I signed my name and handed her the form. “Will you follow-up on this?”
She nodded. “Mr. Morgan cooperated fully when I took samples from his computer printer the other day.”
“And?”
“Same font, same type of paper. But they’re almost universal. The State Crime Lab will run a comparison.”
“How long will that take?”
“They’re pretty backed up,” she admitted. “A couple of weeks—maybe a month. Or more.”
I pushed my chair back, stood. “What about Lou Holtzinger?”
“His past is well documented. Busted for joy riding at sixteen. It’s a habit he hasn’t quite kicked. He’s been in and out of jail for the last twenty years.”
“I heard he just got out.”
“About six weeks ago.”
“I suppose he found Jesus in jail?”
She laughed. “They usually do. The First Gospel Church’s secretary said Holtzinger joined the flock through their Prisoner Outreach program. He’s got a church sponsor, and he shows up every Sunday and Wednesday for services.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s a model citizen.”
“He hasn’t stepped out of line so far.”
“What about the damage to my car?”
“No one saw him do that.”
“But we both know he did.”
“Knowing it and proving it are two entirely different things.” Her gaze was level, but her mouth hinted at an ironic smile.
Suddenly I realized why I liked Bonnie Wilder: she reminded me of Maggie. Sweet, smart, and practical.
And older than me. About the same age as my mother when she’d died.
Was I attracted to older women because my mother had been too preoccupied to show me any affection? Was I subconsciously searching for a mother substitute?
I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about a lot of things lately. Denial, thy name is Resnick.
Detective Wilder walked me to the door. “Call me if anything else happens.” She scribbled a number on the back of her business card. “If things escalate, call me at home.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
I headed for my car, wondering just how one forty-something lady detective was going to protect Brenda—and me —from further harm.
I dropped my coat off at a dry cleaner, knowing the blood might never come out. But they had a better shot at it than me. At home, I grabbed my ski jacket and headed back to Williamsville to take Emily Farrell to lunch. We met at the diner around the corner from the clinic.
She took a sip of her coffee. “Your eye looks terrible.”
“Thanks. You look swell.”
She actually blushed. “I’m supposed to discourage you.”
“Says who?”
“My friends. And Reverend Linden says you’re just using me to get information on the group.”
Caught, I didn’t blink. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re an intelligent, attractive woman. I’d like to get to know you better.” No lie there.
“You seem like a nice guy, too. But for all I know you could be a serial killer.”
“Me?”
“Well, you do believe in abortion. Murder is murder.”
Her words stung. I struggled to keep my face neutral. “Just because I walk my friend into the clinic every day doesn’t mean I believe in abortion. Does anybody really believe in abortion? The issue is choice.”
“There should be no choice.”
She was so young and suddenly I felt old. How could I make her understand?
The waitress arrived with our soup and sandwiches. I waited for her to leave.
“My father died the day before yesterday.”
Emily looked stricken. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
I waved off any further sympathy. “His doctor, my friend—” I didn’t want to go into details on my relationship with Richard. “—approved a no resuscitation order.”
“Is that what your father wanted?”
I nodded. “He’d been sick a long time. He was ready to die. It was his choice not to fight any more. But it bothered me.”
“You wouldn’t have made that choice?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “What about you?”
“I’d put my life in God’s hands,” she said without hesitation, “just like your father did. But it’s not the same thing as abortion.”
“Of course it is. It’s choosing to end a life.”
She shook her head. “There’s a natural order to things. It’s God’s gift to us.”
“God gives doctors the knowledge to prolong life—and sometimes suffering.”
“It’s the quality of life that counts,” she countered.
“Could you compare a man with crippling emphysema to a severely retarded child with catastrophic birth defects?”
Her eyes blazed. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It is,” I insisted.
“Look, I almost killed my baby. If I had my way, no one else would ever make that mistake.”
“But it should be their decision. Not yours.”
She shook her head, unwilling to listen.
I tried again. “Your baby was born healthy. What if she wasn’t? What if you’d known before she was born that something went terribly wrong. That her life would be filled with misery.”
“I would thank God every day for sending her to me. It would be my test,” she said, her voice rising.
“Your test? For what?”
“This is a circular argument,” Emily said, looking away. “You’re not going to change your mind, and I’m not going to change mine.”
I nodded tiredly. “I guess we’re both stubborn.”
Her answering smile looked strained. “Yes.”
“Then let’s drop the subject.”
“I agree.” She pushed her soup bowl away. “I’m sorry, Jeff, but I don’t think we can ever really be friends.”
“Why, because we disagree?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” What’s more, I really was.
Emily grabbed her coat and struggled into the sleeves. “Thanks for lunch.” She hadn’t eaten a bite. She picked up her hat and purse and was gone.
CHAPTER
15
Lights were already on in the kitchen of the big house, and Richard’s car was in the garage when Brenda and I arrived home. I parked my Chevy, and Brenda and I paused at the back door. She looked like a child about to be scolded.
“You better go in first,” I said.
“He’ll be upset.”
I opened the storm door. “Don’t anticipate.”
Holly barked, prancing around as Brenda made a fuss of her. Richard sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He looked up as we entered the kitchen. “You’re late,” he said as she bent to kiss him.
“We had a little trouble today,” she said.
“Trouble?” he asked.
I walked into the circle of light over the table. “Hey, Rich.”
His eyes widened at the sight of my bruised, swollen face. He shoved the paper aside. “What in God’s name happened to you?”
“Would you believe I walked into a door?”
“No. Who hit you?”
Brenda took off her jacket. “Willie.”
“What the hell—?” he exploded.
“It was a sucker punch,” I admitted.
He exhaled loudly. “Somebody better tell me what happened—”
“—Or there’ll be hell to pay,” Brenda finished.
“Is it too late to put ice on it?” I asked.
“‘Fraid so,” Brenda said.
“How’s your head? Have you had any problems?” Richard asked as he sat me in a chair, tilted my head back to get a better look at my eye. I felt like a kid again, with him playing doctor.
“Yeah, but it feels more like a sinus headache. I took a couple
of decongestants.”
“When did this happen?”
“This morning,” I answered.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“What for? So you could stew about it all day?”
He sat down again, glaring at both of us. Brenda folded her coat over her arm and headed for the closet to hang it.
“What did Willie want?” Richard asked.
“To talk to Brenda.”
“About what?”
“We never got that far. I went to the cops. There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”
Brenda returned, her face pinched with worry. “I thought about it all day, Jeffy. I want you to drop the charges.”
“Are you crazy?” Richard exploded.
“Believe me, I know what the man’s capable of. And that could be a lot worse than letting him go free.”
“Brenda, with Jeff’s history of head injuries, that one punch could have killed him—that’s murder.”
“He’d only be charged with manslaughter,” I countered. “That’s five to seven years in Attica. And thanks for reminding me how close to death I am every day.” I cleared my throat. “No, I won’t drop the charges,” I told Brenda.
“But, Jeffy—”
“Once Willie’s in custody they’ll get his fingerprints and compare them to anything they find on the letters you received. If it rules him out as a suspect, I can always drop the charges later.”
“But what if it just makes him angrier?”
“An aggravated assault charge should make him think twice about bothering you again.”
“He never paid for what he did to you,” Richard added. “It’s about time he did.”
“That was years ago,” she countered.
“But it still haunts you.”
Brenda ignored him, opened the refrigerator and studied its contents like it was the most interesting part of her day. Moments later she closed the door. “I forgot to get something out to thaw.”
“How about pasta?” I suggested. She nodded, and headed for the butler’s pantry.
The silence in that kitchen was icy.
“So, how was your day?” I asked Richard.
He got up from his chair and headed for the liquor cabinet. “Bad.” He took down a bottle of single malt scotch, found a glass, dumped in some ice from the freezer, then poured. “The only bright spot was a call from Patty.”
Anger shot through me. “What did she want?”
“To thank me for going to the funeral yesterday.”
Every muscle in my body tensed.
Richard frowned. “Jeff, will you stop judging her? She’s not Shelley. You don’t even know her. Hell, I’ve spent more time with her than you have. She’s a funny, sweet, nice person. Give her a break.”
I didn’t want to give her a break. I wanted to hate her. And why? Because she’d said something stupid and thoughtless. Like I’ve never been guilty of the same. But not only that. I hated the way she fawned over Richard. That simpering expression on a face that looked too much like my dead wife. And there were too many other things about her that bugged me, but I couldn’t put them into words.
I pushed back my chair, stood. “I gotta go.”
Brenda came back with a box of penné pasta in her hand. “You’re not staying?”
“I’ve got things to do,” I said.
Richard leaned against the counter, sipped his scotch, and didn’t say a thing. His condescending attitude was like a slap in the face—a side of him I’d never seen.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Brenda.”
“Tomorrow’s my last day,” she reminded me. “You can go back to sleeping in next week.” She crossed to the cupboard, and took out a large pot. She obviously hadn’t heard the last part of Richard’s and my conversation. “What are you and Maggie doing for dinner on Saturday? Do you want to join us?” she asked.
“I’m working all weekend.”
“Oh. Well, maybe we can do something during the week.”
“Will you be here for the security guys tomorrow morning?” Richard asked, his tone defying me to say ‘no.’
I met his steady gaze. “Yes.”
Brenda turned, looked at us, puzzled. “You guys are suddenly cranky. Did I miss something?”
Richard straightened. “No. Everything’s fine. Right, Jeff?”
I forced a smile. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I headed for the door, glad to escape.
I must’ve paced my apartment for ten or fifteen minutes, risking the nap on my rug. Why were Richard and I sniping at each other like kids? After years of being estranged, we’d finally forged a friendship. In a matter of hours, Patty had ruined what had taken months to build.
God, I hated her.
But I wasn’t the world’s best judge of character. Richard had that sterling trait sewn up, too. Although he didn’t know what Patty had said about Brenda. Or was I giving that slip of the tongue too much weight?
He and Maggie thought I should give my sister a break. Was I just being stupid—seeing things in her words and actions that simply weren’t there?
My last boss at the insurance company had said I was a good worker, but not a team player. Minutes later, I was heading for the unemployment line. Was that the basis of all my life’s problems?
And why was I torturing myself for Patty’s faults?
Because I felt guilty. For using Emily, for not anticipating Willie’s right hook. For all the problems in the world.
I never wanted to see Patty again. But she had information I wanted—no, needed.
I grasped the phone, punched in her number.
“Hello?”
“Patty, it’s Jeff.”
“Oh. Hi.” She wasn’t overjoyed. “I was going to call you. I’m going through some of Dad’s things. I thought you might like to have something of his.”
“Well, I—” Caught off-guard, I didn’t know what to say. The old man didn’t have anything of value. Did she mean his watch or something? “Sure. That would be nice.”
“Can you come over now? We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.”
Silence.
“See you in a while.” She hung up.
The light outside Patty’s front door blazed, illuminating the house numbers as I pulled up the drive. I got out of the car and pulled up the collar of my jacket. Stars shone weakly through the haze of city light. I knocked.
Moments later, Patty threw open the door. “You got here quick. I—oh my god, what happened to your face?”
I brushed past her into the house. “Nothing. Just a fight.”
“Looks like you lost.”
“I did.”
She closed the door. “Did it happen at the bar?”
“No. Can we drop it?”
The corners of her mouth twisted with irritation.
“Are you okay?” I asked, more out of courtesy than a desire to know her emotional state.
“The place feels empty with Dad gone. I really can’t stand being here alone.”
She hadn’t waited long to erase his presence, either. Stacks of cardboard cartons filled the living room. I followed her into my father’s cleaned-out bedroom, which now resembled a cheap motel room. How many years had he slept there? The walls still vibrated with his aura, something she was totally unaware of.
“What’ll you do with the house?”
“Sell it. I don’t want to deal with the upkeep. I’ll be lucky to get enough for a down payment on a condo.”
The silence dragged as she sorted through a pile of clothes. I searched for more small talk.
“What happened with that guy who crashed Aunt Ruby’s?”
“Ray? He’s harmless. Everything’s straightened out now,” she said.
That was the end of that topic. I cleared my throat. “I was hoping you could answer some questions. You seem to know a lot about—” I still found it hard to say the word, “Dad’s life before he met your mother.”
“He didn’t say mu
ch. But I know he was very bitter toward Richard’s grandparents.”
“So was my mother. She never told me why they broke up. Neither did Dad.”
“It was the kidnap plot, of course,” she said, folding a sweater and putting it into a carton.
Bingo!
“Kidnap plot?” I asked innocently, yet every muscle in my body had gone taut.
“Your mother wanted to grab Richard and go to Canada.”
“My mother?” I blurted.
She nodded. “Dad said she had mental problems. Richard was a teenager, but she kept thinking of him as a baby. She wasn’t rational.”
Why did her words hold such a ring of truth?
“Dad couldn’t leave the business,” she continued conversationally. “He was just starting to make a go of it.”
“So instead he left my mother?”
She nodded, calmly folding a shirt and putting it in the box. The story held no emotion for her—it was tearing me apart.
“Why didn’t he take me with him?”
“I suppose because he loved her.” Her eyes softened at my puzzled expression. “She’d already lost one child. He couldn’t very well take you from her, too. But I know he regretted not having you come live with us when your mother died. He did it to spare my mother. I was glad, too. I liked being an only child.”
I’ll bet.
Patty opened a drawer and grabbed something. “Here.” She placed a gold ring in my palm. “It’s Dad’s wedding band from his first marriage. I figured you might want it.”
I turned away, let my fingers close over the ring, waiting for a burst of emotion, but there was none. My father hadn’t worn it in years. It meant nothing to him. My wedding band from Shelley also sat in a drawer, but every time I looked at it my anger still swelled.
“Richard sure is a sweetheart,” Patty said. “Having him for a brother must be great.”
“Yeah.”
And having me for a brother wasn’t.
“Doesn’t Richard like white women?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
“What?” I asked, startled.
“Does he prefer black women?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I only met one of his other—” How should I put it? “—girlfriends. I don’t think race has anything to do with it. He loves her. She’s a helluva woman.”
Cheated By Death Page 17
