Misery scored the faces of the Rodriguez boys.
Fernando’s voice softened, wet with subdued tears. “Sarah is my world. She … She’s going through chemotherapy right now. I need to be there for her. I love her so much.”
A similar emotion colored Reuben’s expression. His eyes were damp and distant. No doubt his thoughts were on Noah.
Li sensed his ten minutes were drying up. “Listen, I don’t have much time left to talk, so I need to make this quick. Fernando, do you recall the dish you made for Kathryn Lindstrom that night?”
Fern’s face stiffened. “I’ll never forget it. It was for a table of three. Her dish was a perfectly roasted beef tenderloin with a white pepper sauce and homemade spaetzle using Chef Felix’s grandmother’s recipe. There was nothing wrong with it.”
I believe you. “Reuben, did you see or hear anything while you were in the pasta aisle that night?”
“I’ve thought about it over and over, and I can’t think of anything. Nothing seemed off! I think Oscar might have been dead before I even got to the pasta aisle.”
Officer Bianca Flores opened the door. Li stood, his eyes intent on their terrified faces.
“Don’t give up. I will make sure you both are back home in no time. I swear on my father’s grave.”
Pricey Pritchard. It was Li’s first glimpse into how the fancier half of Shorewood lived. Homes of good, expensive quality lined the street, not mansions per se, but homes with enough square footage to price themselves far out of reach of Li’s minimum wage scraps. Every lawn was trimmed, every wall razor-straight, every window polished.
Li found 218 Pritchard quickly, aided by the sight of Kathryn Lindstrom tending to the pools of white mums circling the trees in front of the gray-and-white house. Her rich brown curls were tamed into a braid and, despite the activity, she looked fresh and clean as if dirt couldn’t bear the idea of sullying her. She glanced up at Li’s approach. Her violet eyes glimmered, and she mopped up a nonexistent sheen of sweat from her brow.
“Oh hello. You’re that boy from the grocery store, right?”
“Yes, I am. Hello, Kathryn.”
Kathryn brushed off some imaginary dirt and stood, trowel in her gloved hand. “I was just tidying up the flower beds. Would you like to come inside for some lemonade? I made cookies yesterday.”
Li wondered about her generous nature. Her spoonfuls of sugar were more like dump trucks. Was that how she hurt people? Not by a lack of sweetness, but an inconsideration toward uglier emotions, toward suffering, toward pain.
“Is everything okay?”
She reminded him, very sharply, of his own mother. A dagger twisted in his heart, and he forced his body to swallow the memory. “That’d be really nice, Kathryn. My name’s Li, by the way. Li Johnson. I’m actually a friend of Jason’s. Is he home?”
A little cloud hovered over her face. “Jason? Yes, he is. He … He didn’t tell me he had friends. We would have had you over sooner. Well, come on inside.”
She led the way into the Lindstrom palace. Li took note of the crystal sheen, the designer furnishings, the surgically fine execution of the decor. A showroom house. Style over sensitivity. As he sipped his lemonade, he heard Kathryn call up the stairs. “Jason! One of your friends has come to visit!” He noticed the slight lilt on the word “friends.” A foreign word to associate with Oscar’s son.
Li felt a stab of sympathy for Jason, the boy who was a prisoner all his life.
Jason, his amber eyes bewildered, crept into the kitchen, shoulders hunched as if waiting for the blow of a sinister prank. His eyes quadrupled in size when he saw his visitor. “Li? What are you doing here?”
“It’s my day off. Thought you could use some company.”
Jason scanned Li. “Really?”
“Yes, of course. You want some cookies? Your stepmom made them.”
Jason shoved the plate aside. “Not really hungry.”
“Then let’s go for a walk. It’s a nice day outside. You can show me around the neighborhood.”
“I … I don’t … I … well …”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” He took a hold of Jason’s arm and steered him toward the door. He steered him because Jason seemed incapable of moving his feet on his own. Only when they got to the sidewalk did Jason control his footsteps again. His eyes kept darting back to the loveless gray house.
Li’s voice was gentle. “Jason, you’re not a prisoner. You’re free. You can do whatever you want. And I promise I’m not pulling a joke on you.”
A hot, red blush flooded Jason’s pale face. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to this. I keep waiting for the punchline.” He kicked at the dust on the concrete. “I tried to kill myself last night.”
“What? Jason, what happened?”
Jason shuffled down the street with Li in tow. “I … I wasn’t really aware of what I was doing. I had a nightmare where Dad made me take another of his evil baths. This time, he shoved my head under the water. I didn’t realize I was sleepwalking and had actually made a bath. I got in and tried to drown myself.” His shoulders hiked to his ears. “Kathryn heard the water running and got there in time to pull me out. I swear she must have permanent blinders glued on her face or something. She thought I fell asleep while having a bath. But I … I realized what truly happened.”
“Jason … do you need to talk to someone?”
“I-I don’t know. I … I feel so lost. Dad controlled everything I did. When I ate, when I slept, when I breathed. How am I going to survive? What am I going to do?” His expression was pleading, pathetic, pained.
Li could sense he wanted someone—anyone—to tell him what to do. To manage his life. Jason grew up without freedom, and freedom was something he both craved and feared.
“What do you want to do, Jason?”
Fear, surprise, confusion all collided on that wan face.
“W-what?”
“What do you want to do? It’s not my place to say. It’s no one’s.”
“Y-you don’t understand! I don’t know!”
“It’s still not my business to tell you what you should do. That’s just as damaging as your father keeping you prisoner. This might be the scariest moment of your life, the moment where you have to make the choices and take the steps. Is it any scarier than sneaking out to take a class? It’s your choice.” Li clapped both hands on Jason’s shoulders and looked squarely into those fearful amber eyes poorly concealed behind hair-thin glasses. “What do you want to do?”
Jason nearly swallowed his bottom lip. “I … I do like to write. I-is that good?”
“It’s not for me to say.”
Jason’s expression started to crumble.
Li stood firm. “Jason, I am not in charge of you. No one is. You are free to go out and explore and make mistakes and find triumph and take that adventure you’ve always wanted. If you want to write, write! If you want to open a store, go for it! If you want to travel the world, nothing is stopping you! It’s your life now. Whatever you decide, I hope you are following your heart and that you are happy. That’s the most important thing. Your happiness is now in your hands.”
Jason stared at him, speechless. Then a small, fragile smile tweaked his lips.
“Thank you, Li. For everything.”
They walked on in silence for a bit. With each step, Jason grew a little more sure of it, and the small smile strengthened. He didn’t look as drained and colorless as he once did.
Jason broke the silence after they crossed the street and started walking down the opposite side. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Li, but I have a feeling you have more you want to ask me about than just my welfare.”
“I’m that transparent, am I?”
“A little bit. But I do appreciate you being here. At least someone cares. I thought Kathryn’s eyes were going to shoot out of her head when she said I had a friend over for a visit.” He sighed, but it wasn’t a melancholy sound. More like the release of pent-up tension. “So what’s o
n your mind? Do they have any more information about Dad’s murder?”
Li went into the story Reuben told him. “And now he and his brother are at the station as material witnesses. But I don’t think they killed your father. Just the threat alone nearly sent them to the madhouse. I can’t imagine what keeping the secret of a murder would do to them.”
Jason crammed his fists in his pockets, and his eyes were somber. “Aw damn … I told my dad a thousand times not to publish that stuff about Bauer. It was wrong. Most of it was outright lies. I wasn’t there when it happened, but I gathered that it was an accident, a fluke. No one, least of all Kathryn, saw it coming. He was just jealous that the place was popular without his having a hand in any of it. But he would never listen to me.” His reedy voice dropped as low as it could. “I’m so so so sorry that happened to their family. To all those families. No one deserves that. No one.”
“I don’t believe Reuben and Fernando are murderers. I think they made a mistake because they were angry, but I don’t think they hurt anyone.” Urgency stole into Li’s voice. “That’s why I have to figure this out. I have to know the truth. The longer they sit there uncertain, the longer they wonder ‘What if?,’ the longer they brood over their mistakes—it can do disastrous damage to their relationships. The uncertainty and fear and regret could kill them. I can’t let that happen. Like Reuben said, there’s been enough pain. So I need your help, Jason. We need to know the truth.”
“Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”
The serpent that had coiled around Li’s torso, a band of anxiety squeezing his lungs, eased a bit. “Thank you so much. First of all, do you know of anyone who would have access to your father’s office?”
“Mostly just Kathryn and me. Sometimes he’d have colleagues over, but he had the only key.”
“Did your father ever write in a special … code?”
“Code?” Jason looked at Li like he had announced his candidacy for emperor of all eggplants. “What kind of code?”
“Mainly abbreviations.” Li told him about the list of groceries secreted in Oscar’s pocket, giving him a few of the entries he could remember.
Jason’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Hmmm … He sometimes abbreviated his entries when he took notes. I think some of those can be worked out. T-n F-l-t could be tuna filets. W-r-c-t-s-r could be Worcestershire sauce. S-A-C could be sliced American cheese. But I’m no expert. What else?”
“When Oscar reviewed Bauer, did he receive any media backlash?”
“Nope. Freedom of press and all that. The Gazette is really gun-shy. They like to water down bad news.”
Not a great attribute for a newspaper. “You mentioned your father’s resignation. Did he give any impression on how his boss took it?”
“From what I gathered, Frank was livid. Dad never played fair. He rubbed it in Frank’s face. Made Frank want to kill him.” His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat.
Li ignored the awkwardness. “And this business with Juliana Esposito? What happened with her?”
“I don’t know much about it. Just that Dad suspected something was off. And that she was fired from The Gazette. I think he hinted at some article she wrote too.”
“When you left the house Sunday night, did you notice anything suspicious? Did you maybe see someone walking home from the grocery store? Any trace of your dad?”
Jason shook his head. “Sorry. I saw nothing. It was a dark, quiet night.”
“What about the neighbors who saw that silhouette of Oscar? Where do they live?”
“We’re standing in front of it.”
One across and two down from the Lindstrom abode, the house was a two-story picture in warm earth browns and forest greens, the colors equally applied to the wilderness or a pool table. The lawn was as flat as a football field, totally bare of flower beds or any other attempt at gardening. A large uncurtained window faced the street.
Jason gestured at it. “If you’re hoping to talk to Staci Belmont, think again. Tom and Staci broke up. Then again, this was never her house. It’s Tom Delancey’s. Tom and my dad had one thing in common: They weren’t ‘one-woman’ men. But while my dad cheated on his wives, Tom never married. He’s the perpetual bachelor. We’re talking singing-bass, fishing-pole-art, novelty-beer-sign kind of bachelor. Many of his girlfriends come from the fishing and hiking lodges he frequents. Outdoorsy types.”
Li turned to face Oscar’s house. He could see Kathryn working in her flower beds and had a good view of a second-story window. “I take it that’s the office window?”
“Yes, it is.”
Very thorough job, Oscar. Placing a silhouette in that window was the perfect vantage point to get at least one witness to “Oscar” never leaving his house. He must have planned it all with extreme clinical care, the kind a bomb technician would employ. He felt the puzzle pieces starting to fit together, forming a design from the tangle and mess.
Li started walking again, the gears and sprockets spinning in his skull. “Jason, you said you felt your dad had something big planned, right?”
Jason followed. “Yeah, I did.”
“Do you have any idea what that something could have been?”
“No, I don’t.”
But Li was going to find out. An upcoming destination on his truth tour was a vital and hopefully illuminating job interview.
Li wanted to make a stop before his interview. A very important stop.
He stood outside the apartment door of Juliana Esposito. He knocked twice.
A redhead with a quick glare and a strong chin opened the door with a brusque jerk. She sized up her visitor in one sweep of her ice-blue eyes. “I’m not buying anything.” She moved to slam the door.
“I’m not selling. My name is Li Johnson. I wanted to ask you about your time at The Shorewood Gazette.”
The door stopped. Her cold eyes roved over his face, a general inspecting the enemy fortress for a weakness. “Reporter?”
“Justice seeker.”
She snorted. “What are you? A superhero? This isn’t playtime, kid.”
“You are Juliana Esposito, right? Former political reporter for The Gazette?”
She exaggerated the arch of one swooping eyebrow. “I haven’t decided whether you deserve to know.”
“I’m here to ask about the article you wrote about Marshall Henderson, the mayor.”
“Is this a threat?”
“This is justice.” Li’s blue-gray eyes gleamed like the shine of a new sword. “You were fired because of what you wrote, weren’t you? Because you knew something about the Hendersons they didn’t want revealed. And Oscar Lindstrom found out. This secret, whatever it is, might have killed him. You heard about the murder, right? Well, whatever this secret is has also come after me. I’ve been attacked and kidnapped by the agents of Constance Henderson herself. And now I want to know why.”
Juliana’s eyes narrowed. “So what you’re saying is that I must know something about our so-called loving and open-minded mayor and that this something might have killed one of my former colleagues?”
“Exactly.”
“And how would this be justice, Mr. Superhero?”
“Because if there was a major cover-up, you can get the story out there. You have the chance to expose all their corruption.” He gave her a confident, knowing grin. “You could have any reporter job you wanted.”
Li could see Juliana weighing her options by the intensity and faraway glaze of her icy stare. Like she was seeing him and seeing right through him. He crossed his fingers behind his back.
A savvy smile spread across her lips. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Work is slow. And I’m intrigued by this murder and kidnapping story. Come in. But no funny business. You haven’t met Attila, my Great Dane, yet.”
Li stepped into her apartment, positive he was going to have a clear, concise chat that answered a lot of lingering questions. Then he’d be off for his interview.
At The Shorewood Gazett
e.
CHAPTER 15
When Words Hurt
“So you can see, Liam, The Gazette offices are full of high-profile professionals with a combined experience of 120 years in the news business.”
Li glanced around the active office, the reporters hunched like goblins over their treasured articles, the reception desk abuzz with cantankerous phones whose calls were quickly shuttled to the appropriate desks. Not a single face turned to them; The Gazette was absorbed in the activity of Thursday’s paper.
Li shifted his scrutiny to Frank Dixon, who had gestured with a wide arc of his arm over the office space. Like an acne-scarred Ozymandias. “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” But Li recalled the next part of that poem. “Nothing beside remain.” The secret Li learned from Juliana could devastate Dixon’s petty empire, reduce it to dust and ashes.
Frank nudged Li with a hand on his back. “Let’s continue the interview in my office.” His toothy smile stretched across his pockmarked skin, but a web of stress lines ringed his eyes.
Li inspected Frank’s office. Walnut paneling clad three of the four walls, the fourth occupied by windows looking out on the cityscape. The only artwork was framed front pages of past issues of The Gazette, highlighting its top stories in its eighty-year existence. Frank Dixon’s personality had been confined to his desk, a huge mahogany monster decorated with little paperweights and family pictures. The editor-in-chief’s office, no matter who held the position, had been designed to be stern, stolid, and stark, a fortress of respectability and truth.
Truth. The hallmark of journalism.
But did that tradition of truth-telling reflect on The Gazette’s current editor?
Cleanup on Aisle Six Page 18
