Whiskey Island (4 page)

“We were just lucky it ended the way it did.” Casey noted the distress in her sister’s eyes. “You know, Peg, tonight was enough to shake up a saint. I’m just waiting for the tears to hit myself.”

Peggy drew a deep breath. “Ashley’s hardly said a word.”

“I brought you something to cheer you up, Ashley.” Casey took a moment to rummage through her back pockets, then she held out her hands. “But you have to guess which hand it’s in.”

Ashley stirred on Peggy’s lap, but she didn’t speak.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Casey said. “It’s small enough to fit in my hand, but that’s not the best place to keep it.”

Ashley had been looking at her own hands. Now she looked at Casey’s.

“Can you guess which hand it’s in?” Casey said.

Ashley shook her head. She seemed afraid to make a mistake.

“Oh, I bet you can,” Casey said. “Go ahead and try. I just know you’ll get it right.”

Ashley let out one long, shuddering breath. She shook her head again.

Casey moved a little closer until she had bumped against the table. “I’ll give you another hint. I told you it didn’t belong in a hand? Well, it belongs in your mouth. But it won’t stay there long.”

Ashley frowned. “Candy,” she said at last.

“You are the smartest thing.” Casey showed no surprise that Ashley had spoken. “I knew you’d guess. You’re just too good at this. Now, guess which hand.”

Peggy frowned, as if she wished she could tell Casey to stop. Ashley shouldn’t fail tonight, not even at a simple guessing game.

“That one,” Ashley said at last. She pointed to Casey’s right hand.

“See? I told you you’d get it, and you did.” Casey opened her right hand and a mint wrapped in green paper lay on her palm. “Ta da!”

“And that one.” Ashley, who didn’t look surprised, leaned forward and pointed at Casey’s left hand. “Let me see that one, too.”

Casey knew that now she was the one who looked surprised. “But you already won. You got it right the first time.”

Ashley lifted her eyes to Casey’s and waited.

Casey grinned and opened her left hand. Another mint appeared. “Got me, didn’t you, smarty-pants?”

“Uh-huh.” Ashley took both mints and retreated back into Peggy’s arms. She took her time, neatly folding and refolding each wrapper after she’d eaten the candy, until the green foil square was the size of a doll’s fingernail. Casey got to her feet.

“You’re pretty good at that, Casey.” Peggy smiled up at her.

“Do you think both of you might be able to sleep now?”

Peggy looked down at Ashley, then nodded. “I think it’s a good idea to try.”

“I’ll bring up your suitcase from the car a little later. Choose whichever bedroom you want. Ashley and I will take the other one.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll help her get ready for bed. Then I’ve got to get back downstairs before Megan comes acheckin’ on all of us. At least I can spare you Hurricane Meg.” She held out her arms, and this time Ashley went into them willingly. Casey hugged her close and kissed the little girl’s hair. “You two’ll be all right until I can get back up for the night?”

Peggy answered for both of them. “We’re going to be fine.”

Casey slipped downstairs and into the tiny storeroom between the two saloon rest rooms. She closed the door and sat on a pile of boxes, cell phone in hand. She drew a slip of paper from her pocket and read a number, then punched it in and waited.

The telephone rang eight times before a woman’s voice answered.

“Grace, it’s Casey.”

A moment passed before the woman at the other end answered. “You just caught me. We’ll be changing this number tomorrow.”

“I know. Listen, I’ve got to tell you about something that happened tonight.” Casey launched into the story of the carjacking, ending with the news that everyone involved was safe, most particularly Ashley.

Grace was silent a moment. “How’s she doing?”

“I think she’s all right.”

“Have you had a chance to talk to her privately?”

“Just a moment or two. Getting her to talk about anything is difficult. She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t cry.”

“What’s your take on it?”

“I think the two guys were local no-goods who wanted my car. At the end they decided Ashley would make a good hostage, but that’s it.”

“She can’t come here. But maybe we ought to move her somewhere else.”

“She’s just starting to feel comfortable with me. She’s had such a hard time, I hate to move her somewhere else unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’ll keep an eye on things. If anything comes up, I’ll call right away.”

“I can’t give you the new number. But you know who to call for it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Give her a kiss from me, will you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And a big kiss from…somebody else.”

“You know it.”

“Watch out for her.”

“You know I will.”

A click signaled the conversation’s end.

Casey registered the noise from the saloon. As young children, she and Megan had built forts from the boxes and chairs stored in this room while they listened to the laughter and the music next door. Whiskey Island Saloon had been a happy place, filled with her mother’s easy warmth and her father’s lilting, lyrical tenor.

No one had ever sung “The Gypsy Rover” or “The Rising of the Moon” as well as her father. Or as often.

Her smile bloomed, then died. She had to talk to Megan. This night had been one long series of surprises. And now she had another to share with her sister.

Megan hadn’t expected to have Casey join her behind the bar. She was only halfway finished filling a tray with black and tans, and had two pints of Guinness to add to it, but she could manage alone. She tried to shoo her away.

“The excitement’s died down. Go on upstairs. I can manage until Barry gets back.”

Megan was worried about her sister. Casey’s face was still colorless and pinched with worry, even though an hour had passed since the carjacking. Megan suspected she needed a good cry and a better night’s sleep, but would likely indulge in neither.

Casey began drawing pints with a practiced hand, although it had been years since she’d been instructed in the fine points of the art by their father. But Megan knew her sister had tended bar, among other jobs, to put herself through graduate school, and obviously she’d learned a thing or two.

Casey looked up at the end of the first pint. “I was just up there. I have to talk to you, Meg.”

“Then you’ll have to do it on the fly. The minute Barry comes back, I have to start on the kitchen. I was scrubbing pots when I heard the sirens, and tomorrow’s bread is baking.”

“Don’t you have a night cook?”

Whiskey Island’s night cook was a community college student who did such a fine job when he showed up that Megan didn’t fire him for the times he forgot to. “His name’s Artie, and he’s studying for an exam. He only realized this afternoon that he has one tomorrow.”

“You have to get somebody reliable.”

“Reliable for what I pay? There is such a person?”

“I’ll scrub. You come and talk to me when you can.”

Megan grabbed the full tray. “Don’t even think about it. Go back upstairs. I’ll come up when I’ve finished, and we can talk all night if you want. You can start by telling me what you’re doing here, and why you’re suddenly mothering someone else’s kid.” She paused. “You know, if I’d known you were coming, I’d have killed the fatted calf. Instead I made potato chowder.”

Casey didn’t smile. “I need to talk to you
now.
”

Megan frowned. Casey liked to have her own way—it was a family failing. “Then fill the popcorn baskets. I’ll take this to the table. Maybe we’ll have a minute in a minute.”

It was more than a minute but less than ten before there was a lull. They huddled at one end of the bar, while Megan kept her eye on their patrons. Sam Trumbull, a feisty little man who was practically the saloon mascot, was ingratiating himself with the party she’d just served. Before long they would buy him a pint. She’d seen it before.

“Okay, where do we start?” Megan asked. “How long are you going to be here?”

“It depends on how long you’ll let me stay.”

Megan was so surprised she didn’t answer.

“That bad, huh?” Casey said. “You don’t want me here?”

“You know I do! This place is as much yours as mine. It’s just…” Megan faced her and crossed her arms. “You said you weren’t ever coming back. Suddenly you show up and you want to stay indefinitely?”

“I don’t
want
to stay. But I need a place to live, and I need a job. It’s that simple.”

“You have an apartment and a job in Chicago.”

“Not anymore. I subleased the apartment and quit the job.”

“But you loved that job.”

“You’ve never been a child welfare worker. I burned out.”

Megan sidestepped a little and felt her way. “What’s the deal with the kid, Casey? Does she need a place to live, too?”

“Ashley’s mother is a friend having a tough time. She finally got a decent job in Milwaukee, but she doesn’t have a good place to stay or enough money for decent child care. It would be better for her to settle in before Ashley joins her. So I agreed to take her for a while.”

Megan didn’t point out that Casey didn’t seem to have a job or a place to live, either. This was not the time to argue. “My daytime bartender quit today, and the apartment’s empty. Think you can handle both?”

“If I can handle everything that’s already happened….” Casey shook her head, as if she still had things that were bothering her. “Meg, that whole episode tonight was awful.”

Megan’s throat tightened. “Well, sure it was. It was terrible.” She swallowed. “I can’t even guess how bad it must have been for you.”

“Some homecoming, huh? Peggy and I wanted to surprise you. We thought it was time for a reunion. I thought it would mean a lot to have it here.” She paused. “After everything.”

“You know it does.” Megan tried to smile. “Though the carjacking cast a pretty long shadow.”

“I wanted to drive right over them. I knew the moment they materialized what they wanted. But they already had guns drawn. I couldn’t risk them shooting at us. Ashley was sitting on her booster seat. They could have so easily hit her.”

“Are you feeling guilty that you didn’t prevent it? Casey, are you crazy?”

“Not guilty. More like a screwup. The story of my life. One more thing I couldn’t get right.”

“But you were so brave. I heard you threw yourself over Ashley and Peggy when Niccolo slugged the gunman.”

“Niccolo came out of nowhere. It was like God sent an avenging angel.”

Megan sniffed unappreciatively. “Niccolo was just walking by. People walk by. Sometimes they wish they hadn’t. You didn’t have a conversion experience, did you? A Road to Damascus sort of thing?”

“Meg, Niccolo wasn’t the only person who came out of nowhere.”

Megan had been about to chide her sister for magical thinking. She stopped instead and examined her, waiting for Casey to go on.

“There
was
someone else,” Casey said at last.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The blond guy, the one who was holding the gun at my throat?”

“I hope they lock him away for a hundred years.”

“He’ll be out on the streets by my next birthday. But that’s not my point.” Casey took a deep breath, as if she was reliving the experience. “He grabbed my arm and threw me toward the hood of my car. I just barely managed to keep myself upright. I stumbled to where Niccolo was standing with Peggy and Ashley. The blond guy had my keys, and it only takes a second to start the car. But he didn’t.”

“Because somehow he was injured.”

Casey nodded. “Remember Niccolo said he thought he saw someone running off?”

“I know, but he was an inch away from passing out at the time. He wasn’t much of a witness. And
you
said there was no one there.”

“There
was
someone, Meg. I saw him, too.”

Megan waited a moment, but Casey didn’t go on. “What are you trying to say? That you’ve changed your mind? The cops’ll understand. I’m sure they realize the kind of strain you were under.”

“I didn’t change my mind. I just didn’t tell them what I saw.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think it was Rooney, Meg. I think the man Niccolo saw running away from my car was Rooney. And I didn’t want anyone else to know.”

4

N
iccolo was wrong about the stitches and right about the tetanus shot. The emergency room wasn’t crowded. Most people were too smart to get shot on a night as cold as this one. A doctor poked his head into Niccolo’s cubicle, and a nurse practitioner came back later to put three stitches in his arm. Barry, who turned out to be a fellow Steelers fan—unusual in a town wildly devoted to the Browns—talked downs and passes and blitzes all the way to Niccolo’s house.

Now Niccolo stood alone in his foyer, on the recently exposed maple subfloor, and considered his options.

He could go to bed. That would be wisest. He could turn on the space heater in the one upstairs room that still had all its walls, and try to read. Or he could get in his car and drive back to that parking lot. Before the snow fell. Before all signs of what had occurred tonight were erased.

In the past two years he’d made a habit of choosing the least logical options for his life. He went to find a flashlight.

The drive didn’t take long. His house and the Whiskey Island Saloon were both technically in Ohio City, a west side neighborhood that, early in its history, had been a city separate from Cleveland. It was a neighborhood of paradoxes. Gentrification had begun several decades ago but never quite caught on. Some of Ohio City’s architectural gems were beautifully renovated and occupied by owners. Others were rotting away.

Hunter Street was made up of some of the best architecture and the worst preservation. On the other hand, Lookout Avenue, where the Whiskey Island Saloon was located, had always been a working-class neighborhood and remained so today. The houses and yards were compact and neat, the dream homes of immigrants who had worked hard in the steel mills and on the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie docks.