The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  He leaned over her. “She said that.”

  “And I was right.” Renata humphed. “Though Cynthia didn’t agree with me.”

  “It must have been uncomfortable for all of you,” I said.

  Renata cocked her head at me. “Cynthia’s disapproval of her son dating Sergio?”

  I took a chance. “That, and you and Sergio having to appear in front of Cynthia in court.”

  She groaned. “Cynthia told you about that, did she?”

  “Let it go, Mom,” Sergio said.

  She turned to him. “How can I let it go? That woman tried to send you to prison and your grandmother back to Venezuela!”

  Sergio leaned toward me. “When she was a judge, Cynthia wanted to take away my driver’s license for six months and put me in a juvenile detention center to make sure I didn’t drive without a license. Since the DWI was my first offense, my lawyer was able to plead it down to a DWAI, meaning a ninety-day license suspension and fine only. But Cynthia has hated me ever since.”

  Renata rested her elbows on the table. “My mother didn’t get off so easily. She tried to sue her landlord for shutting off her heat and hot water. During the trial, when Cynthia found out my mother was undocumented, the landlord got off scot-free, and Cynthia reported my mother to ICE!”

  “Was your mother deported?” I asked.

  “She died before the papers came.” Tears filled Renata’s dark eyes. “Cynthia killed my mother!”

  Sergio explained, “My grandma died of a heart attack.”

  “No doubt brought on by that menace in a black robe.” Renata folded her arms over her chest.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and rest? It was a rough night for all of us.” Sergio rose and took our plates. “I’m going to check on Nelson. I’ll come upstairs when I’m through.” He exited into the butler’s pantry.

  Renata beamed. “My son worries about my well-being.”

  “He should.” I smiled. “You’re a good mother.”

  “And you’re a good son to your aunt. I can tell.”

  “I try.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Do you have someone special in your life?”

  I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about Freddy. “Not right now.”

  Her face lit up. “How about that other nice boy? The painter?”

  “I think Zian has his sights set elsewhere.”

  She whispered, “Don’t go after the sleepwalker. He could jump off a balcony into the street and never even know it.” She patted my shoulder and trucked up the stairs.

  I tiptoed into the butler’s pantry and listened at the door to the kitchen.

  I heard Nelson say, “Dad, the New Testament nullifies the hateful laws in the Old Testament.”

  Sherry added, “And both were written thousands of years ago about another place and time.”

  Sergio put in his two cents. “In my Open and Affirming church, we see the Bible in historical context as a guidepost, showing us the way to love and take care of each other, celebrating and accepting everyone.”

  “Which we should all do,” Nelson said.

  “Jim, don’t you want your son to find love and happiness?” Sherry said, “Can’t you accept him for who he is? And accept yourself too?”

  “Everyone, stop!” Jim shouted, “Nelson, you want to be homosexual? You want Sergio as your boyfriend. You want to get married, adopt ten kids, and join the PTA. Fine! But why do the three of you have to hurl it in my face?”

  Nelson’s spoke calmly. “When you were dating Mom, didn’t you talk about it?”

  Jim moaned. “What does that matter? Your mother’s gone now.”

  Sherry said, “It matters because without Cynthia’s judgments and objections, we can finally be true to ourselves and come together as a family.”

  I heard voices in the dining room and shot out of the butler’s pantry, coming face-to-faces with Kelly and Zian. Trying to appear casual, I asked, “Who’s your next interview, Detective?”

  “You are.”

  Zian backed off. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Stay,” Kelly said. “After I speak to Andre, I have another question for you.”

  Kelly gestured toward one of the chaises in the living room. Zian and I sat first. Kelly joined us, banging his knee on a nearby end table. “Yesterday, you seemed to know a lot about what was going on in the B and B. I know you want to help your friend Gabriel. So here’s your chance, Andre. Do you have any additional information for me?” He slipped his tablet out of his suit jacket.

  I slid to the edge of my seat. “I did some research on the web, and I found out Sergio Santino and his grandmother, Consuela, stood before Cynthia’s court in New York City.”

  “I knew that,” Kelly replied.

  “And I assume you also know your sister Sharon did the same.”

  Kelly froze.

  Zian asked him, “Are you all right?”

  He nodded.

  Zian explained to me, “Sharon got into some trouble when she was a kid. Cynthia sentenced her to juvenile detention.”

  I nodded. “Where Sharon was the target of some older girls.”

  Kelly snapped at Zian, “I told you that in confidence.”

  “I knew all about it,” I explained. “Sherry told me.”

  “After she’s had one flask too many, I assume.” Kelly sighed. “Cynthia made the wrong call. That place messed up my sister for years, but now Sharon is in therapy and she’s doing fine.” He smiled at Zian. “She likes art therapy.”

  Zian returned the smile.

  I gently broached the subject to Zian. “Since you live in New York City, did you come in contact with the Russells during that time?”

  “No.” Zian looked down at his sneakers.

  “Yesterday you asked Cynthia if you could speak with her about a private matter.”

  A tear laced Zian’s eye.

  “It might make you feel better to get it off your chest.”

  Anger filled Zian’s face. “After I left my father’s house, I moved into the City. I painted at night. My daytime bread-and-butter job was working as Cynthia’s clerk. The job didn’t last long.”

  “Because Cynthia wanted you to ‘work after hours’?”

  He nodded. “And I refused. When I confronted her about it yesterday, she denied the whole thing. When I pressed her on it, she said the Lord had forgiven all the sins of her past. As if that excuses her bad behavior. What a bitch. It took me months to find another job—as a busboy in a restaurant.”

  I spoke from the heart. “Zian, what Cynthia did to you was horrible—and illegal. Why didn’t you sue her?”

  “Sue a judge? And with what money?”

  “Good point.” I patted his hand. “Anyway, I’m glad you told me.”

  As if suddenly realizing, he said, “And I also just told a detective.” Zian turned to Kelly. “Are you going to lock me up now?”

  “Why would I do that?” Kelly asked.

  “I have a motive to kill Cynthia.”

  Kelly’s hazel eyes sparkled. “You are definitely a person of interest to me.”

  I stood. “I should get back to my room. If you need me, you know where to find me.” I hurried up the stairs, anxious to get Freddy’s take on what I’d uncovered.

  Chapter Eight

  I SWUNG open the door and scanned our room. No Freddy. Sitting on the piano bench, I loaded the roll labeled “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” written by Irving Berlin in 1932. Immediately the room chilled, the lights flickered, and my nose tingled from bubbly champagne. Freddy lifted me to my feet and spun me around the room in a half Charleston and half waltz, which landed us on the window seat, panting as the gorgeous view of the sparkling river and sun-kissed mountains loomed over us.

  Freddy wiped his brow with his pocket handkerchief. “Israel wrote that song and ‘Let Yourself Go’ prior to one of J. Edgar Hoover’s balls, causing Eddie to dress as Mae West and lead me across the dance floor. All went well until Mae he
rself arrived at the soirée, took one look at Eddie, and said, ‘You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. So scram!’”

  “Freddy, why do you keep disappearing into the pianola?” I asked, still out of breath.

  He seemed preoccupied. “I’ve been trying to sort things out.”

  “About your mother’s letters?”

  He chortled too loudly. “No, I’ve been exercising the little gray cells about the murder.”

  I could tell he was lying, but I didn’t want to press it. Besides, we did have a murder to solve. “I uncovered more information about our suspects.”

  “You’re a blue Serge!” He kissed my cheek. “Do tell.”

  After organizing my thoughts, I said, “With Cynthia Butler Russell deceased, Sherry Butler seems to be on her way to becoming mistress of the Welcome Bed and Breakfast and one step closer to getting Jim Russell to accept his son’s sexual orientation—as well as his own.”

  “Which means Jim might also accept Nelson and Sergio’s relationship?”

  “Hopefully.”

  “Renata Garcia Santino must be happy.”

  “Perhaps, but she’s not happy about Cynthia’s past attempt to deport her mother to Venezuela and send her son to a juvenile detention center.”

  Freddy cocked his head. “Cynthia did that?”

  I nodded. “When Cynthia was a judge in New York City.”

  “What stopped her?”

  “Consuela Santino’s heart attack and Sergio’s lawyer, who pleaded his drinking while driving charge down to a temporary license suspension and fine.”

  “Which brings to mind a terrible tragedy in my own life!”

  I knew better than trying to stop one of Freddy’s stories.

  “One evening I was driving Joan Crawford, Cary Grant, and Greta Garbo to a movie premiere. Cary and Joanie were in the front seat with me, and Greta sat by herself in the back. We were miles away from the theater when Cary professed his undying love for me. After I let the dear boy down easily, Joanie banished him to the back seat. Then Greta screamed, ‘I vant to be alone!’ So poor Cary, rejected twice, sought solace in the small bar next to him. Suddenly he shouted, ‘Freddy, you’re out of gin rickeys!’ At the sound of Cary’s shrieks, Joanie leaped in fright and smacked into my arm, which caused the car to swerve into a fire hydrant in front of a butcher shop. We all arrived at the premiere wet and covered in chicken feathers.”

  I groaned. “Freddy, what does that have to do with Sergio Santino?”

  “The moral of my story, dear boy, is while the driver of a vehicle should never drink while driving, he must always have plenty of gin rickeys on hand for the passengers.”

  “I doubt there were any passengers in the car when Sergio was arrested.”

  “Be that as it may, had young Sergio been equipped with gin rickeys, he could have offered one to the police officer, I assume thereby escaping arrest.”

  Steering our conversation back to the murder, I said, “Judge Cynthia had also decided Detective Kelly’s sister, Sharon, should be sent to juvenile prison for stealing food and clothing—after Sharon ran away from home when her father was on a drunken spree!”

  “Did Cynthia get her way?”

  “She sure did. And Sharon was bullied by some older girls in juvenile prison! According to Kelly, his sister needed therapy to overcome the trauma.” I barely stopped to breathe. “Zian Raye was Cynthia’s clerk until she wanted his assistance with more than her court cases. He finally confronted her about it yesterday.”

  Freddy’s eyes widened. “What was her response?”

  “According to Zian, Cynthia said the Lord has forgiven her past transgressions, and she told him to get over it.”

  Freddy tented his fingers. “There are various reasons why many people might want Cynthia dead. But I presume only one person killed her.”

  There was a knock at the door. I rose and pulled it open, finding Zian Raye with a dazed expression on his face. “Zian, what’s wrong?” I led him into the room.

  He stared at me, dumbstruck.

  “Perhaps he’s been inhaling his paint,” Freddy said.

  Zian held on to the armchair. “I’m a Buddhist. I meditate for clarity of mind, peace, and to store up good karma for my next life. But I also meditate to envision things I might want in this life.”

  I sat Zian down in the armchair and took the adjoining armchair. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Zian rubbed his forehead. “I’ve been really worried about Gabriel. He seems so lost and alone.”

  “I’ve been concerned about him too.”

  “So I meditated, envisioning him well and happy.” His olive cheeks pinkened. “But I also meditated, seeing Gabriel and me….”

  “As a couple?”

  Zian nodded sheepishly.

  Freddy guffawed. “Now Buddha is a mystic for the lovelorn!”

  “Shhh!”

  Zian asked, “Should I continue?”

  “Please.” I motioned for Zian to go on.

  He took in a deep breath. “But what I saw wasn’t Gabriel and me together. In my vision, I was with Kelly!”

  I couldn’t help smiling.

  Not seeming to notice, Zian rested his elbows on his knees. “It started with Kelly interrogating me about Cynthia’s murder. I found him arrogant, egotistical, and condescending.”

  Freddy added, “Like most peepers, Kelly’s no doubt also a dimwit.”

  “No, he’s not,” I said to Freddy, momentarily forgetting Zian was in the room.

  Zian nodded. “I know. The more time I spent with Kelly, and the more we opened up to each other about our lives, I discovered something unbelievable.” Zian sat back in his chair. “I like Kelly!”

  I replied, “And I think Kelly likes you.”

  Zian seemed in shock. “Kelly asked me out to dinner tonight, and I accepted.”

  “You two began as oil and lemon juice, but you’re ending as Greek Goddess dressing!”

  “Which would be abysmal on a Waldorf salad.”

  I glared at Freddy. Then I said to Zian, “I could tell you were attracted to Kelly all along, and it was obvious he was mesmerized by you.”

  Zian asked me, “Are you sure you’re a teacher? You sound more like a psychiatrist.”

  “Some days there isn’t much difference.” I added, “A good relationship is a good relationship. It doesn’t take a professional to see that.”

  Freddy added, “We’re a much better couple than Kelly and Zian.”

  I whispered to Freddy, “Every couple is different.”

  Zian sighed. “And Kelly and I are sure different. Besides the height, age, and occupational differences, Kelly is tough. He says what’s on his mind. And he shoots from the hip.”

  “I’ll bet he does,” Freddy said with a naughty giggle.

  “Shhh!”

  Zian nodded. “Sorry if I’m running off at the mouth about the saga of my love life.”

  “No, I’m honored that you told me. And I think Kelly is a lot more sensitive and caring than you think. Look how he has taken care of his sister. Besides, opposites attract. Your sweetness might be the perfect match for Kelly’s strength.”

  “Thanks, Andre.” Zian stood on shaky legs. “This thing with Kelly is so unexpected. And it came smack in the middle of a murder investigation where I’m a suspect!”

  “We can’t control the timing of when something good comes our way. Your prayers and meditations were answered, just not in the way you had originally imagined.”

  He gave me a hug.

  Freddy stood over us. “Enough of that, young man. Kelly is yours, and Andre is mine!”

  Zian walked to the door. “I’ll be in my room if you hear anything about the murder.”

  Following him, I said, “Given your new relationship with the detective on the case, I’m guessing you’ll know before me. Hang in there, Zian.”

  We shared a smile.

  I shut the door after Zian and enjoyed the sensat
ion of Freddy’s long arms around my torso.

  “I hope the peeper and your little friend are as happy as we are.”

  Turning around to face him, I took his beautiful face in my hands and smothered it with kisses. “That’s not possible.”

  He kissed my neck. “You are wise beyond your years, dear boy.”

  “Did you like what I said to Zian?”

  “I’m referencing your comment about our inability to control the timing of when something good comes our way.” He seemed contemplative. “How can we be certain if something is in fact good?”

  Something was bothering Freddy, and I needed to help him. Having given Freddy the space to read and digest his mother’s letters, it was time for him to put his cards, or in this case his letters, on the table. “You finished reading your mother’s letters, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. A tear laced his eye.

  “Freddy, I love you. And I want to be here for you. I know there is something about those letters you aren’t sharing with me. Why won’t you trust me and tell me what it is?”

  He walked slowly and stood at the balcony window with his back to me. After what seemed like an eternity, Freddy finally approached the desk, opened the drawer, flipped the hatch, and reached into the cubbyhole. Then he plopped the letters down on the desk and sat on the armchair facing straight ahead.

  “Would you like me to read your mother’s letters?”

  He nodded.

  Sitting at the desk, I carefully tugged on the worn string until it lay on the desktop. Gently taking the first letter in my hands, I read the swirly, thick ink, which was partially faded on the yellowed parchment.

  The year of 1904, the eleventh day of January. My dearest Amelia, I am ecstatic that your family moved to Cold Spring, so near mine. I hope your mother, father, and sister are well. Thank you for accepting my parents’ invitation to their soiree. I was also honored when you accepted my invitation on your dance card. What a pleasure it was to hold you in my arms and lead you across my family’s ballroom when the orchestra played “In the Sweet By and By.” I also could not believe my good fortune when you rested your head on my shoulder.