The Girl Is Trouble (16 page)

“I am Jewish, remember?”

“Yeah, but not … I mean … uh, this is coming out upside down. I’m just wondering if she looked more like you or Michael Rosenberg.”

“She looked like me,” I said. The conversation was making me really uncomfortable, though I wasn’t sure why. “I didn’t realize you worked for Michael’s dad.”

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy. Both of them are.”

“Strangely enough, I’m working for Michael, too,” I said.

“At the store?”

“No. At school. As a detective. Michael hired me to find out who’s been leaving nasty notes in the Jewish Student Federation’s lockers.”

“Huh.” His hands were no longer touching mine. My fingers bent instinctively, searching for the return of his touch. “What do the notes say?”

“Awful anti-Semitic stuff. It’s not worth repeating.”

“Are you close to cracking the case?”

“Not really.” I thought of Pearl pushing her note through the locker vents. Could I tell on her, even if I knew it was the right thing to do? “I’m starting to think I’m not a very good detective.”

If he was listening to me, he didn’t show it. “It’s getting late,” said Benny. “I better bounce before I’m late for work.” He stood up and instantly the cold air bored back into my bones.

“Okay. Well, thanks for everything.” I leaned into him and gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Tomorrow.” And with that, he left.

CHAPTER

14

I MADE IT HOME
just before six o’clock. I delayed my arrival long enough to stop off at the five-and-dime and buy some chewing gum. I gnawed on the wad for four blocks, hoping to get rid of the liquor smell on my breath. It was going to be bad enough being yelled at for coming home late; I didn’t want to add boozing to my list of crimes.

I entered the house and found Pop’s door closed. It was clear he was in there, though, talking to someone. That was fine. If he’d decided that he’d rather have me out of his hair than deal with me, then out of his hair I would be.

“Ah, Iris—is you.” Mrs. Mrozenski appeared near the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands. “I get worried.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had a meeting after school.” The lie came too easily and I hated myself for it. What happened to being honest with everyone from here on out? I guess it didn’t matter when it was clear Pop wasn’t doing the same.

“I hear you go to your aunt’s this weekend.”

“Yeah. Pop seemed to think it would be a good idea.” I nodded toward the closed office door. “Who’s in there?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Client, I guess. I have food when you ready.”

I told her I’d be in shortly, that I needed to wash up first. As soon as she disappeared back into the kitchen, I crouched before Pop’s door and peered through the vent. I was half expecting to find Betty, but instead saw what was clearly a man. As I watched, he stood up and turned so that he was facing the door. He looked familiar. I knew I’d seen him before but I couldn’t recall where.

They were nearing the end of their conversation. I left the floor and bounced to the sofa. There was nothing on the coffee table to use to hide my interest, so I picked up the photo of Mama and tried to act like I was studying it.

Pop’s door opened. The man exited, saw me, tipped his hat, and offered a smile. And just like that I knew where I’d seen him: he was the man I’d tailed the previous weekend, the one whose picture I’d taken after he’d confronted me for following him.

But why was he here?

I didn’t know what to say. Had he tracked me down? Was Pop in trouble? Pop appeared in the doorway behind him, a look on his face that made it clear he would’ve preferred if the man had made a sharp right and never paused in his path. “I’ll see you out, Jim,” he told him.

They both walked out the door. I dashed after them to observe what was going on from the small window that butted against the doorjamb. They were on the sidewalk, talking. Both men were smiling. There was something almost collegiate about them, like two old friends who’d spent the afternoon catching up. They shook hands and exchanged some parting words that were impossible to hear from inside the house.

What was going on? This wasn’t a confrontation at all.

Rather than returning to the sofa before Pop came inside, I stayed by the door and waited for him. He was startled to see me. I didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“You know him,” I said.

He was going to play innocent, that much was clear. “What do you mean?”

“That man. Jim. He’s the one I followed for you last weekend. You know him.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“He wasn’t a real client,” I said. “That wasn’t a real job. I didn’t mess up and draw attention to myself. He knew I was there all along.”

He looked ready to argue with me but something made him decide against it. He showed me his palms as though to let me know that he was giving up. “It was a test.”

“You told me that was part of the reason you wanted me out of the business for now.”

“You didn’t handle it as well as I hoped you might.”

I put my hands on my hips. “It wasn’t a fair test.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this, Iris.”

“What about all those hotel calls I made? Were those a test, too? Is Mickey Pryor for real or just another phantom you have me chasing?”

His face told me everything. All those hours of work, save the filing I did, had been for nothing. “I couldn’t put you in the field until I was certain I knew you could handle yourself.”

“So why was he here? To give you a full report of what happened?”

“Jim and I had other business to attend to. It’s no concern of yours.”

I stared him down. This whole thing had been a farce. Pop had never trusted me from the get-go. And here I thought he was shutting me out, when the truth was I’d never been let in to begin with. “Yeah, it’s no concern of mine. Just like Mama.”

He returned my glare. I thought for a moment that he might tear into me for that, and God help me if he had.

“Iris? Homework?” said Pop.

“Pop? Dinner?” I said, in a snotty voice I didn’t regret one bit.

He turned tail and left the room. I was so frustrated that I picked up the photo of Mama and threw it against the wall as hard as I could. I wanted a satisfying smash to underscore my anger, but all I got was a wimpy crunch as the corner of the wooden frame detached and the picture came tumbling out. Instantly I regretted my actions. I fell to my knees to rescue Mama from any further damage and gathered up her photo, the pieces of wood, and the cardboard backing that used to hold it all in place. As I worked to reassemble everything, a piece of notepaper caught my eye. It was a letter that had been wedged between the photo and the frame’s backing:

Dear Ingrid,

I know you’re angry with me, but please know that I am only thinking of your best interest. We must stop this immediately, for Art’s sake as well as our own. I know you’re heartbroken at the thought of it, but please think about what we’re doing to my brother.

Adam

I gasped and then clamped my hand over my mouth. Adam was the man Mama was involved with? How could that be? And did that mean Uncle Adam was the one who—?

I didn’t get to finish the thought. Mrs. Mrozenski called me in to dinner. I shoved the photo under the couch and dutifully followed her into the kitchen.

*   *   *

DINNER WAS VIRTUALLY SILENT.
Pop and Mrs. M. made small talk about the weather (cold) and the war (bad) while I shifted food around my plate and tried to feign eating. Pop seemed as oblivious to my lack of appetite as he was to the booze on my breath. Mrs. M. was a bit more wary.

“Something on your mind, Iris?”

Boy, howdy, was there. Pop doesn’t trust me. He’s covering up that my mom, who may have been sleeping with my uncle, was murdered. My best friend is leaving anti-Jewish propaganda in people’s lockers. And the boy I think I love kissed me for the second time today and then got weird and left.

Also, I’m a little drunk.

“Just tired,” I said.

“Early to bed tonight,” said Mrs. M. “It would be good for you, too, Arthur. You have shadows under your eyes.”

Pop did, too. In fact, he looked a lot older to me all of a sudden, which was saying something. “I’ve actually got to work tonight, but don’t worry—I’m getting my rest.”

He was probably exhausted from having to do his real casework and make up imaginary tasks for me. Oh, and Betty—don’t forget Betty. He had fifteen years on her. Keeping up with her had to take a lot of energy.

Why was I getting upset about that? Mama and Uncle Adam were … they were …

Pop wiped his mouth, dropped his napkin, and rose from his seat. “In fact, I should head out now. Thanks for the meal. It was delicious, as always. You’re in for the night, Iris.”

It was an order, not a question. “Where would I go?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he left the room and I helped Mrs. M. clean the dishes and put them away.

“You have another fight?” she asked me once the front door closed and we knew he was on his way.

“He doesn’t want me working for him anymore.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe after Monday he change his mind.”

Monday? That was right—the anniversary of Pearl Harbor. I’d forgotten about that. It had to be weighing on him, too. Not that I cared.

“I’m not sure why it would,” I said.

“If he knows he is safe now, maybe he think you’ll be safe now, too,” she said.

It was a nice thought, but I didn’t think an anniversary could change how little he trusted me.

I left her alone and went into the parlor. The phone rang and Mrs. M. answered it. The call was obviously for her; after the initial greeting she switched to rapid-fire Polish.

It reminded me of Mama.

I dug the photo out from under the couch and read the note again. How could I have missed it? We saw so much of Uncle Adam in the months before Mama died. We ate at Adam and Miriam’s house at least once a week, but Adam was a constant fixture at our house, too. Sometimes Miriam came with him and entertained me while Mama and he sat in the dining room talking in low voices. Other times it was just my uncle, and I was told to occupy myself while they disappeared behind closed doors.

What else could it have been but an affair?

Did Pop know? It would certainly explain why Adam and he were no longer speaking. Maybe he’d gotten as far as I had on the case and decided he couldn’t bear to learn any more. It was one thing to lose your wife so brutally, but to find out that your brother might be behind it all—

I shook the idea out of my head and approached Pop’s office. He’d left it unlocked, at least, though I was willing to bet he’d triple-checked that the safe was secure. The desk was clean. Whatever notes had been there had been stored away before he’d left the house. I opened the top desk drawer to see if he might have pushed them in there, but it was virtually empty. All it contained were pens, pencils, paper clips, and a business card.

For McCain and Sons, Investigations.

I picked up the card and examined it more closely. Jim McCain’s name and exchange were on the card, along with an uptown address for his office. So Jim—if this was the same Jim that had been at the house earlier—was a detective. Why had Pop used another detective to help him test me? The card certainly didn’t answer my question, but at least it reassured me of one thing: if Pop did get in over his head trying to do his work without me, he had someone to help him.

*   *   *

I DIDN’T SLEEP.
Again. Pop returned in the wee hours of the morning. I heard him pause at my door, but he never bothered to open it to see if I was in there. If he had, I would’ve pretended I was asleep.

When morning finally came I decided that the best thing I could do was unravel one mystery at a time. I’d start with Pearl and what was really going on with the notes and then worry about Mama and Uncle Adam. But as I arrived at Pearl’s house to walk with her to school, my determination to get answers faded. How could I accuse her of something like that? Pearl’s whole existence had been reduced to being the school punch line because of the unfortunate coincidence of her first name. Didn’t she deserve to have one person in her corner?

Besides, there was a part of me that lacked the courage to accuse my best friend of being an anti-Semite. It was right up there with accusing my mother of being the same. In both cases it was just completely illogical, no matter what the evidence showed.

“Iris,” she said, her surprise showing as she left her house and found me waiting for her. “What are you doing here?”

“I got an early start and figured I’d walk with you.”

“Is everything all right?”

I shook my head as we started walking. “I’m pretty sure I know who the man was that my mom was seeing in Yorkville.”

“Who is he?”

“My uncle.” I told her about the note, about how much sense their illicit relationship made in retrospect. She didn’t argue with my interpretation of things, though I sorely wished she would. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Just because they had a relationship doesn’t mean he was the man in Yorkville.”

“I don’t know that I find it reassuring that she may have been seeing more than one man. Besides, the tone of his letter was desperate. He knew it was going to be hard to persuade her to end things. Does that sound like she was seeing more than one person?”

“I guess not.” Pearl hummed under her breath, like she was about to say something else but squelched it. We traveled half a block in silence. “Would he have the kind of power to pay off the cops, though?”

I knew Uncle Adam had paid the police for information. Most private eyes relied on bribes, at least the ones who could afford them. And while he wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, Miriam was. He could’ve used her money to buy off the police.