“Wow!” Sylvia answered. “That’s a pretty good offer,” she bantered, “but where are you going to get the cheesesteaks?” she asked, “as far as I know, the electric is still off in town.”
“Baby,” he replied in an affected Jersey accent, “you’re talking to a guy from Jersey. I can cook a cheesesteak blindfolded,” he told her. His affected and funny accent pronounced “Jersey” like “joysie.”
Sylvia laughed. “Be there in a few,” she told him.
Sylvia put on her boots, coat, scarf and mittens and started towards Tony’s house.
Marian and Jon were correct; it was starting to get icy. She carefully picked her way to Tony’s house, sliding here than there. Sylvia breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to Tony’s doorstep. Out of breath from the trek down the snowy and icy street, Sylvia rang the bell and knocked on the door.
Tony answered with a smile. He had changed into a black turtleneck and black jeans accessorized with a sexy five o’clock shadow. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, his beard gently scratching her cheek before he gestured her inside and padded quickly back to the kitchen in his bare feet. The fragrance of peppers, onions and steak assaulted her senses as she followed him into the kitchen. Sylvia shed her coat and laid it on the couch on her way to the kitchen. Tony had rushed ahead and was at the grill on the stove flipping and chopping madly at the innards of a Philadelphia Cheese Steak sandwich. Rolls lay waiting; cheese was on the counter ready to be added to the savory mixture. Sylvia also noticed a fryer nearby that was bubbling and full of French fries. Her mouth watered. Tony motioned for her to sit down. He had opened two beers and they were waiting, sweating from their chilled state in the warm room. She picked one up and took a sip.
“I’ll be finished here in a minute,” Tony told her.
He was wholly concentrating on the sautéing meat and vegetables. He added the cheese and folded it into the steak and vegetable mixture, pulled out the French fries from the oil and drained them on paper towels. In a minute there was a large cheese steak sandwich on a plate with accompanying fries.
“Can you grab the ketchup?” he asked Sylvia.
She jumped up and brought the ketchup to the table. They both tore into their sandwiches with gusto.
After a couple of bites, Sylvia said “These are amazing, Tony! Yum!”
Tony agreed that they were good. As they ate, the sun began to set. The sunsets at Bayside were usually spectacular, but the winter sunsets were usually an amazing site. Tonight the sky was a flaming fuchsia pink with peach and orange highlights at the edges. The water darkened from slate to Prussian blue. Sylvia looked up from her dinner and her breath caught in her throat at the beauty of the sunset. Her mind drifted to remembering other sunsets in the past year.
“Will you look at that,” she said softly.
Tony looked up as well and then studied her. Finally he raised his beer to her to clink the bottles. “To more sunsets at Bayside,” he said solemnly.
Sylvia was startled out of her daydream. She clinked her bottle against his and nodded.
“It’s paradise here,” she said, “isn’t it? Aren’t we lucky?”
“Definitely,” Tony agreed. He coughed a little and took a swig of beer.
“I found out his name,” he said quietly.
Sylvia had been still staring at the sunset while slowly munching on a French fry.
“Hmm?” she first queried until his words sunk in. “What?” she finally asked, swallowing hard.
“I think I have learned the name of Joyce’s lover,” Tony said, grimacing. “How?” was the only word Sylvia was able to muster.
Tony sighed, “From the excruciating evidence of everyday ephemera,” he said.
Sylvia looked puzzled.
“Bits of paper,” Tony said, “things scribbled and put in purses, pockets, drawers. You know,” he said, “the trash and treasure of our everyday lives. I found the name “Kenny” scribbled on a piece of paper in her one winter coat. It was the coat she was wearing just before Christmas.”
“So you think this is the guy that murdered her?” Sylvia asked. “Have you talked to Joe or the police?”
“I’m assuming Kenny is her lover,” Tony said, “but, I don’t really know and…” he paused, “you know what they say about assuming.”
“But, I think you should call Joe and tell him,” she said. “How did you find it anyway?” she asked.
“I’ve had to go through all of Joyce’s things,” he said. “It’s been difficult to sort through all of those little things we take for granted. What a mess it is for the people they leave behind. I hate it,” he ended vehemently.
Sylvia thought of Gran’s house. The bulk of papers and ephemera were disposed prior to Gran’s death. Gran and her mother had had the time to go through things during Gran’s illness. Occasionally Sylvia would find a scrap of something that would bring the sharp, bittersweet pang of loss. She thought of her own purses and pockets. What did they say about her? But she was curious about Joyce.
“What all did you find?” Sylvia asked.
Tony looked down before he answered. “Not so much as I would have hoped,” he said. “Just ‘stuff.’ You know, make up, some receipts. I don’t know. Joyce lived for ‘stuff.’ She was an excellent consumer,” he said sarcastically. “Spending money was more than just a hobby for her, it was an art form.”
Sylvia glanced down at the table. She noticed Tony’s hands were gripped around a napkin so tightly that it nearly tore. She didn’t know what to say to him. She felt very sorry for him and tears of pity pricked at her eyelids.
“Let’s stop talking about this,” Tony said to her. His eyes were two pleading liquid pools of brown.
Sylvia nodded. “What movie are we watching?” she asked.
Tony grinned, “I have the old and the new “Sabrina” to watch tonight,” he told her. “Have you seen them?”
“Love them,” Sylvia replied, “but, I don’t like the old one so much anymore.”
“Why?” he asked as he carried their plates to the dishwasher.
“I read somewhere that there was a huge rift between Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart because of the film,” she told him, “Bogie wanted Lauren Bacall to play the part. When it didn’t work out, he was very unhappy,” Sylvia paused before continuing, “and after I read that, I looked at the film and could see the stiffness between the two actors. Of course, it’s still a fine film.”
Tony took this in. “The new “Sabrina” it is, then,” he said. “C’mon, we have a date with a movie.”
They went back to his home theater to settle in to watch the new “Sabrina” with Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond. They settled into chairs and Tony dimmed the lights. Julia Ormond’s voice came through the speakers as the opening credits panned across a mansion on the North shore of Long Island. Sylvia glanced at Tony. He was glowering at the screen with his fists tightly clenched. Sylvia tried to relax and watch the film, but was distracted by Tony’s aura of anger and frustration. His aura bumped up against her like a small insistent breeze. Uncomfortably, she watched the movie. When it ended with Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford kissing on a bridge in Paris, Sylvia cleared her throat. It seemed to wake up Tony from his dark thoughts.
“I don’t think I would like to be as rich as the Larrabees,” she commented.
Tony laughed a small, bitter laugh. “Aren’t you something,” he said. “Joyce would have said the opposite.”
“How did you meet her?” Sylvia asked, curious.
“Atlantic City,” Tony said matter of factly. “She was down for a girls’ weekend. I was just hanging out for something to do,” he told her. “I think she was looking for an older sugar daddy type, but decided to cozy up to me.” He paused before he went on remembering. “Joyce was one of those women who glittered, even without her beloved diamonds,” he said. “She looked and walked like something off of a runway.” He shook his head. “Now, I’m wondering if she ever loved me or if she just used me.
”
Sylvia was at a loss for words.
“You know Joyce thought she should channel a combination between Britney Spears and Paris Hilton,” he told her.
“Ugh,” escaped softly from Sylvia’s lips. “Not my choice of heroines,” she told him.
“That’s a good thing,” he said with bitter humor in his voice.
Sylvia felt uncomfortable. There was something too raw aboutTony’s emotion. She felt as though she had been stripped down, too, like the bark from a twig. The silence was not comfortable.
“I think I best get home,” she told Tony. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and let herself out. Tony had not moved, but stayed in his seat, obviously remembering something painful.
She picked up her coat and put on her boots and let herself out the front door. Things had frozen and the world glittered brightly. The stars were brilliant dots of brightness in the black sky. The road looked like glass. Sylvia slipped and slid and ended up crunching with huge steps in the piles of frozen snow at the edge of the road. The conversations about Joyce bothered her. Sylvia wondered if Tony had shared this information with the police. Would it be out of line for her to call Joe? She was a mass of emotions. The beauty of the wintry evening was lost with her thoughts. If this ‘Kenny’ was a possible lead, she thought the police should know about it. Out of breath she reached her door. Percy greeted her with a happy bark.
“Okay, boy,” she told him, “but we’re going to crunch about in the yard.”
Sylvia had a canister of pet safe ice melt near the door. She told Percy to stay on the landing and sprinkled it liberally at the bottom of the steps and around the driveway before having him come down the steps. They walked round to the front of the house that faced the water. The water glittered inky black like faceted spinel beads. The sparkles echoed the stars in the sky and Sylvia sighed at the beauty. Percy was cold. He yipped at her waking her from the mesmerizing sight, and she turned to take him inside.
After relieving Percy of his leash, Sylvia took off her wet boots and jeans and scurried upstairs to put on warm sweatpants, socks and slippers. Warmer and cozier she went back downstairs and poured herself a glass of red wine. She had resolved in the last few minutes that Joe should know the new information. She dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. She left a message telling him to please call her as soon as he possibly could and went to the study to watch some television. She surfed through shopping channels and sitcoms, unable to settle on anything. She ended up watching the weather channel. The Nor’easter was still big news. Various levels of destruction and interviews with distraught people peppered the program. Sylvia was shocked to see the horrible photographs and videos of downed trees, wrecked cars and neighborhoods still bereft of electricity. Her phone rang. It was Joe.
“Hi, Joe,” she answered.
“Sylvia,” Joe asked, concerned, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she told him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Relief apparent in his voice he asked, “What’s up?”
Sylvia hesitated trying to put her thoughts into words.
“Sylvia?” Joe asked again, “What is the matter?”
“Joe,” she started, “I think I need to talk to you about Joyce’s murder,” she said, “and I don’t know whether or not I’m overstepping my bounds.”
“Okay,” he said, “how do you want to do this?”
“Can we meet and talk,” she started and then paused, “just as friends talking; then maybe you can tell me what I should do with the information.”
He paused this time. “All right,” he said, “Thurmont’s closed tomorrow, correct?”
“Yes,” she answered, “I’m free all day.”
“Well, I’m working the night shift, but I could pick you up in the morning we could go out to breakfast,” he told her. “How is that?”
She gave a sigh of relief. “That sounds great,” she said.
“Good,” he said assuredly. “I get off at seven tomorrow morning. I’ll take a quick shower and pick you up.”
“Thanks,” she said with relief. ‘That would be great.”
“It will be all right, Sylvia,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“Have a safe night,” she told him.
They hung up. He was so nice. She almost wished she felt differently about him.
Exhaustion enveloped her like a heavy, warm sleeping bag.
“C’Mon, Percy,” she said, “let’s get back to our own bed in our own house,” she told him as she turned off the television and the lights.
Sylvia double checked to make sure the doors were locked and Percy waited anxiously by the stairs. He gave an impatient little bark.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” she told him.
She placed her empty wine glass in the dishwasher and headed up the stairs with Percy bounding ahead of her. She smiled. He was full of doggy joy and excitement about being home. She knew exactly how he felt.
Chapter 28
The awareness of our own strength makes us modest.
Paul Cezanne
Sylvia heard Joe’s big truck turn into her driveway. Percy barked one sharp bark and went to the door wagging his tail. She opened the door to a chilly breeze coming off the water. Joe came up the steps and gave her a hug just inside the door.
“Thanks so much,” Sylvia said. “Do you need a cup of coffee before we go?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” he said, “Let’s head into town.”
He helped her inside the cab of his big charcoal gray truck. Sylvia felt she was climbing onto a large horse. She was glad they were in his car as they maneuvered up the road and into town. It had been plowed and salted, but the weak, wintry morning sun, albeit bright, had not started on the snowmelt yet. Joe was quiet on the way into town, concentrating on getting there safely. Sylvia could feel the big truck slip a little bit on some spots of ice. Street parking was minimal and Joe pulled into the town parking lot.
“I hope you don’t mind walking a little bit,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not at all,” she replied.
Sylvia slid out of the truck. Her one foot slipped a little bit on some frozen snow. Joe caught her by the elbow and held her up as she grabbed for the door of the truck.
“Thanks,” she said.
Thankfully the sidewalks were very clear in town. Joe helped her at the curb when they needed to cross the street and step through and over a large mound of snow. The local restaurant was full as usual. Sylvia briefly wondered if, like the Chinese restaurant, she would see raised eyebrows when she arrived with Joe.
“Morning, Joe,” greeted the young woman whom Sylvia thought looked like the Mona Lisa.
“Hi, Gia,” he said.
“Two?” she asked, nodding to Sylvia.
Sylvia nodded back, and Gia gathered menus and took them to a table.
Sylvia wasn’t sure of the history of the restaurant, but there was the original counter, a small dining room and some unusual alcoves where diners could sit. There was also a second dining room that had obviously been part of the duplex home that the restaurant was originally part of. Nautical themes and pictures of the bay dotted the walls at intervals. In one corner a tall, handmade wooden lighthouse sent out a weak beam to customers.
“Gia,” Joe asked, “Can we sit in the alcove?”
Gia nodded and led the way. She put the menus down and went to get coffee... When she returned with two large, white crockery mugs and poured the steaming brew inside she asked what they wanted to eat.
Joe said, “my usual, please.”
Sylvia opted for an omelet over her usual pancakes that morning. She wrapped her fingers around the thick mug and took a sip of coffee as Gia walked away. Here they were. Now she wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Joe. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She wasn’t sure Joe noticed. He was looking around the restaurant, nodding at a few people and then gave a huge yawn before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I feel badly,” Sylvia said. “You’ve been up all night working and now you’re here for breakfast.”
Joe shrugged. “The night detail is all part of the job,” he said. “Sleep is often not an option.”
“You must really crash on your days off,” she remarked.
He nodded, “Trust me, not much can wake me after a few days of swing shift”
“What did you want to want to talk to me about?” he asked.
Sylvia shifted in her seat uncomfortably again. She took another swallow of coffee.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, “I’m not sure what’s right, but I was at Tony’s house yesterday to watch a movie. He said he thinks he found the name of Joyce’s murderer!” It all came out in a rush. “He seems so tortured, you know,” Sylvia said, “going through Joyce’s stuff at all of their houses. I think he’s going to call you at the station, but I wasn’t sure. And, I wasn’t sure what to do,” she said. “I mean, if this would help find the murderer, it’s good to talk to the police, right? That’s what makes sense to me.”
“Absolutely,” Joe said, “If you didn’t, you would be withholding information and that is against the law.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sylvia said miserably. “I guess I thought it was weird Tony didn’t jump at the chance to call you, but he is so caught up in Joyce’s memories,” she told him. “He called it the ‘excruciating evidence of everyday ephemera.’”
Sylvia paused for a breath as Gia and an assistant brought two large trays of food. Sylvia’s eyes widened when she saw the trays. Gina placed a generous omelet oozing with cheese and mushrooms in front of Sylvia and a side plate with home fries and a biscuit. Joe had plates of eggs, potatoes, toast, sausage, bacon and a grilled cinnamon roll.
“More coffee?” Gia asked. Both nodded and moved their cups closer for Gia to fill them.
“So what’s this person’s name?” Joe asked her, but just then Sylvia’s cell phone rang.
She looked at the caller id. It was Owen.
“Excuse me,” she said in a surprised voice to Joe, “It’s Owen.”
The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series Page 24
