Penny Legend

by Lucy English

  “Your heart is too big and too soft, but I guess that’s what they look for in social workers.”

  “Well, I don’t think yours is as small and hard as you pretend. But I guess you gotta fake it in your job.”

  I wished we were in person rather than on the phone. I was still trying to figure out whether I was just imagining that he was a compassionate guy or whether I was making up stories about who he was because I wanted to like him.

  “Look,” he said, “the homicide is solved and the justice system will do its thing. I’m still working on the drug network, but that doesn’t involve you, so as far as I’m concerned our professional relationship is sidelined. I was supposed to stay uninvolved up until now, and clearly I didn’t manage that, but now it’s legit. I can take you out and I’d like to do that tonight. I’d like a turn at trying to win your heart.”

  A turn? What did he mean? Then it hit me. The tracking device was still somewhere in my bag. I’d never found it—he must have hidden it in the lining or something and I just hadn’t taken the time to search. He knew I slept in Cambridge last night.

  “I, uh, yeah. I’d be up for dinner.” I felt flushed with embarrassment or angst, I wasn’t sure which. I brushed off my discomfort about being under Conner’s surveillance; after all, he’d been protecting me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Maggie called shortly after I hung up with Conner.

  “Legend has been crying since he got home from school. He wrote ‘Aunt D’ on the back of his homework sheet and handed it to me. Is there any way he can see her?”

  “I’ll take him down there,” I said. I wasn’t actually sure, but I felt like trying and failing would be better than leaving him at Maggie’s crying and worrying. “I’ll be there by five thirty. Tell him to hang tight.”

  I texted Conner. “Bringing Legend to the station. He needs to see Desiree.”

  I didn’t get a text back, but figured he was tied up.

  I picked up Legend and we took the Orange Line from Chinatown to Ruggles station. Boston Police Headquarters is a block-long, four-story granite and glass building built in the late 1990s to replace a scattered bunch of old buildings that had housed different parts of the PD. It looked pretty imposing that afternoon with the sun glinting off the glass. I glanced at Legend to see how he was doing, but he didn’t look afraid; he had his jaw set and his head forward like he was only thinking about getting inside.

  The information guy in the lobby asked an officer to escort us to Conner’s office. Apparently he’d left word to expect us.

  The officer deposited us in Conner’s empty office, where we sat and waited. Legend was fidgeting with the snap on the pocket of his cargo shorts and periodically glancing at the door. I wasn’t sure what to tell him.

  “I’m not really sure we’ll get to see her, you know.”

  He nodded.

  “She might be talking to the lawyer who’s gonna help her.”

  He made eye contact and nodded more emphatically. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to communicate.

  “I don’t think we can go in if they’re meeting.”

  Legend sat up taller in his chair and took a deep breath.

  Conner appeared in the doorway. His shirt was untucked and his hair was wild, but he was clearly effecting calm for our sake—or Legend’s.

  “Hey, Legend, hey, Penny.” I got the sense he was as unsure what to do as I was.

  Legend stood.

  “Legend is hoping we can see Desiree,” I said, as if he didn’t know.

  “Well, she’s pretty busy with the process here. The public defender is talking with her now.”

  Legend walked right up to Conner and looked up at him. He held eye contact.

  “Uh,” Conner stammered. “I’m not sure how long that will take…”

  Legend stepped around Conner and out of the office door. He looked right and left.

  “Uh, okay,” Conner said quietly. “Let’s go see.”

  I followed them down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs, and down another hallway. Conner curtly greeted the homicide detective, Detective Polk, who was in a conversation, half sitting, with his big belly heaving over his belt, on the edge of someone’s desk.

  Conner knocked on a door, then opened it. Detective Polk followed us in. Inside, Desiree and a thin, horse-faced woman were sitting across a small table from one another, each with a bottle of water, the woman with a notepad.

  It was a tiny room, overly warm, and smelled like sweat and bureaucracy.

  Desiree’s eyelashes winged up when she saw Legend. She put out her arms, but he didn’t hug her. Instead, he turned and faced the lawyer. He took a visible breath.

  “James hurt me a lot.”

  I heard a few small gasps, one of which could have been mine. His voice was a little rough with disuse, but it was clear and almost loud.

  He took in all of the people staring at him and backed up two steps to stand right in front of me. I put a hand on his arm.

  “Aunt Desiree saved me,” he said. “And I’ll tell whoever I gotta tell.”

  Desiree had tears streaming down her face and she was sniffling big. The public defender was searching her bag for tissues. Detective Polk turned and left the room. Conner stepped closer to me and subtly brushed my arm.

  Desiree opened her arms again and Legend went to her. He almost disappeared into her hug. “Baby, you shouldn’t have to do that. But I’m so glad to hear your precious voice!”

  He pulled back and looked at her. “I want to.”

  I glanced at Conner. The look on his face reminded me of the day I called him worried that Legend was being abused at the foster home. I’d heard great tenderness in his voice, and this was the face to match.

  “Thank you, Legend,” the defender said. “I hope we don’t need you to do that but it matters a lot that you’re willing. Your aunt is very lucky to have such a brave boy.”

  Legend looked over at me. I looked around the room and didn’t feel any pressing reason for us to stay.

  “We should go.”

  Legend led the way through the door and together we found our way out of the building. On the subway I said, “I’m really proud of you, and glad I know you.”

  He smiled a little half smile. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. I could only imagine the stress he’d been feeling and the relief mixed with fear connected to what he’d just done.

  “I won’t tell Maggie you talked if you don’t want to talk there. It’s totally understandable if you want to stay quiet sometimes.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll talk. Maybe not much.”

  I took his hand when we reached the Chinatown stop, and we worked our way out of the station together.

  Conner picked me up at eight for a late celebratory dinner. He brought a bouquet of gerbera daisies and an apology.

  “Sometimes it’s not clear how to do my job the best way,” he said.

  “Yeah, I have that problem too.”

  He took me to a pretty rooftop restaurant with sparkly lights draped all around. We drank prosecco and talked about things unrelated to work. I told him about my nieces in New Hampshire, about taking up running. He told me about how he used to take in and train foster dogs until his work schedule made it unfair to the dogs. We talked about places we wanted to travel and things we hoped to do someday. I told him I wanted to write a novel—something that people in pain could relate to and feel less alone. I’d never told anyone that before.

  He took me home and kissed me at my door. “Can I come in?”

  I found myself hesitating. “It was a great evening,” I stammered. What was wrong with me? He was as sexy as ever, we’d had a great date, but something was nagging. “Can we get the tracker out of my bag?”

  I held my bag open for him. He reached in and pulled out the stray change from the bottom. He flipped over a penny and showed me the chip glued on the back.

  “No wonder I didn’t see it!”

  “We don’
t need it anymore. You’re safe now.” He kissed me again, reached behind me, and opened the door.

  Around three in the morning, when we were totally exhausted, I pulled his arm around me, turned my back to him, and curled up to spoon. He sat up and turned, feet on the floor. I rolled over. The street light sliced in through the blinds, giving me a fragmented view of him, like in really old movies that were sort of played too slow—like flipping a flip book. He reached for his jeans.

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Yeah. I have to be at work early.” He turned and gave me an awkward kiss on the forehead as I pulled myself up to sitting. The moment felt so empty that I knew anything I said would sound needy.

  He dressed, gave me another peck, and left.

  Gloria was in the kitchen with coffee when I got up Friday morning. She poured a cup for me. I was upset about how the night with Conner ended, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He had to get to work early.

  “Dr. Pillbug’s gonna cooperate,” Gloria said, interrupting my negotiation with self-pity.

  “Does he have an actual name?”

  “Tad Smallwood.”

  “No.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Call Toryn.”

  “It’s six in the morning.” I paused. “Okay.”

  I called Toryn. He confirmed.

  Thirty minutes later he was at our door with fresh bagels and champagne. “Got OJ?” he asked.

  “We do!” Gloria replied with a little jump and a lunge to the kitchen.

  “You’re kidding,” I said. They were lightening my mood and I was more and more convinced that I’d had too much to drink the previous night and overreacted to Conner. Cops have a tough manner after all.

  “Nope!” they chorused. “Jinx one, two, three, four…” They sucker-punched each other and poured the mimosas.

  “Here’s to Legend and Desiree and happy endings for everyone!”

  “And with whom,” Toryn asked, lowering his chin and eyebrows, “shall we wish you a happy ending?”

  I gave my best Martel shrug, grabbed a bagel, and headed to my room to get ready for the day.

  The singing runner was both singing and playing air drums when she passed me on the way to work Friday. I caught a fragment of a lyric—it sounded like “Night’s gonna be your friend.” Maybe it was just the beautiful clear morning, but I hoped she was an omen.

  Conner was waiting in his chair in my office. I was a little taken aback but happy to see him looking like he always did when he came to visit. I’d definitely overreacted.

  “This is my last official visit,” he said. “Desiree was released on bond. Her lawyer is the best public defender in Boston. I don’t know how you did it.”

  “I have friends in low places,” I said. “What do you expect next?”

  “She has a good case for justifiable homicide, in which case I expect a very light sentence for the drugs if anything.”

  “Really?”

  “I can’t predict the future, but she was reacting against an imminent serious crime. James was trying to take Legend from the apartment. Plus we have evidence that James was abusing Legend. We were surprised that Dr. Smallwood was willing to testify, but I’m going to leave that alone and not ask if you were involved.”

  “Okay.” I rolled my chair a little closer to his, hoping to shift his mood to something a little less businesslike.

  “According to Desiree’s story, she didn’t have time to call the police. She distrusted the system so much that she didn’t realize she had a right to protect Legend. I think things will go in her favor.”

  I was close but he didn’t reach for me. “The one thing,” he added, “working against her is the drug possession. But I’m sure it will be clear that the drugs belonged to James, so I’m not too worried. The new defender will take over all the charges including the drugs, and I expect she’ll clear Desiree.”

  “I’m glad you’re a little worried,” I said. “Because it shows what a great guy you are.”

  “We can end the official business if you don’t have more questions,” he said.

  I smiled, believing that meant he wanted to move on to more personal topics, but paused to consider. “Gabe and Martel?”

  “Martel isn’t pressing charges. Says Gabe didn’t do it.”

  “I believe him,” I said. “I guess it’s not in his best interest to point fingers at whoever shot him.”

  “Guess not.”

  “So Legend is going home to Desiree and we have good hope for the outcome of her case. I don’t have any more questions.” I smiled and cocked my head a little, waiting to see what was next on his agenda.

  “Good,” he said. “I have to run to my next meeting.”

  If the feeling I’d had when he left the night before had been bad, this one would best be described as horrible. I’d been dismissed! I texted Toryn, who quickly texted me back with the invite to his place after work.

  I got there around five thirty and found him armed with cocktails. His wind-up toys were on the coffee table. I surveyed the little tin gathering and gave Toryn a questioning look.

  “They help me in hard times,” he said.

  “They’re for breakups!” I said. “Don’t beat around the bush. I’m not sure I’m having a breakup!”

  He handed me my martini and walked to the couch with his. I joined him there. The light outside was still strong. It poured through Toryn’s big windows and glared off the glass coffee table. The toys looked faded and worn, standing lifelessly waiting to have their cranks turned.

  Toryn waited for me to sort my thoughts.

  “Maybe we’re just readjusting now that our roles have changed, I said.

  “How much do you want to tell me and how much do you want to figure out on your own?”

  I thought about the question. The truth was I hadn’t taken much time for reflection. Was I being driven by a need for safety? By Conner’s sex appeal? By my own various dysfunctions when it comes to relationships? I sipped my martini and let some of the scenes of the previous weeks play back for me. Conner was overly directive about my role in finding out what happened to James. I had to work hard to defend my position protecting Legend. But on the other hand, Conner was trying to find the killer in order to keep Legend safe. I thought about him tracking me, but that was for my safety. Really I could see almost everything at least two ways.

  “At Desiree’s that one day, when I begged Conner to walk away and not take Tasha in for questioning, he did. I think he’s a good guy. He didn’t have to listen to me.”

  “Listening to you doesn’t make him a good guy,” Toryn said. “You’re smarter than you think. It was a good move on his part.”

  I looked at my empty martini glass. Toryn looked at his and frowned. He heaved himself dramatically up from the couch, took my glass, and went to the kitchen. I reached for a toy—a man walking with a duck at his side. I picked it up and wound it carefully. Maybe that would be me someday, like Ruth in Louise Penny’s novels, old and alone with only a duck as a companion. I set the toy down and it waddled slowly across the table. Toryn handed me a fresh martini and sat. My stomach was telling me that I needed to make a decision to end it with Conner. I knew it might take me a while to have clarity on why, it might even take me a while to do it, but it didn’t feel right. The fact that I kept rationalizing his actions in my head suggested that I would always doubt him, and that I had reason to.

  “It won’t be the end of the world,” I said after a while. “I mean, Marco’s back and Gloria is trying to get me to do online dating.”

  “It’s the right decision.”

  “I’m not sure. How can you be?”

  “Because I’m familiar with the homme fatale.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it, Penny. He used his charm and sex appeal to get his way. He had you right where he wanted you when he wanted you there and you solved the case for him.”


  “An homme fatale?”

  “Yes!”

  I thought maybe the second martini was getting to me.

  “As in he manipulated me and I blindly went along because I was so hot for him?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call you blind, but that’s the general idea. Far more common than femme fatales if you ask me. Women get all the blame for being manipulative, but in my experience you all are far more sincere in your relationships than men are.”

  “Huh.” I couldn’t argue with him there.

  There was a knock at the door and Gloria entered without waiting for Toryn to answer.

  “You’re a martini and a half late,” he said.

  “You know I can catch up,” Gloria said.

  She walked over and hugged me.

  “Is this a pity party or some kind of intervention?” I asked.

  “Whatever you need,” Gloria said.

  “Pity party,” Toryn said. “She figured it out on her own, more or less.”

  I was glad to have the two of them with me and I sat back and sipped my drink while they bantered about the perils of online dating. The harsh afternoon light had softened, and the wind-up toy army was at rest. A clown looked like he was tending to the man with the duck, who had toppled over. A monkey was on his way to repair a carousel, and a black cat blocked a baby from the table’s edge.

  Gloria went to the door and grabbed the big bag she always carried. She pulled out her laptop and opened it.

  “Time to set you up for online dating.”

  “No. That’s not a good idea.”

  “Yes it is,” they chorused.

  “Let’s doll her up and get a gorgeous picture,” Toryn said, jumping up from his chair.

  “We can take her down to the spa!” Gloria said.

  In less than an hour we were at the closed spa with carryout tacos, wine, and Toryn’s good camera. They kept my back to the mirror while they styled my hair and made up my face. I tried to think thoughts about a new me. One who didn’t fall for the wrong guy. One who believed she could have love and happiness. One who didn’t get tangled up in murders.