Another Word for Murder (10 page)

Despite her own worries, she found herself smiling wanly. Carlos Quintero could charm anybody. She groaned and said, “I could just kill you, you know that?”

“Thanks, babe, I owe you one…. Look, if Frank's high, pump some java into him, will you? And call me at Oasis if you can't find him. We'll have to move onto plan B.”

Although Frank's apartment was only a few minutes by car from Bonnie's, the neighborhoods were like night and day. Unlike her own self-contained complex, the buildings in this section of Newcastle had been constructed as large and comfortable middle-class homes during the early 1900s. In the intervening years the owners had come to view their spacious habitats as albatrosses: dormer windows that never stopped leaking, wide verandas replete with rotting floorboards, vast expanses of shingles that seemed to require continuous repair and paint—to say nothing of the ever-escalating cost of heating such huge living spaces. The single-family tenants decamped to the suburbs, and the houses were split into rental apartments whose landlords either took minimal care of the units or abandoned them altogether. Trash littered the barren front lawns and sidewalks, and the street lighting ranged from poor to nonexistent. Bonnie was thankful that the sun hadn't yet set.

She parked in front of her brother's building behind a rusted-out Camaro and stepped from her car. Frank's truck was nowhere in sight, and she found herself thinking there was little point in climbing the porch steps and ringing the bell. But when three large, tough-looking teenage boys rounded the corner and sauntered toward her, she marched up the stairs and stood by the front door. The boys stopped at the foot of the steps, where one whistled at her while the other two made off-color comments.

Bonnie pressed Frank's buzzer. She realized it was a futile effort, but she now felt trapped by the boys as they stood between her and her car. Again, she pushed the buzzer, but as she did so she spotted her brother's pickup truck rolling down the street. She waved to him, and he tapped his horn twice. The exchange was enough to get the teenagers to move off. Bonnie walked down to the curb and waited as Frank parked his truck.

“What's up, babe?” he said as he stepped from the cab. “You look like you just lost a wrestling match.” He was surprisingly lucid and sober.

“Carlos called me. The new drummer didn't work out. They want you to play their set at Oasis tonight.”

“Cool.” Frank began to walk toward the house.

“You don't need your drums, just your sticks.”

He turned to face her. “Yeah, but I gotta change my clothes.” He studied his sister for a long moment. “You all right? You're shaking.”

“Where have you been? Carlos said he couldn't reach you; your answering machine isn't hooked up. He's been trying to get in touch with you all day. And so have I.”

“So? I've been out. Maybe I was lookin' for a job?”

“Oh, please …”

“Look, where I've been ain't nobody's business but my own, okay? I had things to do, people to see.”

Bonnie's response was to fold her arms across her chest and turn away from him.

“What? What's that mean? I can't have a private life around here without my kid sister stickin' her nose into it?”

She gazed at the sidewalk, then raised her head and stared hard at her brother, “Dan Tacete has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” He laughed. “You mean like gone up in smoke?”

“No one's seen him since he left the office at noon on Thursday. Yesterday, a PI named Rosco something came to the office to talk to Jack.” She paused, although she continued to eye her brother, who avoided her glance, instead looking up the street toward the corner. The lighted Pepsi sign from a convenience store was just blinking on.

“We could be in big trouble here, Frank. We could go to jail—”

“Hey. Hey. Hold it right there. No one's going to jail.” Frank lit a cigarette and took a minute to ponder the situation. “Are the cops lookin' for him—or just the private dick?”

“There's a missing persons report out, that's all I know. Didn't you see it on the news?”

“My
TV
's busted. Besides, I never watch the news,” Frank said in answer. Then he inhaled deeply from his cigarette. “So, that's it, huh? Just a missing person?”

Bonnie nodded, but didn't speak.

Frank flipped what was left of his cigarette out into the street. “I'm going down to Oasis and make like nothing's goin' on. I suggest you do the same thing. Just play it cool.”

Bonnie repeated the words in a barely audible voice. “Play it cool…. ”

“No one's goin' to jail, sis, okay? No way, José. You and me, we're gonna be fine. We're gonna be okay.”

CHAPTER 13

“
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
…,” Lily recited. Her voice was a sing-song chant, and her blonde head bobbed from side to side in rhythmic unison as she continued the nursery rhyme. “…
Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after
…” She drew a breath, hummed tonelessly, then began her invented melody all over again. This time she added a skipping motion as she circled the foyer, then continued in a rambling loop into the kitchen where Karen was preparing their lunch.

“Lily, honey … I bet we can find some other songs for you to sing.” Karen cut the crusts off her daughter's peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“
Jack and Jill
…” Lily started for the sixth time, then stopped herself. “
Jack Sprat could eat no fat; his wife could eat no lean
…. What's ‘lean,' Mommy?”

“‘Lean' means meat that has had the fat cut off.”

“And what's ‘fat'?”

“Fat is the part of bacon you don't like.”

Lily frowned as she looked up at her mother's hands moving across the work island. “I don't want peanut butter,” she announced.

“But you just told me you did.” Karen's voice had a resigned but edgy tone. She drew in a frustrated breath and then compensated with what she hoped was a coaxing smile.

“It's fat. Daddy says so.”

“No, it's not, honey. Peanut butter is made of peanuts. They're legumes.” Karen sighed again. She realized she was merely asking for additional questions by providing more information than Lily needed. “You love peanut butter! You know you do. And so does Bear.”

Lily's small face had now darkened in stubborn petulance; her hand darted out and grabbed one of the sandwiches from the cutting board, then shoved it toward Bear's face. Naturally, the big brown dog consumed the offering in a single gulp.

“Lily! That's a very naughty girl. You know your daddy doesn't like you feeding Bear—”

“I want my daddy,” Lily fought back. “I want my daddy.”

Karen gripped the countertop and lowered her head. “We just have to be patient, sweetheart. Daddy's coming home soon, but we have to be good until he gets here.”

“I want Rock,” Lily countered indignantly. “I want Cookie.”

“Well, we can't have Rock and Cookie visit us right now, Lily-bet.”

“I want to go to the park with Rock and Cookie and Gabby and Kitty.”

“We can't do that either, because we have to eat our lunch. Besides, it's Sunday, and you know how crowded the park can be on Sundays. Remember the time those two German shepherds knocked you down?” Karen's voice had taken on a strangled tone.

“I don't care! I want to go to the park, and I don't want legumes.”

Despite her anxiety, Karen laughed. “You didn't even know what they were until this minute.”

“I do so!” She pointed to Bear. “I won't eat legs or feets or hands.” Then Lily began another rhyming song. “
Humpty-Dumpty went up a hill to fetch a pail of water
—”

“Lily-bet, let's stop now and eat—”

“
Humpty-Dumpty broke his crown … Humpty-Dumpty broke his crown
…”

“Lily! Stop!” Karen's voice had turned strident. “I mean it!”

“I want my daddy!” Lily wailed, and she threw herself down on the floor in despair.

The telephone rang at that moment, and Karen grabbed it. Distracted by her daughter's temper tantrum, she totally forgot Rosco's instructions. “Hello …? Hello …? Yes, I'm listening…. Dan! No, she's just a little cranky; it turns out that peanut butter—Hello …? Dan …? Dan …? Are you there …? Please, whoever this is, put my husband back on the phone …!” Karen's eyes remained glued to her daughter's writhing form as she spoke. “No, I told you I wouldn't go to the police, and I haven't! I swear it! … But they're friends of mine! That's all! Just friends! They won't talk to anyone—!” But the line was already dead.

Returning the receiver to the cradle, Karen recognized her error. Her cheekbones quivered as if she were warding off a blow. “Oh, no…. Oh, your mommy's made such a big mistake, Lily-bet.”

The sound of her mother's sorrow caused the little girl to cease her protestations, and she pulled herself into a sitting position as Karen looked at the clock and again picked up the phone and purposely dialed Belle and Rosco's home phone. When the expected answering machine picked up, she stated a breathless, “I know you're at the park. Don't try to contact me. Ever. They're watching the house. They told me that Lily—” Karen didn't finish the sentence; instead she forcibly returned the receiver to its cradle.

“Lily, what, Mommy?”

“Lily won't eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

CHAPTER 14

At seven forty-five Monday morning, Belle and Rosco were sitting in abject silence in the midst of Lawson's convivial weekday bustle. Karen's message, which they'd retrieved from their answering machine late the previous afternoon, and her refusal to speak with them when they'd return the call, had been so disconcerting that even fourteen hours later the couple felt the need for more companionship than was offered by their two-human, two-canine household. Comfort food, the familiar clank of knives and forks scraping plates, and the joking banter between Martha and Kenny, the fry cook—or between Martha and anyone else—was what they wanted before heading into the day's work.

“What's up with you two sad sacks today?” Martha teased as she sloshed hot coffee into their cups. “You didn't get more bad news on the Dangerous Dan front, did you?”

Belle's eyes widened in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”

“Hey, like I wasn't here on Saturday when you all were palavering about Tacete taking a hike?” she demanded facetiously.

“Oh, yes …” Belle forced a smile while her peripheral vision took in the jaunty flamingo-and-bubblegum hues of the coffee shop's decor and the color-coordinated uniforms worn by Martha, Lorraine, and the other waitress. “In the pink” seemed a term invented for Lawson's, although, at the moment, Belle felt the global aspects of the expression had failed her.

“So, any updates in the wayward-husband scenario?” Martha asked.

“No,” Belle and Rosco responded in unison and too quickly.

“You two are a piece of work this morning, that's for sure. Maybe I should ask King Kenny to fry you a couple of steaks instead of the French toast and flapjacks you always order. You look like you could use a little iron.”

“Well, we are kind of tired,” Belle admitted.

“Haven't you lovebirds learned what weekends are for?” Martha chortled loudly, then shook her buxom body in delight. “Never mind. I take that back. Maybe you should try to spend more time
outside
on your days off. Possibly you need
less
time in bed instead of more?” With that, she flounced away, bellowing greetings and wisecracks to other regular patrons who returned the comments with equal verve and gusto. Any stranger entering Lawson's time-warp linoleum-and-chrome world would have decided that Newcastle was a joyous city indeed.

“So, what do we do next?” Belle asked after another leaden moment had passed between the couple.

“There's nothing we can do, Belle. Karen all but told us to take a hike and now is refusing to speak to us.”

“But that seems so wrong, Rosco…. So … I don't know … so
irresponsible
on our part. If Dan were hurt, or Lily—” Belle left the thought unfinished.

“We'll have to hope Karen comes to her senses and contacts the police. Which she may still do. This is an extremely volatile time for her, and she may be taking out her anger on us simply because she can't place it where it should be.”

“But what about Lily?” Belle asked. “And whatever Karen failed to explain in her message last night …”

Rosco remained in silent deliberation while his wife continued, “Because if this person has started threatening a child—”

“Unless we can talk to Karen, Belle, we have no idea what she was told.”

Belle took a deep breath. “I feel awful, Rosco—”

At that moment, two plates piled high with sugar and caloric-hell were slid in front of them by Martha. “Watch out, the maple syrup pitcher's real hot…. You want extra whipped cream on those flapjacks, Cute-buns?”

This time Rosco didn't even wince at the waitress' favorite nickname for him. “Sure, why not?” The tone wasn't one of his more chipper efforts, but Martha failed to notice Rosco's distracted state.

“I don't know how he does it, Belle. I swear. If Big Al were to even
look
at one of the platters your hubby regularly puts away, he wouldn't be able to squeeze into this seat.”

“Are you talking about me, Marth? Behind my back, no less?”

Martha, Rosco, and Belle swung around. Standing alongside the next banquette was Al Lever, himself.

“Well, if it isn't the big man, himself,” Martha cackled. “And larger than life, to boot! I thought you had a court date in Beantown this morning.”