I brightened up considerably. “What’d you find out?”
“Ms. Carrington’s a hardworking girl—excuse me, young woman. She has one older sister, no brothers. She had a scholarship at the American Ballet Theater when she was fifteen but wasn’t good enough for them in the long haul. She lives in a condo on Astor Place. Father’s dead. Mother lives in Park Forest South. Her family doesn’t have a lot of money. She may have a rich friend helping her out, or the ballet people may pay her a lot—you’d have to sic a detective on her to find out for sure. Anyway, she’s lived at the same place for several years now.”
I wrinkled my face. “Park Forest South? She told me she grew up in Lake Bluff.”
“Maybe she did. That’s just where her mother lives … Anyway, about her and your cousin. There was some talk about her and Boom Boom the last month or so before he died. They didn’t go to any of the celebrity hot spots, so it took Greta a while to catch on—someone spotted her with him at the Stadium back in March. If it was serious they kept it mighty quiet. We talked to some of the other hockey players. They seemed to think she was pursuing him—he wasn’t so involved.”
I felt an ignoble twitch of pleasure at that.
“Your turn.” Murray’s blue eyes were bright with amusement. I told him everything I knew about the accident.
“Who emptied your brake fluid?”
“Police say it’s vandals down at the Port.”
“And you say?”
“I say it was whoever pushed my cousin under the Bertha Krupnik.” But that I said to myself. “Not a glimmer, Murray. I can’t figure it out.”
“Vic, with anyone else I’d believe it. But not with you. You got someone mad and they cut your power steering. Now, who?”
I shut my eyes. “Could have been Lieutenant Mallory—he wants me to keep my nose out of the Kelvin case.”
“Someone at the Port.”
“I’m an invalid, Murray.”
“Someone connected with Kelvin.”
“No comment.”
“I’m going to follow you around, Vic. I want to see this thing happening before it happens.”
“Murray, if you don’t get out of here I’m going to sic the nurses on you. They’re a very mean lot in this hospital.”
He laughed and ruffled my hair. “Get well soon, Vic. I’d miss you if you got to your ninth life … Just for laughs, I’m going to talk to your red-faced guard over at Tri-State Grain.”
I opened my eyes. “If you find anything, you’d better let me know.”
“Read about it in the Star, Vic.” He laughed and was gone before I could think of a snappy comeback.
After he left, quiet descended for a while. I raised the head of the bed and struggled to fix up the side table so that I could write. I’d never mangled an arm before and hadn’t realized how hard it is to do things with one hand. Thank goodness for power steering, I thought, then remembered I didn’t have a car, either. I called my insurance agent to report the loss. I hoped my policy covered vandalism.
I doodled around on a sheet of cheap hospital paper—a freighter bouncing through a high sea, a few crocodiles. Anyone down at the Port could have sabotaged my car. Phillips knew I was there—he’d seen me outside the Pole Star offices. He could have told Grafalk or anyone at Grafalk’s—the dispatcher, for example.
I added a shark with rows of wild teeth, jaws big enough to swallow the freighter, and a few panicky fishes. Everyone at the Lucella knew I was there. That included Bledsoe. Trouble was, Bledsoe kissed well. Could anyone who kissed that well be evil enough to put my car out of commission? Still, the Lucella had a complete machine shop in the engine room. Sheridan or Winstein—even Bemis—could have taken care of my car while Bledsoe fed me dinner.
Then, take Phillips. He acted strange whenever I talked to him. Maybe he had fallen in love with me and couldn’t articulate it, but I didn’t think so. Also, Boom Boom and he argued over the contracts the day before my cousin’s accident.
I drew a round ball and added a thatch of hair. That was supposed to be Phillips. I labeled it in case one of the nurses wanted to save the picture for her grandchildren. I should really talk to all of them—Grafalk, Phillips, Bemis, Sheridan, Bledsoe—and soon.
I looked balefully at my left shoulder. I couldn’t do much while I lay here attached to my pulley. Still, what about those Eudora shipping contracts? Someone had rescued my canvas bag from the wreckage of the Lynx. It lay now on the lower shelf of the bedside table.