Cheated By Death (10 page)

“First the Women’s Health Center. I don’t
want to wait ‘til Monday to find out if other staff members have
received one of these letters. Then I want to pay a visit to Mr.
Willie Morgan.”

“It’s an awful big city. How do you plan to
find him?”

“We can start at the Bison’s main office
downtown.”

“On Saturday of a holiday weekend?”

“Why not? He’s new in town. What else has he
got to do?”

“All right. But we’re only going to talk to
him, right? We’re not going to accuse him of anything. We’re going
to stay nice and calm.”

“Of course.”

I scrutinized his blue-eyed gaze, unsure I
believed him.

The Williamsville
Women’s Health
Center was about to close for the day when we arrived. Their head
of Security, Tim Davies, remembered me from our talk a few days
earlier. He hadn’t heard of other employees receiving similar
letters, but he took the implied threat seriously and copied the
letter for their harassment file. Richard promised to keep him
posted.

The ballpark was located on the opposite side
of the city. The holiday shopping season was officially underway.
It seemed like all of Buffalo had hit the road, heading for the
malls. The stop-and-go traffic didn’t help my rising anxiety.
Confronting Willie might not be smart, but I couldn’t blame Richard
for wanting to protect his wife—especially now.

Richard stared pensively out the car window,
his face a concentrated frown. I can’t read him at all, but I
didn’t need empathic insight to know his anger was building.

“Rich, this doesn’t feel right.”

He looked at me across the bench seat. “What
am I supposed to do, let someone hurt or kill Brenda? That letter’s
proof she’s being targeted, not me.”

“You can’t exactly call it a campaign of
terror. I mean, it only started last night. And we don’t have any
proof it’s Willie. Not even circumstantial evidence.”

“I realize that. But if we don’t at least
ask—”

“
We
shouldn’t ask. I should. I’m
trained to do this. You shouldn’t even be there—you’re too
upset.”

“Don’t you think I have a right to be?”

“Yes. But we don’t want to antagonize someone
with a history of violent behavior.”

“I don’t intend to antagonize him.”

“Oh, yes you do.”

Richard turned his guilty gaze back out the
window.

We drove the rest of the way in stony
silence.

I parked the car in the ramp garage closest
to the stadium. The place was nearly empty, although prominently
parked near the exit on the first level was the blue Nissan Altima
with Pennsylvania plates.

“You were right,” I said, pointing the car
out to Richard. “Now all we have to do is get into the office.”

We headed down the sidewalk toward the
stadium’s main entrance. Not being much of a baseball fan, I’d
never been to Dunn Tire Field, although Richard and Brenda had gone
to several games over the summer. The place seemed deserted. Dried
leaves, styrofoam cups, wadded fast-food wrappers and other trash
had blown against the grandstand’s locked gates.

“This way,” Richard directed.

As expected, the doors to the business
offices were locked, but the lights were on inside. Richard
hammered on the glass until he got someone’s attention.

“We’re closed,” the woman mouthed. She
pointed to the office hours stenciled on the door.

“We’re here to see Willie Morgan,” I said. I
had to repeat myself several times, but eventually the woman
understood. She unlocked the door, ducked her head outside.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No. But it’s important.”

She considered it for a moment. “Wait here.
I’ll get him.” She locked the doors once more and disappeared down
an aisle.

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets,
stared at the floor, trying to figure out a tactful way to approach
the impending conversation.

Richard tapped the glass with his knuckle,
and pointed to the equipment at the receptionist’s station. “Here’s
proof he’s got access to a computer and laser printer.”

“So have about a million other people in Erie
County.”

Richard ignored me, and strained to see down
the aisle.

A minute later, Willie appeared from around
the corner and unlocked the doors.

“Let me do the talking,” I reminded
Richard.

Willie gave us the once-over. If anything, he
looked several sizes larger than when I’d met him days earlier. And
he had to be at least two inches taller than Richard.

“Jeff, right?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze went to Richard, instantly sizing
him up. “You must be Brenda’s husband. What can I do for you?”

“This is kind of an awkward situation,” I
explained. “But Brenda’s been—”

“She’s not hurt, is she?” Willie asked,
concerned.

“Now why would you think that?” Richard
demanded.

I raised my hand to stave off more comments.
“No, but she’s being bothered. Telephone calls. Threatening
letters.” It sounded silly—even to me. What the hell were we even
doing talking to the guy on such flimsy evidence?

“Are you accusing me?” Willie asked.

“Of course not,” I said.

“Maybe,” Richard said over me.

“Now wait a minute,” Willie started, “I’ve
only been in town a week.”

“And the harassment started after you got
here. Isn’t that a coincidence?” Richard taunted.

“Richard!” I glared at him, but he didn’t
back down. I tried again, struggling to hold onto my patience. “Mr.
Morgan—Willie, we know that you and Brenda didn’t part under the
best circumstances, and—”

“Did Brenda ask you to come here?”

“No.”

“And she wouldn’t, either. Look, I’ve done
nothing wrong. I visited an old friend. That’s all.”

“How can you call yourself a friend after
what you put her through?” Richard challenged.

Willie’s gaze was menacing. “I think you’d
better leave —now. Before I call the police.”

“I’m the one who should be calling the
police!”

Willie stepped forward, pointed his finger in
Richard’s face. “I know about rich folk like you. Think you can
shove everybody around—take what you want. You got money and now
you got my woman.”

“Brenda divorced you years before she even
met me. Your former woman is now legally my wife. And she’s
carrying my child,” he threw in as fuel for the fire.

“I’m surprised you got it in you, old
man.”

I grabbed Richard’s arm as he drew back to
throw a punch. “Let’s not get crazy,” I said, hauling him away.
Willie could’ve pulverized us without breaking into a sweat. I
wasn’t used to playing the sane, rational brother. This role
reversal was downright scary. “Rich, why don’t you wait for me
downstairs.”

Richard glared at Willie for endless seconds.
I’d never seen such fury in him. Finally he tore his gaze away,
stalked over to the exit, let the fire door slam.

I turned back to the angry man. “Sorry,
Willie. My brother’s a good man. He loves Brenda and he’s worried
someone’s trying to hurt her.”

Willie exhaled a long, deep breath. “Yeah,
well, I guess I can understand that. She’s a very special
lady.”

I offered him my hand. “No hard
feelings?”

He frowned, but we shook on it anyway.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” I apologized
again.

He nodded, looked back at the door where
Richard had disappeared, then turned, went back into the office. I
watched as he locked the doors, then vanished into the corporate
landscaping.

I stepped off the elevator, but Richard
wasn’t around. None of the bars in the area looked open this early,
so I headed back for the parking garage. Sure enough, Richard
leaned against the passenger side of my car, an air of defeat
surrounding him. I opened the doors and we got in.

I paid the parking attendant and drove off
before Richard finally spoke.

“Sorry, Jeff. I don’t know what came over me
back there.”

“It’s okay. I probably would’ve done the same
thing in your shoes. Of course you realize we’re no closer to
knowing who’s behind all this.”

“That’s what’s making me crazy.”

“You can’t afford to be crazy. Brenda needs
you. Besides,” I said, lightening my tone. “I’m just some little
pipsqueak, remember? I can’t keep bailing your ass out of trouble
from giants like Willie.”

“Am I ever going to live that down?”

“Unfortunately, we failed to consider the
piss-off factor. If Willie is the one bothering Brenda, our visit
could provoke him into something more dangerous.”

“And if it isn’t him?”

“Then we’ve annoyed an innocent man, and
we’ve still got a problem.” I made a right, palming the wheel. “It
doesn’t even have to be someone she knows. Someone could’ve just
picked Brenda at random. It happens.”

“Do you think Willie’s responsible?” he asked
pointedly.

“I don’t know. I don’t get any kind of vibe,
aura—whatever from him.”

Richard looked even more depressed.

“What next?” I asked.

“Go home. I don’t like leaving Brenda alone.
Besides, you need to get ready for your family reunion.”

“
You’re
my family.”

“Don’t be so negative. Sometimes you have to
leave your comfort zone.”

“Now you sound like some corporate
asshole.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“Admit it, bro,” I said. “It’s a shitty day,
and it ain’t going to get better.”

7

“Let’s go home,” I said to Maggie, as I
parked the car behind a rusty Toyota in front of my Aunt Ruby’s
house.

“You made it this far,” she said.

I switched off the engine and looked at the
well-tended, white frame house with its neatly pruned shrubs.
Though located in one of Buffalo’s older neighborhoods, it had
never fallen into decay. Cars lined the narrow driveway and were
parked along the road in front.

“What if it’s smoky? You know how your
allergies—”

“I took an antihistamine before I left home.”
She studied my face. “Come on, Jeff, what’s the worst that can
happen?”

I thought about it for a moment, remembering
Patty’s tacky comment about Brenda. “You’ll judge me by them.”

She frowned. “I’m not that shallow—and I
doubt these people are out to hurt you.”

I looked away. I’d changed my clothes three
times before deciding on a sweater and Dockers. No point trying to
impress anyone, this crowd probably knew I was only a bartender.
But then, I doubted there’d be any nuclear scientists present,
either.

I faced Maggie. “I don’t know what I
think.”

“Then turn it around—what’s the best thing
that can happen?” she said.

I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe . . .
I might like them.”

Maggie reached for my hand, squeezed it.
“Come on.”

She opened the car door and got out. I
hesitated. Like confronting Willie, this felt wrong. But I grabbed
my camera and slipped out of the car anyway, took Maggie’s hand and
led her to the house. Although it wasn’t quite dark outside, all
the lights were ablaze. To anyone else the place would’ve looked
friendly, welcoming.

I climbed the concrete steps and rang the
bell. In seconds the door swung open, banging into the wall behind
it. “Yeah?” said a breathless boy of about ten.

“I’m Jeff Resnick, and—”

“Gramma!” He took off, letting the storm door
slam in our faces.

An elderly woman padded to the door. Her hair
was dyed a brilliant shade of red—much too bright for her age of
seventy-five or more. Thick cherry lipstick covered her lips,
complementing her floral print dress and pink slippers. “Jeffrey?
My God, you haven’t changed a bit!” she squealed. “Come in, come
in!” She ushered us inside and kissed me on the cheek. “Remember
me? I’m your Aunt Ruby, Chet’s younger sister.”

“Sorry. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to
get to know me and the rest of the family.” She touched Maggie’s
arm. “Now, who are you, dear?”

“This is my girlfriend, Maggie Brennan.”

“My, what a lovely dress. Did you get it out
of the Penney’s catalog? They have the nicest clothes.” She didn’t
give Maggie a chance to answer, but took our coats and disappeared
into a room off the hall.

We waited in the entryway, taking in the
small living room. Its pastel pink walls were sweating with
condensation, seeming to glow in the incandescent light. The couch
and every chair was occupied, with people engaged in lively
conversation. I gave a self-conscious nod to those who’d noticed
our arrival. One of them I recognized: the guy who’d driven Patty
to my place a few days earlier.

Ruby reappeared and turned toward the
kitchen. “Everybody. Chet’s boy is here!” She grabbed my arm and
tugged me along.

Maggie and I were paraded in front of a long
succession of cousins, aunts, uncles, and old family friends. I
tried, without success, to attach a name to every face. My fears
about being on display were vastly overblown. Dinner was a bigger
priority.

With no dining room, chairs were pushed back,
making room for a folding table set up in the living room. Older
ladies fussed with food preparation, setting out dishes and bowls.
A haze of steam and cigarette smoke filled the kitchen, and I tried
to hurry the introductions to steer Maggie clear. When I mentioned
Maggie’s allergies to Ruby, she guided me to the family room tacked
on at the back of the house, which was kept smoke-free for Chet’s
sake.

My father sat huddled in a recliner in the
corner, looking like a sad, sick Jabba the Hut, still tethered to
his little green oxygen tank. Ruby plunked me in a folding chair
next to him, handed me a bottle of no-name beer.

“Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?” a plump
old lady asked me before I could even greet the old man. I’d met
her less than three minutes before and couldn’t remember her name
or her relationship to me.