Bert and Guy were slowly climbing the back stairs. Increasingly unable to keep up, Bert deliberately paused to give each step all the scrutiny he could muster while giving his lungs a chance to catch up with his legs. Guy, taking only one flight at a time before stopping for breath and pretending that he was slowing his pace only for Bert, was remembering all those times he had taken the elevator home after a workout; he resolved to use the stairs more often.
“Did you notice that this stairwell isn’t very clean?” Bert stooped to point out a speck of dirt, invisible to Guy from his vantage point several steps above the offending mote.”Should mention it next meeting. Think I’m going to switch to the elevator.” He needed to save some breath for talking to Gertie.
“This is my floor anyway.” Guy laid his finger along the side of his nose, in the classic gesture. “Let’s keep this to ourselves. I suppose I could always say that I was here with you doing our routine stairwell inspection. Minutes later, when Bert unlocked his penthouse door, Gertie was out of the bath and waiting, rather anxiously, for him.
“I was beginning to worry. You were gone longer than I expected.”
“Sit down, Gertie. We need to talk again.” This time, he poured out a glass of brandy for himself. She declined a refill and curled up next to Pocano, in what remained of the space left on his favorite chair.
“Tell me one more time. You pushed him, ran out, and that’s all, right?”
“Daddy, why are you asking me this again? I told you.”
“Well Gertie, it’s like this. I was pretty hot under the collar about it, and went to the pool on the off-chance that he’d still be there. Figured if I identified him, I could get him thrown out of the association. Here’s the thing. There was a dead man in the water.”
“What? No way!”
“Well, I am assuming he’s the same one who attacked you. What was he wearing? What color was his hair?”
“Tropical swim trunks. Reddish hair.”
“Same one then, though what the hell he was doing here, I can’t figure out. He’s mixed up in that proposed development next door. I recognized him from the grand opening the committee went to.”
“And he’s dead – in our pool – how?”
“It just looks like he drowned. Are you sure he was still on the deck when you left?”
“I didn’t look back to see, once I pushed him. What are you saying, Daddy. That I pushed him in?”
“Of course not. But you didn’t hear a splash? For sure?”
“For sure. I was out of there and up those stairs so fast, I might not have heard it anyway.”
“Congratulations on being able to run the stairs, Gertie, but are you sure no-one saw or heard you?”
“Well, going down I did hear a stair door close somewhere, but it was below me. I didn’t pass anyone on the way up.”
“Then, I think it would be for the best if you were never down there at all tonight, OK? Me either. There will be questions when they find him.”
“Wait, you mean you left him in there? You didn’t call anyone?” Gertie was incredulous.
“He’s very dead, not going anywhere. It’s going to look real bad for us all anyway, when it comes out. And I really don’t want our name mixed up in this. Let somebody else find him.”
“What are we going to do, Daddy?”
“You just leave your swim bag like you always do. You didn’t use it at all tonight, did you?” She shook her head. “Then, if you’re asked, you didn’t go down. You stayed here, took a long bath, and had an early night. We’re leaving first thing in the morning for a day in Chicago. I took my usual turn outside with Pocano. That’s our story, if we need one.”
“I suppose I could say that.”
“Speaking of Pocano, I still need to take him out. Had to come back up and square this away with you, first.” Bert leashed up the dog and prepared to set out the door. “If I do see anyone downstairs, it will be an alibi for me. I’ve already spoken to Gervase about the morning. He’s agreed to meet me in the lobby at quarter to seven, to take Pocano for a walk. We need to be down and ready to leave by then.” Gertie sat dazed. “Come on, Gertie, I know it’s tough but pull yourself together. We mustn’t give ourselves away. Let’s just hope that we’re out of here tomorrow before he is found.”
“But who will find him?”
“With any luck, it will be Gervase, after we leave. Now get some sleep. This time, I will be right back.”
Bert made the descent and headed out the front door. Pocano obliged, getting straight to his business, so they did not have to go far. As he returned to the lobby he saw Kitty Doyle, wearing a bright yellow dress and trailing luggage, waiting for the elevator.
“Good evening, Miss Doyle. Have you recovered from your fire?”
“Stupid candles.”
“It was too bad.” Bert replied, somewhat insincerely. As unfortunate a chance meeting as this one was, fate had still offered him up an alibi if he needed one, in the person of Kitty Doyle. “Quiet evening here tonight, anyway. I’ve just been out, with the dog.”
“Oh, I’m just getting back from a trip. The elevator is running very slowly tonight.” When the elevator did arrive, they rode up to the first floor together where she got out, without another word.
Kitty’s unit still smelled of smoke after the blaze, despite her precautions in covering over her alarms so she could play freely with fire, one of her favorite things to do: to sit alone in the dark of dusk or midnight or dawn; to strike wooden matches and to light scented candles, lots of candles: to whisper to the fire the belittling names she gave to people she despised, the flickers twisting as though straining to listen: to writhe and dance beside her little chapel of flames, to be ever hotter, ever sweatier, whirling and flinging off the detested trappings of clothes: to bathe in water sprinkled with oils and salts, dabbling in herbal concoctions and whipping up aromatic hills of frothing, foaming bubbles.
The night of the fire, she had reclined, oblivious in her cauldron, as flaming candles in the next room ignited a nearby paper lantern and sped greedily to the rice paper window shades. The smell of the smoke, diminished by overpowering scents of bath water, arrived under the bathroom door only with the first haze of the smoke. Clad in a towel and rushing out into the already acrid corridor, doused by the cold streams of water from the unit’s overhead sprinklers, Kitty had heard and cursed the blaring hallway smoke alarms.
If she were going to move away from here for a better job and sell her condo, this lingering smoky smell would have to go. But for now, she would deal with those bottle caps. Tomorrow was garbage collection day, she remembered. Removing a container of spoiled yogurt from the refrigerator, she pushed the caps down below the mold, snapped the lid back on the container, and threw it into the kitchen trash bag that she carried along the hall to drop down the chute.