Nine Nights on the Windy Tree

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Nine Nights on the Windy Tree Page 31

by Martha Miller


  “Where are the bonds now?”

  Sally frowned and tilted her head. “Don’t you have them?”

  “Me?”

  “I mailed them to you with a long letter,” Sally said.

  Bertha shook her head. Had whoever killed Joe found them? She remembered the mailbox that had been broken into on the day of Joe Morescki’s death. Had the bonds been stolen?

  Sally leaned forward. “You didn’t get them?”

  Bertha remembered the package Alvin had left on her desk yesterday. She’d stuffed it in her desk drawer unopened. Bertha stood. “I’ve got to go.”

  There was a tremor in Sally’s voice. “Bertha, do you have the bonds?”

  Bertha said, “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Sally followed Bertha outside, talking excitedly. “Six million dollars, Bertha. You’ve got to find them.”

  “Who all knew you put them in the mail?”

  Sally stopped, put a hand to her forehead, and thought.

  Bertha waited.

  “Joe knew,” Sally said at last. “He went to your office to look for them. I can’t say who he told. I wanted to suggest that to you the first time you came here, but Jelly interrupted us. Then, I panicked and called Mark Mossman.” Sally met Bertha’s eyes. “Mark knew.”

  Bertha’s head was pounding. She was tired. The image of Mark Mossman the day he came to the office flashed in her mind. The pink shirt. Paisley tie. His crude tattoos. He’d told her he came to give her some information. He’d been in her office right after the second time she’d met with Sally.

  Bertha said, “You had a second chance to tell me the truth.”

  Sally nodded. “Your visit came right after I had lunch with Lucy. I’m sorry. The two of us talked about you. I was worried for your safety, and Lucy was worried about Grandma, like always. I knew that eventually you would get my letter. I’m sorry. I couldn’t deal with your lifetime of anger right then. I felt fragile.”

  Bertha considered this. “I think you have more to worry about than my anger.”

  They stood in the shade of the barberry bush, the sun low in the west. Bertha was tired. She’d rather go home and sleep than go to the office. She promised herself she’d get the bonds and rest before she did another thing.

  Sally wrung her hands. “I feel like my life is falling apart.”

  “Your life?” Bertha couldn’t take the bonds home because Kim Cornwell would show up there eventually. “How well do you know Kim Cornwell?”

  “She used to work for Joe—got involved with Cal and left the firm.”

  “Kim Cornwell got there before Joe did,” Bertha said. “She was the woman who came to my office Friday afternoon and said she was you. The police told me my mailbox had been drilled. Kim seems to be able to get into about anything. But how did she find out the bonds were in the mail?”

  “I don’t know. Do you have them?”

  Bertha nodded. “I think so—left them in my office unopened yesterday. There was a package that I tossed in my bottom drawer.”

  “Oh, good.” Sally patted her throat breathlessly. “Good.” She touched Bertha’s shoulder.

  Bertha turned.

  “Be careful, Bertha. Joe’s dead—Mark’s dead.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  Sally opened her arms, and Bertha stiffly accepted her embrace. Sally smelled faintly of rose petals and alcohol. Bertha pulled back, repulsed. Her eyes burned from the hangover. The wind blew a fine, cool spray from the sprinklers against her bare legs. She wanted to go home. If she slept a few hours, she could make the nine o’clock AA meeting, get back on her feet, and head in the right direction. She could talk to her sponsor and make amends to Grandma. The whole evening was falling into place as she disengaged herself from Sally and took several long strides toward the Jeep. She’d bring the bonds back to Sally and go home. Let the police figure out who killed Joe Morescki. If Bertha couldn’t do it and stay sober, then she wouldn’t do it. That was the bottom line.

  She got into the Jeep and put the key in the ignition; the motor turned over slowly, then caught. She watched as Sally stood barefoot on the stone sidewalk. A gust of wind caught a lock of her hair and blew it back off her forehead, and Bertha remembered the fuzzy picture from her childhood.

  As Bertha pulled away from the curb, her heart pivoted between rage and longing. She felt as if someone had put all her feelings in a blender and hit liquefy. Deceptions had derailed her life. She hadn’t gotten out of bed yesterday morning with the idea of getting drunk, but that was what had happened—and it seemed right to be angry about that.

  *

  Bertha waited as a purple Blazer pulled out of a parking space in front of Lilith’s Book Store. Saturday evenings were usually busy in the little shop. Bertha saw the woman with the dark crew cut and waved as she dug out her key to the Lambert Building’s glass door. Inside, the corridor was quiet, the air was warm. The elevator waited on the first floor. Bertha remembered that the night she found Joe Morescki the car had been up on third. She should have felt easier now, but she didn’t.

  The hallway on three was too warm. Bertha would have to bury the camp shirt by the time this mess was over. She approached her door with her key readied. The door stood open, as did the door to her inner office.

  The graze on her shoulder stung. Her muscles ached and her heart pounded like a train engine. She pulled her gun, flicked off the safety, and held it out in front of her as she entered the office.

  A narrow rectangle of sunlight fell across her desk and chair. Nothing looked disturbed except the middle drawer of the desk that was popped open and the bottom drawer out of which her panty hose hung. The package was gone. She let out her breath slowly and swore. She knew she should call the police but hesitated. Joe’s brother, Frank Morescki, was a uniformed officer. Suppose he was connected to the robbery?

  Bertha stood in the empty office and looked down at the street. In the last of daylight she flicked the safety on her gun and returned it to its holster. Streetlights were coming on outside, and the bottoms of several clouds in the western sky were coral. A red truck turned on its headlights and pulled out of the spot in front of Bertha’s Jeep. The bookstore would be open until ten. Bertha wondered if the woman with the crew cut had seen anyone come into or leave the Lambert Building. She didn’t bother to lock the office door, in fact wondered why she bothered to lock anything as she took the elevator down to the lobby.

  Two guys in the back corner were looking through the rental videos and an older woman was paying for a purple bag of merchandise at the counter when Bertha walked in. The woman with the crew cut nodded to her. The air smelled of incense and vanilla candles. Bertha pretended to look at rainbow-colored wind socks until the older woman left the store.

  Bertha stepped to the counter. “Hi. I work next door.”

  The woman with the crew cut extended her hand and shook Bertha’s vigorously. “I’m Zoe Murdoch.”

  “Bertha Brannon.”

  “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You been here all afternoon?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “My office was broken into again.”

  Zoe’s eyes grew wide. “You’re that Bertha Brannon?”

  “I’m afraid so. Did you see anyone or anything unusual?”

  The taller of the two young men stepped to the cash register, and Zoe turned her attention to him. She rang up the rental charge and said, “These need to be back by Monday night at seven.”

  The guys had their heads close together as they walked out of the store. Zoe turned to Bertha and rolled her eyes. “Young love.”

  Bertha smiled and nodded. Together she and the woman with the crew cut watched the young lovers walk away laughing. When they crossed the street Bertha turned to Zoe and prodded. “You see a blond woman?”

  “H-m-m. I saw several blond women,” said Zoe. “But, you know, there was this one old guy. Unusual, I mean.”

&nbs
p; “What did he look like?”

  Zoe shrugged. “Just an old guy. Short. Tanned. Said his son just told him he was gay. Wanted a book about it. He was really sweet—got to give him credit for trying to understand. Then, you know, he asked about a restroom, so I showed him through the back.”

  “What do you mean? You have a restroom in back?”

  Zoe smiled. “No. The store’s too small. We use the ones in the Lambert Building.”

  “The store opens into the building next door?”

  “Next door? This is part of the Lambert Building. You and I pay our rent to the same people. Anyway, I got busy after that, some woman looking for early works of Adrienne Rich. I was digging through the stock and checking the distributors’ catalogues. I had completely forgotten about the guy until he was at the counter. He bought my last copy of Loving Someone Gay.”

  “You can let people into the building through here?”

  Zoe squared her shoulders and gave Bertha a look that was level and sharp. “It’s unusual, as I said, but this was a sweet, old guy. I wouldn’t let just anyone in there. I know the thing about the security guard and all.”

  “You mind if I use your phone?”

  Zoe shook her head and motioned toward the cash register. “It’s under the counter. Help yourself.”

  Bertha’s hand trembled as she dialed Toni Matulis’s number. Doree answered.

  “Hi, Doree. Is your mommy there?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s her friend Bertha. You remember me, don’t you?” Bertha said hopefully.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  Bertha thought the kid might have hung up on her when at last Toni’s voice came on the line. “Bertha, where are you?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said, keeping her eyes on Zoe Murdoch.

  Toni sighed. “Why don’t you cut to the chase?”

  “Jelly Morescki stole six million dollars from my office.”

  “Bertha, if you’re drunk again—”

  “I’m going after him. I called to ask you to check on Grandma if I’m late.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No. I’ve got to do this alone.”

  “Look.” Toni said the word firmly. “I wanted to go with you to see Sally Morescki, and you said you needed to go alone. I’ve been waiting to hear from you all afternoon, and I am going with you to get your six million dollars back!”

  Bertha chuckled softly. “A few seconds ago, you thought I was drunk.”

  “Bertha, please. I’m afraid for you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would it help if I told you I was a good shot?”

  “How soon can you be ready?”

  “How far away are you?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “If the neighbor can watch Doree for a few hours, I’ll be ready when you get here.”

  “And if not?”

  “If not, we’ll have to drop her off at my sister Anne’s. She lives over by the old man’s concrete business, across the park. That’s where you’re going to look first, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “One more question.”

  “What?”

  “How did you get six million dollars since lunch?”

  Bertha laughed. “I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Toni locked the trailer door, descended the steps, and crossed in front of the Jeep. She wore a pair of light-blue faded jeans and a black tank top that showed off her thin, muscular arms. The wide leather belt that cinched her waist matched her black biker’s boots. She opened the passenger door and bounced into the seat. Her auburn hair was pushed up and held with one of those clips that looked like the ribs of a miniature whale. Several strands of hair had fallen out around her flushed cheeks and the back of her neck.

  “Is something wrong?” Bertha asked.

  Toni pulled a pair of huge sunglasses out of the side of her left boot and slid them over her eyes. “Doree screamed like a banshee when I left her.”

  “Hey. You don’t have to come with me. This was your idea, remember?”

  Toni took a deep breath and stared straight ahead.

  Bertha watched enthralled as Toni’s breasts rose and fell beneath the snug, black top; she wanted to touch her, but Toni’s body language was all wrong.

  At length Toni said, “I know you’re having a rough time of it, Bertha, and this probably sounds petty, but I’ve had a bad day too. My kid is having some kind of major crisis about us. My hormones are so stirred up that I’m scared, and I find out the woman I’ve gotten involved with has a very ugly problem with alcohol and drugs.”

  “I told you—”

  Toni pulled the sunglasses off and met Bertha’s eyes. “Well, today you showed me, didn’t you?”

  Bertha considered starting the Jeep, driving off, and giving Toni a chance to calm down.

  Finally she said, “All my life when I got hurt or scared, I used a chemical to kill the pain. My father did it, and his father before him. Probably the neuropaths in my brain that lead from problem to solution, or from pain to drug, are as deep as the Grand Canyon. I’ve been trying to learn new ways, and I will continue to work on that, but I can’t tell you I’ll never screw up again.”

  Toni’s voice softened. “You’re going back to AA?”

  Bertha nodded. “This is Saturday night. There are late meetings at ten and again at midnight. After this thing at Morescki and Son’s, I will make one of them, and I will go to another one tomorrow.”

  Toni let out her breath slowly and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand any of this, and it scares me.”

  Bertha reached for Toni and pulled her close. “It’s okay. I’m scared too.”

  The wind was picking up. A tree branch scraped against the green fiberglass awning above the patio that was only a few feet away from the Jeep.

  Toni said, “Now, what’s all this about six million dollars?”

  Bertha put the Jeep in gear and pulled away from the curb. She started telling Toni about her mother and father and the bonds. Bertha could hear thunder in the distance. Beads of rain gathered on the windshield. The air was close. The rain picked up, and she could see shadows from the wiper blades move across Toni’s face as she listened to the story.

  When Bertha had finished, Toni asked, “Who do the bonds belong to now?”

  Bertha shrugged. “Anyone can cash bearer bonds. The damn things have been nothing but trouble for me. Oh, I could use a few bucks to put into the business, buy a new Jeep, that sort of thing. I’ll have a pretty good life whether I get them or not. In my opinion the bonds belong to Sally. Her husband’s dead, and she’s broke. With three men dead there’s the blood all over them.”

  “What makes you think Jelly Morescki took them?”

  Bertha shrugged. “He fits the description.”

  “I’ve got to wonder about motive.”

  “Cal worked for him. Maybe he and Cal are involved in something together.”

  “Could be,” Toni said. “But they’re different types of bad guys.”

  “If Sally’s telling the truth, Cal Mossman overheard her tell Joe that she’d mailed the bonds to me the night of that party. Joe sent Kim to look for them. When I saw Kim on Friday, she’d already drilled the mailbox. Maybe she figured I’d have the mail in my office and open it, so she came in and told me a big story about Joe and Sally Morescki, feeling me out on the names. I didn’t respond and she didn’t see any unopened mail. She retained my services as a way to legitimately come back. Except the shit hit the fan before she could.”

  “Do you think she killed Joe?” Toni asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “What about the note found on his body?”

  “She could have tried to lure him to my office with the promise of a showdown with Sally and me. I haven’t gotten it all figured out, but Kim Cornwell shot me, and I don’t feel real friendly toward her right now.”

/>   “I tried to tell you she was dangerous.”

  “You were right, as usual.”

  “I asked Pop about Frank Morescki,” Toni said.

  “He know anything?”

  Toni shrugged. “He wouldn’t say much. Asked why I wanted to know. Then warned me to stay out of the Morescki mess. It’s a homicide case now. We’re beat cops.”

  “I have to wonder about him.”

  “Frank? That’s not who I wonder about. Has it occurred to you that, by mailing the bonds to you, Sally put you in grave danger?”

  “At the time she sent them, I’m sure she didn’t know someone would be murdered. Besides, she drinks alcoholically,” Bertha said.

  “I don’t get it.”

  Bertha shrugged. “It’s the only answer I have.”

  *

  Bertha pulled the Jeep to a stop under a large tree on the edge of the park. She could see Morescki and Son’s sitting like a dark stage where something was meant to happen. There were aluminum warehouses in dull shades of gray and green, and a row of cement trucks parked near a sunken loading dock. A small cinder-block building sat off to the right; two white pickup trucks and a black car were parked at its side. The gravel drive was uneven, and rain collected in ragged puddles, shimmering in the ghostly, yellow security lights like pieces of a shattered mirror.

  Toni moved suddenly; her arms were around Bertha, her body squeezed in tight between the stirring wheel and Bertha’s red camp shirt, and said, “Bertha Brannon, I love you.”

  Bertha could feel the warmth of Toni’s breath on her neck. She put her arms around Toni, turned, and covered Toni’s mouth with a kiss. An inner voice whispered, “Go home, make love, forget about Jelly Morescki and the bonds.” She wanted to rip Toni’s shirt off. But whether the surge she felt was lust or adrenaline, Bertha was more afraid of love than anything that waited in the gloomy warehouses. She pulled back and whispered, “Careful. You’ll hit the horn.”

  Toni disentangled herself and scooted back across to the passenger seat. She extracted a chrome-plated revolver from her boot, checked the chamber, and gave the thing a spin.

 

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