by Alter, Judy
His eyebrows shot up.
“No, not that kind of adorable. He’s probably close to seventy, short and a bit pudgy with chubby cheeks and a bald head. He owns a small clock shop where Tom wants to build his shopping center. And he lives behind the clock shop—says he has a hot plate and a refrigerator, and that’s all he needs. He eats out a lot, which I thought was kind of sad. Keisha’s fixing him dinner tonight at her apartment.”
“I can see we’re going to adopt this man,” Mike smiled. “You aren’t matchmaking for your mom, are you?”
“Heavens no. She wouldn’t be interested. I don’t think he’s ever married, and I bet he’s shy as can be around women. He’s sort of Old World courtly—but the funny part is that he’s dead serious that if this development goes through he’ll have to kill Tom Lattimore. Sort of an honor thing with him.”
Mike drew his breath in sharply. “Girls, go do as your mother asked you to.” As soon as they were out of hearing range, he said, “Kelly, that’s hardly a story to tell in front of the girls. And probably you shouldn’t tell me. If anything happens to Lattimore, I’m honor bound to report what I heard.”
“We told him that it was dangerous to make empty threats. I don’t think he considers it an empty threat—he’s that serious—but I don’t think he’d ever do it.”
“Well, I’m kind of curious to meet him,” Mike admitted.
“Good. I’ll invite him for Sunday supper. Maybe with Christian and his wife. You know, enlarge our circle of friends.”
“Why not Buck and Joanie?” he asked.
I still had a hard time getting used to the fact that Buck Conroy, once my nemesis, was now my friend and mostly on my side. And I had a harder time believing he’d married Joanie, nursed her through a pregnancy with another man’s child, and was now happily settled as a family man. Joanie had been my best friend until the night she confessed my ex-husband might be the father of her child. We were still friends, but there was a rift there that took a long time to heal.
“I suppose we could.”
I guessed that meant I wasn’t inviting Christian and his wife and baby but I was inviting Buck and Joanie along with MacKenzie, who was now, I thought, at least two. I only hoped Otto wouldn’t say anything about killing Lattimore in front of Buck.
I changed the direction of the conversation. “I’ve been thinking it’s time for you and me to have dinner at Lili’s some night soon. Keisha would babysit, I’m sure.”
“I think your mom feels she hasn’t been around much. Why not ask her, and have Keisha on standby in case Nana gets into trouble.”
“Good idea. Saturday night?”
“You have a date, milady.”
****
The next day I dressed with care for my lunch with John Henry Jackson, but I didn’t go so far as to wear a skirt. These days you could go anywhere in Fort Worth in pants, even the staid old Woman’s Club which had required skirts for years. I wore a muted gray windowpane plaid pantsuit with a silk blouse with ruffles that spilled over the lapels of the jacket, black pumps, and carried a small black purse. To add color, I draped a fuchsia silk scarf around my neck. When I got ready to leave the house, Mike whistled and then said in a threatening tone, “You meeting that Lattimore fellow again?”
“Nope. I told you. John Henry Jackson, chair of the Historic Landmark Commission and a former city council member, is taking me to the Fort Worth Club no less.” I twirled in front of him as though I wore a frothy chiffon skirt.
He whistled again then asked, “Do I know John Henry Jackson?”
“Don’t think so. He’s a title lawyer and a darn good one, though you’d never know it to look at him. I’m not so sure about his interest in preservation, but I’ll take lunch at the Fort Worth Club.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow, and I elaborated. “He’s overweight, his clothes are spotted. You’d think he’s one of those lawyers hanging around waiting to be assigned a public defender case. But you’d be wrong. He used to be on the city council. Got angry over something and, as they say, took his huff and departed in it. Then he lobbied the council to make him chair of the commission.”
Mike grinned. “Sounds harmless to me.”
“No competition for you,” I said as I kissed him goodbye.
John Henry was at the club when I arrived, with a martini in front of him. He rose gallantly while the maitre d’ seated me, not an easy matter for John Henry. He carried close to 300 pounds on maybe a six-foot frame; he was balding, with wispy gray hair flying in all directions around the sides of his head. He wore suspenders and an old-fashioned watch fob stretched across his middle, and he had a tendency to fiddle nervously with the watch. He wasn’t really checking on how much time he’d spent with you, but it gave that impression. His coat and tie were often spotted just a bit, and he wheezed easily when he’d exerted himself at all. He was not a graceful figure. Once seated again, he raised his glass and asked, “Will you join me?”
“In a martini? No, thanks. But I’d love a glass of chardonnay.” What the heck? I could have wine at lunch on an occasion—and lunch at the Fort Worth Club was an occasion for me.
John Henry urged me to order the filet mignon with roasted fingerling potatoes or the salmon filet with goat cheese mashed potatoes, but it all sounded too heavy, and I stuck with a tuna salad plate. Someday my tombstone may read, “Died from eating too much tuna salad.” John Henry ordered the steak.
When my wine came, we toasted to the preservation effort in Fort Worth and chitchatted about light things. He asked about the girls, and I asked about his practice. John Henry was a bachelor, so I couldn’t inquire about family. We agreed that all was well in both our worlds.
Finally, he got down to business. “I’ve met with this Tom Lattimore, and I think we can negotiate.”
Negotiate? Alarm signals went off in my brain. “Negotiate how?”
“Well, Lattimore is sensitive to the nature of the community, but he’s also sold on this project and the ways it would be a benefit, draw traffic to Magnolia.”
“Magnolia already has enough traffic,” I interrupted.
John Henry raised his hand. “Hear me out. He understands about the significance of those historic buildings, and he’s willing to consider adaptive re-use.”
“Adaptive re-use?” I looked around to see if I’d shouted and heads had turned my way. “How’s he going to adapt those old buildings to a modern large-scale grocery store?”
“He has a pretty good plan that would incorporate the buildings, making them into specialty boutiques and building the larger store behind them, with parking to the side. He’s eliminated the satellite stores. You have to admit, Kelly, he’s really going a long way to be accommodating.” Just then the waiter approached with our lunches, and John Henry waved his hand in the air dismissively. “No more business talk. Let us enjoy our food.”
After we finished our entrees, he began fiddling with his watch, but he invited me to have coffee and dessert. I declined the dessert but accepted the coffee. He had none, and when I was about halfway through my cup, he stood up, indicating lunch was over.
I thanked him for lunch as we left the formal dining room, but I couldn’t resist adding one question: “John Henry, what about the people who will be displaced from their small businesses?”
That hand waved again. “Not my concern,” he said. “I’m a preservationist, not a social worker.”
I was stunned, and we rode the elevator to the parking garage in silence.
****
Mom readily agreed to babysit Saturday night—“I’ve been missing those girls!”—and Keisha agreed she’d be on call. “José and me, we’ll probably stay home. He likes my cooking real well,” she said. “We had a good time with ol’ Otto last night. That man can eat—and he can tell a story. You know he’s had that clock shop forty years—learned clock making from his German daddy. Had all of Fort Worth’s bigwigs in there, including Mr. Amon Carter himself. José’s kind of quiet, so it
was good to have Otto talkin’ his head off. I think he’s lonely.”
“I’ll invite him to dinner this weekend, but Mike and I have a real date on Saturday. We’re going to Lili’s.”
“I’ll be sure José and me don’t go there. I’m tryin’ to learn to cook Mexican food the way his mom does. She’s gonna give me lessons, but I bet she don’t write a thing down. Just like my mama.”
“So you’ve met his mother? This is getting serious.”
She just patted her upswept hairdo and preened a bit. Then, as she does, she cut off conversation by turning to her computer. “I got work to do,” she said, implying I should get to my work.
On Wednesday, Mike was having lunch with Conroy again so I called Claire. She was delighted to make plans, and we decided to go to Carshon’s, the neighborhood deli—okay, one of the few in the city. I didn’t eat there often, but I always loved it when I did.
“I’ll pick you up about 11:30,” I said. Lunch with Claire would be as much a courtesy call as friendship. She’d recently referred three friends to me who wanted to move from newer parts of the city to Fairmount. So far I’d found a house for one of them, and I had my eye on one that fit another’s requirements. Matching people and houses is part of the fun of my business.
Keisha broke the silence in the office. “Forgot, Kelly. Did you know José is getting reassigned to Mike’s Fairmount beat?”
My heart skipped. A succession of officers has filled in since Mike’s accident but no one had the beat permanently. Was this what Conroy wanted to talk to Mike about? “Effective when?”
“Tomorrow night. He’s excited about it, and he wants to talk to Mike about it, see what he needs to know and do.”
Impulsively, I said, “I’m going to invite Buck and Joanie and Otto for Sunday dinner. Why don’t you and José join us? If he’s got Mike’s beat, he should be off on Sundays.”
“Sounds good. Tell me what to bring.”
I changed the subject. “Do you know if he’ll have to work Halloween? Mike won’t let the girls go trick or treating without a man along.”
“A man? What’s got into his head? I can handle any man…and certainly any little girl that drives a green Nova, like that one sitting across the street.”
I glanced out and there was Bella. If I called Conroy, she’d be gone—she seemed to have that kind of radar. Besides, there’s no law against sitting in a parked car. I couldn’t prove harassment, though her plan seemed to be working well. She was definitely getting on my nerves—and causing discord in my household.
“You can try to tell him, but I doubt he’ll listen. Joe Mendez is supposed to call me tonight, and I’ll talk to him.”
Claire and I had a delightful lunch. We split a Reuben, and when she asked, “So what else is new?” she let herself in for it. I spilled all my troubles about Bella Garza tailing me. Her reaction was not the immediate horror some people would have had. Claire was too controlled for that. Instead, she said, “That girl-child needs to have her ears boxed—or her bottom swatted hard!”
I told her Mike and Joe thought the girl was beyond that kind of discipline and told her about my visit to the Garza home.
“No wonder there are so many uneducated kids who can’t earn a living,” she said. “That’s the answer to the welfare problem—education. But you can’t convince the powers that want to cut education funding. It’s enough to make me want to move to Canada.”
“They have similar problems, I think. Besides, I have another story to tell.”
Claire waited, and I rattled off the Tom Lattimore story, ending with throwing all those tacos in the trash. She laughed and laughed until she cried and people at other tables turned to look at us. “That really is wonderful, Kelly. I knew of course that you had it in you—I saw you face down a drunken Jim Guthrie, with a gun in his hand. I have a message for Tom Lattimore, the little twerp: don’t underestimate Kelly O’Connell.” She fished for a Kleenex and wiped her eyes.
As we left, I said impulsively, “Come by for a drink tonight. I’ll get out some cheese and crackers. Bring the girls.”
“They’re so wrapped up in their studies and activities that I almost never see them. Megan does have a steady beau, and I think I like him. Name’s Brandon Waggoner, an old West Side family. Jim would be pleased. She’s only a sophomore, so it’s way too early for her to settle down, but for the time being Brandon is a good choice. I’ve been wondering if he’s descended from the rancher—you know, Tom Waggoner.”
“You forget I’m a northerner, and no, I don’t know, but tell me if you find out there’s a connection. See you about five tonight.”
Claire came bearing a bottle of merlot for herself and Mike, because she knew he liked red wine. For me, chardonnay. I put out a plate of cheese and crackers—that good rattrap cheese I just love—and we settled down to talk. Mike seemed genuinely glad to see her. But almost as soon as I sat down, the phone rang. When I saw it was Joe Mendez, I excused myself and took the call in the bedroom.
Chapter Nine
“Miss Kelly, I got news, but it isn’t all good. Of course my friends—uh, contacts—are all older than Bella Garza, but they know her by reputation and they hear things. They tell me she’s tough, and she’s out for revenge. Brags about stalking you, scaring you. I don’t know if she’ll do more than that, but I wouldn’t take a chance. The mom is absolutely no help—no control over the kids.”
“What about the boys?”
“The thirteen-year-old and the fifteen-year-old, Michael and Alex, are both on probation. But if that’s the case, they should be sent to the alternative school. I know—I been on probation. It don’t mean you can sit home all day and watch TV. I told the mom she needs to call the school, but I’ll check in a couple of days. If she hasn’t done anything, I will.”
“What about the older boy?”
“She calls him Ben. He’s a dropout, but he isn’t working either. I’m going by one day and take him—oh, I don’t know, maybe bowling. Talk to him about responsibility and helping his mom. It might work, probably won’t.”
“Joe, if he earns his GED, like you did, I’ll pay his first semester tuition at the county college.”
“Miss Kelly, you can’t do that!”
“I can. Now I’m only sorry I didn’t do it for you.”
“No, no. You gave me the will to go there. I’m proud I did it myself, but I thank you for the shove.” I heard him chuckle.
“Thanks, Joe. I appreciate what you’re doing. I’d like to see those boys helped—the whole family in fact. Any mention of a dad?”
“In prison—for a long time apparently. Don’t know what for.”
“Well, as for Bella, I don’t know what to do. I guess I’ll just keep being careful, but she’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
“That’s what she wants, Miss Kelly. She wants you to get fed up and let your guard down. Next time I have a day off, I think I’ll stalk her and corner her so I can talk to her.”
“Joe, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Theresa and me, we owe you everything. I do whatever I can.”
“Joe, one more question—on a different topic. Will you be free on Halloween? Mike has this ridiculous notion that neither Keisha nor I can take the girls trick-or-treating. He wants a man with them.”
I could practically hear him shake his head over the phone. “No, Miss Kelly. We have a Halloween party at the YMCA. But Theresa can bring the girls. They’d have fun.”
“Hmm. I’ll run it by Mike before I mention it to them. He’s taking fatherhood really seriously.”
“Good for him. I’ll be in touch. Bye, Miss Kelly.”
By the time I got back to the living room, Claire was saying it was time for her to leave. “Mike and I had a good visit. We agree on some things—like you being careful.”
“I will.” No need to go into Joe’s report right here. I gave Claire a hug and said, “Let’s not wait so long to get together.”
Mike sto
od to walk Claire to the door—with his walker. “Kelly may be free more often from now on at lunch time,” he said. “Buck Conroy wants me to take a desk job in the precinct and study for the detective exam.”
I would have thrown my arms around him, except for fear of sending us both crashing over the end table he was standing by. “Mike, that’s wonderful.”
“Maybe. Time for me to get out of the house. I’ll just be answering phones but I’ll be back in the midst of things.” He smiled a bit. “And I can make sure Kelly isn’t meddling in police work.”
I raised a hand as if to smack him, but he grabbed it and kissed it.
“That’s good news, Mike. I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks.” And he actually hugged her.
After Claire left, I asked, “Have you decided she isn’t responsible for Jim Guthrie’s fatal accident?”
“No, that doubt will always be in the back of my mind. But the system has worked. I have to be satisfied.”
We sat at the table, sipping wine. “Mike, are you really pleased at Conroy’s offer?”
“Yeah, I am. It does mean telephone duty—but not like 911. And I’ll study for the exam. Bottom line, though, is Buck says they’ll probably never put me back on patrol. I couldn’t run hard or fast enough if I had to.” He hung his head. “It’s disappointing, because I really liked being on the streets, and because it means I’ll never do those triathlons. All because some idiot ran a stop sign… and killed an innocent girl, besides messing up my leg.”
It was time to tell him about Joe’s findings of the day, and I did.
His first reaction was predictable. “Kelly, I want you to take the course, get your CHL, and carry a small handgun in your purse all the time.”
“Mike, you know I’m opposed to that. I’d shoot myself before I shot the bad guy—or, uh, girl.”
