Brooklyn Bones (5 page)

“That would be great. The real thing, with sugar and caffeine.”

We moved inside and I flopped onto the sofa, head back, feet up. As the adrenaline ebbed away, my ability to think started to return. I had learned precisely nothing, except that Cadillac guy didn’t like me one bit and he might be up to no good.

That sure was productive. I sighed and reached for the telephone. I was going to feel like a complete fool, telling this story to any member of the police department, but I knew I had to.

It turned out that some of my neighbors had also reported the loitering car.

Chris and I gave our information to an officer who called it a report of suspicious person. He wasn’t extremely reassuring about what follow-up there would be. As soon as he was done with us, we locked the doors, turned on loud music, and raided the refrigerator.

“Remember Uncle Rick is coming for dinner tonight. He’s bringing the pizza.”

“I don’t know…I might have plans…”

“Yes, you definitely do have plans. You plan to be here for dinner. Anything else can be done later.”

“Oh, all right. Mom? You think I could talk to him alone for a little while?” She brightened at the thought. “I’d like to ask him about some stuff.”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

“You should ask him for advice yourself.”

“About what happened today? You think I could use some?”

She gave me that patented teenager look, that one that says, “Well, duh,” without a sound.

I was too stubborn to admit it to her, or anyone, but I did need a shoulder to lean on, right about then. I couldn’t wait for Rick to walk through that door.

I don’t remember a part of my life when he was not there. He and my dad grew up together. Dad’s bum knee kept him out of the police department, but he and Rick had a bond that even the famous blue line didn’t weaken. My dad got him through two bitter divorces; he got my dad through my mother’s long illness and her death.

A couple of years ago, they had helped each other accept the idea that it was time to retire, though after that they’d somehow seemed less close. There was no open quarrel, or at least not one they told me about, but a drifting, a coolness, that I barely noticed at first.

For me, he was and remained more of a favorite uncle than any of my real uncles. I didn’t have much of an extended family. My mom was an only child and my hot-blooded dad and his siblings were often on the outs with each other. Rick was the one who bought expensive toys for Chris and perfume for me, did odd jobs that needed height, invited himself for dinner and often brought it with him. I think what we gave him was a family.

He was more than an adopted uncle. He stood in for a dad, during all those many times I could not talk to my own bull-headed father.

My first fight ever with Rick was when I moved to this handyman’s special in a fringe neighborhood and our second, bigger fight was when I decided to use my mother’s legacy to fix it up. He had raised hell with me, dragged me to see neat, dull Cape Cods in safe, dull suburbs, and even invoked my mother’s presumed opinions. The words “roll over in her grave” were used.

After all that, did I really want him to know what had happened in my house? No, not at all, but I did really want to know he was there in my corner. He always was.

Before he arrived, I ran out for some dessert, and there was Mary, lounging against my little iron fence.

“Hi, dearie.” She slurred the words. It looked like this was one of her less lucid days. “I saw those cops the other day. That never means good news.”

“It was all right, really. They came to help. I’m rushing to the store now. Can I get you anything?”

She followed me down the block. “It always means something bad is happening. Or did happen. I used to know a lot of cops, when bad things happened. I hope your sweet little girl is all right.”

“Everything is fine, Mary.” I was somewhat desperate to get away. “We’re all fine. Please don’t worry.”

She nodded. “All right, if you say so. But….” She suddenly looked more alert, as if something seemed to come into her mind. Then it left again. She turned and shuffled away, and I hustled off on my errands in the opposite direction.

An hour later, back at home, I opened my front door to a cloud of enticing garlic and tomato smells, and a tall, bald man almost hidden behind two warm, damp pizza boxes.

“Here, give me that load!”

“Hey, honey!” He gave me a bear hug. “I want to see where you found this body Chris told me about.”

I pointed him to the decrepit fireplace, empty now but with the last shreds of the yellow police tape trailing from above.

“What a thing. Sure is a weird story. I told you this was no place for you, didn’t I?”

He looked at me, must have seen a fight in my eyes, and shifted gears right away. “They know anything? Nah, what am I saying? Way too soon and they probably wouldn’t tell you anyway. Who’s investigating? Anyone giving you a hard time?”

“Not really, but it seemed like they wondered, a little, if we might be involved somehow. As if I really could be someone who’d bury a body in her house! Chris gave him what for. You would have been proud.”

He pocketed the detective’s card I handed him. “I’ll ask around. You call me, if they give you any problems. Promise?”

“Sure thing.”

“OK.” Then he bellowed, “Where is that beautiful daughter of yours?”

“Uncle Rick?” She stood in the doorway, smiling and self-conscious with pleasure. A year ago, she would have thrown herself into his arms.

“Christine Marie, come give me a hug. I swear you grew a foot since I saw you last.”

She giggled. I handed her one of the pizza boxes, and we took our dinner to the deck to eat by candle light under the striped umbrella.

Rick passed me a beer and said, “I think Miss Christine here is old enough?”

“Certainly not! She gets a soda.”

“Oh, Mom? Please!”

“Just one tiny sip, for the taste. And I mean one.”

“OK. Thank you.” Rick’s presence seemed to be a good influence, as I noticed further when she jumped up to clear the table.

“Thanks, honey. I’ll do the dishes. You two can visit out here for awhile, and then I’ll bring out some ice cream.”

I stacked the dishes in the pitted, stained sink, and put the leftovers away in the noisy, leaky refrigerator that barely came up to my shoulder. Other women daydream about movie stars and tropical islands and fur coats. I daydream about gleaming stainless steel sinks, refrigerators with automatic icemakers, and shiny tile countertops.

I left the kitchen window open to the deck. Over the noise of running water and rattling dishes, I could hear snatches of their conversation.

His deep voice was louder and came through more clearly. “There’s a cold case unit,” he said. “That’s for real old cases that were never exactly closed. I don’t think I know anyone there now. I could get you a number, but I’m not going to, no way.”

Her high voice murmured back, too soft for me to distinguish words, and then his response cut through clearly again. “Cause it’s the dumbest idea I ever heard, that’s why. What is your mother thinking, to let you do this?”

I caught an incoherent protest.

“I got it. Only research, no messing with police stuff, but you have to listen up. You can’t even imagine what things were like then. This was a neighborhood heading straight for the sewer. Gangs. Drug houses. Real ugly, scary stuff. And you know there’s something ugly here. Honey, it’s not right for a nice young girl like you to mess around in this.”

I turned the water off in time to hear her say, “Grandpa would help me if he was here.”

“Your grandpa? The guy who drove a cab his whole life? After the things he saw driving and the stories he heard from his cop friends? Hell, no. He’d want to protect you from everything. Of course he’d do any other any damn fool thing you asked him to. He’s a real grandpa kind of guy.”

“
I know. I can’t get used to him being away. Moving to Phoenix was so lame. I mean, Phoenix?”

“I know he misses you too, but come on, the docs said his asthma was gonna kill him if he didn’t get out of the city. You know that’s why he retired.”

Sure, I thought, that and the new woman who also said she’d kill him—or leave him. Dear old dad.

“Not that I don’t miss him too. We were the best of buddies. Did I ever tell you about the time….”

He was changing the subject, sidetracking Chris from her interest in the dead girl, and no doubt using a hilariously disreputable story, unfit for her young ears, to do it. Time to rejoin the conversation. I brought out ice cream.

Chris heaped up her bowl, excused herself, and took her dessert into the house. Rick and I lingered, companionably stretching our legs out on the extra deck chairs, savoring the garden’s quiet and the scent of my neighbor’s roses.

He looked at me for a long time, with an odd expression, and finally said, “Chris said something about you needing my advice?”

“She did? Must have been when I had the water running.”

“I don’t suppose it’s about your love life.”

“What love life! No, it’s cop stuff. Sort of.”

He raised one eyebrow but only said, “Oh?”

After I told him about the encounter, he had a lot more to say, some of it blistering. Then he calmed down enough to ask, “Who did you piss off?”

“The guy in the car, obviously.”

“Yeah, but is there anyone else? Someone who might have sent him to scare you?”

“That’s ridiculous. He was only taking pictures, even if he had a nasty attitude. I work in a museum, for crying out loud. I’m in grad school. I’m a mom. Could I be any more boring?”

“I don’t know what this is about, but it worries me. It couldn’t be a break-in in the planning stage, because, honey, you have nothing worth stealing. And do I have this right, that he didn’t seem to be after Chris specifically?”

“You mean like stalking her?” I shook my head. “She was out and around on the street several times during the day, and he never made a move. If anything, she went after him.”

“What did your local cops say?”

“Not much. They’ll keep an eye on the block.”

“You keep an eye on your daughter.”

“Yes, they said that too.”

Then he said, “You might live a tame little life but you don’t exactly find a body in your house every day.”

“Oh, come on.” Somehow, I didn’t want to hear this. I really didn’t want to. “That body was put there a long time ago. We’re all sure about that. How could it be a problem for me?”

“Let’s see. Someone wrote about it, and then someone shows up, takes pictures, and acts scary. And there’s no connection? You know I’m right. Like always.”

“No. If I’m a historian I have to believe in connections. Kind of goes with that territory, but in my life, I don’t know. The worst thing that ever happened to me, ever, was dumb, blind chance, the thing you can’t look out for, the drunk driver in the park.”

He held my hand and I went on.

“After that, I could have become afraid of every single thing. Easily. So I decided I never would, and I never would do that to Chris. We would be two strong women.”

“Honey, I get that. I really do But it doesn’t mean the existence of random drunk drivers says you stop looking both ways when you cross the street. Right?”

My grumpy silence told him I was thinking about it.

“Your daughter seems way too concerned about this. She has an itch to look into it herself.”

“I told her no. Definitely, absolutely no.”

“Yeah, I was extremely discouraging too. I hope she got it.” He patted my shoulder. “Look, honey. Keep your eyes on her to know what she’s getting up to, keep your eyes open generally, and call me right away if anything at all doesn’t seem right, no matter how trivial. OK? And for god’s sake, no more jumping into situations. Think first, instead of being that hothead you’ve always been. You know?”

“Shut up, Rick,” I swatted him lightly on the arm. “I used to hear enough of that from Dad. I don’t need two fathers.”

“After what I heard tonight, I think you need a whole tribe of them. Strict ones.”

I had no good answer for that, so, for once, I didn’t say anything, and just let the silence unfold.

“Don’t you think you ought to tell him what’s happened?’

“Who? Dad?”

“Yes, dad. Your father?”

“He chose to go off to the other side of the country with that woman. It wasn’t me deserting him.”

“You know,” he said gently, “even old guys get lonely. Your mother was one in a million, but he’s only sixty-five. He still has a lot of years ahead of him. He worked real hard all his life. You know that. He had a nest egg from selling his taxi medallion, and a house free and clear. He earned his time to kick back. It’s been a year. Don’t you think it’s time to mend fences?”

I sat there in stubborn silence, looking away from him, unconvinced by his words and afraid that if I tried to answer, my emotions would come out in my voice. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him shake his head, and then he broke the silence with another abrupt subject change.
“
Speaking of love life, cookie, seeing anyone?”