Foxy Roxy

by Nancy Martin

  “All I know is that we talked. I wanted—I asked him for money for the new treasure hunt. For the Spanish ship that went down in the Caribbean. But he didn’t want to float me anymore. He said I should talk to Quentin.”

  “Fast-forward. You already told me this stuff. Who else did you see that night?”

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Do you think I care? Who else did you see, damn it?”

  “You. Those morons in the kitchen.”

  “The Delaneys. And the demolition guys?”

  “Ouch! That’s sharp! Yes, them, and Quentin and Kaylee and—”

  “Wait, who? Quentin?”

  “My brother Quentin, yes.”

  “He was there? At the house the night Julius died?”

  “I told you that before.”

  “The hell you did.”

  “I told somebody. And Paxton was at the house, too.”

  “Paxton? Henry Paxton?” Roxy paused, thinking. “When did you think you might mention all this to me?”

  “It was none of my business! Whatever Quentin and Julius talked about, it had nothing to do with me.”

  “What about Paxton?”

  “Huh?”

  The favorite word of all the men in my life. “Was Paxton there to see Julius?”

  “Yeah, yeah, he was there. Look, Roxy, I left Julius that night. I didn’t stick around to ask any questions. Honest, I’m telling the truth. I didn’t kill him.”

  “What did you have going with Kaylee?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Kaylee were scamming somebody, right? The night Julius died, she came bawling in here and you told her you needed to be careful. What was that about?”

  “Nothing.”

  Roxy upended the bottle and poured it over Trey’s head. He cried out, choked, and shook his hair. “Okay, okay! We were seeing each other a little. You know—on the side. We didn’t want Julius to find out. She was passing a few things to me—for cash I could use for my expeditions.”

  She tossed the knife onto the bed, abruptly conscious of what she’d been doing. The bottle slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a crash. Liquid splashed. Glass broke in chunks.

  Where had she heard that sound before?

  Pop, of course. He’d used bottles as weapons. Blunt force. Or sometimes breaking the glass and brandishing the shards. Mama screaming. Pleading. Offering herself.

  Trey snuffled up his tears.

  Roxy put her hands to her head to keep it from exploding. To shut out the past. Focus on the now. There had practically been a party at the Hyde house that night. Quentin and Kaylee. And Paxton, too.

  She turned away.

  “Are you leaving?”

  In the doorway, Roxy turned and looked back at Trey, a pathetic rich guy who wore boxer shorts with little animals, for crying out loud, and had to ask his mommy for money to play at being a grown-up. He made Roxy feel sick.

  But not as sick as she made herself feel.

  “I’m finished with you, Trey.”

  “You’re not leaving me like this, are you? I can’t get loose by myself.”

  They heard the doorbell buzz.

  Roxy said, “That’s probably the police. Be glad they showed up, Trey. Except now they’re going to want to know what we talked about.”

  “Nothing,” he promised. “I won’t tell them anything.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, yes. Just untie me first. Don’t let them find me like this, Roxy.”

  Roxy said, “I let you keep your underwear, right?”

  “Roxy! Please. Come back here!”

  She left Trey on the bed and opened the door to the two detectives. “Hi, fellas.”

  She went down the stairs this time, and out to her truck, where Rooney waited. He woke up and licked her hand when she climbed into the driver’s seat. She sat thinking about how close she’d come to really hurting Trey Hyde.

  25

  Arden’s cell phone rang as she pawed through the last of her pill bottles on her bedspread. She almost didn’t answer. There was nobody she wanted to talk to. Certainly not Henry, who had been so pleasant at the beginning, so nice saying she was beautiful and desirable when he surely must have remembered a clumsy little virgin who babbled too much.

  But she picked up the phone and the worst happened.

  Tiki said, “Arden, little lamb, we’re here at the airport.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, my uncle and I. We’re waiting for the gentleman from Interpol to meet us. Then we’re flying to Pittsburgh. We’re coming to see you.”

  “Now?”

  “No time like the present. What’s your address, my sweet? I neglected to ask you earlier.”

  “But Tiki—”

  “You’re doing the right thing, Arden. You’ll be the talk of the museum world. You’ll have your pick of jobs! I can’t wait to see your statue.”

  If she didn’t have the statue, Interpol would arrest her. And the Greek Ministry of Antiquities would humiliate her family.

  Tiki kept talking, and Arden thought about her best option. Taking all her pills at once, that was it. All her pills and the last of her cocaine. She’d have one glorious party, just herself and Malibu Barbie. If only she could remember how to do it without vomiting it all up before she floated away.

  “Arden?” Tiki said. “Arden?”

  26

  At seven in the morning, Roxy woke on the cracked leather sofa in her office. Her entire body felt stiff and cold, and her right arm was numb from being curled up for a pillow. But Rooney was licking her face, and she could hear her cell phone ringing, so she was alive. She opened the phone and croaked a hello.

  “Mom,” Sage said in her ear. “I’ve got to leave for school in, like, thirty seconds. Where are you? In jail?”

  Roxy had sat up, but fell back against the seat when the stiff muscles of her back protested. “How many of your friends start conversations with their parents like that?”

  “None of them,” Sage replied, and she laughed, sounding relieved.

  “I’m glad you called. I needed to hear your voice.”

  “For?”

  “I just did. Look, I’m sorry I missed you last night. I wanted to check in.”

  “Loretta told me everything. And Zack said you’re okay. But I was worried, though.”

  “Thanks. I mean, sorry.” Roxy listened to Sage with her eyes closed.

  “At least you didn’t get on the TV news. When Kiryn’s father won that prize at the university, it was cool that he was on TV. But when Randy’s stepmom got arrested for insurance fraud, the perp walk was like, totally humiliating for Randy. Everybody saw it. Somebody even put it on YouTube. I would’ve hated you on YouTube.”

  “Bullet dodged, then.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Then Sage took a breath and said, “Did you know that girl? The one who got killed?”

  “A little, yeah. She was okay. Not smart, but she had a future.”

  “Mom.” Sage suddenly sounded like she was eight years old again. “Could it have been you? Shot by some crazy person in your house?”

  “No,” Roxy said firmly. “I wasn’t the target. Somebody went specifically looking for Kaylee. It had nothing to do with me, Sage. So don’t worry, okay?”

  “Okay, good. That’s a relief.” Sage covered the phone and spoke to someone else, then came back. “I gotta go, Mom. Kiryn’s here, and we’re going to walk to school. Love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Roxy said. But Sage had already hung up.

  She hung up. Before Roxy had a chance to find out if she’d met with Arden Hyde yesterday. Had Arden posed as an art dealer? And how had she found Sage?

  Roxy cursed herself for being so fuddled this early in the morning. She tried dialing again, but Sage’s phone went directly to voice mail.

  “Damn!”

  To herself, she said, “Maybe I’ll be a better grandmother. I’m sure a lousy mother.”


  She checked her watch. Adasha would be getting off her shift about now. And she’d want to go for a run. But Roxy didn’t want to talk to Adasha this morning. Not after what she’d done to Trey. And a run would probably kill her.

  For no particular reason except maybe her inner homing pigeon kicking in, Roxy got in the truck and drove over enough potholes to get to the back door of Rizza’s restaurant. A garbage truck roared past her, revealing there, in the thin morning light, Flynn unloading boxes from the back of his pickup. Judging by his cargo, he’d been to the market already. He had a couple layers of sweatshirts on to ward off the chill air, and a battered baseball cap backward on his head. A takeout cup of coffee sat steaming on the tailgate of the truck.

  He acknowledged her arrival with a nod, but hefted a couple of cases of vegetables and carried them through the open door of the restaurant.

  Roxy got out of her vehicle and made a beeline for his coffee. She stole a couple of slurps while he stowed his vegetables. The coffee tasted like heaven.

  When Flynn came outside again, he took his coffee back. After a long swallow, he leaned against the tailgate, one ankle crossed over the other. “Where’s Zack?”

  “I put him into his own car a few hours ago.”

  “He went home?”

  “I assume so.” Trying not to look too hopeful, she said, “That’s one good cup of coffee.”

  “Go buy your own. Primo’s on Penn Avenue. The only reason I inquire about the kid is that last I heard, you were planning Zack’s accidental death.”

  “Are you asking if I gave him a blow job?”

  Flynn met her eye. “Did you?”

  “Look,” Roxy said. “I see you getting all interested in Sage, and that’s nice, I guess, considering you were halfway around the world playing with guns while I was paying for her shoes and the braces on her teeth, not to mention sitting through the same Christmas pageant every year. Go for it. She’s a good kid, and you’re going to like her. But you being her dad doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to live my life.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, Flynn said, “Did you fuck your daughter’s boyfriend, Roxy?”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I know you’re screwed up, but at least you’re not stupid when it comes to Sage.”

  “What about you? Are you nominating yourself for Father of the Year? While you’re with Marla Krantz?”

  Flynn tensed for a fight. “Okay, I’m with Marla now. What of it?”

  It took all of Roxy’s self-control to ask the question calmly. “Is she still shooting up?”

  “She goes to the methadone clinic. It seems to work for her.”

  “What about you?”

  Evenly, Flynn said, “I’m clean. Have been for two years.”

  His military tours in Afghanistan had been both good for Flynn and the worst thing he could have done to himself. He’d grown up. Learned to stand for something. But he’d made a teenage habit worse, and then traveled to some of the world’s biggest drug destinations for a binge that lasted years. Now he’d come home after some mysterious but clearly life-changing event. The restaurant job showed he’d learned to take responsibility.

  But his love affair with heroin rendered him untrustworthy, as far as Roxy was concerned. Probably forever.

  She said, “Is Marla doing it for you? I mean, is she helping you stay off the drugs? Or is she going to screw with your head? Because staying clean is hard enough without your girlfriend—”

  “Don’t worry about Marla.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “I hope the sex is worth it.”

  Flynn laughed. “It’s not Marla I’m staying clean for.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” he said. “Sage.”

  “Oh. Well. Good. That’s good.”

  Flynn handed over his coffee cup and let Roxy finish the last couple of swallows. It was still hot, and the caffeine warmed her blood. She found herself suddenly not knowing what to say.

  Flynn said, “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not looking for some kind of sappy reunion, doing the family thing with you and Sage.”

  “Good thing.”

  “I mean, I know you better than most, Roxy. You’ve got a bad history, too. History that’s really screwed with your head. It makes you do the stuff you shouldn’t do. It makes you less than attractive, let’s put it that way.”

  “So?”

  “So I know all about being screwed up.” He took off his baseball cap and dropped it onto the tailgate. “Maybe I ruined my life, but at least I’m trying to stay clean now. I’m giving myself a second shot. For Sage. And for myself.”

  “How’s it feel so far?”

  Another bitter laugh as he glanced around the alley at the Dumpster and the garbage and the back of his truck that smelled like chickens. “Shitty, as a matter of fact.”

  “But you’re giving me advice?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just wishing you luck, I guess.”

  She threw the cup into the empty Dumpster. “Okay, fine.”

  It felt like a truce, standing there in the morning sunlight, facing each other after a lot of years of wondering and second-guessing and thinking about what could have happened differently. It wasn’t any kind of resolution. But a truce was okay.

  Flynn reached out and knocked her shoulder gently—just friends.

  But it turned into something else. Roxy intended to give him a soldierly pat on the back, too, but suddenly her hand was sliding up his shoulder blade, and she was turning into his solid frame. A heartbeat later, they were wrapped in a hug.

  He felt harder than he had so many years ago. And leaner. But of course that could have been the heroin. His shaved scalp prickled as she slid her fingers up the back of his head. He let one exploratory hand slide down her hip, but then she felt it curl around her butt to pull her closer against himself. And then his mouth found hers, and they weren’t just hugging, but kissing.

  A warning clanged in her head. A word bubbled up in her throat—no, no, no—but she fought it down. It felt weird to be with him again and good and wrong, but right. And then weird again.

  An instant later, they sprang apart like the guilty teenagers they used to be.

  “Uh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh?”

  “Right.”

  “I gotta get some sleep before the shift starts. See you later.” Flynn turned around and nearly walked into a telephone pole. He dodged just in time, and left in a hurry.

  Roxy scrambled into her truck and slammed the door, glad nobody could see her face. Except Rooney, who was panting just as hard as she was.

  What the hell had just happened?

  She started the truck and drove out of the alley, not sure where she was going, but going anyway.

  When she could think straight again, she ran through the various people she could ask for more information about Kaylee and Julius, and she suddenly remembered Valdeccio, the Hyde chauffeur. Roxy checked her watch. In another hour, any self-respecting resident of her old neighborhood would be coming home from morning mass to make breakfast.

  Or they’d be assembling in one other place.

  She parked at the back door of the St. Dom’s bingo hall and saw the haze of cigarette smoke already wafting out the open door. Leaving Rooney in the truck, she went inside to the clatter of the numbers tumbling in the cage and the patter of Archie Marone, who’d been calling the bingo numbers for as long as Roxy could remember.

  Sister Margaret Ann sat upright in a chair by the door, sound asleep with her hands folded on her lap. Roxy remembered Sister Meg as the nun who terrorized kids to give pennies for lepers. She’d probably been the cause of more nightmares than any other human being in the city.

  Spread out in rows of tables, neighborhood early birds guarded their bingo cards, good luck charms, and arrays of neon Bingo Daubers. They listened attentively to Archie, scanning their cards and marking off the numbers
he called. The moratorium on smoking must have been lifted, because the whole hall stunk of cigarettes.

  Hanging around the back of the room were the designated drivers—all family members waiting for the game to end so they could drive home Nonna or Aunt Pixie or Uncle Toots for lunch.

  Among the waiting drivers, Roxy located Louis Valdeccio, leaning against the wall and passing time by drinking coffee and listlessly leafing through the morning edition of the newspaper. His mother was a bingo fanatic. Lucky guess that he’d be the one to take her home after the game.

  “Louie, right?” Roxy said. “Valentino’s uncle?”

  Valdeccio crumpled the paper when he caught sight of Roxy standing in front of him. Unlike his nephew, the salon owner, Valdeccio had shaggy hair and a big gut cinched by a belt that looked as if it might give out any second. His breath smelled of cigarettes. But his face lit up at the sight of Roxy’s chest. He didn’t bother looking up from there. “Yeah, who’s asking?”

  “I’m Roxy Abruzzo. Carmine’s niece.”

  Now and then, Roxy made good use of her family connection. It worked this time. Valdeccio straightened up like she’d mentioned the Pope or Frank Sinatra. He squinted into her face, maybe looking for a family resemblance. “Yeah?”

  “Got a minute?”

  “For Carmine, I got as long as it takes.”

  Sister Margaret Ann woke up, put one finger to her lips. “Shh!”

  Roxy jerked her head toward the door. “Let’s go outside.”

  Valdeccio tossed the remains of his coffee in a trash can and followed.

  In the alley, Roxy said, “I hear you worked for Julius Hyde.”

  “For ten years, yeah.” He frowned, trying to figure out how his employment record might interest Carmine Abruzzo. “Why?”

  “You were there the night he died?”

  “I left a little while before he got shot. I told the police the whole story.”

  “The whole story?”

  Disconcerted, he peered at her. “Look, why you asking me about that?”

  Roxy shrugged. “You know. Carmine likes to stay informed.”

  “He knows about me?” Valdeccio perked up. “I heard he’s sick. Maybe he needs a driver?”