Double Booked For Death

They slipped out the door, and Jake paused long enough to twist the thumb lock on the inner knob before shutting the door behind them.

“Maybe he’ll think he locked the wrong lock last time,” she whispered as the sound of the front door opening drifted up to them. She jabbed a finger in the direction of the third floor, and Darla made a swift if silent beeline for the stairs. Over the frantic beating of her heart, she could hear the faint sounds of metal on metal from the lobby, and she guessed Morris was checking his mail, giving them a few extra seconds.

As they reached the third-floor landing, they heard him starting up the steps. Darla shrank back against the far wall and reflexively counted the footfalls, holding her breath when they stopped. Then she heard a key scrape in the lock, followed by a pause, and the sound of a knob jiggling. She could almost hear the question mark in his thoughts as he apparently found the dead bolt open and the twist lock on the knob locked instead. Did he suspect anything other than his own memory?

“Hey! Hey, there!”

The raspy female voice made both her and Jake jump. Darla gazed wildly about for its source and then recognized the voice as belonging to the first woman whom they’d randomly buzzed while trying to get in. As the woman continued to speak, she realized in relief that the sound was coming from the second floor.

“—was real sorry to hear about your other sister,” the unseen woman was saying, the words obviously directed at Morris. “I’d of made up a casserole to send around, except I didn’t know where to bring it.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gleason,” she heard Morris reply. “Kind thoughts are as filling as food in such situations.”

“Well, you just let me know if you need anything, Morrie,” Mrs. Gleason said with a comforting click of her tongue. “Oh, and I haven’t forgotten about coming around to see that play you told me about. You think maybe Mavis can get me backstage? I’d love to meet that actor fellow who plays Othello. I just love him on that cop show on Tuesday nights.”

“I’m sure she can arrange it. Not tonight, but maybe for next Sunday’s performance.”

“That would be great. I’m going to go call for a ticket right now.”

A door closed, and then a second one opened and closed. Mrs. Gleason and Morris both were safely in their apartments, Darla assumed. But Jake gave a warning shake of her head and leaned carefully over the railing to take another look.

Sure enough, a door on the second floor opened again, and Darla heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. “Hey, Morrie,” Mrs. Gleason yelled, “which one, three o’clock show or eight o’clock show?”

“Eight o’clock, Mrs. Gleason,” Morris patiently called through his closed door. “The understudy will be playing Othello at the three o’clock performance.”

“Eight o’clock it is.”

The woman shuffled back into her apartment, the door slamming behind her again. Jake peered over the railing for a few more moments and then gestured to Darla, murmuring, “Come on, kid, let’s get out of here.”

They made their way down the two flights in silent haste, fortunately not encountering either Mrs. Gleason or Morris on the way. But Darla didn’t breathe easy again until they’d made it out onto the street and were a good two blocks back in the direction of Crawford Avenue.

“I’m too old for this sort of thing,” she declared with a sigh.

Jake shook her frizzy head and laughed. “Come on, kid, don’t be such a cliché. A little bit of adrenaline rush is good for the heart.”

“Well, then my heart is good for the next twenty years or so,” Darla replied, though this time with a grudging smile. The smile faded, however, as she asked, “So what are we going to do about Morris and Hillary?”

“I was thinking we track them down tonight and see about witnessing this little exchange they’ve got planned. Now that I know what’s going on, no way am I going to let Hillary face off against Morris by herself. It might only be blackmail over a writing credit, but you never know how these things might go down.”

Jake’s amused expression evaporated as she spoke, and her fixed gaze momentarily reminded Darla of the look she had turned on the three young thugs. As for the unsaid sentiment it reflected, she knew it was Not again, not on my watch.

“I see where you’re coming from,” Darla ventured, “but how do we figure out what club Hillary was talking about?”

“We can do it the hard way”—Jake slanted a look at her over her sunglasses—“which would be to tail her or Morris all day and hope we don’t get spotted before we figure out where they’re headed. Or, we can do it the easy way.”

“I’ll put in my vote for the easy way.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

She refused to elaborate, however, until they arrived back at the brownstone.

Once back in the store, Jake picked up one of the free newspapers that Hamlet had kicked aside earlier, and thumbed through it while Darla went to wait on the customer who had followed them into the store as she was unlocking the door. Once assured that her assistance wasn’t needed, she casually sidled over to Jake and addressed her in a low tone.