Dorothy Parker Drank Here (22 page)

“Thank you,” Norah said, and knew what she had to do. She had to steal the book back from Audrey.

N
orah walked toward Audrey's apartment, growing angrier with every step. It was all so clear now. The woman had played her like a ukulele, extracting information about the guest book in order to figure out if it was worth stealing. Norah guessed that, after Ted had agreed to do the live show, the two of them conspired to find a way out, and came to the conclusion that if they had deceived her once, they could do it again.

Her fury continued to mount. She was angry with Ted. She was angry with Audrey. Most of all, she was angry with herself for trusting that woman. How could she have been so foolish? A person who would set up her husband for plagiarism was capable of anything.

Norah reached Audrey's building and announced herself through the intercom. Audrey sounded confused, but buzzed her in.

“I wasn't expecting you,” Audrey said when she opened the door to her apartment.

I'll bet,
Norah thought, but she hid her anger under a broad smile. If she was going to find that book, she had to pretend she didn't know Audrey had it. Her ruse was the dog.

“Why are you here?”

Norah smiled again. “I hate to intrude,” she said, bringing her hand to her chest to illustrate the depth of her sincerity, “and I know I seem like an overzealous social worker, but I wanted to check on the puppy. I'm sure you understand. I still feel responsible for him.” That part, at least, was true.

“He's fine,” Audrey said. “Really. I'm doing a good job.”

“Can I see him?”

“You're not going to take him away, are you?”

“I just want to see him,” Norah said. “May I come in?”

Audrey hesitated. “I'm sorry, of course.” She opened the door and led Norah inside.

Right away, Norah could see that Audrey had made quite a few puppy-related purchases. There was now a gate at the entrance to the kitchen and a towel-lined crate in the living room. Plastic chew toys were everywhere. The apartment smelled like a not-quite-housebroken puppy.

Audrey leaned over the gate and picked up the little dog. “I'm training him to go on pads,” she said. “I don't keep him locked up in the kitchen all the time.”

“I can see that,” Norah said. “It looks like he has the run of the place. Can I hold him?”

Audrey placed this puppy in Norah's arms, and she could tell that his little belly was rounder. She patted his head, and already felt her anger dissipating. Norah understood why Dorothy Parker felt so lost without her beloved poodle. These creatures had a way of making a home in the tenderest part of your heart.

“You can take him in the living room,” Audrey said. “I'm just going to clean up the mess he made.”

Perfect,
Norah thought, refocusing. She carried the puppy into the living room and held him while she searched for the Algonquin guest book. She looked under throw pillows and newspapers. She scanned every surface, trying to imagine where Audrey might have
quickly stashed it before letting her in. Norah opened the cabinet doors on the bottom of the large bookcase, and it held nothing but CDs, DVDs, and a stack of paperback romance novels.

Norah looked around and thought she saw something under the big blue easy chair. Still holding Jim Beam, she got on her hands and knees and peered beneath it. There was definitely something there, but she couldn't tell what it was.

She heard Audrey come back into the room and turned around. “I think one of his toys rolled under the chair,” Norah said, standing.

Audrey folded her arms. “Tell me the truth,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“You didn't really come to make sure I'm taking good care of the dog.”

Norah went cold. “Of course I did,” she said. “Why else would I be here?”

“Norah, you can admit it. Believe me, I understand.”

“I don't follow you . . .”

“You missed him. You missed Jim Beam. I can't say I blame you.”

She let out a breath. “It's true,” she said, giving the pup's head a kiss. “The little guy really works his way into your heart.”

Audrey reached out and squeezed Norah's arm. “You can come visit him anytime—you don't even need an excuse. Who knows? Maybe we'll even become friends.”

God, she's good
, Norah thought. “That would be nice,” she said, and sat in the blue chair with the puppy in her lap. She pretended to cough—a ruse to get Audrey out of the room again. “I've had such a scratchy throat today,” she said.

“Can I get you a glass of water?” Audrey asked.

“I hate to trouble you, but do you have tea?”

Audrey nodded. “I'll be right back,” she said, and went into the kitchen.

Norah waited a beat and then went back to looking under the
chair. She reached in, grabbed the mysterious object and slid it out. It was a wooden serving tray. Norah shook her head and put it back. Manhattanites with tiny apartments found the strangest places to store things.

Norah pulled a chair over to the bookcase so she could look on top of it. There was a jewelry box, two toner cartridges, a pile of file folders, and no guest book.

“How do you take your tea?” Audrey called.

Norah climbed off the chair. “Strong, if you don't mind!”

She tiptoed into Audrey's bedroom, carrying the puppy with her, and began looking through drawers as quickly as she could. She heard noise in the kitchen and realized there was simply no way she would be able to search the entire apartment. She would have to use another tactic.

“Mrs. Parker,” she whispered, “if you're here, please make yourself known.”

She held still to wait for a reply and heard Audrey call her name. She hurried out of the bedroom and sat in the blue chair, holding Jim Beam on her lap.

“Did you want milk?” Audrey called.

“No thanks,” Norah said.

Audrey came back in holding two cups of tea on saucers. “For the life of me,” Audrey said, “I can't remember where I put my serving tray.” She handed Norah her tea.

“Thank you,” she said. “You're very kind.”

Audrey took the puppy from her. “I have to put him back in the kitchen now. He might need to . . . you know.”

When she came back into the living, Audrey sat opposite Norah and picked up her tea.

“So what have you been up to?” Norah asked. “Just a relaxing Sunday?”

“I took Jim Beam for a long walk, but he got tired and I had to carry him home.”

“Do anything else? I mean, since we spoke this morning.”

“Nope.”

“You haven't been out at all?”

“I've been close to home the whole day.”

I've got her!
Norah thought, and leaned forward. “Why are you lying to me?” she asked.

“I'm
not
lying.”

Norah stood. “Where is it?” she asked.

“Where is
what
?”

“You're not going to be able to conjure her, anyway,” Norah said. “So you may as well give me back the guest book.”

“The guest book?”

“I know you have it.”

“I do
not
have it. Why would you think that?”

“Because it's missing. And because you lied to me about going to the Algonquin. I checked with the doorman. He saw you.”

“That was
yesterday
.”

“Yesterday?”

“I stopped in after I visited you,” she said. “I interviewed hotel staff about seeing a phantom at the Algonquin. For the article.” She went to the bookcase and grabbed a steno pad. “Here are my notes. You can see for yourself.”

Norah stared down at the pad. She didn't need to read what it said. Audrey was telling the truth—that much was clear. She handed the pad back and put her hand to her forehead, feeling almost dizzy from the quick change in direction.

“I . . . it's okay,” Norah said. “I believe you.”

“The Algonquin guest book is missing?” Audrey said.

“I . . . um . . .”

“That means you won't be able to show proof to my editor,” Audrey said, her voice rising.

“I'll find it,” Norah said.

“If you can't . . .” Audrey said, and Norah understood the rest. No guest book, no interview with Ted.

“Don't worry,” Norah said. “If you didn't take it, I know who did.”

D
orothy Parker knew at once that there was another spirit in this strange, dark, cluttered house. And though she sensed this had been where Percy Coates lived, she knew it wasn't him. Percy had been a gentleman, with a generous soul and a hearty laugh. The specter who lingered here was weak and angry. She would stay out of sight and watch.

She recognized the woman hunched over the writing desk. It was that insufferable Edie Coates, who had been suing the Algonquin Hotel for the guest book. Apparently, she'd decided to take matters into her own hands and abscond with it. This was very bad news. If someone didn't come looking for the book, Dorothy Parker could be stuck in this horrid place forever.

She swirled unseen throughout the room. There were knickknacks and bric-a-brac on every surface, but she was looking for one thing in particular, and at last she found it on the top shelf of a tall curio cabinet. There it was—a volume that looked very much like the Algonquin guest book, only smaller and darker. It was held open on a book stand and looked insignificant between a thick antique dictionary and a signed first edition of
Shouts and Murmurs
. There
were so many thousands of collected pieces in this room that it would be hard for most people to even notice. Besides, it was on a high shelf, above the eye level of all but the tallest visitors.

Edie remained at the desk, busy with something that involved pulling pieces of clear tape from a dispenser and applying them to the Algonquin guest book. What on earth was she doing?

The other spirit appeared at the doorway. He was an unattractive man with deep-set eyes and almost no chin. He wore a silk kimono over his clothes.

“What are you doing?” he said to Edie. His voice was angry, but Dorothy Parker detected that it was mostly bluster. He meant to intimidate this woman.

She looked up, her eyes wide. “I didn't see you there,” she said.

“Obviously.”

“I got the book,” she said. “See?” She seemed eager to calm him.

“You managed to do something right. Did anyone see you leave with it?”

“I hid it under my jacket.”

“I should have known. You stole a house. Stealing a book is small potatoes.”

“I believe it's very valuable,” she said.

“If you think I'm going to let you sell it, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

“But, Gavin. I need the cash so badly. I don't know how much longer—”

“It stays in the house. Now close it.”

“Why can't I sell it? It wasn't part of the original possessions.”

“You want me to unleash more spirits?” he asked.

“Gavin, please!”

“Don't argue, Chubs. Now listen to me and shut the book.”

She pulled a tissue from a box on the desk and blew her nose.

“Stop crying and do what I said,” he seethed.

Edie finished her business with the tissue and dropped it into a wastebasket, then she pulled out another piece of tape. “I'm almost finished fixing it,” she said.

“To hell with fixing it! What do you think that's going to do, anyway?”

“The spirit—” she began, but was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Who are you expecting?” he said.

“No one.”

“Send them away. But shut that book first.”

Edie stood. “I'll close it when I'm done,” she said as she left the room.

“Imbecile!” he shouted after her.

With Edie gone, Gavin tentatively approached the Algonquin guest book to get a closer look. Dorothy Parker materialized in a blood red leather arm chair directly behind him.

“How do you do?” she said, startling him.

He whirled around and looked at her. “You!” he said. “I knew there was another spirit here. I
knew
it. Get out and never show yourself again. You don't belong here.”

“That makes two of us, doesn't it?”

“This is
my
house.”

“I think not. Besides, why did you have her bring the book here if you're so frightened of me?”

“Frightened? Ha! I'm not scared of you. I'm going to have my sister close the book and then you'll be gone forever.”

“Don't be rude, dear. Fix me a drink and we'll have a little chat.”

“I'd sooner pour a drink on your head.”

“Charming.”

“She's going to walk back in here any second,” he whispered.
“And then she'll shut the book and you'll be gone forever. I'll have her wrap the book in sheets and put it in the attic, where no one will ever find it.”

“Yes, that's a distinct possibility. Of course, I could convince her to close the book
you
signed and then all her problems will be over, won't they?”

“I didn't sign any book! It's the kimono that brought me here.” He held his arms wide to show the full splendor of the garment.

She laughed. “My dear, you may have succeeded in convincing Edie of that fiction, but I know the truth.”

“It's the kimono!” he said. “It has special powers.”

“It's no use, precious,” she said. “I saw the book. Your sister will be learning about it the moment she returns.”

He folded his arms. “What do you want?”

“I see. You think you have something of value to me.”

“I'll make you a deal,” he said. “You keep your mouth shut about the book, and I'll let you have the downstairs.”

“The downstairs?”

“That's right. You have this floor and I'll take the upstairs. You just have to keep your mouth shut about the book.”

“I understand. You want me to let Edie go on thinking it's the kimono that brought you here, so she never suspects that all she has to do is shut that book and you'll be gone from her life forever. Why would I ever go along with such a plan?”

“Because she's more scared of you than she is of me. She'll shut both books and lock them away forever.”

“Gavin, dear, I hardly think—”

Before Dorothy Parker could finish her sentence, Edie walked back into the room and headed straight for the desk. It was clear from her purposeful stride that she intended to close the book. Gavin sensed it, too, and smirked.

That son of a bitch,
Dorothy Parker thought. But she had been
around far longer than he, and knew a difficult trick he had probably never mastered. She rushed the particles of her matter through the air, heading straight for Edie. If she was fast enough, she could merge with the woman's being and try to stop her from closing the book. But Edie picked up the volume, and before Dorothy Parker could get close enough, it was shut tight, and she disappeared into the dark void.