Derailed (32 page)

Back at our place, while Rodney and DaShawn were carrying most of the things into our basement, I got the stepladder to put the toaster oven, coffeemaker, and other appliances that the cold
wouldn't hurt up in our garage attic. But once I'd climbed the ladder, I saw a couple of boxes I didn't recognize sitting off to the side on the plywood that spanned the attic joists. I pulled one to me, blew off the dust, and opened it. Within were several old framed photographs of people I didn't recognize—white people. There was also an old cigar box of army medals and souvenirs. Below all that was a stack of papers, thick envelopes, and tattered documents. I flipped through them and was surprised to find that most of them were addressed to Wilhelm and Matilda Krakowski.

It was the old lady's box. Amazing! The other box was probably hers too, because I couldn't imagine Estelle wearing any of the three hats inside.

I left Mom's appliances up there, and took the boxes into the house. “Estelle! Look what I found.”

“Wait. Don't put those dirty old boxes on my counter.” But once I'd set them on a wooden kitchen chair, Estelle was eager to see what I'd found. “Well, Lord be praised. Wait till she hears about this. You think she put 'em up there herself and just forgot?”

“Can't imagine her climbing up there.”

When Rodney came in, he solved the mystery right off. The boxes had been on the closet shelf in the room he was using downstairs. He'd taken them out to the garage when he was painting and didn't know anyone was looking for them.

“Well, we have to call her.” Estelle flipped through the coupons, notes, and reminders pinned to the bulletin board. “Oh dear. I have no idea where that phone number is. Any of you see a little note paper pinned up here with the name Don Krakowski and a phone number on it?”

“Gramma, there's so much stuff pinned on that board—”

“I'm just askin'.”

I stared at DaShawn, realizing this may have been the first time he'd called Estelle “Gramma.”

“Harry, when you called to invite her to come for that visit, did you use the number on that paper?”

“Nope. Used Krakowski's card that I
filed
on my dresser top.”

“In that mess? You just dumped everything back on there after we moved.”

“But it's still there.”

“
Hmph
! Well, go get it, then.”

A couple minutes later I came back into the kitchen, waving the card in my hand. Estelle rolled her eyes and grabbed it from me to make the call.

“Yes, yes, we found your mother's boxes . . . oh, no problem,” Estelle said into the phone as she eyed me. “We'll bring them out to her. How would next Saturday do? Just tell us her address.”

I think Corky was just as glad to get back to work Monday morning as I was. We worked the station that day and the next, and I caught up on some paperwork. Made sure I thanked Gilson for being so flexible with the time to see to my mother's affairs.

“Don't worry.” He grinned at me as though he expected me to know why. “We'll get it back from you.”

Yeah, he would too. “Maybe I can do an overnight Thursday and Friday.”

“Good. Let me know.”

I got right back to him with a plan, and he approved it without a second look.

Tuesday evening while we were eating supper, I commented on how accommodating Gilson was being. Estelle asked if I'd seen Grace Meredith during the day.

“No. Why would I have seen her?”

“ 'Cause she and her assistant left today by train for—”

“Yeah, and I drove her,” interrupted Rodney as he scooped more mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“You what?”

“In my limo. Her name and address came up on the board, so I asked the dispatcher if I could make that run. Kinda cool.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I grinned at him. “Hope you gave her good service.”

“The best.”

“So where's she goin' this time?”

“Harry! Seattle, of course. She's headin' out there for that big West Coast tour she told us about. I went over and prayed with her yesterday afternoon when I got home from work.” Estelle looked real thoughtful. “Ya know, I think the train thing's gonna work out for her. You were a real answer to prayer.”

“Me?” I was a step behind in this conversation.

“Yeah. Takin' the train was your idea. Until you mentioned that option, I think she was about to pack it in and quit singing. But she has a real ministry. God's gonna use that girl.”

“Well, that's good.” I finally felt like I was catching up. “She's got a voice, all right. Sure appreciated her singing at Mom's homegoing.” Huh, wish I'd remembered she was leavin' today. Would've liked to see her off. But I wasn't likely to have run into her, big as Union Station was.

I looked over at Rodney again. Had been wanting to invite him to our men's Bible study, but hadn't gotten around to it with all the distractions. Seemed like this might be a good evening for it given that things seemed to be going well on his job, but I thought I'd ease into the invitation. “So you drive any other interesting people around today?”

“Not during the day, just some businesspeople goin' here ‘n' there. But guess who I'm drivin' tonight. It's gonna be a late one.”

DaShawn perked up. “Who?”

“Derrick Rose.”

“Whoa! Da Bulls,” he said with exaggerated Chicago-talk. “Is there a playoff game tonight?”

“No, but he's going to this fancy fund-raiser, and I get to drive.”

“Dad! Ya gotta get his autograph for me!” By now, DaShawn was bouncing all over his chair.

“No can do, my man. It's against the rules for Lincoln drivers to ask favors of any customer, especially celebrities.”

“Aw, Dad. Couldn't you maybe slip him a blank card with a Jackson Five wrapped around it? Just say it's for your kid?”

“Ooo!” Rodney's eyes got big in feigned shock. “Now the boy wants me to bribe the man. You gonna have me back in the joint before I dry off.”

“That's right, DaShawn,” added Estelle. “Your dad's got himself a good job. He's not about to do anything to put it in jeopardy.”

So much for inviting Rodney to the Bible study this evening. At least he held firm about following his company's rules. I'd go meet with my brothers myself and maybe debrief a little more about Mom's passing.

The week settled back into a welcome routine, and on Thursday evening I ended up taking the Cardinal train down to Indianapolis, planning to return the next morning. I should've stayed at the Omni, but instead, after giving Corky a walk, I ended up at a fleabitten hotel that was probably slated for the wrecking ball any day. They gave me all kinds of grief about having a dog until I insisted a service dog was allowed anywhere open to the public. Couldn't resist quipping under my breath to the manager that Corky was in more danger of being contaminated by the hotel than vice versa. I think he heard me, or at least got the drift of my comment.

When I got to my room, I sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, elbows on knees. For the first time in a long time, I felt an old familiar temptation. Being alone in a strange town made me want to go out and find a bar, tip back a few cold ones, and find someone to talk to. Corky ambled over and sat on her haunches right in front of me, staring up, mouth slightly open, panting gently, her liquid eyes asking,
What's next, boss?
So trusting. She would have come with me or stayed in the room, no judgment. It was all up to me . . . but so were the consequences. The last time I'd fallen off the wagon had been when I was losing my sight and couldn't handle the terror of it all. What was my excuse now? That I had no one but a dog to talk to? How ridiculous. And yet . . . I wasn't under a lot of stress. Maybe I could handle just one . . . or two.

The last time I'd stopped by The Office I'd told myself I wasn't stressed then either. But I'd ended up staggering home and admitting to Estelle that I had relapsed. I'd had to confess the whole
incident. I knew it hurt and scared her, but she just said, “Well, I think we need to pray. Mind if I pray for you right now?” It was as though she understood my fear and the temptation and didn't define me by my fall.

What trust! I couldn't break that trust.

“Corky, go lie down. Go on now. It's time we both went to bed.”

At six the next morning, I caught the returning Cardinal back to Chicago. Man! Wasn't sure how many of those short nights I could take. And how close I'd come to falling off the wagon stuck to me like a bad dream that took hours to wash off in the light of day.

Otherwise, the trips both ways were uneventful. Corky didn't find any drugs on the trip home even though the behavior of one young woman made me suspicious. She appeared unusually busty and kept adjusting herself in a way that didn't look natural or move like silicon. Wouldn't have been the first time significant amounts of cocaine had been smuggled in a supposedly padded bra. But even though we walked by twice, Corky didn't alert. Don't know what I would've done if she had. I was still undercover and there were no female officers around.

The Cardinal was late getting into Chicago, so it was after lunch by the time I filed my report and stuck my head into Gilson's office to tell him I'd see him on Monday.

“Oh, Harry.” Captain Gilson called me back as I started to leave. “Just got an e-mail from the DEA.” He picked up a printout from his desk and scanned down it. “They're developing intel on what they think will be a major shipment of cocaine from LA to Chicago on the Southwest Chief. They don't know when it's gonna ship, but it could involve several kilos. So . . .” He looked up at me. “. . . just wanted to give you a heads-up on that. If they can't do the interdiction before it moves, we may need you undercover to locate the mule.”

I nodded. “Next week, you think?”

He shrugged. “They don't know. But you might need to get out there on short notice. Probably'll need to fly you out.”

“Fly? What about Corky?”

“Oh, she can fly. Put her in one of those airline kennels.”

Corky wouldn't like that. And Estelle would like me being gone several days even less. But I couldn't help feeling a twinge of excitement as I drove home. “Whaddya think, Corky girl?” I eyed my dog in the rearview mirror as we jockeyed through the traffic. “We might get to see some big action after all.”

Going to Elgin with Estelle on Saturday morning
with Mattie Krakowski's boxes wasn't much of a spring drive in the country. For one thing, there weren't many open fields left in the thirty miles between Chicago and Elgin. Urban sprawl, corporate campuses, and housing developments had eaten up most of the farmland except for a stretch near Poplar Creek. At least Chicago had protected its forest preserves.

The weather was also dreary, drizzling all morning and overcast all afternoon, as spring sputtered to get started.

We found Hammond Manor on the east side of Elgin, not far from Lords Park. It was a converted three-story Victorian. As we climbed the front steps, I began to wonder how an old woman with a broken hip would fare with all those stairs.

Inside, an attendant took us up in a grinding, slow elevator to the second floor and down the hall to the small room Mattie Krakowski shared with another woman. The other woman was lying in her bed, watching the TV suspended high on the opposing wall. Mattie sat in a wingback chair on the other side of her bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room.

“You have guests, Mattie.”

The old woman pulled her attention from the TV and looked up at us brightly as we crossed the room to the foot of her bed, but she obviously couldn't place us.

The attendant was still standing in the open doorway. “Would you like me to bring in a couple of folding chairs?”

“That's okay,” I said, putting Mattie's box on the floor. “We won't be staying long.”

Estelle frowned at me, then turned to Mattie. “Do you remember us, Mrs. Krakowski? We're the people living in your building now.”

“Oh yes.” Recognition flooded over her wrinkled face, washing away her bewilderment. “You did such a nice job fixing up my apartment. Will I be able to move back in soon?”

Estelle glanced at me before answering. “I . . . I think you'll have to discuss your living arrangements with your son, Don . . . or do you call him Donny?”

“
Hmm
, sometimes Donny, but he hasn't been by this week. Usually comes on Sunday.”

“Then maybe he'll be here tomorrow.”

“Does that mean today's Saturday?” She had seemed fairly alert, but I guess I could excuse her not being able to distinguish one day from another in a place like this.

“Yes, it's Saturday,” assured Estelle. “But Mattie, do you remember why Don brought you to visit us a couple of weeks ago?”