by Nancy Martin
Arden avoided looking at Barbie, who was no doubt staring at Arden with deep disappointment for forgetting how perfect Tiki’s memory could be, particularly where art was concerned. His mind was the proverbial steel trap for details—dates, artists, materials, everything. He’d grown up in a family of museum folk and studied anatomy and painting at Brown—emphasis more on American female anatomy, of course. Arden had a vague memory of sketching Dodo’s statue for him once, with the Rhode Island moonlight streaming in her window.
“Uh, yes, Tiki, as a matter of fact, it’s that statue I’m calling about. You see—”
He crowed with pleasure. “I’m delighted, Arden! Your family is ready to give it back!”
“Actually, I’m just hoping to learn a little more about—”
He wasn’t listening. “I can be on the next plane. I work with my uncle Christos now at the Ministry of Antiquities. Oh, he’ll be overjoyed! It will be a coup for us to recover such a masterpiece!”
“It’s not exactly in my possession at the moment—”
“No? Well, we’ll get it for you. We have the power to seize Greek property now, did you know? Well, at least we can kick up a fuss, draw attention. International scrutiny, you see. It’s as simple as alerting Interpol, and they take care of all the legalities. Even the inevitable squabble with the State Department. I can get Interpol on the other line right away.”
Arden’s heart had begun to pump hard enough to send a rocket into orbit. Already, things had gotten out of control.
“We can be there in a trice,” Tiki said. “Maybe the FBI will join us. Wouldn’t that make all the newspapers? A grand photo op! It will be an international triumph!”
Or an international scandal, Arden thought with dread.
18
Roxy picked up Nooch on the sidewalk outside his house, glad she didn’t have to ring the doorbell. His grandmothers were legendary for hating each other. They conked each other with frying pans and broomsticks, inflicting damage that frequently ended in ambulances. Repeated citations for domestic disputes finally required a clear division of labor in the household. One night Nooch’s nonna cooked spaghetti and meatballs. The next night, his bubbe made pierogies. The grandmothers still squabbled all day long in their respective languages, but the police weren’t needed as often.
Except for Nooch and his uncle Stosh, all his male relatives were in jail. Neighbors claimed they committed their crimes to get away from the grandmothers.
“Feeling better?” Roxy asked when Nooch climbed into her truck.
“I’m okay.” He yawned like a lion who’d just awakened from a three-day snooze.
“Have you heard from Kaylee lately?”
He frowned, flummoxed by the simple question. “Huh?”
“I’ll take that for a no. I have to go see her.”
“She sleeps late. And she hates to be waked up.”
With no desire to cope with Kaylee’s temper so early in the day, Roxy said, “Okay, after lunch we’ll go see her.”
Glad Nooch didn’t bug her with a bunch of questions, Roxy drove down to the yard, and Rooney greeted her with delight. Roxy herded Nooch into the warehouse, where he wrestled the griffin fireplace from the Hyde mansion onto the handcart. Together, they loaded it onto the back of the truck just as sunshine broke through the clouds. Roxy lashed it down with bungee cords, and they got back into the cab of the truck. Rooney jumped in, too.
“Where we going?” Nooch asked, sitting as close to the window as possible to stay away from the dog.
Roxy said, “I’m not telling, because I don’t want you getting hysterical again.”
“When did I get hysterical?”
“Never mind.”
“Oh, wow! Are we gonna see Lapraxo again? Oh, wow! Oh, wow!”
“We are not seeing Lapraxo! Probably, that is. So calm down.”
But Nooch was bouncing in his seat at the thought of meeting his hero, professional football player Lapraxo DuPree. Rooney began to bark as Nooch crowed, “I want his autograph! I wanna shake his hand! I wanna see his Super Bowl ring!”
“Get a grip, will you? First we have to find his house. Damn, I hate the suburbs.”
Roxy found her way out of the city and into a far-flung burb where every house was built to impress the hell out of the Joneses. While Nooch chattered on about his favorite Steeler, she got lost twice and was cursing up a storm as she roared through the labyrinthine streets.
“All these McMansions look the same to me,” she snapped. “All the same, ugly sprawl. I feel like that kid who went up to Alaska and just kept walking until he found a school bus and died of starvation.”
Nooch halted his gush of praise for Lapraxo long enough to look puzzled. “Why didn’t he drive the school bus to get something to eat?”
“It wasn’t that kind of bus. And where do they get these stupid names? Buckingham Way? Northumberland Lane? Some developer must be hoping for a knighthood from the queen.”
“I think it’s real pretty. A guy like Lapraxo shouldn’t have to live in the city anymore.”
“What are you all of a sudden? A social worker?”
“I’m just sayin’, a guy has enough money, he ought to have some trees and playgrounds without needles on the ground.”
Finally, Roxy found the right cul-de-sac perched on the rolling curves of a golf course. Houses under construction lined the circle. Rooney clambered into Nooch’s lap to stick his head out the window. With his tongue hanging out, the dog slurped up the suburban smells, maybe looking for a sexy poodle.
One house looked like a Moorish palace that was being constructed by the same people who built McDonald’s restaurants. Twin minarets on either side of the front door were clad in vinyl. The shutters bore the initials DuP.
Standing impatiently on the mud-packed driveway, an ex-fashion model in a fur coat tapped the toe of her pointy shoe and glared at her watch. “Where have you been?”
Roxy slid out of the truck, wondering only for a second what might happen if she kicked mud up on a fur coat purchased by a Heisman Trophy winner who’d once been arrested for beating up his mother.
She slammed the door before Rooney could jump out and pasted on a friendly smile. It took a monumental effort, especially after Nooch scrambled out of the truck and began scoping out the site, hoping for a glimpse of Lapraxo. But Roxy doubted the famous running back would be caught dead spreading Weed ’N’ Feed on his own lawn.
Roxy approached her client. “I stopped to pick up something for you, Shanna. I think you’re going to love it.”
Shanna DuPree narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “What is it?”
“The fireplace of your dreams. Take a look.”
The trophy wife of Lapraxo DuPree had been serving as her own building contractor for at least a year. Which only meant the job was taking twice as long as it should. All the tradesmen on the project were delighted Shanna kept changing her mind, because they charged her over and over again for essentially the same work. Also, most of them hung around hoping to meet Lapraxo. Today a panel truck marked with the logo of a plaster company sat parked near the house.
Roxy led Shanna around to the back of her truck and unfastened the tarp protecting the soapstone fireplace they’d pulled out of the Hyde mansion. With some luck, Roxy might sell the statue to Shanna and be done with it. Maybe not for what it was worth, but enough. But first, she had to finesse her customer a little.
Shanna leaned over the tailgate from a distance that assured she wouldn’t get her coat dirty. She eyed the fireplace. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? It’s stone from France! Hand carved, too.”
Shanna rubbed her forehead as if the strain of thinking was too much. “Are those supposed to be lions?”
“They’re griffins. Mythical beasts. Half lion, half dragon or something. See the claws? And it’s beautiful workmanship. Just the thing to give your family room some pizzazz.”
Shanna shook her blond hair extensions very firmly. “It’s not a family room
. It’s a great room. And I don’t want pizzazz. I want elegance.”
“How much more elegant can you get than French carving?”
“Oh, my God!” Shanna suddenly took a step back from the truck. “I know that fireplace. It came out of Julius Hyde’s house, didn’t it?”
“How did you—?” Roxy decided to fall back on her professional policy of keeping her mouth shut whenever possible, and she swallowed her involuntary question. “Yeah, it came from the Hyde mansion. Which only means it’s top quality. Look, Shanna, you need a little vision. It needs some polish, that’s all. I know just the guy who can buff it up.”
“I don’t care how much buffing you can get, I’m not buying a fireplace from a dead guy—certainly not Julius! My husband would kill me.”
Roxy couldn’t help herself. “You knew Julius?”
Shanna gathered the folds of her fur coat closer. “Of course we knew him. He came to a charity fund-raiser at the Hilton one night. My husband does them all the time, and Julius was—he was rude as hell. Grabbed my boob in an elevator.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! The man was a pig. If Lapraxo had known that night, he’d have flattened Julius’s face.”
“Julius must have charmed you back to his house, though, if you recognize this fireplace.”
Shanna managed to convey anger without the use of her Botoxed muscles. “If you say that to anyone, I’ll sue.”
“Take it easy,” Roxy said. One look at Shanna’s suppressed panic said there was more to the story. “I didn’t know Julius was like that.”
“Give the man a martini and he tried to pork every woman in sight. He was one of those guys who think inheriting a few million dollars gives them the right to do anything they please. Add alcohol, and he was disgusting. I’m glad he’s dead. At least my husband will finally stop talking about beating him up.”
Nooch said, “Is Lapraxo around?”
An expert at ignoring big men with dumb questions, Shanna said, “Everybody thinks Julius Hyde was some kind of philanthropic prince, but that was all his wife’s work. I liked Monica. She was always nice, and she looked good. But Julius deserved that lowlife slut he was shacked up with.”
Kaylee was no prize, but Roxy suddenly wanted to bop Shanna on her surgically perfect nose for taking the side of a woman whose big claim to fame was giving away her husband’s dough and keeping her hair combed.
Roxy managed to say, “Why don’t you take another look at the fireplace?”
Shanna snicked her tongue. “I don’t like it. I want something really classy, not a bunch of animals, okay? It’s not a children’s room, it’s a great room. That means everything needs to be great. You have to keep looking.”
Roxy had already made three trips to show architectural materials to this gum-cracking trophy wife of a jealous millionaire Neanderthal. Nothing was going to please her.
But Roxy fought down her exasperation. “Okay, sure. That’s what you pay me to do, right?”
“I don’t know,” Shanna said. “So far, you haven’t demonstrated an understanding of my taste.”
Of course Roxy understood Shanna’s taste. She wanted gigantic and obnoxious. If Roxy could find a giant Mickey Mouse straight from fucking Disney World—that’s what Shanna would grab in a heartbeat.
Roxy tried another strategy. “Well, if you’ve got somebody else in mind—someone who works cheaper—I understand completely.”
“I’m not looking for cheaper,” Shanna said quickly. “I just want to see some results.”
“Quality takes time.” Roxy pulled the tarp back down over the fireplace. “But I have a couple more ideas up my sleeve. I just don’t want you to be shocked at the price tags.”
“You can’t shock me.”
Shanna used that as her parting shot before she headed back to her Hummer, mincing across the mud in her silly shoes.
Grinding her teeth, Roxy climbed back into the Monster Truck and started the engine. Rooney licked her face for consolation.
Nooch got into the truck, glum with disappointment. “She’s never going to buy anything.”
“Yes, she will. She just needs the right kind of nudge. And then I hope she wanders out on an ice floe, and gets mistaken for a baby seal and beaten to death.”
“Did you tell her about that naked statue?”
Surprised that Nooch remembered it, she said, “No. She doesn’t deserve it. Besides, now I’m thinking we shouldn’t sell it locally, you know? Obviously, Julius had a lot of people in his house. Eventually, somebody will recognize the statue and start asking the wrong questions. I need a new plan.”
Nooch sighed. “I was hoping to see Lapraxo.”
“We’ll try again.”
He perked up. “Yeah? Soon?”
“Soon,” Roxy promised.
“Is it lunchtime yet?”
Roxy made a detour into a suburban fast-food drive-through—it was much cleaner than the one in the city—and bought Nooch a couple of sandwiches with a supersized order of French fries. For Rooney, she bought a hamburger, no condiments. Pickles did bad things to Rooney’s digestion.
Driving while they ate, Roxy said, “I’ve been thinking about your hearing.”
“Mmph?”
“We definitely need a couple more character witnesses. People who like you. Upstanding citizens. Got any ideas?”
Around a mouthful of fries, Nooch said, “What about Flynn? He’s upstanding.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s got a record. It’s old, but it’s still on the books.”
“What books?”
“Never mind. Not Flynn. Who else do we know?”
Nooch scrunched his face in concentration and finally said, “I know the lady at the bank where I cash my checks.”
“You go to the same bank teller every week?”
“Yeah, she shows me where to write my name.”
“No, we need somebody who knows you more intimately. Somebody who likes you. A friend.” She added, “A friend who hasn’t been arrested for anything.”
Nooch said, “I don’t have any friends like that. Except Sage.”
“Sage isn’t old enough.” Reminded, Roxy checked her watch. Too early to call Sage yet. She’d still be in school.
The little alarm bell beeped on the truck’s dashboard. The gas gauge blinked—almost empty. Fortunately, Roxy thought of a stop she could make that might result in some much-needed gas money.
She pulled into the rutted parking lot of an old church scheduled to be demolished to make room for a highway. There, Roxy left Rooney in the truck and took Nooch for a stroll past the trucks of a bunch of other scavengers who’d also come to check out the church. Roxy gave the building a once-over. The Gothic arched windows might be worth saving if Nooch could wrestle them out of their mooring without breaking anything … including his neck.
“You want the pews?” asked the sad-faced volunteer standing inside with a clipboard. He might have been part of the small but stubborn Croatian community that had kept the old church going for generations.
Pews were a dime a dozen. “No, thanks. What moron smashed the front door?” Roxy nodded at the splintered remains of a handsome mahogany doorway—another Gothic arch decorated with the lives of saints, but now sporting the kind of damage inflicted only by heavy machinery.
The volunteer winced at the damage. “Some kids hot-wired a backhoe in the parking lot and rammed it around for an hour before the cops showed up. Maybe you could fix it?”
“For what? Firewood?”
He sighed. “I’ll take your bid for the big windows. A couple other people want them, too. But there’s a small stained-glass panel in the lavatory behind the nave. Did you see it? It’s too small to interest anybody else. It’s got a shepherdess with a flock of lambs.”
“I’ll take a look.” Finally, Roxy let herself feel sorry for the volunteer. “Thanks.”
The window was pretty. Easy to remove, too. The volunteer gave her permission, a
nd she wrote him a check. A check that was going to bounce if he beat her to the bank. But the window was an item Roxy knew she could flip fast. In half an hour, Nooch was carrying the little window out to the truck. Roxy went looking for some bubble wrap under the driver’s seat.
What she found was the package of money from Carmine.
“Shit,” she said to herself. She couldn’t keep driving around with all that cash in the truck. She needed to hurry up and decide what to do with it. On the other hand, she could really use the dough. She peeled off a hundred.
She pushed the rest of the money back under the seat and took the bubble wrap to Nooch. Together, they made a neat business of protecting the window.
Back in the truck, she tried calling Sage. No luck. Roxy checked her watch. School should be over by now. But Sage wasn’t answering. Had she decided to skip her meeting?
The truck’s engine was sucking on fumes by the time she pulled into a gas station near the Thirty-first Street Bridge. Nooch climbed out of the truck to pump the gas, so Roxy strolled into the convenience store inside the garage. She checked out the aisles and found a home pregnancy test. She read the expiration date and was glad to see the test hadn’t lost its potency five years ago. She took it to the cash register.
Pepper Patrone was counting cash on the cracked glass counter, but stopped at the sight of the box.
“Whoa. What’s that about, girlfriend?”
“It’s not for me, Pepper.” Roxy plunked Carmine’s C-note down on the counter. “So don’t start any nasty rumors.”
Pepper laughed wheezily. She sold cigarettes by the carton, but her best customer was herself. She had one cigarette slowly burning on the windowsill and another on her lip.
Pepper had grown up in the neighborhood and—a pretty and petite little fireball with a cute butt and a red ponytail—was voted Most Likely to Marry Before Graduation. But she defied all predictions and ran off to join the army instead. When she returned, her hair buzzed in a crew cut, Pepper announced she was a lesbian and moved in with a beautiful young woman just out of college who taught kindergarten somewhere on the South Side. Pepper took over her dad’s garage and did a good business in gas, tires, oil changes, and cigarettes.
