Cemetery Dance

'All right.' The woman pressed an intercom button and bawled into it. 'Cops here to see Fearing!' She turned back to them with a face that had gone from slatternly to unexpectedly eager. 'What happened? Somebody commit a crime?'

Pendergast leaned forward, adopting a confidential manner. 'As a matter of fact, yes.'

Her eyes widened.

'Murder,' Pendergast whispered.

The woman gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. 'Where? Here?'

'New York City.'

'Was it Mrs. Fearing's son?'

'You mean Colin Fearing?'

D'Agosta glanced at Pendergast.

Where the hell is he going?

Pendergast straightened up, adjusted his tie. 'You know Colin well?'

'Not really.'

'But he visited regularly, did he not? Last week, for example?'

'I don't think so.' The woman pulled over a register book, flipped through it. 'No.'

'It must have been the week before.' Pendergast leaned over to look at the book.

She continued flipping through it, Pendergast's silvery eyes on the pages. 'Nope. Last time he visited was in… February. Eight months ago.'

'Really!'

'Look for yourself.' She turned the book around so Pendergast could see. He examined the scrawled signature, then began flipping back to the beginning of the book, his eyes taking in every page. He straightened up. 'It seems he didn't visit often.'

'Nobody visits often.'

'And her daughter?' 'I didn't know she even had a daughter. Never visited.'

Pendergast laid a kindly hand on her massive shoulder. 'In answer to your question, yes, Colin Fearing is dead.'

She paused, eyes growing wide. 'Murdered?'

'We don't know the cause of his death yet. So no one's told his mother?'

'Nobody. I don't think anyone here knew. But…' She hesitated. 'You're not here to tell her, are you?'

'Not exactly.'

'I don't think you should. Why ruin the last few months of her life? I mean, he hardly ever visited, and he never stayed long. She won't miss him.'

'What was he like?'

She made a face. 'I wouldn't want a son like him.'

'Indeed? Please explain.'

'Rude. Nasty. He called me Big Bertha.' She flushed.

'Outrageous! And what is your name, my dear?'

'Jo — Ann.' She hesitated. 'You won't tell Mrs. Fearing about his death, will you?'

'Very compassionate of you, Jo — Ann. And now, may we see Mrs. Fearing?'

'Where is that aide?' She was about to press the intercom again, then thought better of it. 'I'll take you myself. Follow me. I ought to warn you: Mrs. Fearing's pretty batty.'

'Batty,' Pendergast repeated. 'I see.'

The woman struggled up from her chair, most eager to be of help. They followed her down a long, dim linoleum corridor, assaulted by more disagreeable smells: human elimination, boiled food, vomit. Each door they passed presented its own suite of noises: mumbling, groaning, frantic loud talking, snoring.

The woman paused at an open door and knocked. 'Mrs. Fearing?'

'Go away,' came the feeble answer.

'Some gentlemen to see you, Mrs. Fearing!' Jo — Ann tried to muster a bright, artificial voice.

'I don't want to see anybody,' came the voice from within.

'Thank you, Jo — Ann,' Pendergast said in his most suave tone. 'We can handle it from here. You're a treasure.'

They stepped inside. The room was small, with a minimum of furniture and personal possessions. It was dominated by a hospital bed that lay in the center of the linoleum — tiled floor. Pendergast deftly slipped into a chair next to the bed.

'Go away,' said the woman again, her voice weak and without conviction. She lay in the bed, her uncombed, snowy hair frizzed about her head in a halo, her once blue eyes now almost white, skin as delicate and transparent as parchment. D'Agosta could see the gleaming curve of her scalp below the straggly hairs. Dirty dishes from lunch, hours old, were parked on a hospital table with wheels.

'Hello, Gladys,' Pendergast said, taking her hand. 'How are you?'

'Lousy.'

'May I ask you a personal question?'

'No.'

Pendergast pressed the hand. 'Do you remember your first teddy bear?'

The washed — out eyes stared at him, uncomprehending.

'Your first stuffed teddy. Do you remember?'

A slow, wondering nod.

'What was its name?'

A long silence. And then she spoke. 'Molly.'

'A nice name. What happened to Molly?'

Another long pause. 'I don't know.'

'Who gave you Molly?'

'Daddy. For Christmas.'

D'Agosta could see a flicker of life kindling in those dull eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered where Pendergast could possibly be going with such a bizarre line of questioning.

'What a wonderful present she must have made,' Pendergast said. 'Tell me about Molly.'

'She was made out of socks sewed together and stuffed with rags. She had a bow tie painted on her. I loved that bear. I slept with her every night. When I was with her, I was safe. Nobody could hurt me.' A radiant smile broke out on the old lady's face, and a tear welled up in one eye and ran down her cheek.

Pendergast quickly offered her a Kleenex from a packet he slipped out of his pocket. She took it, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose. 'Molly,' she repeated, in a faraway voice. 'What I wouldn't give to hold that silly old stuffed bear again.' For the first time the eyes seemed to focus on Pendergast. 'Who are you?'

'A friend,' said Pendergast. 'Just come to chat.' He rose from his chair.

'Do you have to go?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Come back. I like you. You're a fine young man.'

'Thank you. I will try.'

On the way out, Pendergast handed his card to Jo — Ann. 'If anyone calls on Mrs. Fearing, would you be so kind as to let me know?'

'Of course!' She took the card with something close to reverence.

A moment later they were outside the entrance, in the shabby, empty parking lot, the Rolls gliding up to fetch them. Pendergast held open the door for D'Agosta. Fifteen minutes later they were on Interstate 87, winging their way back to New York City.

'Did you notice the old painting in the hall outside Mrs. Fearing's room?' Pendergast murmured. 'I do believe that is an original Bierstadt, badly in need of cleaning.'

D'Agosta shook his head. 'Are you going to tell me what that was all about, or do you enjoy keeping me in the dark?'

With an amused gleam in his eye, Pendergast slipped a test tube out of his suitcoat. Stuffed inside was a damp tissue.