“That’s the one,” I said. “Do you remember it?”
“Nah. Wasn’t here then. I only been here about ten years. I’m retired from the job. You’re still on the job, ain’t ya?” he said to Jack.
“Yes. The Six-Five in Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn, yeah. I worked in Manhattan all my life.”
“How do you know about it, then?” I asked.
“They all talked about it, told me when I started to work here. The guy before me, he was workin’ here when they found the body. I guess he never forgot it, biggest thing ever happened to him.”
“You remember his name?”
“Sure. Pete Crowley. He’s dead now, don’t go lookin’ for him. Died a coupla years ago. That happened way back, didn’t it?”
“About sixteen years ago.”
“There might be someone from back then,” he said. “One of the night guys has been here about twenty years, but you won’t find him over a weekend. Juan Castro’s his name. He’ll tell you about it.”
“When does he work?”
“Four to twelve, Monday through Friday. Never misses a day.”
“Did you ever hear of anyone named Handleman working here?” I asked on a sudden whim.
“Handleman? Here? Never knew a Handleman in my life. Doesn’t mean he didn’t work here. Ask Castro. He’ll tell you.”
We said our good-byes and started to go, but Mr. Kennedy was now interested in old times on the job. There wasn’t much he and Jack had in common. Jack had become a police officer about the time Kennedy had retired, but the older man kept us there as he asked questions that showed his heart was still on the old job. Finally we stepped out into the cold air.
“Hot as hell in there,” Jack said.
“I suppose he makes rounds and then he’s glad to come back to the warmth.”
“I’d fall asleep.”
“He probably does, too. I guess no one’ll ever forget the day they found poor Iris.”
“You find a body, it’s a day you remember the rest of your life. Let me show you how fast you can get from here to the Grand Concourse.”
We got in the car and drove back to Broadway, then north across the short bridge over the Spuyten Duyvil River. To the left were the luxury apartment houses of the southwest Bronx with their magnificent views of the Hudson, the George Washington Bridge, and the Palisades of New Jersey. We had hardly crossed the river when Jack made a right turn. We crossed over the Major Deegan Expressway, which runs along the east side of the Harlem River and then through Van Cortlandt Park where it becomes the New York State Thruway. In a minute we were driving under the elevated train at Jerome Avenue and then up a little hill to the Grand Concourse.
“Aunt Sylvie lives right over there,” I said, pointing left. “One of those buildings. You’re right. It’s not far at all. A jogger could do it in no time.”
“So there it is, another possibility. Let’s go home and clean up the yard. While we’re at it, I’d like to take some measurements and see about that family room.”
I suddenly had the feeling that it was in the works.
20
On the way home we stopped at a hardware store and bought a hundred-foot metal tape measure. Then we went home and used it. The house I inherited from Aunt Meg is not large, three bedrooms on the second floor, a kitchen, living room, and dining room on the first. But the property is more than ample, and even with the garage behind and detached from the house, there’s a lot of land back there. The dimensions Jack was thinking about, and measuring for, would build the largest room in the house and still hardly make a dent in our backyard.
“How do you like it?” he asked as he planted the last stake at the last corner.
“It’s awfully big,” I said, not echoing his enthusiasm for the project.
“You worried about what it’s going to cost?”
“I’m scared to death.”
“We’re the only people I know who don’t have a mortgage and don’t pay rent.”
“But we pay taxes, Jack, and they’re high. They’re very high. And they’ll be a lot higher if we add onto the house. I earn very little, don’t forget.”
“But I earn plenty and I’ve been putting money away for years.”
“You have?”
“I showed you the bankbook before we got married.”
“I guess I didn’t really look. I was so overwhelmed by your character and personality.”
“And my incomparable good looks.”
“That, too,” I said, trying not to smile. If he was losing his mind, someone had to stay in control, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.
“Now here’s what I’m thinking.” He moved out of the rectangle as though the structure had already been built. “It probably wouldn’t cost all that much more to put a second floor on it.”
“Jack, really. I think—this is really getting out of hand.”
“That’ll give us a huge bedroom with room for a big closet and maybe a master bathroom. If we work it right, we can—”
“Jack, I think I’m going to faint.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, really, I feel a little light-headed. This is just terrifying me.”
He crossed the invisible wall, which I was now certain I would never allow to be built, and put his arm around me. “It’s OK, honey. I promise you we won’t do anything we can’t afford. The taxes we pay here are really just a drop in the bucket.”
“When I was living here alone they seemed enormous.”
“Because you weren’t earning much and you really don’t have any idea what most people pay to live.”
“Marilyn said her father was paying less than a hundred a month when he moved into that apartment on Seventy-first Street.”
“Chris, that was the nineteen thirties. It was the Depression. Do you have any idea what it would go for now on the open market?”
“I suppose close to a thousand.”
“Fifteen hundred. And if they fix up the kitchen and bathroom—”
“Bathrooms,” I interjected.
“Bathrooms! Hell, two thousand right off the bat.”
“Well,” I said.
“You still feel light-headed?”
“More. It doesn’t seem possible. How can people afford it?”
“The point is, we can afford a lot more than we’re paying. And if we moved into the big bedroom, we can put the baby in the one we’re sleeping in now.”
“The baby? Jack, do you know something I don’t know?”
“Well, we’re gonna have one, aren’t we?”
“Yes, sure. I guess so.”
“And if we wait till it’s born to start doing anything to the house, it’ll be a real mess around here while they’re building. You don’t want that with a new baby, do you?”
“No, of course not. Why do I feel as though I missed a very important conversation somewhere along the way?”
“We didn’t have it. I thought it would be best to present you with a complete plan so you’d know it wasn’t just a pipe dream.”
“Do you know what this plan of yours is going to cost?”
“I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”
“You’ve talked to people?”
“I’ve talked to people. I haven’t got any firm estimates yet, but I know what it’ll cost.”
“These things always cost more than you think,” I said as though I knew what I was talking about.
“I know that, too.”
“I’ve never been in debt.”
“Don’t think of it as debt. Think of it as rent. Think of it as an investment. We want to live here, don’t we?”
I nodded.
“And we want a family.”
I nodded.
“So we’ll build a little addition on the house, which will make it the greatest house we’ve ever lived in and we’ll have our baby and we’ll be happy ever after.”
I nodded.
“I love you, Chris.”
Tears started down my cheeks.
“It’s OK, baby,” he said. “I promise you. Everything’ll be great.” He kissed me.
“The neighbors will see,” I said hoarsely.
“Don’t they know we’re married?”
“Most of them, I guess.”
“Come on inside. And don’t step on the family room floor.”
Eileen called later in the afternoon and read a draft of a letter she was writing to Taffy.
“You write drafts first?” I said.
“Well, I’ve gone through about a hundred different ways of saying what I think I want to say and I was off base on the first try.”
“I’m listening.”
She read it with the emotion I knew she was feeling, referring to their long friendship, their years of shared experiences, and the genuine affection she had for Taffy, which she knew was returned. It took a couple of paragraphs to say it and then Eileen cleared her throat and launched into a clear statement of forgiveness. When she had finished reading it to me, she said, “The problem is, it’s incomplete. I haven’t said anything about us getting back together.”
“Do you want to do it this soon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you decided what you want to do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You can always send what you’ve got, Eileen. It’s beautifully written and very touching. I think she’ll be relieved and happy to get it.”
“But it begs the question.”
She was right. “If you send the letter as it’s written, without mentioning her question or giving an answer, she’ll understand that you haven’t come to a decision yet.”
“Chris, could you talk to her for me?”
“I couldn’t do that, Eileen,” I said before I knew the words were out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I felt terrible. This was Jack’s sister and she had done so much for us, been so good to us. I wanted very much to be her friend, to have a warm, happy relationship with her, and here I had snapped out an answer to an important question and left her hanging. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I said rather lamely. “I know what I’m good at. I’m not a mediator. I don’t have the skills and I don’t have the temperament.”
“Your temperament is fine. Look, please don’t feel you have to apologize. I was just trying to pass a difficult task off to you because I’m afraid of doing it myself. Let me work on the letter a little more and I’ll call you back.”
“Eileen, let me think about this. I answered without thinking.”
“No,” she said. “What you said was right. This is my problem. I’ll talk to you after I have something else on paper.”
I really felt awful. It was true it was her problem, but it was one she had not made for herself. It had happened to her because she had trusted one of the people in the world she had most reason to trust.
I went out for a walk and ran into Mel and Marilyn just getting out of a car.
“Come on in,” Mel said. “We’re about to have some coffee and good stuff. Mom brought a treat.”
“And we can talk,” Marilyn said, giving me a kiss. “Come on in, dear.”
We settled in the family room and I took a careful look around from my new perspective. Jack hadn’t talked about a fireplace, but I could imagine he had one in mind, and at the cost I’d heard people mention, I was on the verge of hyperventilating again. But this room was wonderful, comfortable, warm, the kind of place where you could spread out and stretch out. If only it didn’t mean debt and large monthly payments …
“Has anything turned up?” Marilyn asked.
“Only in theory,” I said. I told her about my trip to St. Stephen’s and Joseph’s comments.
“Somebody gave something to her,” Marilyn said thoughtfully. “Then why did he kill her?”
“Maybe they had a fight over the gift and he wanted it back, maybe because she was going away to Europe and wouldn’t be able to see him for a long time.”
“A lover?”
“I just don’t know. Anything’s possible. And we could have been right the first time. Maybe the killer was a grown child that she’d been supporting and she decided enough was enough.”
“We must be missing a lot of facts, Chris.”
“We are. I’m sure your father knows many of the relevant ones, but I understand why you can’t ask him and I don’t want to try.”
“He’s moving back to the apartment today. I got someone to stay with him. My sister is taking him over. I’ll visit him tomorrow, stock up his refrigerator, do some cooking for him.”
“Don’t ask him, Marilyn. If this investigation has upset him as much as it seems to, let it lie. Maybe Arnold Gold will turn up something. Maybe Jack and I will come up with something. I’m going to try to see Mrs. Garganus again. She rushed me out of there because she didn’t want me to ask about Iris. That woman knows something we need to know.”
“I hope you can think of the right question to ask.”
“This is going to come together, Marilyn. I feel it. All these bits and pieces are going to give us an answer. I just need one or two more bits to make it happen.”
“I’ll look around the apartment tomorrow.”
“Please don’t. I mean that. Your father will know if something’s been disturbed, and this is not the time to alienate him. He needs you so much. His life is more important than Iris’s death.”
“I know. I just can’t help thinking he’s going to destroy something very valuable tonight.”
“Then let him. I want to talk to Sylvie face-to-face again. I’m sure she told me there was someone new in Iris’s life after Harry. She’s holding something back, and maybe I can persuade her to give it to me.”
“If we could just find Shirley Finster,” Marilyn said.
It was what I wanted, too. Maybe Sylvie, I thought. Maybe she knew.
I told Jack about Eileen’s call and her request. “I feel bad, but I turned her down,” I said. “I wish I hadn’t, but I said it without thinking.”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s not your place to put yourself between them and take the flak. If Eileen wants someone to talk to Taffy, I will. Taffy’s a felon. And worse than that, she’s a rotten friend.”
“I don’t think you should talk to her. You’re very angry with her.”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“Yes, you should. But Eileen feels so bad about this that I’m sure she doesn’t want her big brother marching in like a cop and telling Taffy where to get off.”
“Taffy should do time. Eileen should go to the DA and press charges.”
“That’s between her and the law. The rest of it is between her and Taffy. Eileen has to do this her way.”
“But she shouldn’t get you involved.”
“Let’s not worry about it.”
* * *
I woke up with a start in the middle of the night, coming out of a nightmare that seemed to incorporate everything that was on my mind, Iris’s murder, Eileen’s trouble, and the family room. My heart was pounding with fear and I had a feeling I would not get back to sleep easily. I slipped out of bed and stuck my feet in my sneakers, grabbed my robe and left the bedroom. There was perfect silence as I went down the stairs in the dark, holding on to the banister and feeling my way. The only light came in from the door, and that wasn’t very much.
I sat on the sofa for a few minutes while I calmed down. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this way except when people were sick, my mother when I was in high school and my Aunt Meg only a couple of years ago. But those were very different times from these. I was much happier now than when I was a teenager, and far more secure. And during the time that Aunt Meg was ill, I was coincidentally going through my own difficult time as a nun, working out what I wanted to do with my life, negotiating a break that would change my life even more than entering St. Stephen’s had.
My heart having quieted, I got up and took my coat out of the closet, stuck my key in my pocket, and went outside. It was freezing cold and I almost went back in again, but instead I walked up the driveway to the back of the house and gazed in the dark at the winter lawn that would return to life in a matter of weeks, the shrubs along the back of the house that Aunt Meg had nurtured every spring and summer, the big trees that I could hardly see along the far boundary of the property. I could remember some of them when they were hardly as tall as I was then. What I couldn’t make out in the dark was the little peach tree my next-door neighbors had given me before Jack and I were married. Imagine having a tree that bore peaches! Tucked away in my file was a recipe for peach pie that Mel had given me. Maybe this would be the summer the crop would be large enough to bake one.
A person’s life leaves an imprint on a house. Aunt Meg’s was on this one so strongly that perhaps I had been too intimidated to begin to leave my own. Every tree and shrub, every blade of grass, every piece of furniture and rug and appliance, was hers. Even the dishes and glasses and cutlery had been left to me. When we married, we had moved Jack’s bed into our bedroom and brought his desk and a few odds and ends along. But something in me had been very reluctant to make major changes.
Was I afraid of something? In the convent, when a nun died, her clothes were given over to other nuns of her size. Her bed and desk and dresser became another’s furniture. In a way that now troubled me, I had moved into my aunt’s house and assumed her possessions with no thought of putting my own stamp on the house. Was it custom or fear or simply that I did not know how? Or was I afraid of losing Aunt Meg in the transformation?
“Chris?”
“I’m back here.”
He came around the corner of the house in his bathrobe and slippers. “You scared hell out of me,” he said, putting his arm around me.
“I’m fine. I just woke up and didn’t feel like sleeping. You must be freezing.”