It was all too much to take in right then and our boys-night-out foray had exhausted me. “I’m sorry, Rich, but I don’t think I’m capable of wrapping this idea of yours around my brain right now.”
“Of course not,” Richard agreed as the light turned green and he turned for home. “And I won’t push it.”
“I appreciate that.” Still, he’d given me a lot to think about. A hell of a lot.
Richard pulled into the driveway. It seemed as though every light in the house was ablaze and almost immediately Brenda darted out the back door. “Did you have a good time?” she asked after yanking open the car door. She saw that my crutches were in the back and grabbed them before helping me exit the car.
“It was weird,” I admitted.
She frowned. “Well, I’m not surprised.” She patted my shoulder and followed a step behind me, holding the door for me to enter the house. I paused in the butler’s pantry. To the left was the kitchen—to the right my temporary digs.
“Are you okay?” Brenda asked, concern evident in her tone.
“Yeah. I’m just really tired. It’s been a long day. I think I’ll turn in early.”
“It’s probably a good idea,” she agreed.
I shuffle-hopped to the door of Brenda’s craft room. It was embarrassing to have to have help to get up in the morning and ready for bed. As an RN, Brenda was used to patient care and she and Richard traded off helping me with such tasks.
I aimed for the day bed, which had already been turned down. I backed up and pulled down my sweatpants, letting them fall to the floor before I sat. Brenda crouched before me and I lifted my legs so she could tug them off.
“I’m sorry you have to do this,” I said yet again, embarrassed.
“Shut up.” She collected my pants and stuffed them into the hamper.
“Do you need help going to the john?”
“I only had one sip of beer.”
She placed the plastic urinal next to the bed. “Your little buddy is here if you need it.”
I felt my cheeks grow hotter. “Thanks.” I changed the subject. “Brenda, how long has Rich been looking for a job?”
“He finally told you about it?”
I nodded.
She sighed. “Almost six weeks.”
I felt bad that he hadn’t felt comfortable sharing that with me. And why was that?
“What do you think about it?”
She hesitated. “I guess I can understand it. Right now I’m happy being a wife and mommy, but once Betsy goes to school I’ll be beating the bushes to find a job, too.”
I nodded again.
She turned for the dresser and pulled out a T-shirt, handing it to me to use as a sleep shirt. “Do you need anything else? Cocoa? A hot toddy? Something to eat?”
Again I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
She bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “I love you, Jeffy.”
“I love you, too. See you in the morning.”
“I was thinking about making oatmeal for breakfast.”
I frowned, remembering the sticky goo old Mrs. Alpert used to make me eat.
“It’ll have raisins, and you can put real maple syrup on it if you want.”
“Okay,” I said, resigned. Oatmeal was supposed to be good for you.
She switched on the bedside lamp. “Sleep well.” She hit the switch that turned off the overhead light as she left the room and closed the door.
Brenda had installed one of Betsy’s baby monitors in the room and I could see that she’d switched it on once again. She was worried that I might fall in the night. I appreciated her concern, but saw it as another infringement on my privacy. I turned it down to next to nothing. Did they need to hear me fart and snore during the night? That would be a big no! I kept my replacement cell phone close at hand. If I fell, I could call them and I would. Well, maybe.
I stripped off my shirt, tossed it on the floor out of reach of tripping me, and donned the T-shirt, then strained to haul my legs up and onto the bed. Once in, I knew I wasn’t going to move for many long hours. I usually slept on my stomach, but the cast made that too difficult.
I turned off the light and the soft glow of a night light Brenda had installed between the bed and the bathroom illuminated the gloom. She was a great mommy—much better than the one I’d had. I didn’t bother to pull the covers over me. The house was warm. Maybe in the middle of the night I’d need them, but not now.
I stared at the dark ceiling above me and my thoughts turned back to Richard’s proposition. Could we be an effective team? Yeah, he’d been right. We both had strengths. We worked well together. But could we make a living at solving cold cases?
From his perspective, it didn’t matter. He had money up the wazoo. If we went into business together, would it end up being a hobby for him; something to keep him busy, but no real income. And would I end up living on his generosity only? I hated that idea. But then … he didn’t give a shit about money. If he had to support me for the rest of my life, it wasn’t something he worried about.
Was it time for me to make a major mind shift? Should I look at this business deal Richard offered as some kind of karmic payback? In many ways, I’d had the shittiest luck in recorded history, and yet what if I could pay forward the good luck I’d had with being reunited with my brother? If I couldn’t bring back someone’s long missing, or dead relative, friend, or lover, perhaps together Richard and I could bring closure to people who’d waited years—maybe decades—for justice.
The image of the tombstone on the grassy knoll flashed once again before my mind’s eye.
That was it, nothing more. Virtually nothing to go on. Who did it belong to? How had he or she died? What would it cost me—in time and emotional involvement—to look into it? Could Richard help me find out what was behind the vision?
Could investigating that image be our first cold case?
I had a feeling pondering those questions might keep me awake for some time.
* * *
Richard sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Brenda to return. As soon as he’d parked the car in the garage, he’d entered the house and headed for the Scotch bottle. What the heck; he hadn’t finished his beer at the bar and he needed a shot of courage to bring up the whole idea of going into business with Jeff.
He hadn’t done more than wet his lips when a somber Brenda returned to the kitchen.
“Is Jeff all tucked in for the night?”
She nodded and took her usual seat at the table. “He seemed really down and didn’t have a lot to say.”
“Yeah.” This time he took a real sip of that fine breath of the heather.
“He said he only had one sip of beer.”
“That’s right,” Richard agreed, “and I didn’t have much more.”
“Did something bad go down?”
“The woman his boss hired to take Jeff’s job seems to have taken over. The place was jammed—all people she brought in. Tom’s probably making money hand over fist and Jeff’s sure he’s lost his job. He thinks Dave will be the next to go. Worse, he freaked just touching the glass the woman held.”
“Surely he’ll be able to find another job.”
“I don’t know. Tom cut him a lot of slack. The odds of finding a job with that kind of flexibility could be hard—if not impossible.”
Brenda scrutinized his face, and her expression wasn’t at all encouraging. “You’ve got something on your mind,” she practically accused.
“I do,” he admitted. “And tonight I shared my bright idea with Jeff, but now I see I should have run it by you first, because if you don’t approve, then nothing will come of it.”
Brenda’s expression darkened. “Start talking.”
Richard took another fortifying sip of Scotch. “It’s become obvious to me that ageism is alive and well in America. I’ve had twelve interviews for jobs in the last six weeks and not one of the companies are going to hire me—no matter what my capabilities. So, this last week I’
ve been trying to think outside of the box.”
“I hate that expression,” Brenda commented.
“I’m not fond of it, either, but it does convey the idea that what once worked no longer does.”
“So what are you proposing?” Brenda asked, sounding none too friendly.
“That Jeff and I go into business together.”
“And do what?” The edge in her voice grew sharper.
“Become consultants.”
“On what subject?”
“Well, that’s the thing. Crime, most likely. Jeff is a skilled investigator, and I’m an experienced researcher.”
“And you’d do what?”
“Investigate cold cases.”
“How cold?” she demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of time commitment are you talking about?”
He shrugged. “I don’t even know if the idea is viable.”
“And what’s the danger factor?”
“Danger?”
“Yes. Since Jeffy came home to Buffalo, you’ve been shot, exposed to HIV; someone died in our backyard; people were killed in your car, and your boat was destroyed. What other calamities are we going to have to face?”
That all did sound terribly negative.
“As I mentioned, my thought was that we’d concentrate on cold cases. Cases where the cops have no leads, and that Jeff’s special insight might prove useful.”
“How old a cold case?” Brenda asked again.
“The older the better, because there’s less likely to be pushback.”
“Pushback?” Brenda asked.
“Danger,” he admitted, using her descriptor.
Brenda nodded, her gaze fixed on the table in front of them.
Richard sipped his Scotch.
The refrigerator’s motor kicked in, making a bit of a racket.
The quartz clock on the wall ticked loudly.
Brenda sighed. “What does it matter what I think?”
“Of course it matters. If you say no, then we’ll figure out something else to do.”
Brenda’s gaze shifted to the floor. “It’s not just you and me to consider. It’s Betsy I’m worried about. Have you considered what this could mean to us as a family?”
“That’s why I think we should concentrate on old—really old—cases.”
“And where would you find these cases?”
“Probably via the cops.”
Brenda chewed at her bottom lip for long seconds. “Is there likely to be any money in this?”
Richard’s gaze dropped to his drink. “Not really.”
“Jeffy is a proud man. He hates being the recipient of charity.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Cold cases—old cases—aren’t likely to be hot commodities. This sounds more like a hobby than a career—and don’t you think that’s what Jeffy longs for?”
“I agree it might be an adjustment for him to make.”
“Because he wants to support himself. He doesn’t want to have to rely on you forever.”
“I thought about that. I don’t care if we make a living doing this, as long as we can make a difference—we can help others—what we can offer would be a valuable service.”
Brenda shook her head, and Richard’s gut tightened. Why hadn’t he talked this over with his wife before he’d mentioned it to his brother?
Brenda looked thoughtful.
“Like I said, if you say no—that’s it. We’re done.”
“It feels wrong that you’re throwing all this on me now.”
“I—we—just need you in our corner. If you’re not, then we won’t do it. No hard feelings.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Brenda muttered. “How long do I have to consider this?”
It was Richard’s turn to frown. “To be honest, Jeff seemed a little overwhelmed by the idea. I don’t even know if he’s in. Let’s face it, using his psychic abilities isn’t something he likes to do. And yet, he’s a sucker for hard-luck cases. He’s had enough shit thrown at him that he’s willing to do what he can to spare another from a similar fate.”
Brenda twisted the engagement and wedding rings on her left hand. “I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to do. I wouldn’t want to. But you have to put self-preservation above all else or I can’t sanction it. And you have to protect Jeffy, too, because he doesn’t seem to have a self-preservation chip.”
“I swear, I’ll look out for all of us.”
Brenda nodded. “Then … I guess I’m okay with this.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Richard reached across the table to take her hand. “Thank you.”
Brenda shook her head. “I have a feeling there’ll be days you’ll regret ever taking this on.”
“That may be, but this feels right to me.”
She nodded and got up from the table. “I’m going to check on Betsy and then head for bed to read for a while.”
“I’ll be up soon,” he promised.
She bent down to kiss him. “Good night.”
Brenda left the kitchen and Richard listened until her footfalls faded.
Now that he more or less had her on his side, he only had to convince his brother.
4
It’s was Richard’s turn to check on me to make sure I’d made it through the night unscathed, and he showed up at my door a little after eight the next morning. “Ready for some breakfast?”
I’d been awake for more than an hour—bored out of my skull. Anything was a welcome diversion. “Sure.”
I hoped Brenda was kidding about serving oatmeal for breakfast, but when I came to the table there it was; gray, sticky, and totally unappetizing. Even the lure of raisins and maple syrup couldn’t raise its appeal.
I propped my broken leg up on the extra chair while Richard stood the front section of the newspaper against his coffee mug and absently dug into his bowl. Meanwhile, Betsy banged her sippy cup on the tray of her highchair and seemed to be trying to mimic a hit from Sesame Street.
I picked up my spoon, took a small bite of oatmeal, and shuddered. Disgusting. I put my spoon back down.
“Coffee?” Brenda offered.
“Yes, please.”
Seconds later, a steaming cup of joe sat before me, already doctored the way I like it. I took a tentative sip. Too hot. I set the cup back down. “Um, Rich, what we talked about last night—or rather, didn’t talk about,” I began.
Richard looked up from the newspaper. “Brenda and I discussed it. She’s okay with it. How about you?”
I looked over at Brenda, who stood by the counter sipping her coffee. She nodded, but didn’t look at all enthusiastic.
I looked back to my brother. “I’m not sure I want to commit.”
Richard’s hopeful expression disappeared.
“There’s an awful lot to talk about,” I continued.
“I’ve got all day,” he offered.
Yeah, and I had nothing else to do, either. Except ….
“Maybe we should try a sample case and see where it goes before we talk about this to the world at large.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Remember I told you about that flash I keep getting about a tombstone?”
He nodded.
“Maybe that’s a place to start.”
“I’m listening,” he said sounding cautious. “Have you figured out where to find it?”
“Something tells me I need to go to Forest Lawn Cemetery.”
“That hardly narrows it down. The place is massive.”
“Yeah. But I have a feeling that I could find it … if we drove around long enough.”
“The gas tank’s full.”
“I don’t know if we’ll find what I’m looking for, but maybe we can talk while I look.”
“Then it’s a plan,” he said, sounding more optimistic.
I nodded and my gaze sank back to the bowl of pseudo barf before me.
“You don’t have
to eat it,” Richard said.
“It would be wasteful not to.” I picked up my spoon and let out a shaky breath, wondering if I might gag if I had to eat the entire bowl.
Then suddenly Brenda swooped in and grabbed my breakfast. “I’m sorry, Jeffy. I thought if I made oatmeal the way I like it, then you might, too. You can have anything you want.”
“Even Eggs Benedict?”
“That would be a stretch,” she admitted.
“Then how about a couple of pieces of dry white toast.”
It was Brenda’s turn to shudder. “If that’s what you want.”
“Sounds like heaven to me.”
“Then dry white toast it is.”
“Ja-Ja!” Betsy called, and gave the sippy cup another good whack on the tray before her.
“Atta girl, Betsy,” Richard called, and all four of us laughed. But I had a feeling I wouldn’t be laughing when Richard and I went to Forest Lawn later that morning. Still, I wasn’t going to dwell on it, either. I picked up my coffee cup as Brenda pushed the lever down on the toaster and smiled. It felt good to be in that kitchen surrounded by three of the four people I loved most on the planet.
The crap I had yet to endure could wait a few hours.
* * *
Getting in and out of Richard’s Mercedes was a major pain in the ass. Once again, I nixed the idea of lounging on the back seat. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it worked.
Richard took the same route to Forest Lawn as Dave and I had traversed on the day of my accident. I found myself swallowing a lot as we approached the intersection of Fillmore and Kensington Avenues, but Richard had Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing on the Mercedes’ sound system—his good luck/most favorite piece of music—and since we didn’t have to stop at the light, I got past it without a meltdown.
To distract myself further, I decided to bring up a not-so-popular subject and lowered the volume on Vivaldi. After all, if Richard wanted me onboard for his little entrepreneurial plan, it might be time to do a little negotiation on terms.
“I was just wondering,” I said, trying to sound innocent, “why you don’t like Herschel.”
“Herschel?” He said the name as though he’d never heard it before. “Oh, you mean your cat.”
Shattered Spirits Page 4
