Stunner (8 page)

I breeze into the foyer ready to call out, when I hear a woman’s voice speaking in low tones. The voice comes from the library, and the speaker is Juliana. I tiptoe closer and stand quietly beside the door, hidden from view.

“…oh, darling, don’t cry. I’ll see you very, very soon.” Her voice is gentle and reassuring. A pause comes as she apparently listens. “Middle school girls can be so mean. Believe me, I remember.”

Then I hear Juliana walk across the room and unlock a French door to the outside. “It sounds as if
Tía
Connie took care of it,” she says to the person on the other end of the line.

I peek in and see my brother’s girlfriend from the back, outlined against the open French door with the phone to her ear. Then she kisses into the mouthpiece. “Oh, darling, I love you very much, too.” Her voice is surprisingly warm. Who in the world is on the other end?

Juliana continues. “Now please put
Tía
Connie on the phone.” Who is
Tía
Connie? “Are you OK, Connie?” she asks. “Shall I send more money?” She listens. “OK. Love you, too.” She clicks off and hangs up the phone.

I wonder if Frank knows who
Tía
Connie is. I go back to the front door and slam it as if the wind has blown it shut. “Hi! Anybody home?” I call out.

“In the library, Ronnie,” Juliana shouts back.

Walking across to the door of the library, I stick my head in with a big smile. Juliana is sitting on a long white sofa flipping through a magazine. She looks up, cool as a cucumber.

“Hi, Juliana.” Smiling at her, I march over to Frank’s desk. “Found a book that my brother might enjoy.” I place the book on top of his stack of mail and sigh, rubbing my forehead. “I thought when my kids left the nest, I would stop worrying. No such luck. You have kids, Juliana?”

First a long pause as she puts the magazine aside, then, “I have four stepchildren.” She looks at me with curiosity. “Is one of yours giving you a tough time?”

“My youngest. Jess,” I answer honestly. “We’re working on financial responsibility…I remember it being much easier with Tommy and Brooke, but maybe that’s my imagination.” I scribble a quick note to Frank and tuck it inside the book.

“Frank and I love to read, and we’re always trading books. You have any brothers or sisters, Juliana?”

“No, I was an only child.” Her voice is even.

“Oh.” I pause. “I can’t imagine growing up as an only child. Frank, Peter, and I, well, we always had each other’s back. Frank and I still do.”

“When you’re an only child, you learn to look out for yourself.” Juliana looks neither sad nor happy, but merely neutral.

“How about cousins?” I then ask. “They can be like siblings.”

“No, no close cousins.” She volunteers nothing more.

The silence is deafening, and I’m eager to fill it. “So, how’s your day going?”

“Great. Frank will be back in about…” She looks at her watch. “…twenty minutes. He’s taking me to visit a farm that he says makes the most delicious cheeses.”

I like that place. “Oh, that’s Valley Farm Creamery. I only call them for special occasions, or I’d be eating their cheeses nonstop. You’ll have a great time.” I straighten some books on a shelf. “I also have a fun outing on the agenda.”

Juliana smiles politely. “Where are you going, Ronnie?”

“Well, I’m on the board of a foundation that funds programs for kids. I just found out about one that I want to check out over in Pennsylvania.” I sit on the corner of Frank’s desk where I can look directly at Juliana to watch for a reaction. “So it’s a little further than driving to the creamery.”

“How interesting.” Juliana’s eyes say
tell me more
. She’s giving me her full attention, the same way I watched her listen to our guests at cocktails the other night. “What do they do?”

“It’s supposed to be a successful school drug prevention program up in Scranton, of all places.” I give her my version of her laser-beam gaze. “And what’s really interesting is that the guy who created it had a police record as a teenager. He used to be in a gang, was arrested, then placed in juvenile detention.”

I watch Juliana’s face carefully for any sign of recognition. Okay then, the moment of truth. “The man’s name is Joe Taylor. He really turned his life around, and now he helps other young people do the same.”

Nothing. I see no flicker of reaction when I say the name. Whatever Juliana may know, she gives nothing away. “What an amazing story, Ronnie. How exciting to go meet someone like that.”

She’s polite in a reserved way, but I don’t give up. “If Frank deserts you for a conference call or unexpected meeting, would you like to come along? I’m probably going tomorrow and I’d love some company,” I say. “It’d be fun.”

“Thanks, Ronnie, but Frank says he wants to take me into the city tomorrow.” She looks at her watch and suddenly gets up from the sofa. “He should be back any moment. I need to run upstairs now and get ready. Please excuse me.”

She heads for the door but stops before leaving the room, turning back to me with that enigmatic smile. “Thanks for the invitation, though, Ronnie. Some other time.” She leaves.

She’s smooth. She’s very smooth. Yep, Frank’s got himself a real woman of mystery.

A funny thing happens when I pull off the highway halfway to Scranton. While waiting in line for a cup of coffee, I look through the window by the cashier and notice a nondescript Toyota idling off to the side. I wouldn’t give it a second thought except this particular vehicle has a good-sized dent on the passenger-side front fender, very much like the dent in the nondescript Toyota at Meadow Farm.

I can’t read the numbers on the license—too far away—but the car has New Jersey plates. Hard to see who’s sitting behind the wheel. As I pull out my distance glasses to get a better look, the car shifts into drive, and all I see is the blur of a baseball cap and big sunglasses going by before the Toyota darts back onto the highway.

Wait a minute. Couldn’t be. At any rate, isn’t Juliana on her way to New York with Frank today? Strange.

Anyway, when I made the appointment with Joe Taylor soon after talking to Will, I told him I’d heard all about his successful drug abuse prevention program. And since I planned to be in the area, would he have time to tell me more about it? Of course I’m really interested in finding out what’s become of the Scranton Gang.

Truthfully, some friends do have a small family foundation in New Jersey, and I’m on the board. Joe Taylor’s program does actually fit the funding mission of this foundation. So he and I spend a half-hour discussing the challenges his nonprofit faces.

“Joe, this is all very intriguing,” I say. “I’ll bring it to my fellow board members at our next meeting.” I leaf through the contents of a folder Joe has given me. “We’ll see if we can be helpful and get back to you shortly for an official funding request.” I stop when I get to his biography and read through it quickly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lake,” Joe then says. “I appreciate your interest and the possibility of the foundation supporting our work. With the economy so tough, outside funding dropped thirty percent last year, and, to be honest, we’re scrambling.”

“Please call me Ronnie,” I say. “And I hope it’s all right if I call you Joe?” He nods yes and pushes his thinning black hair off his high forehead. I refer to his bio page. “Your personal story is compelling, and I’m sure a big reason why you’ve been successful.” Joe smiles modestly, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his khaki-clad legs.

I flip through other pages in the folder. “Before coming here for this appointment, I researched both your program and you.” He looks at me curiously. “I even read up on the Scranton Gang.”

Joe’s dark, almost black, eyes become more guarded. “That’s so far back. How’d you—”

“No, please, Joe. The way you turned your life around is an inspiration. And from what I’ve been able to learn, your brother, well, his life went in the opposite direction.” I lean back in my chair too. “What I want to know is how does one brother make his life work so well, while the other one blows it?”

Joe gives me a long, hard look. “Are you really here to consider funding my program? How’d you even hear about the Scranton Gang?”

“It’s not so difficult to find out these things,” I say, sidestepping the fact that it also helps to have a connected P.I. working for you. “I’m definitely here to learn about you and your program so the foundation can consider a grant.”

His expression is now one of suspicion. “Is something else going on that I should know about?” He stands up. “I think we ought to wrap up this meeting.” He walks to the door.

“Please, Joe, wait.” Damn. Did I blow it, again, like at the Moosic Motel with the desk clerk? Am I coming on too strong, too direct? In a panic, I dive back in. “Joe, I mean no harm. You worked hard to turn your life around and have succeeded brilliantly in doing so. You’re an inspiration. Please, I mean that sincerely.”

He walks back to his desk. “Thank you.”

But I can’t leave it alone. “Why was it the opposite for your brother?”

Joe stares at me, sits down, and, I guess, makes a decision to play ball. “I believe in the power of one-to-one mentoring. In my case, a teacher early on took an interest and helped set me on the right path.” He shakes his head. “Bobby never had that important advantage. Plus he didn’t want to work very hard. I tried over and over to talk to him, but he never really wanted my help. So his troubles continued.”

“What happened to Bobby?” I ask and try to relax. “Is he in the area, too?”

Having gone this far, Joe doesn’t seem inclined to stop. “I don’t know. About ten years ago, I finally gave up on trying with him. I don’t keep track of my brother anymore and have no idea where he is these days.” Joe’s eyes look sad. “But I think I’d have heard if he was around Scranton for any period of time.”

I decide to push things a little further. Maybe too far, but I keep my tone casual. “Whatever happened to Teresa Gonzalez? She was so young.” I lean in on Joe’s desk and steeple my hands. “From what I read, she sounded like the really tough one in the gang. Isn’t it unusual for the girl to be the alpha in the pack when the others are boys?”

Joe’s gives me a sharp look, but he does answer. “Teresa was our first cousin—our mothers were sisters. I don’t remember much about her father, Uncle Tony—except he had homing pigeons. But he wasn’t around much, so he gave the pigeons to Bobby and me when we were boys. Anyway, Teresa moved to Moosic with her mother, I guess when she was about ten or eleven.”

“Where did they come from?” I ask without any particular emphasis.

“Her mother worked somewhere in New York or New Jersey. I don’t remember where.” Joe looks up at the ceiling. “Anyway, they were pretty broke when they moved here. Teresa’s mom wanted to help her brother, our Uncle Marco, raise his kids after his wife died of cancer.”

“How sad.”

“Yeah, and two of those cousins got into a gang.” Joe sighs. “Teresa started acting tough, wanting to hang out with them, but they wanted nothing to do with her.”

“Did Teresa’s mother try to help her?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. She didn’t have the time. She got a job in addition to helping Uncle Marco with his boys. So Teresa was pretty much ignored. She developed real attitude.”

“Then what happened?” I want to keep Joe talking now that we’re getting somewhere.

“She decided to form her own gang and recruited Bobby and me.” Joe gazes down at his desk as if he’s looking into the past. “Teresa said we were going to be much tougher than our cousins’ gang. And in some respects we succeeded, at least in the eyes of the press, who referred to us as the Scranton Gang.” He rolls up the sleeves of his oxford shirt and appears to loosen up somewhat.

“Hey, was a guy named Frankie part of your gang?” I ask.

“Frankie? No,” he says. “I don’t know any Frankie.”

“So where’s Teresa these days? Did she turn her life around like you?” I hope my voice sounds suitably nonchalant.

“No one in our neighborhood has heard from her in a long, long time,” Joe says. “She ran away from the group home where she was living when she was sixteen. Headed South.” He snickers, and the sound isn’t nice. “Teresa always wanted to live at Disney World,” he sneers, “and be close to the Cinderella Castle—her favorite fairy tale. Hah.”

He pauses, and the derision evaporates from his face. “I did hear she actually got a job down there, I think in housekeeping.”

“How’d she make that happen?” I try not to sound overly eager. “I mean, she was on the run and underage.”

“She probably changed her name,” Joe answers me. “Remember, in those days, pre-9/11, employers weren’t always a stickler for workers’ papers. And maybe Teresa found a way to get fake ones.” Again, he’s in his own long-ago world.

I rub my neck. “How do you get started in a new place at such a young age if you just show up and don’t know a soul?”

“First, Teresa wanted to grow up fast, and she looked older, so that helps. Second, I heard there was another kid from the group home,” Joe responds. “Uh, Carmela. Carmela Suarez. She’d aged out at eighteen and moved to Orlando. Maybe they connected.”

“Amazing how fearless these kids are.” I wish I could ask Joe if Bobby ever attacked Teresa, but I’m concerned he’ll get suspicious again and clam up for good.

“What’s amazing,” he goes on, “is that I heard Teresa worked her way up to a job as one of those fairy tale characters who interact with the kids visiting Disney World.”

“Imagine that,” I say.

“I remember she was great with children. Teresa was in big demand as a babysitter in Moosic before she created the Scranton Gang. And she was such a beautiful girl.” Joe leans into his desk. He laughs and shrugs. “Hey, maybe she stayed in Florida and turned her life around, too, instead of ending up like my brother.”

Oh, the hell with it. I’m going to ask. “Joe, this is a bit delicate. Do you think Bobby ever went after your cousin Teresa? You know, maybe attacked her?” I regret my question the minute the words are out of my mouth.

His eyes go hard. I almost flinch, the change is so extreme.