Death by Polka

Chapter 6

6By the time I got to the DeeLite Efficiency Motel outside town, it was after midnight. I was so tired as I parked in front of my room and trudged inside that I didn’t think I could stay up long enough to slip out of my clothes and brush my teeth.

So I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bedspread in my black dress and hose. Didn’t brush, didn’t take off my makeup, didn’t order a wakeup call or turn off the lights. I just didn’t have the energy.

But as soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind started working at quantum speed. The day’s events circled like vultures, and I couldn’t look away.

Was my dad really dead and buried? It didn’t seem possible. Yet the weight of it burned in my gut, dragging me down with terrifying inevitability.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Memories of him when he was alive tangled with memories of his body in the casket at the funeral home. Always, the people of Johnstown drifted through the background, sometimes grieving, sometimes grinning, sometimes dancing.

Suddenly, my cell phone started beeping. Though I was wide awake, I almost didn’t answer it. For one thing, it was all the way across the room in my clutch purse on top of the mini-fridge.

For another thing, I had a pretty good idea who was calling. After all, it was just 9:30 on the West Coast, three hours behind Pennsylvania.

I knew who it had to be, I knew what he was going to say, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

I also knew he wouldn’t give up, but I let it go to voice mail anyway. Sure enough, a few seconds after the phone emitted its voice mail “whoosh,” it started ringing again.

I thought about switching off the power for the night, but I knew the caller would just dial the front desk at the motel and have the night clerk patch him through on the land line in my room. He was persistent, which was one of the things I’d loved about him.

At first, anyway.

With a sigh, I dragged myself off the bed as the cell went to voice mail a second time. When it started a third ring cycle, I picked it up and opened the line with the press of a button.

And there he was. My fiancé. “Lottie?”

“Hello, Luke.” I wasn’t feeling enthusiastic about this call, and I didn’t try to fake it. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure, yeah.” Luke was trying to sound laid back, but I knew better. I picked right up on the stressed out undercurrent; it had been there for months now. “How you holding up?”

“Could use a cigarette, actually,” I said. “Make that a carton of them.”

“Don’t fall off the wagon, hon,” said Luke. “You’ve got lots of good reasons not to smoke, remember.”

He was right. I thought of Baba Tereska’s wet cough and the oxygen tank she sometimes used, and I nodded. “I remember.”

“Is everyone treating you okay?” Luke knew I’d been worried about facing the Furies, the Tag Team, and especially Polish Peg.

“They’re treating me fine.” No need to go into detail. Better to get this call over with so I could try to get some sleep. Better to get to the point.

Luke was on the same wavelength. After a moment’s pause, he asked the question I knew had been foremost in his mind. “So, uh...can you get it? The money?”

I closed my eyes. Money was my ulterior motive for being there; it was the reason I’d planned to come home even before Polish Lou had died. Without more of it, the dance club Luke and I owned, called Beat Down, would go under fast.

Unless, of course, Polish Peg and I worked together for one week, and I talked her into liquidating Dad’s polka empire. But I wasn’t ready to talk about that with Luke just yet.

It seemed like a long shot, and I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I also didn’t want him pressuring me to go through with it. The last thing I needed right now was a constant stream of phone calls demanding status reports.

So I decided not to get too specific. “I’ve got nothing to tell you. Today was just the funeral, you know.”

Luke sighed. I could practically see the worried grimace crawling onto his face. “Do you think you might find out tomorrow?”

“No idea, Luke.” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “I kind of have to go with the flow here, you know?”

“Sorry.” I pictured him leaning on the desk in the back room of Beat Down, clawing at his blond hair the way he did when he was agitated. “It’s just...we’re running out of time here.”

I was all too aware that the clock was ticking. The only thing I could do about it was work with Polish Peg. And the truth was, I didn’t know if I could stand to do that.

So again, I skipped the details. “You’ll know as soon as I do, okay? I promise.”

Just then, an unexpected sound caught my attention...coming from the door, not the phone. Frowning, I stepped toward it, lowering the phone from my ear.

It sounded like faint scratching against the wood of the door.

Meanwhile, Luke kept talking. “I’ll check in tomorrow then. I’ll call in the afternoon and see how you’re doing.”

Walking to the door, I leaned down and peered out through the spy hole. I couldn’t see anyone on the other side of the door. Anyone human, that is.

“Lottie? Are you still there?”

I put the phone to my ear as I undid the security chain on the door. “I’m here.” Then, I turned the doorknob till the center button of the lock mechanism popped toward me. “But I’ve got to go. I’m exhausted.”

“I can imagine.” Luke sounded sincerely concerned. “Well, you get some sleep, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I hope so.” I kept turning the doorknob, and the latch slid free of the frame. “Good night, Luke.”

“’Night, baby. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” With that, I pressed the button on the phone to end the call. I threw the phone across the room, and it landed on the foot of the bed.

Then, I slowly pulled the door open.

The scratching stopped. Looking down, I saw a shape, low to the ground and white as snow. It scooted back out of the way before I could get a good look at it.

It was some kind of animal, I guessed, which was probably all I needed to know...but curiosity got the better of me. I eased the door open another crack, staring wide-eyed into the dim light from the bulb outside my door. But the animal seemed to be gone; I must’ve scared it away.

Pushing the door wider, I tried for one last look. Just then, a streak of white zipped out of the shadows and through the doorway into my room.

Heart hammering, I gasped and leaped back. Finally, I got a clear look at the thing as it streaked across the carpet and under my bed.

A cat. It was a white cat, and now it was in my room.

The question now was how to get it out again. Though I’m not a cat hater, I’ve never been a cat person, either. I had no idea how to handle this refugee under my bed.

Leaving the door cracked just enough for the cat to get out, I walked over to the bed. “Hey, kitty.” I patted the mattress, hoping the sound might be enough to alarm the cat. “Come on out of there, kitty.”

I heard no movement under the bed, so I patted harder. Still nothing. “You’ve got to go, kitty. Go back home now.”

Looking around the room, I wondered what to do next. Call the night clerk at the front desk? Call Animal Control? I doubted they were on duty at this time of night.

Maybe I could use something to push the cat out. If only I had a broom or a mop. Was there anything else long enough to reach under the bed?

A light bulb of inspiration went on over my head, and I marched to the closet. Yanking open the door, I reached for the full-length ironing board hanging from a peg inside.

Determined to get the cat out, I marched back to the bed...but just as I crouched and prepared to slide the board under the foot of the bed, I saw the cat walk around from the far side.

He stopped about three feet away and stared at me, tail flicking. His bright green eyes looked like sparkling emeralds in the snow white fur of his perfect little face.

He looked like he was in great shape for a stray, if he was one. His clean white fur had a healthy gloss and was closely trimmed, free of burrs and tangles. I saw no nicks or scratches, none of the wounds a cat could pick up in the wild.

Plus, he wore a collar. It was red and studded with glittering rhinestones. From where I crouched, I couldn’t read the fine print engraved on the tiny gold nameplate.

So he was either a brand-new stray or a local housecat out for his nightly prowl. Either way, he didn’t worry me as much as if he’d been a mangy feral cat seething with disease.

“Okay then.” I let go of the ironing board and held out my hand. “Let’s see what your name is, kitty.”

Head bowed, the cat slinked forward two steps...then suddenly backed up three. He lifted his head, eyes locked with mine, and let out a long meeeow.

“Sorry, but I don’t speak cat.” I leaned forward and reached out again. “If I could just take a look at that collar of yours...”

The cat meowed again and licked his lips.

“Is that what you want? Food?” Leaning my elbow on the bed, I looked at the mini-fridge. Nothing to eat in there; I hadn’t had time to stock it. “Well, I got nothin’. Wasn’t expecting company tonight, you know.”

Again, the cat meowed and licked his lips.

“I’ll be sure to pick something up at the market tomorrow. Now how about a quick look at that collar?” Lunging forward, I made a grab for the animal.

Who of course was much too fast for me. My fingers didn’t even brush his fur as he turned tail and sprinted out the door.

I got to my feet and followed. But by the time I got to the door, he was gone. I stood on the sidewalk in front of my room and looked in all directions, but there was no trace of him. The white, mysterious cat had disappeared in the night like a...

“Ghost. That’s what I’ll call you.” I padded down the walk in my stocking feet and looked around the corner of the building...but there was no sign of him. “My own little Ghost, popped in for a visit.”

I walked back to my room then, went in, and shut the door. I lay back down on the bed and stretched out on the spread.

“I wonder who that little guy was,” I said. Talking to myself was another habit of mine, though not as troublesome as smoking or nail-chewing. “Just out looking for a saucer of milk, I guess.”

As I thought about the white cat with the emerald eyes, I yawned. I rolled over and curled up, and then my eyes drifted shut.

“Goodnight, Ghost,” I said softly. “Sweet dreams of sweet cream.”

And then, finally, without another word, I fell asleep.