Chapter Nine
I DROVE TO my parents’ house with the windows rolled down. The breeze felt like silk on my skin. Seven-thirty was a good time of night in the Central West End. The street lamps lit the dusky shadows of evening making golden orbs for me to follow home. In the warmth of that June evening, I allowed myself to feel good.
The streets were parked up early with Porsches, and every other expensive car imaginable. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to park on the street. I bypassed the trendy restaurants and antique shops, turning down the alley behind my parents’ house. Their street, Hawthorne Avenue, was the best section and had alleyways between streets. The houses had servants’ staircases and high-six-figure price tags. Dad lucked into our house in the seventies. He did the Bled family a favor, and my godmothers practically gave him the house as a thank-you. He never could’ve afforded it any other way, even when the area was at its lowest ebb. Hawthorne Avenue was an island of exclusion.
I parked in the garage and walked up through the garden to the back porch. Happily, Uncle Morty wasn’t there waiting for me, but the kitchen lights blazed. Strains of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons wafted through the screen door. The summer section, I think. It felt like home and, in the deepest part of my heart, I still considered it my home although I hadn’t lived there in four years. I wasn’t sure if another house could ever supplant it in my affections.
When I got closer, I smelled bacon frying mixed with the scent of damp soil. Someone had over-watered the potted plants that lined the stairs and a trickle of water went down to a small pool on the brick walkway. I went up the stairs, my hand sliding on the smooth, worn wood of the handrail then I pulled open the screen door and walked into the frigid pantry. Several ingredients lay on the marble counter, heavy cream, strawberries, mushrooms and a Ghirardelli Sweet Dark Chocolate bar. Aunt Tenne was making a decadent dinner to soothe Dixie’s soul. According to her, food was the only way to go. Where my mother might have called a priest, Aunt Tenne called the calorie cavalry.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I turned around to see Aunt Tenne standing in the doorway. She stood with her arms crossed and a sad smile on her face.
“Don’t think about what?” I asked.
“The chocolate bar. I’m making ice cream and I only brought the one.” She waved me into the kitchen. It was alive with her presence. Bacon fried, lettuce drained in the sink and Aunt Tenne started slicing an enormous tomato from Mom’s garden out back.
Umm BLTs.
I poured myself an iced tea, plopped in a couple slices of lemon and sat down at the table. Aunt Tenne didn’t speak and continued to slice slowly and deliberately. I sipped my tea and thanked God Dad wasn’t there to pester and order me about. Dad was great, but when he had an important case, it was all hands on deck. Actually, it was more like hand on deck. Dad loved a free lunch and I was his favorite waitress. He could get me to do work that he’d have to pay for otherwise. It was my own fault. My pride wouldn’t let me be lousy at the tasks he assigned, so I kept getting more difficult jobs like this thing with Gavin. If I’d proven to be a goofball, I’d have been scot-free. As it was, I was in up to my eyeballs and the water was rising.
“So what have you been doing?” Aunt Tenne asked.
“Nothing.”
She made a disbelieving grunt under her breath.
“No, really. I had dinner with Pete. That’s it.”
Well, not exactly just dinner, but my other activities were off the record.
“Glad to hear it. Are you eating?
“Absolutely. Where’s Dixie?”
She forked the last bacon slices onto a paper-towel-covered plate, and said, “Upstairs. Taking another nap.” I could tell by the way she said it that she wasn’t crazy about the multiple naps. But who was she to judge? When was the last time she had a spouse murdered?
“Do you want me to wake her for dinner?” I asked.
“I’m here.” Dixie walked in with a shawl around her shoulders and a face that said head cold.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I’m fine. A bit tired.”
She sat down at the table and I poured her a glass of tea. Aunt Tenne assembled the sandwiches, slathering thick coats of mayo on the bread.
“Dixie, I need to ask you about some things, but if it’s not a good time, we can do it later,” I said.
“Later won’t change a thing, will it? Go ahead.” She looked so tired I thought she might lay her head down and go to sleep on the table.
“Mercy, why don’t you give it a couple of days? The detectives are coming back tomorrow,” said Aunt Tenne.
“Who was here? Chuck?”
“Yes, it was Chuck with somebody else, dark-complected, young. I can’t remember his name.”
“Nazir?”
“That’s him.”
“How’d you get them to back off?” I asked.
“It wasn’t hard. Dixie was asleep. They’re coming back first thing tomorrow,” Aunt Tenne said.
“Dixie, I’m sorry,” I said. “Dad wants me to talk to you and now is better than later.”
“Fine.” Dixie held her glass under her chin like a basin and she looked like she might throw up in it.
“Okay. Tell me everything about what Gavin was doing on Sunday before you found him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be much help there,” she said holding the glass a little tighter. “He wasn’t home. I only saw him for a bit.”
“Where was he?”
“Out on a case.”
“Deadbeat dad?”
“Maybe. We didn’t talk much about his work, you know.”
“Did it have anything to do with Lincoln, Nebraska and the University there?” I asked.
“He went to Lincoln, but he didn’t say anything about the school. Why?” Dixie set her tea down and leaned forward. Her eyes focused and she was back from wherever she’d been.
“He made two calls to the University. I saw them on the cell phone recall. Don’t tell Chuck I said that.” I touched Dixie’s hand and she nodded. “Gavin didn’t mention the University?” I asked.
“No. Never. I can’t imagine why he’d call there.”
“When did he go to Lincoln?”
“Thursday and he got back Sunday morning.”
“What time was that?” I stood up and rummaged around Mom’s junk drawer for a notepad and pen.
“Let me see. I think it was around five because I was in bed. I get up at six,” Dixie said.
“Tell me everything that happened with times, if you can.” I sat down with my pen poised above the pad.
“Well, like I said, he came home at five, I got up at my normal time and then I made breakfast. Wait a minute, first he made some phone calls. We probably ate at six-thirty.”
“So the calls didn’t take long,” I said.
“No, not at all,” she said. “Less than ten minutes.”
“Then what?” I leaned back as Aunt Tenne put a large dripping sandwich in front of me.
“Well, we ate of course and talked, and then I went for my walk.” Dixie paused, her brow wrinkled. “I can’t remember what we talked about. Nothing important. Normal things.” Her hand brushed her cheek for the tear that wasn’t there. “I wish I could remember exactly what he said, every single word.”
“I’m sorry, Dix. I’m so sorry.” I reached across the table and grasped her hand, mindless of the mayo dripping off my fingers.
“I know, honey. I know. You’ll do your best, won’t you?”
“You know it,” I said.
Aunt Tenne blew her nose into a napkin and said, “I just can’t stand it. Why did this have to happen? Why? Why?”
“It didn’t,” I said.
“What?” said Aunt Tenne.
“It didn’t have to happen.”
“I see what you mean. It’s just so hard,” said Aunt Tenne.
I looked at Dixie, and watched her face close, the spark of attention vanished.
“When did you go for your walk?” I asked.
“I don’t know. After seven, because The Today Show was on.”
“And Gavin didn’t say anything about his case or who he called? Did he seem excited, worried, upset?”
“No. He was worried about the muffler on my car. I guess I have to buy a muffler. I’ve never bought a muffler in my life.” Dixie seemed to shrink and get smaller and smaller on the chair.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said.
“What do you know about mufflers?” asked Aunt Tenne.
“Enough to go to a muffler shop.”
“Well, I can do that,” said Dixie.
“But why should you have to?” I asked. “I’ll do it.”
“Alright, honey. I’m so tired. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit.” Dixie stood up, clutched the shawl tighter around her thin shoulders, and turned to leave.
“Wait, Dixie. Did Gavin bring in his briefcase when he came home?”
She thought for a moment and said, “If it wasn’t in the office, he probably left it in the car. He was forever going out to get it.”
“Where’s the Marquis? I didn’t see it at the house,” I said.
“I drove it to the hospital. I guess it’s still there.” Dixie left. Aunt Tenne and I listened to her footsteps die away in the hall.
“She took maybe two bites. All that sleeping and now she’s not eating. I just don’t know,” Aunt Tenne said.
“What don’t you know? Her husband just died. You can’t make her eat.”
“We’ll see,” said Aunt Tenne. “So...you’re famous.”
“You heard.”
“I saw.”
“Is it bad?” I asked.
“See for yourself.” Aunt Tenne gestured to Mom’s laptop on the other side of the table.
I went around to the computer and stopped short when I saw the screen. My family, all my family, the best and worst of them, smiled at me from in front of last year’s Christmas tree. Chuck gave me a lecherous look. Uncle Morty drank out of a container that must have held at least a quart of buttered rum and Aaron had half a piece of cake in his mouth. My dad hugged Grandma George. And Gavin was there with his arms slung around Dixie and Mom, his head thrown back in a laugh. I heard that wondrous, jolly laugh bouncing around in my head.
My fingers brushed the keyboard and a shot of my barely restrained boobs bloomed on the screen.
“Shit,” I said.
“That’s what I said.” Aunt Tenne watched me from the stove with her hands on her hips.
A slide show started, featuring me, every part of me from every angle. I sat down with a whump.
“Those nasty old bastards,” I said.
“You’re very popular with the over-eighty set,” said Aunt Tenne.
I clicked on a link which brought me to a page with my head pasted on what looked like Britney Spears body (back in the good days) dancing with an enormous snake.
“I can’t breathe.”
“And that’s one of the nicer ones.”
“They planned this. Those old nasty bastards planned this,” I said. “And I fell for it.”
I laid my head on the table and moaned. One of those moans that comes up from the feet and sounds like a dying cow.
“What’s Mom going to say?”
Aunt Tenne rubbed my back. “I’ll pray for you.”
“Pray for Dixie,” I said. “I deserve this. I’m too stupid to breathe.”
“What about a therapist?” asked Aunt Tenne, still rubbing my shoulder.
I lifted my head. “For me?”
“For Dixie. Do you think she’ll eat the ice cream?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“She likes chocolate, right?” asked Aunt Tenne.
“Definitely. When do you have to go to work?”
“Ten forty-five, no later. Why? Where are you going?” Aunt Tenne furrowed her brow.
“I thought I’d check out that church again.”
“I thought the cops told you to beat it.”
“They did. New shift, second chance. It won’t take long. I just want to get a look at the layout for Dad,” I said.
“You don’t really think that bride has anything to do with Gavin?”
“Covering the bases like Dad says.”
“You’ve got a feeling,” Aunt Tenne said. It wasn’t a question.
“You could say that,” I said.
“Don’t be too long. Dixie shouldn’t be alone.”
“That’s what Mom said.”
Aunt Tenne didn’t say anything. She hated being compared to Mom even in the most benign fashion. I thanked her for the sandwich and shot out the back door before I got trapped in a conversation about their differences. I knew from experience, that was a no-win conversation.
I sat in my truck and closed my eyes, but images of me, at my most Marilyn, kept popping up in my mind. That’s how the world saw me, would see me forever. I guess I didn’t believe it could go so far until then. I never saw myself like that. I was just me. The shape of my lips and the size of my eyes weren’t of much consequence. I hadn’t worked at it. I didn’t dye my hair nor have my lips chemically plumped. Call it lucky, call it a curse. It was what it was. Now I’d revealed myself and people in India knew my name. I was such an idiot for thinking I could walk through the world unnoticed or do whatever I wanted. Mom never thought that. Why did I?
My hand fell on my purse and I felt my cell phone through the leather. No point in ignoring it. I pulled out my phone and listened to a profusion of messages ranging from the obscene to polite inquiries. Then I got to message ninety-three.
“What did you do?” asked my mom.
I’d only heard her tone a few times before like when I stuffed a nickel up my nose in the first grade.
“The room service guy thinks I’m a prostitute, the cruise line wants to hire me to lip-synch cabaret songs, and I’ve gotten three hundred obscene emails in the last two hours.”
People thought Mom was me. Of course it was possible, even probable, but I never considered she’d have trouble on the cruise. Did people watch YouTube on cruises? Shouldn’t they be learning to luau and playing shuffleboard? I knew she’d find out, but I thought a concerned (also known as interfering) friend would do the deed, not the cruise line.
“It could be worse,” I said to my steering wheel. “And it will be when Mom comes home and kills me.”
But I was right. It could be worse. I could be a widow. The thought of Dixie popped me out of my maudlin state and I remembered what I was supposed to be thinking about, Gavin and only Gavin. He was my job and maybe my ticket to redemption.