Extra Credit (27 page)

“He left me. He left me with nothing. It was supposed to be ours together. We were going to get back together. He told me that when he called me after he disappeared.”

“What was supposed to be yours together?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not too smart, are you?”

Kevin leapt to my defense. “She’s very smart.”

She ignored him. “The money, stupid. The money was supposed to be ours.”

Thirty-Five

That was all we learned about Sassy Du Pris, because right after telling us that she thought she and Chick would share in some ill-gotten gains—gotten from where was still anyone’s guess—she took off in the van, leaving Kevin and me to try to find our way back to Yonkers and the car we had left behind at the Elegant Majestic. Since I was in possession of the gun, I guess she figured it was better to leave than to find out whether or not I had the stones to use it. (I didn’t.) She left us no wiser as to why she needed the money or where she and Chick had gotten it from in the first place.

He told her they were getting back together, and she believed him. Things hadn’t turned out quite the way Sassy had planned.

The night was pitch black outside the dimly lit parking lot, and, as is often the case, I had on the wrong shoes for this mission and its unintended end. Kevin and I stood and looked around the deserted park, curiously named Turkey Mountain, according to the sign.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Turkey Mountain, apparently.”

His voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Where, pray tell, is Turkey Mountain?”

I tried to make light of it. “Well, if you had your iPhone, we could probably look it up.”

“You,” he said, his voice quavering, a finger pointed at my chest, “are not as funny as you think you are. You should really think about dropping the sarcasm. It’s not attractive.”

“That’s not the first time I have heard that,” I admitted. Under the circumstances, I could not disagree with him. I looked around in the darkness to see if there was someone, anyone, in the distance, maybe a moonlight hiker or someone with a really bad sense of direction who had started out that morning and was only now returning to the parking lot, but the whole area was completely desolate, which is just how Sassy had planned it. Across from the preserve, however, was a steep incline, and up that incline, it appeared, was a development. I grabbed Kevin’s hand. “Come on. There are houses across the street.”

He stood where he was, smack in the middle of the parking lot, looking a lot like he wasn’t going to come. Eventually, when he realized that staying there would end up in a night alone in a nature preserve, he relented and followed me down the dirt road to the street, where nary a car passed by, the hour for driving home from local train stations long past. We crossed the street, one I had never been on, and entered the development, where only a few lights twinkled in the distant windows of the houses that dotted the perimeter.

We wended our way up a very steep hill, our feet making the only sounds in the tranquil night air. It felt as if it were getting colder by the minute, and the persistent ache in my toes reminded me yet once again—as Crawford always reminds me—that high-heeled boots weren’t appropriate for the task at hand. Seriously, though, who knew that we would be kidnapped, tossed around the back of a cargo van, and then going on a trek in the middle of the night in a town that we had never visited and that seemed to consist only of hills? We were silent while we trudged along, Kevin’s heavy breathing a reminder to me that one, he was out of shape, and two, he wanted to be anywhere but here. I tried to make conversation to pass the time.

“How are things at the catering hall?”

“Really, Alison? This is what you want to do? You want to have a conversation about work?”

“It would be better than listening to you seethe beside me,” I said. “That’s getting kind of old.”

“I’m not seething,” he said. “Besides, you can’t hear someone seething.”

“Yes, you are, and yes, you can.” I stumbled over an uneven patch in the road, my toes banging painfully against the front of my boots. “I know what seething sounds like. Crawford seethes a lot.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

We continued on in silence, my attempt at conversation obviously unwelcome. Finally, after a good ten-minute uphill trek, we arrived at a house where the inhabitants seemed to be not only awake but having some kind of gathering at which everyone was having a festive time. I looked at Kevin. “What do you think?”

“If it gets us off of Turkey Mountain, then I’m all for it.”

“I don’t think we’re on Turkey Mountain anymore.”

He sighed. “I was being figurative, Alison. I know we’re not on Turkey Mountain anymore.”

Someone was a little crabby, but I didn’t let that stop me from marching up to the front door and ringing the bell. As soon as the bell sounded, the house went quiet, except for some scuffling noises and sounds of windows being opened at various levels on the three-story structure.

I looked at Kevin. “Maybe this wasn’t the best house to pick?” I asked as a hooded figure raced past us and down the street, the footfalls heavy and rubber-soled. Several other figures—some male, some female—also drifted by, some running faster than others, whispers carrying across the still night air. After a few minutes of watching people vacate the house in droves, the front door opened, and we were confronted by a tousle-headed blonde, who stood inside the screen door in the hallway, her hands on her hips. She looked more defiant than an innocuous doorbell ring should have inspired, given that the house had been filled with people just moments before. “Hi,” I said. “Our car broke down,” sort of true, “and we need to use the phone to call someone to pick us up,” all true, “and were wondering if we could come in?”

“What do you think I am? An idiot?” she asked. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, with an attitude of a thirty-five-year-old. Behind her, a voice slurred, “Who is it, Brianna?”

“Cops,” she said and slammed the door in our faces.

I looked at Kevin, dumbfounded. It was the second time that evening we had been taken for cops. Well, I did have a gun. After I regained my composure, I put my finger on the doorbell and kept it there until Brianna answered again. I pulled the screen open and put my foot on the threshold. “First of all, we’re not cops. Secondly, if we were, you would be in big trouble.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Although I’ve never seen you two before.”

“That’s because we’re not cops. Listen, young lady,” I said, using my professor voice, “we are stranded, and I’d like to use your phone. Please let me know why that is a problem.”

The sass came out in full force. Her head bobbed back and forth like a chicken’s, and she waved her finger in my face. “It’s a problem because I don’t know you and I’m not supposed to let strangers in my house when my parents aren’t home. Now move your foot and get off my property before I call the cops on you.”

Leaving my foot where it was—and hoping she wouldn’t go ahead and slam the door anyway—I looked up the street and saw not one other light. Finding a sympathetic ear at this hour, when everyone obviously was asleep, didn’t look promising. I looked at Kevin. He gently pushed me out of the way and spoke to Brianna.

“Brianna, is it?” he said, standing in front of me. “My name is Father Kevin McManus, and my friend and I here are stranded, having had an unfortunate incident at Turkey Mountain.” He pointed across the main road to the nature preserve.

Brianna rolled her eyes. “I’m still not letting you in, priest or not.” She closed the front door in our faces and left us standing there, not sure if she was returning. Just as we were about to give up and pick another house, where we would have to wake up the occupants to get some help, she returned, holding a portable phone. “I’ll let you use it on two conditions,” she said, obviously having consulted with the slurry-voiced male inside the house. “First, that you don’t tell anyone what you saw here.”

Since we weren’t sure what we saw, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

“Second, that you use the phone and then wait at the bottom of the hill.”

We didn’t have any choice but to agree, because we needed to tell someone, namely Crawford, where we were. Apparently, someone was partying on a school night, and that was a no-no when you were only midway through your teens. I wondered where this snotty girl’s parents were and if they knew what went on the minute their backs were turned.

I took the phone, keeping my eyes on the girl as I dialed Crawford’s cell. He picked up midway through the first ring. “Hi, we’re fine,” I said, cutting to the chase. I put my hand over the receiver. “By the way, where are we?” I asked the lovely Brianna.

She rolled her eyes again. I wanted to warn her that if she continued to do that, her face might stay that way. “Uh, Yorktown Heights?” she said, as if I already knew the answer to the question I’d asked.

“We’re in Yorktown Heights. Do you know where that is?” I asked, trying to carry on a perfectly normal conversation in spite of the fact that Crawford was squawking like a chicken that had been run over while crossing the road. “It’s about forty minutes north of us. You’ll need to take the Taconic, I think,” I said, taking some comfort in relaying these instructions calmly to him. “Yes, we’re fine,” I reiterated. “No, she didn’t hurt us.”

Brianna’s eyes grew wide. “Of course I didn’t hurt you,” she said, taking umbrage.

I put my hand over the receiver again. “No, not you,” I said.

“Is that Sassy?” Crawford asked.

“No, it’s Brianna.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Never mind,” I said. “We’re at”—I stepped back to see the number above the door—“43 Mount Pleasant Road in York-town. You have a GPS in the Crown Vic, right? We’ll be at the end of the street. There’s some kind of main drag that intersects with Mount Pleasant, but I don’t know what it is.”

“We’ll find you,” he said. “Stay put!” he added, knowing that there was always the chance that Kevin and I would be distracted by something shiny and wander off, never to be heard from again, until maybe the spring thaw, when our intertwined remains would be unearthed by hikers on Turkey Mountain. I shook my head to clear it of that image; where had that come from?

Brianna held her hand out for the phone. “Remember what I said.”

“Okay, and you remember what I am about to say,” I said. I paused dramatically for effect, something that would be lost probably on Brianna but which made me feel like my advice would be taken to heart. “Just say no.” I handed her the phone. “Thank you for your help.”

She slammed the front door again. I grabbed Kevin’s arm and pulled him along on the journey back down to the end of the street. At the corner was an old, dilapidated stone wall, fortunately still sturdy enough for us to sit on. I swung my legs back and forth to keep warm, my jacket not really doing the trick. My heels banged against the stone, the only sound we could hear. Since the party at Brianna’s had been broken up by us in an unceremonious fashion, the neighborhood was deadly quiet.

After sitting for twenty minutes in silence, Kevin finally spoke. “I miss being a priest.”

“I know you do.” It would be obvious to even the most casual acquaintance that Kevin was a little lost at sea these days. “Are you thinking about going back?”

“Maybe,” he said, “but I want to do something different. Maybe go away.”

My heart sank a little bit. “Like where?”

“Latin America, maybe. Africa?”

“Wow, really far away.”

“I really want to make a difference. Being the chaplain at St. Thomas was cushy but not really significant in terms of helping people.” We both chewed on that silently for a while. “Know what I mean?”

I did. I also knew that Kevin was really at loose ends. I didn’t want him to make a rash decision, but it sounded like he had given this some thought. “I do.”

Another half hour went by, and I felt like Crawford would never find us. We sat in silence, Kevin not really wanting to talk about his plans any further, even though I tried to get more details. I didn’t want to think about him being thousands of miles away; even the thirty that separated us now didn’t allow us to get together as much as we would like. I always knew he was there, though, right before the Bronx ends and Long Island begins, and that was comforting in and of itself.

It was freezing. I resisted the urge to complain and tried to put out of my head exactly how lousy I would feel in the morning after having gotten no sleep. In the distance, I saw the lights of some cars, and I prayed that someone was finally arriving to get us.

“Max is upset with you,” Kevin said finally after the protracted silence.

I turned to face him.

“She is upset that you never saw her father in the hospital,” he said, “and that you have been so wrapped up with Bobby’s family and Christine. She feels like you don’t care about her anymore.”

“That’s not true,” I said quietly. I was so hurt by that pronouncement that I didn’t even have the energy to refute Max’s claims with anything approaching conviction. “That’s not true at all.”

“I tried to tell her that, but she won’t listen. She’s very upset, Alison,” he said. “I think you have to make it right.”

“She’s been freezing me out,” I said. “She wouldn’t even talk to me after I found out about Marty.”

He fell silent again as we focused on the road in front of us. Coming up the desolate street was a police car, the lights on top turning lazily, the siren quiet. I jumped off the stone wall, not expecting Kevin to follow me or even be able to keep up as I ran to meet the car, but he surprised me by running right alongside of me, as anxious to get to the police as I was.

The car pulled over at the corner of the main road and Mount Pleasant. The cop in the driver’s seat, a young African American guy in uniform, almost looked surprised to see us, while his partner, an older white guy with a paunch that hung over his utility belt and nearly grazed the dashboard in front of him, looked over and said, “You the lady with the cop husband?”

“That would be me,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief.