Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way (4 page)

Gabby watched the transaction without losing a syllable of her discourse. “So now, the assessor’s wife only roams her extensive gardens at
Fourth Avenue and Main. Her hats change with the seasons. She is completely bald, they say. But few people stop to chat, because of the loud, black hound she allows to dog her every step.”

Sally impolitely moved her plate of gleaned duck bones to the side of the table and laid out the multi colored cards filled with relevant case notes about Ricco and Mary Jo Cardonè. She shuffled them back together and placed them in her purse. She would stay up late to glean through all the clues in order to report to Andrew.

Gabby’s explanation of the town’s villains and hero continued. The Viet Nam vet’s return, the beauty queen’s father, the growing numbers of residents in the housing projects littering the cornfields, the addition of traffic lights on Randall Road. The stories droned on and on. John’s eyes seemed to glaze over. Art’s studied Sally.

The memories flooded back to Sally. The assessor’s wife, that was Judy. Judy and her lover, what was his name, double dated with Art and Sally. Sally remembered the corn husks stuck in the back of Judy’s hair after they left the car so Art could make out with Sally. Judy didn’t marry her lover. She married the tax assessor. And Sally knew why. The lover had no fortune, no future according to Judy. Judy and she and once attended a party after a football game. A very rare appearance for Sally. Nevertheless courage in hand (a glass of wine), Sally approached two young men and even spoke to them. Judy took her arm and pulled her away whispering, “You’re wasting your time. They don’t even own a car.”

Sally shivered and John woke up. “It is chilly in here,” John said as he rose. “Should I get a sweater from your room?”

Sally stood, too. “No thank you. I am tired. It’s been a long day.” She stepped to Gabby’s side of the table and watched Art’s face as she said, “I’m so glad Art found you. He loves
St. Charles and his life here.”

Art laughed, too loudly for good manners. “Judy’s lover killed himself,” he said, as if he followed her walk among their memories.

Sally sat back down. Art and Glenn, Glenn was his name, were the best of friends. “You were inseparable,” she added sympathetically.

“They were,” Gabby was off again, recounting more stories. She didn’t notice Art’s face or the tears sliding down his cheek, unchecked.

Sally interrupted, “I remember a record you two bought that promised to arouse your dates. What was its name?”

Art wiped his face. “Frank Sinatra,” he said and lifted his glass in a sort of goodbye wave.

Sally got up and fled to her room. She looked at the pile of papers, which contained Mary Jo’s latest journal and address book. She placed the index cards Art had given her on top of them, but couldn’t think about Mary Jo. She was overwhelmed by the past and how lucky she had been to escape the disaster of St. Charles, when she did. She remembered meeting Danny, an ex-con serving bar at the Elks Club in Elgin. How she missed Danny’s olive-toned skin, his thick hair, turned white since he was in his twenties from the antibiotics they gave him in Viet Nam for the syphilis he was too much of a scared virgin to contract, about the nude she had sketched of him on her bedroom wall after he died. How she missed him, how much he had convinced her she was loved.

A bitter sweetness enveloped her. Robert Koelz would understand the ebb and flow of her emotions. Robert. Sally dressed for bed in pink silk pajamas and cradled Mary Jo’s paper trail to her chest as she climbed up into the canopied bed. Time to study how to clear Robert.

The July 20
th
entry in Mary Jo’s journal seemed close enough to the present mayhem to start. It was written in Greg shorthand. Sally’s could only translate the most carefully written words. ‘Husband’ was always capitalized. Some details were lost, but the word ‘pain’ was underlined as were the words ‘bruises’ and ‘escape.’

Sally skipped to August 1
st
. In Mary Jo’s relaxed script she read, “Ricco will be served divorce papers at Dukane this morning. My face is too swollen to go to work. I’m all packed. My lawyer, Sue Pike’s kid brother, promises I will be safe. I’m not sure. I buried my ring in the backyard next to the rose bush he gave me the first time he broke my ring finger. The funny thing is, I’m sad. I guess for all the broken promises of happiness, of the forever of marriage. But it is more important to live, to feel safe, to at least have a second chance. Mother said it was important to be happy. Life is so short.”

Mother. Where did Mary Jo’s mother live? Sally reached for the address book. Robert had remembered
St. Louis for Mary Jo’s husband. Harvey was supposed to check it out. What was Mary Jo’s maiden name? Sally started in the ‘A’ section. Not until the ‘S’ section did Sally notice the number of similar last names and addresses in Florida. Orlando, Vero Beach, Tampa, all had the name ‘Staples’ listed.

“Family,” Sally said. They must be family.
Eleven o’clock, too late to be making social calls. Sally closed the address book and slipped into dreamland. Danny was taking her picture in her exercise tights.

“Let your hair fall a little on your face,” Danny directed.

In the dream her hair was still dark, natural curly, unruly. But Danny loved her and she him, to the bottom of his perfect feet, and the way he placed one hand on his belt, jutting his hip toward the world. My, he was fine.

Bibliopole

September, Thursday

Andrew Sites received the stack of cards with a quizzical expression on his face. Sally explained for the lawyer as well as Robert. “Ricco and Mary Jo Cardonè’s information while they were in St. Charles.”

“Ricco’s arrest record,” Andrew said, handing a blue card to Robert.

“No wonder he left Illinois,” Robert said after reading the information.

Penny whisked the card from Robert’s hand. “Do the
Ann Arbor police know Robert’s accuser was incarcerated this many times?”

“They knew he had a record,” Andrew said, holding out his hand for the return of the card. “That’s why Robert’s bail was waived.”

“You could skip the country,” Penny told Robert. “We could move to Canada.”

“That would hardly clear his name,” Sally said, somewhat alarmed by the prospect of losing Robert Koelz to
Canada’s wasteland.

“I have already given the license plate number of Mary Jo’s van to the police,” Andrew said. “You did a great job. I hope
Harvey has friends in the police department in Kansas City.”

“
Harvey has friends on the entire planet,” Robert said, already in the sauce.

Sally checked her watch to confirm the inappropriateness of his intoxication.
Two o’clock in the afternoon. “Did you wait until after lunch, at least?” Sally asked him.

“We haven’t had lunch,” Penny said.

Andrew shook his head. “Robert, you need to keep a steady head for a couple weeks.”

“Nothing wrong with my head,” Robert said. “My ticker’s been racing and a sip of sherry slows it down, a bit.”

“When was the last time you had a physical? Sally asked, still irked because he was drinking. She realized part of the problem was she wanted to finish more than one bottle of cream sherry and now wouldn’t be soon enough to start. At least her friends respected her history and didn’t offer her favorite poison. Sally reminded herself Robert wasn’t an alcoholic until he acknowledged it; or rather, not accepting his addiction to alcohol guaranteed the continued consumption of Robert by the booze.

“Doctors are idiots,” Robert said. “But I could eat.”

“I need to talk to you, Robert,” Andrew said, checking his watch.

“I’ll go down to the Red Fox and bring you back soup and bread,” Sally offered.

“I’ll go with you,” Penny suggested.

She was a sweet child. Sally did like her and wouldn’t mind the company while she waited, or the extra arms to carry back the food. The wait for the order seemed exceedingly long. “I’m still tired from the trip,” Sally conceded.

“You look great,” Penny said. “I hope I can keep myself up, when I’m your age.”

“Oh thanks,” Sally said. “I’m not nearly as decrepit as all that.”

“No, no,” Penny blushed. “Didn’t I say it right? You look great.”

Sally nodded and tried to smile away the sag of her chin and the mean lines around her mouth. “You’ll always be a beauty, Penny.”

“I hope I don’t get fat,” she said. “I really love to eat.”

“You have so much energy. I’m sure you won’t stomach becoming a lazy person.”

“I’m still a virgin,” Penny said.

“Out of the blue.” Sally didn’t want to talk about the subject.

“I wanted you to know.”

“No,” Sally said. “You wanted me to explain why Robert hasn’t made a move on you.”

“Right,” Penny admitted.

“He’s a eunuch.” Sally hoped she would not need to give further details.

“From the war.” Penny’s blue eyes widened in appreciation, or alarm.

“No, his wife was a virgin when she divorced him,” Sally further enlightened her.

“She’s pregnant now,” Penny said.

“Is she?” Robert had not told Sally this new evidence of his failure. “When did he find out?”

“While you were in Illinois.” Penny traced the outline of a glass’ bottom, which remained eternalized on the surface of the wooden restaurant table. “Nancy stopped by. She’s six months pregnant.”

“A pretty picture to set before the king,” Sally said, wondering if she had gotten high from the fumes of stale alcohol in the Bibliopole.

“He wasn’t happy,” Penny said. “I can tell you that.”

“He surely didn’t say anything out of the way to her, for heaven’s sake?”

“No, no, Robert congratulated her, asked the due date, hoped to see the child when he ‘popped out’.”

“Popped out?” Sally asked.

“That’s how Robert put it.” Penny hung her head. “His ex-wife laughed.”

“You don’t want to have children, do you?” Sally asked with sincere curiosity.

“Yes,” Penny was pouting now. “Why not? I’m healthy. I want Robert’s child.”

“Well, that will be a problem.” Sally’s stomach was churning and she waved the waitress over to rescue her. But she added for Penny’s mollification, “I’m sure Robert was flattered.”

“He said he was,” Penny continued to study the wood grain of the table. “But he didn’t do anything about it.”

“I hope I’ve explained why he can’t,” Sally said.

The waitress arrived, somewhat slowly Sally noted, and took their order. “Three chicken sandwiches, one creamed tomato soup to-go, two glasses of milk, and a pot of tea. Is there anything else you would like, Penny?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“She is,” Sally explained for the waitress. “French fries, sour cream, a veggie burger and a cup of coffee.”

“Beer,” Penny said.

“Orange Juice,” Sally instructed the waitress, “And coffee.”

“Why can’t he?” Penny wouldn’t let go of the bone.

“I don’t know,” Sally tried.

“Yes you do,” Penny insisted.

“What makes you think, I know?” Sally asked.

“Because Robert says you’ve known him longer than Henry Schaeffer.”

“Well that’s not true,” Sally said, somewhat shocked at Robert’s lie. “I met Robert a year before my husband died. He was in a coma. My husband, not Robert. That was seven years ago.”

“Why did he lie to me?” Sally could see Penny’s ire was rising and the food hadn’t arrived to calm the surge in negative energy.

“Maybe he was confused,” Sally said. Then she decided to change the subject, sort of. “Have you ever read Hemmingway’s ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’?”

“No,” Penny said, sipping the tardy but arrived orange juice.

As the food was served, Sally spilled some of Robert’s beans. “Well the story Robert tells about being a spy behind enemy lines in the Second World War, is word for word in the book. Remember how the hero falls over a brick wall to pick an early spring blossom and lands on the fat, dead enemy soldier? How he went through his pockets and found a picture of a fat wife and baby?” Sally breathed a sip of hot tea for fortification, “that’s all in Hemmingway’s tale.”

“You’re kidding,” Penny said, finally interested in something besides her own hide.

Sally shook her head, happily immersed in her chicken sandwich. Thank God, Penny had forgotten to inquire about the nature of Robert’s inability to perform. There was a medical term for having only one testicle because the other remains internal, but Sally couldn’t recall the word and certainly didn’t want to impart the exact information. Robert had told her the story of being so immature looking at the age of thirty the mailman commanded him to stop playing hooky and get back to school.

Penny and Sally marched back to the shop equipped with Robert’s food and their own satiated stomachs. Mrs. Clankton, Robert’s landlady, was talking to Andrew. Robert was pouring himself another drink, not into the glass, down his throat from a water glass.

Penny set the luncheon items before him, removing the glass in his hand and replacing it with a spoon for the soup.

“Thanks,” Robert said, sheepishly; but enough of an imp to wink at Sally.

Robert was a handsome man. His attempt to mimic Mark Twain’s looks might have been more authentic if his hair hadn’t been so curly and contained more grey than white. His moustache wasn’t white either; but Sally always imagined a white silk suit would help the likeness.

During her first contact with Robert’s embrace, way before Penny’s arrival on the bookshop scene, Sally had noticed the smell of apples in his hair. The aroma did not come from cologne. Rather, given the daily evidence, from the cream sherry traces left on Robert’s fingers from pouring glass after glass for his customers and himself. Sally tuned into Andrew’s interrogation of Mrs. Clankton.

“She was nude in my bathroom on Sunday morning,” Mrs. Clankton was saying. “She could have at least locked the door.”

“Mary Jo?” Penny asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Clankton said, reclasping her purse with a bang.

“My apologies for her,” Robert called out, waving his soupspoon.

Mrs. Clankton grinned. Another smitten female. Mrs. Clankton was over eighty. The range of Robert’s conquests was phenomenal. The poor ladies, all needing a male ear more than any other item of Robert’s physique.

Penny was glaring.

Robert offered her his emptied Styrofoam cup of soup for disposal. She threw it away for him and returned to his outstretched arms, cuddling in his lap as he rocked his desk chair.

No harm there.

“Call a cab for Mrs. Clankton,” Andrew directed Sally as he left. “I’ll be back this evening. Harvey might be in town with more information. You did a great job in Illinois, Sally.”

When the cab finally arrived, Sally shielded Mrs. Clankton from the wind. She offered her arm and Mrs. Clankton clung to it. Such a frail body, Sally worried the wind might actually pick the woman up and sail her home. She owned the house on
Ann Street Robert lived in. Sally was sure Mrs. Clankton’s family didn’t know the opera and concert companion they had agreed to house, entertained livelier company.

Good heavens. Robert could have at least lent a robe to his latest guest. Sunday morning. Three days before Robert was arrested. How far could a fugitive from the hands of an abusive husband travel in three days? Mary Jo Cardonè could be in
Florida. Sally wondered if Mary Jo owned a passport. Andrew would know that. At least the police were looking for her van with her license number.

Sally hoped Mary Jo was safe. Then Robert would be free to find his own salvation. Sally thought she should suggest Penny follow Alanon’s directions to muddle through the next few months of court dates without permanent damage. Poor kid, in a way two fathers were letting her down, one to suicide and one to a slower self-destructive act of alcoholism.

After a long afternoon nap in her condominium, Sally cooked a substantial supper for herself of baked sweet potatoes, a pork chop, and corn. A shower and change of attire and lots more make-up allowed Sally to return to the Bibliopole around eight o’clock at night, the usual time for her appearance. Andrew, Harvey and Miss Poi attended the bookman. Penny was nowhere in sight. Sally failed to inquire about her.

“Ricco Cardonè killed his second wife in
Missouri,” Robert said, quite cheerfully, by way of greeting.

If Sally could have believed Robert was sober, she would have. But Sally knew his habits too well. She turned to
Harvey for confirmation.

“Only a remote possibility,”
Harvey said.

“We would have to pay to have the body exhumed,” Andrew explained.

“He drove nails through the heads of puppies while his children watched.” Robert was sober for a moment.

“Children?” Sally asked.

“With the second wife apparently,” Harvey said. “At least, his first wife is still alive. She’s taking care of the four children.”

“Will she testify against him?” Andrew asked.

“She said to send her a train ticket and she would be here,” Harvey said. “Her sister was Ricco’s second wife. All his children, two boys and two girls, are named Ricco.”

A chill went up Sally’s spine in spite of her cashmere sweeter. “A monster is on the loose.”

“With apparently no way to rein him in,” Harvey intoned. He raised his head from petting Miss Poi. “We should put a bounty on his head.”

“No,” Andrew said. “The police are keeping an eye on him.”

“Well that’s good news,” Sally said. “That will do a lot of good, if he decides to harm any of us.” Sally looked around again. “Where is Penny?”

Robert sat straight up. “He wouldn’t.”

Andrew straightened in his chair. “Do you know where Penny is, Robert?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling on his curls. It was a wonder he wasn’t bald. “She called from her folk’s home in
Toledo. Needed time to think.”

If her blood could have pumped hard enough for her to blush, Sally would have. She realized their luncheon conversation had surely sent Penny off to
Toledo. “When is she coming home?” Sally asked, cagey with her polite inquiry.

“She’ll be here before her morning class,” Robert answered, head held a little higher with rightful pride.

“A pretty child,” Harvey mentioned. “Gorgeous, really.”