The Fountain of Youth Work-Out Studio didn’t look like a place where anybody would get murdered, or arrested, or even confronted with a violent crime. Sitting in the pale sunlight of this cold mid-morning, it looked like the setting for an English children’s book, all fancy grillwork and gingerbread details. Gregor got out of Connie Hazelwood’s taxi and looked it over. Connie intended to park out of sight somewhere and come in for what she called “the festivities.” Gregor wanted to tell her that there was nothing festive about playing a nasty trick on someone, even someone you didn’t like. When you played one on someone you did like, it could leave a bad taste in your mouth for weeks.
Gregor went around to the side, to see the place where Tim Bradbury’s corpse had been found. Then he went to ring the bell on the front door. As he did, Tony Bandero’s Ford pulled up, squeaking and whirring and clanking and complaining all the way.
“Hey,” Tony shouted through the window. “Right on time. What’s the big production about, anyway?”
Gregor waved him along—park in back; come ahead and talk to me—and rang the bell. The door was opened almost immediately by an excited-looking Greta Bellamy in a sky blue leotard and sky blue tights. Over the leotard and tights she had a fuzzy sky blue mohair sweater, and on the sweater she was wearing a pin that said: “I GOT A NEW BODY FOR THE NEW YEAR.” Cold air blew in on her and she swiped hair out of her face with the side of her hand.
“Everybody’s in the living room,” she said in a rushed whisper. “Nobody can sit still. We’re all so glad you’re finally here.”
“Everybody’s here?” Gregor asked her. “Dr. Brye, too?”
“Oh, no,” Greta said, her face falling. “He isn’t. Does this mean we can’t start until he gets here?”
“He’ll be along in a minute,” Gregor promised her. “What about the phone? I asked Simon Roveter and he said there was a jack in the living room, and he would—”
“Put a phone in,” Greta interrupted. “This is the first time I’ve been in the living room, but there’s a phone in there now. You should see it. All white and gold and a fancy receiver with brass flutes. It’s gorgeous.”
“As long as it works.”
“Magda Hale already made a phone call on it. It’s got a rotary dial. I haven’t seen a rotary dial in years.”
A car pulled up to the curb outside and Philip Brye got out. Connie Hazelwood started to walk up the drive. Gregor waved to them both and went the rest of the way into the foyer. Up on the second-floor balcony, the railing was still not repaired—but, like the rest of the foyer, it had been decorated. Indeed, everything Gregor could see had been decorated. Long streamers of red, white, and blue crepe paper had been wound around the railing posts and hung from the high ceiling and twisted to fall like animated water from the chandelier. Why red, white, and blue, Gregor didn’t know. Silver and gold crepe paper had been fashioned into a sculpture of a woman’s naked body, with high breasts and long legs and flowing silver paper hair. The plywood safety board in the gap in the balcony railing was obscured by a large sign, painted in glitter on white cardboard and festooned with glitter shooting stars, that said: “NEW YEAR. NEW BODY. NEW LIFE. WELCOME TO THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.” It made Gregor think of that movie Bennis Hannaford and Donna Moradanyan were so fond of: Night of the Living Dead. He could see the zombies rising up from their graves this minute, dressed in leotards and tights.
As Gregor stood in the foyer, the doors to the living room opened and Magda Hale stuck her head out. Even at this distance, Gregor could tell that she was high as a kite. Higher. The door to the street opened behind him again and Philip Brye and Connie Hazelwood came in.
“What are you all waiting for?” Magda Hale demanded. “Don’t you want to get started? Do you want to keep us here all day?”
“We’re waiting for Detective Bandero,” Gregor said.
Magda Hale made a face. “I think that’s too damned bad,” she said. Then she disappeared back into the living room.
Philip Brye and Connie Hazelwood were standing together, shifting uneasily on their feet and confused about what to do next. Gregor was about to tell them both to go into the living room when he heard Tony Bandero humming somewhere in the back of the first floor. He must have parked in the lot and come in through the back door. His big feet pounded against the hardwood floor in the side corridor. He came into the foyer wearing his perennial rumpled brown suit and one of those MAKE-IT-TO-THE-NEW-YEAR—DON’T-DRINK-AND-DRIVE buttons Gregor had seen all over the morgue. Gregor wondered what it was about New Year’s that made people feel they needed to put up signs and sport buttons, to declare themselves on one side of an issue or another. Not that there was another side to this issue. Gregor hadn’t seen anyone wearing a SMASH-UP-YOUR-CAR-AND-GET-IT-OVER-WITH button yet.