by Dorien Grey
There was a slight pause, during which I heard kids shouting and laughing in the background, then, “Estelle does our grocery shopping Saturday morning, and she has a few errands to run as well. We could meet here at, say, ten o’clock. I assume it will not take long.”
Not one second longer than it has to, lady, I thought. If she was implying that it wouldn’t take long because I didn’t have much to tell her, she was pretty well right.
“Ten will be fine. Thank you, and I’ll see you Saturday morning.”
“Very well. Good-bye.”
I didn’t take it personally, but I suspected I was not one of Bonnie Bronson’s favorite people.
Obviously, I couldn’t call back and hope to have Estelle answer the phone, so I gave Jonathan a call at work, asking him, if he got the chance to speak to Estelle alone while picking up Joshua, to have her call me.
*
That evening, Joshua brought home a drawing he had made at school, which Jonathan had immediately scotch-taped to the refrigerator door. As soon as I entered the apartment and we’d had our group hug, Joshua insisted I accompany him to the kitchen to see it. Actually, I was pretty impressed. There was a large animal that I assumed to be a horse with a small stick-like figure on top of it. In front of it were two larger figures, one with long hair. There was a large yellow blob over the horse’s head with yellow lines coming out from it, and there was purple grass.
“That’s great, Joshua,” I said, picking him up so he could touch it and point out details. “I’ll bet that’s you riding him, isn’t it?”
He nodded happily, then pointed to the horse.
“That’s Bill. My daddy’s going to buy him for me when we get home.”
I knew without asking that the two other figures were his mother and father, but lest I had any doubts, Joshua pointed to each of them in turn.
“That’s mommy, and that’s daddy.”
Every time Joshua talked about his parents, I could see the pain in Jonathan’s eyes, and felt a knot in my own gut.
I gave him another hug. “Well it’s a wonderful picture, Joshua, and you’re a very good artist!”
I set him down and he went running off into the living room while Jonathan got out a glass for my Manhattan. I pulled him to me and gave him another hug, too. “How are you doing, Babe?”
He gave me a semi-sad smile.
“I’m okay. Every time I look at Joshua, I see Samuel and Sheryl, and that makes me feel better, somehow. I know part of them is still here and always will be.”
He backed his head off my shoulder to look at me. “Does that make any sense?”
I pulled him closer again.
“It does, and I’m proud of you for being able to think of it like that.”
We broke the hug and I fixed my Manhattan while Jonathan started dinner.
*
Jonathan had relayed my message to Estelle, and shortly before ten Friday morning, she called. When I explained I’d like to talk with her privately, she said, “I have grocery shopping and errands tomorrow morning, but one of them is in The Central and I could put that one off till last. I could meet you at Coffee & again around noon, if you’d like.”
Juggle time, a mind-voice observed.
“Well, I have a meeting in the morning, but I think I might be able to make it if it doesn’t run too long. Or we could make it sometime early next week if you prefer.”
“I find it very hard to get away on weekdays, as you can imagine. And I am very curious to hear what you’ve learned. I’ll arrange to be at Coffee & at noon, and if you’re not there by twelve thirty, I’ll assume you couldn’t make it.”
“Well if you’re sure you don’t mind…”
“Not at all. I have so little time for myself, I enjoy having a few minutes to just sit and have a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll do my best to be there.”
We exchanged good-byes and hung up.
*
Jonathan had been home, what…three days?…and it hadn’t been exactly easy. We were both trying to get things back to normal, which of course was impossible, since our “normal” had never included a four-year-old boy. I decided what we really needed was a few hours just for the two of us, so on a whim I called Tim and Phil. I knew Tim would be at work, but Phil said he wasn’t working until next week, so took a chance on his being home, and he was.
We talked for a minute or two about how things were going for each of the four of us, and I finally broached the subject.
“I was wondering if you had any plans for tomorrow night?”
“Nope. We’re going out to dinner tonight with some friends, Karl and Johann—I think you met them over here once—but tomorrow’s a stay-at-home. Did you want us to look after Joshua?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all! It’ll be fun. He’s a great kid.”
“It’d be just for a few hours. I thought we’d go have dinner at Napoleon, just the two of us.”
“That’s a great idea. Joshua can have dinner with us.”
I paused on that one.
“Uh, are you sure? He can get a little wild if he thinks he can get away with it.”
Phil laughed. “So can Tim. But I’m sure we can handle him.”
I gave a sigh of relief. “Well, if you’re sure. What time shall we bring him by?”
“How about six? We can have a drink and talk awhile before you go.”
“Great! We’ll see you then. And thanks.”
*
When I told Jonathan of my plan for Saturday, he was at first a little hesitant about imposing on Tim and Phil—and, I knew, of not having Joshua with us at all times—but the idea of a partial evening with just the two of us overcame his objections. Joshua had spent enough time with Tim and Phil to feel comfortable around them, and he liked them. And he looked forward to the prospect of spending some time with their fish.
*
I left the apartment before ten Saturday morning for my meeting with Bonnie Bronson. The more I thought about her relationship with her sister Estelle the more curious I got. I reflected on the fact that it had been Bonnie who had told Jan Houston where Carlene lived, and wondered as to her motivation for doing so. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t good.
But again, as far as Bonnie Benson being a prime suspect, how then would Frank Santorini, the dead detective, fit into the picture? Bonnie would have had no reason to hire him…she knew where Carlene lived. To keep tabs on Carlene and Estelle? Unlikely.
And I realized that I’d never really given serious thought to there being any connection between Carlene’s death and Santorini’s. Considering Santorini’s reputation, any number of people could have killed him. There are such things as coincidences, and I didn’t want to go chasing after what I think the detective novels call “red herrings.”
To play it safe, I stopped at a gas station close to Happy Day and called to be sure Estelle had left on her errands. (If Estelle answered, I’d pretend it was her I wanted to talk with, and verify our noon meeting.) But it was Bonnie who answered, and when she said Estelle had left shortly before, I told her I’d be right over.
She met me at the front door and I followed her through the house to the back porch, which had two comfortable padded lawn chairs and a small round table sitting beneath the kitchen window.
“It’s such a nice day, I thought we might sit out here. Would you like a glass of iced tea?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
She motioned me to one of the chairs and turned back toward the door into the house.
I sat down and looked out over the large yard, smiling when I saw the sandbox and remembering Joshua’s story of his battle with the monster who lived beneath it.
Bonnie returned with a tray holding two tall glasses of ice cubes and a pitcher of tea, which she set on the small table. When she’d poured the tea and sat down herself, we each took a sip before she said, “And what did you want to talk to me about?”
I wa
s rather relived by her obvious desire to cut right to the chase.
“I understand you spoke with Jan Houston some time ago, and it was you who gave Jan Carlene’s address here. I was curious as to why.”
She set her glass on the small table and leaned back in her chair. “Why I called her, or why I gave her Miss DeNuncio’s address?”
“Both, actually.”
“I was protecting my sister.”
I couldn’t help but ask, “From what?”
She reached for her glass and took a long drink. “From probably being hurt. From herself,” she said without looking at me.
I cocked my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”
“Estelle is…well, gullible…and naive. She’s always followed her heart rather than her head, ever since she was a child.”
Yeah, but she’s not a child anymore. You’re not doing her any favors by treating her as if she can’t look out for herself.
“When I was much younger,” Bonnie continued, “I found myself in a situation not unlike Estelle’s, with a young woman not unlike Carlene DeNuncio. After falling hopelessly in love, I found out she was just out to use me and get whatever she could from me. I vowed it would never happen again, and that I would never let it happen to Estelle.”
“So you called Jan Houston to…?” I left the question incomplete.
“To find out whatever I could about Miss DeNuncio from the person who was in a position to know her best, frankly.”
Surely she couldn’t have expected a recently dumped—for however valid a reason—and embittered ex-lover to give her a glowing recommendation! And why give Jan Carlene’s new address? But I said nothing and took another drink of my tea.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said after a moment. “That I was trying to stand in the way of Estelle’s happiness.”
Well, not exactly, I thought, but close.
“But nothing could be further from the truth. I love my sister, and I want her to be happy. I just don’t want her to be hurt.”
Well, that little statement could open the door to a very long philosophical debate, but I chose to leave it closed.
I decided to toss a pebble into the pond to see what sort of ripple it might create. “Have you ever heard of a man named Frank Santorini?”
She looked at me very strangely, then raised an eyebrow and gave me an odd half-smile.
“I do read the newspapers. Why in the world would you ask me about him?”
Ooops. Tread carefully, Hardesty.
“Were you aware he had been following Carlene before she was killed?”
She took another long drink of her tea, which was now nearly gone.
“No,” she said, putting her glass down and not looking at me. “I had no idea. Though if a detective was following her, it only supports my belief that I was right to suspect she was not who or what she presented herself to Estelle as being. Do you know why she was being followed?”
“I have no idea,” I said, truthfully. And I wondered again exactly how much she knew of Estelle’s relationships with other people.
“And exactly how much longer do you expect this to go on?”
I knew what she meant by the question.
“Not too much longer. I do have a few more people I need to talk to, but I’d say no more than two weeks.”
She nodded. “Good. And I assume you will give Estelle a detailed accounting of your time? I don’t mean to appear rude, but I’m sure you understand my concern.”
“Of course,” I said, and I did. I looked at my watch, then took another drink of my tea, finishing it. “Well, I should be going, before Estelle gets home. Thank you for talking with me.”
“You’re welcome,” she said simply. We both got up and she led me back through the house to the front door.
*
I was on my second cup of coffee at Coffee & when Estelle came in. She came over and sat across from me at the small table—the booths were already filled.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” she said with a smile.
“Not at all.”
The waitress came over to refill my coffee and pour a cup for Estelle.
“Would you like to see a menu?” she asked Estelle. (I’d declined the offer earlier.)
“Coffee’s fine,” Estelle replied, and the waitress moved on to another table.
“So have you found anything?” She reached for the sugar dispenser.
I took a sip of my coffee before answering. “Yes, no, and maybe,” I said, and then proceeded to go over everything I’d done on the case—leaving out her sister’s possible involvement—and that I planned to talk with Kelly’s father when he came in to town next weekend. If nothing else developed between now and then, and if talking with Roy D’Angelo didn’t give me a viable lead, I was pretty much afraid we’d run out of options unless or until the police found Eddie Styles.
She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily, looking into her coffee cup. “I understand. But there’s still a chance?”
“Of course.” I said it, though I don’t know how strongly I believed it. Then, hoping she wouldn’t make any connections, I said, “So tell me about you and Bonnie. It’s really great that you two are so close.”
She looked into her coffee cup again, and nodded, giving me the distinct impression that she may have been thinking “Too close.” But she didn’t say it.
“Has Bonnie ever had a relationship?”
She shook her head. “Just that one, when I was still in high school. Right after our parents died.”
“I gather it wasn’t long term?”
She shook her head again. “Only a few months, and it was…well, it nearly destroyed Bonnie, I’m afraid.”
“How so?” I knew exactly what she meant, but I was hoping it might bring forth more information.
The waitress came over with a pot of coffee and refreshed both our cups, then moved off.
“Bonnie is a wonderful woman, and no one could ask for a more caring sister. But she has never really had any…well, any fun. She’s six years older than I, and our mother had a very difficult pregnancy with me, and nearly died. She was never really healthy after that. So Bonnie had the responsibility of raising me. Our father was always away on business. Both our parents loved us, and they did what they could, but it was difficult.”
She paused while she added sugar to her coffee and emptied another small cup of cream into the mix. She appeared a little lost in her own thoughts, but I knew she’d continue when she was ready.
“Bonnie is very strong,” she continued. “She’s one of the strongest women I know, and I’ve always admired her for that. When our father died of a heart attack while I was a senior in high school, it sent our mother’s health into a downward spiral from which she never recovered, and she died within six months of my father. Bonnie was a rock. She hid her grief as best she could—which was very, very well, though I could sense it in her—and devoted her efforts to comforting me, and handing all our parents’ business affairs, and…well, you know.”
I knew.
She looked out the window at the passing traffic on Beech, not really looking at anything in particular. Then, with a small jerk, she pulled herself back to the moment and gave me a quick glance and an equally quick smile.
“Sorry. Anyway, about eight months later, as I was getting ready to go off to college, Bonnie met someone…her name was Susan, and she was beautiful, and Bonnie actually fell in love. I really think that for the first time in her life, she was happy, and I was happy for her. So I went off to college. It was just to Mountjoy, up in Carrington, and I got totally caught up in being on my own for the first time. I’m afraid I didn’t call home as much as I should have, and I deliberately didn’t come home on weekends, to give Bonnie and Susan time to spend together.”
“So what happened?” I should have just waited for her to continue on her own, but you know me.
She put her cup down on the saucer and looked at me, again shaki
ng her head.
“I honestly don’t know! Everything was wonderful, and Bonnie was a different person, and then suddenly, it was over! Bonnie would never tell me what happened, but it must have been terrible. I never saw or heard from Susan again, and Bonnie refused to even let me mention Susan’s name.” She sighed, heavily. “And Bonnie turned into a lesbian who hates women.”
She saw my startled look.
“Oh, not on the outside. We have a few lesbian friends, but Happy Day takes up so very much of our time. But as far as Bonnie’s ever even trying to find another relationship…nothing. And while it hurts me to say so, she apparently projects her own experience onto me and any woman in whom I develop an interest. That’s why I tried to keep my relationship with Carlene away from Bonnie. She’s so afraid I’ll be hurt like she was. She just doesn’t understand….” Her voice trailed off.
It was my turn to shake my head in empathy. “Unfortunately, we can’t always protect those we love from being hurt. It’s just a part of life.”
“I know.”
We sat in relative silence, finishing our coffee, and I finally excused myself. “I’ve really got to be getting home.”
“Of course,” she said, a little sadly, I thought. “And so must I. I’m glad we had the chance to talk, and I hope you find out something from Kelly’s father.”
The waitress came by again with coffee, which I declined, but Estelle accepted. “Just half a cup, if you would,” she said, then looked at me. “Oh, but please, don’t let me keep you. I’ll be leaving as soon as I finish this.”
I felt a bit guilty, but realized she’d probably enjoy a little time by herself.
I got up, we exchanged good-byes, and I left, first catching our waitress’ eye and indicating I’d like the check. She met me at the cash register and I gave her money for the coffee and a tip, and left.
*
Joshua was having one of his hyperactive days—which, come to think of it, would probably apply to most of his days—and the apartment was strewn with toys, books, and the assorted debris found in the wake of a four-year-old whirlwind. When I came in, he was “helping” Jonathan water the plants, getting more on the floor than in the pots, and talking a blue streak. Jonathan gave me a weak smile, looking around the living room.
