Cheddar Off Dead (5 page)

“Yeah, I guess. Assuming that these people really had anything to do with his death. Maybe it was an angry coworker.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Cam looked disturbed, and rather tired.

Fina brought out the tea and some cinnamon toast. “This I can make,” she said.

We toasted their marriage and the holidays and wished for many happy days to come. We drank our warm tea, and Serafina made me an equally warm bed on their couch. Cam ran downstairs with Mick, where they made a quick jaunt down the sidewalk. Then they ran back up, and Mick curled up at the foot of the couch, contented.

The last thing I saw was my brother switching off the lights and waving to me before he joined his wife in their little pleasure cave.

An Adele song floated in my head—the one where the girl is telling the guy who's moved on that it's not a problem, she'll find someone else just like him, but she's clearly still in love with him. It's melancholy and weirdly satisfying, especially the way Adele belts it out.

I closed my eyes, shook away the music, and attempted happy thoughts: In my imagination I had my own pleasure cave, to which I had lured Jay Parker, and he climbed in with me, his blue eyes glowing, while the radio played Sinatra singing “The Way You Look Tonight.” Parker said,
I care about you
, and leaned in to kiss me, but the door was flung open, and a silhouette stood there, gun in hand.

You saw what I did
, said the unknown person, and my eyes flew open.

T
hursday morning, the seventeenth of December, I woke with “Blue Christmas” back in my head. I opened my eyes to see Serafina bundling through her front door with a small pine tree, her dark hair speckled with white stars, her eyes shining with Christmas spirit.

“It's snowing?” I croaked.

“The most beautiful snow! So light, the flakes come down slowly, like little gifts from heaven. Come out and play in the snow, Lilah!” She leaned the tree on the wall and ran to me, assaulting my sleep-creased face with one of her affectionate Italian kisses.

“Ugh. How are you so awake? And so good smelling? I smell terrible, I'm sure.”

Fina perched on the edge of the coffee table and studied
my expression. “Lilah, you need to spend some time on yourself. Love yourself, as we love you, and you will thrive.”

“Huh.” I shoved my face back into the pillow, and Serafina laughed.

“I have my hair appointment today; you come with me.”

“Why? Your hair is perfect. And also I can't go outside, right?”

“You don't have to. It is in the first floor of this building, where there are many businesses. I have gone to Rosalie's since I come to America. There are many Italians who go to her. We are like a family. Come, too. She will do amazing things to your hair.”

My hair was one of my few vanities, and these days it hung to my elbows. I clutched the ends and looked at them. “I like my hair long. And so does—um, my mom. But maybe a trim. . . .”

“Rosalie is an artiste. She will make you in love with your reflection. So! I call her and ask her to put you in with me.”

“Um—okay.”

She hugged me, and then I made my way toward the bathroom and the shower. “Where's my brother?”

“He wanted to work on his book on campus. He says he will be home for a late lunch with us. We can decorate the tree together. It will be fun, so much.” She was dialing the phone, and then she greeted someone and walked toward the kitchen, speaking Italian.

I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, feeling more presentable and more awake. Serafina handed me a cup of coffee, and she busied herself putting the tree base in a pot of water. Then she looked at a thin silver watch on her tanned wrist. “I have already walked your dog—he was
a good boy. Now we should go. I like to get there early, in case she has extra time. You want all the time you can get.”

She tugged on my arm, and I patted Mick, told him I'd be back soon, and followed her out of the apartment. We moved down the hall and into the elevator. We emerged on the main floor and crossed the carpeted lobby to one of many little glass-walled storefronts that dotted the first floor of the Parkman Building. This one said “Rosalie's Salon,” in a pink, swirly font. Inside, a receptionist sat at a front desk, and behind her were eight chairs facing a wall-length mirror, which was adorned with rather garish silver garland, white lights, and giant dangling silver reindeer. Six of the chairs were filled. The other wall held a long church pew bench, where family members seemed to be waiting for the people in the chairs.

Serafina walked confidently to the desk and spoke to the teenage girl who sat there. “Hello, Balbina. Is she ready for me? Except I also bring my sister.” She shoved me forward. “This is Lilah, Cameron's little sister. Isn't she sweet?”

Much to my dismay, several women appeared from nowhere and gathered around me, as though I were approximately two years old, and spoke loudly about my apparent cuteness. One of them pinched my cheek. I glared at Serafina.

“Rosalie,” Fina said to a dark-haired woman in the group. “Isn't Lilah's hair pretty? She wants to keep it long. What can you do to make her irresistible to her boyfriend? I want him to not be able to keep his hands off of her.”

“Don't let Cam hear you say that,” I said.

Rosalie, who seemed fiftyish, had a dark mole above her upper lip that added to her air of elegance and mystery. She
was studying my hair, weighing it in her hands. “Oh yes,” she said. “We will make it beautiful.”

She instructed Balbina to take me “into the back,” where the girl rewashed the hair I had washed minutes earlier. To her credit, though, she had very soothing hands, and the shampoo she used had an alluring scent. I almost fell asleep in the chair, and then Balbina was wrapping my head in a towel and sending me back to the front. I was settled into a new chair, and Rosalie began to towel dry my hair and peer at it in the mirror in front of us. Balbina stood next to me, pumping some lotion into her hands; moments later she was massaging my fingers.

“Oh, that's not necessary—but—wow. Oh boy, that feels good,” I said.

Serafina, heading to the back to have her hair washed by some other young woman, said, “She needs the full treatment, Rosalie. Lilah has been under a great deal of stress. I can't say much about it, but she has been through a trauma.”

All of the women sent me curious glances while I sent a warning look to Serafina. Rosalie combed out my hair and gave me a gentle head massage that left me feeling almost boneless. Balbina finished with my hands, which now felt smooth and smelled of eucalyptus. I let them drop into my lap. “Thank you,” I murmured, and then I slid into a sort of trance as Rosalie began piling my hair up on my head in sections.

“A pretty color,” she said. “Like a golden princess.”

“Hmm,” I said, my eyes closed.

“Giovanna,” said Rosalie.

My eyes flew open, and I realized she wasn't addressing
me, but the girl in the next chair, who had a cloud of red hair and wide green eyes.

“Yes,” she said, turning a pretty and slightly petulant face toward us.

“How are the wedding plans going?” Rosalie asked.

Giovanna sighed. “They are fine. Nonno gives me a hard time constantly, and he has to be in charge of everything.”

“Your grandfather loves you, and he is footing the bill,” Rosalie said sternly.

Giovanna sighed again. “That doesn't mean he's in charge of my life. But I know you mean well, Nonnino.”

She smiled into the mirror, and I realized she was looking at someone behind her. I shifted my gaze to see a gray-haired man waiting on the bench.

He sighed, almost as theatrically as his granddaughter had done. “It is sad to be only a checkbook to your family.”

Giovanna's smile disappeared. “Stop playing the money card, Nonno. You know I love you, and you also know I would like to make my own decisions, and so would Nick.”

“Decisions are dangerous. You must live with them all,” her grandfather said. He wore a little gray flannel jacket with a white shirt, black pants, and a pair of slippers.

“Yes, I know. I would love to make a really bad decision just to have the luxury of paying the price,” Giovanna said, her voice rising.

“And it is Nonno's job to make sure you never have to pay for a bad decision!” Now he was sort of yelling.

Giovanna tossed her red head; her stylist had to pause in her snipping to avoid hurting her. “Nonno, you need to butt out! Nick is sick of this, and so am I! We're going to move
away from Chicago and find someplace where we can live alone.”

The old man sat very still for a moment, then wiped at his eyes. “Now I am a burden. A burden to my daughter's daughter, who never brought me anything but joy!”

“Don't start, Nonno!” Giovanna fumed, her green eyes flashing.

“If this were a reality TV show, I would watch it,” I murmured to Rosalie.

Rosalie nodded solemnly. “I do watch it, every two weeks. Since she was about three.”

The girl and her grandfather were oblivious to our discussion, because now they had descended into a full-blown argument in Italian. It went on for about five minutes, at which point Giovanna burst into stormy tears. Nonno appeared at my shoulder, shoving Giovanna's stylist out of the way and hugging his granddaughter around the neck. Then suddenly she was laughing, and so was he, and they pretended to strangle each other while they watched their reflections in the mirror.

I couldn't tear my eyes away. Serafina appeared on my other side and settled into her chair. “See, Lilah? We provide everything, including the theater!”

Then everyone in the place was laughing. Apparently Serafina was seen as quite the wag in their circle. I laughed, too, and then Rosalie's gentle hands were persuading my eyes to close gently, gradually, and I didn't open them until she had started her blow dryer. “I put in some layers,” she said. “Nothing short—just something to give you bounce and fullness. This way, even if you wear it straight, it will be fluffy. You see?”

I did see. It was transforming under her hands into movie star hair.

“And then, if you want to curl it slightly, or put little kinks into it, it will fall perfectly into place.” She moved deftly with a curling iron, her hand darting in and out of my hair.

“I could never do that,” I said. “I just let my hair drip-dry.”

“Hmm,” Rosalie said, her face disapproving. She kept at it, clicking and clacking with the curling iron, moving with great speed and dexterity. “You should come to me always,” she said. “I understand your hair.”

“Okay.” I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the blonde woman who looked back at me, perfectly coiffed and elegant, but sexy, too. “Thank you, Rosalie. I will definitely be back. My current hairdresser makes me look like a dandelion.”

“Hmm,” said Rosalie. “Okay. You wait now while I do Serafina.”

“Sure.” I moved to the bench and sat next to old Nonno. He had returned, mollified by his Giovanna, who had sworn a few more times that she loved him.

“Your granddaughter is beautiful,” I said.

He turned to smile at me; his face was slightly grizzled with gray hair, but he had surprisingly arresting eyes, which were also gray. “Yes, she is a beauty. Like a rose—full of thorns and pain, but so beautiful and irresistible.”

“I heard that, Nonno.” Giovanna stuck her tongue out at him in the long mirror.

Nonno shrugged. “You see?”

“Families can be complicated,” I said.

“Yes. You have a big family?”

“Just my parents, my brother, and me. And now Serafina, who married my brother.”

Nonno nodded. “And no husband for you? Why is this?”

I did not like the direction of the conversation. “I don't need a husband.”

He smiled. “A woman as beautiful as you? You should be on your fourth husband by now. Like Elizabeth Taylor.”

In spite of myself, I giggled. “I do not aspire to be like Elizabeth Taylor. Although she was lovely. And so was Richard Burton.”

“Yes. The man she could not do without, but she could not live with him, either.”

“I get that.”

“You have a Richard Burton?”

I sighed. “Long story, Nonno. Is it okay if I call you that? I've never heard that name before.”

“It means ‘Grandfather,'” he said. Then he stuck out his hand, which I shook automatically. “My name is Rick. I own the salon here”—he waved his hands vaguely at the room—“and I live on the top floor—at least at this time of year.”

That explained the slippers. “That's a good setup. You can check on your business without really leaving your house.”

“Yes. It is handy. But only one of my businesses.”

“Wow. You are an entrepreneur. I guess that's how you'll pay for the wedding,” I joked.

He threw his head back and opened his mouth, but no laugh came out. It was a pantomime of a laugh. Then he was serious again. “You live in Chicago? Here in the building?”

“No—I live in Pine Haven. I'm just visiting my brother.”

“Ah, lovely Pine Haven. I also have a residence there.”

“My parents would just love you. They're Realtors. They'd probably try to get you to upgrade.”

He nodded, as though he had already discussed this with my parents. “That's not a bad idea. Always something to consider. Do you have a card for them?”

“Uh—yes.” I retrieved the purse I had set at my feet and found a card in my wallet. “Here you go.”

He studied it with impressive attention. “Daniel Drake. And you are?”

“My name is Lilah Drake.”

“Lilah Drake of Pine Haven.” He smiled at me with avuncular charm. I caught a whiff of scented tobacco. The phone rang at the front desk, and Balbina answered.

“I don't know—I would have to ask our owner, Mr. Donato. Please hold.” Then she launched into a question in Italian, which began with, “Enrico,
per piacere
 . . .”

He answered her in Italian. A feeling of unease began to spread through me. Enrico. Mr. Donato. Someone had just used that name. . . .

“Oh no,” I said aloud.

He raised a thick pair of salty eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

“You—I—nothing. Serafina, may I speak with you?”

She met my eyes in the long mirror and saw my distress. “Nonno, don't frighten Lilah with your war stories. She witnessed a terrible thing yesterday.”