Dutch Me Deadly

“That was quick,” I said nonchalantly.

He gave me a palms-up. “Not much to linger over.”

I hurried through a short hallway to arrive in the Frank’s family room—a modest space with pinkish wallpaper and woodwork painted institutionalized green. I blew past several people into an even narrower room, where the photos of long-dead movie stars graced the walls, then hurried into a connecting room that housed a sink and toilet. Following the tour route out the bathroom door, I stepped into the hallway to find myself back at the entrance to the annex, on the opposite side of the barrier, at the foot of the staircase I really didn’t want to climb.

I inhaled a deep breath to bolster my courage. It was a good thing Paula Peavey wasn’t here. Given her struggles with vertigo, there was no way she—

The thought went unfinished as a body came crashing down the stairs and fell in a mangled heap at my feet.

Thirteen

Our visit ended up lasting a lot longer than two hours.

“Question number one hundred-eighteen,” said Helen, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. She blinked away tears as she stared bleary-eyed at the questionnaire. “‘What is the subject’s favorite television program?’”

George’s head fell onto his chest, startling him awake. “Make something up,” he grumbled.

We were gathered in the museum cafeteria, battling spotty cellphone service while seated at tables with sweeping views of bicyclists, pedestrians, and canal traffic. The police were still questioning patrons about the tragic mishap that had forced the museum to close its doors for the remainder of the day. Interviewees were being held in the administrative offices in another part of the complex and were being released one at a time in a very orderly process. I complimented the police on their efficiency and thoroughness. But the downside was, it was taking forever.

I guess it was no easy task determining what had caused Pete Finnegan to plunge to his death.

“How much longer have we gotta sit here?” Bernice griped as Gary Bouchard sauntered into the room.

“We almost got everyone back,” said Nana, recording Gary’s arrival with a hash mark on her napkin. She tallied the count. “Only three to go.”

Being on the ground floor when the mishap occurred had proven to be fortuitous for my group. No interrogation for them. But the reunion people had fared less well. The police wanted to interview all patrons who’d been touring the third floor rooms when Pete took his header down the stairs. And, wouldn’t you know? Every single Mainer had apparently been crowded into the apartment when Pete fell. Little wonder the interrogation was taking so long. I couldn’t imagine how underwhelmed the police must be with the feedback.

I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm my icy fingertips. I’d finally stopped shaking after downing six pots of hot tea, but I still felt brittle and a little wobbly. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Pete, frantically windmilling his arms as he plummeted toward me. All I could hear was the bone-jarring thunk as he landed at my feet. I found solace in only one detail: Had I been standing a hairsbreadth closer, I’d be lying in the morgue with him.

I shuddered at the thought.

Grace flipped through the remaining pages of her questionnaire. “We’re making progress, everyone,” she announced proudly. “Only eight pages left.”

A collective groan.

“Look at the woman across the street!” Margi leaped from her chair and pressed her nose to the window glass, her voice trembling with anguish. “She’s talking on a cellphone. She’s probably even able to text.”

“Where?” cried Osmond and Alice, racing to the window to join her.

“You want I should fetch you another pot a tea, dear?” Nana spoke softly, as if a louder tone might cause me to shatter. “Your great-gramma Maccoull used to say there wasn’t no misery in this world what couldn’t be made better by a hot cup a tea.”

I squeezed her hand and smiled. “I’m good, Nana.” Which wasn’t exactly true, because if Pete died the way I suspected he died, I’d never be able to live with myself again. “But, I do think I’m about to float away, so if you’ll excuse me.” I pushed away from the table.

“Going back to the television question,” Helen fussed, “what do you think they want to know? Dick’s favorite show of all-time, or his pick in the new fall lineup?”

Since the museum had been cleared of all patrons except us, I didn’t have to wait in line to use the ladies’ room. In fact, I had the room all to myself … until Jackie charged through the door, fisting her hands on her hips when she saw me.

“Why is it that every time you find a dead body, I end up getting grilled by the police?” she asked in a tight voice.

“Finally!” I sloughed water from my hands as I spun around to face her. “I’ve been going nuts not knowing what’s going on. Why is it taking so long? What did they ask you? What did you tell them? Did you actually see anything?”

She made a beeline toward the closest mirror and plopped her metallic bag on the countertop. “You don’t mind if I multi-task while I answer, do you? My lip gloss is in desperate need of freshening up.”

“Your lips are fine, Jack. Talk to me!”

“What did I see?” she repeated as she removed a lip brush from her cosmetic bag. “A sink and wall spigot. World War II vintage. Not in the best of shape. An alcove where a stove used to sit. A closed off fireplace. Beamed ceiling. A menu for an anniversary dinner. An adjoining room I never got to see because of Pete Finnegan’s swan dive down the staircase.”

“Were you near him when it happened?”

“Everyone was near him, Emily. We were packed in like sardines. I bumped into, stepped on, or smacked elbows with every person in the stupid room. But that’s what makes eavesdropping such a specialized skill. You can’t stand in one place. You have to keep moving around.”

“And?”

“And my boots have scuff marks all over them because of it.” She pivoted her foot, toe out, to show me. “You don’t happen to have a suede cleaner bar on you, do you?”

“Jack!”

“What! I was on the other side of the room when all the commotion started, along with a whole host of other people, who, by the way, were blowing off the rules and taking photos.”

“Was Mike McManus on your side of the room? Tall, good-looking guy with a golf tan and Wolf Blitzer’s hair?”

“Mmmm …” She unscrewed the cap on her lip gloss. “Not that I recall. I was surrounded by a clique of plushy women who were rehashing their dislike of some nun named Sister Hippolytus when the wheels fell off.”

“So Mike could have been standing near the staircase when Pete fell?”

She leaned close to the mirror as she brushed a dab of gloss over her lips. “I don’t know who was standing nearest the staircase, but you might want to ask Beth Ann, because she was working that side of the room for me. I had this ingenious idea to divide the room into two hal—” She gasped suddenly, wheeling around to face me. “Oh, my God. Do you think this Mike McManus pushed Pete?”

“I don’t know.” I inhaled a breath and let it out, but it did nothing to lessen the taste of guilt lingering in my mouth. “I … I’m terrified I might have killed him.”

“WHAT?”

“I feel so horrible, Jack. Pete ranted at me earlier today that he could ruin all his classmates by blabbing some secrets no one realized he knew, and I made the mistake of telling Mike, and a few flights of stairs later, Pete ends up dead. See?” My voice rose to a breathless squeal. “I killed him!”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Can I give you some friendly advice, Emily? Stop making everything about yourself. You were nowhere near Pete when he took his dive, so cool your jets. You didn’t do it.”

“I know I didn’t do it directly. What I did was worse. I drove someone else to do it!”