Grave Designs Read online

  “When did you find out?”

  “Around three o’clock. I was on my way back from that swimsuit layout in the Dunes. It took us two days to finish the photography. When I drove up, there was a police barricade around the whole building. There were fire engines and squad cars and ambulances all over. I asked one of the policemen what had happened. He told me there’d been an explosion up on the eighteenth floor. He wouldn’t tell me anything else. One of the gawkers told me that the paramedics had brought out two bodies in those horrible black body bags. Well, I stepped back and looked up and practically passed out when I saw them boarding up my window. I got out of there in a hurry. I was in a daze, Rachel. You can imagine.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “I walked over to the Hyatt Regency and went to the lounge on the top floor. I just sat by a window staring out at Shore Drive Tower. Drinking gin and tonics. You can’t imagine how weird that was. There was a TV behind the bar. I was the lead story on the local news. They had shots of the building and even a film clip of me from the pageant. I went back down to the lobby and bought the evening paper. That’s when I really freaked out.”

  “Why?”

  “All that talk of a gas leak. It made me really scared.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “There couldn’t have been a gas leak, Rachel. My oven hasn’t been connected to a gas line for more than a year.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Cindi shook her head. “I’d been having all kinds of trouble with it for a couple of years. In the meantime, I was using my toaster oven and my microwave. I finally called in a repairman, and he told me it would cost almost two hundred dollars to fix. I told him to forget it, that I didn’t use it, anyway. He told me it was too dangerous to leave it like that because the pilot light wouldn’t stay lit and it was leaking gas. So I paid him forty dollars to disconnect the gas and plug up the gas line leading into my condo. He cut off the gas from the main line all the way down the hall past the elevator. There hasn’t been a drop of gas in there for more than a year. It couldn’t have been a gas leak.”

  I frowned. “Whatever happened, it was good enough to fool the fire department.”

  “I know,” Cindi said with a shudder. “If they’re that good, then they’re good enough to find me.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend. Andi.”

  “Blond, tall, good-looking.”

  “How’d she wear her hair?”

  “Sort of like mine…but a little shorter.”

  I thought it over. “You’re probably safe. At least for a few days. Whoever did it must think you’re dead. The police think you’re dead too—which means no one in the building told them anything different. What about the doorman?”

  “He wouldn’t have seen them.”

  “Why not?”

  “They always came in through the garage entrance so no one would see them together. I gave her the combination to the garage door lock so they could get past the doorman.”

  I nodded. “No one will know it wasn’t you until they get your dental records. So you’ve got at least until Monday. Probably longer. You’re not as urgent as the guy. The cops don’t have any reason to think it’s not your body down in the morgue.”

  Cindi shuddered. “My God.”

  “You want something to drink?” I asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the cops right away?”

  “I guess I panicked. And I didn’t want to have to explain about Andi and why she was in my condo. I don’t know. When you’re a hooker”—she shrugged—“you get conditioned to avoid the cops.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to go to them eventually. You can’t stay dead forever.”

  “I know.”

  “Who would want to kill you?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Do you have any violent or weird clients?” I asked.

  Cindi thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No. Not like that.”

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I followed some guy to your building two nights ago.”

  Cindi leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  I had to tell her about The Lottery of Canaan and the personals in the Reader and the Tribune and following the guy to her building. Pretty soon I might as well broadcast it. But Cindi’s life was involved, and she had a right to know what was happening.

  Cindi gasped. “My God.”

  I said, “Maybe it’s just a coincidence. But maybe not. Maybe they think you know something about Canaan.” I paused. “There’ve been some other weird things going on.”

  “Like what?”

  “Someone tried to steal another coffin from the pet cemetery. And yesterday someone broke into my apartment.” I told her about Ozzie being drugged and the evidence that someone had searched through my things. “Ozzie’s okay,” I said. “Thank God. I can pick him up tomorrow morning. But there’s definitely something out there called Canaan.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Yesterday I just wanted out. Period. But now…that may not be an option anymore.” I checked my watch and stood up. “C’mon. Let’s go to sleep. It’s almost three in the morning.” I yawned and stretched. “I’ve got a queen-size bed. You can share it with me.”

  Cindi stood up. “Thanks, Rachel.” She gave me a hug. “You were the only one I thought of turning to when this happened. I left the Hyatt and wandered down Michigan Avenue toward the Loop, sneaking in and out of bookstores and clothing stores. I sat through two kung-fu movies in one of those horrible theaters in the Loop. It was disgusting. Sticky seats, rats running down the aisles. I finally left the theater, looking you up in the phone book, and tried to call, but your line was dead. I didn’t even know if I had the right Gold, but I had to take a chance. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “I’m glad you came, Cindi. God, I’m so happy you’re alive.”

  ***

  I checked the telephone on my way to bed.

  “Phone still dead?” Cindi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The storm must have knocked out the phone lines. There’re big branches all over the streets out there.”

  I looked out the back window. An Illinois Bell Telephone van was parked in the alley, its yellow light revolving slowly.

  ***

  “Rachel?”

  “Hmmm?” I was almost asleep.

  “Being dead was really depressing.”

  “Um-hmmm.”

  “I was really bummed listening to that TV news guy do his thirty-second profile on my life. Ms. Illinois, Third Runner-up in the Ms. United States Pageant, and now a part-time fashion model. And a high-priced call girl, I thought. I sat there in the darkness in that horrible movie theater thinking about my life. Cindi, I said to myself, you really gotta get your act together. What if you really had died, and that’s all you had to show for yourself? I mean, you’re different, Rachel. You’re a lawyer. A professional. You know?”

  “Um-hmmm.”

  “So I said to myself, you’ve got to pull yourself together. I’m definitely going to go to law school, Rachel. Or something like that. I mean, I have more going for me than just tits and ass, you know. I have…”

  I fell asleep to the sound of her voice.

  Cindi woke up about an hour later, sitting up and shouting, “No, no, no!”

  I touched her on the shoulder and she stopped. She laid back down and snuggled up against me. I held her until her panting slowed to the rhythmic breathing of deep sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “You writing a letter?”

  “Notes,” I said, looking up from the kitchen table. It was Saturday morning. Cindi was leaning against the doorway, ar
ms crossed. She was still wearing my sweatshirt. “Investigation notes on this Canaan matter,” I explained. “I’m writing down everything that’s happened so far. I’m going to go down to the office this afternoon to use the dictaphone. I want to make sure I’ve got a complete record of all this.” I shrugged. “Just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  I shook my head. “I just don’t know. Just in case something else happens.”

  Cindi walked barefoot into the kitchen. “I’m really freaked out,” she said as she pulled up a chair.

  “Me too,” I said, putting down my pen. “Maybe there really was a gas leak in your apartment. Maybe—but not likely. And I guess there’s still a possibility that they were after your friend Andi. Or that accountant. But how could they know those two were going to use your place? And even if they did find out, how could they rig a fake gas explosion that quickly? It doesn’t fit. It’s more likely they were after you.”

  Cindi shuddered. “God, it gives me the creeps.”

  “That makes two of us.” I shrugged. “You want coffee?”

  “That sounds great. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  I walked over to the kitchen counter, took a mug out of the cabinet, and poured her a cup. “How ’bout some breakfast?” I asked.

  “Love some.”

  “I have a quart of buttermilk. Do you like buttermilk pancakes?”

  “Love ’em. Can I help?”

  “Nope.”

  I thoroughly enjoy cooking, even though I don’t do it often. Putting together the homemade pancake batter might take my mind off the Canaan situation, at least briefly. Besides, we both needed some hearty food to cheer us up.

  I gave Cindi the first two pancakes.

  “These are delicious, Rachel. You’re in the wrong profession.”

  “I know.”

  Cindi smiled. “I can see it now. Three little kids at the table and Mama Gold at the stove cooking up flapjacks.”

  I smiled too. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  Cindi sighed. “I know.”

  We picked up Ozzie at Terry Machelski’s office. Poor Ozzie looked bedraggled from two days in a cage. But Terry said he was showing no after-effects. Certainly no memory loss: Ozzie lapped at my face with his wet tongue and barked for joy. I kissed him on the nose and hugged him. I had his brush in the car. He licked my face as I untangled his coat.

  We took the car back home, and then Cindi, Ozzie, and I walked over to the lake. Cindi was wearing her own clothes, which had dried overnight. I had on a pair of cutoffs and a St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt.

  The three of us walked halfway down the pier. Ozzie jumped into the water. Cindi and I sat on the concrete with our legs dangling over the edge. I leaned back and closed my eyes. The sun felt good on my face.

  “The police ran a trace on the license of the station wagon I followed to your building,” I said.

  “What did they find?”

  “Turns out it was a stolen car. They found it in an alley in Uptown last night. Abandoned.”

  Cindi sat up and took out a cigarette. “That sure doesn’t sound like a resident of Shore Drive Tower.”

  “Nope.”

  “You really think they were trying to kill me?” she asked.

  “I can’t figure out the motive. That’s what bothers me. Unless they think you know something about them.”

  “Marshall didn’t tell me a darn thing,” Cindi said.

  “Where did you keep that newspaper poster? The one about Colonel Shaw?”

  “In my bedroom. Why?”

  “Anyone else ask you about it?”

  “Once in a while.”

  “Can you remember who?”

  Cindi thought it over.

  “No.”

  “Did they ever ask who gave it to you?”

  “I don’t think so. And even if they had, I wouldn’t have told them. God, you don’t think it was one of my clients, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  We were interrupted by Ozzie, who came padding down the pier after his swim and shook himself all over us.

  On the way back I stopped at a telephone booth in Loyola Park to call Maggie Sullivan. Her daughter answered and told me that her mother was out in the cemetery doing a funeral. I gave her my office telephone number and asked her to tell her mother to call me after two.

  I hung up and turned to find Cindi. She was about twenty yards away, throwing an old tennis ball for Ozzie to fetch. She had her back to me as Ozzie bounded after the ball. As I walked toward her I noticed a stocky black man leaning against a tree about forty yards beyond where the tennis ball had landed. His arms were crossed over his barrel chest. He wore wraparound sunglasses, a black sleeveless T-shirt, blue jeans, and leather sandals.

  Ozzie and I reached Cindi from opposite directions at the same time.

  “Good doggie,” Cindi said as she patted him on the head.

  “Don’t look up,” I said, “but one of us seems to have an admirer.”

  Cindi kept patting Ozzie on the head. “Who?”

  “The black guy in the shades.”

  “Good boy,” Cindi said as she took a quick look.

  I bent over Ozzie and rubbed his head. “Let’s see if he means business.”

  We walked out of Loyola Park and down Sheridan to Morse Avenue. As we stood at the corner of Morse and Sheridan waiting for the light to change, I dropped the tennis ball onto the grass by the sidewalk. As I bent down to pick it up I looked back. He was standing at a park bench twenty yards away, his right foot up on the bench as he adjusted his sandal strap. The light changed and we crossed Sheridan and headed west in silence along Morse. When we reached the Poolgogi Restaurant I said, “Wait here for a sec.”

  I went into the restaurant, picked up a Reader from the stack inside the front door, and walked back out. He was thirty yards behind us on the sidewalk, reading a sign nailed to a telephone pole.

  We turned right at Greenview and headed north down the narrow street along the el tracks. As we walked, my anger began to build. This was my neighborhood, and it was broad daylight. “Dammit,” I mumbled, and spun around.

  The sidewalk was empty. He was gone. I jogged back down to Morse with Ozzie and scanned the scene in both directions. No sign of him anywhere.

  “Vanished into thin air,” I said when Ozzie and I reached Cindi again.

  “Not quite,” she said, jerking her head toward the el tracks.

  I looked up. He was on the el platform, his back toward us. We watched as a southbound train pulled into the station. He stepped into the train without looking down at us. The train doors clattered shut. Shading my eyes, I watched the train curve down the tracks out of sight.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Benny Goldberg was waiting in the foyer of my apartment building when we returned home. He looked at Cindi, his eyes widening.

  “Holy shit,” he mumbled.

  I grinned. “Benny,” I said, “you remember Cindi, don’t you?”

  “Goddamn, girl. Welcome back!” Benny enveloped her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground.

  Cindi giggled and blushed. “Thanks. It’s good to be back.”

  We went up to my apartment and Cindi filled him in while I gave Ozzie some water and scrambled him two eggs. Good for his coat. I came back into the living room with a beer for Benny and diet colas for Cindi and me. I put the Abbey Road album on the stereo and turned to Benny. “Pretty wild, huh?”

  “Wild?” said Benny. “More like dangerous as hell. You’ve stumbled onto a very dangerous group of men.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “And maybe not.” I pulled the tab on my soda and sat down on the floor facing Cindi and Benny, who were on the couch. “The explosion in Cindi’s apartment doesn’t pro
ve that some Canaan conspiracy tried to kill her. It doesn’t even prove that anyone tried to kill her. It’s just possible that there really was a gas leak. Cindi paid some guy to cut off the gas. Maybe he did a poor job. Or maybe someone else on the floor had some work done on their oven and whoever did the work accidentally reopened Cindi’s gas line. It could have happened.”

  “But what about all the rest?” Cindi asked.

  “Some of it you can explain.” I shrugged. “Some you can’t. Yet. The grave robbery. The messages in the Reader and the Tribune. The exchange up on the el train. The guy in the station wagon driving to Shore Drive Tower.” I smiled sheepishly. “The second grave robbery. And the stolen dictionary. And the search of my apartment.”

  “Terrific, Rachel,” Benny said. “Glad to hear there aren’t many loose ends. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

  Benny tried to stifle a belch. “God,” he groaned.

  “You don’t look so hot,” I said to him.

  “I met my match.”

  “Who was she?”

  “Shit, it wasn’t no girl. It was food.” Benny leaned back against the couch. He stared at the unopened can of beer and closed his eyes. “Actually, I wouldn’t even call it food.”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  Benny shivered. “Smoky links. From that joint that just opened down on Halstead. God! My entire gastrointestinal system has been on red alert since midnight.”

  “What are smoky links?” asked Cindi.

  Benny moaned. “Allegedly, smoked pork sausage. But you should have seen those things. God only knows what was in them.”

  “Bad, huh?” Cindi asked, giggling.

  “Worse. You ever hear of traif?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “It’s the opposite of kosher,” Benny said. He smothered another belch. “Well, those smoky links are mega-traif. If a Jewish man eats four of them in one sitting, he’ll grow a new foreskin. After just two of them I felt like a toxic waste dump. By midnight I was driving the porcelain bus.”