The Popsicle Tree

by Dorien Grey

  Small world, eh, Hardesty? I thought.

  I handed the book back to Kelly with a smile.

  “That looks like a great book!” I said. “Maybe you’ll let Joshua read it sometime.”

  “Read it to me now!” Kelly urged. Luckily his mother stepped in.

  “Dick’s busy right now, honey. We’ll read it when we get upstairs.” She looked at me with a smile.

  “It’s been a long day,” she said.

  *

  Dinner was pleasant, and Jonathan had gone out of his way to make it special. It was clear that Joshua was getting tired, since he found it hard to sit still, constantly turning around to look at the fish, and he played with his food more than ate it. He had insisted that Bunny, his stuffed rabbit, have a chair next to him, and kept trying to give it some of his carrots. And after dinner, as soon as his father told him he could leave the table, he hopped down and raced back into the living room. A few minutes later he came back into the kitchen carrying a children’s book. He came over to me—for some unknown reason—and handed me the book as Kelly had done earlier.

  “Read me this,” he said.

  Sheryl looked at him until she caught his eye. “Did you say ‘please’?” she asked.

  He turned back to me. “Please.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Sheryl said to Joshua. “Why don’t we go get you ready for bed, and then maybe Uncle Dick will come in and read to you.” She turned to me. “Would you do that, Dick?”

  “Sure.” I’d noticed all day that both Sheryl and Samuel had gone out of their way to encourage Joshua to feel comfortable around us. I knew Sheryl was strongly torn about this whole vacation thing. On the one hand she was excited about having probably the first chance since Joshua was born to be alone with Samuel for more than a day or two; on the other hand, she was extremely hesitant to be apart from Joshua for ten whole days.

  Since we only had two double beds in the apartment, Joshua would be sleeping with Samuel and Sheryl. That way, he’d get accustomed to what would be “his” room and bed while his folks were gone, and give him a special last night with Mom and Dad.

  Jonathan, Samuel, and I were in the living room when Sheryl came out of the bedroom with Joshua, dressed in Dr. Denton pajamas (with the drop-seat feature and built-in slippers) carrying Bunny in one arm and his book in the other.

  “Ready for your story?” I asked, and Joshua nodded.

  “Can I come, too?” Jonathan asked the boy.

  “Okay,” Joshua said.

  We both got up and escorted him into the bedroom for story time.

  *

  Everyone was up early the next morning to give us all time to shower, get dressed, and have breakfast. Sheryl was nervous, though she tried not to show it, and Joshua was too busy playing with his cereal to notice. Sheryl, Samuel, and Jonathan would take Joshua to day care, meet the women who ran it, and make sure Joshua was settled in. Then they would come back to the apartment, get their things, and continue their trip to California and Hawaii, while Jonathan went off to work—he’d told his boss he’d be about an hour late.

  The four of them left before I did, after a minor tantrum by Joshua—quickly squashed by Samuel—over the boy’s insistence that Bunny go to school with him.

  I shook hands with Samuel and got a hug from Sheryl, both of whom thanked me again for letting Joshua stay with us, and then they were gone.

  And the adventure begins! I thought.

  *

  At the office I did my morning coffee/newspaper/crossword puzzle routine waiting for the DMV offices to open, then called Bil to ask him to check on the license plate number Carlene had given me.

  He called back within the hour with the information. The car belonged to one Frank Santorini, 10335 Kurt Street. I recognized the name. I thanked Bil, and as soon as we hung up I reached for the yellow pages, looked under “Investigators, Private,” and found the listing I was looking for, Santorini Detective Agency. I dialed the number.

  “Santorini Detective Agency,” a very female voice announced. Well, he obviously was doing better than I was; he had a secretary.

  “Is Mr. Santorini in?”

  “He’s on the phone. Would you care to wait?”

  “For a minute.”

  There was a click, and the tinny strains of “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” came over the wires.

  Muzak! One of my mind-voices whispered in a dutifully awed tone. The guy has a secretary and Muzak!

  It was a long song, and I was about to hang up, having long since determined that not only did I not know the way to San Jose, but had no desire to find out, when there was another click and, “Frank Santorini.”

  “Mr. Santorini, my name is Dick Hardesty. I’m a private investigator. I have a client who claims you have been following her. I was wondering what you might tell me about it.”

  There was only the slightest of pauses, and then, “What is your client’s name?”

  “Carlene DeNuncio.”

  Another pause, then, “Sorry, never heard of her. And even if I did, as you know I wouldn’t be obliged to tell you.”

  So much for professional courtesy, I thought. “I see,” I said, mildly pissed. “Well, I just hoped you might be able to help me.”

  He chuckled. “Well, Mr. Hardesty, that’s why we get paid the big bucks, to find out things on our own. Good luck.”

  And he hung up.

  *

  I was just getting ready to go home a little early when the phone rang.

  “Hardesty Investigations.”

  “Dick. It’s Jonathan.”

  Well, of course it is! I thought, until the tone of his voice sunk in. He was speaking very calmly, but something was definitely wrong.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I came to pick up Joshua, and the Department of Children’s Services was here. They took Kelly!”

  “Took Kelly?” I echoed. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice still calm, though I knew it was difficult for him.

  “Where’s Carlene?”

  “I don’t know! Can you call someone and find out what’s going on?”

  “Of course I’ll try.” I was trying to mask my own concern. “Do you know where Carlene works?”

  “Richardson Engineering. She told me once.”

  “Well, you take Joshua home, and I’ll meet you there. I’ll see what I can find out before I come home, so if I’m a little late…”

  “I understand. I’ll see you at home.”

  I immediately looked up Richardson Engineering and dialed the number, hoping someone was still there.

  “Richardson Engineering,” a woman’s voice answered.

  “Yes, I was wondering if Carlene DeNuncio might still be there?”

  There was a long pause, and then a very strained, “May I ask who’s calling?”

  I did not like the way she sounded. “A friend, and I really would like to speak with her if she’s there.”

  Another long pause. “Let me transfer you to Mr. Richardson.”

  Maybe Richardson Engineering didn’t allow their employees to accept phone calls, and I was about to be chewed out. That’s what I’d have liked it to have been, but my gut told me otherwise.

  “Emmet Richardson.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Richardson, but I’m trying to reach one of your employees, Carlene DeNuncio. I’m a friend. My name is Dick Hardesty.”

  Silence, then a clearing of the throat, and, “I’m terribly sorry to tell you this, Mr. Hardesty,” he said, causing my heart to drop into my stomach, “but Ms. DeNuncio was struck by a car on her lunch hour. I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Oh, JeezusJeezusJeezus!

  I left the office immediately and headed for home. I didn’t know how I was going to tell Jonathan. I knew how sensitive he was, and how easily his emotions get the best of him. But with Joshua there…I just hoped he could hold it together.

  And even a
s I was thinking this, I knew I was going to be calling Mark Richman at police headquarters to find out everything I could about Carlene’s death. It may have been an accident, but something told me it wasn’t.

  Jonathan and Joshua were in the living room, playing with some of Joshua’s toys. Jonathan got up quickly and came over to give me a hug.

  “What did you find out?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Let’s go into the bedroom a minute.” He looked at me with a mixture of questioning and apprehension, but didn’t say anything, following me as I left the living room. Joshua was busy talking to G.I. Joe and didn’t notice. I closed the bedroom door quietly.

  “What?” Jonathan demanded when we got into the bedroom, and I told him. I could just as well have punched him full force in the chest. His eyes went wide and he sat back down on the bed, hard, his eyes filling with tears.

  “But what about Kelly?” he asked, his voice breaking. He clamped his lips together tightly so he wouldn’t make any noise. I moved quickly over to him and pulled him to his feet and hugged him while he made soft mmmph-mmmph-mmmph sounds, his face buried against my neck.

  “Uncle Jonathan!” Joshua yelled from the living room. “Come play!”

  I sat him back down on the bed and said: “I’ll go play with Joshua for awhile, while you get it together, okay?”

  He nodded and I left the room, closing the door behind me.

  “Hi, there, Joshua!” I said, going over to him.

  “Where’s Uncle Jonathan?” he asked, looking around.

  “He’s busy for a minute.” I sat on the floor beside him. “What are we playing?”

  He reached over and handed me a cowboy doll—okay, okay, an “action figure.”

  “Soldiers.”

  *

  As he had done with his mother when she was dying, Jonathan did a good job of hiding his feelings for Joshua’s sake and I managed to keep my own concerns in check. Dinner itself was something of an extended skirmish. We had to use the suitcase-as-booster-seat so Joshua could reach the table and he took full advantage of his folks not being there to see just what he could get away with.

  Jonathan lifted him into the chair and turned to the stove for something. Joshua immediately got down and followed him.

  “You’ve got to sit down so we can have dinner,” Jonathan said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t eat standing up.”

  “Yes I can,” the boy said matter-of-factly.

  “No, you can’t,” Jonathan replied calmly, picking him up and putting him back in his chair, then turning back to the stove.

  As soon as Jonathan’s back was turned, Joshua started to swing his legs to the side of the chair, preparing to get down again.

  “Joshua,” I said, using the same calm but firm tone Samuel had used to get his attention.

  He looked at me quickly, but stopped in mid-motion.

  Dinner itself was macaroni and cheese and hot dogs, which Jonathan had learned from Sheryl was Joshua’s favorite meal. As soon as the plate was set in front of him, he grabbed the hot dog and began eating it from his hand.

  “Here, Joshua,” Jonathan said, reaching for the hot dog, “let me cut that up for you so you can use your fork.”

  “No!” Joshua said, moving his hand—and the hot dog—out of Jonathan’s reach.

  This really was not a good time for a battle of wills, under the circumstances, but Jonathan handled it like a pro.

  “Big boys always use a fork. I thought you were a big boy.”

  “I am!” Joshua said a bit petulantly.

  “Then…?” Jonathan asked, and with obviously great reluctance, Joshua put the hot dog back on his plate, where Jonathan cut it into several pieces for him, and handed him the fork.

  After dinner, during which Joshua asked at least sixteen times where his mommy and daddy were and when they were coming back, Jonathan asked him to help do the dishes. He gave both Joshua and me a dishtowel. I got the breakables, and Joshua got the silverware, one piece at a time.

  Samuel and Sheryl called from the motel they’d stopped at for the night. They told Jonathan they’d be in L.A. late the next day, and would catch their flight for Hawaii early Wednesday morning. Jonathan then put Joshua on, who, I must say, was rather casual about the whole thing. He talked to both his parents, answering their questions with a brief “yes” or “no,” and wanting to know when they were coming back. Then Joshua said, “Okay,” and handed the phone back to Jonathan while he went back to his toys. Jonathan assured them that everything was going along just fine, but did not mention Carlene’s death.

  At eight fifteen, Jonathan said, “Okay, Joshua, why don’t we put your toys away now and get ready for bed, and then Uncle Dick and I will read you a story!”

  “I want to play!” Joshua proclaimed, though he was obviously slowing down after his busy day.

  “All right,” Jonathan said, “but if you play now there won’t be time for a story later.”

  “I want a story too.”

  “Sorry. One or the other—play or story. Which’ll it be?”

  Pouting, Joshua began throwing his toys into the toy box, causing Jonathan to go over to him.

  “Let’s put them in so they don’t break,” he said, leaning down to help.

  When they’d finished, Jonathan held out his hand and led Joshua into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  *

  By mutual unspoken agreement, Jonathan and I didn’t talk much about Carlene or Kelly, other than Jonathan’s concerns about Kelly having to be in foster care until Carlene’s sister could be notified.

  “He could stay with us until then,” he said, though he knew even as he said it that would probably not be possible. I assured him I would check with the police in the morning and find out what was going on.

  *

  Jonathan got up forty-five minutes early to shower and get dressed in time to get Joshua up and ready to go. While Jonathan was getting dressed, I got up and put on my robe, volunteering to get breakfast ready while he saw to Joshua. Normally, in the morning, I’d just run around the house in my shorts, but in honor of company—albeit four-year-old company—I went with the robe.

  Only eight more days, I told myself.

  Luckily, Happy Day was only a few blocks out of Jonathan’s normal route to work, so we all (including Bunny and G.I. Joe to keep Joshua occupied on the ride) left at the same time.

  When I got to the office, I checked the paper to see if there was anything in there about Carlene’s death, and there was. Page 2, lower left section:

  Hit-and-Run Kills Woman

  A 32-year-old woman was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver Monday in front of her office at 3433 Glenlee Boulevard. Witnesses described a late model white Ford van. The vehicle, which had been reported stolen Sunday night, was found abandoned three blocks from the scene. The victim, Carlene DeNuncio, was a single mother of a young son. Anyone having information on the vehicle or its driver is asked to notify the police.

  I put the paper aside without finishing it and picked up the phone.

  “Officer Gresham.”

  “Marty, hi! It’s Dick Hardesty.”

  “Dick! Good to hear from you…I think. How was your vacation?”

  “A long story. We’ll have to get together for lunch one of these days.”

  “That’d be great. So am I glad to hear from you or not? What’s up?”

  I told him about Carlene, about the note, and about her being followed by a private investigator.

  “A private investigator? Which one, do you know?”

  I was a bit puzzled. “Yeah, a Frank Santorini. Why do you ask?”

  A short pause, then, “Because a Frank Santorini was found shot dead in his office this morning.”

  Gee, what a coincidence, one of my mind-voices observed casually

  “Coincidence” my ass! the rest of my mind chorused.

  *

  “Lunch one of these days” turn
ed into lunch that same day, when Marty called me back and suggested we meet at twelve fifteen at Sandler’s, a restaurant/diner close to the City Building Annex, where the police headquarters were located. Lieutenant Richman and I had met at Sandler’s for breakfast or lunch several times when I was on cases that needed a little extra help from the police.

  I was, of course, early, and on a whim stopped in at a bookstore a couple of stores down from Sandler’s to see about getting another children’s book for Joshua—he’d brought three or four along, but he, as his mother had said, knew them all by heart. I remembered the book Kelly had shown me, and asked the clerk if they might have The Popsicle Tree.

  “Of course.” She led me to a huge section of children’s books. She told me The Popsicle Tree was on the current bestseller list of children’s books. I had no idea there was a best-seller list for children’s books, but I took her word for it.

  I bought the book and walked into Sandler’s at two minutes till noon. I told the waiter I was expecting someone and ordered coffee. As I waited, I took the book out of the bag and began thumbing through it, admiring the illustrations. I didn’t want to get too involved in the complexities of the plot which, I gathered, concerned a penguin who comes to Africa to find a Popsicle tree to take back to Antarctica for his friends. He is assisted on his quest by a monkey. Well, as I say, the subplots and intrigue were more than I had time to deal with at the moment, but, remembering how much I loved storybooks as a kid, I was sure Joshua would love it.

  “Are you going to read that to Jonathan, or is Jonathan going to read it to you?”

  I looked up quickly as Marty slid into the bench seat opposite me.

  I grinned as we shook hands. “We’re both going to read it…to Joshua.” I gave a quick, Reader’s Digest version of what was going on.

  We small-talked for a few minutes between the time the waiter brought coffee and the menus until he returned to take our order. Marty was looking good, as always; handsome as ever, but married life had put a few pounds on him. His wife was expecting, and he was excited about that, and he was preparing to take the exam for homicide detective. We talked for a minute or so about the case I’d worked on in New York, for which I’d had to call on him for a police report.