eat and some diapers at an all-night corner store.

The sheet came in handy, as she didn't have anything else to carry Keaton in and he got heavier by the minute. With her sweater zipped over him, he looked as if she had him secured in a Snugli. To carry him in her arms would raise suspicion.

But she slept longer than she meant to, so she hurriedly drank the leftover milk and juice she'd bought the night before and unwrapped her muffin. Keaton looked at her with his big brown eyes.

“I have to eat so you can eat, little guy.”

He waved his hands around and grabbed his foot, which he proceeded to stuff in his mouth. “No, you can't have toes for breakfast. Give me a sec.”

He looked so cute. Gracie choked on her muffin and tears filled her eyes. “What have I done to you? I put you in such danger. Everyone's right, I'm a screw-up.”

Keaton blew her a raspberry.

After her breakfast, Keaton had his. She bathed him and had a quick shower herself, after which she felt better, stronger. Courage was what she needed. People's lives were at stake, and she was the reason.

Gracie left the Y and hurried up the street. In no time she was in front of the Waldorf Astoria. Imagine being able to stay in a place like that. This Bette and the Keaton woman must have money. She walked through the doors as if she had every right in the world to be there, marching up to the desk to ask if there was a Bette Weinberg or a Mrs. Keaton staying there.

The receptionist said, “I'm sorry. There's no Bette Weinberg, but there's a Mrs. Stuart Keaton and a…”

“That's it,” Gracie said in a rush. “Can you tell me what room she's in?”

The girl glanced up. “I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to give out that information. I can phone her and see if she's in. Whom shall I say is calling?”

Gracie thought for a moment. She'd stolen four hundred dollars from Bette Weinberg and used some of it. If she said the mother from the airport, she was afraid the friends might call the cops, since she never tried to call Bette to give her back her bag. She'd have to wait and hopefully catch them coming into the hotel.

“No, that's fine. Thanks anyway.”

She turned and started to walk away when a man passed her holding a bouquet of flowers. He went up to the desk and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Delivery for Dr. Stuart Keaton's room.” He passed over the flowers. The receptionist signed for them and beckoned for one of the bellmen. She told him to take the bouquet up to Dr. Keaton's room. He nodded and left with the flowers.

Gracie followed him.

She waited around a corner while the bellman knocked on the door. No one answered so he knocked again. Finally the door opened and there was a bit of a squeal. A woman said thank you. The bellman waited politely for his tip, but the door shut in his face. He gave the door the finger, walked back up the hallway, and disappeared. Gracie made sure no one was around before she approached the door and knocked on it.

A girl, not much older than her, answered the door in her underwear. She still had the flowers in her hand. “Yes?”

“Is Mrs. Keaton here?”

“Mrs. Keaton? No.”

“But…this is Dr. Stuart Keaton's room, isn't it?”

The girl got snotty. “Look, what is this? Who are you? And what's that?” She pointed at the bulge inside Gracie's sweater.

This chick was pissing Gracie off. “It's my kid, if you must know. All I want to know is, where's Mrs. Keaton?”

Suddenly the girl dropped the flowers. “Do you know Stuart?”

“No.”

“Don't lie to me, you bitch. This is Stuart's kid, isn't it? And you're here to blackmail him, aren't you?”

Gracie put her hands over Keaton as if to protect him. He snored under her chin, oblivious to all the fuss. “You're nuts.”

The girl took a step towards Gracie. “How long have you been sleeping with him? How dare you follow us all the way from Montreal!”

Gracie backed up and stabbed her finger in the air. “You are out of your mind. Don't you ever come near me or my kid again.” She turned and fled down the hall.

“You came near me first, you skank,” the girl screamed after her. “You better stay away from Stuart, do you hear me?”

Gracie heard a door behind her open and an elderly voice say, “The whole floor can hear you. Stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

“This is none of your business.”

“You insist on making it my business.”

Gracie thought she heard the girl say “Get stuffed, you old witch,” but she wasn't sure. She was too far away by then. Opening the door to the stairwell, she sat on the steps to calm herself down. What had happened, and who was that weird girl? Maybe it was Mrs. Keaton's daughter.

Gracie realized the only hope she had of finding Mrs. Keaton and Bette was to stay as long as she dared down in the lobby. She hoped it wouldn't take all day. She'd have to wander out on the street, too. People would think it was odd if she hung around near the front door, and Keaton wouldn't want to be strapped to her for too long. If he threw a fit, people would notice them—and that thought made her shudder.

The friends had a nice time as they walked up the streets of New York. They gawked at the buildings and the people and the yellow cabs. They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to point at things, which ticked the natives off, but there were lots of tourists pointing cameras at everything they saw.

They almost felt like tourists, but knew they had to hold off on that for a little while longer. At least until the police matter was resolved. But they did take a bit of a detour and wandered over to see Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center, since they were close by. It was exhilarating to see landmarks that were so familiar even though they'd never laid eyes on them in person before. They commented on the noise, the constant blowing of car horns and sirens, and about how small and insignificant they felt looking up at buildings that soared into the sky.

And then they had some luck.

As they walked, they noticed a police car parked by the curb and two burly police officers coming out of Starbucks with gigantic cups of coffee.

“This might save us a trip,” Gemma said. “We'll tell them about the dead guy.”

Linda agreed. “Good idea.”

They hurried over to the policemen. “Excuse me, can you help us?”

They stopped. One of them sipped his coffee while the other one stood with his thumb resting on his belt. “Sure, ladies. Need directions?” They shook their heads. “It's something much more serious. We'd like to report a crime,” Linda said.

One cop looked at the other. “Well, crime is our business, so shoot.”

“Well, you see there was this man and he had a big black car and…”

The radio came on from inside the police car. One of them reached in through the open window and grabbed the walkie-talkie. More static, and a mechanical voice relayed some sort of urgent-sounding message.

The cops jumped into the car. “Sorry, ladies, we have a B and E in progress.” They sped away.

Linda shrugged at the others. “Oh well, we tried. We'll stay with our original plan and go to the police station.”

It was a blustery day, which made walking difficult.

“I wonder if we should take a cab,” Bette said. “I mean, if it takes us forever to get there, isn't that wasting time?”

“I suppose you're right,” Linda agreed, “but I thought you'd want to see a little of the city, just in case some other catastrophe happens.”

Augusta grimaced. “I don't like the idea of getting a cab. Look what happened the last time we jumped in one.”

“Don't worry, nothing else will happen. We have to think positively. Surround ourselves with good karma, as it were.”

Gemma looked up the street. “I'll pretend I'm Carrie from
Sex and
the City
.” She took a step into the street and held up her hand. A cab stopped instantly. “Wow, it really works.”

They scrambled in and told the driver where they wanted to go. He took off like a shot before they could get their seatbelts on, swerving in and out of traffic lanes like a demented video gamer. They couldn't believe it when he zoomed through a red light, only to stomp on the brake pedal at the last second to avoid a collision with a bus.

They all came close to having heart attacks, but it was Augusta who jumped out of the cab first and dashed to the sidewalk. The others followed her, leaving Linda to throw some money at the driver and tell him he was an idiot. Augusta stood with her hand on her brow as she paced up and down the street. “I'm sorry, but that was ridiculous.”

Gemma put her arm around Augusta's shoulders. “That
was
ridiculous. Surely they don't all drive that way.”

“Well, I'm not about to find out. I'm staying on
terra firma
. You guys can take a cab if you want to, but I'm not.”

Linda looked at the guidebook. “It shouldn't take too much longer. We can walk the rest of the way.”

Unfortunately, she underestimated how long it would take. Suffice to say, Linda had major blisters on her feet from Gemma's shoes by the time they arrived at the police station. They wearily proceeded up the steps, opened the heavy doors, and walked into a large and busy foyer with all sorts of people milling around.

“Who do we talk to?” Augusta wondered.

Gemma pointed dead ahead. “Probably that important-looking guy.”

Linda took a deep breath. “Okay, repeat after me. It wasn't our fault. It wasn't our fault.”

“It wasn't our fault,” they chimed as they slowly walked up to the officer who stood behind the glass partition of a huge desk that seemed to be on a platform. He looked very busy and kind of scary.

Bette whispered in Linda's ear, “He looks mean.”

“Shhh.” Linda cleared her throat. “Excuse me, officer?”

The huge man held up his finger. He barked some orders at a clerk and then picked up the phone to bark some more orders at someone else. He finally put the phone down.

“What can I do for you, ladies?”

The four of them quaked, but because her friends were looking at her, it was Linda who spoke.

“We'd like to report a crime.”

He shuffled paper and wrote something down before he glanced at them again. “What kind of crime?”

Linda looked at the others. “Well, it's rather complicated. It's a kidnapping, mugging, sudden-death, car-theft sort of thing…”

“…not to mention breaking the speed limit…”

“…and unintended property damage…”

“…and don't forget the gun. The death was unexpected too, but it was self-defense.”

He looked at them for a long minute. “Is that right?”

The four of them nodded.

“Well, I'll have you ladies sit over there on the bench and I'll call up one of my detectives and he'll be down shortly to talk to you. How's that?”

“That would be fine,” Linda said. They started to walk away, and then she turned back. “Umm, do you think it will be soon? Because we have to go to Saks.”

The look he gave her shut her up. They scurried across the foyer to sit on the bench by the far wall.

“Now you've made him mad,” Bette said.

Linda pursed her lips. “All right, I'm sorry.”

Augusta said, “I hope he doesn't hold that against us.”

“You should've kept your mouth shut,” Gemma chimed in.

Linda gave them a filthy look. “I'm sorry, okay? These jeans are so far up my va-jay-jay, I've lost my ability to think!”

They tried not to laugh but couldn't help it, and the more they tried to be quiet, the louder they got. The huge police officer wasn't impressed. He looked over and pointed at them. They stayed quiet after that.

Eventually, a man descended the staircase and went over to the desk. The big scary guy beckoned to them, so they got up and hurried over. He introduced the man. “This is Detective Ames.”

Detective Ames nodded. They nodded back.

“Detective Ames, apparently you have a kidnapping, mugging, sudden-death, car-theft, property-damage, gun ‘thing.'” Did I forget anything, ladies?”

They shook their heads.

Detective Ames quickly covered up his look of incredulity. “Right. Then we best get a move on. Would you ladies come this way, please?”

They followed him upstairs and down several corridors to a room full of desks and big men sitting at them. It was crowded, noisy, and confusing. He indicated the two chairs in front of his desk and pulled over a third. Linda pulled a little at her slacks and said she'd stand Detective Ames went around the corner of his desk and sat in his chair. He took a form out of a pile and reached for his pen. Linda spoke before he had a chance to ask them anything.

“I know this sounds ridiculous, but we've been trying to report this for the last twelve hours and haven't had any luck at all.”

“And why's that?”

“Because every time we start to tell someone, something happens and we can't. Take just a minute ago. We stopped two officers outside a coffee shop, but they had to drive away because of a D and C.”

“D and C?”

Linda looked around. “Was that it?”

“It wasn't a D and C,” Gemma tsked. “It was an ABP.”

Detective Ames frowned. “An all-points bulletin?”

“Oh, maybe not, then.”

“How about a B and E?” the detective suggested.

“That's it,” Linda said.

“A break and enter.”