Brooklyn Bones (12 page)

“Besides,” he said, almost inaudibly, “it was a little embarrassing for a man who drove a car for a living.” Then he added quickly, “It was the jerk other guy’s fault, his insurance paid for everything, his license should’ve been lifted when he turned about a hundred, but still. Now. You want to fight, or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Of course I wasn’t going to tell him everything about my life, but I could feel him listening hard, across the wires, from halfway across the country while I told him what I could about Rick. It wasn’t much.

He was silent for so long, I thought the line had gone dead. Then he said, “I should tell you some things. Are you up to dealing with some business?”

“I can be, if I have to. I’m a tough girl. Remember?’

“How could I forget? So. Years ago, when he got divorced for the second time and he was still with the department, he made me executor of his will. It was supposed to be me dealing with the paperwork, the insurance, everything. He figured, on the job you never know. I’ve got no idea if he ever changed that. There might be no one to step up. Or maybe it would be you, until I can get home. What a mess.” He used a few choice expletives. My dad, who never even said hell in front of me.

“Remember, when I rented out my house, I brought over a file cabinet, stuck it in your basement?”

I did. I balked at having the responsibility, angry as I was about his move.

“All my old papers are in there, and I have a file for Rick too. Top drawer, a file with a green stripe at the top. Copies of his will, insurance, funeral arrangements, everything. Get it and follow up. Call the numbers on those papers, find out what to do. You’ll need a death certificate. There should be some lawyer to call.”

“Dad…”

“If I was there I would be doing it all so you wouldn’t have to.”

“Dad. I know what to do. I’ve done it before.”

There was a long, long silence, and then he said softly, “I know, baby. I haven’t forgotten. I should be there, and I will, soon as I can.”

“Dad, I…”

“One other thing…”

“Dad!” I finally got it out. “You don’t have to come home. It’s too far. I’ll deal.” If he was here, he’d try to turn me into his kid, helpfully telling me what to do at every turn, remaking my life for me when I didn’t want it remade. And he might bring that woman, too.

“Honey, I never doubted you’d deal. I just wish you didn’t have to. And there’s something else. You sitting down? If he never changed it, he left his life insurance to you.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. He figured he would never have kids, his parents were gone, he felt like you were the family he wanted to take care of.”

“That’s crazy. I can hardly believe it.” I was too shocked even to start crying again.

“I think it meant something to him, to do that. Ya know? I don’t know but it might make you sort of in place of ‘next of kin.’ So when you make these business calls say that. OK?”

I had to say OK, but none of this was OK, none of it, and he heard it in my voice. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. Of course not. But I’ll manage. I’m home, I have friends.”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t think I even believe it yet. Know what I mean?”

“Do I ever.”

“Sending Chris to camp must have been one of the last things he did. Yeah, we talk, Chrissie and me. You think she doesn’t stay in touch?” Another expletive. “Talk to me about something else, something good. Tell me about my only grandbaby.”

“Oh, Dad, she’s beautiful. She got so grown up this year. You’ll be shocked when you see her. I’m shocked.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Now you know about the trick kids play on us They grow up when we aren’t looking. Oh, nurses are here. Looks like I’ve got to get off now. Keep me up to date, and don’t let any of those paper pushers push you around. Got to go.” His voice faded, as if he turned to someone else. “Hold on, can’t you?” Then he was back to me. “Last thing. I’ve done some thinking, these last months…we’ll talk more.”

And he was gone.

I could barely force myself to put the phone down; I wanted so badly to hold onto the connection. I guess I missed him after all.

I told myself that he had given me a job to do, and I’d better get to it. I dug out a flashlight and headed down to the damp, musty, badly lit basement, one level below the garden floor. There were spider webs, and it was so far below street level it flooded when there was rain. I never knew what puddles and mud I might find when I ventured down there. Joe had said something about installing a pump for that. Oh, sure, I thought, as I cautiously navigated the old stairway. Someday when I had some spare cash lying around. That would be never. But why, I asked myself for the hundredth time, didn’t I ever remember to at least put in brighter light bulbs? Oh, yeah, because I never wanted to go down there for any reason, even to do that.

The file cabinet was shoved into a corner, covered in a layer of dust and looking somewhat more rusted than I remembered. I wrestled the drawer open, struggled with propping up the flashlight so the beam gave me light while I used both hands to flip through the files. They were neatly labeled and arranged, so like my dad, and yes, there was Rick’s.

I could see I would be spending this day dealing with papers I didn’t want to look at, making business calls that were sure to become more painful with each conversation, and the one I dreaded most, contacting Chris somehow. I should start with a call to my museum job, telling them that I would not be in for the rest of the week. And a call to Steven Richmond, too, that I would not be available. That there had been a death in the family.

Chapter Ten

I looked at the folder with the green stripe. Drummed my fingers on it. Put it on the table next to the phone and got a pad and pen. Carefully placed them next to it. Then I decided I could focus on this difficult business better if had some breakfast. Heartened by that thought, I threw on some clothes and went out in search of pancakes. Or bacon and eggs. And definitely, hot coffee.

I stepped out into sunshine so bright it hurt my eyes and a light breeze to make it a perfect summer day. That seemed all wrong to me.

Mr. Pastore was out pruning his roses and Mrs. Pastore was vigorously sweeping the sidewalk. She gave me a friendly wave. I had to stop, even though the need to make small talk made me want to run away.

“Hey, Erica. How ya doin’?”

“I’m fine.” I forced out the ghost of a smile. “How was the shore?”

“Sandy and hot. Give me the city streets any time. But the grandkids enjoyed it and we enjoyed them.” She squinted at me. “Are you really all right?”

“I…yes…really…it’s been…a family friend…” My eyes began to sting and I blinked hard to stop the tears.

“Hey, you don’t have to talk, but I see something’s wrong. Don’t you forget, we’re here, Sal and me? Come for dinner any time, and bring Chris too.”

Then I had to smile for real. “She’s at camp, but I do appreciate the offer. I’m on my way out for breakfast now. Contractor’s torn up my kitchen.”

“Joe and his guys? They made an awful racket yesterday, but they did a good clean up, no mess on the street.” She nodded emphatically. “Good workers. Well, listen, I’m always up and dressed and got a pot of coffee going by seven. Plenty for you.” She turned back to her sweeping but something struck me as I walked past.

“Mrs. Pastore, I never thought to ask before—I know you’ve been in this house forever, but exactly when did you move in?”

“1980. Yes, a long time now.”

“Sure is, but I was hoping it was even a little more, back to the early seventies.”

“How old do you think we are?” Mr. Pastore finally looked up from his roses. “We were still a young couple then, living with my mother. Actually, my uncle lived here.” He shook his head. “You think I can garden? I learned it all from him. He grew everything. All kinds of tomatoes, herbs, roses that make mine look like weeds. Even had a grape arbor and made his own wine from the grapes.”

“He isn’t, by some chance, still alive? I’d like to know more about this block back then.”

“Nah. He would never have left his house while he was still drawing breath in this life. He’d be about a hunnert and five, too. Matter of fact, he died under his arbor drinking a glass of his wine, like he would have wanted. When he passed on we bought the house from my aunt. She passed a long time ago now, too.”

Mrs. Pastore said thoughtfully, “I might have some pictures, if you’d like to see them. Sal, you know, from your mother’s albums. If I can find them, I’ll be happy to show you.”

“I’ll hold you to that, and soon. See you later.”

At my favorite coffee shop, the kind with Formica tables and sticky plastic-covered menus, I ran into Joe coming out of the hardware store.

“Hey, Erica. What do you think of our progress? Some of the guys are picking up your appliances today. We build tomorrow.”

He was looking at me oddly and said, “Let me buy you breakfast.”

We took a booth and a waitress brought us coffee without asking. It was that kind of place. We ordered without even looking at the menu.

“All right. What’s the matter? Tell buddy Joe.”

I told him about Rick. They had met a few times. He put his big, calloused hand over mine, and held tight for a minute. Strangely, it seemed to be just what I needed.

“How can I help?”

I shook my head. “I have to go home and face everything. All of it.” I looked at the plate where bacon and eggs had been piled a few minutes ago and added, “At least now I’m fueled.”

He picked up the check. “Come on. I’ll walk you home. I have a thought.”

“Really, I’m…”

He was already steering me out of the door. “You need to tell Chris. Do you want to go get her? I’ll drive you there. You only have to say the word.”

I came to a dead stop, right in the middle of the crowded morning sidewalk. “You would do that? That is so—oh Joe, that is so kind. I don’t know yet. I don’t know what to do, but it helps just to know you would.”

“Hey.” He smiled. “She was part of my crew this summer. I take care of my own.”

We were at my corner. “Thank you. You don’t need to come to the house now. I’m going to go do what I have to.” I added, “About Chris. I’m thinking that I’ll wait a little, until maybe I know what’s what. You know her. She’ll have questions and I don’t have any answers. Not yet.”

“Are you sure that’s the best way to go?”

“Oh, hell no, I’m not sure about anything. But for now…”

“I got it. I’ll see you at the house early tomorrow to work. Call me if you need anything. Don’t be a dope about it.”

I trudged on up the block, turned into my gate and saw him still standing on the corner, watching me.

I finally forced myself to read through the file. There was the will, with my father as executor. In case of inability to serve, it was me. I guess Dad being in the hospital qualified as inability to serve. Geez, Rick, I thought, what made you think that was a good idea? Did you never think Dad might not be here? You knew he went away. Did you never think something could happen before he came back? Obviously not.

His pension papers and his life insurance with my name on it. Power of attorney, with dad’s name and then mine. A funeral home form that seemed to say it was all pre-paid and that they had instructions about what he wanted. I sure wouldn’t have known but I now owed it to him to carry out his wishes.

And here was the next of kin, someone in New Jersey, with Malone in between Eileen and what must be her married name. The cousin I half remembered existed. I dug out the card for the detective at Rick’s house. Sergeant Simms. She remembered me.

“My father is his executor but he’s in a hospital in Arizona and I’m the back up. I have all the papers. Can you tell me if his family was notified? He didn’t have any living siblings, but I have a cousin….”

‘Yes,” she said. “We found a name. She knows. A cousin.”

“Donovan? Eileen Donovan in Seaside Heights? So I can contact her? I need to talk to her about the funeral and things like that.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

I had resolved to keep this call businesslike but I was weakening swiftly. “But what can I possibly say to her? She’ll want to know what happened, I’m sure.”

“We don’t know yet, beyond that it was certainly a crime, and you already know that. Besides,” she said, not unkindly, “if we did know more, we couldn’t tell you.”

There was a long silence, so long a silence that I felt it was telling me something, but what?

“I’m going to tell you a little, and only because maybe it will help you think of something useful to us. It will get out anyway sooner or later. Cops gossip, and no doubt it will be on the news soon and everywhere.” She sighed. “He was killed and it wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t a robbery. I’m not telling you where we found him. There are some details we need to keep quiet.”

“What are you saying?” It seemed important but I couldn’t seem to understand it. Maybe I didn’t want to.

“Someone shot him, probably in a fight, and tried to get rid of the body.”

“That’s crazy. I don’t believe…that is so not possible…you must….” I stopped myself from babbling more.