Yesterday's Stardust

by Becky Melby

  “That’s why he killed himself.”

  “Yes.”

  “And she blames you.”

  She nodded.

  “You did the right thing. He’s the one who made the wrong choice.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself. But it wasn’t my place. As a journalist I’m supposed to report the facts, not get involved in the story.”

  “You might have saved her life by what you did.”

  “Maybe.” She blinked away the sting in her eyes.

  “You acted on what you thought you should do. That’s way better than being left with regret.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Dani wasn’t so sure Rena was right about her brother always saying what he felt. She had no doubt there were things Nicky Fiorini kept hidden in a tightly clenched fist.

  “Do you know where she’s staying?”

  He held her gaze with an unblinking stare. “I might.”

  She waited, looking back with an unwavering stare.

  “The guy who owns the house across the street said she’s living with her aunt. Turns out she used to work here. Carmen James.” Again, the shift of the eyes to the right. “She lives in Wilson Heights.”

  Her pulse quickened. Another neighborhood she’d be dumb and stupid to walk through. “Thank you.”

  “Promise me something, okay?” His voice took on the Prince Charming gentleness she’d heard once before.

  “What?”

  “Don’t go looking for her by yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Who was this man? “Thank you.”

  “Now, do you really want a calzone?”

  “No. I mean, yes, but some other time.”

  “Let me know when you’re coming. I’ll make one just for you.”

  Just for you.

  His chin dipped, making his gaze slice deeper. “Might even sit down and join you.”

  Did she want that?

  She looked over at the restaurant, imagining freshly painted trim against new brick, neighbors chatting on front porches, and the alley where they stood a safe place for a game of stickball. The way it might have been in June of 1928 when Francie Tillman had a ‘fun night at Bracciano.’

  Breathing shallow, fingers tingling the way they had the first time she dove off the diving board at Washington Park, she answered her own question. Yes. I want that. She looked into eyes that masked stories she wanted to hear. “I found something across the street. If you’re interested, I’d like to show it to you.”

  Nicky tipped his head to one side, hair tumbling across his forehead. “I’m interested.”

  September 30, 1924

  Arms spread out like one of the thieves on the cross, Francie gripped two hooks on the inside of the cargo box. Her muscles ached from shivering, but every time she let go of the hooks to hug her coat closer to her body, the truck hit a rut or turned a corner and she lost her balance on the upturned pail. She had no idea how long they’d driven, but her bottom hurt from too many jarrings and hard landings on the bucket, and her stomach growled fiercely. Tears surfaced whenever she thought of the stew on the stove at home and Mama’s face when she would read the letter Francie’d left.

  She’d saved Daddy’s money. When she’d threatened to scream, Baldy turned it over. She just hoped he’d given her all of it.

  Hooga-hooga. The horn blared, the truck swerved. The chugging of the motor slowed. More ruts. She imagined a long dirt road like the one linking their farm to the main road. For a moment she wished they’d changed their minds and were taking her home.

  Gritting her teeth, she fought tears. Suzette needed her. Her nephew needed her. How were people treating him? Were they calling him the names she’d heard for Halla Gudmundson’s baby? The little girl was in school now, but Mama’s friends still whispered about Halla not knowing who her daughter’s father was. People could be so mean while sounding like they were doing God’s work.

  That was why Daddy never went to church and why he hadn’t made Francie go after she got confirmed. The fight he’d had with Mama still rang in her head.

  “Francie would learn more about genuine compassion sitting out in my office than in a church pew,” he’d said.

  “Can you really fool yourself into thinking you’re doing God’s work when you sell liquor to weak-willed men and then listen to them ramble in their drunkenness?”

  “I may not do it in the name of God, but I do more for the ‘least of these’ out there at that table…” They’d thought she was sleeping, but she’d heard every word. She remembered his loud, heavy sigh. “If you people just once acted like the man you claim to follow, maybe he wouldn’t have died in vain.”

  Mama had gasped. “That’s blasphemy.”

  “Is it? When’s the last time you even gave the time of day to somebody outside the walls of your church who’s down on his luck?”

  “The Missionary Society collects money and packs boxes for—”

  Daddy had laughed, cutting off her words. “You take money from people who can barely put food on their tables and then you sit in your righteous circles and pick them apart while you pack your boxes for the poor children in China.”

  The fight had ended with Mama crying, Daddy marching to the barn, and Francie not returning to church.

  The truck lurched. Brakes squealed. Her shoulder slammed into a crate of syrup cans. She heard the doors open, and Baldy and Green Eyes talking in hushed tones. “All clear. Get her.”

  With a soft whine, the rear doors opened.

  “Get out.” Baldy motioned with his arm. She could just barely make out his silhouette in the moonlight. “Get behind the wheel.”

  In the dark? They expected her to drive in the dark? “Where are we?”

  “Nowhere. Just sit here and follow that truck when it pulls—” A dog barked not far away. A door opened. “Rusty!” A woman’s voice.

  “Shh!” Green Eyes grabbed her arm and yanked her to the other side of the truck. His arm went across her chest, and he pressed her back against him. A hand clamped over her mouth. His breath touched her ear. “Not a word.”

  “Rusty, come here now!”

  Francie’s heart hammered in her throat. Her knees quivered. The door closed, and Green Eyes’ arms relaxed, but he didn’t move for several long moments. “Sorry, doll,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to scare you. We’re borrowing this truck from a friend, see, and he said his Ma wouldn’t like it, so we have to make sure she doesn’t know. He said she’d be sleeping by now, but looks like she’s a night owl. We’ll have to push the truck out onto the road. Think you can see well enough to follow?”

  Moonlight cast ghostly tree shadows along the roadside. Francie nodded. She could see. Could she remember how to drive?

  “Good girl.” Green Eyes took his hand off her mouth and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. His spicy scent spun images of far-away countries where women dressed in rich-colored saris and men wore turbans and rode camels. “We’re going to make a good team, you and me.”

  Her heart slowed. The trembles of fear transformed to jitters of anticipation. It was only for a night and a day. Tomorrow night she would be in Chicago, safe and sound with her sister. Until then, she could cram in enough excitement to last a long, long time.

  “Get rid of her.”

  Francie huddled in the corner of a metal cage just large enough to lie down in. She had no idea how she’d gotten there. A few yards away, Green Eyes and Baldy sat at a table with a gray-haired man with glasses. The high-ceilinged building was bigger than the barn back home. The truck she’d driven and the one they claimed they’d borrowed were parked inside along with at least two others.

  Perspiration trickled down her sides in spite of the damp cold.

  “She’s just a kid.” Green Eyes blew smoke directly at the man.

  “Too bad. She’s seen too much.”

  Green Eyes crushed his cigarette in an ashtray. “She came in handy.”
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  “I bet she did.” The gray-haired man’s laugh echoed off concrete walls.

  “When that cop stopped us, she played him big time, convinced him I was her big brother teaching her how to drive. Even got him to laugh. The guy forgot all about looking in the back of the truck.”

  “So you made a smart decision to take her along, but we don’t need her now.”

  Green Eyes glanced her way. “What if we just keep her?”

  Spine straightening, Francie leaned forward, arms wrapped around her churning stomach.

  Green Eyes nodded. “A little hush money could go a long way. She’s got nothing. Dirt poor folks. We take her to her sister’s, keep her supplied with everything a gal could want, and use her when we need a dame for cover.”

  The gray-haired man shoved his chair back, stood, and walked over to the cage. “You listening to all this, sweetheart?”

  Francie nodded, sure she’d vomit if she opened her mouth.

  “What d’ya think? You good at keeping secrets?”

  Her eyes felt stuck wide open. She nodded with more force than before. Whatever they asked, she’d agree to, as long as it got her to Suzette’s.

  The man tapped a finger on the end of his nose. “Do you understand there’d be consequences if you told anyone about our little business venture? Consequences to your sister maybe, or your parents? Seems there are things about your Daddy’s farm the authorities might be interested in.”

  “There’s a kid,” Baldy added. “Her nephew.”

  “Convenient.”

  Bile burned her throat. She swallowed hard. She would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing how scared she was. “I understand.” Her words rasped in her tight throat.

  “So we have a deal then. Tag here seems to be sweet on you, so I’ll put him in charge. He’ll take you to your sister. I’m thinking maybe you’ll have to play it like you two got a thing for each other so’s your sister doesn’t wonder where all the pretty things are coming from. You got yourself a rich boyfriend, girly, without even tryin’. When we need you, Tag’ll just come ‘round and pick you up for a little romantic getaway.”

  Grasping the bars of the cage, Francie pulled to a stand. Her gaze locked on Green Eyes. So his name was Tag. Strange name. Probably not his real one. He stared back at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. His lips pursed. He kissed the air and winked.

  Francie felt suddenly warm.

  How bad could working with him possibly be?

  CHAPTER 11

  Rena stood out of sight in Bracciano’s empty dining room, gaze riveted to the front window. Pulling her phone from her apron pocket, she tried to control the jerking of her fingers as she punched Jarod’s number. “Answer. Answer,” she whispered, praying his phone was on silent.

  Outside Nicky pointed toward the far end of the garage building, and Dani followed him. Just as they disappeared around the corner, Jarod answered.

  “My brother’s coming around the back of the garage.”

  Jarod responded with a whispered curse and broke the connection.

  Why was she protecting him? If he got caught, he’d go to jail and she’d be free.

  Unless he brought her down with him.

  Flying through the swinging doors, Rena dashed through the kitchen. “Hi, Dad, be right back. Front’s empty.” She flashed a fake smile and pounded up the stairs, down the hall, and into her father’s bedroom. Bending down, she pressed the top of her head against the screen, straining to see the garage next door.

  From this angle, she couldn’t see a thing. But if she held her breath, she could just barely make out words.

  “…in there?” Dani asked.

  “I’ve wanted to know…” Her brother’s voice faded.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand. “Jarod?”

  “I’m inside.” His voice was low, breathless, the way he used to talk when he called her in the middle of the night to say he missed her. He hadn’t done that in months, and now the voice gave her the wrong kind of chills. “Let me know when they leave.”

  “You didn’t leave anything outside, did you? Anything they’d—”

  “What kind of”—she held the phone away from her ear while he spewed his favorite words—“do you think I am?” The clock on Dad’s dresser clicked four times. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

  Trust? You won’t even tell me what it is you’re hiding in there. “I’m just worried about you. I want you safe.” The lie left a bitter aftertaste.

  “I got everything. It’s clean.”

  Clean. Like a person finally off drugs. “They’re leaving. Walking toward the street.”

  “Okay. I’m going home.” He didn’t bother saying “I love you.” Again.

  She turned away from the window and headed for the stairs, ready to act like nothing was wrong.

  Even though everything was.

  “It’s midnight in the Midwest. Hope you’re with the one you love in this first minute of Friday, and if you’re not, I hope you’re enjoying a ‘simple little kind of free’ like John Mayer. This is ‘Perfectly Lonely.’”

  Nicky sang along as he fed pasta dough into the cutter. The lyrics spoke of belonging to no one. The song usually left him feeling free. Tonight it just made the night seem heavy. He turned off the machine and shut off the radio.

  The music didn’t stop. Muffled guitar chords filtered through the vents. Rena’s voice rose above the sweet, clear notes. He walked to the foot of the stairs.

  Two steps up, he recognized the song. The words lodged beneath his ribs like a fist.

  “Shed a tear at your grave today/a single crystal drop/then I stood and watched it hit the stone/catch light and fade away…”

  He waited for her to finish then walked upstairs. Rena sat on the floor, eyes closed as she tuned the strings. Nicky leaned on the doorframe. “Sounded good.”

  “Thanks.” She swiped at damp cheeks. “They’re having a memorial for Miguel down at the beach tomor—” She glanced at the time on her radio. “Tonight. I traded shifts so I can go. I thought maybe I’d sing it.”

  She hadn’t answered any of his questions all week. Would she close up now if he tried again? He walked over to the bed and sat on the floor facing her. “How well did you know him?”

  “Not very well. I’m kind of friends with China, his girlfriend.”

  “Can I ask why you didn’t want to go to the funeral?”

  Rena stared at her fingernails. “Miguel’s parents were really nasty to China. We stayed away because of her.”

  “‘We’ as in you and Jarod?” Acid rose in his throat along with the name. “Or you and Trish?”

  “All of us.” She reached behind her for a tissue and blew her nose. “A bunch of us kind of stick together. Take care of each other, you know?”

  He knew. His chest burned with what he knew. “People are saying Miguel was one of the Sevens. Is that true?”

  She shrugged and tossed the crumpled tissue at a black wastebasket. “I heard that, too.”

  Nicky wrapped his arms around bent knees and waited until her eyes finally wandered back to him. “Are you?” Dear God, let her say no.

  “No.” She gave a soft laugh that neutralized the pain beneath his sternum. “You’re slipping. You used to know everything going on around here. The Sevens are only guys. No girls allowed.”

  “Thank the Lord for that.”

  “Yeah.” She ran the edge of her thumb across the strings. “Can’t really see myself carjacking.”

  “Me neither.” He picked a beaded bracelet from the floor. Red, white, and green. A nagging feeling, like the warning of distant thunder, fluttered in his belly. “Funny. We’re talking about the Sevens and I find a bracelet with their colors.” The cords on the sides of his neck stiffened until they hurt.

  Rena laughed again. “Those are Christmas colors. Man, are you paranoid.” She swiveled toward her dresser, opened her bottom drawer, and pulled out a pair of socks. Red, white, and green. White sn
owmen, holly leaves, on a red background. “It matches these.”

  Totally unconvinced, he nodded. “Danielle Gallagher was across the street today.”

  Rena picked up a yellow plastic guitar pick. “I saw you talking to her.”

  “Did you know she interviewed Miguel’s girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. She’s doing another story on crazy teenagers or something, huh? What were you and reporter lady doing out back?”

  “A friend of hers is a photographer. He’s going around taking pictures of graffiti. ‘Wall art’ he calls it.”

  “Some of it’s kind of pretty.”

  “Those kids need to get a life. There’s nothing pretty about vandalizing somebody’s property.” He stared at her, watching for any sign of guilt.

  She stared right back. “It’s nice we have Todd around so much. Nobody would dare do anything to our place.”

  “Is that what it is? Is that why they leave us alone? Or is it because you live here?”

  Her eyes shot wide. Her fingers whitened on the neck of the guitar. “Get. A. Grip.” She metered it out as if he didn’t speak the language. “You gotta quit thinkin’ stuff like that. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy.”

  Nicky ran his hands over his eyes. “You know why I go nuts on you sometimes.”

  “I know.”

  “Raising you hasn’t been a piece of cake.” He threw the socks back.

  “But you’ve done a good job. Now it’s time to retire.”

  “You wish.” He shook his finger at her. “When you’re married. Maybe.”

  “That’s exceptionally demeaning and sexist, even for you.”

  “It’s the truth. At least around here. I won’t feel like you’re safe until you have some six-foot-twelve, four-hundred-pound guy looking after you.”

  As she laughed, he weighed the next question. “Which brings us back to the conversation that didn’t go so well last week. Can we talk about Jarod?”

  “Not now. Maybe after tonight. I’ve got too many emotions going on right now.”

  “Fine.” He slapped his knees and stood.

  “You do that just like Dad.”