Stunner (7 page)

“So, this must be serious,” I say lightly.

Rita stops writing and looks up.

I go on, “Frank must be taking Juliana to meet his old Princeton roommate, you know, Dan Gardiner. He’s usually at his shore house this time of year, but I know he’s been doing a lot of rebuilding since Superstorm Sandy. Maybe Frank and Juliana want to take a look at Dan’s place and see what kind of headway he’s making.”

“Meadow Farm was certainly fortunate compared to the Shore, Ronnie.” Rita closes the pad and lays down the pencil. “Just some downed trees here. No damage at all to the house or any of the farm buildings except that one shed crushed by that pine tree. We do have a lot to be grateful for.”

I nod my agreement. “Absolutely, Rita. A lot to be grateful for. Anyway, my brother wouldn’t take her to meet Dan if this wasn’t serious.” I think back to the lawyer’s appointment Frank mentioned before the road rage incident and wonder why it involved Juliana. The meeting with his attorney could be an indicator of how serious the two of them are. Things might be moving fast between them…perhaps too fast. It makes me uneasy.

“Well, it’s easy to understand why your brother would want to show her off. She’s very beautiful.” Rita grabs the pad and heads toward the kitchen door. “Be back in a while.”

“Bye, Rita.” I walk into the foyer and look upstairs. No one’s around, and my curiosity is killing me. Again.

I’ve rarely been a nosy person, but I sure have been turning into one ever since Juliana arrived. Oh well. This is my brother, and men can be so naïve about women. They need their little sisters looking out for them, don’t they?

I walk up the stairs and into the guest room. This time Juliana’s room is pulled together, with everything properly in its place. The sight is quite a contrast to that of the chaos I encountered the evening of the party, when it looked as though a hurricane had blown through.

I open the door to the beautiful old mahogany armoire that stands opposite the bed. Juliana’s dresses, slacks, tunics, and jackets are neatly draped on cedar hangers. It’s now easy to see a common theme here—elegant clothing and not fussy—as if each item had been carefully considered, or curated, before purchase.

Some of the pieces are classic with famous labels that telegraph
expensive
, and they’re mixed in with several items from hip, cutting-edge designers. What surprises me most is that Pucci-like number she wore for cocktails a couple days ago. I can hardly believe it when I see the J.Crew label inside the dress. Not exclusive like some of the other clothing hanging in the armoire, which shows that Juliana has the confidence to mix it all up.

What catches my eye are her shoes, now neatly arranged in the bottom of the armoire—among them red-soled Louboutin high heels and apple-green suede Tod’s loafers. The Louboutins are so sky-high that just looking at them practically hurts my feet. The days of wearing sexy black heels like that are long gone for me, but, oooh, those suede Tod’s look so comfortable, and chic, too! My toes are almost wiggling with a desire to try them on, but I manage to control myself.

I walk into the bathroom, and my eyes sweep over the products she uses for skincare and her hair. All great quality, but not ridiculously expensive. I notice that this time the bottles and tubes are each wiped off, closed, and lined up on the shelf above the sink instead of scattered, smudged, and left open all around the bedroom as on the night of the party.

Her cosmetics are like everything else about this woman’s outward physical appearance—clean, elegant and understated. The neatnik in me feels no urge to fuss over anything, because everything is where it should be this time around.

Leaving the bathroom, I spot two books and a Kindle stacked on the nightstand next to the bed. Turning on the e-book reader as I put on my glasses, I see Juliana is in the middle of reading
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
. I turn off the Kindle and sit quietly on the edge of the bed thinking about her choice of this Pulitzer-Prize-winning book.

At the end of the day, before the lights go out, Juliana chooses to spend her time reading about New Jersey ghetto-nerd Oscar instead of dipping into
Vogue
or
Vanity Fair
. I kick myself for stereotyping her simply because she’s so beautiful.

I pick up the paperback book that was right underneath the Kindle—
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
—and I discover it’s a well-used chess manual. So, Juliana plays chess? That I would also not have expected. I flip open the book and see the title page is inscribed
To a most talented future chess master! JP, 1999
.

The bottom book is another well-worn paperback with numerous folded page corners.
The Tender Bar: A Memoir
by J. R. Moehringer. I don’t know this one. The cover says it’s a bestseller, and an NPR review on the back reads:

A fierce and funny coming of age story about ambition and yearning…exquisitely describes every wince-making step of his class climb.

I may have to buy my own copy and read this one.

Even if she seems aloof, hidden, and not particularly warm, Juliana is turning out to be one very interesting lady.

I read an inscription on the title page of this book, too—
For the lovely Juliana, A little something to read and think back to your years at the Café Casablanca. It was always a pleasure watching my most gifted student develop her many talents and flourish into such a lovely woman. Warmest regards, Dragomir, Malibu 2007.
Who is Dragomir? What kind of a name is that? Whoever these people are who inscribed her books, she doesn’t appear to be trying to hide this intellectual part of her life.

I carefully place the books and Kindle back on the mahogany stand and spot a partially opened drawer in a bureau. I head over to close it but see a red leather box inside next to an Hermès scarf. So, naturally I open the drawer more and stare at the box.

Lightly stroking the grain of the leather with my fingers, I notice a frail silver chain hanging out one side of the box, and I open the lid. Gorgeous earrings, cuffs, and cocktail rings, many using colorful semi-precious stones in their design fill the box. But it’s a beat-up, tarnished silver locket attached to that thin chain that draws my attention, and I carefully lift it out, trying not to disturb the other jewelry.

I study the swirling design on the front. Flipping it over, I read

To MTG, with love, FEB

…or is it
FLB
? Hard to tell, because the letters are scratched and difficult to read. I run my fingernail down the side of the locket and open it to find a small cluster of dark hair inside. But then I hear the front door slam, and I snap the locket shut.

Suddenly voices echo from below, and I quickly drop the locket into the box and drape the chain over its side, hoping this is the same way that I found it. I put the box back in its place, quietly shut the drawer, remove my glasses and leave.

I come down the stairs and identify the voices of my niece, nephew, and my nephew’s wife, who are all in the kitchen. Heading through the door, I greet them cheerfully. “Now what have you three been doing all afternoon?”

“So I talked to a friend I did a favor for a while back. She’s a social worker in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania,” Will Benson says. He and I have made it official—he now works for me as a private investigator, though I haven’t yet told Laura, my niece. I think it best to keep this secret for the time being. That way if Frank finds out, Laura won’t get into trouble for knowing about my misbehavior.

It’s the day following my further snooping among Juliana’s things, and Will texted me to meet him, so we sit in a coffee shop around the corner from the Aikido dojo. “Won’t this social worker get into trouble for sharing information about a juvenile case with you?” I take a bite of my grilled cheese sandwich.

“Look, it’s true those files are sealed,” Will answers me. “But the case is twenty-five years old, and the kids aged out of the system a couple of decades ago. Anyway, you’re interested in what’s happened to them more recently. So my friend called a colleague who’s been a social worker up in Scranton for thirty years.” He sips his coffee. “This woman remembered the gang, looked up a couple of things, and gave us a rundown of what happened to the kids.”

That news excites me. “Are they still around that area?” I ask. I’m thinking about the dead-bird-box delivery and hang-up calls from Scranton and Moosic when Juliana and Frank first arrived at Meadow Farm. I’m trying hard not to think about the van with Pennsylvania plates that ran my brother off the highway.

“Even though shots were fired, mostly by Teresa, nobody was injured. Fortunately.” Will pulls out a notepad. “So the court took mercy and placed all of them in juvenile detention centers. The oldest, Joe Taylor, appears to have turned his life around.”

“How’d he do that?” I ask.

“First, Joe never fired a gun or was even found with one when arrested, so that helped. Plus the juvenile system worked for him, and it also seems he showed remorse and humility,” Will says. “Joe kept his head down and worked hard while in detention up near Scranton. He made good grades and did community service during those years.”

Will flips through the pad, stopping on one page and reading a bit. “Let’s see. Once he was released, he went to community college and then Marywood University in Scranton. He has a criminal justice degree. Pretty amazing.”

“Wow.” I finish my sandwich and take a drink.

“Get a load of this,” Will goes on. “Today Joe Taylor runs a school drug abuse program in Scranton.”

“That’s impressive.” I’m truly surprised, even moved. “But what happened to his little brother, Bobby?”

“That’s a whole different story. Since Bobby Taylor turned eighteen and was released from juvie, he’s been in and out of prison numerous times. Mostly for smalltime stuff—burglaries, passing bad checks, conning money from old people. Until the last one,” says Will. “That was a serious felony charge involving drugs where he beat up a guy so badly he put him in a coma. Plus he had a gun. That landed him a ten-year sentence.”

Will flips through a few more pages of his notes. “His files say he’s a psychopath. There were even rumors years ago that he went after his cousin Theresa a few times—you know, attacked her. But I couldn’t find a record of any charges on that.”

He glances at a page in his pad and drinks his coffee. “So, Bobby was released from prison three months ago, this time in Maryland, although he’s pretty much dropped out of sight. Nobody knows where he is.”

So why is Bobby Taylor calling Juliana Wentworth? My brother’s elegant girlfriend and this smalltime violent crook couldn’t come from two more different worlds. But what if there’s a perfectly sensible explanation, such as… “Will, what happened to Teresa?” I ask.

Will checks his notes. “Her case was more serious, even though she was only thirteen when arrested—it’s because she fired a weapon a number of times at the police during the gang’s crime spree.”

Will turns to another page in his pad and reads further. “Following two years at a detention center, Teresa was placed in a girls’ group home when she was fifteen.” He closes the pad. “But a year later, after repeatedly breaking the home’s strict curfews, she ran away.”

“Ran away?” My curiosity is further aroused. “What happened to her? Where’d she go? Did they bring her back—”

“Hold it!” Will laughs. “Let me finish, Ronnie. The Pennsylvania Juvenile Justice system was never able to find her—”

Wow. “You’re kidding me. She dropped out of sight completely? How could they blow this? Who was in charge of her case?” I hate not having an answer to a mystery like this.

Will throws his hands up. “Time out, Ronnie. I don’t know you except from class, but I’d guess this is a different world from yours. I get the sense from the methodical way you practice Aikido that you like to be in control of things in your life. For a kid like Teresa, a lot in her life was out of her control. So she could’ve easily slipped through the cracks at that point—because she wanted to.”

Will finishes his coffee. “While Teresa was at the group home, it seems she talked a lot about Disney World, how she was going to live there one day.” He waves for the check. “After interviews were conducted with other residents at the home, the thought was that she probably ran away to Florida. But they never tracked her down.”

I shake my head. What a terribly sad story. “She was just a kid, Will. How could they lose her?” I practically spit out
lose
.

“Calm down, Ronnie,” my private eye buddy says. “Lots of kids run away. Remember, Teresa was sixteen and apparently looked older. So who was going to stop her as she made her way South?”

Will closes his notebook and shrugs. “I’ve gotta be somewhere in twenty minutes. If you’d like, I’ll run up to Scranton in the next couple of days and talk to Joe Taylor. You know, see what I can find out about Teresa.”

“Thanks, Will. But let’s hold off on that for the moment.” I grab the check when the waitress brings it to the table. “I’ve got this one. You go. Get to your appointment.” He tucks the pad in his pocket and leaves.

I wonder what Teresa was up to all those years after she left Scranton. Calling up the image of the dead bird holding the scrap of paper in its beak with the names
Teresa & Frankie
, I consider the bizarre trio of Teresa, Bobby Taylor, and Juliana. Or was it a foursome with that guy Frankie? OK, Bobby and Teresa were cousins. It’s also clear that Bobby and Juliana have some kind of baffling connection, where he could
ruin everything
for her, I guess with my brother. But what exactly is Teresa’s relationship with Juliana? Simply friends? Or how about… Nah. That’s just too big a stretch. Or is it?

Whatever, the story has to be a fascinating one, at the very least, and more importantly, would help me further understand Juliana. I might even find out whether she could be the best or worst thing that’s happened to Frank since Joanie’s death.

~~~~~

I stop by Meadow Farm to drop off a book I think my brother would enjoy reading. That’s my excuse anyway, should anyone ask. My real purpose is to dangle information on Joe Taylor in front of Juliana and gauge her reaction.