The Icing on the Corpse by Mary Jane Maffini Page A

all there, as far as I could see.
    Everyone but Lindsay.

    â€œI don't know,” I said to Conn McCracken, once he had stopped stomping, blowing on his hands and swearing.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you don't know?”
    McCracken, his ratty little partner, Leonard Momberquette, and their cold bulky coats crowded the front entrance. Someone had left a pair of leather boots where I could trip on them. I skidded on a muddy puddle marring the elegant marble tile. My head buzzed.
    â€œJust woke up. She must be here. Let me check upstairs. She's probably in the bathroom.”
    I started on the stairs, two at a time. McCracken thudded behind me. Images of injuries and death flooded my brain. I heard the sound of my own voice: “Oh God, we were all asleep. What if Benning got in?”
    As my foot hit the top stair, I lurched sideways into the banister when something rushed by me. Merv shot toward the closed door of Lindsay's bedroom. McCracken's voice boomed behind us, “Stop. Don't open that door.”
    Merv yanked the door open. I was glued to his heels as he exploded into the bedroom. We both stopped. I hardly noticed the pain in my foot as McCracken stepped on it.
    Lindsay lay on the bed, on top of the pewter silk spread, unmoving in the dim morning light. She glowed, pale as dust, her red sweater sleeve like a slash of blood. Her hand stretched out toward the window. Eyes closed. Merv flung himself at the bed. He sounded like he was strangling.
    I exhaled with relief. I knew she couldn't be dead. Benning would never leave her so undamaged. As I reached the bed and bent over, I saw her chest rise. She was breathing. Tears stung my eyes. She was all right.
    I whirled on Conn McCracken. “You scared the shit out of us.”
    â€œYou ain't seen nothing yet,” came a voice from behind him. Leonard Mombourquette. The man we're all better off without.
    â€œLennie ,” McCracken said. I heard the warning whether or not Mombourquette did.
    Merv reached down and stroked Lindsay's limp hand. “Thank God, thank God.”
    I tuned into the racket coming from the staircase. Footsteps. Voices. Alvin led the second wave. He squinted without his glasses, his ponytail hung loose. “Is…?”
    Elaine appeared behind him, pink and panting, her wild red curls beyond all hope. She edged into the room, banging her hip on the edge of the dresser. “Is…?”
    A strange metallic thumping filled the air.
    â€œWhat the hell's that?” McCracken moved toward the door. “Lennie, get on it.”
    Mombourquette's hand shot towards his holster just as Mrs. Parnell lurched over the top stair clutching her metal cane for balance. “You better put your hand down, sonny,” she said, “before you get into trouble.”
    â€œFor Christ's sake, Lennie,” McCracken said.
    Mrs. Parnell pushed past Mombourquette. “Is…?”
    â€œShe's alive,” I scurried to the bed and insinuated myself around Merv, “and she hasn't been beaten. But no one could sleep through this, so something's not quite normal.” I bent over and tried her pulse. Slow but sure. I brushed against a small vial near a round cut-velvet pillow.
    â€œWe'd better see if she's…” Merv reached for the vial.
    â€œDon't touch that, Merv,” I said.
    â€œOkay, everybody out.” McCracken pointed to the door as he called for medical assistance.
    Nobody moved.
    â€œEverybody out.”
    I could have told him it would take more than that to get this crowd to abandon ship.
    â€œYour problem. Stay here, people, if you want to get charged.” Mombourquette can always manage a sneer.
    But Mrs. Parnell can sneer with the best of them. “I shall not abandon my post for the likes of you, young man.”
    â€œThis is not the time to get huffy, Mrs. P. We need to find out what happened here and see if Lindsay requires medical attention. I think she's okay, but it's better for her