“Then . . . someone inside must have made me. Maybe it was seeing Peter, who was a pretty well-known cop. Maybe I’d given myself away somehow, I have no idea. But two guys came to the windows and started shooting. Peter and I dove at his date and the other people outside. We shot back and ended up nailing the two shooters. In the end, we took down the brothel and gambling ring that was associated with it.”
In the silence that ensued, I prepared for the worst. “Peter’s date?” I asked, just above a whisper.
“She was shot in the cross fire. Died the next day.”
“Oh, God,” I said, feeling the awful weight of that admission. With things like that, you torture yourself, thinking if things had only happened just a few seconds earlier or later, if he’d only made that meeting the day before, if . . . if . . . if . . . It was agony.
“Pete never forgave me. The head of the department even talked with him, told him about the undercover business. But it didn’t matter. He sees something in me that is not good, and he cannot forgive me. He still thinks that it wasn’t really official business, that I was there for my own lecherous purposes.” He had bared his teeth with a snarl when he said purposes, repulsed by the idea.
I let us think in silence for a moment, but I guess I let the silence extend too long. He stopped me abruptly, turned me to him again, this time more forcefully, and said, “Lane, you don’t think—”
I stopped him just as abruptly and put my fingers over his mouth. I could feel his soft lips and the rough stubble from the late time of the day. “No. No, Finn.” I said clearly, without hesitation. I smiled just the tiniest inch. “I told you.” I took my hand off his mouth and laid it on his chest. “I know you. The real you.” His eyes looked into mine, longingly and with something that was achingly hopeful. I reached up with both hands on either side of his face and kissed him.
We walked home holding hands, letting the time and the silence ease away the stressful enormity of what we’d both learned that night.
Our sense of urgency was growing, and the evil air that was developing in the case was overpowering. We had to figure out exactly where the threat was going down and how, and try to stop them while keeping them in the dark about Finn’s real role. Over several hours and many cups of coffee in our kitchen, Finn and I came up with a plan. Things were complicated in this tricky case, and it was a risky plan. But it was the only thing we could work out that helped us have the upper hand . . . and all come out alive.
At least that was the goal.
CHAPTER 25
. . . and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?
—ML
Despite the ongoing, urgent investigation, we still had our own, regular routines as a week passed by. In the midst of great uncertainty, it felt good to enjoy simple dinners at home with Mr. Kirkland, Aunt Evelyn, and Ripley. Val ended up having a talk with Peter that cooled things off with their relationship. Work was interesting as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary. Roxy and Lizzie were their same, irritating selves; no new development with either of them. In fact, they were up to their same old, juvenile antics. Who knew? Maybe we were wrong about Roxy, and maybe my involvement really had been coincidental . . . Maybe.
Finn was working long hours undercover again, so we waited. Our plan we came up with was something that couldn’t begin until the perfect moment. We needed their side to make a move for the game to start. Then we were going to use a dangerous resource to help us. You know the saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend? We’d put that to the test.
While the days were moving inexorably closer and closer to August tenth—only four days left—it also felt like things had slowed down. There were fewer leads despite the fact that we were all checking on possible threat zones in Queens. The police were keeping an eye on the Schmidt brothers and Lyle, but nothing out of the ordinary was happening. A consistent, nagging thought pulsated on the edge of my mind. It was like trying to remember a word, but no matter how hard you try, it remains just out of reach.
So, in order to keep us distracted from the nerve-racking uncertainty of what the next four days would hold, Valerie and I decided to take Ripley on a picnic to Central Park.
As I was packing up our picnic items, I decided at the last minute to throw in a kite and, on a whim, Aunt Evelyn’s lavender notebook from ML. It was beautiful and tempting, like a perfect poem that lingers in your mind for weeks, popping into your consciousness at the slightest provocation. I wanted Valerie to read it.
After seeing a bigger pile than I had planned on, I brought down one of Mr. Kirkland’s rucksacks from the attic. Valerie was bringing lunch; I was bringing everything else. As I put my things in the rucksack, a small object at the bottom of the bag caught my attention. I reached in and pulled out a pawn piece to a chess set. It was black, scuffed, and worn. I liked the heavy feel of it in my palm, so I pocketed it and piled in my books, blanket, and kite.
Val and I met in between our two homes and then headed west to the park.
“I brought a kite!” I said excitedly.
“You are like a little kid, Lane,” said Val, her green eyes lighting up.
“And I hope that never changes,” I said, with a grin.
She laughed, throwing her golden brown head back, and said, “Me, too, Lane! Me, too.”
It was pretty hot out, so I was glad I’d decided on my little shorts outfit. The navy shorts had two white stripes, top to bottom on each hip, and a line of five cute brass buttons from the waist on either side. My white canvas shoes and ankle socks showed off my legs. With a short-sleeved, V-neck blouse, it was a variation of the sailor suit. I couldn’t quite bring myself to wear one of those jaunty little sailor hats, though. A little too cute for me. “Val, I love your light green shorts!” She always looked fantastic in light green. She turned to me with a smile. “Thanks! I actually took a pair of trousers and cut them down and sewed in a cuff.” I smiled to myself as I remembered that only a little more than ten years ago, a woman was arrested in in Chicago for wearing a swimsuit that didn’t have the required leg covering. Progress.
We decided on a place by the obelisk, Cleopatra’s Needle. There were lovely picnic areas, plus it was near the Great Lawn so we could fly the kite. We spent an easy day reading, talking, snacking, and just enjoying each other’s company. I think Ripley enjoyed the day, too. He’d curl up right next to our blanket, and once in a while, he’d allow us to use his sturdy sides as a headrest while we read our novels.
I put my book down and closed my eyes, soaking up the sun on my face. Ripley’s breathing was slow and steady underneath my head.
“Val?”
“Mm hmm?” she replied drowsily.
“I brought something to show you,” I said as I sat up and pulled out the notebook. I didn’t tell her who it was from or what it was about, not that I really knew myself.
She picked up the notebook and started to browse through it. “Oooh, it’s French,” she said, like she had just found a really juicy pear and was ready to devour it. She read several pages, leafing through the well-loved volume, looking at the different sketches of Aunt Evelyn’s and the many notes. Then she asked the question that was definitely my first question: “Who’s ML?”
“I don’t know. But isn’t he something? I mean, the way he describes his setting, wherever he is, is so beautiful. And yet there is something tragic about him, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Do you think he’s a young man? Do you think Evelyn might have had a crush on him?”
“Huh, it’s funny, but I have this idea that while he was actually young, his soul was old. No, I don’t think a crush is the right word, plus I think Evelyn was quite a young girl at the time. But her feelings for him seem to be very earnest,” I said as I rested my chin in my hand and pulled a few strands of my hair behind my ear.
“Oh, and there is such a . . . a . . . longing in him. It’s like I can almost see it,” she said.
I looked over at Val and her kind smile as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. She said, in deep thought, “He seems sad. But his words can be so hopeful despite that.”
I smiled, glad that I had shared this with her. “All right, time for some lunch,” I said, with my stomach grumbling an exhortation.
Val started unpacking her picnic basket. She brought chicken salad sandwiches, potato chips, Cokes, and The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies on the planet. Val knew they were my favorite and made them for me as much as possible. She told me once that they had a lot of butter, vanilla, and all brown sugar, but I had no idea why that made them better than others. All I knew was, they were good. Like magic.
As we finished off our feast, I said, “Ahhh . . . what a great day!”
I could hear her chuckle. “You know? I think it’s going to get even better. I was just thinking that I have . . . a little headache . . . so I think I’ll let you stay here and just enjoy your day.”
“What?” I said, sitting bolt upright. “What are you talking about?” My outburst made Ripley get up in expectation, happily wagging his tail and looking around.
Then she smiled and pointed over to the trees about fifty feet away. Leaning up against the crabapple tree was Finn. He waved and motioned to ask whether he could come over. I have to admit, my heart skipped a beat. He had on tan trousers and a white polo shirt. I waved him over.
Valerie was gathering up her things as he came over. “Val, you don’t have to leave, I was just coming through the park and saw you two.”
“Ha! Sure you were!” She laughed, which made him grin sheepishly. He knelt down and gave Ripley a good welcome, rubbing down his back and patting his great big head. The rubdown made Ripley’s tongue loll out of his mouth and one of his ears bend down a little. He was not the picture of a valiant protector that I knew him to be.
Val stood up, beaming. “I’ll leave you two the rest of the Cokes and cookies. Have fun!”
“Cookies?” asked Finn eagerly.
“Oh, not just any cookies, The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies on the planet,” I said, slightly sad to have to share them.
“Oooh! Look at that look on your face. You don’t want to share!” he said, reading me loud and clear with a great big smirk.
“Nope.”
“Ha! Valerie left them to both of us. You have to,” he said, and I grudgingly gave him the bag. After taking two more.
“What have you two been doing?” he asked, extending his long legs and leaning back on one arm. “Oh, my God! These are good!” he said, looking down at his cookie like it was about to speak to him.
“Told ya. Now give me the bag back.” He laughed and grudgingly gave me the bag back. After taking two more.
I leaned back, stretching my legs out to match his. I noticed his eyes skimming up and down my bare legs. “Oh, we’ve been talking, had lunch, read a while. It’s been a great day,” I said as I looked up at the passing clouds and took a deep breath. “What have you been up to?”
“Actually, it’s the first day in . . . months, really . . . that I didn’t have to be somewhere,” he said, in a sort of bewildered way.
“Months?” I exclaimed. “How can you do that?”
“What do you mean? I do it all the time,” he said.
“Hmm,” I murmured contemplatively. “I may have to do something about that.” Finn was taking a good look around at the deep green trees, the guys playing baseball up ahead, and Cleopatra’s Needle to our left. He rubbed his right knee and thigh.
“Your leg bothering you?” I inquired.
“What? Oh, no. No, just an old injury.” He said it in tones that plainly meant he didn’t want to talk about it.
I paused for a few seconds, keenly aware of his bright eyes. Something about that particular injury made him look wary and sad. I slowly raised my hand to my lips, not taking my eyes off his, kissed my hand, and laid it on his leg. I leaned closer to him, feeling my hair fall softly over the side of my face. I whispered, “I’m sure I can help you with that.”
“Oh, I just bet you can.”
After a long and spicy kiss, I said, “All right, I have an idea. Come with me.” I stood up, put our things back in the rucksack, and offered my hand.
“Where are we going?” he asked as I helped haul him up.
“How about that way?” I said, pointing vaguely southwest.
Finn took up the rucksack after I folded the blanket and stuffed it in with our remaining Cokes and cookies. I got Ripley’s leash, and we walked in the direction I had pointed.
We eventually came to Turtle Pond and the enormous statue of the Polish King Jagiello. He looked fierce with two magnificent swords drawn and crossed over his head, and I wondered what he was like in real life five hundred years ago. His statue was going to be part of the Polish pavilion for the upcoming World’s Fair, but had a temporary place to stand and regard us New Yorkers right here. If he liked it, he would come back after the fair. I hoped so.
I looked up at Belvedere Castle and said, “That way! Have you ever been up there?”
“No,” he said, completely predictably.
I steered us toward the path that led up to the old fort, which was sometimes used as a weather station. At the entrance to the stone castle, there was an emblem of a griffin that looked dragonish, and I placed my hand on it, feeling the warmth from the sun. “This is the dragon’s house.”
“Dragon?” he asked.
“Of course.” I chuckled. “Aunt Evelyn always told me stories about the dragon that lives here and watches over New York. His room is that highest circular window up there. I’ve tried to visit, but the door is always locked.” I traced the griffin with my fingertips and then touched the gray flagstone, feeling the rough, cool texture.
“Well, certainly,” said Finn, nodding seriously, looking up at the top window. “Everyone knows dragons like the nighttime. Plus, they tend to be shy, contrary to public opinion.”
I laughed. “I had no idea you had such a thorough knowledge of dragons. What else don’t I know about you?”
“Oh, let’s see, I like to ice skate. I hate mustard. Birds make me nervous.”
“It’s their beady eyes, isn’t it.”
“Yep. And their feet. I love the thought of sailing at night. Well, for that matter, I love the beach at night.” And didn’t that conjure all sorts of enticing images. “And that ribbon candy at Christmas. It’s a favorite of my grandma’s, so I love it, too.” He looked down at me and grinned with a perplexed sort of smile. “What are you thinking about?”
I had to restart my brain after I got stuck on dreaming of being on a beach with Finn at night. “Oh! I mean, wow, excellent list. I will have to keep those things in mind.” Smooth recovery.
After a quick tour of the dragon’s castle, enjoying the soaring view over Turtle Pond and the Great Lawn, we found ourselves at one of my favorite parts of the park: the top of Cedar Hill.
At the crest, the sweeping green hill coasted down below us with large rocks scattered about from ancient glaciers. At the bottom of the hill was another perpendicular path, and beyond that a big, open area where you could picnic or play ball. Tall buildings flanked the lush green space spreading out before us, framing the park with modular mountains.
“Let’s go sit over there,” I said, wanting to relax for a moment. We went over to a large gray boulder peeking out of the ground, gave Ripley some water, and got out the last two Cokes. The sun was warm on our faces and had heated the smooth rock we sat upon. People were scattered all over the place, colorfully dotting the landscape, yet it didn’t feel crowded. Down below us, somewhere under a canopy of pine trees, a small jazz band performed with upright bass, drums, and sax.
“This is wonderful, Lane.” I watched his satisfied face. “It’s so full of life,” he said.
After a while, I got up and nodded my head down the path. “Come on, I have another idea.”
I took him down to the base of Cedar Hill, past the jazz band (
I threw some coins into the bass case), aiming for the lawn of Cedar Hill. But I loved the old bridge just to the south of it, so we went through there. It was called the Glade Arch, with wildflowers growing in profusion around the sides of the banks. Instead of going under the arch as I usually did—I had no idea what made me do it—I veered right toward the path that led over the top of the bridge. We stopped at the railing and looked around.
I had my hands on the railing, and Finn came up behind me, putting his arm around my waist, looking over my shoulder. He brought his face close to mine, and my heart was fluttering with desire. He whispered in my ear, “Lane, today has been . . .”
I turned my head a fraction closer to him. “It’s not over.” He bent his head and softly kissed the side of my neck, making my knees turn to jelly. I turned into him, and his lips found mine for a kiss full of heat as my arms circled his waist.
“But don’t think that kiss will distract me from my next plan for us,” I said.
“Oh, really?” he asked, still so close I could feel his breath on my neck. I take that back. He could most definitely distract me.
He took my hand and started to pull me away from the railing. “All right, Lane! Let’s go—” He cut off his statement as he saw me and what had to be a horrified look on my face. The world started to bend and twist, I was so astonished, but I grabbed his arm, and he caught me around the waist.
“Finn! Do you see this?”
“What? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I think I have. This scroll in stone here, on the bridge . . . Is it at all familiar to you?” Along the railing, there were small diamonds with a sculpted scroll in each one. The scroll was a diamond shape with loops at the four corners, then a small cross in the middle of the diamond with fleur-de-lis at the four points.
The Silver Gun Page 22
