“Everybody wants to see what Hannah’s gentleman caller is like,” Bennis said. “I should have known.”
“We won’t be the first ones there,” Bob Cheswicki agreed.
“If Paul Hazzard did murder his wife,” Bennis said, “this will be practically as good as an execution. Can you just imagine it, he shows up a fashionable twenty minutes after the hour, and forty people leap out at him and yell ‘surprise!’ ”
“Nobody’s going to yell ‘surprise,’ ” Gregor said.
“They ought to.”
Gregor knew what Bennis meant. He turned toward Hannah’s apartment and began to march briskly down the street. Old George kept pace in that springy, self-satisfied way that meant he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It wasn’t a very long walk. Gregor passed the Ararat Restaurant, which seemed to be closed. That made sense to an extent. Certainly none of their usual customers from the neighborhood was going to show up tonight. It didn’t make sense in another way, because a lot of the business the Ararat did these days was with tourists. The Inquirer and the Star had both given the place wonderful reviews, and now a steady stream of people trekked out here from the other neighborhoods of Philadelphia and the towns of the Main Line to eat yoprak sarma and lahmajoon. With any luck, these people called before they came. Gregor passed Ohanian’s Middle Eastern Food Store and saw that that was closed too. One of Donna Moradanyan’s red-and-silver hearts dangled in the larger of the two front windows. Under it was a huge plate of mamoul cookies made in heart shapes and covered with naatiffe frosting and the sign GIVE YOUR SWEETHEART A TRADITIONAL ARMENIAN VALENTINE’S DAY!
Oh, well, Gregor thought. Around here, people took what holidays they wanted and adopted them. Gregor was waiting for Donna Moradanyan to get really interested in Hanukkah or Rosh Hashanah.
Hannah Krekorian’s building was very close to Ohanian’s, almost directly across the street. Gregor went purposely to the corner and pressed the button for the walk light, in spite of the fact that both Bennis and old George Tekemanian were jaywalking. Nobody on Cavanaugh Street had the least realistic sense of how dangerous the world was, or what it took to protect yourself from the terrible things it could do to you. Gregor got his walk light and walked, catching up to Bennis, old George, and (traitor) Bob Cheswicki on the other side. They had waited for him.
“We all want you to go first,” Bennis said. “This is going to be a nuthouse.”
“Don’t look at me,” Bob Cheswicki said. “I don’t know what’s going on around here.”
Sheila and Howard Kashinian waved to Gregor and Bennis and old George Tekemanian. Sheila gave Bob Cheswicki a sharp, appraising look. They went upstairs and through the doors. They were followed by all six of the Devorkian girls, three sets of twins between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. The Devorkian girls weren’t paying attention to anybody.
“Let’s go,” Gregor said with a sigh. “If we don’t do it now, it’s only going to get harder.”
3
Whether or not it would have gotten harder was moot. Whether or not it was a nuthouse was not. Bennis’s instincts had been deadly accurate. The stairway that led up to the landing that Hannah’s apartment opened onto was jammed—in spite of the fact that it was still a good six minutes before the official starting time of this party. Gregor, Bennis, old George, and Bob found themselves sandwiched among the Devorkian girls—who were impossible—and six old ladies known to the street only as Mrs. Manoukian, Mrs. Karidian, Mrs. Vartenian, Mrs. Baressian, Mrs. Astokian, and Mrs. Erijian. They were all over ninety. They were all dressed in black. They were each and every one of them as formidable as Cerberus. They were a group of people that anyone on Cavanaugh Street who was giving a major party had to invite, because not to would be grossly impolite, but who could safely be anticipated to not show up. This time they had shown up. Gossip, Gregor thought, was a wonderful thing.
Hannah was standing just inside her own front door, greeting people in a flurried way that made Gregor think she hadn’t intended to greet them formally. In spite of the stiff invitation, she had been thinking of this as just an extended version of “having people in.” Standing next to her was a very tall, very thin man in his mid-sixties. He had a full head of silky gray hair and a very square jaw. Gregor looked at Bob Cheswicki and Bob Cheswicki nodded. Gregor looked back and decided that, to him, Paul Hazzard was an unpleasant-looking man. Women, it seemed, positively adored him.
Bennis leaned over. “I’ll tell you what happened,” she whispered in Gregor’s ear. “Paul Hazzard called Hannah this morning around ten and asked her if he could come over early and help out. Hannah said yes. Paul Hazzard showed up around five. About fifteen minutes ago Paul Hazzard finally figured out what he’d gotten himself into. I’ll bet he was appalled.”