Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  Going back to the kitchen, he didn’t notice Andy watching him. “What’s wrong, Uncle Gus? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

  “No, nothing like that. Jill isn’t coming here this morning, that’s all. I can’t remember the last time she missed breakfast with her papa.”

  “Is she okay?” Andy asked, up to his left elbow in bread dough. Although they usually served bread bought from a Greek bakery in town, on Christmas they liked to bake their own, to keep the tradition. They’d serve it in the store today and in their own dining room tonight and tomorrow. His mother was upstairs getting the boys settled and would be down to help him with the baking. Tonight, the house would be full of out-of-town guests from across the state. Christmas in Greektown was a wonderful experience, and Andy planned to enjoy every second of it.

  “She said she is,” Gus answered. “I’m going to try not to rush over there. Jill said she was going to rest, so I should leave her alone.” He got busy cooking while Andy thought about what the day would bring.

  Nicole was coming to the store after work. Her family had a traditional meal together on Christmas Eve, but Andy wasn’t leaving his children at home.

  “My family will understand that we are staying in town because of your children. It’s not an unreasonable request to make.” Besides, they will be so thrilled I finally have a decent man interested in me, especially a GREEK man; they’ll accept whatever I do.

  Dido carried a coffee tray to Estelle’s bedroom, where the two of them would sit for a chat and have their morning cups together.

  “Knock, knock,” Dido said, opening the door. “Coffee time.”

  Estelle struggled to sit up, pulling her sleep mask over her forehead. “Oh lord, what time is it?” she said, moaning. She reached for the clock, but couldn’t see the face and fumbled on the nightstand for her glasses. “I feel like someone took a club to my head.”

  “It’s only eight thirty,” Dido said, carefully putting the tray on the bed. “But I thought you’d want to get up early today.” Their tradition was to bake cookies and do the decorating and shopping for Christmas on Christmas Eve. When the gun shop was still open, they had customers until after nine each night, and there was no time to do any of their own Christmas preparation until the last minute. Estelle would leave Dido in charge of Little Frank and run out to buy all the gifts and food for the next two days. It never felt rushed or last minute, either, except for one year when she forgot to get Big Frank a gift. In her generosity, Dido gave Estelle the gift she’d bought for him, a Panama hat from Henry the Hatter. When he opened the hatbox, he screamed like a boy.

  “I can’t take credit for it, Frank. Your mother bought it and gave it to me to give to you.”

  “Aw, manoula, you’re the best,” he said to Dido in Greek, kissing her with a loud smack on the cheek. Estelle thought of that long-ago Christmas and smiled.

  “Mother Nick, I remember how you bailed me out one year when I forgot to get Frank anything.”

  Dido smiled. “Yes, I saved your ass many times, did I not?” Estelle poured coffee and gave Dido her cup.

  “You certainly did. I wish you had something I could give to Gus this year,” she said, sipping coffee. “I didn’t get him anything. As a matter of fact, I didn’t get you anything, either. I hope you didn’t buy me a gift.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” she said, digging in the pocket of her voluminous skirt. She pulled out a small box and handed it to Estelle. “You can give it to Shorty if you’d like.”

  “What’s this?” She held the box up.

  “Just open it, will you? It’s nothing much.”

  Estelle took the top off the box and removed a thin layer of cotton batting.

  “It’s a pomegranate!” Carefully lifting it off the cotton, she could see a tiny red blown glass pomegranate pendant with a loop of sterling silver at the top.

  “It symbolizes a good harvest. He’s investing in the new dining room, so he’ll need a little help. Actually, he’ll need a lot of help, but I’m trying to be nice.”

  Chuckling, Estelle leaned over to hug Dido. “It’s lovely, but I think I’ll keep it for myself since it also symbolizes marriage. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to push him into anything.”

  “Eck,” Dido said. “Spare me, will you, please? I’m telling you, the thought of him sleeping in the apartment every night disgusts me.”

  “You won’t even know he’s here,” Estelle said. “Gus is the most unobtrusive man I’ve every known.”

  “What are you talking about? His personality might be unobtrusive, but that man can stink up an entire apartment,” Dido said as Estelle gasped. “What the hell does he put in his food to produce such odor?”

  “Shush, Dido! I’ll leave the matches out in the bathroom,” Estelle said. “Maybe he’ll take a hint. I don’t want to embarrass him.”

  “Matches? He’d need to light a bonfire.”

  “Please, keep your voice down! Gus is very sensitive. Maybe breaking through the wall into his apartment isn’t such a bad idea after all; he can use his own toilet,” Estelle said. “Anyway, this is all premature. He hasn’t asked me to marry him yet.”

  “And I hope he never does. But if he does, he’d better thicken up his skin. I don’t care for sniveling men. I just heard him whining downstairs because that brat of his isn’t coming to breakfast. Anyway, do as you like with the charm.”

  “Oh. I wonder what’s going on. I hope everything’s okay. He’s apt to be miserable when anything goes wrong with his precious Jill.”

  “She’s probably entertaining that new man she’s been bringing around and doesn’t want to show up in Greektown with yet another guy at the crack of dawn. Anyway, be sure to get pomegranates when you shop.”

  “Gus has them in the store,” Estelle said. When Frank was alive, it was customary to smash a pomegranate on the sidewalk in front of the gun shop at Christmas, but it was too messy to do since he wasn’t around to shovel it away. They’d just peel one and eat it instead this year. “The holidays aren’t getting any easier, are they?”

  “No,” Dido said shortly. “I don’t have all day to hang around here and reminisce. You dress, and I’ll get dough for sugar cookies started. Get the lead out.” She stood up, gathering the coffee paraphernalia onto the tray.

  The conversation with Dido around morning coffee often set the tone for the day, and Estelle didn’t want to start out badmouthing Jill. “I’m really fond of her,” she said.

  “Who? That brat?”

  “Yes, Dido, Jill. She’s always pleasant to me, which is more than I can say for Gus’s sister and brothers.”

  “I’m fond of her, too. But she’s still a brat. Mark my word, when she finally finds someone who will put up with her crap full time, she’ll drop her father like a hot potato, and you’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

  Estelle frowned. “I don’t think so. I don’t think she’ll stray far from Greektown,” Estelle replied. “This new guy seems totally devoted to her, and they aren’t really even dating yet.”

  “And it’s tough his pieces-of-shit brothers don’t like you. The three of them married white trash and are miserable now. Eleni Zannos was a pussy raising her boys. She should’ve insisted they marry Greek women, like my Frankie.”

  “Yes, well, from what I can gather, Gus didn’t do too well with his Greek wife,” Estelle whispered. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Dido moved closer. “Tell me what you know,” she urged. “Then I’ll tell you.”

  “What about Christmas?” Estelle asked, teasing.

  “To hell with cookies. I need some gossip. What else does an old woman live for?”

  “Well, you’d better sit down, then.”

  Dido put the coffee tray back on the bed and sat down, eager to listen.

  “This is all hearsay, understand. Gus has never mentioned Christina’s name. But I always thought there might be trouble because with their bedroom on the other si
de of the wall, I never heard what I thought I should be hearing. Do you get my drift?”

  “She was too busy screwing his brother,” Dido said.

  “Dido, for heaven’s sake, shut up. What an awful thing to say.”

  “It’s true. I’ve known all along but chose to keep it to myself. They practically screamed it from the roof tops last summer.”

  Estelle was mortified. Her mother-in-law was a repository of family lore, but this was even a bit much for Dido. She moved in closer. “Tell me,” she hissed. “Tell me everything you know. And stop keeping secrets!”

  Dido chuckled, sure she’d hit a nerve. Estelle’s self-esteem would elevate to new heights once she heard the true story of Gus’s late wife, Christina, and his brother Nick.

  “Well, from what I saw with my own eyes almost forty years ago, and what I heard coming from that dining room last summer, Eleni’s oldest boy, Nickolas, and Gus’s wife had an affair, almost from the day of her marriage to Gus.”

  Estelle didn’t bother to point out that she was blind and couldn’t see a thing, because with Dido it increased her awareness. People would think they were getting away with something in front of her because she couldn’t see. But her other senses were so sharp, eyesight was unnecessary.

  “Oh, how sad,” Estelle said, compassion for Gus overriding any satisfaction she might gain from hearing that his sainted wife was really an infidel.

  “No, you mean how typical,” Dido replied. “Nick is a looker, correct? I can tell by his voice that he’s tall and robust. In his youth, the girls swooned around him, and your own husband used to complain. ‘How does someone like me have a chance at women when Nick Zannos is hanging around?’”

  “Poor Frank,” Estelle said. “But I never even gave Nick Zannos a second look. He was too cocky with his state cop uniform. I’m sorry to hear Frank thought he didn’t measure up.”

  “Stop interrupting me,” Dido complained. “Gus used to bring Christina around when they were in high school. Her mother baked for the store, too. Awful stuff, too much flour. Anyway, I used to hear them out in the alley later on, panting up a storm.”

  “Dido! I can’t see Gus having sex in the alley,” Estelle said, shocked.

  “Not Gus, moron. Nick and Christina. Then, after the wedding, she’d be down in the kitchen, prepping dough for the next day’s morning baking, and Nick would come over after work. The two of them in the alley were like a couple of cats. ‘Oh, Nick, oh, Nick. Careful, careful.’ Ha! I wanted to call Eleni about it, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. That family always thought they were better than we were.

  “She got pregnant, and after the baby was born, she’d rush off every day to visit him. I always thought that if it happened in our family, the baby would come home, no matter what. Eleni was a snob. But I think she also knew the baby wasn’t Gus’s.”

  “What are you talking about, Dido? What baby?”

  “The boy in Plymouth. He’s not Gus’s. He’s Nick’s. I heard the blow-up last summer,” Dido said slyly. “I knew anyway, but the fight confirmed it.”

  Estelle was shocked. She didn’t want to hear any more and moved off the bed. “I’m taking my shower now.”

  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “It’s not you, Mother Nick. It’s not you,” she said softly. “How am I going to have an honest relationship with a man who hasn’t been honest with me?”

  “What’s there to be honest about?” Dido asked. “What difference does it make now? It happened so long ago.”

  “It makes a world of difference,” she answered, not willing to go any further. “Just drop it.” She grabbed her robe and headed for the bathroom, wanting privacy.

  A few things about Gus worried her, his need for approval from God and his family, his need to do things by the book. She’d found it endearing at first, but had grown weary trying to navigate around his moral parameters. Sure he didn’t mean to make her feel like she was compromising his virtue, Estelle was angry to discover Gus’s wife was having an affair, that the man/child they visited once a month on Sunday afternoon may not be his son.

  “The man’s a prude.” Dido was lingering on the other side of the bathroom door, whispering.

  “Dido, go away,” Estelle said and then, sighing, opened the bathroom door with a chuckle. “Are you reading my mind?”

  “Oh God, I hope not,” Dido replied. “I don’t think my ticker could take it. But don’t feel badly because you’ve got him in your bed. He’s obviously in denial about his life, but some people must be in order to withstand the disappointments.”

  Estelle opened the door completely and grabbed her mother-in-law. “What should I do, Dido? What should I do?”

  “Don’t do anything,” she answered. “Just keep enjoying his company. I, for one, don’t understand what you see in him; he’s so short and unattractive. But whatever you need, I say go for it. He must be supplying something that you’ve lacked.”

  Estelle kissed her cheek. Dido’s skin was soft and dry, and she always smelled like lavender. She was Estelle’s best friend.

  “Right now all I want to do is bake Christmas cookies with you. I don’t even care if I see him today.”

  “Well, that’s just great!” Dido yelled, pushing her away. “We’ve talked in a friggin’ circle again.”

  Estelle laughed at her and closed the bathroom door.

  21

  After she woke up from her afternoon nap, Jill felt more human than she had all week. Regret about missing the investigation lingered, but she knew it would be just a matter of time, if not hours before another murder in the city would grab her attention. Greek blood flowed in her veins one hundred percent; she felt the push to accomplish, the need to discover, to succeed every waking hour. No one in her family stayed idle for long, and if they did, it invariably led to trouble.

  Her altar beckoned. Lighting a candle, a verse from the Psalms filtered through her mind. There’s nothing on earth I desire, but you. Filling her heart with peace, she closed her eyes, listening, waiting. Like skywriting in her brain, the words wait for me repeated. The letters were perfectly formed cursive writing. Nonsensically, she thought of the rumors she’d heard that cursive would no longer be taught in elementary school. As she got down on her knees to try gentle yoga poses, she imagined a world without the flowery letters of calligraphy or even a child’s uneven cursive. It would be so sad.

  She stretched her spine, feeling each vertebra from her sacral to lumbar region and then to the thoracic, until she got to the area of the broken rib. With a stretch to her shoulder, she was able to traverse over the broken rib to the vertebra above the rib, one after another until she reached her cervical spine. Slowly stretching her neck out, inhaling a long, deep breath, wait for me, and exhaling, wait for me. With each breath, the sense that she should wait filled her with certainty. If asked, she would wait, no idea for who or what.

  Reaching up to her neck, she gave her sore muscles a massage and then crawled to the couch to hoist herself up. Jill rarely allowed dissatisfaction to linger, but when it did, she made sure to do something constructive. Needing to feel this process through to the end, she felt sure there was a lesson coming, and shrugging it off as an annoyance or ignoring it was not the wise thing to do.

  She looked down, and a speck of blood from a stitch in her lip had dropped to the rug. Quickly rising, she went into the kitchen for a paper towel wrung out with cold water and blotted the drop on the rug before a stain could set, then went to look in the bathroom to see what she’d done. It was nothing, just a pulled stitch from too much yoga. Placing ice over her mouth, she appreciated the wisdom of the universe. There’d be no Christmas Eve hanky panky at her apartment tonight. None at all. She was still recovering.

  Jill grew concerned when Mark hadn’t called her. She tried texting him and got no response. The possibility that the SRT was working on Christmas Eve loomed, worry for Mark initiating a flood of anxiety to her system, followed by a wave of
heat that nauseated her. Instead of giving into it and laying back down, she went to the window and looked out at the growing darkness. If she called dispatch to see if there was a raid happening that he might be involved in, it might seem presumptuous of her or even embarrass him. In vain, she tried putting the worry out of her mind and walked back to her room to finish getting ready for the evening, glancing at the tree in the corner and then her altar. She felt certain he’d find a way to get word to her that he’d be late. The urge to kneel before her altar came over her, but she ignored it, anxiety about the evening growing. She really liked Mark, and he seemed to feel the same way. Would tonight clarify it for them both? Rather than hanging around worrying, Jill felt the best thing would be to get dressed and get to the apartment. Mark would know where she was and meet up with her later.

  Taking extra care with her makeup, covering the bruising around her jaw with dark circle corrector made her swollen face more obvious, like a big ecru balloon. The white of her left eye had a slight yellow cast to it, grossing her out, but she couldn’t wear dark glasses at night without feeling self-conscious. Reaching for her gun, she placed it in a concealed holster and clipped it onto the waistband of her pants. Habit, she reached for it with her right hand to determine it was in the correct place.

  She blew out the candle on her altar and took her coat off the coat rack. As she pulled it on, she glanced around her apartment, noting that everything was in order. A knit hat, gloves, a warm cashmere scarf—she was ready for the walk to her papa’s for dinner. As she stepped out of the apartment onto the landing, she was glad for the extra layers; it was freezing cold. The rain had ended by noon. Fresh snow was supposed to fall by morning, but for now the sky was clear, and she’d have a starlit walk to Greektown.

  The streets were active as people went to their cars, arms loaded with gifts and others returning home from last minute shopping. Every house was lit up, the occupants either preparing for loved ones or snuggling in for the night. Jill liked a combination of those two things: family visits followed by solitude in her own apartment.