Requiem for Myrna Grubb
© 2010
By Terri
Chapter Six
Anxiety gave the women their second wind and they all but ran back to the train station. Once
inside, Mary Frances ran frantically up to the counter with the sign “Left Luggage,” shouting to
the man behind it, “Excuse me, sir!” before she’d even arrived. “Excuse me! I have an
emergency!
Alarmed, the uniformed transit agent waited apprehensively for the agitated American to explain
what the problem was, thinking perhaps she’d be reporting a lost child, or, worse, a kidnapped
child….or that someone had fallen onto the tracks, or, worse, was pushed onto the tracks…or –
“I’ve lost a bag!” Mary Frances cried distraughtly.
Waiting a beat, the agent echoed flatly, “A bag?”
“Yes! Yes! We must find that bag, sir! You’ve no idea how important it is that we find that bag
immediately!”
Physically deflated, the man responded condescendingly, “Well, you’ve come to the right place,
madam!” He reached under the counter on his side and pulled out an official-looking form.
Taking the pen from his pocket, he clicked it once and held it over the form. Keeping his head
bent over the form and his manner aloof, he asked, “Now then, how did you arrive?”
Mary Frances blinked rapidly in confusion. “By train,” she replied, thinking the answer should
have been obvious.
The agent glared up at her through his brows. “Assumed, madam….which train?”
“Uh….” Drawing a blank, she looked to Sylvia.
“London!” Sylvia cried. “We arrived from London.”
Noting this on the form, he repeated, “London….I see….and which company?”
“Which company?” Sylvia asked, looking at Gina then Connie then, finally, Mary Frances, who
only shrugged cluelessly in response.
“Which train company?” he clarified. “For example….was it Gatwick Express? Heathrow?
Virgin?”
At the mention of Virgin, Mary Frances gave an involuntary grimace. Had the situation not been
so dire, Sylvia might have laughed out loud.
“No, it definitely wasn’t Virgin,” Sylvia explained. “I didn’t even know there was a train direct
from Heathrow, and I don’t know about the others,” she said, thinking aloud. “We arrived at
around six thirty this evening, if that helps.”
The man checked the schedule of arrivals and departures. “Ah, yes…I see it….London Midland.
Now then, have you your baggage claims check?”
“Our what?” Mary Frances asked. “No. That is, we didn’t lose the bag on the train, sir.”
“Oh?” The man looked up and regarded the women with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
He clicked the pen closed with a flourish that seemed to convey that the conversation was over.
“Ladies, this office can only be of service if, in fact, your luggage was misplaced on one of our
trains while in transit.”
Mary Frances was not about to let him off that easily. “Please sir!” she cried plaintively. “You
don’t understand! The bag was los-, uh, misplaced here in the station. What’s in that bag is just,
well, irreplaceable!”
“You can say that again, sister!” Gina muttered under her breath with a snicker.
Overhearing, Connie gently swatted her arm, fixing her with a warning stare.
Leaning in toward the girl, Gina whispered, “That’s elder-abuse again! One phone call, girlie--”
Rolling her eyes, Connie mocked, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be sleeping with the fishes!”
The women continued to beg, plead, cajole, bribe, and generally hold up the line of waiting
customers now growing impatient. The agent considered the dilemma. “Was there something of
unusual value in this bag?”
“Tremendous value!” Mary Frances stressed emphatically.
Having worked for Network Rail a near eighteen years, the agent saw an opportunity. He’d
frequently heard about these wealthy American widows who, for ages, would come to England
and elsewhere in Europe, financing their quests with their late husbands’ pensions. Some were
content to play tourist while others came specifically seeking romance in some far away, exotic
place they’d only previously seen on television and advertisements. Not that he had any plans of
romancing any woman- American or otherwise - something he was quite certain his boyfriend
would vehemently object to anyway – money or no money. Instead, as the four women grew
more and more desperate, he was seized by visions of a hefty reward should he be the one to
locate the bag. When he turned his attention back to the women, his smile was almost sincere.
“I’ll tell you what, ladies,” he started affably. “Give me a full description of the missing bag,
along with where you’d last seen it, and I will personally look into this for you.”
“Oh! God bless you, sir!” Mary Frances cried happily while her friends exchanged rude
expressions behind her back. “Okay, let’s see….it’s a red canvas carry on…square…with, uh,
one large pocket in the front and two smaller pockets on either side. It has both handles and a
detachable shoulder strap in black….”
“I assume you have some sort of identification tag affixed to it?” the agent asked as he wrote.
“Yes, yes….do you need that information?”
Distractedly, he looked up at her for a moment and smiled. “In a moment I’ll ask you to write it
out along with a local telephone number where I may contact you should we not locate it straight
away.”
“Oh fine, fine,” Mary Frances answered eagerly.
“Now then,” the agent continued, “…specifically what valuables were contained within your
bag?”
Mary Frances wasn’t prepared for that question. “Huh?”
The agent didn’t miss the look of sheer panic each of the other women shot each other. “The
valuables, madam? Was it jewelry? Medication? Cash, perhaps? You did say it was
irreplaceable,” he prompted.
Dazed, Mary Frances replied haltingly, “Uh, no, nothing like that….”
Sylvia stepped in. “Sir, it was something that others might not find valuable, but, to us, it is
extremely valuable, and, yes, irreplaceable.”
Disappointment crept in as the agent’s visions of his pending reward disintegrated. His tone now
contained a distinct edge to it. “So, it’s merely of sentimental value then.”
Again the women exchanged apprehensive glances.
“Yes?” he pressed, growing impatient.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Our dead friend, Myrna’s, in that G.D. bag!” Gina blurted out.
Sylvia and Mary Frances stared at her in horror while Connie suddenly decided that she’d be
better off waiting for the women on the other side of the station.
The agent cleared his throat as his eyes darted back and forth, scanning the station anxiously.
“Your, er, dead friend, you say?”
“Yeah, well, part of her anyway,” Gina replied nonchalantly. “The rest of her is in this one’s
bag,” she said, jamming a thumb in Sylvia’s direction. “…but we’ve got that bag.”
The agent’s face blanched, and he took a subconscious step back from the counter, even as he
forced a smile and gave a hesitant nod in understanding.
Figuring she’d best intervene before he could call for the cops, Sylvia stepped forward. “I’m
sorry, sir,” she said politely, hoping like hell she sounded saner than Gina. “Perhaps we should
explain things more clearly.” Leaning closer, she lowered her voice and explained, “What my
friend here means is that we’re carrying the cremains – you know, the ashes – of our deceased
friend. For transport reasons, we had to divide the cremains between our two bags, and it’s Mrs.
Cleary’s bag that is now missing.”
“I, er, I see. Right. Okay,” he stammered. With a sickening sense of dread, Sylvia realized her
clarification did little to assuage the man’s nervousness.
Smiling disingenuously, he continued, “If you’ll allow me a few minutes, I’ll see what I can do.
Just take a seat in the area, ladies, I’ll be back with you shortly.”
The women made various noises of assent and filed off toward the seating area adjacent to the
“Left Luggage” kiosk. Across the station, Connie waited a few minutes to see if the police were
going to appear. When they didn’t, she made her way back over to join the others.
Beyond exhausted and absorbed in their own thoughts, the group passed the next twenty or so
minutes in silence before Mary Frances asked worriedly, “He’s been gone a while. What do you
think is taking so long?”
Sylvia stared at her friend in disbelief. “Mary Frances, are you serious? ‘Norma Bates’ here just
informed that man that we have half of our dead friend’s body in that missing bag! What’s
taking so long? Why, he’s waiting for the police to arrive, of course, so they can cart us all off to
jail!”
“..or the nut-house,” Connie grumbled.
Gina shook her head in irritation. “I don’t see what the big G.D. deal is or why it should matter
to that little weasel!” she complained.
“That’s fine, sweetie,” Sylvia said derisively, reaching over to pat Gina’s knee in mockreassurance. “You be sure to ask the big burly policeman who’ll be questioning you what the big
G.D. deal is. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to explain it to you.”
“Maybe we should just leave,” Connie urged the other women. “You know, just get out of here
before the cops do show up.”
“Absolutely not!” Mary Frances stated adamantly.”First of all, I am not leaving Myrna lost in a
Liverpool train station, and, secondly, we’ve done nothing wrong! We’ve merely misplaced a
bag.”
“Yeah, with half a body in it!” Connie added with a hot glare aimed at Gina.
“With half a body’s ashes in it,” Mary Frances corrected her crossly. “Look, everyone just needs
to calm down!”
The four lapsed into silence again. “Hmpf!” Sylvia sounded, catching her friends’ attention. “Do
you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Mary Frances asked.
“The music,” Sylvia replied, nodding toward the youngster behind them who was listening to
music through ear buds. The boy had the volume up so high, those sitting in the vicinity could
actually hear what was playing. “….listen,” she instructed.
Tilting her head, Mary Frances listened to the music playing softly behind her. Recognizing the
tune, she smiled. “Well, that has to be a good omen!”
“What?” Connie asked. “What is it?”
“The song that’s playing….don’t you recognize it?” Sylvia asked.
Connie listened for a few seconds before shrugging and saying, “It sounds familiar, but I don’t
know what it is.”
She stared at the girl incredulously. “Are you kidding? It’s one of the Beatles’ most famous
songs! ‘Yesterday,’ - it’s a classic!”
“That’s right,” Mary Frances added. “Paul McCartney wrote it! That’s him singing it!”
“Paul McCartney, huh?” Connie nodded. “That’s the guy from that old 70’s band, right? What
were they called? “Birds”? No….wait a minute….it was ‘Wings,’ right?” Snapping her fingers,
she smiled proudly, leaving Sylvia and Mary Frances looking at each other in dismay.
Just then, Gina started to sing along to the music, making up her own words as she sang.
“Suddenly, Myrna’s half the girl she used to be --”
“Gina!” Mary Frances shouted angrily. “This is no laughing matter!” Her anger only escalated
when she looked to Sylvia and Connie for support and found them hiding their grins behind their
hands. She could do nothing but huff indignantly.
Abruptly, Sylvia’s grin fled, and she straightened in her chair, informing her companions, “Here
he comes!”
“Oh God! Are the police with him?” Mary Frances asked nervously, shielding her eyes with her
hand.
“Ha! Dirty coppers won’t take me alive!” Gina said in her best Cagney impression.
“Damn straight!” Connie muttered. “We get in trouble because of your big mouth, old woman,
and I’ll fucking kill you myself!”
“Now Connie, you shouldn’t threaten your elders,” Sylvia deadpanned.
“Oh, that’s not a threat, Ms. Stern,” Connie replied brightly before turning a glare on Gina, “….
that’s a friggin’ promise!”
Gina merely shrugged indifferently.
“Oh my gosh!” Sylvia exclaimed.
Still shielding her eyes, afraid to look, Mary Frances squeaked, “Cops?”
“No! The bag!” Sylvia cried in happy relief. “He’s found the bag!”
With a grimace he didn’t bother to hide, the agent approached the group of women with his arms
outstretched and the bag held between his hands. “Well, ladies, it appears you’re in luck! This
is the bag in question, I presume?”
“Oh yes!” Mary Frances cried in relief. “I’m sure it is!”
Giving a curt nod, he immediately set the bag on an empty chair and stepped away as though he
half expected it to detonate.
Almost frantically, Mary Frances yanked on the zipper, and, withdrawing the container of Jean
Nate, carefully opened it and inspected the contents.
“Is Myrna still there?” Gina asked rather loudly.
“Yes!” Mary Frances hissed in seething whisper.
“All of her?”
“Well, except the part of her on your ass!” Connie quipped irreverently.
“Well, yeah, there was that.” Gina agreed with a sigh and nodding sagely.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia saw both the agent’s mouth drop open in shock and Mary
Frances futilely dropping her face into her hands and quickly assessed the need to hurry the
process along.
“Well, we want to thank you so very much, sir!” she gushed to the agent. Then, allowing her
curiosity get the better of her, she paused and asked, “But where on earth did you find it? We
looked everywhere!”
Snapping to, the man replied, “Oh, I doubt very much you would have even considered looking
where we ultimately found the bag.”
“Why? Where was it?” Connie asked, her curiosity now piqued as well by the agent’s odd
expression.
“In the men’s toilet, as it happens,” he answered.
“What? Now, what on earth was it doing in there?” Mary Frances asked in surprise. “Tony
didn’t have it, did he?” she asked no one in particular.
“I believe, madam, that someone had taken your bag with a thought to helping himself any
valuables,” the agent informed her. “In fact, I’ll need you to sign a receipt of custody, but you
really should inspect it thoroughly so you can report any missing or damaged items.”
“Alright….that will be fine, thank you,” Mary Frances answered on behalf of the group.
“Right then, if you’ll just step back this way, you can inspect your bag in privacy and be on your
way once the receipt has been signed.”
As the man led the quartet of women past the counter and on into his office just behind it, Gina
giggled, and, leaning over to Sylvia, failed in her attempt to whisper as she said, “Shit, Myrna’s
gotten around more since she’s been dead than she ever did when she was alive!”
Tony bolted up from the rollaway bed when he heard the room key jiggling in the lock. The
relief he felt at seeing Gina safe and sound was palpable. “Mrs. DeFalco! Where have you
been? Are you alright? Are the other ladies alright?”
“Christ, Rosetti! Calm down before you give yourself a coronary!” Swinging the door shut, she
headed straight for the mini-bar.
“The porter said you all went back to the train station….something about a missing bag? But
you were gone almost two hours!”
Pointing to the ice bucket, Gina asked, “There ice in there already?”
“Huh?” he sounded, momentarily confused by the sudden change of subject. “Oh ice…yeah,
there is, I got some just about a half-hour ago. They should still be frozen.”
He watched while Gina dropped two cubes into the glass and poured out three bottles from the
refrigerator – one right after another. Deftly, she swirled the mixture with her index finger
before proceeding to swig half the glass in one go.
“Ah, Mrs DeFalco…,” he started worriedly.
Without looking at the young man, Gina held her hand up. “Don’t. Just don’t. Either join me or
shut the hell up.” Finally turning his way, she added ominously, “….and not a word to any of
the girls, especially the pain in the ass, or I’ll have you fitted for cement shoes. One phone call,
pal, that’s all it takes.” Narrowing her eyes menacingly, she asked, “Got it Rosetti?”
Had it been any other little old lady, Tony might laughed out loud, but this was Gina DeFalco,
Vinnie’s wife, and so, he chose to err on the side of caution. Going to the mini bar, he opened
the door and scanned the shelf before pulling out a bottle of Beefeaters and a can of Fever-Tree
tonic. Grabbing a glass he started mixing the two together.
Gina had waited to see what he would choose,, and, when she saw him with the one mini bottle
of gin and the can of tonic, she scoffed, “Lightweight!” Then, grabbing a discarded newspaper,
she sat on the edge of one of double beds and half-attentively flipped through the paper while
sipping the remainder of her drink.
Relieved to no longer be under her scrutiny, Tony took his drink back to his small rollaway, and,
unzipping his black satchel, started to unpack the few items he’d brought with him. “I was
thinking I’d just take this bottom drawer if that’s okay…?”
Without raising her eyes from the paper, Gina replied dispassionately, “I don’t give damn.”
He went to put his things in the drawer, but paused a second time. “Do you think Connie will
mind?”
Again, her eyes remained fixed on the paper as she answered in the same time, “Christ, I hope
so.”
Indecisively, Tony stood with a small stack of underwear in his hands, debating whether or not to
put his clothes in the drawer. After a moment, he heard Gina huff aloud and looked over to find
she’d finally lowered the paper and was looking at him. “Oh, for crying out loud, put your
things in the drawer, Rosetti! With that little bitty bag, I can’t imagine you’d need more than one
drawer for everything anyhow. And don’t you be worried about the pain in the ass, either! She’s
just here to – Holy shit! Is that a Ruger?”
Tony winced, intuiting that is was probably not the best idea for Gina to know he was carrying a
weapon. Unfortunately, he realized this too late – she’d already seen it.
“How’d you get a piece past airport security?” she asked, the newspaper momentarily forgotten.
“I didn’t,” he answered, finding himself both oddly pleased, but also wary of the sudden interest.
“I picked it up when I arrived in London….an old friend of my dad’s.” Running a hand over the
cold metal, he added with a shrug, “It’s a loaner while I’m here.”
Gina slid off the bed and walked over to stand beside him. “Can I see it?” she asked, her hand
outstretched expectantly,
Half afraid she’d use it on him, Tony hesitated. Then, checking the safety, he mentally
murmured a short prayer and handed the gun to Gina.
Running her hand over the cold steel, her eyes brightened. “Nice piece you have here, Rosetti!”
A bit disconcerted at the glazed look that came over Gina’s face, Tony gently reached and took
the weapon from her. “Yes, well, we want to make sure no one gets hurt, so let’s just get this out
of sight.” As he slipped the gun into the bottom drawer, hiding it under the pile of t-shirts, he
already was planning on where he would hide it later so that Gina wouldn’t find it.
Gina walked back to the bed, picking up her drink before sliding back on to the edge of the bed.
“That might just come in handy, you know,” she said before turning her attention back to the
newspaper.
Tony had just closed the drawer when he was startled by an outcry from the other side of the
room.
“God damn!”
Whirling around, he expected to find that Gina had fallen or somehow gotten hurt, but, instead,
he found that she was staring at the newspaper, her face a mask of surprise.
“God damn!” she cried again.
“What? What is it?” Tony yelled, confused, but on guard.
Holding the paper up in front of her, Gina slide off the bed and started moving about in what
Tony assumed was supposed to be a little dance. “GoddamnGoddamnGoddamn!”
“Mrs. DeFalco!” he cried in desperation. “Is there something wrong?”
Lowering the paper, Gina grinned widely. “Wrong? Oh no, little Finger!”
“Don’t call me that,” he said quietly, but Gina was too absorbed in her discovery to hear him.
“Who knew? What were the chances?” she asked no one in particular. “This is….well, it’s
perfect, is what it is! Myrna, old girl, wherever the hell you are, you’re gonna be so G.D. proud
of us!”
“Mrs. DeFalco?” Tony called to her a bit fearfully. “What’s going on? What did you read in the
paper?”
Turning to Tony, Gina stared at him as if she just noticed he was in the room. “What did I
read?” she repeated gleefully. “I read the most remarkable thing!” she practically squealed. She
seemed to daze out just then, standing in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips and a big
smile on her face.
“Which was….?” Tony prompted.
“Hmmm…?”
“What was this ‘remarkable’ thing you read about?”
“Paul is in town!” she cried.
“Paul who?”
“Paul who?” she echoed, a look of consternation fleetingly replaced the smile, but only for a
moment. “Myrna’s Paul….Beatle Paul….Sir Paul….Paul G.D. McCartney, that’s who!” She
waited expectantly.
Tony fidgeted uncomfortably, knowing that he was expected to react, but not sure what he was
supposed to be reacting to. “So, this is good news, huh?”
“Only the best!” she answered as she reached for the newspaper. Quietly, she read the article
more closely.
Satisfied that Gina had settled down, Tony grabbed the paperback novel off the floor, and,
reclining on the rollaway, propped his pillow just so and began reading.
“Hey Rosetti!” she snapped.
“Yeah?” He peaked at her over the top of the book.
“I need you to do something for me before breakfast tomorrow….you’ll have to keep it on the
QT.”
Warily, he asked, “What is it?”
“I need you find out how to get to someplace in town, and then I’ll need you to take me there
around…,” pausing, she consulted the newspaper, “…two, maybe two-thirty.”
“Umm…okay,” he agreed a bit nervously.
“I’m serious, though, if you value your balls, you’re not to say a word to the girls or the pain in
the ass, you hear me?”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed again, more nervously.
“Oh yeah, one more thing….”
“Yeah?” he asked with dread.
“I’ll need you to bring the Ruger.”