by Sandra Balzo
‘Were you still here when the snow-blower kicked out?’
Oliver glanced quickly over at Mrs G and then shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly when that was, but I was here when Mrs G got back.’
Inconclusive, of course. Oliver could have killed Way and still been back in the pharmacy by the time Mrs G returned.
I left Oliver and Mrs G to a discussion of the eye strain that could arise from reading in dim light. Or maybe she was lecturing him on other ways to go blind.
While Naomi Verdeaux was still my preferred suspect, I wanted to interview her last, after I’d tied up the other loose ends.
One of those loose ends was Luc Romano. Where was he when the snow-blower coughed out?
I didn’t see Luc anywhere, but I found Tien watching the storm through the ‘GO’ of ‘Goddard Family Pharmacy’ stenciled on the window. As I approached, the glass groaned under the force of the gale outside.
‘That window is practically bowing, Tien. Should you be standing there?’
Honestly, who did I think I was? I’d gone from being just Eric’s mom to overall mall-mother. Pretty soon I’d be cutting their meat into bite-sized pieces for them. If we had any meat.
But Tien turned, her face aglow. ‘I know, but I just love storms. My father and I used to watch them together when I was little.’
‘I did that with my mom, too,’ I admitted. The two of us had stood in the open garage door, counting together. ‘One one-thousand, two one-thousand...’
My mother - the squirrel, in this case, doesn’t fall far from the tree - had taught me that each second that elapsed between our sighting the lightning flash and hearing the thunder meant the storm was another mile away.
It was only later that I tumbled to the fact that the speed of sound is only about a thousand feet per second, which means it takes about five seconds for the thunderclap to travel a mile. So, when Mom and I thought the lightning was still five miles from us, it was really only a mile away.
God knows how I survived my childhood.
I’d gotten the math right with Eric, but he and I continued the tradition. Poking fun at each other when the thunder finally came and made us jump, Eric dashing out into the storm to play in the puddles, me laughing and telling him to be careful.
‘The bigger the thunderstorm, the better,’ I said, remembering.
Tien pointed out the window as the lightning strobed on the still falling snow. ‘Is this one big enough for you?’
‘And then some.’ I sighed. ‘I do prefer thunderstorms that you don’t have to shovel.’
As I spoke thunder rumbled, following the lightning like...well, thunder follows lightning. ‘Is your dad sleeping?’
She shook her head, her dark hair swinging back and forth. ‘I’ve never known my dad to sleep during a storm. I think he wants to keep watch. Make sure I’m safe.’ She smiled, seeming a little embarrassed, but also proud that she had such a good protector.
‘Take it from me. You never stop wanting to keep your kids safe.’ I touched her shoulder. ‘Whether they’re two, or thirty-two.’
Her smile grew wider. ‘I didn’t get a chance to ask Eric. How does he like the U?’
Only students or locals called the University of Minnesota ‘the U’. I cocked my head. ‘Did you go to Minnesota? I don’t know why, but I thought you went to UW in Madison.’
‘I did,’ Tien said, ‘but I dated a guy who went to Minnesota. I put a lot of miles on my car driving up to The Cities to see him.’
The twin cities of Minneapolis and St Paul, Minnesota are about four hours from Madison, where the University of Wisconsin is, or five hours from Brookhills.
Take my word for it. I’d driven it behind the wheel of a rental truck for two autumns and one spring, taking Eric up and back.
‘I bet you did,’ I said. ‘And Eric is doing great in Minneapolis.’
I was glad that I could say it honestly, given my fears about him earlier. ‘He’s a sophomore this year, so I don’t hear from him as much as I used to.’
‘That’s a good sign. It means he’s happy.’ Tien nodded toward Oliver, who was still on the floor in front of the magazines, apparently willing to go blind. ‘Life could be worse.’
‘Like being brought up in a strip mall by uncaring parents who then go and get themselves killed?’ I asked.
Tien, uncharacteristically, bristled at that. ‘I don’t think Way was uncaring. He was a very kind man.’
Aww, geez. Not another woman enthralled by Way Benson? I hoped Tien’s name wasn’t on the jerk’s tattooed list of conquests.
I cleared my throat. ‘So where did you say your dad was?’
Tien looked surprised at the turn of conversation. ‘Talking to Rudy or more likely fighting with him. Over there.’ She waved toward the ‘Vitamin and Male Enhancement’ aisle at the far end of the store.
‘The two of them don’t get along?’ I asked. ‘I can’t say I ever noticed.’
Tien rolled her eyes. ‘That’s because sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t. Honestly, think of five-year-old neighbor boys. You would think that being in the Army would give them something in common.’
‘But no?’ I could just catch sight of the two men’s heads about five aisles down.
‘Nope. In fact, it seems like a sore spot. It’s too bad, really.’ Her eyes grew sad. ‘Dad could use a friend. It’s not good for him to have just me to talk with, confide in - well, you know.’
Hmm. Might this be a veiled reference to the fact that Frank - admittedly a less than sterling conversationalist - was my closest companion?
Nah. But Tien’s comment was a mirror image of what Luc had said to me, only about Tien.
I gave her a hug and went to see Luc and Rudy.
Interesting. Luc wanted Tien to branch out and she, him. I wondered if they’d ever talked to each other about it.
Then again, even if they had, it might be one of those impossible exchanges you run into between family members. Luc thinks Tien wants him to find friends beyond her, so she can be free. She assumes the same about him and suddenly we’re in Gift of the Magi territory.
Happily, my family isn’t that selfless. We’re less ‘I-cut-my-hair-to-sell-it-and-buy-you-something-you-no-longer-need’ and more ‘here’s-your-gift-card’.
No confusion there. A gift certificate means never having to say you’re sorry.
But as far as Tien and Luc’s relationship, who knew? Maybe each was trying to do what he or she thought was best for the other. In the process, though, they’d please neither.
Honestly, I should have my own talk show. Solve the problems of the world. I could call myself Dr Maggy. Frank could be my sidekick, Ed McDogg. Tee-hee.
OK, OK, enough. God, I really could use some sleep. A dose of normality wouldn’t hurt either.
As I approached Luc and Rudy, they turned to stare at me. Maybe it was because I was giggling maniacally, or maybe it was because they had something to hide.
The latter was borne out when, as I reached them, Rudy set the box he’d been holding on a shelf, and high-tailed it the opposite direction.
Chapter 19
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, looking after Rudy. ‘Did I upset him somehow?’
Luc shrugged. ‘Nah, he probably doesn’t want you to know he dyes his hair.’
I glanced at the shelf and saw ‘Spruce-the-Goose Hair Dye For Men’ misplaced on the shelf between herbal ‘pick-me-ups’ and condoms. ‘Why don’t they just package all three as “The Idiot’s Guide to Getting Laid”?’ I asked.
‘Fischer’s never needed any help in that department.’ Luc said. It was a little bitter, but a little sad, too.
Tien was right. No fast friendship between these two.
Despite being stranded in the middle of a blizzard, with two bodies literally cooling their heels, I was curious. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do, after all.
‘Rudy’s a ladies’ man?’
Luc gave me a look like he was sorry he’d s
aid anything. His eyes also implied, though, that with some coaxing he might say even more. ‘Maggy, you have no idea. And I’m not sure you want to.’
Oh, but I did. I really, really did. I’d rarely seen Rudy and Luc interact at all and now, it seemed, they had a history I didn’t know about. That couldn’t be tolerated.
‘Please?’ I pleaded.
‘It was a long time ago.’ Luc glanced toward the window where his daughter had been. ‘I know that I should forget about it, but whenever I see him talking to Tien...’
I waited for Luc to go on, but he didn’t. ‘What was a long time ago?’
‘Vietnam.’ Luc turned to face me straight on.
‘You and Rudy were stationed together?’ Ignorance (or at least feigning it) sometimes is bliss.
Luc nodded. ‘Rudy was already in-country when I got shipped over. And he had a real bad reputation.’
‘For being a ladies man?’ I ventured.
Luc laughed, but with the bitterness really shining through now. ‘That’s a polite way to put it. I’d call him a pimp.’
Amazing what a can of worms a couple of murders and a brandy old-fashioned can open. ‘Like the Mechanic in Miss Saigon?’
Luc showed a brief flash of anger. ‘Without the singing and dancing.’
I waited.
Luc outwaited.
I finally gave in. ‘You can’t leave it hanging out there like this, you know. You’ve just told me Rudy Fischer, barber and less-than-esteemed former Brookhills town chairman is a pimp.’
‘Was a pimp.’
‘Was a pimp,’ I conceded. ‘You can either tell me what you’re talking about, or I can try to find out.’
Just the ghost of a smile from Luc. It made me wonder whether we were verging on information about a ghost of another kind.
An.
The fictional character of The Mechanic in Miss Saigon was a Vietnamese man who prostituted Vietnamese women. An was a Vietnamese woman.
‘Are you saying that Rudy...’ I hesitated. ‘...procured women for other soldiers?’
‘Other officers,’ Luc said. His face was stony, like he couldn’t allow himself to react. ‘They paid better.’
The unasked question - or two unasked questions - hung between us. ‘Umm, did you...’
I let it hang, not knowing if I was asking if Luc, himself, had...partaken, or if An had been involved with the ‘business’.
Luc shook his head. ‘No, I wasn’t one of Rudy’s GI johns.’
‘But does he know you remember him?’
‘Of course, though he denies all of it.’
‘I don’t think I’ve seen the two of you argue - or even speak much - before today.’ Astonishing what could be lurking beneath the surface of a relationship that had seemed fairly placid. Heck, who was I kidding? I didn’t even know there was a relationship between Luc and Rudy.
‘I try to keep my distance,’ Luc confirmed. ‘But I don’t like Rudy sniffing around Tien. He’s always had a thing for petite women - Asian in particular - and I don’t want him getting any ideas.’
‘But he’s so much older,’ I protested. ‘Tien couldn’t possibly be interested in him.’
As I said it, I thought about her reaction to my comment on Way Benson. Given Tien’s close ties to her father and the loss of her mother so early, maybe she was attracted to older men. Still, a father fixation was one thing, a grandfather fixation a whole ’nother animal.
‘You’re right. Tien is smarter than that. Still, I don’t like Rudy or any of the other men around here setting their sights on her.’
Interesting. Despite what Luc had told me about Tien deserving a life of her own, he seemingly couldn’t let her live it. I wondered if ‘Dad’ had seen the same thing in his daughter’s eyes that I did when she talked about Way.
While the issue of An and Rudy’s ‘relationship’, if any, hadn’t been resolved, I couldn’t see a subtle way to raise it again. So, instead I cleared my throat. ‘I hate to put this to you, but I’ve been asking everyone. Where were you when Way died?’
‘Me?’ Luc looked surprised. ‘I don’t know. When did it happen?’
I wasn’t sure that ‘when the snow-blower went off’ was precise enough. ‘About three this afternoon.’
‘That’s easy,’ Luc said. ‘Tien and I were in our store doing inventory all afternoon. We need to see what else could be sold off to cover this month’s rent.’
The deli - first under its earlier incarnation as ‘Romano’s’ and then as ‘An’s’ - had been passed down from mother to son and, Luc might have hoped eventually, to daughter. Now they were reduced to liquidating stock in order to make their final lease payment.
‘I’m sorry, Luc,’ I said, laying my hand on his arm.
He patted it. ‘I’m sorry, too, Maggy. Sorrier than you can imagine.’ He turned to join Tien at the window, leaving me stag in the male-enhancement aisle.
Spent, I moved one aisle over seeking comic relief. And I found it. Bernie Egan was in the toy aisle playing paddle ball.
‘Hey, Bernie,’ I said, sidling up to him.
He stopped, the rubber ball missing the wooden paddle. Fortunately, it couldn’t go far because of the elastic band stapled to both. ‘Dang.’
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Not to worry,’ Bernie said. ‘I was only up to a hundred seventy-three.’
Only. ‘It was good of you to come out here in the storm to check on us.’
Bernie started again, bouncing the ball dead center on the red bullseye of the paddle. ‘And find your body?’
‘It’s not my body,’ I protested.
He slid a sideways look at me. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
Bernie and I went a long time back, even beyond my marriage to Ted. In fact, Bernie had introduced me to my ex, which meant the pudgy lawyer and husband of my business partner had a lot to answer for, though I’d long ago forgiven him.
‘Are you saying you want to kill me or that somebody else might?’ I asked. The former was pretty much a given for most of my friends, most of the time.
Bernie bounced the ball once, twice, thrice, before stopping a second time. He was looking far more serious than usual. ‘Honestly, Maggy?’
I nodded.
‘You’re becoming a magnet for trouble.’
‘Me?’ I said, surprised.
‘You,’ he said, starting up with the paddle ball again. ‘I’ve been an attorney for twenty years and I haven’t seen as many bodies as you have in the last two.’
‘You’re a copyright lawyer,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison.’
‘To a coffeehouse owner?’ Bernie asked, one eye still on the ball.
He had a point. Coffee was not viewed as a commodity that inspires crime, at least not in Brookhills.
I decided to turn the spotlight on him. ‘Why did you snow-shoe all the way here? Were you worried about what Caron might be doing?’ I lifted my eyebrows.
He met my eyebrow-lifting and raised me an eye-roll. ‘You’re thinking I suspected Caron was somehow taking advantage of this paralyzing snowstorm to hook up with someone? Why would you even say that?’
Because I was a realist. An observer of life. A student of history. OK, a sicko. I shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just asking.’
‘If it’s any of your business,’ Bernie said, still not missing a beat with the paddle, ‘I couldn’t get hold of Caron by phone and wanted to let her know her doctor’s office had called and cancelled her appointment for this afternoon.’
‘They called her on her cellphone,’ I told him. ‘Besides, not only did you arrive hours after her appointment, but don’t you think she would have figured out the appointment was off?’ I pointed toward the ceiling, which was groaning from the wind and the snow.
‘Probably, but...I wanted to see her. Make sure she was OK.’
‘Is she? I mean medically?’ I asked, belatedly concerned. What a good friend I was.
‘Oh, sure,’ Bernie said. ‘But I knew
she’d be disappointed about missing the procedure.’
Procedure. Ahh. ‘A plastic surgeon?’
‘Breast Enhancement.’ Bernie nodded and set down the paddle to show how big.
‘You’re OK with this?’ I asked. More than one aging Brookhills Barbie had let her Ken pay for a new set of bazzooms, only to divorce him for a younger man. Helllooooo Mrs. Robinson.
Gave one hope for the future. Though it apparently was not the case with Caron and Bernie.
‘You bet. And the blond hair is great, don’t you think?’ Bernie enthused, setting his ball-and-paddle on the shelf.
‘Like getting a new wife without the divorce,’ I agreed, picking up the ball and squeezing it.
‘Exactly right.’ Bernie stroked the top of his head. ‘I’m considering dying my hair - get rid of the gray. What do you think?’
What I thought was that if he didn’t glue cotton balls to the top of his head there wasn’t going to be much to dye.
‘Rudy does his,’ I evaded. ‘Maybe you should ask him what he uses.’
‘Great idea,’ Bernie said, looking past me. ‘I think that’s him chatting up that Verdeaux woman. She’s quite the hottie.’
‘She is that,’ I said, turning to glance their way. Rudy, indeed, was talking to Verdeaux, but both of them seemed angry. ‘That looks more like bad blood than hot blood,’ I said to Bernie.
‘To some people, pleasure is business, instead of the other way around,’ Bernie said, this time giving me back the arching eyebrows.
At five foot six, balding and perennially paunchy, Bernie wasn’t exactly a sex symbol. I’d wondered over the years, though, if I’d have been better off with Bernie the Likeable Lawyer than with Ted the Duplicitous Dentist.
And, in the case of Naomi Verdeaux, Bernie might be right. According to Jacque, his ex-wife wasn’t above bedding someone to get what she wanted.
Which reminded me. ‘Do you know where Jacque is?’ I asked.
Bernie shrugged. ‘Got me. Here comes his former missus, though. I’m going to go ask Rudy about his hair while I have the chance.’
‘You do that,’ I said, wanting a chance to talk to Verdeaux myself.
‘Got a second?’ I said as she passed by me.
