When I open my eyes at the sound of traffic, I realize I’ve been dozing for almost two hours. It takes me a few seconds to orientate myself and decide to drive to Miss Park Ex.
“Eh, what brings you here so early?” Costa asks.
“I’ve been up all night. I need a coffee badly.”
“An all-nighter, Miss? Celebrating Halloween, eh?”
“Kind of. Did you have a lot of action here last night?”
“We were swamped with orders, Miss. Halloween is a big deal, and this year it fell on a Friday night. But I’m not complaining. Business is good.”
I order toast and coffee, and then ask, “Did you deliver pizzas to WLHS late at night?”
“Not that I know of,” he says. “Why?”
“I saw some empty pizza boxes there, in George’s office,” I say.
“They could have been pick-ups. Lots of students came by last night. George has an office there?”
“What do you know about it?’
“All I know is that he works there at night, as a janitor. When did they promote him?”
“I’m looking for someone who may have stopped by here last night. Angie Tonnelli. Does her name ring a bell?”
“Miss, I’m no good with names. I might know her to see her. Do you know how many students come by here every day?”
“She would have been dressed in a black leather jacket, with metal studs and spiked hair.”
“That’s most of WLHS students, these days,” Costa replies as he butters the toast.
“She hangs around Eddie. You know Eddie, right? He’s a friend of hers.”
“Eddie Pinto, the Portuguese?”
“I think this guy is English … Marshall, I think.”
“Oh, little Eddie. I know him, but he doesn’t hang around here.”
“I thought he was a friend of George—your cook.”
“We kicked George out last week. My father doesn’t like him—doesn’t like the crowd he hangs around with. George only worked here part-time—when he felt like it. Not very dependable, that guy … was up all night. And there were always people looking for him, even when he wasn’t here. My father didn’t like it.”
Costa comes closer to me and whispers, “Miss, now that George doesn’t work here, I can say what I think. He and Eddie make a good tag team. I like to mind my own business, but I’d tell this girl not to hang around Eddie … very bad influence.”
“What kind of business is Eddie into?”
“This is just from what I hear, Miss. Everyone in Park Ex knows he’s a scalper. And he … for a little guy, let’s say he gets around. He’s a real con artist. I heard he can forge signatures and gives students parents’ and even teachers’ notes. He and George are into everything,” Costa now whispers, “Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know. But I heard that if you want a joint, a quickie, or even an advance copy of a provincial exam, they can get it.” He talks loudly again. “I don’t know how he does it so openly, but one of these days, George is going to get burned. He’ll learn his lesson, too, believe me. He doesn’t know how good he had it here.”
“I need to find Eddie,” I say, “only because Angie may be with him. I need to find her.”
“I can’t help you there. I haven’t seen either Eddie or George.”
“Costa, what do you know about what goes on at school … at night, in George’s office?”
“Miss, I told you. Me, I mind my own business … whatever goes on there at night, it’s none of my business.”
“Okay. I have to make some calls,” I say, then walk to the public phone at the entrance. I call the house, and wake up Sean. He says he hasn’t heard from anyone since we left the apartment.
Then I call Bruce and tell him about Angie’s disappearance.
“You had a premonition,” he says. “Can I meet you somewhere? I want to help.”
“You can help me find Eddie. She might be with him.”
“Could her running away have anything to do with the composition?”
“How could it?” I answer, but the feeling of fear is back.
“There could be another person involved in her mother’s beating. Remember the hawk? He might want to keep her quiet. I still have a responsibility to mention it to the police. We can’t take any chances.”
“But there are no real names mentioned in the composition. What would they have to go by?”
“Hints. The police work from hints all the time. Maybe they’ll even recognize the name. It could be someone’s nickname.”
“The police won’t do anything for twenty-four hours. Give me a few more hours. We may have a lot more to tell them, about Eddie and the office in the basement … about George….”
“What office in the basement?”
“All of our supervision has been a total waste of time. We blamed the outsiders, but the rot is inside the place.”
“What are you talking about, Cathy?”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m so exhausted.”
“Wait for me. I’ll look for Eddie’s number and call him. Are you okay, Cathy?”
“I’m all right. Just check with Eddie. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
I eat my toast and listen to Costa’s chatter, but can’t get him to say anything more revealing.
I wait ten minutes and then call Bruce again.
“I spoke to Eddie’s mom. She hasn’t seen him in days, but she told me he works at the market on weekends selling grapes. The market won’t be open for another hour.”
“Why don’t we meet at the market?”
“Good idea. See you in front of Shamrock Fish market in an hour.”
The coffee and Bruce’s offer to help has perked me up. I take a notebook from my tote bag. I jot down notes about everything I’ve observed and heard throughout the night. Together with Bruce I might be able to solve the puzzle.
Only a few outside stalls at the market are open at this time of year, most displaying pumpkins and bushels of pickling vegetables. The tomato-canning season is over, but wine making is at its peak, so boxes and boxes of plump green grapes and tiny black ones are being unloaded from trucks onto the sidewalk of the vegetable store next to the Shamrock Fish Market. Bruce is already there and talking to the thin and fidgety Eddie, who moves nervously on the spot as he rubs his hands together to keep warm. He is wearing a black leather jacket with studs, the same one worn by Angie.
“Where did you get that jacket?” I say before even saying hello.
“Hi … hi, Miss,” Eddie stutters.
Bruce adds, “Cathy, don’t worry. Eddie and Angie exchanged clothes and he saw her last night trick-or-treating in TMR.”
“But she hasn’t come home. Did you see her earlier yesterday?”
“I sa-sa-saw her at Jarry Park in the afternoon. Tha-that’s when we exchanged costumes. Di-di-di-didn’t you see her there in the Ja-Jason mask?”
I try to think of all the masks I had noticed, and then I remember someone in a white plastic mask staring at me by the train tracks. Had that been Angie?
“Wasn’t she supposed to go to the club for the party?”
“I don-don’t know if sh-sh-she … went.”
Eddie keeps stuttering and tells me that after exchanging costumes at the park, he told Angie he’d meet her at the school later since he had to see some friends first. A supervisor didn’t let him in so he went back to the park for while. When he returned, Angie was sitting on the overpass in front of the school entrance all by herself with her eyes closed as if mediating, but he didn’t feel like climbing those stairs and he left her there. He spotted her in her mask again later in TMR with a group of teens he didn’t know—they looked like street kids—but when he tried to cross the street to call her, she disappeared into the crowd. Maybe it was just someone else with the same mask. It w
as hard to tell in the dark.
“Sh-sh-she kept on dis-disa-appearing on me … like a gh-gh- ghost.”
“Why did you go to TMR?” I ask.
“I … I … used to do that as kid. Th-they have the b-b-best ca-ca-candy there. A lot of ki-kids from Park Ex … go … there. A lot of stre-treet kids meet there on Ha-Ha-Halloween to … get ca-ca-candy be … before par … partying. I go … go there every year. I to-to-told her I’d go there.”
“Eddie, what time did you think you saw her in TMR?” Bruce asks.
“You … you’re … ki-kidding me, sir. I don’t ca-ca-carry a wa-wa-watch, sir. May … be … eight or ni-nine?”
“Where did you go after TMR? Did you go to the Bar à Go-Go?”
“No … no sir … I don’t ever go … go there. They’re not my frie-friends. I went par … partying with so-so-some other friends.”
“Do you have any idea where Angie could have gone?” I ask
“Sh-sh-she’ll be back when it suits her, and … when you see her, te-te-tell her I want my ma-ma-mask back.” He takes off the jacket and gives it to me. Holding it against my body feels eerie.
“I want to ask you something else, Eddie. Did you help Angie with an English composition on Halloween?”
“Yeah, wa-wa-wasn’t that a cool story? I … I told Angie she sh-sh-should have dre … dressed up like Little Red Riding Hood, b-b-but she didn’t find that funny.”
“Who wrote it, though, you or her?”
“We … we … wrote it together the day she stayed home from school. Her spelling is shit. But fuck, her i-i-ideas are scary. She’s re-re-really fucked up, you know.”
“Something else. Did you remember something about a hawk in her story?”
“A what?”
“A hawk, you know, a big bird.”
“I re-re-remembered a sh-sh-sheep and a wolf. The … the wolf ate the sh-sh-sheep and … bon jour la visite.”
“Did she ever tell you what happened the night her mother was hit?” I ask, keeping my eyes on Eddie to watch for his reaction.
“I don-don’t know, hon-honest, Miss. She wa-wa-wasn’t even at home,” he answers, putting his hand on his chest as if swearing in court. “Do … do you make wine? We ha-have the best prices on Zi-zin-fandel grapes.”
“Listen, Eddie, if you come across anyone who saw Angie last night, please give me a call.” Bruce jots down his phone number on a piece of paper, and hands it to Eddie. We leave.
“We’re not getting much more out of him,” Bruce says. I piece together for Bruce what Gina had told me and the two stories match. Angie went to the club alone but didn’t stay there. She had wanted so badly to go to that party. What made her run away so fast?
“If we can trust what Eddie said, what I want to know is, where would a group of street kids go to party on Halloween night?”
“I wouldn’t know where else to look,” I say.
Bruce takes me by the shoulders. “You’re in no shape to keep on looking. Go home to sleep for a few hours.”
“Okay,” I say, “but I have one more place to stop before going home.”
PART XI
NOVEMBER 1, 1980
58. THE FALL OUT
“PASQUALE KILLED HIMSELF EARLY THIS morning.” Before I have time to ask him about Angie, Antonio tells me the news. “I just got a call from my uncle in Mulirena,” he says. I can’t process the information and don’t react to it immediately.
“I don’t have all the details yet,” Antonio says, “but they found him hanging from a tree in his hometown, gone there to visit his mother’s grave. Before leaving Mulirena, he stopped at my uncle’s with another letter for me—I’ll tell you about that later. Pasquale’s nephew found him, in the orchard of his own backyard … hanging like Judas.”
I break down in tears, and I can’t stop sobbing.
“Why are you crying for Pasquale?” he asks. “You hardly knew him.”
“I’m crying for Angie,” I say. “She ran away. I’ve been looking for her all night. Her father’s dead and she’s not here to mourn him … and it’s my fault entirely.”
“Ran where? A strange kid, you have to admit. Morose and secretive. Why blame yourself?”
“I gave my word to her mother and grandmother that I’d look after her, but I got too involved with my own problems to help her with hers. I worried about how I looked, about the party, about Bruce ... and I ignored her calls for help!”
“Now you’ve lost me. Who’s Bruce?”
“He’s a guy from school—a nice Canadian guy. He’s helping me look for her.” Antonio looks puzzled. I continue, “I was distracted yesterday, and I paid no attention to Angie, and she fooled me, and went trick-or-treating in TMR instead of coming home, and she’s still out there … I don’t know where.” I look through my purse for a tissue, don’t find one, and give up. Antonio still looks confused. I realize I’m not making any sense to him.
“I don’t follow you, but I understand that you got distracted. She caught you off-guard and tricked you. It’s Halloween! She’s smarter than we think. She won’t get lost, believe me, and … in TMR?”
“She even watched me ignore her. She was right there in front of my nose and I didn’t see her! And now this—her father kills himself—and she’s not even here to cry for him, or … maybe laugh. I don’t know what I’m saying, but nothing makes sense. I should have stayed home with her.” I collapse into a chair and wipe my nose on my sleeve.
“The worst part is,” I continue, “even if I find Angie, what do we have to offer her? A dead father, a comatose mother. Her school is rotten to the core. She can hardly read or write and she has a crush on a petty criminal.” I start sobbing loudly again, “What chances does she have of rising above all that?” I lower my head into my hands.
“Maybe you aimed too high for her,” he says gravely. “It wasn’t realistic.”
“But to fall so low … it’s really depressing,” my voice becomes shrill. “I’ve been going around in circles searching for her: in a strip club, in a school basement hidey-hole, in a greasy spoon, at the market.” My sobs become uncontrollable.
Antonio hands me a tissue and waits for me to wipe my nose and eyes.
“I don’t know where else to look, Antonio. And I hate giving up and going home. I came to see if maybe you had heard from her.”
“No, the last time I saw her was a couple of days ago.”
“So, she came to see you again after she brought you my papers, my writing?” I get up and begin pacing.
He takes a few instants to reply, “Look, after she threw your writing at me and very brusquely asked me if I was her father, I calmed her down and tried to get her to talk about what was troubling her. First she defended her father to me … she didn’t think he was the guilty party.”
Antonio stops to reflect, then shakes his head. “It’s a really sordid story, no matter how we look at it, but what do you know? It turns out that the most honourable man is Pasquale. What Pasquale wrote matches with everything my uncle told me about Aurora and Alfonso. He clears my name of past accusations, once and for all.”
“Who cares about that anymore, Antonio? That’s ancient history. Let’s focus on Angie. What did she tell you?”
“She admitted that Lucia had also had a heated argument with her brother. I felt guilty that maybe I had provoked the argument … unintentionally, of course, because of what I had told Lucia. Try to understand the irony here. It is ancient history and it’s this same history that has doomed these people. That’s why I brought it up. An old worthless farmhouse caused the incident and all that has followed. Pasquale’s testimony of events corroborates what Angie had hinted at when she came to see me, so I believe him.”
“Angie wasn’t there. How could she know what happened beyond the usual family squabbles?”
“She didn’t say muc
h more that first day. I told her to come back anytime she wanted to talk. She returned a few days after. She showed me a composition she had written with a friend.”
“What was in the composition?”
“Enough to raise my suspicions further. Angie, like most teenagers, hates snitching on people, or maybe she was afraid, but her story didn’t add up. When I asked her how long she had been away at the park, she said about half an hour, that she went returned home after the stool pigeon waiting outside the house had left.”
“So there was someone else?”
“Precisely. I surmised that she knew more than she cared to tell. She was either traumatized by what she saw or knew, or she was plain scared to talk, considering some of the friends her uncle hangs around with.”
“Did Angie or anyone else identify the person waiting outside?”
“I don’t yet know what’s in the rest of Pasquale’s letter, but I’m a journalist, so I quizzed Angie that day. The car was a black Mustang. It’s what that hawk, Nico, or Nick, Demon drives.”
“The hawk?” I get up from my chair.
“Yes. Don’t you remember calling him that in your own story about the voyage?”
“So you suggested the hawk for Angie’s composition, didn’t you?” I say.
“Caterina, the metaphor came naturally … was called for by the story.”
As I had thought, Antonio had helped Angie plant the hawk into her composition and he condoned the use of my prose poem, without any concern for my feelings, or for Angie’s well-being. He used both of us as in a game, for his own reasons. What a perverse, devious tactic on his part to get revenge for past wrongs. And yet he has always professed to have left the past behind.
The Women of Saturn Page 32
