Murder in the Air (10 page)

I need you to do this right away. Don't fail me, Mom. Please.

Justin

9

On Sunday afternoon, several hours before the first radio mystery broadcast, Sophie sat at her desk poring over the Maxfield's new environmental policy, the one she planned to institute come the new year. As she made some notes
about the new soap-and-shampoo dispenser she wanted to use, the phone interrupted her concentration.

“Sophie Greenway,” she said, grabbing it on the second ring.

“Sophie, hi. It's John.”

“Hey, kiddo. What's up?”

“Do you have a minute to talk?”

“For you, I've got more than a minute. Say. I bet I know why you're calling. You're curious about the plans for the champagne buffet. Would you like to know what's on the menu—so far?”

“Well, sure—”

“Okay. You can pass this on to Rudy.” She pulled a notebook from the top drawer of her desk. “We're going to do a beautiful spread, John, starting with crab-stuffed avocados, prosciutto and fresh figs in a citrus sauce, a lovely Roquefort mousse, and a duck terrine.”

“Stop, you're making me hungry!”

She could hear the delight in his voice. “Then, for the main course, I'm thinking salmon—perhaps the whole fish covered in a light whipped cream. What would you think of a hint of horseradish?”

He laughed. “I'd say I'm going to have to make myself a sandwich or I'll never survive until dinner.”

She smiled. “When I have everything firmed up, I'll give you two the entire menu. I'm trying to include some of Rudy's favorite desserts, as well as yours.”

“This is so great of you, Sophie. I really don't know how to thank you.”

“Just make my son happy, John. That's all I ask.”

“That won't be hard. I care about him a lot. Actually, that's why I called.”

She could hear a certain strain in his voice now. “What's wrong?”

“It's Rudy. I'm worried about him. See, he hasn't been feeling well for the past few weeks, but he won't go see a doctor. He's pushing hard to get through school early. I keep
telling him to slow down, but he ignores me. He's, well, kind of stubborn, Sophie, if you don't mind my saying so.”

It wasn't something she hadn't already observed herself. As a matter of fact, if Rudy had inherited his stubbornness from anyone, it was from her. “You say he's not feeling well. Can you be more specific?”

“Sure. Last week he said he thought he had the flu. He slept most of one day, but then the following day he went on just like normal. He seemed real tired, but that was about it. Then, last night, we went for a walk. When we got back, he had to rest before he could make it up the stairs to our apartment; He was really winded. Later, after we'd gone to bed, he woke me up to ask what some clunking noise was. I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, I didn't hear any noise, but he was adamant. He said it sounded like a tennis shoe in a dryer. To be honest, Sophie, I'm worried. I'm pretty sure it's got nothing to do with his back problem.”

“What back problem?”

“Didn't he tell you? He tripped and fell off the stage over at Rarig Center.”

“That's awful!” It was the first she'd heard of it and she felt instantly guilty. Had she been
that
out of touch? Sure, she'd been working long hours, and maybe it had been a while since she and Rudy had talked— “When did it happen?”

“Three weeks ago. It was during a rehearsal for the play he's working on for his senior drama class. Anyway, it messed his back up pretty bad. But the painkiller he was prescribed seemed to do the trick.”

Sophie was shocked and more than embarrassed that something like this could happen and she knew nothing about it. “I think you're right, John. He needs to see a doctor.”

“I was hoping you'd agree. Will you talk to him? He'll listen to you.”

She was afraid that John was overestimating her influence on her son, but knew something had to be done. “Where is he this afternoon?”

“Over at Walter Library. I don't expect him back until close to six. I know he wants to listen to that new radio show
Bram is announcing. We sort of made a date to listen and then have dinner together.”

“Okay, here's the plan.” She had to think fast. “I'll call your apartment right after the show's over. That way I know Rudy will be there and I'll have an excuse. I can say I wanted to know what you two thought of the first episode. And then I'll ease into the part about seeing a doctor.”

“Great. Except… maybe it's best that you don't tell him I called. I wouldn't want him to think we were ganging up on him.”

“No problem. I'll think of a way to say it without including you.” She hesitated. “Listen, John, he's not in any real danger here, is he? I mean, he's not
that
sick.”

“No, I didn't mean to upset you. And I don't want to make this sound worse than it is. I just think he needs a vitamin shot or something. And he needs to slow down and take life a little easier, even if everything doesn't get done perfectly.”

She smiled. He was a chip off the old block. She was grateful that Rudy had someone like John in his life. “All right, I promise. I'll speak with him tonight.”

“You're a lifesaver, Sophie. Talk to you later.”

After they hung up, Sophie sat for a few minutes going over in her mind just how she would broach the subject of a doctor. She decided that the best way to proceed was to suggest that he get a flu shot. If she had to drag him into the office herself, Rudy was
going
to see a doctor.

After spending the next hour working on a new program for frequent business travelers, Sophie felt the need to stretch. Rising from her chair, she headed out to the main desk. She nodded a quick greeting to Celia Walker, one of two women working registration this afternoon. Joan Zimmer, the other woman, was nowhere in sight.

“Where's Joany?” asked Sophie, straightening some papers next to one of the computer terminals.

“She was only here until three,” said Celia. “She left about half an hour ago.”

Since there was a line of people waiting to be checked in,
Sophie nodded to the next person, tapped her code number into the computer, and began the registration process.

As the late afternoon wore on she could feel herself growing more and more nervous for her husband. Talk radio was one thing, but this new venture of his was more on the order of live theatre. Bram had even been given a small part in the production in addition to his role as announcer, and needless to say, he was loving every minute of it. He was already over at the station, and knowing him, he was probably as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Sophie, on the other hand, was dissolving slowly into a mist of opening-night jitters.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind the roped-off waiting area.

Quickly returning her attention to the business at hand, Sophie smiled a greeting. “Welcome to the Maxfield.”

The man moved toward her. In his right hand he was carrying a small, bulging suitcase. Setting it down on the floor, he removed his gloves. “I, ah, have a reservation. The name's Greveen. I'm part of the Heda Bloom party.”

Sophie recognized the name at once. “It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Greveen. I'm Sophie Greenway, the owner of the hotel. My husband, Bram Baldric, is the announcer for the new show. As I understand it, you're the writer.”

He adjusted his wire-rim glasses to get a better look at her. “That's right.”

“Do you have your confirmation number?”

“Yes, it's … right here.” He searched in his pockets for the information.

Sophie found the man's wavy white hair quite attractive. Actually, everything about him was impeccably turned out. The final touch was an expensive camel wool coat draped over his shoulders.

After handing her the slip of paper, he leaned on the counter while she found the reservation.

“Have you been to Minnesota before?” she asked, continuing to make small talk.

“Yes. A long time ago. But I prefer warmer climates.”

His voice was low and pleasant, yet it was so soft that she
could barely hear him. Pushing a signature card across the counter, she waited while he signed his name. “Have you been writing long?”

“Most of my life.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“No. Actually, I'm rather tired, so if I could just get my key?” He stuffed his gloves into the pocket of his coat and then placed both hands on the counter.

Sophie couldn't help but notice a square-cut tiger eye on the ring finger of his left hand. She'd never seen one like it before. “That's a beautiful ring you've got there.”

He removed his hands.

Not the friendliest fellow she'd ever met. “All right. You're all checked in. Room 743, south wing. The elevators are right around the corner. Here's the door key, as well as a key to the mini-bar. If there's anything we can do to make your stay with us more enjoyable, please don't hesitate to contact the front desk.”

“Thanks.”

“If you're interested in fine dining, Fitzgerald's restaurant is located in the south wing on the fifteenth floor. Reservations required. The Fountain Grill is located on the mezzanine level, right up the lobby stairs. It's more informal. No reservations needed. And Scottie's Bar is located near the front entrance on the lobby level. You can get a sandwich in there until midnight.”

“I'll remember that.” He reached down for his bag. As he straightened up he said, “Actually, I do have one question. I haven't been feeling well all day. I wonder if you could point me to the nearest clinic or hospital.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I'm sure any clinic you recommend would do just fine. I'm just a little under the weather. It's probably the flu.”

Sophie took out one of her cards and wrote the name of a clinic on the back. “Here you go, Mr. Greveen. This is right up the street. I know Dr. Fredericks personally. He's a GP, and one of the best in town.”

“Thanks,’ He slipped it into his pocket.

“I hope you feel better soon.”

“Me, too. I have a lot of work to do while I'm here.” He turned to go.

“Writing the scripts, you mean?”

Again, he turned to face her. “Why, yes.”

“Have you completed the next
Dallas Lane
episode?”

“No, but I'll finish it tonight. For some reason, I find it easier to work in a hotel. When I'm home, there are too many distractions.”

“Where are you from?”

“Florida.”

“Same as Heda Bloom.”

“Yes, I believe she lives there, too.”

“I'm just curious.” She could read his impatience, but forged on. “How does someone come up with a story like the one you've just written? Did you borrow the idea from real life?”

Containing his impatience behind a forced smile, he said, “I assure you, Ms. Green way, my story is purely the result of a fruitful imagination. The central truth of all fiction is, it isn't fact.”

“I see.”

He stared at her. “You disagree?”

“In theory, no.”

“Have you ever written any fiction, Ms. Greenway?”

“No.”

“Then trust me. I know what I'm talking about.” His voice had taken on a professorial tone.

“Right … well. I have to say, I admire your talent. After tonight's broadcast, lots of people are going to be banging on your door, wanting to speak with you. If you don't mind a prediction, I'd say you're about to become the talk of the town.”

All vestiges of good humor were now gone. “Then I shall expect the Maxfield to provide me with the privacy I not only crave, but demand. Good afternoon, Ms. Greenway.” He turned abruptly arid walked away.

10

On Monday morning, Bud Manderbach crept into his office without so much as a simple hello to his secretary. His hangover was so gigantic, he couldn't bear any extraneous sounds. Even the creaking of his leather chair as he sat down behind his desk caused him a moment of pure pain. But it was happy pain—at least he thought it was. He and Giselle had made up last night. He'd wined her and dined her until the wee hours.

Later, back at her place, she'd even admitted that she loved him. Over the years many women had professed their love for Bud. As far as he was concerned, it was a pointless exercise, yet for some odd reason, one he still coveted. Where were all these loving women now? What the hell did it mean if nobody stuck around? Women were as faithless as the day was long.