“I don’t think you’ll need that,” Bertha said.
“You’re packing, aren’t you?”
Bertha raised an eyebrow.
Toni laughed and swatted at Bertha’s arm. “You’ve got a dirty mind. I mean a weapon, Counselor.”
Bertha nodded.
“You never know what we’ll find inside.”
“I’m just going to look around for the bonds,” Bertha said. “Hell, maybe the old man took them home.”
“Someone’s in there.”
“What?”
“In that first warehouse, closest to the office, there’s a light—I saw someone moving around in there while I was on your lap.”
Bertha leaned forward, unsnapped her holster, and extracted the Smith and Wesson. “Come on. Let’s get going before they spot us.”
“Take the safety off,” Toni said, nodding at the gun. “And be careful.”
Bertha pulled the door open and slipped out of the Jeep.
They made their way quietly through the tall, wet grass, around the side of the office building to the lighted warehouse.
“Look,” Toni whispered, “it’s attached to the main building.”
Bertha’s legs brushed against a wet bush as she followed Toni toward the front. Soon they were on a gravel walk. The rain was light, water dripped from the trees, and the wind had died down. The large building hulked at her side ominously.
Bertha slowly stepped on the wet flagstones and reached for the door. It was unlocked. She motioned to Toni and stepped inside. The main office was black and closed. The terra-cotta tiled corridor was lit in each direction by a single fluorescent fixture that offered no more illumination than a child’s night light. They followed the hall to the right, past locked doors and open storage areas where caustic odors came from cleaning fluids. At the end they found two cement steps leading to the partially opened door of the warehouse.
Inside Bertha heard a man’s voice. She motioned for Toni to stop, and they listened.
Cal Mossman said, “I woulda forgot everything, took the bonds and left. But you had to kill my brother.”
Bertha leaned as close to the door as she dared. Cal was holding a gun on Frank Morescki, and Jelly was lying several yards away in a pool of his own blood. His skin was the color of yeast. He was gone. On top of a stack of large cement bags near the body was the package Bertha had stashed in her desk drawer the day before. The envelope had been torn open and she could clearly see the bonds.
Cal said, “Maybe you figured an eye for an eye—a brother for a brother. That’s in the Bible, ain’t it?”
Frank Morescki was in uniform, his hands raised, showing his meaty white palms to Mossman. His expression was sober. Frank said, “I shoulda come after you when Frankie Junior died, you son of a bitch.”
Toni’s mouth was close to Bertha’s ear. She whispered. “I’m going to call for backup. You wait here.”
“We can take them. Frank Morescki will be dead by the time help comes.”
Toni nodded.
Bertha balanced the Smith and Wesson in both hands and pushed the door open. She saw Toni beside her as they trained their guns on Cal Mossman.
“Drop it,” Bertha said with as much bravado as she could muster.
Cal smiled, held up one hand, and set his gun on the floor with the other. “Now what you ladies doing so far from home?”
Frank Morescki lowered his hands and looked toward his father. He drew back his fist, aimed it at Cal Mossman. There was a loud crack behind them and Frank Morescki fell.
A figure came out of the shadows, and Kim Cornwell held a gun inches from Toni’s head. “Put down the weapons, girls.”
Bertha could hear Cal laughing as she laid her gun on a nearby desktop. Kim pulled Toni’s chrome-plated revolver out of her hand, stooped, and set it on the floor, then kicked it across the room. Kim waved her gun, motioning them toward one of several beams. They stood back to back with a cool metal between them. Bertha didn’t see where the rope came from. Cal tied them so snug that the circulation in Bertha’s hands was nearly cut off. Kim turned to Cal and put her arms around him.
Against the counsel of an inner voice, Bertha said, “It was you all along.”
Kim looked at her charitably. “We’re all capable of murder, you know. Certainly Frank proved that when he took Mark for a ride.”
“He used to be a good cop,” said Cal. “Incorruptible, I heard. Then one day he wakes up and decides that the law works too slow, when it works at all.”
Bertha thought of Frank Morescki’s story—a police officer whose only son was taken of an overdose—Frank’s wife, the woman he had loved since childhood, lost to suicide. Hadn’t Bertha wanted to take the law into her own hands only a couple of days ago with Jimmy Reed? In school she’d thought of the law as something that made reason out of chaos. These days she saw it as limited and ineffective. The laws didn’t protect or save the innocent. They weren’t enough for the guilty.
“The whole family’s screwed up,” Kim said. “Hey, Bertha, you wanna know who killed your father?” Kim tilted her chin toward the old man’s body.
“What the hell do you know about that?”
Kim met Bertha’s eyes and said, “Your old man was a gambler. He owed Jelly money. Jelly Morescki went after him. I don’t think he meant for your father to die out there in a cornfield.”
Bertha felt a blistering pain in her wrist, and her fingers tingled. “That’s ridiculous. How would you come on that information?”
Kim laughed softly. “Joe told us. The night he died.” She turned to look at Cal. “I don’t think he woulda lied under the circumstances.”
Mossman smiled, showing his capped teeth.
Bertha remembered the old days when he’d sold coke to her—the broken teeth and shabby clothes, despite the money that went through his hands. Working for the Moresckis had given him the opportunity to clean himself up. Now instead of going home to Masey Monahan, he had Kim Cornwell and a lot of money. It occurred to Bertha that Kim was probably more cunning and evil than Cal Mossman. She’d only need him a little while longer.
“So, what now?” Bertha said. “You two leaving the country? Setting up housekeeping in Cancun—maybe Columbia? I hear it’s very hot down there, and they grow their gangsters mean and ruthless.”
“Shut up.” Kim turned her gun toward Bertha.
But Toni took it up. “How long do you think she’s going to need you, Cal? You really think someone like her wants to share six million dollars with a burned-out cocaine dealer?”
In her periphery Bertha saw Frank Morescki move his arm slowly toward an outside door. Bertha had started talking to distract them, but the further she went the more convincing she sounded. She said to Cal, “Kim’s the one who slit Morescki’s throat, isn’t she? You tied him down. You roughed him up. But throat-slitting isn’t your style, is it Cal?”
As Frank reached the door he pulled himself up and quietly staggered out.
Cal eyed her, his chin up, his eyes slits of blue-gray. Did he look confident? Or was he thinking?
The open door to the outside glared at Bertha, but Kim didn’t seem to notice as she walked toward the bonds and said, “Take care of these two. I’ll meet you at the truck.”
“No,” Cal said. “Wait.”
Kim Cornwell let out her breath heavily. “Don’t listen to them. They’ll say anything to save their asses.”
Cal nodded. “I’ll take the bonds.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Kim picked up the package. “I’ll wait for you. Come on—get moving.”
Cal disappeared for a moment and returned with a red, ten-gallon gasoline can. He splashed the deadly liquid around the room, giving special attention to the body of Jelly Morescki.
Suddenly he stopped. “The cop’s gone.”
Kim turned to Mossman and yelled. “See what you’ve done!” She grabbed the bonds and said over her shoulder, “He can’t have gone far. You take care to those two.” Then s
he disappeared through the open door into the night.
Toni was moving, straining against the ropes, making Bertha’s side pull tighter. This is it, thought Bertha. We’re going to die. Would the flames burn her flesh, or would the lack of oxygen render her unconscious? Who would take care of Grandma? The lawn needed mowing already, and she still hadn’t made the weekly trip for groceries. Grandma would end up in a nursing home, and that would kill her. Bertha would never have a chance to tell Grandma how sorry she was, how much she loved her. She blinked back tears.
Cal Mossman lit a cigarette and approached them. He leered at Toni and ran his hand over her breasts.
“What a shame,” he said.
Bertha felt something give and the ropes moved. Her wrists were suddenly free. Then Cal was staring at them, his hand over a Swiss Army knife that had been driven between his ribs, Toni’s key ring and keys between his bloody fingers. The cigarette fell as he sat down hard on the slippery warehouse floor. There was a sudden whoosh, and Bertha felt the heat singe the hair on her arms before she saw the flames.
Toni grabbed Bertha’s gun from the counter, tossed it to her, and stooped to pick up Mossman’s. She hollered, “Run!” and she was gone.
Bertha’s fingers were almost numb. The gun slipped from her hands and she caught it against her chest, then recovered.
With flames leaping behind her, Bertha plunged into the office building just as the corridor went pitch-dark. She felt her way toward the front of the building, the sounds of popping and small explosions behind her. She heard shots as she reached the door and saw Kim Cornwell, bonds in one hand and gun in the other, taking off across the park with Toni running behind her.
Bertha wasn’t a runner. She felt an aggravating pain in her knee as her feet pounded up the hill and into the park. The grass was wet and slippery. Near the top of the hill she saw Kim stumble and fall, rise again and move forward limping. Bertha cautioned herself to be careful and then tripped on a fallen branch, stumbled, caught herself, and went on. Running up the curved, muddy, rain-swept path, under the steady drip of trees and ghostly shaped branches, she came to a clearing on the hillside, a lighted structure, remote and alone like a witch’s house in the forest.
Bertha’s lungs were exploding. From a distance she saw the door marked LADIES.
Toni slid in the white gravel and stood for a moment, her back against the rough wooden siding. Then she held her gun out in front of her and went in.
Bertha approached slowly. She could hear Kim’s voice.
“Like I said, most anyone can be a murderer. Go ahead.”
Bertha looked around the door and saw Toni holding a shaking gun on Kim Cornwell. Shoot, she thought. Some of bonds were scattered on the floor, the package broken open. Kim slowly bent to retrieve her own gun. Bertha could hear Toni whimper. Then a shot. Bertha sounded the corner in time to see Toni fall. She was vaguely aware of the stale, dank air and the smells of irreversible rot as she held the Smith and Wesson out in front and fired. She intended to shoot the gun from Kim’s hands but missed by a few inches and hit her thigh.
“Drop it,” Bertha said. “I don’t want to kill you, but I’m a lousy shot, and when I pull this trigger again, I don’t know what will happen.”
Kim groaned as a dark-red stain spread on the hip of her jeans. Large drops of blood splashed on the floor and the bonds that were scattered there. She let go of her gun, and it slid down her leg and thudded on the wooden floor. She raised her hands at the same time her knees buckled, and she sat down hard.
Bertha grabbed Kim’s gun and knelt beside Toni, whose hair was falling around her blood-covered shoulder.
Toni blinked and tears started.
“You’re going to be okay,” Bertha assured her. She could hear the crackling flames from the warehouse, the sirens coming closer.
Toni seemed amazed. “I had her. I kept thinking about Leon. I didn’t know the first criminal I’d have to shoot would be a woman.”
“A very bad woman.”
Toni nodded. “By the time I made up my mind I’d have to at least disarm her, I was on the floor.”
Bertha whispered, “Be still, while I get some help.”
“Wait. Don’t leave me here.”
Bertha looked at Kim Cornwell, who was seated on the floor, a hand covering the bloody hip. Bertha was trying to figure out how to guard her, help Toni, and call an ambulance all at the same time. Finally she said, “I’ll be right back. You cover Kim.”
Tears streamed down Toni’s face, snot shined on her upper lip. “I don’t want to die in a fucking bathroom!”
“You’re not going to die. I shouldn’t move you.”
“Please.”
Bertha knelt and pulled Toni into her arms. Warm blood from Toni’s shoulder wound seeped into Bertha’s scorched camp shirt. She warned Kim to sit still and carried Toni outside where they could see the flashing lights and the fire down the hill, lowering her to the ground.
Bertha asked, “Are you comfortable?”
Toni nodded.
Bertha closed the bathroom door and wedged a thick branch through the door handles. She turned back to Toni. “A little stuffy in there, but that won’t hurt her.”
Toni smiled through her tears. “My house keys are still in the warehouse,” she said, “stuck in Cal Mossman’s stomach.”
A third fire truck rolled to a stop below. Had Frank called for help? Had the fire alarms gone off? Bertha stood, brushing raindrops and sweat from her forehead. She smiled at Toni and said, “Don’t worry about it. I know a good locksmith.” Then she started the long trip down the hill to get help.
Chapter Forty
Sunday morning Bertha’s wrists had been cleaned, and the right one, where the rope cuts were the deepest, was dressed. She’d tried to clean up and did her best to keep the gauze dry. The thing that hurt worst was the tetanus shot. The needle had slid into her arm with a small pinch, but when the nurse pushed the medication through it, the sting brought tears to her eyes.
Bertha’d slept for several hours and still felt groggy. After surgery, after the recovery room, when they’d finally settled Toni in a hospital room, her sister Anne brought Doree to visit. To Bertha’s surprise the kid climbed in her lap and clung to her.
“She’s not too happy with me,” Anne said. “We went head-to-head over breakfast. She told me her mom always let her have cookies and juice.”
Doree pressed her cheek against Bertha’s bosom and said, “You smell funny.”
“I’m smoky from the fire.”
“My mommy’s fire?”
“Yes.”
“When can she come home?”
“Soon.”
A nurse came into the room with a blood-pressure cuff. Toni was groggy. She smiled in Bertha’s direction.
“What’s she doing?” Doree asked.
Bertha said, “She’s making sure your mom’s okay for the doctor.”
Bertha and Doree watched the nurse work while Anne left to find a vase for flowers she’d brought from her yard. So many things were as yet unsettled. Bertha had talked to the police late into the night. After she’d been treated, and while Toni was still in surgery, James Harris had approached Bertha again.
“Feel up to talking?” he’d asked.
Bertha motioned to a chair. It would pass the time.
Harris sat. “We count two bodies in the fire.”
Bertha nodded. “Jelly Morescki and Cal Mossman.”
“What in the hell happened?”
“It’s a long story. Is Frank Morescki okay?”
“Treated and released.”
“Cal Mossman accused Frank Morescki of murdering his brother Mark.”
“Did he have any evidence? We can’t make an arrest until we have more than that.”
Bertha sighed. “I don’t know. Was Kim Cornwell arrested?”
“She’s being treated here now. We’ll take her in for questioning as soon as she’s released. How is she connected to all this? Wh
o shot her? Why?”
“Like I said, it’s a long story.”
“I’m out of bed now, might as well hear it.” Harris stood, went to a nearby coffee machine, and called to her, “Want some?”
She shook her head no.
He returned with a muddy-looking liquid in a paper cup and picked up his pencil. “I’m ready, just take your time. Don’t leave anything out.”
Bertha yawned. “If you found Kim Cornwell, you found the bonds.”
Harris nodded.
“They’re what Joe Morescki was after in my office, the night he was killed.”
“Why did he think you had them?”
Bertha took a deep breath and told him that Sally Morescki was her mother. He watched her, taking notes as the story unwound. Bertha had another appointment with Detective Harris on Monday morning. She’d have to settle the problem of the bonds, which were currently in an evidence bag somewhere. According to Pop Wilson the police had already been looking at the connections the Moresckis had to some pretty unsavory characters. But Cal Mossman surprised them. They’d asked Bertha about Cal again and again.
The child stirred on her lap as the nurse marked the chart and turned to go. “Wait,” said Bertha.
The nurse stopped.
“Can you find some crackers and juice for my little friend here?”
“I’ll tell the aide.” The nurse smiled and left the room.
Anne raised her head from a magazine and said, “She doesn’t need anything to eat.”
Bertha gave the kid a squeeze. “She’s a growing girl.”
Bertha left the hospital with the added scent of spilled apple juice on her red camp shirt. First things first, she told herself. There was an AA meeting that afternoon in the basement of the Presbyterian Church. She’d go, after she slept, showered, and called Grandma.
“I’ll pick you up late this afternoon for the grocery store.”
“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Grandma had asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Will you at least let me give you a dollar for gas?”
“I will not.”
There were things Bertha needed to say to Grandma but nothing she needed to ask. She was glad she’d met Sally Morescki, but she was the girl Grandma had raised, and those were the bonds that mattered to her.
Nine Nights on the Windy Tree Page 32
