Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [32]
I didn’t answer the door. I finished showering, dried off, and then peered out the filthy Venetian blinds. I didn’t see anyone standing there.
I turned my cell phone on. Seventeen messages. I checked the call log. Fifteen from Ava. One from Ruby and one from Sal. I skipped through all the Ava messages since the only thing that mattered was if something had happened to Grace and, had that been the case, Ava would have left word with Henry Meyer or John Troxler, the trainers she knew I spent the most time with. I listened to Ruby’s message—she’d heard I’d ditched Sal and was calling to check up on me. She was at work at the Coney Island Museum and I was welcome to come hang out with her there. Sal had left a grouchy message offering his services again. Services that I considered more seriously in light of the knock at the door. I decided to at least call him. He picked up before it even rang.
“You all right?” he barked into the phone. I could hear a loud string section swelling behind him. Didn’t sound like Beethoven though.
“Fine thanks, Sal. Sorry if I was rude earlier. I just needed to do my thing at the track.”
“Good thing that didn’t involve gettin’ capped.”
“Yeah,” I laughed halfheartedly, “how you doin’, Sal?”
“Good,” he said, though it didn’t sound like that was entirely true.
I told him I was going to get on the subway and make my way over to Ruby’s.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “I’m coming to get you.”
“By the time you make it out here, I could be at Ruby’s already.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m in Queens right now.”
“You are? What are you doing?”
“Driving. Little problem with the wife.”
“Oh,” I said. I knew how that one went. I gave Sal directions to my basement.
“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” he said as a chorus of voices rose in the background.
I stared into the Powerpuff Girls mirror and considered myself. I had enormous purplish circles under my eyes and new lines etched into the sides of my mouth. I turned away from the mirror, packed some clothes into an overnight bag, and finished getting dressed. I then found myself drawn back to the mirror. I’m not a vain guy. I know I’m decent looking and women give me the once-over. But I’ve never spent a lot of time looking at myself and it was startling to see what was there. The man staring back at me was frazzled and his decently put together features were getting lost under a map of new wrinkles. The eyes looked haunted. Or maybe hunted would be more accurate.
Before I had time to get too macabre dwelling on my unsavory personal appearance, I heard a horn honking outside. I peered through the blinds and saw Sal’s truck glowing red against the gray day.
As I hopped into the truck, I saw Mrs. O’Rourke come tromping onto her porch to see what the honking was about. The matron tolerated honking about as well as marital separation. I think she shouted something at me but Sal’s window was down and the music was blisteringly loud. It was some sort of opera and it drowned out whatever recriminations were issuing from Mrs. O’Rourke.
I got into the truck and settled into the passenger seat.
“Thanks, Sal,” I shouted over the music.
“No problem,” he shouted back.
He drove.
We made it to Surf Avenue in no time at all. The Cyclone roller coaster stood steely gray against the matching sky. Sal found a parking spot right in front of the museum entrance. He checked in his rearview mirror, presumably scanning for hit men. He craned his thick neck and looked all around the vehicle.
“I’ll come up with you for a while,” he told me.
We climbed the dark narrow stairs leading to the museum. The place smelled musty and a little