by Edwin Dasso
Jill breathed a sigh of relief when she looked around the grocery; she didn’t see Estelle’s busybody mother-in-law, Dido, who was hopefully safe upstairs. “Let’s sit down,” she said, pointing to a lone empty table in the new part of the store, reserved for family.
“Are you sure we can sit in here?” Mark asked.
“Yes,” Jill said. “I know the owner.” Following behind her through the plastic barricade, Mark thought Gus’s looked like every small, ethnic grocery in Detroit: charming, cluttered, and fragrant. He pulled out her chair just as Gus came over.
“Papa!” Jill said, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. “Mark this is my father, Gus Zannos. Papa, this is Mark Castro, a fellow officer.” Gus shook his hand but kept his eye on his daughter.
“Your father,” Mark exclaimed, taking Gus’s hand.
“New partner?” Gus asked.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Jill said. “Mark’s a Greek food aficionado. We just happened to walk in together.” Whether or not Gus believed her was unimportant; she wanted to make sure Mark got it that the real reason they were together was kept a secret from Gus, which she’d failed to warn him.
“Welcome,” Gus said. “You want lamb? Or chicken?”
Jill looked at Mark with raised eyebrows. “Or both,” she said.
Mark chose the lamb, and Gus left to prepare their plates.
“Wow, so this is your dad’s place,” he said.
“Yep,” Jill replied. “I was raised in the apartment above. Thanks for keeping quiet about what’s going on.” And then like a bad dream, Dido appeared from behind a shelving unit filled with imported canned goods. Jill grabbed Mark’s arm and pulled him close so she could whisper in his ear. Dido was blind, but her hearing was phenomenal. “Don’t say anything, but my worst nightmare just appeared.” He looked around, and Jill pointed to Dido, who was wearing her usual attire of black dress and black babushka—Greek womanhood in its worst caricature.
Estelle finished her conversation with the customer and noticed Jill. “Jill!” she called.
Of course, Dido’s ears perked up right away. “Where is she?” Dido said. “Hiding from me, I expect.”
Estelle rushed through the plastic barrier to their table, embraced Jill and looked at Mark, sizing him up.
“I’m Estelle, Jill’s future stepmother. You are?”
Mark looked at Jill and then back at Estelle.
“This is Mark, Estelle, Mark Castro. A colleague.”
“She’s with a man?” Dido hollered. “Jesus help us, it’s about time.”
Jill cringed.
“Well, nice to meet you, Mark,” Estelle said, playing the coquette. “Jill never mentioned you before.”
“We actually just met,” Jill said. “He’s from another precinct.”
“Are you a detective, too?” Estelle asked Mark.
“Nope, just a police officer,” Mark replied, smiling.
“Probably a security guard at Kmart,” Dido yelled.
“Mother Nick, please,” Estelle said, mortified. Jill, embarrassed, looked at Mark and mouthed sorry.
“What’s wrong with that?” Dido said. “We should hire him to walk a beat here. Keep the riffraff away.” Other diners whispered, looking at Dido. Gus walked over with their plates.
“Well, he’s not a security guard,” Estelle said. Gus whispered to Estelle, and she went to Dido, gently pushing her toward the door. “Come on, Mother Nick. You’ve gotten us kicked out of here again.”
“Why? What’d I do? I don’t want to miss anything,” she said, shouting. “Wherever the princess goes, intrigue is sure to follow!” They could hear Estelle trying to placate her as they went up the staircase.
“I promise, I’ll fill you in later,” Estelle said.
Jill shook her head. “Dido has been the bane of my existence.”
“What a character,” Mark said as Gus put his plate down in front of him. “Did she call you the princess?”
Jill didn’t answer.
“Can I join you two?” Gus asked.
“Of course, Papa. Dido’s in rare form tonight,” she answered.
“Yes,” he replied shortly. Jill related Dido’s story to Mark, about how she and her husband arrived from Greece during the war, opening the gun store when the war was over. Their son Frank, Estelle’s late husband, took over when the old man died, and when Frank died, Estelle closed up shop. Now the space was going to be Gus’s new dining room.
“She introduced herself to Mark as my future stepmother,” Jill said. “When were you going to tell me?”
Gus looked at Mark, appalled, then back to his daughter. “Your timing, it stink,” he said with a fake accent.
Jill laughed. “It’s not my timing that stinks, Papa. Mark here heard it, didn’t you, Mark?”
“No offense, but keep me out of it,” he said, chuckling.
“You’ll be the first to know if anything happens; is that a deal?” Gus replied, looking sternly at Jill.
“This is delicious,” Mark said, trying to change the subject, for which Jill was grateful, as Mark asked Gus about the history of the store and his experiences living in Greektown, squashing her earlier decision that he was self-absorbed. Then, much to Jill’s pleasure, Gus asked Mark about his history. She’d learn more about him without him knowing how interested she was.
“I grew up in Mexicantown,” Mark said, referring to a neighborhood in southwest Detroit that was one of the fastest growing, safest and most stable areas of the city, its population nearing fifty percent Latino.
“Do you cook?” Gus asked, glancing sidelong at Jill, who smacked him under the table.
“I do, but not as much as I’d like,” Mark replied. “My grandmother has a food truck, and I help her out occasionally. Not that she needs the help; she’s my grandmother, but she’s only thirty years older than I am.” Gus and Jill waited for him to reveal her age so they could do the math while Mark talked. They wanted to know how old Mark was. Gus couldn’t stand it anymore.
“And how old is she?”
“Sixty,” Mark replied. Therefore, he’s thirty, Jill thought. Still too young for me. Why am I thinking about him like this?
“My daughter, she don’t cook,” Gus announced.
“Papa, for god’s sake! Sorry, Mark,” she said, mortified.
He was grinning, that is, until he opened his mouth. “It’s not a requirement,” he said, then flushed. A requirement for what? I’ve lost my mind!
“I’m dating a statey,” Jill said quickly, changing the subject from food. The moment the slang term for state trooper was out of her mouth, she almost choked. What the hell am I saying?
“You are?” Mark asked, bewildered, crestfallen. “What barracks?”
“Wayland,” she answered, scrambling to explain why she felt he needed to know. “They have a fabulous Mexican restaurant nearby.” Heat flooded her face. She’d never been to Wayland, but her boyfriend, Fred, had mentioned the great authentic food he could get.
“What a coincidence,” Mark said hesitatingly, not sure what the correct response should be. “My relatives manage a restaurant in Grand Rapids.” Silence followed. Gratefully, Gus picked up the conversation from there while Jill slowly recovered from her faux pas. Her mind wandered to thinking about Trooper Fred Cooper. They hadn’t seen each other since Thanksgiving; there was just too much going on in both their lives, and they lived too far from each other. The urgency they initially had to see each other waned, and she was resigned that it pronounced the death knell for their relationship. They hadn’t talked on the phone since Tuesday. She’d called to tell him about Jacob Parker, but he couldn’t talk, thanking her for letting him know and promising he’d get back to her over the weekend. So now, maybe calling Fred her boyfriend was stretching it. The weekend had arrived, and she wasn’t sure she needed to hear from him again after all. It would be too painful to formally end their relationship, preferring it to die a natural death.
“What do yo
u think, Jill?” Gus was looking at her worriedly. She’d totally zoned out of their conversation.
“About what? Sorry, Papa, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“What do you think about the new chain restaurants coming into Greektown?” he asked.
She frowned; it was an old argument. Should city planners allow the big chains in? “It won’t make a difference to Greektown,” she answered. “People come here because they want your food, not Comic Mike’s chicken wings.”
“That’s what I think,” Mark said. “Everyone’s up in arms in my neighborhood because a pizza chain moved in. It offers many benefits the little places can’t offer, like a larger variety and delivery.” He thought of the last weekend he was off from work; the same delivery guy came to his house three nights in a row, looking at Mark curiously by the last night.
Jill put her hand up to cover a yawn. There was no reason for her to be so tired, unless it was the stress of juggling conversation with Mark and Gus. The past week had been calm after the insanity of their last case, while they waited for the next homicide to take place.
“I guess I better get home. Thanks, Papa,” Jill said absently, pushing back from the table.
“I’ll walk you home,” Mark said.
Gus was suspicious this was a new romance brewing; the chemistry between his daughter and the young man could be cut with a knife. If she was trying to hide it from her papa, she’d better try harder.
“Okay, thanks,” she answered, leaning forward to kiss her father’s cheek.
“Mikro arni, little lamb,” Gus said to her, looking at Mark with lowered eyelids. There’s definitely something up here with this young man, he thought again.
Mark helped Jill on with her coat. They left the restaurant together, walking side by side in silence down Beaubien Street to Brush, the cold air reviving Jill. They watched as revelers poured out of their cars into the restaurants and casino, a typical, exciting Friday night in Greektown. Businesses were thrilled that attractive young people brought their suburban dollars into the city to spend.
“Your father gave me the stink eye,” Mark said suddenly as they crossed the street.
Jill gasped and started laughing. “He did not.”
“He did, when he was speaking Greek to you. I actually got scared.”
Jill was still laughing. “He was calling me his little lamb. My father is so gentle, he’s not capable of hurting anyone.”
“Yeah, don’t count on it,” Mark said. “I generally keep my distance from the fathers of the women I date.” When he realized what he said, he started stuttering again.
“I didn’t mean that!” Mark yelled, stumbling on the pavement. “I meant, well, you know, we were sitting at a table having dinner together; he had no idea who the hell I am.”
Jill composed herself long enough to answer him. “I’m sorry for laughing. I know what you mean. He was at a disadvantage because he doesn’t know what’s going on, that’s all. Try not to take it personally.” Mark looked around the area as they walked, feeling like a jerk, trying not to allow the closeness of her to distract him. Fortunately, the smell of lamb clung to his clothing, so if she smelled good, he wouldn’t know. If she smelled good, that would be the end of his self-control.
They didn’t talk any more, and when the apartment loomed ahead, they lingered close to each other, but not touching. He wanted to grab her by her arms and pull her close, bury his nose in her hair. He tried not to imagine more than a kiss. Longing for those muscular arms around her, Jill could feel the hair on her body rising up and leaning toward him with some strange magnetic force at play.
Finally, reluctantly, she started toward her door. “I guess I better get upstairs.”
“Well, I’ll be right down here if you need me,” Mark said. Jill frowned. If she locked the door, she’d be safe. There was no reason for him to stay in the car all night.
“Look, you need to go home,” she said, really wanting to invite him up. “I’ll be fine.”
“Nope, I’m being paid to keep watch. If you look out your window, you’ll see me right here.”
Jill forced herself to turn and walk away. When she got to the staircase, she turned again. If he could tell that she was stalling, she didn’t care.
“We can have breakfast at my dad’s,” she said.
“He’ll think we were together all night,” he said, fear of Gus clear in his voice.
“Oh, right. I didn’t think of that,” she said, doubtful. “I might have to tell him the truth.” They said goodnight while he watched her walk up the stairs and enter her apartment. In a minute, she called him with the all clear. They chatted a while, Mark looking up at her standing in the window looking down at him, neither eager to hang up from the call. “I guess I better get my coat off.” She waved to him, and they said goodnight again.
Mark went back to the car and got in. He’d brought a book he’d been working on for days and would finally have the time to read, maybe even finish. A thermos of hot coffee was next to him with a bag of sandwiches he wouldn’t eat because of the big, unexpected dinner. Looking around the area, lights were on behind pulled drapery in every household, and he thought about what it would be like to live in this part of town, a combination of old-timers and young adults desiring the city life.
A knock on the window sent the book into the air, and the thermos he hadn’t opened yet hit the ceiling. It was Gus Zannos, looking apologetic. Mark rolled down the window.
“Buddy, I’m truly sorry,” Gus said, mortified. “But what are you doing here, outside of my daughter’s apartment with a thermos. Did it break, by the way?”
Mark was concerned, but not about the thermos.
“Get in, sir, and I’ll tell you.” He was going to level with him, but would swear him to secrecy. He unlocked, and Gus came around to the passenger side and got into the car while Mark pushed the sandwiches to the side, making room. Mark explained the situation.
“A former defendant tried to contact Jill, and her superior feels it is in her best interest to have a car here overnight. It’s just precautionary, so she didn’t want to worry you.”
Gus stared out the windshield, conflicted about what he’d just heard.
“Are you saying she’s being stalked?” He thought about what it meant to have his daughter be in more danger than her job regularly called for.
“They aren’t calling it stalking, yet,” Mark replied honestly.
“She shouldn’t be alone,” Gus said. “I have all those empty rooms at the apartment.”
“Well, that’s between the two of you,” Mark said, understanding he’d broken trust with her now by exposing it to her father. “And just an FYI, I’ll be in big trouble if you let on that I told you. Now if you go up to her door, then she can’t blame me.” Mark smiled.
“I’ll do that,” Gus said, opening the car door, bending down and looking in at Mark. “Thank you for your honesty.”
Mark saluted him, and Gus shut the door.
Jill was in front of her altar, about to light a candle, when a tap on the door interrupted her. Getting a little zing of excitement thinking it was Mark, she was speechless when she opened the door to Gus.
“Invite your father in, why don’t you?” he said smugly. “You got caught.”
He was secretly thrilled he didn’t find the man in her apartment. He knew something was wrong by the way Jill had been acting at the store, and Estelle finally convinced him he should just come see for himself. As usual, she was correct.
“Papa! I didn’t expect you,” she said.
“No, I don’t imagine you did,” Gus replied, looking around. “So what’s going on that you can’t tell your papa? I have to leave my warm store, risk my life on this dark street to find out you have a guard outside your apartment.”
“It’s really nothing,” she answered. “I tried to refuse, but the city worries about lawsuits.”
“What man is threatening you?” Gus asked, his hands starting to shake as h
e imagined a criminal trying to hurt his daughter.
“Remember the father from Dearborn who killed his daughter? Him.”
Gus nodded his head. “Can you come back to the apartment for a couple of days?”
“Papa, I want to stay here, in my own place. I have a gun. There’s a burly cop outside at the curb. I’m safe.”
“He is a big boy, isn’t he?” Gus said, chuckling. “He likes you, I can tell.”
Jill ignored him.
“You get home now before it gets too late,” she said. As safe as Greektown was, the weekends brought more people in from the suburbs, and more people meant more opportunities for crime.
“I don’t need my daughter telling me what to do,” he said, indignant.
“Okay, I’ll walk with you, then,” Jill threatened.
“I’m leaving already,” Gus said. “Lock the door after me.” he turned again and gave her a rare kiss; it was usually Jill kissing him.
After watching Gus walk down the sidewalk, she caught Mark’s eye and waved, then returned to her altar.
Meditation was a huge part of her life; she did it automatically throughout the day. But purposefully standing before the collection of mementos and collected items helped to ground her, and she hadn’t been taking the time for it recently. The neglect tested the spiritual connection she had with her mystic yiayia, Greek for grandmother, and now when she most needed the comforting messages coming from the other side, there was nothing. Worried that having disregarded the information she’d gotten in the past might have severed spiritual ties with her yiayia, she was going to try to do damage control. She struck a match, holding it to a lavender candle.
“Please, help me,” she whispered.
There was no specific message she needed, just confirmation that she was on the right path with her life. Reaching into a hinged silver box, she took a pinch of dried sage leaves and put them in a small shell, putting a match to it until it ignited. The living plants grew on her windowsill; ancestors of her grandmother’s herb garden. Sage was a protective herb, and cuttings were rooted in small terra cotta pots in every window of her apartment. Jill provided her extended family with sage plants from yiayia.
