Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones

by Richard Gleaves

  Mister Smolenski smiled up at him.

  “Well, Jason?” Hadewych whispered. “You asked me to do this, remember?”

  Had he? He remembered vaguely asking Hadewych to kick in money for the church repair. What had been his reply? “We can do better than that.” So—had he accidentally authorized this somehow? No. This was crap. He opened his mouth to say so, but… actually… If I could do anything with her money, this would probably be it. Eliza would have approved, too. It’s history. It’s…

  “Say something,” said Hadewych. “Don’t disappoint everyone.”

  And then Jason realized Hadewych’s technique, finally. The technique bad people use to manipulate good people: “Don’t disappoint everyone. You don’t want to let people down, do you? Join me in this one small lie. Take the fake ID. Go against your own conscience. For your grandmother’s sake. This isn’t for me, it’s for her. Not for me. It’s for the town. Nothing’s ever for me. It’s all for others. It’s all for you.”

  He wasn’t falling for it again.

  “Actually, I think the whole thing sounds like a load of—”

  Doors slammed, somewhere in the back, and the crowd turned. Jason shielded his eyes. A woman exited the main building and slipped into the tent, her figure enticingly curvy. The light of the projector found her as she neared. Her hair was blonde, full and rippling. She wore an emerald skirt and a plum vest fitted like a corset. The crowd parted. She walked as if on a model’s runway, deliberately and with exquisite poise, each step placed perfectly in front of the other, taking off her gloves, holding her cleavage to the light. She stopped directly in front of the stage, spotlighted by the projector, the smiles of bad men, and the frowns of good women.

  “Am I late?” Her face held amusement and mischief. She raised one eyebrow, adding a tiny note of contempt. “Why, Hadewych. Don’t you clean up nice.”

  Hadewych stared at her dumbly and nodded. “Jessica.”

  She cocked her head. “Hello again, Paul.”

  “What a nice surprise,” said Usher.

  The woman scanned the crowd, found whatever face she was searching for, and turned.

  “Is that you?” she said gently. The bracelet on her wrist glittered as her hand reached across a projection of the Tarrytown Lighthouse. “Hi, baby.”

  A figure stepped from the crowd and into the light. Zef’s expression was a mixture of bewilderment and wonder.

  “Mom?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Jessica”

  Zef barely made it to the stall of the men’s lounge before he threw up. He knelt in front of the toilet and barfed Blue Point oysters and English stilton and a stomach-full of Dom Perignon. It felt good, as if the food were spoiled and needed purging. The more he emptied, the better he felt. He wadded some toilet paper and wiped his chin. He flushed the mess and stumbled from the stall, looking for something to wash the taste from his mouth. He found a bottle of mint Listerine and filled a thimble-sized plastic cup. He stared at himself as he gargled, as if staring at a stranger, as if staring at a silent movie actor incapable of portraying a clear emotion. He had no idea what that person felt. Surprise, of course. He’d had no warning that his mother was coming. Anger, yeah. At his dad for springing this. And at her for—for everything.

  He spit.

  You left me. You left me behind with him. Everything is your fault. Everything. And now you think you can just come back into our lives? Go to hell, “Mom.” You can just go to hell! And if you do go, if you leave me again, I will hate you forever.

  There came a tapping at the door. Zef snatched up a terrycloth towel and wiped his face.

  “You okay in there?” It was Joey.

  “I’m fine,” Zef called. “Just go in to dinner.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Zef was about to send him away but a stab of loneliness shot through him. “Door’s open,” he said.

  Joey stepped in, not quite shutting the door behind. “Kate’s out here too. She’s worried.”

  Zef held up both hands, as if surrendering to the authorities. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

  Joey turned and reported to Kate. He pulled the door closed behind him. “You don’t look fine.”

  Zef shook his head, eyes to the ceiling. “What can I say to that woman? I don’t blame her. Not for leaving my dad. He deserved it. He wasn’t providing, he just sat on his ass, and she met someone else. I understand that.” He lowered his chin and was appalled to feel an enormous tear roll down his cheek. He wiped it away abruptly. “She could have taken me with her, though. Or—or checked in, you know?” He felt his guard slipping. “A birthday card. A call. An email—”

  Joey took a step forward, arms out to hold and comfort him and, for a second, all Zef wanted to do was to accept the embrace, to weep against Joey’s shoulder, to lay down his burdens and just be held.

  He batted Joey’s arms away, evading the hug.

  “This is a public place,” he said.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t making a pass. I was only—”

  “I know. Just… stop. I’ve got enough to deal with.” Zef backed towards the door.

  “I know. I know. I’m here if you need me.”

  He did need Joey, he realized. At this moment, Joey was the only thing he needed. Nobody but Joey. Joey was the only thing that made sense. Why not? Why the hell not? But the demons stirred and clawed the locked cellar door of his soul.

  Shamme… Shaaammme….

  “That will be the day,” said Zef. “Here.” He threw Joey the towel. “You’ve got mud on your face.”

  He hesitated at the door, pushed through. Kate met him in the hallway. She hugged him. He accepted her hug and…

  …and it was almost enough.

  So this is Zef’s mom, thought Jason. He appraised her through the droopy fronds of the tropical centerpiece. There was a phrase that captured her but it escaped him. Her eyebrows were sculpted to perfection but were thick, like Zef’s. She and her son had the same nose, the same chin. And something else. Zef didn’t get his charisma from his dad, Jason decided, but from his mom. She dripped glamour, as if baptized in a vat of liquefied Oscar nominees.

  A stone-cold fox. That was the phrase he’d been searching for.

  Hadewych tracked her with his eyes, shooting some internal movie footage. A high romance or a crime thriller, one of the two. He might drink champagne from her slipper or shank her in the kidney.

  “So many choices,” she said. “But I don’t recognize anything.”

  “It’s a traditional Dutch menu,” said Hadewych.

  “Pork and cabbage? No, thank you.” She raised an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, Dutch disagrees with me.”

  “And, if I remember correctly, it found you disagreeable as well.”

  She handed her menu to the waiter. “Steak, please. Medium rare.”

  Hadewych shrugged. “Dull, dull, dull. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Yes, I do.” She patted his knee. “And believe me, I don’t miss it.”

  Jason grinned. Zef and Kate sat stone-faced on the other side of the table, appalled. Mayor Nielsen wasn’t paying attention. He was stage-whispering across the room, warning his girls that they had better stop building a fort or he was coming over there. Usher’s place was empty. He was prospecting at other tables, panning his donor pool for gold. Congressman Ass-Pinch of the Yale Selection Committee stared at Jessica with undisguised appreciation, gripping the neck of an already half-empty wine bottle for support. Joey wasn’t in the room.

  “Why are you here?” said Kate, her voice flat.

  Jessica extended a hand. “We haven’t been introduced.”

  Kate touched fingertips reluctantly. “Kate Usher.”

  “She’s my girlfriend, Mom.”

  “‘Mom.’ I’ve missed hearing that,” Jessica said and Zef raked his fingers across the linen as if trying to grab the word back. “Of course I remember you. Katie Usher. Sophia’s little girl. T
he last time I saw you, you’d cut your own hair to get gum out of it. It was adorable. So! Paul’s daughter and my son. Is it serious?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” said Kate.

  “I rarely answer to anyone, dear.”

  “I invited her,” said Hadewych.

  Zef’s brows knit. “You invited her.” He was losing his temper. Jason recognized the signs. “And so you just show up. Waltz in like you waltzed out? This is bullshit.”

  “Zef.” Hadewych tilted his head in the direction of the mayor and congressman. Mayor Nielsen stared at his cabbage salad, newly fascinated by the miracle of coleslaw. The right honorable Ass-Pinch brayed like a donkey and poured himself another glass.

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said. “You should hear the boys in the senate cloakroom. This country is captained by a bunch of foul-mouthed kindergarteners.” He raised his glass. “To bullshit.”

  “To bullshit,” said Jessica enthusiastically, saluting Hadewych.

  Jason raised his glass as well, toasting his guardian. “To bullshit.”

  The main courses came, plate after plate on silver carts. Conversation paused, mouths otherwise occupied. The hall fell silent except for the clink of forks on china. Jason tucked into a beef and onion pot pie. It warmed him. His head cold approved.

  “So. The Crane Foundation,” he said.

  Hadewych smiled. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Not if you like it. What are you up to?”

  “Mister Mayor,” said Hadewych, “Jason’s doing a real service to the community, isn’t he? How about we apply his seven years of generosity to his remaining ten weeks of community service?”

  The Mayor nodded. “Of course.”

  “There you go. No more trash collecting. I won’t hold my breath, Jason, but you know where to address the thank you note.”

  Paul Usher returned just as dessert was served. He mumbled into Hadewych’s ear and glanced sideways.

  “Kate, Zef,” Usher said. “Can we see you for a minute?”

  The two rose and followed their parents out of the room. The mayor excused himself and joined his wife and children. The congressman, deep into his second bottle, drowsed obliviously.

  Jason and Jessica appraised each other.

  She dipped a fingertip into her apple tart, licked caramel from it, and smiled. “You hate his guts. I like that.”

  “Who?”

  She pulled the decorative cookie from her ice cream, a Dutch windmill, and crumbled it in her hand.

  “Yes,” said Jason.

  “What did he do to you?”

  Killed my grandmother, Jason thought. Or had he said it aloud? Her eyebrows flew up in surprise. No, he’d merely thought it. “Hadewych’s done a lot of things to me.”

  She sipped her coffee. “So you’re the Pyncheon heir. The Legacy designee.”

  “He told you?”

  “Paul did.” She scowled and shook her head. “He just had to rub my face in it. Not Paul. Hadewych. That’s why he invited me. You know I’m a Pyncheon, right?”

  Jason did know that but had forgotten it until just now.

  “I know that Zef and I are third cousins.”

  “Through my side. You’re my cousin Dianne’s son, aren’t you? How is she?” Jason looked away. Jessica held up a hand. “I’m sorry. Of course. If you’ve inherited she must be. When?”

  “Ten years ago. Did you know her?”

  “I met her once or twice. But your branch of the family and mine have never been close, obviously.”

  “Why?”

  “Ah, well.” She stirred a spoonful of ice cream into her coffee. “Once upon a time in Massachusetts there were two brothers. Twins. Daniel and Johnny. Identical in every way except Daniel was born first. By forty minutes. They did everything together, went to school together, had a double wedding. At Faneuil Hall in Boston. Daniel had a boy, named Arthur Pyncheon.”

  “My grandfather.”

  “And Johnny had a girl. Martha Pyncheon, later Martha Pyncheon Bridge, my mother. The two families were inseparable but the brothers lost their father. Old Nat Pyncheon turned up dead at some rail station. Ugly dead. I don’t know how. They read his will and from that day on Daniel and Johnny weren’t speaking anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Money changes people. The Pyncheon legacy is ancient. And there are rules to it.”

  “You can’t spend the principal.”

  “And it always passes to a single designee. The eldest child.”

  Jason understood. “Even if he’s only the eldest by forty minutes.”

  She nodded. “Daniel got everything. His twin got nothing. They couldn’t split it even they had wanted to. So… Your side of the family took it all. My side had to work for a living. And that’s who we are to each other.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the congressman snore.

  “Nothing we can do about it now,” said Jason, treading carefully.

  Can I at least have your ice cream? said Jessica, draining her cup.

  “Sure,” said Jason. He pushed the dish across the table.

  Jessica burst out laughing, covering her face. The congressman woke and rubbed his eyes. She tucked her napkin under her chin and dug into the ice cream with sloppy gusto.

  And Jason realized something.

  When she’d asked for his dessert, she hadn’t actually said it out loud.

  “We have a surprise,” said Hadewych. He uncorked the brandy and poured out shots for Zef and Kate.

  “I’ve had plenty of surprises tonight,” said Zef.

  “It’s not much of a surprise,” said Usher, seating himself behind the banquet director’s desk. “It’s been coming for a long time. When did you two start dating?”

  “Two years ago,” said Kate. She and Zef were separated by the high arms of wingback chairs. She took his hand, uncomfortably.

  Usher accepted the brandy bottle from Hadewych and poured himself a shot. “And you’ve known each other for, what, nine more?”

  “What’s this about?” said Zef.

  Usher leaned back and spread his hands. “Isn’t it about time?”

  “Time for what?” said Kate.

  “You do have our consent,” said Hadewych.

  “Enthusiastic consent,” added Usher. “As if we could keep you apart. So let’s do it. It’s a new year, a beautiful setting.”

  “To Cinderella and Prince Charming,” said Hadewych, toasting the pair.

  Usher did likewise. “To Mr. and Mrs. Kate. We all know it’s going to happen. So let’s do it right.”

  Kate understood. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s the perfect moment, baby girl.”

  “This was never just a fundraiser,” said Hadewych.

  “Then what is it?” said Zef.

  “Dummy.” Hadewych leaned forward and mussed his hair. “It’s your engagement party.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “The Greenhouse”

  Half the guests left at ten-thirty. The dancing-till-midnight portion of the Van Brunt money pit was restricted to the largest donors. Those stingy enough to have ponied up less than twenty-five thousand were presented with a gift bag of champagne, biscotti, and party favors so they could play along from home. Usher worked the coat check line and shook hands with the dearly departing. These included Mayor Nielsen and his brood, five or six local businessmen, and Mister Smolenski.

  “I’ve never been so happy to have been proven wrong,” Smolenski said, shaking Jason’s hand enthusiastically. “I hope you’ll be coming back to my class?”

  “If I’m welcome?”

  “Always. And drop by the Historic Society if you’d like.”

  “I will.”

  “I look forward to seeing you, sir.” Smolenski accepted his gift bag and left.

  “Sir?” Did my history teacher just call me “sir?”

  Jason shook his head and entered the tent, looking for Joey. For some reason the stage had bee
n redecorated with extravagant arrangements of long-stemmed red roses, as if the party planners had confused New Year’s with Valentine’s Day. The orchestra had set up and played Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue as the guests filed back in from dinner.

  He found Joey sitting on the edge of the stage, hidden by roses and leaning against the leg of the grand piano.

  “Did you eat?” said Jason.

  Joey held a hand to his ear. Chita Rivera’s piano player was attacking some virtuoso passage of the Rhapsody. Jason led Joey to a quieter corner.

  “I said, did you eat?”

  “I had a sandwich with the musicians. No big deal. I’m used to it. I’ve sung with some of these guys.”

  “Something weird happened at dinner. I think Jessica’s a telepath.”

  “A what?”

  “She talked in my head. Like Professor X.”

  “You mean she’s got a Gift?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then Zef could have inherited it?” Joey scanned the crowd.

  “I don’t know. Did you ever get a—” Jason tapped the side of his head.

  “Psychic communication?”

  “Yeah. From him?”

  “No.” Joey looked thoughtful and sad. “No. He’s never… I have never had the slightest idea what was in his head. But—”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen things in his eyes. He looks at me sometimes and it’s like he’s talking to me, asking me to wait, to trust him. ‘Don’t give up on me, Joey,’ you know?” He shook his head. “Probably just wishful thinking.”

  Rhapsody in Blue came to a close, and the guests applauded. The lights dimmed and golden pin-spots rippled up the sides of the tent. Dave the drummer “psst”ed to catch Joey’s attention. “We’re ready for you, man.”

  Joey gave an okay sign. “How do I look, Jase? Any mud spots?”

  “What are you up to?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Joey—”

  Joey combed his hair. “There’s a holiday tradition in these parts, my dear Ichabod. Here on the Island of Lovesick Toys. We call it the Grand Romantic Gesture.” He pocketed the comb.