OUT ON A LIMB (19 page)
I went to my car, then hesitated. Randy Scarpo had told the police that he saw Daphne, but he could not have seen more than a glimpse of a girl outside his condo. I forced myself to knock on his front door, aware that he was likely to be at the campus and I would find
myself facing Jillian, who did not consider me her best friend.
He opened the door. “Ms. Malloy, I was just getting ready to go to class. Are you my designated driver?”
“I understand you’ll be bartending at the Armstrong home tomorrow. Adrienne asked me to confirm everything.”
“Yeah.” He came out to the sidewalk. “Twenty bucks an hour, and I’m happy to help her out. Ms. Armstrong’s a real go-getter at the center. Tae Bo, aerobics, weights, racquetball, tennis—you name it, she does it.”
“Obsessively?”
“No, nothing like that. She just feels like she has to stay fit for the sake of her marriage. A lot of the ladies spend hours at the center. I have to run them off at ten o’clock every night.”
“But you stay until midnight,” Jillian said from the doorway.
Randy pushed back his hair. “Yes, I do. I do maintenance, work out, and study in peace and quiet. No one bitches at me. No one complains. No one spits up on my shoulder. I sit at the desk and grade papers, do my own assignments, and dread the time when I have to come back here. The fitness center smells like sweat, but this place stinks of urine and sour milk.”
I truly did not want to be in the middle of this. “So you’ll be there by eleven o’clock to slice limes?”
“For twenty bucks an hour, I’ll start peeling olives at dawn,” he said.
“Am I invited?” asked Jillian in a noticeably tight voice.
“I believe it’s mostly for close friends and relatives,” I said as I edged toward my car. “If you’d like to come— you and Connor, that is—you’ll be welcome. You might find it boring, though. Since I hardly know anyone, I won’t be able to introduce you, but the food should be excellent. The caterer’s very confident.”
Randy looked back at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why not?” she said, then stepped inside and slammed the door.
I halted as I bumped against my car. “I’d like to ask you something, Randy. Was there any gossip about Adrienne at the fitness center?”
“Like having an affair? You have to remember that I’m just the guy who replenishes the toilet paper and makes sure the towels are stacked in the locker rooms. These people wouldn’t recognize me in the grocery store. Why would they share gossip with me?”
“Does she have regular partners for racquetball and tennis?”
He shrugged. “Occasionally I’ve reserved court time for her. She plays with different people, mostly women. She doesn’t much like playing against men because they have a better shot at beating her. She and her husband used to play mixed doubles in the evening, but he quit sometime last year. These days she plays with women who’re married to lawyers, bankers, and doctors. Once in a while she plays with this guy who used to be the tennis coach at Farber College. He’s in his eighties.”
“Why did she ask you to bartend?”
“A couple of days ago she stopped at the desk, possibly because the police told her that I saw Daphne that night. We talked for a few minutes, then she said that I could make a hundred dollars or so by helping her out tomorrow afternoon. I get minimum wage at the fitness center.”
I leapt on a long shot. “Are you sure you got a good look at the girl in the parking lot?”
Randy grimaced. “I wish I could say I hadn’t, but Ms. Armstrong dragged her stepdaughter to aerobics classes several times. I recognized her. She ran across the parking lot, jumped in a car, and drove away. The police even asked me to identify her in a lineup yesterday. I told them the truth.”
“And you didn’t see the car?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I think I’d better go inside now.”
I nodded, and then sat in my car for a long while, trying to sort through recent information. Adrienne and Chantilly, armed with iron-clad alibis, had seen Daphne stumble out of the house. Randy had seen her get into a car. Howie had not been present. Miss Parchester had neither seen nor heard Daphne’s hesitant approach or frantic retreat, which puzzled me.
But I had a month-old baby awaiting my tender mercies, as well as a much older one who might be holding the entirety of Farberville High School hostage as she barked demands on the intercom.
I parked in front of Secondhand Rose and went inside. Behind the counter, Skyler was asleep in his basket, his forehead puckered as he faced illusionary foes. Luanne came out of the back room. “It’s about time,” she said, her expression grim. “Peter called half an hour ago, looking for you. He did not sound happy when I told him I didn’t know where you were. I suppose I could have told him where you said were going, but hearsay is unreliable.”
“That’s peculiar, since I talked to him earlier this morning. Did he say why he was looking for me?”
“I did my best, but he was in a foul mood. What did you and he have to say?”
“Nothing that should have set him off,” I said, my brow as puckered as Skyler’s, my foes somewhat less illusionary. I told her what had transpired since I dropped off Skyler. “Yes, Jorgeson was there when I came out of the house, but he failed to raise a ruckus. He and Peter both know I’m on the prowl. I wonder what’s going on.”
Luanne glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly noon. Maybe Jessica can shed some light on this.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but I am not going to take any responsibility for gas station holdups, tornadoes, health department violations, check kiting—”
She steered me into the back room. “Peter’s just annoyed because you keep stalling. Men’s egos are like ostrich eggs—large and brittle. I’ll keep Skyler tonight if you want to kiss up to Robo Cop.”
“Let’s just watch the news.”
She turned on the portable TV she kept on her desk. I was prepared for a segment on some academic program recently introduced on the campus, or a scandal at one of the area county sheriffs’ departments. Troublesome findings after an audit in a city department. A human interest feature about a chimpanzee that delivered Meals on Wheels and read to the visually impaired. Or a bomb threat at the high school.
“This is Jessica Princeton,” said a familiar voice, “live from the second floor of the county courthouse. As you can see from all the activity behind me, there’s a crisis and law enforcement agents are everywhere. I’m standing in front of Judge Derby Nott’s courtroom, where earlier this morning several inmates from the police department were transported for arraignment. Sources tell KFAR that four men and two women were scheduled to appear before Judge Nott between ten and eleven. Two of the men have been charged with operating a meth lab in a warehouse at the edge of Springville, one with possession of stolen property, and one with drunk and disorderly conduct. One of the women is charged with spousal harassment. The other, daughter of slain developer Anthony Armstrong, faces a charge of murder in the first degree.”
“Oh, dear,” I said, clutching Luanne’s arm.
“We don’t have to watch.”
“I’m afraid we do.”
Jessica stepped back as a uniformed officer with a German shepherd swept past her. “Please bear with us. We were allowed in the courthouse only after we swore to stay out of the way as the investigation intensifies. It’s hard to know exactly what happened earlier in this very hallway where I’m standing. An employee of the county clerk’s office, who spoke to us only with a promise of anonymity, said that approximately an hour ago the prisoners arrived in a van and were brought up here in shackles, as is the custom. They were seated on the bench behind me. Shortly thereafter, Daphne Armstrong complained of stomach cramps and was allowed to use the restroom. A matron was waiting outside when the fire alarm went off, as did the sprinklers in the ceiling. All of the employees in the building attempted an orderly evacuation, but the main staircase has been roped off while the rails are being refinished. Several people claimed they smelled smoke coming from the ventilation ducts. Personnel from the fire department arrived in a matter of minutes, causing a traffic jam on the secondary staircase. Two lawyers were trapped in an elevator between floors and pushed that red button we’ve all looked at more than once.” She gave us a pinched scowl meant to remind us that we’d best not indulge our curiosity. “In the ensuing confusion, Daphne Armstrong slipped away. Police are searching not only the building but also nearby parking lots, businesses, and residential neighborhoods. She was last seen wearing rubber sandals and an orange jumpsuit with the initials F.P.D. on the back. She is eighteen years of age, approximately five foot seven, one hundred and ten pounds, and has long brown hair. The police are asking for your cooperation.” Jessica looked as though she had more breathtaking events to describe, but a cold and uncaring producer in the news studio cut her off for an update on a junior high science teacher who currently was being presented with a plaque at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon across town.
“I guess Peter didn’t call to invite me on a picnic,” I said.
Luanne turned off the TV. “You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”
“Jorgeson saw me come out of Adrienne’s house less than forty-five minutes ago. I spoke with Miss Parchester, and then with Randy and Jillian. There is no way I could have been inside the courthouse when all hell broke loose.”
“Someone was.”
“Well, obviously all sorts of people were, including clerks, judges, bailiffs, lawyers, police officers, and civilians renewing car tags. Monty Python’s Flying Circus could have been rehearsing on the third floor. The Farberville Green Party could have been rescuing lichens in the basement. I most definitely was not there. Not even Peter can accuse me of having anything to do with this.”
“Then you believe it was just one of those crazy coincidences? Daphne becomes ill and is in the restroom at the very moment the fire alarm goes off? Wake up, Claire. This is Farberville, not Hollywood.”
“Point well taken,” I said as I went into the front room to make sure Skyler had not been disturbed by my sputters. “Someone must have given Daphne precise instructions. She’s not a model of self-motivation or ingenuity. I find it hard to see her mother behind this, though. And Joey didn’t bother to ask how she was. Why would he risk violating probation?”
“Especially when he has the charming Bocaraton and bliss in the Pot O’ Gold,” Luanne said with a wry smile. “There is a certain justice in this universe, you know. He may end up plucking chickens for years to come. Three toddlers in diapers, two in-laws with beer bellies, and one yellow Trans Am on concrete blocks next to the trailer.”
I refused to hum a few bars. “We are short a player. This was definitely planned, and Daphne was told what to do. But by whom? Not by Adrienne and Chantilly. Not by Miss Parchester. Not by you or me, or Skyler, who’s too short to grab the fire alarm gizmo. Caron and Inez are worried about keeping Skyler away from Daphne, not creating a situation in which she could reclaim him. There has to be another player.”
Luanne shrugged. “From what you’ve told me, Daphne is sadly lacking in friends and supporters. When Joey was sent to jail, she didn’t have a single person to turn to. She was sleeping in an alley when—”
My blood turned to the consistency of chilled tomato aspic (which, for the record, was on the menu tomorrow at noon at the Armstrong villa). “Please don’t even consider it, Luanne. Slap me if I so much as attempt to say the name aloud. Call Peter and tell him that I take full responsibility for everything that happened at the courthouse. So what if I find myself in shackles on the bench outside Judge Nott’s courtroom next week?”
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to say it, Claire. This approach-avoidance routine won’t work. It won’t help Daphne, Skyler, Caron, or yours truly, for that matter. Take a deep breath and say it.”
My hps felt numb, as though I’d spent the morning at a dentist’s office. “We could both be wrong,” I mumbled. “Sheila might have sobered up.”
“Say it,” commanded Luanne.
“Oh, all right.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Daphne does have a friend, although he’s more likely to be diving in a Dumpster than changing into tights and a cape in a telephone booth.”
“Say it,” she repeated.
My voice was very flat as I forced myself to comply. “Arnie Riggles.”
For those who have the good fortune to have never encountered Arnold Riggles, congratulations are in order. He is of indiscriminate age, although anywhere between thirty-five and fifty would be a reasonable estimate. Personal hygiene is not among his hobbies. He is not evil, per se, but merely amoral in a rather generous way. Arnie would steal the shirt off his mother’s back, but only to pass it along to someone in greater need. He would dance on his grandmother’s grave to cheer up a funeral party, and then make off with the hearse. Because of reasons far too complicated to explain, he is convinced I am a senator.
For the record, I am not.
“Well, it makes sense,” Luanne said, handing me a cup of coffee. “He rescued Daphne off the streets, provided her with food and shelter, and was present when she gave birth. As reluctant as we are to credit him with admirable qualities, he’s not a total jackass.”
“He’s loyal when it suits him. There’s no proof he’s behind this petty jailbreak, though. We don’t know where Sally Fromberger was this morning at ten o’clock, do we?”
“I think we can assume she wasn’t setting off the fire alarm at the courthouse,” she countered dryly.
“Or whisking Daphne away for a veggie burger and a cup of herbal tea, for that matter. Where can the girl be? It’s not that easy to blend in when you’re wearing a monogrammed orange jumpsuit. Her mother’s house is only three blocks from the courthouse, but she must have realized that’s the first place the police would go.” I went to the window and looked at pedestrians ambling down the hill. “My duplex is at least a mile away from the courthouse. She doesn’t have a chance of making it there without being spotted by some conscientious citizen with a cell phone. Even if she knows where Joey is—and I can’t see how she could—she has no way to get there.”