“Harley introduced you to your late husband?”
“It happened fast between us, me and Charlie. I guess age and money beat out looks and love, right?” She spoke offhandedly, as if it were funny. Repulsed by her words, I pulled slightly away.
“It’s late, time for me to call it a night,” she said, even though it was just going on ten. I assumed she was expecting company, Dennis Lane, probably, which made me ask her, “What’s going on with you and Dennis?”
“Good friends. Mrs. Jones, you’re as bad as Bertie, worried about me and Dennis.”
I knew they were tied in ways I didn’t yet understand. I wondered what Bertie knew. “When I was at Harley’s place getting the bird and his mother’s Bible, I found some photographs of you with Harley, Dennis, and Louella. They were taken in this room. There was money lying all around. Looked like you all were at a party. You-all have known each other a long time, right? How did you meet?”
She sat straight up, suddenly wide-awake. “You were snooping around Harley’s private things?”
“They were on the bookshelf and when I got a book about the bird, they fell into my lap.” Almost the truth.
“Why the hell did he save them?” she said, more to herself than to me. “They were a joke. Dumb kid stuff.”
“They must have meant something to him.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I will when I see him, but what were you all involved in? ”
“Meaning who?”
“The people in the picture. You all looked young, real young. Except your husband.”
“Late husband,” she said, more loudly than she needed to. “Whatever it was, it’s over now. Charlie’s death put an end to all of it.” She abruptly picked up the cake, her plate, and milk carton, and left, ending any other questions I might have had, and took everything into the kitchen. “Do you mind showing yourself out, Mrs. Jones?” she called out in her little-girl voice.
* * *
I didn’t know what to make of Tanya Risko. Nor Harley Wilde, for that matter. Was I on a fool’s errand, looking for a truth I refused to see? I needed to talk to Harley as soon as I could; he owed me some answers, if for no other reason than rescuing his noisy little bird. Tanya had said she didn’t know when Harley would be out. Another question for Lennox Royal, who was rapidly becoming my source for anything to do with the law.
Before I went to bed that night, I wrote up a new list of D&D dessert offerings, adding D&D’s Cinnamon Crust Apple Pie, Chock Full O’ Nuts Chocolate Chip Cookies, and Chocolate Lover’s Chocolate Cake (formerly the Wickedly Delightfully Decadent Devil’s Food Cake). The next morning when I dropped off the list, Lennox ordered two cakes, chocolate and 7-UP, and a dozen cookies. He also gave me what he called a generous “good faith” deposit that I gladly accepted.
“What’s going on with your friend in jail? Did he get a good lawyer?” he asked as he poured us both coffee, every bit as strong as I remembered. “Need some cream?”
I poured in half a cup, turning mine into a milky café au lait. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”
“Is he getting out?” A shadow of concern darkened Lennox’s eyes.
“I think he is, but I’m not sure when,” I said, wondering about the shadow I’d just seen.
“If he doesn’t have priors the lawyer will get him out right after he’s arraigned, but they’ll put an ankle restraint on him so they can check on him when they want to. The problem is, those things aren’t impossible to disengage from. If he gets out of it, he could be halfway to Canada before they find him. Just remember what I said about being careful. He may be your friend, but you don’t know what is in his heart,” he added, then changed the subject. “So when can I get those cakes? That so-called sample 7-UP cake you brought disappeared out of here so fast I didn’t get another slice.”
“I’ll try for a day or two, if I can.”
“That’s a lot of baking.”
“I love to cook. It keeps me company. Better than my cat, Juniper. Yes, Lennox, I’m a lonely old lady with a cat. And a bird, at this point.”
“I don’t know about being lonely, but you’re certainly not an old lady by any stretch of the imagination,” he said with an appreciative grin. “I get the cat, but the bird? Aren’t they natural enemies? You don’t strike me as a bird kind of lady.”
“I’m keeping him for a friend . . . in jail,” I added.
He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.
“I know what you mean about feeling lonely. My daughter helps me fight the blues. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He smiled but there was a trace of pain in his eyes, reminding me that it couldn’t be easy raising her alone.
Georgia, overhearing our conversation, came over and gave him a loose hug. “I keep telling this stubborn man that there’s always a place for him at my table. Him and his daughter.”
He gave her a thin smile, as if he’d heard it before. “And when you see how much we eat, you’ll wish you hadn’t offered,” he said good-naturedly.
“This man thinks he’s the only one who can cook around here. By the way, you’re quite the baker,” she said with a side glance and forced smile.
“Thanks. It’s a good way to make some extra money,” I added, knowing as I said it that there was no reason to tell her my business, except I felt like putting her at ease. I wasn’t sure why. It’s one of the things that annoy me about myself, always needing to put somebody at ease. She gave me a half smile and left to wait on a customer at one of the tables on the other side of the room.
“Maybe you should take her up on it,” I said when Georgia was out of earshot.
“Yeah, maybe someday I will,” he said without enthusiasm.
“Something good might come of it.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug before awkwardly changing the subject. “Who got him the lawyer? That’s usually a clue to somebody who knows something they shouldn’t.”
“The widow.”
“The widow of the murdered man?”
I nodded.
“That puts an interesting spin on things. Were they involved before, your friend and the widow?”
“Yeah, I think they were.”
He paused for a moment. “You have a tender heart, Odessa Jones, I know that much about you. They might have done this thing together. Maybe he killed the husband out of jealousy or because he didn’t like the way he treated her or she convinced him to do it. I don’t know, and neither do you. I would hate to think you’ve been roped into believing this man is innocent when he’s not.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said reluctantly.
“Look, I don’t mean to sound like an overprotective daddy, but maybe somehow you could arrange for us to meet. I was a cop for a long time and have a sixth sense about people.”
I didn’t think that would happen, but if it did, I hoped Lennox’s “sixth sense” was better than mine. Settling comfortably on my counter stool, I thought about Harley’s glimmer, dismissed it, thought about it again. “I honestly don’t know what to make of Harley Wilde,” I finally said.
“Keep your wits about you. Keep your eyes wide open. Promise me that.”
“With a cherry on top,” I said, and being close to the same generation, we both chuckled.
Chapter 10
I baked Vinton Laverne’s Chock Full O’ Nuts Chocolate Chip Cookies (praying he wasn’t allergic to nuts) and a dozen for Lennox’s daughter, let them cool, and stored them in my special cookie tins, which made me remember the day Darryl and I had bought them. It was a terrible afternoon, cold and rainy. We’d found shelter in a mom-and-pop store filled with everything from ginger beer to cast-iron skillets in need of seasoning. Darryl spotted them pushed behind a shelf heavy with rice, black beans, and lentils. They were stenciled with red and yellow tulips sprouting leaves and tendrils, an old-fashioned style that made them look more expensive than they were.
We bought as many as we could carry, stuffing them into the tot
es we’d brought and plastic shopping bags from the store. They’d be our unique cookie tins, we decided, filled with fancy selections of D&D cookies for particular repeat clients. By the time we left, the rain had stopped, the sun had come out, and the whole world was bright with sunshine. Then the rain started again, a sudden downpour that left us soaked as we made our way home. Darryl built a fire, and we cuddled in front of it, cozy, warm, and grateful to be home, grateful for each other.
I’d never used them. Never wanted to. I knew what Darryl would say, that they were meant to be filled with good things to eat, that it was silly to save them. What was I waiting for? He wasn’t coming back. Our memories were what were important; nothing could take them away. These silly containers were just taking up space on the shelf. Come on, Dess. So all you’ve got to remember me by is a cookie tin? I smiled when I heard his voice in my mind. It was time to let go. Lena would love the tin. She loved intricate patterns and would be fascinated by the design.
Between baking, double-checking Parker’s cage, and feeding and watering both animal tenants on my way to work, I was late.
“You looking for Vinton? Left early to work at home. If you sniff hard enough you can still smell that body oil. He left you this.” Bertie handled me an unsealed envelope. I’d been worried about her mood and was relieved to see she hadn’t lost her spiteful sense of humor.
“You doing okay?” I asked as I skimmed Vinton’s note.
“Said you needed to read it before tonight. I guess you’re still making those cookies and things for folks, right? To drop off at their houses and stuff, right? You got some for me?” I studied her closely, sure she’d had something to do with Harley’s arrest. At the bar after the funeral she’d practically accused him of killing the man. She’d obviously read Vinton’s note, which annoyed me, but I decided not to mention it.
“You wanted a cake, right?” She must have forgotten she’d told me.
“Yeah, that’s right. I need something sweet to get me through everything that man’s death has done to me,” she said, sounding like the old Bertie.
“Done to you? What about Charlie? The man is dead!”
She took off her glasses and scowled at me. “You know what I mean, Dessa. Don’t be cute.”
I sat down beside her and unpacked my things. “How is Louella doing?”
“The same,” she said, her face turning hard.
I switched on my laptop and waited a minute, then asked, “Did you know that Louella and Tanya knew each other before she married Charlie?”
“Yeah,” she said, putting her glasses back on again and glancing away before I could see what was in her eyes.
“You know they arrested Harley for killing him.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Really?” I said, even though I knew my suspicions about why the cops had picked him up were right. “Do you think he did it?”
“Somebody did. May as well have been him,” she said offhandedly.
Later that evening sitting with Vinton Laverne in his living room I got nearly the same response when I mentioned the news about Harley to him. “No surprise there,” he said, scrunching his lips. He took a gulp of the gin and tonic he was drinking and nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie. “Gin and chocolate, you should try it. They’re good together.”
“I’ll stick to milk.”
He chuckled to himself but there was no joy in it. “You sound just like Stuart. Only grown man I ever knew who liked to drink milk. Hell, he’d have it with steak if I’d let him.”
I sank into the large overstuffed couch covered in gauzy blue-and-white chintz. The cream-colored walls were filled with large and small photographs of Vinton and Stuart, taken both alone and together. Mementos of their relationship were everywhere: jeweled seashells from Atlantic City and Bermuda, small and large crystals, souvenir cushions tossed on the matching side chairs and couch. But despite the clutter, the apartment had an old-fashioned, homey feel to it. More House & Garden than Pottery Barn.
He eased back on the couch where we sat, and grinned. “We bought this place together a few years before he died. He inherited that huge, beautiful apartment where the widow lives now. It should have gone to Stuart, but Charlie grabbed it quick, and Stuart didn’t care. He let him have it. Anything to keep the peace.”
“This is a beautiful place, too. Makes you feel . . . welcome,” I added, unable to think of a better word.
“If you like chintz, and Stuart loved chintz. Me, not so much. I hated it at first. I like my roses and vines in a vase, thank you, but there was no arguing with him. Now this room is the most precious thing in the world to me. Like this smoking jacket. This belonged to Stu. Who the hell wears smoking jackets?” He grabbed my hand so I could feel the blue brocaded silk, then he took another swallow of gin and tonic followed by a cookie. “Did I hear that you lost your husband, too?”
“He died a year ago,” I said quietly. I still found it hard to say. Vinton raised his drink in a toast, which made me smile.
“I don’t know who he was, but he must have been a good man to have married somebody as sweet as you.”
“How do you know I’m so sweet?”
“The dimples.”
“I got them from my mother. They make me look sweeter than I am.”
“Nice place to get them, from your mother. But you must have gotten other stuff, too.” I nodded noncommittally, unwilling to go into the “other stuff.”
Vinton continued, “All I got from mine was a nasty temper, quick wit, and a string of real pearls that I sold shortly after she died. I’m sorry about that now. But that was something. I should be happy for that,” he added with a self-deprecating smile. “But looks are important although they can be deceiving. Take the folks at work.”
“Have anybody in mind?”
“Well, Juda, for one, but I love her like a sister so I don’t want to go into that. I’ll say one thing, though. Nearly everybody in that place has a look that deceives. Your dimples are the least of them.” He took a gulp of gin, opened a silver cigarette case on the coffee table, and lit a Newport. “Another bad habit Stuart dragged me into, bless his heart. You’re not allergic to cigarettes, are you?” His eyes filled with concern.
“Depends on who’s doing the smoking,” I said, which was the truth. “My aunt Phoenix occasionally lights up something and definitely inhales. I’ve never asked her what. At her age she can smoke or drink anything she wants to, including her cherry brandy.”
He laughed out loud, a good-natured guffaw. “Cherry brandy? Sounds like my kind of girl. I’d like to meet her someday.”
I paused for a moment then said, because it was true, “I would like to have known Stuart. Can you tell me about him?”
He went to the mantle filled with candles and photographs and picked up one of a muscular man with longish blond hair mixed with gray who was sitting at what looked like a bar in a hotel. “Here he is. He was a good looker, that was for sure. I took this in Atlantic City. We used to go there all the time before it got seedy. Won a lot of money, lost a lot of money, had a lot of fun. I haven’t been back since he died. Too much pain, even now. I can’t face it. I know that.”
I nodded in agreement because I knew what he meant.
“You know what I said about looks being deceptive? When I first saw Stu I didn’t know he was gay. I knew I was, and proud of it, too. Things are better these days, but in my age group there are still . . . shall I say, challenges,” he said with a sad half smile. “I was gay, proud of it, wasn’t sure he was. He hadn’t come out to his family yet. When we fell in love, I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. We both did.” He took a drag off the cigarette, then snubbed it out, squeezed his eyes closed.
“But Stu always had a darkness in him. Got depressed easily. Most times I could pull him out of it; sometimes I couldn’t and that scared me. Maybe because he was hiding such an essential part of who he was from everybody except me. But Charlie knew and kept finding ways to undermine
him and use it against him. Charlie knew his father wouldn’t have approved of us. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Nothing like the worst.”
Vinton’s thoughts had gone back to Stuart, as mine so often went to Darryl. I let them go where they would, just waiting to hear whatever he wanted to tell me, and when he was ready he did.
“The worst was after his father died. The company went to Stu, like it should have. Like the apartment, like everything else his father valued. His dying words to Stu were about how much he trusted him. Old Man Risko knew his younger boy wasn’t worth spit. The only thing he cared about was Risko Reality, which he’d built up from what his father had left him. And he left it to Stuart, but Charlie still had a piece of it because he was his son. And that was the worst of it.”
Vinton looked directly at me then, letting me see something within him that I knew few people had seen. It was anger, unbridled and terrifying, that he kept well concealed.
“Charlie Risko killed his brother as sure as I’m sitting here drinking this gin. That’s what happened to the love of my life. Charlie Risko killed him. I should have killed him to pay him back for that. But somebody else stepped in, did what I should have done, and I’ll thank him till my dying day. Charlie Risko deserved to die. Especially on the anniversary of his brother’s death.”
The glimmer that always hung around Vinton grew darker as he spoke. Angrier, scarier, as if his words were giving it power, and the words were nearly the same as Tanya’s, that someone else had stepped in, taken care of things for him.
He mixed himself another gin and tonic. I told him to pour one for me, too. Red wine is usually the extent of my alcohol intake, but I knew we were headed into the kind of conversation where he didn’t want to drink alone. I took a swallow. The gin went straight to my head. He peeked at me and chuckled.
A Glimmer of Death Page 10
