by Alter, Judy
“Move it to Eighth Avenue,” I said bluntly, spreading cream cheese on my toast.
He took a bite of his Reuben and chewed thoughtfully. “There’s not a perfect space there.”
“Neither is there on Magnolia.”
“Kelly, what would make it acceptable to you?”
I thought seriously about his question. “My big objection is disrupting the small businesses currently in that strip of historic buildings. That’s a biggie, and I don’t see a way around it.”
“What else?” he prodded.
“Off-street parking. I guess, if you could find a non-historic site and put the parking behind the store it would help a lot. Then dispense with the auxiliary stores. Just the one big store.” I thought I should toss him a bone. “It does sound like someplace I’d like to shop.”
“I knew you’d see it my way.’
Well, not exactly.
“What’s your best advice, Kelly? I’m serious. I need help here.”
“Find another location. How about Hemphill? There must be a lot of property there that you could buy reasonably and tear down with a clear conscience.”
He scoffed. “Hemphill is the other side of the tracks as far as people in Berkeley, let alone Fairmount, are concerned.”
“There’s not much on Rosedale.”
“Out of my target area.”
“And no side streets in Fairmount would allow it. I don’t know, Tom. I’m back to Eighth Avenue. It seems to me your best bet. I saw a vacant lot next to Pendery’s Spices, but I suppose it’s not big enough.”
He shook his head.
“Who owns that property on the north side of Windsor just across the tracks from Eighth?”
“No idea. I guess I could investigate. But here’s an idea: how about if I got all the tenants of the historic buildings to agree to sell their businesses and renovated those buildings into one huge store, with parking in the rear?”
“John Henry Jackson already told me about that plan. It might just work, but I don’t think those tenants want to move. And I own two of the buildings. I won’t sell easily.”
“I understand, but I can explore possibilities there. Oh, and the property on Eighth. You’ve given me some good ideas, and I’m indebted enough to buy you chocolate pie.”
I laughed and said no, but I’d sit while he ate a piece. I still hadn’t gotten to my question. Tom ordered pie, and while we waited I said, “Tom, did you know someone named Sonny Adams?”
He thought for a long minute…or appeared to… then shook his head. “No, doesn’t sound familiar. Why?”
“I heard by the grapevine that his death was related to the development plans on Magnolia.”
“And you’re interested why?”
“He was driving the car that hit Mike’s patrol car.”
“And he’s dead now?”
“Yes. Apparently knifed on the North Side. He was a small-time criminal and that’s pretty much where he operated.”
“North Side? I own quite a bit of small rental property up there and hire people to collect rent for me. I don’t recall the name but I can ask my accountant—he handles all that for me.”
Slumlord! That proverbial light bulb went off in my head, but I said, oh so casually, “Would you ask and let me know what you find out?”
“Sure thing,” he said, taking a bite of chocolate meringue pie that looked beyond tempting. “They brought two forks. Sure you don’t want a bite?”
I was sure. I didn’t want to seem so intimate with him.
We parted cordially, at least on the surface, but I felt tension between us. I was sure he knew more about Sonny Adams than he let on, and I knew in a day or so I’d get a phone call saying, “No, my accountant says he never hired anyone by that name.” I also knew he wouldn’t investigate that property for sale on Eighth Avenue. He knew I didn’t trust him. We were at a Mexican standoff.
What I needed now, of all things, was Bella. And I hadn’t seen her car in days. Just when I wanted to be stalked, my threatening shadow disappeared. I made one of my infamous spur-of-the-moment decisions, jumped in the car, and got out my cell phone.
“Keisha, I won’t be in the office this afternoon. Going to do some field work.”
“Why do I have the feeling I should go with you?”
“Don’t be silly. Just checkin’ out a few things.”
“Uh huh, sure you are.”
I headed for the Garza house. If I thought Joe was off, I’d have taken him, but Joe was increasingly uncomfortable about doing things behind Mike’s back. I guess I was more used to it. Mike would have a fit if he knew, but he’d never know. I’d be back in time to get the girls as usual.
Mrs. Garza greeted me warily, but she opened the door. I looked around more carefully than I had last time. Inside, the house gave the same appearance as it did outside—a house someone had begun to redo and then suddenly stopped. The living room had worn bare floors, but there were strips of carpet tacking around the edges—someone had pulled up carpet, perhaps with the intention of redoing the floor or laying new carpet. The walls were freshly painted off-white, but the blinds were still old and crooked, the furniture worn and dirty.
We exchanged pleasantries. Well, at least I did. I asked about the younger boys, Michael and Alex, and she allowed herself a slight smile.
“They’re good boys. That Joe, I owe him the world. He’s got them back in school and going to that club where they play basketball and stuff. Evenings now, they mostly stay home and do their homework. I think it’s better with Ben and Bella gone. I…I don’t speak bad about any of my children, but those two, they’re not a good influence….”
I started to cough uncontrollably (and deliberately) while she watched and finally made an attempt to pat me on the back. “You all right, Miss?”
Finally I squawked, “Water. Could I have a drink?”
Without a word she turned, presumably to the kitchen, and I followed. As I suspected, some of the appliances were old—the stove and the dishwasher, which apparently didn’t work at all because dishes were stacked in a draining basket. But the refrigerator was new and a shiny microwave sat on one worn counter.
I took a healthy drink of, ugh, lukewarm water, cleared my throat, and apologized. “I don’t know what got into me. Thank you so much.” Another sip. “You were saying about Bella and Ben…they’re not here?”
“No. They come by some but they don’t stay here.”
I sent silent thanks to Joe for opening up Mrs. Garza’s mouth. Compared to last time, she was positively chatty, and I could only think she trusted me, at least a little bit, because of Joe’s work with the younger boys.
“Mrs. Garza, do you rent this house?”
She nodded.
“Who is your landlord?”
“You mean who owns it? I don’t know.” A negative shake of the head. “I pay rent to some company.”
“What company?”
She shuffled through some papers in one kitchen drawer and came up with a receipt that she showed me. She was paying $400 a month for what appeared to be a two-bedroom, ramshackle house. The receipt came from something called North Side Properties.
I thanked her and returned the receipt. “Do you mail them a check?”
“No. Someone comes by to collect each month, first day, prompt. I don’t dare be late.” Then she offered a surprising fact. “That’s how Rosalinda met that Sonny Adams who killed her. He came by collecting rent.”
Something flickered in the back of my mind. “Did he start to fix up the house? Buy new appliances, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, until that accident. Then we didn’t see him no more. Someone else came to collect the rent.”
The front door opened and banged shut. A too-familiar voice called, “Ma? Where are you?”
I suspected Mrs. Garza spent most of her time in the front room in front of the TV and that’s where Bella expected to find her. The look the older woman gave me was one of panic. She was afrai
d of her daughter!
“In the kitchen. With company.” The last two words were meant to warn Bella away, but they didn’t. She came striding into the kitchen, looking as fierce as before.
“I saw her car.” To me, “What are you doing here, Ms. O’Connell? Leave my ma alone. She don’t need you pestering her.”
“Hello, Bella. Are you all right? I haven’t seen you following me lately.”
She looked directly at me. “I been busy. I got other responsibilities. Me and Ben, we got us a tiny apartment. Did you send that Joe fella after me? You know the cops found me soon after? They fingerprinted us but the prints didn’t match the knife they found here. We’re innocent, like I told that guy.” She paused for dramatic effect and then said menacingly, “Maybe they should fingerprint Ma.”
“Ma” looked terrified, even though they had already fingerprinted her.
Bella softened a bit. “Just joking, Ma. We know you wouldn’t hurt anyone. That’s what’s wrong with you.”
Talk about a dysfunctional parent/child relationship!
“I didn’t know that. I’m glad you’re not under suspicion. I’m also glad if you’re not following me anymore.” Did her comment mean someone hired her to follow me, as a paid responsibility?
“Don’t let your guard down.” She seemed to enjoy making me squirm, though I tried not to show my concern.
I had no answer, so I simply said, “I’ll be leaving. Mrs. Garza, thanks for the visit. I hope Michael and Alex continue to do well. Bella, see you around.” And I headed for the front room trying not to hurry and half expecting a knife in the back. On the way I passed two bedrooms, one on each side of the hall. One of them appeared completely redone and quite feminine. I couldn’t imagine Bella in it.
The clock in the car told me I just had time to get the girls. I took off, too fast, and made it almost downtown on Henderson before I realized the car was getting harder and harder to steer. I had a flat tire—and I suspected from the slow leak that someone had loosened the cap on the air valve. I had never changed a tire in my life, and I was stuck in the midst of the Henderson Street Bridge. Pushing the hazard light button, I took out my phone and called Keisha.
“Got a flat. Will you go get the girls? Tell Mike I’ll call Triple A and be there as soon as I can.”
“Where are you?”
“Ryan Place,” I lied.
“Okay, where are you really?”
My voice was weak. “In the damn middle of the Henderson Street Bridge.”
“You been up to the North Side to see the Garzas,” she said. It was a statement not a question.
“And boy, do I have a lot to tell.”
“Me and Mike will be waiting.”
“Keisha….”
“All right, all right. I’m going. And I’ll keep my mouth shut. This better be good.”
As I dialed Triple A, I saw the familiar flashing lights behind me. My heart sank—now word about my whereabouts would surely get back to Mike. At least I’d have a chance to confess all before I took him to the substation tomorrow.
The officer was not someone I knew. Young, very young, and polite, he said, “Looks like you need help, ma’am.”
“I guess so. I’m dialing Triple A right now.”
“Easier and quicker if I change it for you. Won’t tie up traffic as long. You sure picked a dilly of a spot.”
I nodded. “Actually, I think someone loosened the cap on the air valve so I had a slow leak. I’ve come three or four miles.”
He nodded, escorted me to the back seat of his car, and asked for my keys. “You do have a spare?”
“One of those donut things.”
Without a word, he got out his jack, my spare, and changed the tire efficiently and quickly. He barely looked dirty, but I offered him one of the wipes I carry for the girls, and he took it.
“Thanks very much.” I hopped back in the car.
“Whoa,” he said. “I have to fill out an incident report.” He went to his car, reached in and came back with some paperwork on a clipboard. “Name?”
He was “just the facts, ma’am” polite and businesslike, but by the time he dismissed me, he knew everything about me, including the name of my nearest of kin—Officer Mike Shandy.
I concocted a story on my way home, but I might as well have saved my breath. Conroy beat me to it. Keisha was gone, and Mike was sitting in the dark in the living room. “Where are the girls?” I asked as lightly as I could, bending to give him a kiss.
He turned away from me. “They’re in their rooms doing homework. I told them to stay there until I called them.”
“Oh.”
Strained silence, until he asked in a tightly controlled voice, “Do you have something to tell me?”
Mistakenly I decided offense was my best defense. “Why didn’t you tell me Bella and Ben had been fingerprinted and cleared in Sonny Adams’ death?”
“Because it’s police business, not yours. It has nothing to do with real estate.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong. What I found out today is that Tom Lattimore’s a slumlord, probably owns a company called North Side Properties, and Sonny Adams used to collect rent for him. That’s how he met Rosalinda Garza. And my hunch is that Sonny was skimming off the top of the rents he collected—he started to redo the Garza’s house, then quit when Rosalinda was killed. Bella told Joe the key to Sonny’s murder had to do with the development on Magnolia.”
Mike settled back on the couch. “I have a feeling you better start at the beginning and tell me the whole story.”
“Want a beer first?” I asked stalling and wishing for a glass of wine.
“Not now. Talk.”
And so I did. I told him the whole story, leaving nothing out. It took a long time, and he was speechless for a minute. Then, “Kelly, did you have your gun with you?”
“Yes,” I said triumphantly, “In my jacket pocket.”
“Were you wearing the jacket? It’s been fairly warm today.”
“No. It was in the car.”
“I wish I could ground you like I can the girls,” he said. “There’s no sense going over all the reasons you shouldn’t have done this. We’ve had that discussion, and it apparently does no good.” He got up and stalked from the room, as much as a man using a walker can stalk.
I heard him tell the girls they could go see their mother if they wished. He slammed the bedroom door behind him—great, how was I supposed to change clothes? I remembered the one other time before we married that I truly angered him and didn’t hear from him for four days. Then I’d wooed him back by inviting him to cook at a barbecue. I could hardly do that again.
And another thing bothered me. I wanted us to share parenting, but he’d taken to ordering the girls around without consulting me. Who was he to say when the girls could and could not see me? I’d attributed this to his post-stress crankiness, but it was something we’d have to work on—together.
“Mom?” Maggie voice was tentative. “What’s the matter with Mike? Did we do something wrong?”
“No, girls.” I gathered them into my arms. “I did.”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to,” Em said righteously.
Oh, but I did.
Dinner that night was silent and awkward and not very special—creamed tuna on toast. Mike and I both picked at our plates, and the girls, glancing nervously from one to the other, did the same. Finally Maggie said, “I’ll help you with the dishes, Mom,” and began to clear the table.
Mike sequestered himself in the bedroom again. If he’s going to hide in what was once my space, where am I going to spend the evening? Without saying a word, I went into the bedroom, got a big T-shirt and sweat pants and the book I was reading.
The girls went willingly to bed, glad to escape in sleep the tension of the house, and I spent the evening sitting on the couch, unable to focus on the book in my lap. A few tears escaped and ran down my cheeks. I knew I had not brought about the end of the marriage—Mike and I woul
d make up and get back on our old footing, but maybe not quite the same. Some shifting was inevitable. We were learning and growing together, but Lord, how it hurt.
He and his walker clumped out about ten-thirty. “You coming to bed?”
“I thought maybe I’d sleep on the couch.”
“One thing I remember my dad saying is not to go to sleep angry with each other—and he and Mom were pretty solid for the fifty-plus years of their marriage. I don’t want to go to bed angry.”
“Can you let go of it?”
“I guess I’ll have to, Kelly, because I know there’s no changing you. No,” he held up his hand in a “Stop” position. “Don’t tell me how important it was or why you had to go up there today or even send Joe earlier. I’ll rehash all that in time. But I want you to know one thing.”
“Will it help if I promise never to do anything like that again?”
“No, because you’d only break your promise. I want you to know that I love you too much to let you take such risks. It scares me breathless. I know you couldn’t take me with you—I’m no use these days, and I’m a police officer so I can’t compromise myself on your wild errands. And I know I’d have forbidden it if you told me, so I sort of understand why you didn’t.”
I didn’t tell him I was too old to be forbidden to do anything I wanted.
“But, Kelly, I hate it when you take chances.” He finally sat down next to me and took my hand.
“And I hated it every night when you went out on patrol because I never knew when would be “the” night. The night of your accident one of my thoughts was, ‘Okay, it’s finally happened.’ I knew it would.”
“You married me knowing how I earned a living.”
“And you married me knowing my tendency to follow my instincts and my curiosity.”
“Touché. Couldn’t you have thrown a bit of caution in with it?”
“I’ll try,” I said, reaching up to kiss him. It turned into a long passionate kiss, and I swear as we got up and headed for the bedroom, I saw Maggie streak for her own room. Mike and I grinned at each other and went to bed.
****
By Thanksgiving, Mike and I had made our peace. He had said there was nothing concrete in all that I found out, nothing he could turn in as solid evidence. I had checked out North Side Properties on the internet, MLS listings, and the phone book—and come up with only a post office box number and a phone number. When I called, I got an answering service. I asked if Sonny Adams had ever worked for the company, and a bored woman, cracking her gum, said she didn’t know but would have someone call me. I doubted that would happen.
