The Popsicle Tree (31 page)

“And then they moved here. You must have been pleased.”

The look of sadness returned, and she dropped her eyes to the table.

“I was. They moved to Carrington because Carlene wanted to be near her sister. I was hoping to see them often, but…” Her voice trailed off.

“But?”

She took a deep breath. “But since Roy was Kelly's father, and since Angelina comes and goes between here and Louisville and I never know when she'll be here or not, Jan…well, she preferred to keep her distance. It broke my heart not to be able to spend as much time as I wanted with her or Kelly, whom I came to consider as being my grandson.”

She looked up at me. “I know,” she said, anticipating a reaction to her referring to Kelly as her grandson, “but in a way I do feel he
is
my grandson. Jan has been a part of his life from the moment he was born, and she adores him. He calls her ‘Mommy Jan.'”

“And how did you feel when they broke up?”

“I was devastated for Jan. But technically and legally Kelly is Carlene's son, not Jan's, and Jan has no legal rights when it comes to him.” She sighed. “Things that can't be changed must be accepted. At least now I get to see her every now and again…when Angelina isn't here, of course.”

I had to ask, “Did Angelina know about Kelly—and that he is Roy's son—before Carlene's death?”

Finishing the last of her popover, she shook her head.

“Oh, no! I didn't know myself for quite some time, and when I found out, I, of course, would never tell Angelina. I may feel like a grandmother but I can assure you that Angelina would not. I really, after all these years, don't know how Angelina's mind works, and sometimes it's best not to find out. I didn't dare tell her about Kelly because I couldn't bear the thought that for whatever reason she might decide to try to take Kelly away from Jan…and his mother, of course.”

“But that's what she's attempting to do now, I gather.”

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Yes, but Jan doesn't have Kelly now, either, does she?”

That struck me as just a bit odd, but I let it pass.

I was positive that Mildred must be aware I knew Jan was not her real daughter, but neither of us mentioned it. We just more or less small-talked through the last few minutes of lunch. My mind, as well as my stomach, was full and needed time to digest everything.

We finished our lunch, exchanged “thank you's,” and went our separate ways.

*

There was a lot to digest, and I was still going over everything Mildred Collins had said when I arrived back at the office. I'd just sat down at my desk when the phone rang.

“Hardesty Investigations.”

“I have a collect call for Dick Hardesty from Roy D'Angelo. Will you accept the charges?”

“Yes,” I said, and heard a slight “click.”

“What the hell do you want now?”

“Thanks for calling. I just thought I'd let you know what's going on with my investigation into Carlene's death.”

“Why? I told you before, I didn't have anything to do with it, and it's none of my concern.”

I'm sure his butch/bully attitude was very effective in third grade, but I wasn't buying it.

“Well, as soon as I can put a couple of more pieces of the puzzle together, I'll turn what I know over to the police, and it occurred to me that with a custody hearing coming up, you would probably want to make sure you're not being considered a murder suspect. I need you to convince me you aren't involved.”

Of course one of the classic stupid moves in crime fiction, movies, and TV is for someone to tell a suspected murderer that they're going to go to the police. It's like painting a bulls-eye on your forehead. And somebody had already tried to kill me. I do some really dumb things sometimes.

But it was the only way I could think of to get something out of him, one way or the other.

“And how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“We can start by you being honest with me. You said you didn't know Eddie Styles. You do.”

There was a slight pause, then, “Yeah, so I know who he is. I knew him when I was a kid. So what?”

“And you didn't tell me Jan Houston is your half-sister.”

“Again, so what? You never asked, and it's none of your business anyway. What's that got to do with anything?”

“Just that it indicates that you knew about Kelly all along.”

“I didn't! I've never had a thing to do with that dyke. She hates my guts.” There was a slight pause, then, “You've been talking to my aunt Mildred, haven't you? What a doormat! She's let Angelina walk all over her for years, and she never had the guts to stand up to her, but she can't wait to run around behind her back and try to cause trouble. I'll just bet the minute Angelina wasn't looking, Mildred came running to you—especially if she knows you're out to frame us.”

“I'm not out to frame anybody. But the fact is that Carlene's death was not an accident. You know the man who killed her, and you're the one with the most to gain by her death.”

“That's bullshit! You think getting saddled with a kid for eighteen years is some sort of prize?” There was a pause as he apparently realized what he just said, and he hastened to add, “But he's my kid and I'll do right by him.”

Uh huh
.

“And your mother gave you the money for the custody suit.”

“Like shit she did! I got my own money! I do pretty damned well on the circuit. I don't need her money. That old lady never gave me a dime in my life!”

It's possible that he could be right, but I strongly doubted it. Almost any lawyer could handle a custody case; why would he need the best
lawyer in Kentucky—the best
criminal
lawyer, to boot. Well, considering what I'd heard of his family's past, I'd imagine they'd had some experience with criminal lawyers. Maybe this guy was a family friend. Still….

“So you had no idea Kelly even existed until your mother told you.”

“That's right!”

“And the minute you found out, you filed for custody.”

“Well, not the very minute.”

“Of course. But within a few days?”

“Right.”

“Not even knowing for sure that Kelly was yours.”

“He's mine, all right. I seen pictures.”

Oh?

“How did you manage that? Who took them?”

I could tell I'd flustered him. “I…uh…as soon as I knew about him, I asked Angelina to have somebody get me some pictures of him. She had some private investigator she knew get some.”

“Frank Santorini?”

There was a pause, then, “I don't know who took them.”

I couldn't tell whether he was lying or not, and it really didn't matter. The fact that Frank Santorini had been found shot dead in his office three days after Carlene was killed had suddenly become another very real piece in the puzzle. I'd take odds that he had been killed to cover up the link between Carlene and whoever had hired him. And if Santorini was taking pictures of Kelly before Carlene died, that proved Angelina D'Angelo had known about Kelly for some time before Carlene's death. Her having denied it was, in my mind, yet another knot in the noose around her neck.

“The thing is, the kid looks just like me. That's all I need to know.”

It suddenly occurred to me that I had never heard Roy D'Angelo refer to his son by name. Real father material, all right!

“One last question. When is the last time you were in town?”

“That time I saw you. I got in a pretty bad wreck at the next stop on the circuit, and I've been out of commission.” There was a pause, and then, “And just so's you'll know, since you're so fucking curious about everything, I'm giving up the racing. When I get the kid, I'm gonna spend full time here, expanding my garage business, stuff like that, so I'll be able to be a real dad.”

Well, I must say, he was indeed getting all his ducks in a row, anticipating all the obvious objections to his bid for custody. And the scary thing was that he just might get it.

We were both silent a moment, until I said, “Okay, I guess that does it. Thanks again for talking with me.”

“Yeah,” he said, confidently. “You just go ahead and go to the cops and tell them whatever in hell you want. I got nothin' to hide. And the kid's
mine
!”

And he hung up.

His name's
Kelly
, you jerk!

*

Sigh.

That “going to the cops” thing didn't work out quite the way I'd hoped. But I
did
hope I hadn't made a fatal mistake in bringing it up. Once again I was uncomfortably aware of how things had changed in my life. I didn't have to just worry about myself anymore: I had Jonathan and Joshua to consider. I couldn't afford that old Hardesty “bring it on” attitude anymore.

And I realized that I really should go to the police—I knew Marty Gresham and Mark Richman would give me an objective hearing without insisting on stepping in and interfering with my investigation. And even if I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle in place yet, at least I could give them a good heads up in the event that something might happen to me.

I sat there for a while, mulling over what had been a pretty informative day. Maybe it was the lunch, but I mulled myself into that state just this side of sleep, where the mind starts wandering off on its own. I pictured myself holding four brightly colored balloons on long strings—Roy, Jan, Angelina, and Bonnie Bronson. Bonnie's string slipped out of my hand and I watched it rise silently into the sky, becoming smaller and smaller.

So long, Bonnie
.

Pulling myself back to reality, I realized I'd pretty much decided that of the three remaining prime suspects…Roy, Angelina, and Jan…only Roy had the laws of parental rights on his side. But Angelina could get around that little obstacle with her checkbook. So Jan was off the hook, then? Well, let's just say I'd moved her to the number two spot, with Angelina and Roy in a dead heat for first.

The fact that Roy was probably in Louisville when whoever it was tried to kill me might have held a little more weight were it not for the fact that Eddie Styles was very likely the one doing the actual dirty work, and elusive as he was, he could be working for either Roy or Angelina.

Yes, or for Jan
, my mind observed.
Eddie Styles
was
her godfather, after all.

One step forward, one step back.

*

I picked up the phone and dialed City Annex, and asked for Lt. Mark Richman's extension. The phone rang three times before I heard it being picked up.

“Lieutenant Richman.”

“Lieutenant, it's Dick Hardesty. I hope I'm not interrupting something,”

“No, I was just finishing up a call on my other line. So what can I do for you? It's been a long time.”

“I know. I figured I'd let you work on someone else's problems for a change.”

“And don't think I don't appreciate it. What gives?”

“Well, I'm not sure. But there is something going on I wanted to let you know about, just in case.”

There was only a slight pause, then, “Ah, yes…the hit-and-run you're working on. Officer Gresham told me about it. I wish we had something positive we could tell you about this…Eddie Styles, was it?…character, but we still haven't been able to track him down. He's a pretty elusive guy.”

“I know you're doing your best, but I was wondering if we might get together for lunch so I could fill you in on everything, just in case…”

Richman interrupted, “Officer Gresham told me about your brake line accident. You should have made an official police report, you know. That's what we're here for.”

“I know, but I'd be willing to bet Eddie Styles was responsible…Marty said you'd had a report that he was in town at the time…and you're already looking for him, so…it's a long story, and it's a pretty complicated one.”

“Okay, you've got me. How about tomorrow at the usual time and place?”

By that I knew he meant Sandler's, where Marty and I had had lunch. And I knew the time would be twelve fifteen. We'd met there often enough in the past, but I was rather pleased that he thought of it as being “usual.”

“That'd be great,” I said, and meant it.

“And I might see if Officer Gresham can come along. We might as well both hear the story at the same time.”

“I really appreciate it, Lieutenant. I'll see you tomorrow.”

We exchanged “good-byes” and hung up.

*

I left the office in time to pick up Jonathan at work and make it to Happy Day at the regular pick-up time. Jonathan went in to get Joshua while I waited in the car. Since it was Jonathan's school night, we had established something of a ritual of eating out to save time, and as was becoming “usual,” we went to one of the six hundred or so Cap'n Rooney's Fish Shack franchises in town so Joshua could watch the fish in the gigantic tanks while eating with his fingers—two of his favorite pastimes. Jonathan was having a test that night, and had brought his textbook to work so he could study during his lunch hour. He brought it into the restaurant with us to do a little more last-minute cramming. Joshua was too fascinated with watching the fish to ask Jonathan to read it to him, so with both of them visually occupied, I spent my waiting time checking out the manager behind the counter. Jonathan glanced up from his book and caught me staring. He kicked my leg under the table, grinned, and went back to his book. He knew me well enough by now to know that for me, looking at hot guys was just part of who I am, and not a threat. Still, he wanted to give me a gentle reminder to keep it that way.