The Popsicle Tree

by Dorien Grey

  “I will. And thank you.”

  We said our good-byes, and I headed for work.

  *

  I was a good half hour late getting to work, and there was a message on my machine from Estelle Bronson, saying that I need not return her call and she would call back later. In retrospect I found it interesting that when Estelle and I had been talking at Happy Day and her sister Bonnie came in, Estelle didn’t mention to her what we were talking about. I wondered what Bonnie might have known—and thought, if she knew at all—about Estelle’s budding relationship with Carlene.

  I went through the usual office morning routine, took and made a couple of phone calls and at eleven thirty Estelle Bronson called back.

  “I’m sorry I missed your call earlier,” I said.

  “That’s quite all right. I know you’re busy, as am I most of the time. I was wondering if it would be possible for us to meet this evening…say seven thirty?”

  A little unusual, but I realized she was tied up all day with the children.

  “Yes, we can do that. Shall I come over there?”

  “Oh, no!…I mean, I have to come into town to pick up some things. Bonnie goes to art class Wednesday evenings, and I drop her off and pick her up, so…there is a coffee shop on Beech, Coffee &. Are you familiar with it?”

  I was. It was where I’d met George Cramer for lunch, and it was in the heart of The Central.

  “Yes. I can meet you there.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you there, then. Good-bye.”

  And she hung up before I had a chance to say anything else. For some reason, the whole situation struck me as being a bit more than just passing strange.

  When I left the office for home, I made sure to take a contract with me.

  *

  Jonathan normally had class on Wednesday night, but the instructor had been called out of town and the class cancelled until the next week. That was fortunate on several levels, not the least of which was trying to figure out what to do with Joshua while Jonathan was gone, and I wouldn’t have been able to meet Estelle without having Joshua along, which would not have been a very good idea with Estelle being his “teacher” at day care.

  Parking, which was becoming a real problem in The Central, was a particular bitch for some reason, but I managed to find a spot in front of The Central police substation and walked to Coffee &, arriving only two minutes before seven thirty. I’d felt guilty about leaving Jonathan with the dishes, but when I’d told him I had to go out, we used the Melmac dishes for dinner so that Joshua could help him dry them without danger of breakage. As it was, I was afraid I was going to be late, thanks in part to a protracted battle of wills over whether or not having two kernels of corn somehow find their way into Joshua’s mashed potatoes had contaminated his entire meal. A tendency toward melodrama seemed to be another shared Quinlan trait.

  Estelle was waiting for me in one of the booths and I hurried to join her. She’d apparently been there long enough to have ordered coffee and finished about half a cup. We exchanged greetings and I ordered coffee.

  “Thank you for meeting me here. I know I’m disrupting your evening, but I have so little time alone, and I really don’t want to bring Bonnie into this.”

  I once again wondered about the Bonnie factor, but hoped she might give me a clue as to why she didn’t want her sister involved.

  The waiter brought my coffee, refilled Estelle’s cup, and asked if we wanted anything else. We said, “No, thanks,” and he left, putting the check on the table. She reached for it, but I insisted that I take it, and she acquiesced with thanks.

  She appeared a little nervous, and when she didn’t say anything for a minute or so, I stepped in.

  “You said you wanted me to look into Carlene’s death, but when we talked at Happy Day, you only said you thought she was frightened of someone or something. Do you have any specific reason to think her death was more than what it appears to the police?”

  She looked into her coffee cup and shook her head.

  “Nothing specific, no, other than what little she said about her former partner and their breakup. She said she wished she had not moved here, but wouldn’t say why. It’s just a feeling…but a very strong one. I’m sure it wasn’t an accident.”

  Estelle Bronson had known Carlene DeNuncio only about six weeks. I had no idea how much time they actually had to be together one-on-one, but I would imagine from what Estelle had said that it couldn’t have been much. Estelle had given me, when we talked at Happy Day, the distinct impression that she thought/hoped that she’d found in Carlene her “Miss Right,” if lesbians use that expression. I would guess that Estelle’s and Carlene’s relationship was at the early-and-intense stage. Carlene may very well have been, for Estelle, a fantasy left unfulfilled by Carlene’s death. As for Carlene telling Estelle she wished she’d never moved here, I assumed it was because it was still too close to Carrington and her ex.

  “Well,” I said, “I do know that the police are investigating and they’re really quite good at their job. I’ll be happy to do anything I can, but at the moment, with nothing really solid to go on, I honestly don’t know. And I certainly don’t want to take your money if I don’t think there might indeed be something or someone behind the ‘accident.’”

  “Please don’t worry about the money! Bonnie and I each inherited a sizable amount from our parents, and we are each in total control of our own share. So money is not an issue.” She dropped her eyes to the table again, then said softly, “It’s just that I have never had such a strong attraction…and I mean on all levels, not merely physical…to anyone before Carlene, and I could sense she felt the same way. It’s just…it’s just so hard to explain.”

  She looked up at me and sighed deeply. “And now she is gone, and I won’t be able to let her go until I know for certain exactly why she was…why she died.”

  I could empathize with her completely.

  “Let’s do this: I’ll look into it and see what I can find, but if I reach the point where I’m convinced that Carlene’s death was just a tragic accident, that will be it, and I’ll step away. Agreed?”

  She nodded quickly, and I gave her my contract. “Look this over carefully, and if you still want to go ahead, sign and return it.”

  “All right…but I must ask you a favor. Please don’t let Bonnie know about this. She is my sister and I love her dearly, but she is sometimes…well, too protective of me. I’m her little sister, and ever since our mother died, she’s been particularly so.”

  Aha, I thought. “Did she know about you and Carlene?”

  “I…I don’t think so. I wanted to be really sure we were headed somewhere before I told Bonnie. We only met privately when Bonnie wasn’t around.”

  “And you don’t think Bonnie would have approved?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. As I told you, she is extremely protective of me—no one has ever been ‘good enough’ for me in her eyes.”

  “Was this your first relationship?”

  She blushed. “I did come close one time, several years ago, a very nice woman named Ann, but…”

  “Bonnie disapproved?”

  “No. Ann died.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Excuse me? That caught me by surprise, and it took me a moment to put my mental ducks back in a row.

  Finally, I was able to say, “I’m truly sorry to hear that. How did it happen?”

  She was apparently totally oblivious to the unusual coincidence of having two girlfriends die on her.

  “Ann had suffered a rather bad back injury just before we met, and the medication she was taking just didn’t seem to help. So her doctor put her on a new, much stronger medication. She was rather forgetful and apparently accidentally took a double dose before taking her evening bath. She drowned in her bathtub. An empty glass of wine was on the side of the tub, and the combination of the medication and the wine caused her to fall asleep, and she drowned.”

  Uh…? Well, I
guess stranger things have happened, but I couldn’t think of many at the moment.

  She took the contract and put it in her purse. “I’ll try to give this to Jonathan when he comes to pick up Joshua, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, I’d really better go. I’ve still got a few things to do before I pick Bonnie up at her art class.”

  We finished our coffee and left.

  *

  By the time I got home, Joshua was asleep, and Jonathan was on the couch in the living room watching TV. I went over to join him.

  “How did it go with Joshua?”

  “Fine,” he said, putting his hand on my leg. “He dried two dishes and almost half of the silverware before he got bored and wandered off.

  “Oh, and Samuel and Sheryl called from Hawaii! They’re having a wonderful time and Sheryl sounded so happy. They both thanked us again for letting them have some time alone together.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Joshua might be having a baby brother or sister in about nine months!”

  “I assume Joshua was happy to hear from them.”

  “Oh, yeah! I sat him on my lap and put the phone between our ears so we could all talk together. I told them what a good boy he was and that he helped us with the dishes. They asked him about “school” and that set him off for a good two-minute nonstop on what he did today and the toys they had, and his new friends. I’m not sure Samuel and Sheryl had much of an idea of what he was talking about, but they told him how proud they are of him and that they couldn’t wait to see him. It was really nice. And they said to say hi to you.”

  “That was good of them. Were you able to get him to bed after all that excitement?”

  He nodded. “It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be. We played for a while, and I got him ready for bed without too much fuss. Then we read The Popsicle Tree again. He really likes that book, and especially the pictures. So do I.”

  One of the infinite reasons I love Jonathan is because he instinctively knows where and when not to ask questions. I had told him I was meeting Estelle Bronson about Carlene’s death, but he did not ask me how the meeting went or for details of what she wanted. I think he sensed that, since he had to see the Bronson sisters every day, discretion was the better part of valor, and it was probably best for all concerned that he not know too much of what was going on.

  *

  As I had fully expected, never knowing when a four-year-old boy might suddenly appear beside your bed puts a definite damper on certain aspects of a relationship. When we got into bed and I turned to kiss Jonathan goodnight, the kiss rapidly escalated from a quick peck to something a lot more intense. I automatically rolled on top of him, and he suddenly broke the kiss and rolled me off.

  “We shouldn’t,” he said, physical evidence very much to the contrary. “What if Joshua should come in?”

  “So straight couples with kids never have sex?”

  “I don’t know how they do it.”

  I immediately got out of bed, quietly closed the door and moved a chair in front of it, taking a robe from behind the door and tossing it on the foot of the bed.

  “We’ll improvise,” I said, climbing back into bed and pulling him to me.

  “Just watch it,” he whispered sternly. “None of those bull-moose-in-heat noises.”

  “I won’t if you won’t,” I said, reaching for the nightstand drawer.

  And we didn’t.

  *

  First thing after arriving at the office in the morning—after making coffee and reading the newspaper, of course—I called Marty Gresham at police headquarters. He wasn’t in, so I left a message for him to call me.

  I really wasn’t quite sure just what I might be able to do for Estelle Bronson. If Carlene’s ex, Jan Houston, was involved, the police would probably be able to handle it without my interference. If she wasn’t—and I’d have to wait until I knew more about what the police had found out about the “accident” to have an idea one way or the other—then I’d really have to start digging. The only other person I knew who might even remotely be considered a likely suspect would be Kelly’s father,…Roy…? Damn, I don’t think Carlene ever mentioned his last name!

  Well, I could always check with Carlene’s sister, Beth.

  And what is Beth’s last name? a mind-voice asked sweetly.

  Shit!

  There goes your “P.I. of the Year Award”…again, the voice said.

  Luckily, the phone cut short this little exercise in mental flagellation.

  “Hardesty Investigations.”

  “Dick…Mr. Hardesty?…this is Beth Erickson calling…Carlene’s sister?”

  Now that was something of an unexpected if serendipitous call.

  “Yes, Beth, what can I do for you?” I jotted her last name down as we talked.

  She sounded upset when she said, “I’m sorry to bother you at work, but I was wondering if you could refer me to a good attorney in the city? Our family attorney here in Carrington is…well, I think he would be a little out of his league with this.”

  Cryptic, I thought.

  “May I ask what type of lawyer you’re looking for—in what area of expertise, I mean?”

  “I got a call this morning from Roy D’Angelo, Kelly’s biological father, saying he wanted to come pick up Kelly now that Carlene is dead. ‘Pick him up,’ like he was a suit at the dry cleaners! Of course I told him ‘no,’ and he announced that he intends to file for custody! On the day of Carlene’s funeral! I can’t let him do that! Carlene would fight him every inch of the way, and so will my husband and I!”

  “How did he even know Carlene was dead?”

  She sighed. “Somehow, his mother must have told him.”

  “His mother? How would she know? Don’t both of them live in Kentucky?”

  “Yes, but right after Carlene moved from Carrington, she told me that she swore she saw Mrs. D’Angelo on the street, and that she was certain Mrs. D’Angelo had seen her, though of course they didn’t speak.”

  I was confused. “So what would Mrs. D’Angelo be doing here? It’s a long way from Kentucky.”

  “Carlene said she remembered Roy mentioning once that his mother has a sister here whom she visited regularly.”

  So the mother had seen Carlene on the street, subsequently read about her death and the fact that Carlene was “a single mother,” put two and two together, and contacted her son. It was a bit of a stretch…but possible.

  But why would either one of them care? And again, why Roy D’Angelo’s rush to “get back” a son he’d never technically had?

  I gave her Glen O’Banyon’s name and office number and said I didn’t know if he handled custody cases or not, but if he didn’t he could probably refer her to someone who did. I also asked for her phone number, just in case I needed it.

  She thanked me and we said our good-byes.

  I immediately dialed Glen O’Banyon’s number and asked the receptionist if he was in. He was in court, so I asked to speak to Donna, his private secretary, and gave her a brief background of the situation. She said she would pass the information on as soon as she could.

  *

  Again, I couldn’t help but return to the fact that Carlene had been dead less than four days and suddenly Roy D’Angelo crawls out of the woodwork to seek custody of a son Carlene didn’t think he knew he had. If Frank Santorini’s death may have been coincidental to Carlene’s, I’d bet my bottom dollar that this was no coincidence at all.

  The phone rang again.

  “Hardesty Investigations.”

  “Hi, Dick, it’s Jonathan…”

  Well, of course it’s Jonathan, I thought. Does he think I don’t recognize his voice after all this time?

  “Hi, Babe. What’s up?”

  “I hate to ask, but could I have your credit card number? I want to order flowers for Carlene’s funeral. My boss knows a florist in Carrington and he says they do really nice work, so I�
��m going to call them, but I’ll have to have a credit card to do it.”

  “Sure.” I reached for my wallet, read him the number, and he repeated it after he’d written it down.

  “I’m going to have them put all three of our names on the card because I know Joshua liked her too.”

  “That’s a very nice idea,” I said, and it was. I wondered if I would have thought of it.

  “Thanks for the number. I’ll call them right now. See you tonight.”

  When I hung up from Jonathan, my mind went back yet again to the very suspicious timing of Roy D’Angelo’s demand for custody of his son. I was very curious as to how he knew not only that Kelly was with Beth, but also where she lived. In any event, the timing could not have been worse, and it clearly underscored the fact that the guy was a world-class jerk.

  I truly, deeply hate funerals, but I was suddenly tempted to take a ride up to Carrington. I could wait outside the mortuary to see who came in, then maybe drive out to the cemetery to see who showed up there. I wondered if Jan Houston would be there—not that I’d know her if I saw her—and I especially wondered whether Estelle Bronson would show up. I was pretty sure she would, probably on the pretext of representing Happy Day. The one person I was certain wouldn’t be there was Roy D’Angelo.

  Looking at my watch, I saw it was just past ten thirty. The funeral was at two. I could make it.

  You’ll have to go home and change first if you’re going, my mind-voice in charge of social etiquette—very seldom heard from, I might add—said.

  But I’m not going to actually go to the funeral itself, I countered.

  Ah, I see, it replied. So you’re going to drive two hours round-trip to see who shows up at the funeral of a woman you knew personally—albeit briefly—and liked and risk being seen by her sister, whom you’ve met, and Estelle Bronson, whom you also know, and you don’t have the guts to go in to the funeral to pay your respects? You’re a strange bird, Hardesty.

  *

  Okay, okay. So I left the office at eleven thirty and went home and got into a suit and I went to the funeral.