The woman shouted again, and Bertha called out, “Wait a minute.”
Toni Matulis, still in uniform, looking like a little girl dressed up in her daddy’s clothes, smiled at Bertha through the back glass.
“You have to go around,” Bertha said, then gestured.
“What?”
“You have to go around front. This door’s nailed shut.”
Toni looked startled; she shrugged and turned.
Bertha watched her hesitate by the steps, then reach for the Tupperware container full of spaghetti that sat on the back porch from last night.
Great, thought Bertha. She rushed to the bathroom, quickly peed, washed her hands, splashed water on her face, and then brushed her teeth. She glanced at her messed-up hair and grabbed her baseball cap as the front doorbell rang.
“Did you forget?” asked Toni. “Should I make this another time?”
“No. No, come in.” Bertha stepped aside.
Toni walked into the living room, looked around, taking in the mess, and said, “Why is your back door nailed shut?”
“It’s a long story,” Bertha said. “Come on in the kitchen, and I’ll start some coffee.”
Toni followed Bertha through the arched doorway and handed her a bag. “I stopped and got cinnamon rolls on the way over.”
Bertha set them on the kitchen table and smiled at her. “Thanks.”
Toni put the Tupperware down on the counter and said, “If you didn’t want the spaghetti, you could have said so.”
“First of all, I don’t remember getting the chance to say anything,” Bertha said defensively, “and second, I did want the spaghetti, but we had some excitement here last night. Then I got your call about George and I forgot. I’m sorry.”
Toni examined the hole where the doorknob used to be.
“I’d like to have your spaghetti again. It was very good.”
“Do you sleep like that?” Toni asked. “With a baseball cap?”
“Girl, you don’t want to see what’s under this.” Bertha remembered that the only other thing she had on was a big T‑shirt. “I’ll get dressed while the coffee brews.”
“Don’t do it on my account,” Toni in a softer tone.
Bertha thought she’d better get dressed on her own account. She noticed that the milk and the snack-cake wrappers from last night were still on the table.
“I don’t use milk,” said Toni. “I like my coffee black.”
Bertha grabbed the open milk carton and poured it down the drain.
“My God, you don’t have to do that.”
“Left it out all night.” Bertha chuckled. “So, you take your coffee like you take your men?”
Toni flushed. “This is a side of you I don’t like.”
Bertha felt off balance. She didn’t understand why the Leon thing irritated her. She shrugged and mumbled an apology. Why was she having trouble letting go of Toni’s past? What had Toni done that Bertha hadn’t participated in herself? Except, of course, slept with a man and have a mixed daughter. She and Toni didn’t know each other very well. Of course, there was that kiss. Bertha switched on the coffee maker, snatched up the Little Debbie wrappers, and said, “I’ll only be a minute. You make yourself at home.” Then she hurried into the bedroom.
Safe in her own room, Bertha dug two Tylenol out of the carpet and swallowed them without the benefit of water.
The window air conditioner had over‑cooled the bedroom during the night. Bertha went to her closet and grabbed something yellow. She entered the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing a sweatshirt with the arms cut out and faded cutoff jeans. “Do you think I can get into my building this morning?”
“After last night,” Toni said, “I don’t think anyone can get in.”
Bertha poured the coffee, set it on the table a little too hard, and said, “I have a wage assignment, and I have to have it in court this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry. All the other tenants are in the same fix.”
“How can you keep me out of my place of business?” Bertha felt angry. She could probably call the state’s attorney, she still had a few connections there, but by the time she got it all straightened out, she could be bankrupt.
Toni sighed. “I can’t keep you out. But homicide can and will.”
“That stinks. I need the money. A woman whose ex‑husband is screwing her out of child support needs to go before a judge.”
“You have a computer here?” Toni asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“You ever back up the office files?”
Bertha thought for a minute. Alvin took backups and kept them at home. He’d have a version of the wage-assignment file. Once she had that, she could fill in the blanks and put on her panty hose. “That might work.”
Toni pulled a cinnamon roll out and shoved the package toward Bertha. She lifted her hat off and set it on the edge of the table, where it took up a fairly large space. She laid her keys—actually, four keys and a Swiss Army knife on a ring—next to the hat. Sunlight that came through the kitchen window danced in the fiery red strands that fell across Toni’s forehead. Ignoring the paper napkin holder in the center of the table, Tony licked sticky sugar from the tips of her fingers, met Bertha’s eyes seductively, and said, “So George Pickrell called you Saturday night?”
“Yes, it was almost midnight.” Was she flirting? Bertha couldn’t get involved right now. The timing was bad.
“Do you remember what he said?”
Bertha tried to focus on the phone call. “Something about the mailboxes—something he noticed the night of Joe Morescki’s death.”
“That was it?”
“Yeah,” Bertha said. “My grandma phoned about the fire. I told him I’d call back, but in all the excitement I forgot.” The strong coffee wasn’t sitting well, and she stifled a burning burp.
“I understand.” Toni leaned toward Bertha and smiled. “How’s your grandma holding up?”
“She’s doing all right. I’m starting to think she and I are more involved in this mess than it seems on the surface. I’m afraid for her.”
“Maybe we should have the beat cop circle by her house as often as possible. To check on her.”
“That would ease my mind. Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know why I said that about Leon. I was out of line.”
“Forget it.” After an awkward silence she added, “Let’s get back to George, okay?”
“George said he thought he might have a clue about Joe Morescki’s murder, and now George is dead too.”
“Sure it is.” Toni crossed the kitchen to get the coffee pot and refilled her own cup.
Bertha sat up straight as Toni leaned across in front of her to pour coffee. A soft, powdery aroma left her a little light‑headed.
Bertha forced her thoughts back to the topic. “There’s more.”
“You mean the excitement here last night?”
“The woman who originally said she was Sally Morescki broke into my apartment. She was waiting for me when I got home.”
Toni looked at Bertha with interest. “Go on.”
Bertha told her about Kim Cornwell’s visit, their conversation, and how Kim left as the policeman came up the walk. When she was finished, they sat quietly for a moment.
At last Toni said, “You think Kim Cornwell’s a murderer?”
“No. She’s too small. How could she overpower Joe? George was an old man, but I’m sure even he could put up a fight.”
Toni mused. “Maybe she charmed them like she did you.”
Bertha ignored the dig. For some reason her thoughts turned to Madame Soccoro, but she shook them off. “What about the Morescki file Kim told me about and the urban-renewal project?”
Toni shrugged. “She’s an established liar.”
Bertha remembered Madame Soccoro’s warning. In defense of herself, she said, “Did you see Joe Morescki’s body? If he sat down in that chair and let someone slash his throat, the murderer had to have the upper hand.”
&nb
sp; “Or he trusted someone he shouldn’t.”
This time she didn’t add, “like you,” but Bertha heard it. “Maybe,” she admitted.
“I’m just trying to put the pieces together. Look, I need to call the babysitter and tell her I’m going to be late.”
“Phone’s right behind you.”
While Toni was on the phone, Bertha rummaged in the top cabinet over the sink, past the vitamin capsules that she bought with determination, took for a few days, left on the kitchen table for months, and finally put away. She had one antacid left. She could hear Toni telling the babysitter she’d be a few hours late, because she had some paperwork to catch up from the murder last night. Was she lying to the babysitter, Bertha wondered, and if so, why?
Toni hung up, turned to Bertha, and smiled. “I feel like we got off to a bad start. I want to get to know you better.”
Bertha shrugged nervously. “Okay. How about dinner Friday night?”
“That would be lovely.” Toni stepped toward her.
Bertha involuntarily backed up until she was against the refrigerator. She generally liked women in uniform, any kind of uniform. She loved Colleen’s nursing whites. She was fond of mail carriers, security guards, military, and especially the UPS women. But Toni Matulis in a police uniform made her anxious. This was moving too fast, whatever it was. They hadn’t talked about the boundaries. Was it going to be a sex thing or a relationship thing? It was too soon to sleep together. Bertha had never gone to bed with a woman she’d known for such a short time. Well, almost never.
Toni tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
She wants me to kiss her, thought Bertha, sucking on the minty antacid. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but Toni had a kid and probably no lesbian experience. Bertha had never been interested in bringing straight women out. Leave that to some masochistic stone butch, she thought. Actually, she wasn’t sure if she was over Colleen. She thought about calling her A.A. sponsor and realized she didn’t have time. How long had it been since she’d slept with a woman when she wasn’t high on something? Did she even know how anymore? The last time with Colleen was almost two years ago. Okay, twenty months. Bertha took a deep breath and then slowly bent and kissed her.
Toni leaned into it, pressing her body against Bertha.
The kiss stirred up everything, feelings Bertha had forgotten were there. She pulled away to take a breath and remembered the sudden kiss the night before. Why me? Why not some slender, white, boyish athletic type who wears Dockers, drives an SUV, and doesn’t have two fresh murders in her life? She put her hands on Toni’s shoulders and gently pushed her back.
“Things are moving very fast here. I don’t usually go further than this until the third date. It’s my policy.”
Toni said, “Could you make an exception? Just this one time. I got a babysitter and all.”
That was all Bertha needed. What little control she had was gone. She covered Toni’s moist lips and kissed her again. Bertha pushed her pelvis forward, working her knee between Toni’s legs and almost lifting her off the floor. Toni’s arms were around Bertha’s neck, and Bertha was braced against the refrigerator when the phone rang.
“Damn,” Bertha said, untangling herself. “I need to answer this.”
Toni collapsed in a kitchen chair. Her hands trembled as she brought her cup to her lips.
Bertha picked up the phone and shouted, “Hello!” She squeezed her thighs together to stop the tingling but only made it worse.
“Bertha, what’s wrong with you?” said Alvin.
“Nothing. I’m busy.”
“Well, I’m here at work, and I can’t get in the building. It seems the security guard was killed this weekend.”
I know.” Bertha no longer wanted to talk to Alvin, to her sponsor, or to anyone else.
“Hey, did you run for the phone?”
“I was doing aerobics with that television woman.” Bertha met Toni’s eyes, smiled, and shrugged.
“Good for you. Well, I’m going over to the Municipal Building to talk to Bob since I’m down this way. Anything else you want me to do?”
Bertha tried to think. At last she said, “You have the backup programs for the PC at the office?”
“They’re at home. You need them?”
“I was thinking that I could get the wage assignment template off them.”
“Good idea. Want me to bring them by or you want to come over to my place?”
“I don’t know right now. Call me back when you’re done at City Contracts.”
“Do you have the figures?”
“What?” Bertha couldn’t concentrate.
“The amount Mr. Reed is in arrears.”
“Oh, Mrs. Reed was to have that information for me this morning. I’ll call her as soon as we’re off the phone.”
“Right. Talk to you later.”
Bertha hung up and turned to Toni Matulis, who was watching her. At the moment all the reasons seemed like nothing. She didn’t want to talk about what they were doing; she just wanted to do it. She anxiously asked, “How about getting to know each other better?”
Toni smiled and let her lead the way to the bedroom.
Bertha kissed Toni on the forehead. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Bertha had the hot water running and was letting the pulsing spray massage her back when Toni opened the shower curtain and stepped in. Bertha pulled her close, rubbed the soap all over her, and gently explored her lower regions, comparing. Colleen had been plump and blond, like a woman in a Renaissance painting. Toni’s body was firmer except around the hips, which were soft and wide. Her breasts were round and the nipples smaller. Bertha tried to shake away thoughts of Colleen. She focused on Toni’s lips, covering them with her own, flicking her tongue against her teeth.
Toni responded by pressing her whole body against Bertha, straddling her leg and moving against it slowly. She pulled her lips away and buried her face between Bertha’s breasts.
“Hey,” Bertha said, softly pressing her lips against Toni’s hair. “Let’s get into bed where I can do this right.”
Toni turned her face upward. Her breathing was deep and slow. “You’re going to make me stop?”
“Just for a minute.”
Back in the bedroom, Bertha pulled the shades, straightened the blankets, kicked some of the remaining Tylenol under the bed, and slid between the covers.
The bathroom door closed and Toni was beside the bed lifting the blanket. Her hair hung in damp ringlets around her freckled shoulders. She quickly lay down next to Bertha and rolled to face her.
Bertha cupped her hands under Toni’s fleshy bottom and held her close. She remembered Colleen and told herself she had to do better this time. She pulled back, raised up on one elbow, and watched her brown finger trace Toni’s creamy breast and pink nipple.
Be gentle, thought Bertha, do this right. She looked upward and thought, okay, Goddess, help me treat this one nicer than the last. Then she shifted her weight, straddled the pink lady, and started behaving as nicely as she could.
Chapter Seventeen
Much to Bertha’s dismay, Toni Matulis wept when it was over. The sex had been alive and electric. Bertha, who rarely came the first time with anyone, came quickly and shamelessly, minutes after Toni’s fingers penetrated her. Toni eagerly tried again, pushing deep into Bertha’s slippery, rose-colored folds. And when Bertha had driven Toni to a frenzy for the third time, she lay panting in Bertha’s arms and wept.
Bertha stroked her hair and held her close, feeling uncomfortable. “What’s this about?”
Toni sniffed and didn’t answer.
Bertha tried again. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Toni’s voice was muffled by Bertha’s shoulder. “I feel happy.”
“Oh, stop,” said Bertha. “You’ll get me started too.”
“You have a tissue?”
Bertha reached to the floor and passed Toni th
e damp towel she’d dropped earlier. “Use this. It’s laundry day.” It wasn’t, but who cared?
Toni buried her face in the towel and blew her nose.
“That better?” Bertha asked.
Toni nodded. “It’s just that it’s been so long. I thought I’d die if you didn’t touch me.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re still alive.”
Toni laughed. “You must think I’m a tramp.”
“My grandma would think you’re a tramp. I haven’t figured out what I think you are. I mean, yesterday I thought you were straight.”
Toni sighed and hiccupped. “I had a thing with my best friend in high school. We were on the track team together. Sometimes I told myself that everybody experimented. Sometimes I thought I might be bisexual. I forgot about most of that a long time ago. At least until I met you.”
“Sex was good with Leon?”
Toni scooted to a sitting position and drew her knees up to her chest. Her eyes were moist and her nose was red. “Yes, sex was good with Leon. It threw me how much I wanted sex with you.”
“Threw me a little too.”
“You remind me of him.”
Bertha sat up straight. “Leon? I remind you of Leon? Was he a blonde too?”
Toni gave Bertha’s head a playful shove.
Bertha lay back on her pillow. “How am I like Leon?”
“You’re big and gentle like he was. You couldn’t fire on a sixteen-year-old either. But, in your line of work, that probably won’t get you killed.”
Bertha looked at the ceiling, thought for a moment. “No one could fire on a sixteen-year-old kid.”
“I could—man, woman, senior citizen, or child. They point a gun at me and the talking’s over.”
“You won’t know that until the situation presents itself.”
“I think I know myself pretty well. Most of the time anyway.”
“The thing that neither of us knows right now is each other.”
“Tell me the three most important things about yourself.”
Bertha listened to their breathing and thought for a moment. Well, what the hell? She said, “My grandma raised me.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“My mother left my father and me when I was a baby. I barely remember her. After my father drank himself to death, Grandma became my parents. My Aunt Lucy, daddy’s younger sister, showed me a picture of my mother once. She was light skinned. Grandma called her high yaller. She was standing next to Aunt Lucy, both their full skirts blowing against their legs and kind of billowing out to one side. My mother was holding her broad-brimmed hat on with one hand, and I was balanced on her opposite hip. She was tall and very pretty. Grandma always said she had flyaway hair. All us Brannon women are cursed with bad hair, even my mother who was Brannon by marriage.”
Nine Nights on the Windy Tree Page 14
