Waiting and Watching (13 page)

Julio sighed. “I have to admit it's a good plan and knowing you, Mrs. Sands, you just might be able to pull it off.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

“No! It's an invasion of privacy. And it's risky. What if Vreeland doesn't leave?”

“Well, suit yourself. You'll miss all the intrigue, and I'd be willing to bet dollars to donuts Vreeland will leave. She doesn't seem to want anyone to see her,” said Sylvia. “And what's with this Mrs. Sands stuff again? You know, you're so stuffy, you're going to dry up and go stale before you live long enough to pluck out your first gray hair.”

“Sorry, Sylvia, but as a lawyer and friend, I don't recommend you putting yourself in this kind of jeopardy. This is illegal and could get dangerous.”

“I've been in a lot of tight spots in my day. I'll get in and out of this one too, and with no help from you. Now, I'd better go and start working on my disguise.”

Julio let out an exasperated breath. “Sylvia, why in the hell are you talking about a disguise? Hell, I've got to go. Be careful, and promise me you won't do anything reckless.”

“Don't worry about little ole Sylvia. You just start planning that dinner date you promised.”

“Sylvia, I just hope I'm taking you to dinner and not posting your bail. Look, my other line is ringing so I've got to go. Good Luck. Be careful and call me. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow evening, I'll be calling the police.”

Julio hung up and answered line two.

Friday—September 19, 1986

Sylvia began watching through the peephole in her apartment door at eleven in the morning. The plumber and building manager finally arrived around eleven-fifteen. Sylvia, who had traded her walker for a wooden walking stick decorated with brightly colored artificial flowers, quickly opened her door and hailed the men with her cane. Crossing the hall, she began telling them of a strange odor she'd detected in her kitchen last night. She chatted them right into Vreeland's foyer, down the hall and into the bathroom with the leaky toilet.

Neither man seemed to be disturbed about her presence and listened to her chatter as they commenced the plumbing repair. Once Sylvia was sure they were thoroughly absorbed in fixing Vreeland's toilet, she quietly left the bathroom and made her way into the living room. The men appeared not to notice her absence and the super made no attempt to escort her out of the apartment.

The living room was dark in spite of the morning hour. The heavy thick draperies were drawn. Sylvia used her cane to navigate the sunless room to hopefully avoid bumping into something and knocking it over, or even falling. Her underpinnings just weren't what they used to be, even a year ago. She considered the likelihood of being caught by turning on a light and alerting the men to her presence. She decided to risk it and turned on a light switch closest to her. Fortunately, all the apartments in her tower had the identical floor plan, so she knew where each room was located, along with all the light switches in the rooms.

Wow! Sylvia thought as the glow of a crystal chandelier revealed a room the color of pink cotton candy. Vreeland may be a strange bird, but Sylvia liked her taste. The combination living-dining room was done in pink. Pink and more pink. The velvet sofa, love seat and chairs all matched. Even the carpeting was a deep shade of pink.

The hot pink damask draperies, with a bit of orange running through the fabric, strongly defended the room from the intense Florida sunlight. The bright orange tassels once holding back the heavy drapes—opening the room to sunshine and the possible invasion of peeping Toms and Sylvia's—dangled limply. Only a dark mahogany dining table, a coffee table and two side tables marred the pink womb engulfing Sylvia. The room was immaculate, with nothing out of place because there was nothing to be out of place. No pictures sat on the tables and no books graced the bookshelves beside the unused fireplace. Not even a stray knickknack braved entry into this Pepto-Bismol world. Slowly and cautiously, Sylvia canvassed the room, snooping for anything of interest. Finding nothing, she moved in the direction of the master bedroom.

Here, with the flick of a switch, she discovered the richness of blue and gold. The bed was white French Provencal with a blue velvet comforter smoothed neatly across it. A canopy of white netting hung gracefully above it. The drapes matched the comforter, and thick gold encrusted tassels hung from the top of everything. The ceiling was painted in blue to match the bedding, while the floor was covered in thick, luxurious white carpeting.

Ah! This is what heaven must look like, she thought.

On the dresser sat two platinum blonde wigs on foam heads. Opening the walk-in closet, Sylvia felt as though she had found Cinderella's closet after she married the prince. And so much for the casual Florida uniform of shorts and a T-shirt. This was the wardrobe of a princess. There was rack after rack of ball gowns, both long and short. The drawers revealed ladies' underwear that even made Sylvia blush. There were matching sets of scanty bras and panties, sexy teddies, garter belts and stockings that felt like real silk. Interesting. The lingerie was in several sizes, ranging from petite to extra-large.

Closing the closet door, she stuck her head out in the hallway to make sure the plumber and super were still hard at work. Happily, she could hear the murmur of male voices and the sounds of work progressing. Satisfied they were busy and had no idea anyone else was still in the apartment, Sylvia decided to investigate the second bedroom.

Opening the door, she was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. No decorating here. Not even a cheap shade on the bedroom windows. The look on Sylvia's face, reflected in the dresser mirror, was like a kid watching dropped ice cream melt on the sizzling hot blacktop. The room was barebones, except for an unmade, single-sized bed, a cheap desk and chair set, and then…Eureka! Sylvia finally found something of interest. She tried to pull open the top drawer of a three-drawer metal file cabinet. Locked. Damn. Turning to the desk, she carefully went through each drawer. Nothing.

Beginning to get a bit nervous that the plumber and super might be nearing the end of their job, Sylvia headed for the door. The glint of metal glowing in the sunlight on top of the doorframe caught her eye. Raising her cane, she brushed it down onto the rug. She bent down to pick up the small key.

Sylvia figured she was about out of time to snoop, but she knew if she didn't check the filing cabinet now she would probably never get another chance. It was now or never. Certainly, if they were suspicious of an intruder, they would have investigated by now. Sylvia closed the door quietly and went over to the cabinet. She said a little prayer and carefully inserted the key. It turned and the lock popped out.

Pulling the hem of her dress over her hand, she pulled open the top drawer. It held what looked like years of bank statements and canceled checks. Closing that one, she opened the second drawer, which contained several small jewelry boxes. Quelling her curiosity, Sylvia did not open the boxes. Instead, she opened the third drawer, which held only three files. Trying not to leave fingerprints, she opened the first file. It revealed pictures of a buxom blonde in extremely compromising positions with a man. Behind the photos was a sheet of paper with a male's name, address, and phone number. The second file showed photos of the same woman with a different man. Again, behind the photos was a paper with the man's name, address and phone number. The third file also contained pictures of the blonde with still another man and behind those photos was another man's name and information. Sylvia was flabbergasted; surely the woman was Beth Vreeland, only a younger version.

Now she could clearly hear the super and plumber talking out in the living room. It was too late to sneak out before they left, so she just sat quietly and prayed they would leave without checking all the rooms in the apartment. It seemed like forever until the front door slammed shut. Now, she was alone, but who knew when Vreeland would return.

Finding paper and pen in the desk. Sylvia wrote down the names, addresses, and phone numbers from the files. She wished she had a camera like 007 to take pictures of the saucy photos.

As Sylvia went to leave the bedroom, she realized she had a huge problem. How was she going to get the key back on top of the doorframe? Sylvia, being balance–challenged by arthritic knees and a recent hip replacement, knew she couldn't put the key back where it belonged. But if she didn't, Vreeland would certainly become suspicious. She would just have to do what she had to do and hope she didn't fall.

She started to pull the chair over when she heard the front door unlocking and then footsteps coming down the hallway.

Oh my God, this is it! I'm dead meat!
Then her eyes lit on the sliding closet doors. As quietly as possible, Sylvia pushed the chair back into place and headed for the closet, her heart pounding in fear. The closet had two sliding wooden doors. Quickly, she slid open the door nearest her. She was faced with a closet stuffed with woolen coats, probably leftovers from Vreeland's life in Cincinnati, where the winters demanded cover from the gray skies and occasional snowstorms. Sylvia pushed her way through the coats and slid the door closed behind her.

In her hurry to hide herself, the plastic flowers on her cane snagged on one of the long coats. In pulling the cane to the back of the closet, it forced a coat off its hangar. Fortuitously, it fell softly over her feet and legs.

Buried behind a thick layer of wool, Sylvia tried to calm her breathing. It would do her no good to hide if she was discovered because she was huffing and puffing like a steam engine. In seconds, the sound of her breathing was that of a mouse.

Now, she could clearly hear men talking and laughing. The door opened. A loud slapping noise made her jump. It was followed by male giggling. After more laughing and slapping Sylvia heard one of the men say, “Let's take this into the bedroom.”

Another voice said, “Go ahead. I'll be right in.”

Sylvia's heart was pounding.

One of the sliding closet doors opened. Half the closet was now exposed to whomever was in the room. Fortunately, it was the opposite side from where Sylvia was hiding. She held her breath and prayed. There was a rustling noise as a hairy male arm reached in and grabbed what looked like a riding crop hanging from a coat hanger. More rustling noises came from the shelf above her head. What he pulled out looked like some kind of harness. Apparently finding all he needed, the man retreated into the room, leaving the sliding door open.

From somewhere in the apartment the voice of Liza Minnelli began to sing the theme song to Cabaret. Deciding she might be in the closet awhile, Sylvia wished she had her walker now instead of the cane. With the walker's flip-down seat, she would have been able to sit down. She thought about sliding down the wall to the floor, but she wouldn't be able to get up without help. Plus, she'd risk dislocating her still-healing hip. She'd been cautioned several times how painful popping it out would be, so she was better off standing. Fortunately, she'd worn her Doc Martens, but that didn't mean she was comfortable.

Even with one of the doors open, it was beginning to get quite stuffy in the closet. Although the apartment's air-conditioning was obviously on high, it wasn't strong enough to reach her through the suffocating bulk of wool. Sweat began to roll down her whole body, adding to her consternation.

Of course, I chose to retire in sweltering Southern Florida. Go figure.

Sylvia tried to enjoy the music, since it was too loud for her to hear anything going on in the bedroom—not that she really wanted to hear what was happening on top of that gorgeous blue velvet bedspread—if the volume were lower she might have been able to pick up some valuable information in what, if anything, was being said in the bedroom. Occasionally, she could hear some pretty loud moaning over the frantic beat of the music, but that was certainly irrelevant.

Sylvia occupied her time trying to come up with an excuse as to why she was there should the men find her, but every excuse she came up with was pathetic. She just had to hope they wouldn't find her.

In what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only thirty to forty minutes, she heard the music click off, and murmured conversation, followed by the sounds of rustling clothing and heavy departing footsteps. Finally, a heart-warming bang—the sound of the front door closing—then nothing but silence. With the help of her flower bedecked cane, she pulled herself out of the heavy barricade of wool. The freedom from her claustrophobic hideout, along with a direct blast of frigid Florida air-conditioning, momentarily revived her inquisitive spirit. But the bracing cold air on her perspiration-soaked jumpsuit quickly dampened her spirits.

Deciding to curb her detecting until she at least changed her clothes, got a hot cup of coffee and made a phone call to Julio, she headed out. Grateful she had done all the hard work, she quickly went to the front door, where she couldn't resist stopping to take one last envious look at the pink Barbie dream room.

Sneaking out of Vreeland's apartment, making sure to leave the door unlocked, Sylvia was surprised to see two people standing in front of her door. One of them was Julio, and the other was Myrna, her friend from downstairs. Myrna was holding a plate covered with foil.

They were so busy ringing her bell and talking to each other, they didn't hear her cane tapping on the floor until she was right behind them. When they turned around, their facial expressions turned from worried concern to pleasant relief. “Where have you been?” Julio's voice held both worry and frustration. “And why are you all sweaty?”

Sylvia thought quickly. “It's such a beautiful day I decided to go for a little walk.”

“In this heat? Sylvia, you must be out of your mind. And what on earth are you wearing?” Myrna asked, perusing Sylvia's bright yellow jumpsuit with its huge shoulder pads. Her normally neat red hair was teased into a virtual mess, and if that wasn't enough, she wore large neon-green hoop earrings, big round purple-tinted sunglasses and multi-colored bangle bracelets on both wrists. Fluorescent pink Doc Martens finished it all off with a flourish. “Who do you think you are?” Myrna asked, “Cyndi Lauper?”