"I still don't know what happened." I sat down across from her, patted her knee, and suggested she begin at the beginning-slowly, thoughtfully, omitting nothing that might be important.
She omitted nothing, from the exchange between Ruby Bee and the cute lil' stewardess (Mitzi) concerning the socalled food (worse than the specials at the Dairee Dee-Lishus) served on the airplane (cramped), the airport aswarm with foreigners (potential purse snatchers, every one of them), the cabdriver (as ornery as Raz and twice as dumb), the lack of a welcoming committee in the lobby (a disgrace), and the arrival of the contestants, companions, contest coordinators, and possibly enough workmen (real pushy fellows) to remodel the entirety of the city from 48th Street to the tip of the island (and it sure could use a facelift).
"Wait a minute," I said, rubbing my face, "you were spouting off names too quickly. I met the manager when I arrived. His name's Rick, right?"
"Geri called him Richard Belaire, but a carpenter called him Rick. He's a real uppity sort whose, mama should have smacked some manners into him long before now. Anyway, he acted like he wasn't gonna let us stay here, but Geri marched him off and told him how the cow ate the cabbage, and pretty soon he comes back with room keys and says this floor is okay." She glanced disdainfully disdainfully at the room. "Okay if you do your redecorating at garage sales or flea markets! Why, the Flamingo Motel beats this place hands down-and costs a quarter of what that little framed sign on the back of the door says. You ain't gonna believe it, but when you open the bathroom door, it hits the bed and you have to slither in sideways. And you'd better decide aforehand what you're gonna do when you get inside, 'cause there's no room to turn around."
"Who's Geri?" I asked.
"Geri Gebhearn is the gal from the marketing firm. She's in charge of the contest. A sweet thing, with big brown eyes and a heartshaped mouth. I'm not sure she's real pleased about her job, even though she seemed to take to telling folks what to do like a hen does to a handful of corn. She's the one who gave out the room keys, told us to get settled, and then said she'd send out for some food that we could eat in the lobby. The restaurant's closed on account of the remodeling, so I don't see how the contestants can use the kitchen, but Geri goes off again to talk to Mr. Richie Rick and comes back and says-"
"Why is the contest being held here?"
Estelle gave me a huffy look. "I ain't the one running it, so how would I know? Catherine's mother liked to have a fit over the sawdust, and I told her that if I was-"
"Catherine's mother? Is she one of the contestants?"
"Didn't they teach you to pay attention when you went to that police school? " She stood up and would have paced had space allowed it. She was obliged to stand over me; her hair was such that I felt as though I were being intimidated by a six-foot fire hydrant. "Catherine Vervain is this sour pickle of a girl, and she's the contestant, although if you ask me, her mother-Frannie-sent in the recipe and stuck Catherine's name on it. The girl does nothing but sulk, and refused to eat the Chinese food on account of it having some chemical in it. I myself thought it was real tasty."
"Catherine and Frannie," I said humbly. "Who else?"
"Well, there's nice Mr. Pilverman, who was naked in Ruby Bee's bed. He's a mannersome sort, a widower, and you can tell from looking at him that he's not keeping company, not by a long shot. No woman in her right mind would let him wear that shoddy old raincoat out in public." She paused, her good eye sweeping over me like a liposuction tube. "Not that old, either. Nothing to write home about, but kind of attractive and real polite. You might take to him."
"Then he's not dead?"
"Of course he ain't," she said with a snort. "They finally got the telephones fixed a while back, and Geri called to say that he's gonna be just fine. In fact, as soon as they get him patched up, he's coming back here so we can get on with the contest."
I looked up at her. "And Ruby Bee?"
"Geri couldn't find out anything. She said she and Kyle were gonna go down to the police station to see if they could fetch Ruby Bee, but she didn't sound real optimistic."
"Kyle," I said, zooming in on the next name. If we continued at this rate, we might be ice skating at Rockefeller Center if and when Ruby Bee was released. "Who's Kyle?"
"Kyle is the son of the KoKo-Nut company president. He's a scrawny thing with oily hair and ferrety face, sorta like that cousin of Kevin's who was in prison. That sure was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it? I heard Mrs. Jim Bob was all hissy about Dahlia wearing white like she was a virgin, and there ain't nobody gonna argue she was, not after-"
"Do you mind?" I said in an admirably controlled voice. "The contest is being run by a couple of kids, and in a hotel managed by a third. The contestants are Pilverman, who's been shot, Ruby Bee, who shot him, and a sulky kid, who can't tolerate monosodium glutamate. You and the girl's mother are along for the fun. Is that everyone?"
Estelle put her finger on her lips, tiptoed to the door, and eased it open. After a peek, she closed it and tiptoed back to the bed, although we'd been conversing in normal voices all this time (and she'd squawked more than once).
"There's one more," she whispered. "Her name's Brenda Appleton, and she's with her husband, Jerome. They're next door in 221. She's kind of a featherbrain, always blithering about her girls in California and her house on Long Island and how she volunteers at the library and plays bridge on Wednesday afternoons. It ain't hard to figure out why her daughters moved all the way across the country. She's lucky they stopped when they came to the ocean, instead of renting rowboats and heading for China."
"And her husband?"
"He doesn't say much. He's short and tubby, and his hair looks like freshly vacuumed shag carpet. He wears thick bifocals that make him look like a toad, and I wouldn't be surprised if his tongue was long enough to snag a fly. I can't quite put my finger on him, but he sort of reminds me of the oldest Nookim boy. You know, shifty-eyed and most likely thinking awful things about people. Not saying 'em, mind you-but thinking them all the same." She wiggled her eyebrows at me. "And he was sneaking peeks at Geri whenever his wife wasn't watching him. He didn't have to say what he was thinking then. No, it was smeared all over his face like cupcake icing."
"Okay," I said slowly, "I think I've got everyone sorted out for the moment. Now, what exactly happened last night? Where were you?"
"Well, we all gathered in the lobby and ate off paper plates. Not everybody, now that I think about it. Brenda's husband said he had work to do and went up to their room. Catherine said she was feeling poorly on account of the sawdust, and she left in the elevator with Jerome. Oh, and one of the contestants hasn't arrived. I disremember the name, but a female. So on one side of the lobby was Ruby Bee and me, Brenda, Geri, and Kyle. Durmond Pilverman was sitting on a sofa next to Frannie Vervain, who was so busy trying to cozy up with him that she dumped chop suey in her lap.
"And…?" I said.
Estelle stepped over my bag, navigated through their impressive quantity of suitcases and canvas bags, and stopped in front of the cracked mirror over the dresser. Once she'd made sure her hair was intact, she began to apply lipstick with a heavy hand. "And Geri said that the kitchen would be cleaned so the contestants could take turns trying out the oven and making sure they had all their pots and bowls. That was supposed to happen this afternoon, but Geri didn't plan on Ruby Bee shooting anybody and that awful mess with the police all night long."
"If you don't stick to the story, I'm going to take that lipstick tube from your hand and use it as a weapon," I said sharply-and sincerely. "Most of the group were in the lobby. At some point, Geri mentioned a rehearsal scheduled for this afternoon. Presumably, everyone came upstairs for the night."