The doorbell startled me out of my thoughts. I ran to the door and peeked out the spy hole. It was Bobby. He was leaning against the post, in his leather jacket and tight faded jeans. His jacket was open, revealing a pale blue work shirt. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in about a week, and he had the bedraggled air of someone seriously in need of a shower. Shit. Why’d he have to look so good? I backed quietly away from the door.
“I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing.”
I opened the door part way, blocking his way into the house.
“Are you gonna let me in or do we have to have this conversation standing on your parents’ front steps?” My neighbor, Mrs. Gentile, flung open her door and stared unabashedly at the two of us.
“Go back inside, you old busy body,” I growled. Bobby let out a muffled snort. I’d never spoken to anyone over the age of fifty in that tone of voice, but she was really getting on my nerves.
“You should be ashamed,” she said, shaking her head. But she went back in and shut her door. I pulled open the storm door and stepped aside to let Bobby in.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” I turned my back to him, trying to buy a little time. Should I lie? Tell the truth? What was the truth, anyway? Did I really believe he was a killer, or even a crooked cop? “No,” my heart told me. But the evidence, circumstantial though it may be, was hard to overlook.
“Brandy, don’t turn your back to me.” It was more of a plea than an order, and it almost broke my heart. I slowly turned around. “Can we sit down?”
“Suit yourself,” I shrugged. He took one end of the couch and I took the other. I grabbed a pillow and propped it up against my chest and leaned forward on my elbows. “You want to talk, so talk.”
“You’ve changed,” he said. I gave him a blank stare, but my heart was racing like a hamster on speed. “You’re—I don’t know— harder now. Is that what four years in L.A. did to you?”
“No, that’s what you did to me, you bastard.” Wow, where did that come from?
It surprised Bobby too. He jerked his head back as if he’d been physically punched.
“Jesus, Brandy, it’s been four years. Johnny’s dead. Can’t we get past this?”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s a little difficult for me to ‘get past it’ when every word that comes out of your mouth is a big fat lie.”
Bobby exhaled deeply and rubbed his hands against his thighs. “You found out about the tail.”
“You’re God damned right I did.” What tail?
“Look, I only asked Porter to follow you because after that night I came to see you, you were really upset, and I thought you’d end up doing something stupid. I wanted to keep you out of trouble.”
“So you had Porter follow me?” Never mind that I didn’t know who or even what Porter was. He’d had me followed!
“Only for a day or so. I thought you knew.”
Oh, great. Some schmuck tails me and I’m absolutely clueless. My head was swimming with this new information. Why did he think I needed protection?
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Bobby.” I spoke so quietly I could almost hear the blood pumping through my veins. “I want the truth and I want it now. So either be honest with me, or get the fuck out.”
Bobby opened his eyes and repositioned himself a little closer to me. Our knees were almost touching. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Let’s start with why you lied about having seen John’s pictures, when they never even made it to police headquarters. Yeah, I know about that,” I said to his surprised expression.
He studied me for a moment. “You got anything to eat?”
“What are you, kidding me?”
“Look, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days. I’m ready to tell you everything. Swear to God. But I’m starving, here.”
I guess it was the Jewish grandmother in me, but I couldn’t resist the urge to feed a starving man, no matter how pissed I was at him. I popped the lasagna in the microwave. At least I’d find out if it were edible before serving it to Franny.
We sat in silence at the kitchen table while Bobby chowed down. He’d taken his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to midway up his arm. I watched as he gripped his fork tightly in his hand, holding it between his index and middle fingers; a little quirk I’d always found endearing.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be sitting there with him. We’d done it thousands of times in the ten years we had been friends. After that first day in back of the boxing gym, we’d been pretty much inseparable. We had an instant emotional connection, but life experience-wise we were decades apart. I’d always lived a safe, sheltered and very loved existence, while Bobby knew pain and abandonment, ever since he was four. He said I was too young for him. But that didn’t stop me from loving him. My fourteen-year old heart would break every time he went off with another girl. But I was his best friend, and he’d always come back to me in the end.
When I turned sixteen, the tide turned. I’d always been able to make him laugh, to sort out his problems, to connect with his very soul, but now I had that little something extra. Breasts. And I made damn sure he noticed them. With my full-on urging, Bobby gave me the most memorable Sweet Sixteen present a girl could ask for. After that he never again complained that I was too young for him.
Bobby scraped up the last bit of lasagna off his plate, and then stood and put the plate in the sink. He began to wash it but I stopped him.
“Quit stalling, DiCarlo. I’ll wash, you talk.”
He sat back down at the table. “Okay,” he said. “I did lie to you about the pictures. That’s why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I felt bad about it.”
“Then why did you lie to me?”
“Sweetheart, I’d lie to the Pope if I thought it would keep you safe.” I choked back my surprise and let him continue. “When you first came up with this idea that Johnny had been killed because of the pictures he took, I thought the whole idea was whack-o. But I promised you I’d check it out. Which I did.”
“And?”
“And the pictures weren’t there.”
“Did you go to the detective in charge of the investigation?”
Bobby hesitated. “No,” he said, finally.
“Why not?”
“Brandy, swear to me this won’t go any further than this room.”
“I swear.”
“I think somebody doesn’t want this guy to be caught. And I think he’s tied in with the cover-up on another homicide that happened about six months ago. Problem is, I don’t who that someone is.”
I look at him steadily. “Some people think that someone is you.”
Bobby stood up and shrugged back into his jacket. “I thought we got past that. But if you’re so determined to believe I’m a cop on the take, I’ll be Goddamned if I’m going to try to convince you otherwise. Thanks for the lasagna.”
I put my arm on his sleeve and spun him around. “Oh, quit being such a baby. You didn’t earn the right to have hurt feelings.” He shot me a look of annoyance, and I let my hand fall from his jacket sleeve. “Listen,” I said, more softly, “You really can’t blame me for having my doubts. A lot has happened in the past few days. I’ve been hearing things about you.”
“What things?” Gee, where to begin? I sighed. We both sat down again.
“Okay, like you were the primary investigator on the murder from six months ago. The one where hair samples were taken from the lab.” He raised his eyebrows in response.
“You’ve been doing your homework. But for the record, I was never implicated in any of that. And I’m still trying to find the bastard who did take the evidence.” While I digested this he continued. “What else ya got?”
“Well, there was that break-in at Johnny’s. I assume you were hoping to find another set of pictures, but
you sure sounded disappointed when you left.” Ooh, he wasn’t expecting that one.
“How did you know about that?” I opened my mouth to answer, but he held up his hand in front of my face, stopping me. “Never mind. Y’know if I thought you had entered John’s place illegally, I would be bound by law to arrest you.”
“Just a lucky guess,” I smiled.
“I have to hand it to you, sweetheart, you get around.” He seemed impressed, which made me feel ridiculously proud of myself. “So,” he said, “theoretically, if you found something at John’s that could help me solve this case, would you turn it over to me?
“Theoretically? Sure, why not?”
He moved closer and dropped his voice an octave, taking on a slightly dangerous tone. This was the Bobby I remembered. The one on the edge.
“We’re not talking ‘theoretical’ here, are we?” I shrugged, noncommittally. “Brandy, don’t play games with me. If you’re withholding evidence—”
I took a reflexive step backwards. “I’m not.” Okay, I was, but this was my show and I wasn’t about to abdicate power just yet. I avoided eye contact and continued my interrogation. “I also heard that you were assigned to the Konner Novack case, but you left town two days later. I’m sorry, Bobby, but that doesn’t sound like a person who’s exactly dedicated to his job. It sounds more like someone with something to hide. I’m not saying you were involved,” I hastened to add, “but you have to admit your actions seem a little weird.”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” he muttered.
“Fine.” I threw up my hands and looked at the clock. It was five thirty. The trick or treaters would start ringing the bell at any moment, and I hadn’t even taken my share of the loot out of the bowl, yet. I tried a little levity on for size. “Listen, Bobby, it’s getting late. I don’t think your wife would appreciate it if she knew you were eating lasagna at another woman’s house.”
His face clouded over and I instantly regretted my words.
“What’s wrong?”
“She left me.” He said it so quietly I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard him right.
“What?”
“Yeah. She took my kid and left.” He slumped back into the kitchen chair, all color drained from his face. I moved to his side, thought better of it and drew up a chair, opposite him.
“When? When did she leave?” All the jokes I’d made about her, all the snide remarks seemed so petty and mean in the wake of this news.
Marie DiCarlo had taken their child and left Bobby two days after Konner Novack was murdered. He had already been assigned to the case, when he came home one day and discovered they were gone. It didn’t come as a huge surprise. She had threatened him before. The story poured out of him. They’d met a year and a half after I’d left town. She was from Guatemala. Five years younger than Bobby. It was meant to be a one night stand, but she’d gotten pregnant, and in her family abortion was not an option.
“So, you married her.”
“I couldn’t let my kid grow up without a father. She’s the sweetest little thing, Brandy. Huge brown eyes, curly dark hair.” His voice faltered and I put a steadying hand on his knee. “She’s only just turned two. I miss her,” he ended, miserably.
“What about your wife?” I asked, gently. Bobby shook his head, slowly.
“I know it sounds really shitty, but she knew going into this marriage what my feelings were. Things were okay for a while, but about six months ago, she began to— I don’t know—want more than I could give. And when she finally accepted that I couldn’t return her feelings, she started making noises about moving back to Guatemala with Sophia.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my job, I would’ve realized how unhappy she was.”
“But she stayed with you for another six months,” I said. “What made her decide to bolt like this?”
He gave me a piercing look; a look so full of longing it took my breath away. “She heard you were coming back to town. She’s always known about you. How I felt about you. How I fucked up the only decent thing I ever had in my life. I guess she felt threatened.”
What was he saying? That he still loved me? No, he was speaking in the past tense. My ears filled with fluid and I began hearing only muffled sound bites. Absently, I reached out and grabbed a mini Hershey bar. They were small, so I took two.
“Brandy, I’m not trying to make excuses or make you feel uncomfortable. I’m just trying to be honest, here. I guess it’s about time.”
I shook my head to clear away the fog in my brain. “Do you know where she is now?”
“I tracked her down in Mexicali. She has some relatives there. She said she just needed some time to cool off, and she swore she’d come back. But then she took off again.” Suddenly, I remembered the conversation with my mother. But how reliable a source was Lorraine Alexander? She thought the woman came from Puerto Rico.
“Bobby, my mother ran into your wife at the airport in Florida, days ago. At least she thinks it was your wife. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. I knew about that. A buddy of mine at the airport has been running checks for me. Plus, she’s using my credit cards, so I keep tabs on her that way.”
“Does she have any relatives in Philly who could help you bring her back?”
He laughed ruefully. “Her parents despise me, and her brother’s as crazy as a loon. I don’t want to scare her off. She calls me every few days and we talk.”
In the recesses of my mind I remembered a late night phone call. A woman’s voice, asking for Bobby. I debated telling him about the call but decided he already had enough on his plate.
“I figure I’ll give her another week to see if she comes back on her own,” Bobby continued, “and if not, I’ll go after her. I’m not losing my kid.” He had that fiercely protective look in his eye, a look that used to be reserved for me, and a flicker of jealousy reared its ugly head. I squashed it down, ashamed of myself for competing with his baby daughter.
Bobby stood up and picked a Kit Kat out of the bowl. I did a quick mental calculation and decided to be generous. “Take two, they’re small.”
He flashed me his old grin. “You sure?” I nodded, and he stuffed a piece into his mouth before I could change my mind. “So, where do we go from here?” he asked, deftly changing the subject.
“What do you mean?”
“I believe you have information about John’s death that the police don’t have.”
I stared back at him with equal resolve. “And what if I do? Would you blame me for not wanting to hand it over to them? How the hell am I supposed to know who to trust?”
The hurt in his eyes betrayed the calm in his voice. “You still don’t trust me?”
Professionally, I trusted him with my life. Emotionally, not so much. I answered with my heart. “How can we talk about trust when we don’t even know each other anymore?”
I stood up and busied myself at the sink. Bobby climbed out of the chair and walked towards me, stopping when he was a hair’s breath away. I turned and he trapped me at the sink, bracing himself with his arms on either side of me. He willed me to look at him and our eyes locked.
“I know you.” His voice was low and seductive. “You can’t go to bed without a night light and you talk in your sleep. You love baseball and boxing, but you only watch hockey when the Flyers are in the playoffs. Your idols are Morris Dees, Edward R. Murrow and Sandy Koufax. You won’t watch the Godfather movies because you can’t stand abuse of power.”
He leaned in even closer and I squirmed away, breaking eye contact. He held my chin in his hands forcing me to look at him. Tiny rivulets of sweat began forming between my breasts, and I tried my best to ignore it. “You cry when they play the Canadian National Anthem. Your secret fear is being an old lady and having to eat alone in a restaurant. Your favorite fictional character is Junie B. Jones. Favorite movie, Rocky, favorite book, Fried Green Tomatoes a
t the Whistle Stop Café. Favorite holiday, Christmas. Favorite color, green.”
I gulped, barely breathing. “Red. See, you don’t know me at all.”
Bobby pushed himself off of the counter, leaving me shaken and weak-kneed.
“You’re a real ball buster, ya know that?” He stuck his hand into the candy bowl and jammed a fistful of chocolates into his pocket. A defiant, “fuck you” gesture.
I stopped him before he reached the front door. “What do you want from me, Bobby?” I looked into his eyes and his pain was palpable.
“I want to be your friend again.”
The doorbell rang, effectively ending our conversation. Twin ballerinas stood at the storm door, their tutus peeking out through winter coats. Behind them stood Franny.
“Trick or Treat,” they shouted in unison.
Bobby brushed by them, giving a slight nod to Franny as he passed.
“Yo, Bobby, where ya running off to?”
“Got people to see, Fran.”
I shook my head slightly, a sign to let him go. Franny made her way through the front door as I shared my precious stash with the little girls. Three more kids showed up after that, and then things quieted down for a few minutes. I walked back into the kitchen and popped the rest of the lasagna into the microwave. I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator for me and a soda for Franny.
“You want to tell me what DiCarlo was doing here, or should I guess?”
“You couldn’t possibly.” Franny pulled on the soda and made a face. “I want a beer.”
“Nobody told you to have sex, young lady. Now you’ll just have to pay the consequences.”
Franny answered me with her middle finger and took another swig of soda.
We managed to consume the entire pan of lasagna, while I filled her in about Bobby. I may have even mentioned the parts that I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone about. But that was to be expected. I tell Franny everything.
“Oh my God, that poor guy. He never mentioned a word. Although I don’t think it’s much of a shock to anyone. The marriage was a mistake from the start. Well, that explains his mood lately.”
No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Page 12
