Part 14 (2/2)
Escott's food arrived and delayed conversation for a while. Between the smell of the steaming dishes and his story, my stomach began to churn.
”I saw a drugstore on the corner and need to get some stuff,” I said. ”Be back in a few minutes.”
He nodded, his attention focused on carving up his meal.
My shopping expedition left me with some mouth gargle, shoe polish, new handkerchiefs, and a handful of change for the phone. I folded into the booth and got the operator.
This time my mom answered, and for the next few minutes bent my ear as she reported the latest domestic crisis. Webber and Braxton had shown up at the house early the next morning, but unfortunately for them my brother Thorn had dropped by for breakfast. The last three generations of Fleming males have been on the large side, and so he and Dad had no trouble throwing the troublemakers out. The yelling and language woke up any late-sleeping neighbors, but they were more than compensated by the show.
That same day the cops came, and at first Mom thought Braxton had called them, but they had different business altogether. Someone from the Grunner farm had reported vagrants on our old place, but the Grunners maintained total ignorance about the call. However, there had been a break-in as reported.
”Your father is fit to be tied over this, I can tell you,” she concluded after giving me a full inventory of the damage.
”Is he fixing it, then?”
”Well, certainly, but it will take him awhile, and then there's no guarantee that the place will be left alone.”
”Oh, yes, there is.”
”What do you mean?”
”I mean, what would it cost Dad to install some real indoor plumbing?”
When we'd still been living there. Mom had known the figure down to the penny, but now she wasn't so sure. ”What does it matter now, anyway?”
”Because if he puts some in he can rent the place out. That way it's occupied and you two have some extra income every month.”
”You want a bunch of strangers running all over our old house?”
She'd never been so affectionate about the place when we'd been living there.
”Better a bunch of strangers paying you rent than some tramps tearing it all up.”
”Well...”
”Try to find out how much and I'll put up the money-”
”But you can't afford to-”
”I can now. I have a very understanding boss who pays bonuses for good work.”
”In these hard times? He must be one of the Carnegies.”
”Just about. Will you do it?”
She would, and when I hung up it was with a little more confidence in their future.
My personal future included immediate plans to visit Bobbi. I dialed her next and asked if she were receiving callers.”That's a funny way of putting it,” she said.
”I'm feeling old-fas.h.i.+oned tonight.”
”Oh yeah? Well, come on over. I'm rehearsing, but I think we can squeeze you in.”
I was disappointed, but kept it out of my voice. ”You've got company?”
”Uh-huh.”
”Marza?”
”Yes, that's it.” Her phrasing indicated she was being overheard.
”Maybe I should stay away.”
”No...”
”You mean if you can stand it so can I.”
She laughed. ”Sure, that sounds right.”
”Okay, but if she threatens my life I reserve the right to withdraw to a safe distance.”
She laughed again in agreement and we said good-bye.
Escott was in deep conversation with a stout bearded man wearing a white ap.r.o.n when I returned. They seemed to be talking about food from their gestures. They were using German and I only knew a couple of words. The man made some kind of point, Escott conceded, and the man looked pleased and left.
”What's all that about?”
”Against my better judgment, Herr Braungardt has tempted me into dessert, a torte of his own invention. This may take some time, I don't wish to tie you up.”
”How long could it take to eat a dessert?”
”Long enough for him to try and persuade you to have a sample. I can find my own way home. Don't worry.”
”If you need help, I'll be at Bobbi's.” Grinning, I left him to his overstuffed fate.
I found a place that sold flowers and bought a handful of the least wilted-looking roses. They were cradled in my arm when I stepped off the elevator onto Bobbi's floor. The operator didn't have to tell me she had company this time, I could hear the piano and her voice clearly enough, despite the walls and solid door.
I thought to wait outside until the song was finished, but she cut off in mid-note.
There was a murmured consultation, then the music began again. Marza's voice was hardly recognizable, and when she spoke to Bobbi her tones were soft and affectionate and heavily sprinkled with endearments.
”You've got to hold the note just a bit longer, baby. Count one, two, three, then we both start the next phrase...”
I knocked and a second later Bobbi answered.
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