Sweetie's Diamonds (25 page)

“I see,” she said.
 
“You poor thing, you must be so distraught.”

He seemed relieved to be able to talk about it to someone.
 
“This has been some day.
 
As soon as I get to work this morning there's a call from Chicago.
 
The police say my uncle is dead.
 
I got the next flight out of LaGuardia that I could.
 
I arrived here an hour ago.
 
The ambulance has already taken the body away and now the detective and other policeman are, I don't know, asking questions and things.”

“Well I won't take up more of your time.
 
I'm truly very sorry,” Diane said.

“Thank you.”
 
He turned and went back inside the store.
 

Diane walked back the way she came.
 
This was all too bizarre, she thought.
 
Both men killed by the same murderer.
 
Why?
 
And the method… it struck her as too familiar.
 
She prayed that it wasn't who she thought it might be.
 
If so, then it wouldn't be long before her own door was kicked in.

She had gone fifty feet from the store when she felt her neck tingle.
 
Diane turned around to face the shop again and saw the shabby longhaired man standing outside on the pavement, watching her.
 
Who was he?
 
Surely not a detective.
 
He was staring directly at her as if he were memorizing every feature.
 

Diane turned back around and kept going toward her car.

N
icholas Belgrad watched the blonde get into her car, which was parked a block away from the jewelry store.
 
He scratched his chin under the beard and went back inside the shop.
 
He didn't say anything about her to Detective Sharp or Officer Logan.
 
This was information he wanted to keep to himself.
 

“I'm sorry,” Sharp said.
 
He was the man wearing plainclothes, scribbling notes into a small notepad.
 
“Mister Belgrad, tell me again what your relationship with the deceased is?”

Belgrad nodded.
 
“Close family friend.
 
To both Moses and Hiram.”

“You and Mister Rabinowitz flew from New York together?”

The young man said, “No.
 
Mister Belgrad and I just met.”

Belgrad offered an explanation.
 
“I'm afraid I never had the pleasure to meet Hiram's children.
 
But I've known Moses and Hiram since I was a child.
 
I flew from JFK.”

Detective Sharp was confused.
 
“But who contacted you about Mister Rabinowitz's death?” he asked.

“No one.
 
I was coming to
see
Moses.
 
I didn't know that this had happened.”

The detective nodded as he scribbled more notes.
 
“Right, I understand now.
 
May I ask what your business was with Mister Rabinowitz?”

“No business.
 
Just a friendly get-together,” Belgrad answered.

The detective mulled that one over and finally said, “To tell you the truth, whoever let you come into the crime scene earlier went against procedure.
 
I'm sorry that you saw your friend's body in that… state.”

“I am too, but don't knock yourself out.
 
I'm just glad Julius here didn't have to see that,” Belgrad said.

“Okay, I have your contact details if I need you.
 
I guess we're done for today.
 
Forensics did a thorough sweep of the place and now we'll just have to wait for the results.”
 
The detective then ignored Belgrad and addressed the only blood relative to the deceased.
 
“In the meantime I have to get the file from New York on your father's case.
 
I guess I'll be working with New York to solve these two crimes.
 
From what you've told me it sounds like the same perp.”

“I'd say you're right,” Belgrad interjected.
 
“Detective Sharp, do you still have the evidence bags or were they sent to the lab?”

“I have a couple of things in the car.
 
Why?”

“The newspaper that Mister Rabinowitz was clutching in his hand.
 
May I see it again?”

The detective frowned.
 
“I don't know, since you're not a relative…”
 
He looked at the younger Rabinowitz, who shrugged.
 
Sharp said, “Come on,” and he brought Belgrad outside.
 
He opened the trunk of the police car and removed a plastic bag with a
Sun-Times
inside of it.
 
There was dried blood splattered on the paper.
 

Belgrad took the bag and examined the newspaper through the clear plastic.
 
It had been opened to a story about a woman living in the suburbs who had been accused of being a porn star.
 
A photo of the woman accompanied the text.

Belgrad's instincts had been right.
 
The woman he had just seen outside the shop and the woman in the story was one and the same.

I
feel shitty.
 

Today when I got home from school, I found that someone had vandalized the front door of our apartment.
 
Someone had painted “Porn Mom Lives Here” and “Teacher Got an A+ Sucking Cocks” in big red letters.
 
Sheesh.
 
Very depressing.
 
I didn't know what to do about it.
 
Mom wasn't home and I really didn't want her to see it.
 
I let myself into the apartment, went to the kitchen, and got a wet sponge.
 
I tried to erase the paint but it wouldn't come off.
 
It was some kind of enamel or something.
 
I guess Mom would have to see it after all.
 
I went inside and watched TV.

I feel like this is all my fault.
 
If Billy hadn't watched that stupid videotape probably none of this would have happened.
 
I haven't spoken to Billy since our fight in the lunchroom.
 
He avoids me at school.
 
I know his Dad has something against my Mom and he's involved with her school trying to get rid of her.
 
I bet Billy's Dad told him not to talk to me.
 
Great.
 
Now I've lost my only friend.

Mom came home and looked as depressed as I was.
 
She came over to me, turned off the TV, and said, “I'm sorry, David.”
 
I told her I was sorry too.
 
We kinda hugged each other for a minute and then she said she needed to find something to clean off the door.
 

Then she told me there was a possibility we might have to move.
 
Not to a new place, but to a new town.
 
Maybe even a new state.
 

I told her I was all for it.
 
I don't want to stay in Lincoln Grove.
 
I don't even want to stay in Illinois.
 
She just nodded and went into the kitchen to look for some turpentine or something.
 

Mom got the door cleaned before dinnertime and we ordered a pizza.
 
I wasn't able to eat very much of it.
 
Sometimes I wish I had a dog that I could give food scraps to.
 
That would be cool.
 
Maybe if we move somewhere and start over in a bigger place I can ask Mom if I can have a dog.
 

D
iane crawled out of bed the morning after her upsetting day in Chicago and found that she had overslept.
 
David had already gone to school.
 
She sighed and was thankful that he was getting old enough to take care of himself.
 
She still worried about his health and how he was going to function in the world with his condition but at least he had the brains to get past nearly any obstacle.
 

She went into the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror, and was horrified.
 
Diane couldn't believe it was her image staring back at her.
 
Bags under her bloodshot eyes, hair unkempt… Then she remembered that she had consumed a bottle of wine before going to bed the night before.
 
Coming home to find the graffiti on the front door was enough to drive anyone to drink.
 

Damn them all
, she thought.
 

Diane put on her bathrobe that was becoming more and more tattered and wandered into the kitchen to put on some coffee.
 
She stood in a daze while the machine did its thing and eventually she took a cup into the living room, turned on the television, and sat on the sofa.
 

A local morning news show was on and she numbly focused on the screen as the commentators droned about the president, foreign crises, and unrest at home.
 
After a while they switched subjects to local news and Diane saw her photo suddenly appear on the screen.
 
A caption beneath it read, “The Porn Star Mom—Diane Boston.”
 

That woke her up.

“There's a new development in the ongoing story of the so-called Porn Star Mom in the Chicago suburb of Lincoln Grove,” the male anchor said.
 
“We've received word that Diane Boston is planning to file suit against the Lincoln Grove School District for unlawful suspension.
 
According to our sources, the school board gave Mrs. Boston a week to clear up the allegations that she appeared in adult films in the late nineteen seventies.
 
When Mrs. Boston refused to do that, she was put on suspension with pay until the board did some further investigation into the matter.
 
Mrs. Boston has denied the allegations but doesn't seem to want to prove that they're false.”
 

The screen changed to video of none other than Peter Davis with a reporter's microphone held to his face.
 
The caption read, “Peter Davis—Teacher at Lincoln High School.”
 

“I work with Mrs. Boston in the Social Studies Department,” he said.
 
“Of course we were all very shocked by these allegations.
 
The thing is, if she doesn't have anything to hide, then why doesn't she produce this ‘twin sister' that she's claimed to have.
 
It's very peculiar.
 
If you ask me, she's making it up.”

“Fuck you,” Diane muttered to the television.

The screen switched back to the anchor.
 
“Channel Seven learned about the pending suit a day after Mrs. Boston's former husband, car dealer Greg Boston, filed for custody of their son David.
 
As the story develops, we'll keep you informed.”

Diane grabbed the remote and shut off the set.
 

There was no way she could pick up and leave now.
 
There was all this
legal
crap to deal with.
 
The court battle with Greg was certainly worth staying for but Diane was beginning to wonder if the school board fight had any merit.
 
Sure, it was the principle of the thing but at this point she didn't
want
her job back.
 
She knew she couldn't go back into those halls and resume her status as a “Favorite Teacher” after everything that had happened.
 
There were probably plenty of students who would support her—and even think she was “cool” for being in adult films—but that's not how she wanted to be thought of.
 

Damn it, it's not even true!

But there was nothing she could do but sit, drink her coffee, and wallow in the gloom and doom.