The Popsicle Tree

by Dorien Grey

  The hunk and I exchanged a few words, though my crotch was too busy scoping him out to pay too much attention to what was being said. None of my other mind-voices seemed to object. I guess they all thought I deserved a little guilty pleasure from time to time.

  The children began pouring in through the door to the back yard, riding a large wave of kid sounds and running feet.

  Two other parents had arrived at the door, and Estelle came up with the hunk’s little girl, handing her to him with one hand while opening the door with the other.

  Since I’d only picked up Joshua once or twice before, I still wasn’t used to the organized pandemonium of the ritual transfer of power from Happy Day to the parents, and was duly impressed by how everyone just took it in stride.

  The hunk kissed his daughter, bounced her up and down a couple of times as she laughed, then gave me a very nice smile and a nod and left.

  I felt a tug at my leg and looked down to see Joshua staring up at me as though I were a giant sequoia. “Where’s Uncle Jonathan?” he asked.

  “We’ll meet him at home,” I said. “Are you ready to go?”

  He nodded his head up and down rapidly, and I took his hand and led him through the door.

  “Piggyback!” Joshua said as we reached the steps, and I instead picked him up and swung him up and around so he was seated on my shoulders, with his legs on either side of my neck.

  “You can see better from up there,” I said, holding his legs securely so he couldn’t fall off. I was very aware that he had put on a few pounds in the short time he’d been with us.

  *

  While I had my Manhattan and watched the news, Jonathan and Joshua fed the fish and watered the plants.

  Immediately after dinner, I called Jan Houston.

  “Hello?” the now-familiar voice said.

  I decided to make it short and to the point.

  “Jan, hi, this is Dick Hardesty,” I began. I thought I heard a man’s voice saying something in the background, probably just the TV. “I just wanted to let you know I’m pretty sure I know who was responsible for Carlene’s death, and I’ll be going to the police with what I know.”

  There was a pause, then, “So why tell me?”

  Yeah, Hardesty, why tell her? a mind-voice asked.

  “I just thought you might like to know,” I said, “and didn’t want it to come as a shock.”

  I had no idea what I meant by that last part, but probably meant to imply either her real mother or her half-brother was a murderer.

  “So who did it?” she asked.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve got just one more thing to check on before I go to the police, so I can’t say right now. But, as I said, I just didn’t want you to be surprised when you hear about it.”

  “Ok, whatever. Is that it?”

  “That’s it,” I said, feeling somehow just a little bit foolish.

  I heard the click of the phone being hung up.

  Sweet girl, I thought. No wonder I’m gay.

  I’d barely hung up the phone when it rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Dick, it’s Jake. Jared’s coming in to town for the weekend, and we were wondering if we might try to get the gang together for dinner Saturday night. Would that be a problem for you? Do you have somebody who can look after Joshua?”

  Well, talk about serendipity! I thought. “Yeah,” I said. “We just might. Can I call you back in a little while?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “I’m in for the night.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll get back to you shortly.”

  I reported the call to Jonathan, and told him about my conversation with Mark Richman at lunch, and that his son Craig might be willing to babysit.

  Jonathan was suddenly every inch the concerned parent. “I don’t know, Dick,” he said. “How old is this Craig? Can he be trusted? I mean…”

  I grinned. “He’s sixteen, and if he’s Mark Richman’s kid, I’m sure he’s responsible. He just came out to his parents, and that takes a lot of maturity.”

  “He’s gay for sure?” Jonathan asked. I’d mentioned to him before that Mark thought he might be.

  “Yeah, and Mark thinks that you and I would be good gay role models for him.”

  His resolve visibly softened. “That was really nice of him,” he said. “Well, I guess we could try it. And it would be nice to have somebody we can call on every now and then.” He glanced around to see where Joshua was (on the floor refereeing an apparent dispute between Cowboy and G.I. Joe), then lowered his voice. “It would be nice if we could have some time to ourselves once in a while. I miss that.”

  I hugged him. “Me, too,” I said. “Now let me see if I can find Mark’s home phone number.”

  *

  It was all set. Mark volunteered to bring Craig over at six on Saturday night, and Jonathan or I would bring him home. Jake contacted all the rest of the gang, and everyone could make it but Mario, who as manager at Venture, had to fill in for one of his bartenders who’d broken a leg falling off a horse. We arranged to meet at Rasputin’s at seven for dinner, and then planned to stop by Venture for a couple of drinks after. We—Jonathan and I—wouldn’t be able to stay very late, but we agreed it would be really good to get out and enjoy a “pre-Joshua” evening.

  *

  Friday passed without a hitch, though I noticed I was a little more aware of every corner-of-my-eye movement and sudden sound than normal. And I’d made a point of taking the bus to and from work, and even went into the garage to check the car before Jonathan and Joshua left. Probably paranoid of me, but my gut was telling me that this entire case was coming to a very rapid head.

  We called out for Momma Rosa’s pizza for dinner, and Joshua endeared himself to me even further by refusing to touch the mushrooms on the slice he was given from Jonathan’s half of the pizza. Instead, he discovered the anchovies on my half, and whenever I wasn’t looking, would try to steal them from my uneaten portion.

  “See?” I said to Jonathan. “Even a four-year-old boy knows what’s really good.”

  “Four-year-olds are strange,” Jonathan said.

  “Am not,” Joshua said vehemently.

  “Well of course you’re not,” Jonathan said, hastily backtracking.

  After dinner…no dishes to speak of…Jonathan tried to study while Joshua variously wanted to wrestle, play “car,” scramble up onto and off the couch to watch TV with me, or went about indulging his active fantasy life, frequently with sound effects and animated dialogue.

  Bed time/story time came and went without a hitch, and Jonathan and I were relaxing in the living room and just thinking of going to bed when the phone rang. Damn!

  Hurrying to the phone so as not to wake Joshua, I picked it up, “Hello?”

  The voice wasted no time. “This is Angelina D’Angelo. I want you to meet me.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, rather surprised to learn she was back…though she said she’d be back Friday and this was Friday. “Whenever it’s convenient for you,” I said. “Tomorrow at my office?”

  “Now!” she said.

  “It’s a little late, isn’t it?” I asked, mildly irked.

  “Do you want to know who killed that…that woman, or not?”

  “Of course I do,” I began, “but…”

  “I went to a great deal of difficulty getting you documented proof. I do not want it in my possession one minute longer than I have to. Do you want it or not?”

  “Well, of course,” I repeated. “Do you want me to come over there?”

  “No. Mildred is already asleep. That’s why I waited until now to call. She’s not to know anything of this! Meet me in the Pence Avenue parking lot on the north side of Riverside Park in one hour. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m not about to have you falsely accuse me or my son.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I’ll see you there in one hour.”

  She hung up without another word.

  Jonathan, who had
been listening to my side of the conversation and looking totally confused, said, “You’re not going to go out at this time of night, are you? Where are you supposed to meet?”

  “Riverside Park, the Pence Avenue parking lot.”

  “But that’s in the arboretum,” he said. “It’s surrounded by trees.”

  I was still holding the phone as I said, “Yes, and I know a set-up when I hear one.”

  Luckily, I remembered Mark Richman’s home phone number, and I dialed it.

  *

  Being in a residential area, the streets around Riverside Park were fairly deserted by eleven p.m. The park stretched along half a mile of the river in roughly the shape of an on-its-side V. The narrowest point of the park was a popular spot for teenagers, and there were a few cars parked by the river as I drove by. The widest end of the park was a small forest preserve that had been made into an arboretum. We’d spent a lot of time there for several of Jonathan’s school projects. The Pence Avenue parking lot was set within the thickest part of the arboretum and was, as Jonathan had said, surrounded by trees. A great place for an ambush.

  Okay, I admit it. I was nervous as all hell. And, of course, though I had called Lieutenant Richman and gave him a three-sentence summary, there was no sign of the police. Well, if they were doing their job the way I hoped they were, there wouldn’t be any sign of them. But an hour is a hell of a short notice for something like this.

  I was counting on the fact that Angelina D’Angelo did not know I had such good police contacts, or that I had already told them as much as I had.

  As I expected, there wasn’t a single car in the parking lot, which couldn’t be seen from the street. There was a dim street light at each corner of the lot, but I doubted you’d be able to read a newspaper even if you were standing right under one.

  I deliberately stopped in the very center of the lot. I’d be able to see anyone coming up to the car. But of course, the words “sitting duck” also crossed my mind.

  Quiet. Very quiet. Way, way too quiet. And warm. And did I mention “quiet”?

  A pair of headlights suddenly glinted in my rearview mirror, and a car pulled up and stopped about twenty feet behind me.

  Show time! I thought.

  With its headlights still on, I couldn’t see who was in the car, but I saw the door open and a woman step out. It was not Angelina D’Angelo, unless she’d had her beehive hairdo removed.

  Mildred Collins? What the hell was she doing here? Angelina had said she didn’t want Mildred to know anything about this meeting.

  I opened my door and automatically removed the keys from the ignition. I put them in my lap—a pretty sure sign I was nervous—while I undid my seatbelt.

  “Mr. Hardesty?” I heard her voice call. “Where is Angelina?”

  I stepped out of the car and felt my keys slipping off my lap and hitting the pavement.

  Cool move, Hardesty, I thought, quickly bending over to pick them up. And the instant I began my bend, I heard the sharp crack of a gunshot and felt a flutter of air past my ear.

  It had come from somewhere in front of the car, so I yelled for Mildred to get down as I ducked between the open door and the driver’s seat just as all hell broke loose!

  Two squad cars, their strobes flashing, roared into the lot and sped past us to the opposite side of the park, where I was pretty sure the shot had come from. And then there were flashlights and cops everywhere and a few seconds later what sounded like a string of Chinese firecrackers going off.

  As I ran over to Mildred’s car, another car raced into the lot and pulled up beside it, and Mark Richman got out, coming over to join us.

  “Thanks, Lieutenant!” I said to Mark, and then turned to Mildred, who was standing like a statue by the driver’s door.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, her voice shaking. “What’s going on? Where is Angelina?”

  I didn’t know how to tell her that somehow her sister had set us both up to be killed. I could understand Angelina wanting me dead, but why her?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I…I had gone to a movie, and when I got home, I found a note from Angelina telling me you had called and insisted she meet you here, and she was taking a cab, and that I should come out and bring her back home.”

  “Didn’t that strike you as more than a little unusual?”

  She shook her head. “Not for Angelina.”

  “Why didn’t your sister go to the movie with you?” Richman asked.

  “Angelina doesn’t like movies, and so I go a lot when she’s here,” she said. “And when she just showed up again without letting me know she was coming, I…well, I just needed to get away for a bit.”

  Angelina had told me on the phone that Mildred was already asleep. Why didn’t she just say Mildred wasn’t home?

  A couple of officers hurried across the parking lot to the lieutenant.

  “Did you find him?” Richman asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the cuter of the two said.

  Cuter of the two? How the hell can you be thinking about cute at a time like this? my mind demanded. I had to admit even I was surprised, but I chalked it up to relief that this whole thing was close to being over.

  “Well, I want to talk to him,” Richman said.

  “Uh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir,” the other officer said. “He wouldn’t surrender his weapon when ordered to, and instead opened fire on the officers. We had no choice but to return fire.”

  “Damn!” Richman said, then cast an apologetic glance at Mildred.

  I couldn’t help but notice the expression on her face. Relief?

  “Did you get an identity?” Richman asked.

  “His wallet says he’s an Edgar B. Styles of Louisville, Kentucky.”

  I looked again at Mildred. There was no expression at all. Don’t ask me why, but I was suddenly very uncomfortable. Something was going on in my mind and I didn’t know what it was. For some reason, I flashed back to Angelina’s set-up call. Something about it. What?

  “Well,” Richman said as the officers moved away, “I think, from what you’ve said, Dick, that we should go over to Mrs. Collins’ house and have a talk with Mrs. D’Angelo.” He turned again to Mildred. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Collins,” he said, “but I’m afraid we’re going to have to arrest your sister for conspiracy to commit murder—and possibly for the murder of Carlene DeNuncio.”

  And the light came on! I knew there was something wrong with that call from Angelina, and suddenly I realized what it was.

  There was no “hech-hem”!

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” I said, “but can I talk to you for a moment privately?”

  *

  I’d had a friend who had been with the same partner for thirty-five years. The partner was a nice enough guy, but he could not speak more than three sentences without inserting a “…you know?” It drove me and others who knew them completely up the wall. But my friend was totally unaware of it! He’d heard it so often, it just didn’t register anymore. Mildred Collins had been around her sister so long that after all those years she simply had become unaware of Angelina’s annoying throat-clearing. Since I couldn’t tell their voices apart without it, when Mildred called and said she was Angelina, I had no reason to think it wasn’t. I wasn’t listening for a “hech-hem,” so when there wasn’t one, it simply did not register.

  *

  Okay. We’ve reached the wrap-up, and I don’t think it’s necessary to give a step-by-step account of all the details and legal processes that followed. That was largely up to the lawyers and the police. I’m sure you’ve pretty much figured out the outcome by now on your own. Suffice it to say that for starters, Mildred Collins was arrested for the attempted murder of one Dick Hardesty, and, eventually, directly linked, through Eddie Styles, with Carlene DeNuncio’s death. It took, as these things often do, nearly a year, and I learned bits and pieces as they came out, and finally, duri
ng Mildred Collins’ trial.

  Her motive had been simple: she wanted her niece/daughter Jan to have Kelly. She knew the only way for that to happen was if Roy D’Angelo, as Kelly’s father, were to get him first. It was Mildred, not Angelina, who put up the money for the lawyer, and who was going to buy Kelly from him. She’d approached Roy immediately after Carlene had left Jan, and it was Roy who put her in touch with Eddie Styles. It was primarily for that reason that when the custody hearing came up, the decision was to leave Kelly with Beth Erickson and her family.

  *

  We had our Saturday evening out as planned. Craig Richman was a really nice kid we subsequently used frequently as a babysitter, despite the fact that Craig developed a very strong crush on Jonathan. But Jonathan handled it well, as I knew he would.

  And our life went on, with Joshua now so firmly a part of it that it is hard to imagine him not having always been there. Samuel and Sheryl, of course, were always with Jonathan and Joshua, but the pain became less and less disruptive until it was just a dull ache not as seldom noticed unless called up.

  Jonathan and I were discussing all this one night in bed.

  “We lead a pretty interesting life, you know that?” Jonathan said, reaching over to turn off the light.

  “That we do,” I said. “And there’s a lot more to come.”

  I could see his grin in the semi-darkness. “I can’t wait,” he said, cuddling up beside me.

  “Me, neither,” I said.

  I kissed him, and we went to sleep.