by J. D. Griffo
“You don’t have anyone?” Alberta asked quietly.
The only word Nola uttered was “No,” and it was soft and filled with shame. Alberta couldn’t imagine not having a family member to call during an emergency and then she was consumed with a tidal wave of guilt and depression when she wondered if her own daughter ever felt the same way as Nola did, completely alone and with no one to reach out to.
But that really wasn’t true. Nola did reach out to Sal and she and Jinx had come to visit the moment they were allowed to, after Nola was booked and went through all the proper police red tape. But why a priest and not a friend? What could a priest offer that a friend couldn’t?
Alberta almost gasped out loud when she realized the one thing that a priest could offer a parishioner that a friend couldn’t offer another friend was the code of silence. Nola could say whatever she wanted to Sal fully confident that he would never speak another word of it, her secrets and her confessions would be hermetically sealed within Sal’s memory banks and never repeated to another soul or written in a local newspaper by a young, but hungry investigative reporter. Of course Alberta knew that Sal had loose lips, but Nola wasn’t aware of his less than discretionary conduct.
When Jinx spoke it was obvious that she had also realized the rationale of Nola and Sal’s relationship.
“I . . . um . . . get why you’d want to talk to a priest, Nola, but like I said what you really need is a lawyer.”
“I don’t need a lawyer,” Nola replied, her voice a bit stronger, but still shaky. “I’m innocent.”
“Which is exactly why you need a lawyer,” Jinx cried. “Haven’t you learned that from being a cop’s girlfriend?”
Jinx’s head snapped in Alberta’s direction, and they were both wearing the same shocked expression. When they spoke, it was in unison, “Where is Kichiro anyway?”
“How should I know?” Nola snarled.
“He’s your boyfriend!”
“No he isn’t!”
Silence filled the prison cell as everyone, including Nola, took in her outburst. She looked at Jinx with a combination of anger and despair, and it appeared as if she was going to continue screaming and launch into a full tirade, but Sal intervened, not with words, but by softly touching her hand with his. It was all Nola required to swallow hard and reconsider her response. When she spoke, she did her best to appear nonchalant and unflustered, but failed. Alberta could only think that Helen had been right about her, Nola really was a terrible actress.
“We’re dating, that’s all, we’re not a couple like you and Freddy,” Nola explained. “Or like you and Mr. McLelland for that matter, Mrs. Scaglione.”
Alberta wanted to protest that she and Sloan were not a couple, but clarifying her relationship status wasn’t really a priority and she was starting to think that it didn’t matter what she said or even what she thought, the public’s perception was that she was Sloan’s girlfriend. Sometimes the court of public opinion was all that mattered. The thought did put a smile on her face, but smiling in a prison cell in front of a woman charged with first-degree murder somehow felt wrong so she immediately turned her smile into a scowl.
And Jinx tried to turn Nola’s comment inside out.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “You told me Kichiro was your boyfriend, that’s the word you used, and then you used the b-word again when you introduced him to Freddy.”
It took Alberta a moment to figure out that the b-word meant boyfriend. She was still finding it hard to believe that Kichiro and Nola were a couple. They weren’t nearly as affectionate as Freddy and Jinx. But Alberta was hardly an expert when it came to relationships so what did she know?
Nola abruptly rose from the thin, gray cot and took full advantage of the limitations of her cell by pacing from the back wall to the prison bars, all the while trying to make everyone in the room understand the truth about her relationship with Kichiro.
“Stop harping on my every word, Jinx! You know I hate that.”
“No you don’t,” Jinx spit back. “You’re an English teacher, you love words.”
“Real words! Not made up words like boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend is too a real word. So is ‘lying’ and so is ‘I don’t know what the frick you’re talking about.’ ”
“I don’t think ‘frick’ is technically a word, Jinx,” Sal said. “More like slang.”
Completely forgetting that she was trying to maintain as low a profile as possible in Father Sal’s presence, she yelled, “Shut up!” She knew it was disrespectful to yell at a priest, but perhaps it would further separate her from the saintly Sister Maria and erase any thoughts in Sal’s mind that the two women might be one and the same. Alberta had other concerns.
Instinctively, Alberta made the sign of the cross and looked up to heaven to ask God to forgive her granddaughter for yelling at a priest no matter what his reputation might be. She assumed Helen could get away with such impudent language because she had devoted herself to a life as a religious servant, but as good as Jinx was she had hardly given of herself unconditionally. Alberta wanted to make sure that neither God nor Sal would hold a grudge. Sal’s smile told her that he found Jinx to be amusing and probably as endearing as he found Helen, but since Alberta was never completely sure how God reacted to the shenanigans on earth, she started to say a silent Our Father. Unfortunately, she was distracted by the yelling and stopped before she got to the Amen.
“No I won’t forget it!” Jinx screamed. “This is too important. What’s going on between you and the cop?”
“Will you leave me alone?!” Nola yelled.
“Tell me!”
“Kichiro isn’t my real boyfriend!”
“What?” Jinx and Alberta once again asked simultaneously.
“I think you heard her,” Sal replied. “Don’t worry Nola. Parlare fuori dai denti.”
“You’re correct Father,” Alberta agreed. “It is good to speak openly and say what’s on your mind.”
“Even when what’s on your mind doesn’t make any sense?” Jinx questioned. “What do you mean Kichiro isn’t your real boyfriend?”
“He’s just . . . You know Jinx, sometimes you push too hard. He means nothing to me okay, so leave him out of this!”
Had Nola been less furious and had she been looking directly at Jinx perhaps she would’ve seen Jinx’s eyes light up. Had she seen that she would’ve understood that Jinx had absolutely no intention of leaving Kichiro out of anything.
* * *
“Kichiro, I’m so glad that you could join us.”
The detective squeezed into a booth next to Jinx and opposite Alberta at Veronica’s Diner and looked as if he was sitting in the witness box. The periwinkle blue vinyl clashed with his greenish complexion. He looked tired, agitated, and most distressing of all, guilty.
“Do you want something to eat?” Alberta asked. “My sister tells me the eggs Benedict here are much better than mine.”
“No thank you,” he replied. “I really can’t eat.”
“Are you worried about something?” Alberta asked.
Kichiro shot her a glance as if to ask if she were an idiot. “You know why I’m worried,” he said. “My girlfriend’s been arrested for murder.”
“But Nola’s not your girlfriend.”
Jinx’s comment seemed to create a complicated flurry of emotions on Kichiro’s face. First shock, then confusion, then relief. “Finally! I’m so glad she told you,” he confessed. “I know that it’s been hard on her . . . keeping our secret.”
Alberta saw that Jinx’s lips were forming to say, “What secret?” so she kicked her granddaughter gently, but firmly, underneath the table. She was continually astounded at how unrestrained and impatient young people could be, especially one who wanted to be an investigative journalist. Patience and strategy were required to get to the truth, not recklessness and haste.
“It’s definitely taking its toll,” Alberta said, opening up the small plastic contain
er of half-and-half and pouring it into her coffee. “I’m not sure what’s worse for her, being in jail or constantly lying.”
Kichiro ran his fingers through his buzz cut so fiercely the women thought that his fingers were going to draw blood and stain the orange Formica table. “I know, but it’s only for a bit longer, until she leaves her husband.”
Alberta wasn’t able to stop Jinx this time from speaking before thinking.
“Nola’s got a husband?”
“No,” Kichiro said, turning to face Jinx. When he saw her confused expression, he knew that she had been bluffing. “Nola didn’t tell you anything, did she?”
“She told us enough, Kichiro, and you told us the rest,” Alberta interrupted. “We know the two of you aren’t really dating and that it’s just a cover-up. What we don’t know is why?”
Either because he was desperate to tell someone the truth about his relationship with Nola and the secret he’d been keeping, or, as a policeman, he was programmed to be respectful to his elders, he didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Nola’s pretending to be my girlfriend because I’m dating a married woman,” Kichiro admitted. “And if word got out that she was having an affair, it would destroy her personally and professionally.”
“Not to mention what it would do to her clueless husband,” Alberta added.
“They haven’t had a real marriage for years,” Kichiro scoffed.
“How do you know that?” Jinx asked.
“Because she told me so,” Kichiro replied, somewhat defiant. “I would never destroy a marriage.”
“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” Alberta said.
Kichiro rubbed his face with his right hand and turned away from the women. His ears were turning red and since the diner was hardly overheated, Alberta knew that her words were starting a fire within the young man. Looking at him struggle to maintain his composure, Alberta was disappointed. She didn’t think Kichiro was a good boyfriend, but she had thought Kichiro was one of the good guys. Sadly, she realized that Kichiro was more like her husband, Sammy, selfish and out for himself.
“So what have you been doing while your fake girlfriend has been spending a few nights behind bars?” Alberta asked. “Shacking up with your married hussy?”
“Don’t you dare call her that!” Kichiro shouted, waving a finger in Alberta’s face.
“And don’t you dare wave your finger at me again or I’ll chop it off with this knife,” Alberta shouted back, waving a butter knife in the air. “Do you understand me, young man?”
Embarrassed, Kichiro put up his hands to use his palms as two symbolic white flags and whispered, “I’m sorry. I am just under a lot of stress lately.”
“I guarantee you that Nola’s under a lot more stress than you are right now.” Alberta said, her sympathy for Kichiro waning.
“There’s no way that Nola’s guilty. She doesn’t have a violent bone in her body,” Kichiro said. “She’ll be out of jail in no time and then my real girlfriend will leave her husband, and Nola and I can go our separate ways again and live our own lives.”
Both Jinx and Kichiro were startled by Alberta’s laughing. A few of the other patrons turned around to look at Alberta, some smiling at her, some looking at her like she had a screw loose.
“Gram, what’s so funny?”
She was laughing so hard she could hardly get the word out. “Kichiro.”
“Me? Why am I so funny?”
“Because you think that your girlfriend is going to leave her husband for you,” she said, still cackling. “You know, sometimes I really love being old. I may not be able to do everything I used to, but at least I’m not stupid.”
Trying very hard to control his anger, Kichiro looked at Alberta, his hands now folded tightly and pressing down hard on the table. “Promise me you’re not going to go all amateur detective again and butt your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Like into someone else’s marriage?” Alberta asked, for some reason relishing the chance to push a man’s buttons.
“I didn’t barge into someone’s marriage, there was no marriage to barge into, their relationship is a sham, but—”
“But what?” Jinx asked.
“But she’s in the public a lot and so . . . please, I’m asking you as a friend to let this drop,” Kichiro pleaded. “The truth will come out in good time. Trust me it always does.”
Without saying another word, Kichiro got up and left the table. Alberta watched him leave the diner. When she turned to face Jinx, all thoughts of the wayward detective were forgotten.
“What’s wrong, lovey?”
“Wyck sent me a text,” Jinx said. “Calhoun is out of town on assignment and he wants me to fly solo on the Jonas Harper murder investigation.”
“That’s terrific.”
“No it isn’t. He wants me to dig up every piece of information I can find and write a tell-all article on Nola,” Jinx conveyed, her face turning ashen. “Looks like the truth is going to come out sooner than anyone thought.”
CHAPTER 13
Dove l’allievo è disposto, apparirà l’insegnante.
“How can I destroy Nola’s life like this?” Jinx asked, slamming her laptop shut on her kitchen table.
“Because you’re her friend.”
“Forgive me, Aunt Helen, but that’s absurd.”
“No it isn’t, lovey,” Alberta replied. “It makes perfect sense.”
“Thank you, Berta.”
“You’re welcome, Hel.”
“Aunt Joyce, will you please talk some sense into these two. I think the vodka’s gone to their heads.”
“Sorry Jinx, but I agree with them,” Joyce said, sipping the eggnog-flavored vodka.
“Mamma mia!” Jinx cried.
“Your accent is getting so much better, Jinx,” Alberta remarked. “I especially like the way you held out the second to last syllable for dramatic effect.”
“She’s a quick learner that one,” Helen added. “You, Berta, not so much.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your eggs Benedict still aren’t as good as the ones I get at Veronica’s.”
“Bugiardo! ” Alberta exclaimed. “You’re a liar, Helen Ferrara! These are delizioso and you know it.”
“Delicious, yes, and better than your usual attempt,” Helen said swallowing a mouthful. “But the vinegar is still too overpowering. I don’t know how, but the diner gets the sauce just right.”
Since Jinx was on a tight deadline working on the article Wyck wanted her to write for the next edition of The Herald, she didn’t have time to go to Alberta’s for their usual Sunday dinner so Alberta, Helen, and Joyce brought dinner to Jinx. However, Alberta thought she’d mix things up and bring breakfast in the guise of dinner. She had said it reminded her of when her mother, tired of toiling in the kitchen day after day trying to come up with something new and interesting to cook for the family meal that would appeal to both her husband and her kids, would rebel and serve pancakes. Her father would always be furious, but Alberta, Helen, and their brother, Anthony, loved it because it made them feel like it was a holiday. Now, it felt like a competition.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with my hollandaise sauce and you know it.”
“Don’t be upset, Berta. It’s a very delicate balance mastering the culinary arts,” Helen replied, finishing her plate.
Alberta threw her hands up in frustration and then grabbed Helen’s plate to fill it with two more eggs. “What do you know about cooking anyway? You’re used to convent food. Anything with extra salt tastes good to you.”
“Could you two bicker later?” Jinx asked. “I’m in the middle of a moral dilemma.”
“Morals are highly overrated, Jinx,” Helen replied. “Trust the gut God gave you and you’ll never go wrong.”
“What’s your gut say, lovey?” Alberta asked.
Jinx looked at her kitchen table strewn with papers, Post-its with handwritten notes, and fi
les amid the dishes and vodka glasses, and sighed. Everything she knew and thought of her best friend and roommate was on the table. Could she really share that with the public and use it as a way to further her career? It didn’t take Jinx long to answer her own question.
“My gut says I have to write this story,” Jinx confessed. “But I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”
“Right and wrong isn’t always as black and white as the world would like us to think it is,” Helen remarked.
“On Wall Street we used to call it the Gray Zone,” Joyce said.
“What’s that?” Alberta asked.
“If a client wanted to make an investment in a new business without a track record or venture into what we considered to be risky territory, that would fall into the Gray Zone and we’d have to make a judgment call, ” Joyce explained.
“How’d you advise your clients?” Jinx asked.
Shrugging her shoulders, Joyce replied, “We’d weigh the options, have a junior trader whip up a financial analysis, and use previous deals to forecast the future. Which is a fancy way to say that we guessed.”
“Based on your gut impression?” Jinx asked.
“Exactly.”
“So you all think that my writing a tell-all exposé about Nola while she’s languishing behind bars is something that a friend should do?”
“Absolutely,” Helen said, wolfing down her third helping. “Because if you don’t do it someone else at the paper will.”
“And if someone who doesn’t know Nola writes it, it’ll be a smear campaign only focusing on the smutty, sensational bits,” Alberta added. “And not the fair and balanced article that her best friend would write.”
“Also too, Nola knows how seriously you take your career so she knows that you’ll be reporting the facts and will leave innuendo and gossip to those hacks over at The Millville Penny Saver,” Joyce said. “I don’t know why anyone would read the trash printed in that paper.”
“I have a subscription,” Helen announced.
