Memoir of Cate Morelli, in regards to the disappearance of Madam Z
Chapter 13
There was a small crowd gathered in front of Madam Z’s flat when I arrived at Daphne’s place, still shattered, a little after 10 AM.
Caressed by the sun’s rays, Madam Z’s now electric blue front door gave off a glittering iridescent display, reflecting and throwing the light with such intensity, that it was almost too luminous to look at. A couple of people were attempting to take pictures, and others were trading speculations regarding what type of paint would give off that much luminosity, that kind of other-worldly glow. Still others were speculating about the meaning of the equation that was written there.
Trying in vain to shake off my daze, I hurried up the steps to Daphne’s flat and rang the bell. Daphne, clad demurely in grey cashmere from head to toe, red lipstick gleaming in the morning light, greeted me with a beaming smile. To my surprise, she appeared to be in good spirits.
“Oh, here you are, my dear. So glad you’ve finally arrived. The good Detective was just starting on his second scone…”
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I had a rather…rough night, and I missed my train…”
“No worries, luv. We started without you”.
I felt a light breeze brush the back of my neck, only for an instant, as we entered the hallway leading to Daphne’s flat. Then, with a start, I suddenly smelled Lew’s smokey, musky scent, as if he had just been in the hallway before me. Abruptly, I turned my head to look behind me, but the hallway was empty. Yet, still, his scent lingered, cloying to my nostrils and adding to my inner angst and confusion. Seeing that every thought I had experienced in the last three days centred around this rather enigmatic young man, I couldn’t help but wonder what I used to think about before I met him.
Entering the flat, Daphne lead me to an elegant, very formally appointed dining room with stately French doors that opened onto to a large balcony, which I assumed overlooked Madam Z’s back garden. I looked around quickly, disappointed to the bone that Lew was nowhere to be found. I bit down on my finger as I fought the rather irrational impulse to fling the doors open and thrust my body outside, if only to clear my nostrils and my mind of his lingering essence. Luckily, the carafe of hot coffee sitting on the carved walnut dining table, suddenly stole my attention, and I went for it instead, in hopes that the caffeine would wake me up and clear my head of such impulses. “Get a grip”, I said silently to myself, “Or these people are going to think you’re nuts”.
Just as I was helping myself to a cup of the steaming brew, an attractive and well dressed man, who I rightly assumed to be the detective, entered the dining room, a half smile creasing the side of his handsome but slightly weathered face.
“Hello…you must be Cate. Thanks so much for meeting with me. I’m Marcus, Marcus D’Angelo,” he said, offering his hand for me to shake.
I couldn’t help but notice how gentle his grip felt as I shook his well pampered hand. How soft his finger tips were as they inadvertently brushed my palm. So unlike the calloused musician’s fingertips on Lew’s strong hands, I thought. Then, in a flash, I actually saw Lew in my mind’s eye, naked in the candle light, his fingers plucking frantically, as he attacked my lute with feverish virtuosity. I shook my head in confusion, as I looked up, meeting the detective’s still staring, but patient, brown eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. D’Angelo. I’m Cate. Cate Morelli.”
Daphne steered us all into the living room, and with my warm coffee cup in hand, I sat on the plump silk sofa, muffling a sigh. Within seconds, Daphne placed a china plate in front of me containing a delicious looking scone with dabs of clotted cream and raspberry jam adorning it. Famished, I took a bite of my scone, silently wondering how I could be so hungry and so miserable at the same time.
Daphne, seated demurely on a pale yellow over-stuffed chair across from me, sipped her tea from a lovely hand painted china cup and said,
“Well, I think it’s safe to say that everyone who is coming to this meeting is finally here…”
“I’m so sorry,” I interrupted. “I never did get a hold of Lew…”
“I know that dear. As I was explaining to Detective D’Angelo before you arrived, I ran into the young man myself, outside, early this morning, and he indicated to me that he has, and I quote, ‘stuff to do’ this morning, so he won’t be joining us.”
“You saw him? Here? You saw Lew, this morning?” I asked, not hiding the surprise in my voice. Hmm, I thought. Maybe I am not experiencing olfactory hallucinations, after all.
“Why, yes, dear…That’s what I said. I woke up early, and when I took the trash out, there he was, leaning on a lamppost across the street, presumably looking at the latest manifestation of the door, downstairs. For a moment, I actually thought that perhaps it was he…”
“No way!” I blurted out.
“Well, the fact that he wasn’t covered in paint himself sort of ruled that out…,” Daphne replied, with a raised brow. “And, besides, the poor young man seemed much too drained…upset, even…to have pulled off a feat like that…Come to think of it, he said the same thing you did about having had a ‘rough night’. How curious.”
“Ladies…ladies, please, I am starting to feel a bit pressed for time. If you don’t mind, maybe we should get to the business at-hand. Cate, if you wouldn’t mind starting from the beginning,” intervened the detective, in a voice that was both soft yet commanding. Gingerly, he took a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket as I gazed wearily at him across my crumb covered plate, bracing myself for what I assumed would be his inquisitive onslaught.
But, within moments I began to relax, and as he softly questioned me, I realized that the detective had a gentle way about him. The ten minutes or so of his interrogation that followed, thankfully, felt more like polite conversation than it did like tea with the Gestapo.
The Detective wanted me to start at the beginning and I did, but, I ended my story in what was really the middle, neglecting to divulge the fact that Lew and I had spent the better part of the last two days together – mostly in a sort of alcohol and hash induced – befuddled, stupor. Slowly, as I sat there, more little bits of the previous night came back to me in snippets. Hands slightly shaking, I sipped my coffee and nibbled at what was left of my scone, while the detective plied me with seemingly benign questions. Finally, the most obvious question of all came to my mind and I asked the detective who, exactly, had hired him?
“Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say,” he replied. “But, I can tell you this much…It is a member of Madam Z’s immediate family.”
“Family? I never imagined that that creature had any family at all,” said Daphne with a snort.
“I think she mentioned having a daughter in Italy,” I vaguely recalled. “Yes, that’s right! She showed me a picture of her…I remember thinking how pretty she was.”
Detective D’Angelo shifted in his chair, and said “That’s all I can say on the matter right now. I have to respect my client’s wishes. But, just know I’ve been hired by someone who is eager to find the Madam, for a number of reasons.”
As the Detective rose to leave, he looked me straight in the eye, and asked me if I needed a ride. “My car’s right out front. Can I drop you somewhere?”
Before I knew it, a part of me had apparently already made the decision, to try and track Lew down.
“Actually, great, yes!” I eagerly replied. “If you could drop me at 23rd street, right near the Chelsea Hotel, that would be a big help,”
The Detective nodded, and off we went, passing the small crowd still lingering outside of Madam Z’s flat. Her front door flashed, almost blinding us now, as it stood kissed by the late morning sun.
“The door thing is really weird,” I said, more to make conversation than anything else.
“Yes,” replied the Detective. “But when dealing with the occult, I’ve seen weirder.”
“Really? What do you mean? Like what?” I asked. “I mean do you come across these types of cases often?”
“Actually, yes. It’s what I specialize in, in a way,” replied the Detective.
“You mean missing person cases?” I asked.
“Yes and no,“ the Detective replied, retrieving his keys from his pocket as we approached his car. “I deal with cases that involve occult phenomena. Sometimes these cases involve missing persons, and sometimes they don’t”
“What else might they involve?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.
“Well, they might involve missing property, like manuscripts. Or they might involve tracing family lineage. Recently, I was hired by a client who wants me to find out who an obscure artist is who painted a rather odd painting that my client inherited from an Italian relative. Stuff like that. It keeps me busy, even if it does make my brain hurt, at times,” he said with a chuckle.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the Detective pulled up at the bus stop, about half a block down from Chelsea Strings. As I thanked him for the ride, he reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. Looking up at me from across the car seat he said, “It’s been a pleasure Cate. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might help us find Ms. Zecchi, please give me a call.” I nodded in the affirmative, and taking the card, I was rather startled at the realization that I had never known Madam Z’s actual last name before that moment. Not bothering to mention this to the Detective in my haste, I turned towards Chelsea strings, eager to get inside.
Music for Chapter 13
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