The Girl Next Door (18 page)

“It sounds as if you feel a little better,” he said.

“I do,” she said, realizing as he mentioned it that her heart felt considerably lighter
than when she had answered the phone. “I know it’s ridiculous, but I do.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad.”

“When the chief told me about the prostitute, it made my father’s death seem like
the punch line of a bad joke. I could just imagine everyone nodding their heads and
saying, ‘Duncan Avery, killed by a hooker. It figures.’”

“Do you mean ‘everyone,’ or do you mean your brothers?” Andre said.

Nina closed her eyes and smiled. “Touché. My brothers would be the worst. But now—I
know it’s crazy—but I feel almost as if you’ve told me my father was still alive.
That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“Not to me,” he said.

I really will miss you, Nina thought. But she didn’t say it.

N
INA
slipped into the back of St. Catherine’s Church just as the priest was beginning
to bless the host. She searched the sparsely filled pews and caught sight of Jimmy’s
broad leather-jacketed back, his head bent. Beside him, Rose Connelly worked her rosary.
Nina exhaled. She had gotten there in time.

After she had finished talking to Andre, she had called Patrick’s house, only to learn
from a harried Gemma that he was working late and refusing all calls. Jimmy, on the
other hand, had already left Hoffman Flooring when she tried to reach him there. She
called the Connellys next, and George told her that Jimmy and Rose had gone to five
o’clock Mass and that
she could catch up with Jimmy if she hurried. She had rushed out of the house and
driven to Lafayette Street, where the old stone church anchored a prime corner on
the otherwise commercial street. She parked at a meter, and it wasn’t until she reached
the neo-Gothic oak doors of the church that she remembered that there was a parking
lot in the rear. She never had occasion to drive here. She hadn’t spent much time
at St. Catherine’s as an adult. When they were children, their mother would shepherd
them off to church. Jimmy had never wanted to get out of bed in time for Mass. Now,
here he was attending midweek, his head meekly bowed. Her brother had changed indeed.
In many ways, she thought sadly, he was a stranger to her now. He and Patrick both.

She looked around at the soaring arches of the church, the gorgeous rainbow of colors
in the windows, and for a moment she recalled how she had once loved to be here, to
sit between her mother and her brothers and listen to the familiar, comforting words
of the liturgy. A lifetime ago.

The priest completed the Mass, and the scattered worshippers murmured, “Thanks be
to God,” and began to rise from their seats. Nina hurried down the side aisle and
reached the end of the row just as Rose, followed by Jimmy, was exiting her pew.

“Hi, Mrs. Connelly, Jimmy,” she said.

“Nina,” Jimmy said, surprised. “I didn’t know you still came here.”

“I was looking for you. I have to talk to you, Jim.”

Jimmy frowned. “I have to drive Rose home,” he said.

“It won’t take long,” said Nina.

Rose was taken aback. “What’s so urgent? Can’t you come to our house?”

“Yeah, why don’t you just come over?” Jimmy asked.

“You can talk there,” Rose said.

“It’s important,” Nina said stiffly to her brother. “Can’t you spare a few minutes?”

“Mr. Petrocelli has to clean up the church, you know,” Rose said. She pointed toward
the lone usher, an old man in a threadbare suit who was going through the pews, folding
up the kneelers.

“Okay. I won’t be long, Mom,” Jimmy said. Nina forced herself not to grimace. It wasn’t
as if their real mother had died when they were babies. Marsha Avery had raised them.
Loved them. And yet Jimmy had given this other woman her honorific.

“All right,” Rose sighed. “I’ll walk across the street to the Acme. I need a couple
of things. I’ll meet you at the car.” Rose gathered up her coat and her pocketbook,
and headed up the center aisle toward the arched doorway of the church.

Nina sat down in the pew and gestured for Jimmy to sit beside her. Jimmy resumed his
seat and looked at her quizzically.

“It’s about Dad,” she said. She saw him flinch, but she ignored it. She felt her heart
beating fast as she blurted out the news. “Jimmy, Dad did not kill himself.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” she said. “The police chief told me himself. They know it for a sure.
He did not kill himself. He was shot by someone else.”

Jimmy stared at her. Nina could see a vein throbbing in his forehead. His skin had
turned a pasty white. “Who?” he breathed. “Do they know?”

“They think it was a hooker, but … I think they must be wrong about that. They didn’t
have all the facts. A doctor who works at the prison told me that Dad was taking a
medication for depression and that one of the side effects is impotence.

Well, suffice it to say, he wasn’t looking for a prostitute.” Nina
could tell from the alarmed, bewildered look on her brother’s face that she was racing,
rambling, and not making enough sense. “Anyway, the important thing right now is that
it wasn’t suicide. He was killed by someone else and the police are going to have
to start investigating all over again. They don’t know who killed him yet, but they
are
going to find out. I’m not going to let up on them until they do.”

“Jimmy,” came a voice from the darkness at the rear of the church. Nina turned her
head and saw Rose trundling down the aisle toward them, wearing her coat and shouldering
her pocketbook. Catching Nina’s glance, she shook her head. “My memory. I swear, if
I don’t write it down … I got halfway to the store and I remembered that Jimmy needed
batteries, but I couldn’t remember what kind …”

Nina turned and looked at her brother. His eyes were wide and he was clutching at
the knit shirt stretched over his broad chest. “Jimmy, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” he gasped. “I don’t feel good.”

Rose had reached them now, and she let out a cry at the sight of Jimmy’s distress.
She put an arm around him and spoke loudly in his face. “Jimmy, what is it? Tell me!”

Jimmy clutched the sleeve of Rose’s coat. “Mom,” he whispered. “Chest pains.”

“What?” Nina cried, her own heart flooded with panic. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Where’s
my phone?” She began to rummage frantically in her pocketbook. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”

“No,” Rose said to her sharply. “That’s not necessary. Jimmy, this is not your heart.
It’s one of your panic attacks. Do as I say. Take a deep breath and try to relax.”

Jimmy gazed into her eyes as if he were drowning and Rose held the life preserver.

“Are you sure?” Nina whispered.

“Positive,” said Rose calmly, patting Jimmy’s back reassuringly.
“He used to have them all the time when he was giving up the drugs. It’s okay, honey,”
she encouraged Jimmy. “Think about palm trees. Breathe. You’re going to be okay.”

Jimmy shook his head and began to inhale. Some color returned to his broad face. “Okay,
it’s okay. I’m better now.”

“See?” said Rose gently. “ I told you it was nothing serious.”

“Thank goodness,” said Nina. “He really scared me.”

“I’m an old hand at this,” Rose sighed. “Jimmy, where are the keys? Come on. I’ll
drive us home.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Jim?” Nina asked. “I shouldn’t have sprung that news
on you like that. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. I’m all right. I don’t know what happened.” Jimmy’s color was returning,
although he trembled when he went to stand up.

“I figured you’d be relieved to know it wasn’t suicide,” said Nina. “I was. And you
being a Catholic …”

“Sure. It’s … a big relief. Really. But now—well, you know. Here we go again,” he
said.

Nina bristled. “Here we go again?”

“Nina, can we talk later? I … I need to get home.”

“That’s right,” said Rose briskly. “That’s the best place for you. Come on, sweetie.
I’m gonna get you to your own bed, where you can lie down. That’s all you need. Just
a little rest.”

“I have a meeting tonight,” he said, leaning against Rose, who put an arm around his
waist. Jimmy did not turn back to look at Nina.

“We’ll get you to your meeting,” said Rose. “Leave everything to me.”

F
OR
a few minutes, Nina remained in the pew, too unnerved to move. Mr. Petrocelli came
up to the pew and looked at her apologetically.

“I need to lock up,” he said.

“Oh, all right. I’m sorry,” said Nina. She got up and walked to the door of the church,
and stepped out into the evening. The lights went off behind her, and the church became
dark and tomblike, but the rest of Layfayette Street was still bustling with commerce.
Even though it was dark, it was also November, and all the stores were open late for
Christmas shopping. Nina started to walk down the street, thinking about Jimmy’s extreme
reaction to her news. It was as if the very mention of their father threw him into
a tailspin. Obviously, all he wanted to do was put it behind him. If she was honest
with herself, she knew Patrick would be equally, or even more, hostile to
this news. In her brothers’ hearts, Duncan had died a long time ago.

“Hey, look out, lady,” said a man dressed in an elf costume. He was giving away fudge
samples outside a candy store and Nina had nearly collided with him.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. What kinds of holidays would she have this year? I don’t want
to spend them with my brothers, she thought. I don’t want to sit around with their
families and pretend to be a part of it. How unbearable that would be. It was a far
cry from what she had envisioned for herself. She had been making holiday plans in
her mind ever since the news of Duncan’s parole. Plans to give her father a celebration
that would make up for all those years he had spent in prison. And now …

As she walked down the street to the car, she passed Farrell’s antiques store and
saw, with a mixture of surprise and outrage, that the silver-blue Jaguar was once
again parked in front of it.

Patrick, you lowlife, she thought. She hesitated, and then made up her mind. She had
wanted to talk to her brother. In her bitter state of mind, it seemed that this would
be the perfect opportunity.

A bell tinkled as Nina opened the door to the antiques shop. A Nordic-looking young
man in a fitted blue dress shirt with a white collar was waiting on a couple who were
inspecting an ormolu clock. He looked up at Nina as she came in the store. “ I’ll
be with you shortly,” he said in a European-sounding accent.

“I’m not …” she began to protest, but he had already turned away. Nina wondered if
the salesman could tell by the way she was dressed that there was nothing in this
store that she could afford, even if she were here to shop. The elegant store was
lit with ornate crystal chandeliers. Savonnerie rugs were spread out beneath a wealth
of objects and furniture, large and
small, their surfaces a welter of gilt and crystal, enamel and shining wood. The
whole place exuded luxury and good taste.

Nina pretended to look around at the furniture while she made a circuit of the store,
although she was actually looking to catch a glimpse of her brother with Lindsay Farrell.
It angered her when she thought of how judgmental Patrick had been about their father.
“He was sleeping with the woman next door,” Patrick had reminded her at the parole
hearing. “How can you believe in him?”

Look who’s talking, Nina thought bitterly. She glanced at her watch and almost immediately
the young blond man approached her, assessing her with his glacial blue eyes.

“Is there anything I can show you while my other customers are deciding…?”

“Actually,” said Nina, “I’m looking for Lindsay. Is she here, by any chance?”

The blond man glanced toward the back the store. “I believe she’s in the office. Let
me go check for you.”

“Oh, Arne,” called the woman across the sales floor, stroking the ormolu clock possessively.
The salesman looked back at her.

“That’s all right,” said Nina. “You take care of them. I’ll find her.” She began to
walk toward the back, holding her satchel bag close to her jacket so that she wouldn’t
accidentally brush up against some priceless object and knock it over. At the back
of the store there was an open doorway with a hall. One of the frosted glass doors
down the hall was illuminated by a light behind it. Nina hesitated and then knocked.

There was some shuffling behind the door, and then it was opened by Lindsay Farrell,
her skin glowing, her huge blue eyes looking impatient. Tonight she was a vision in
a formfitting pink and gray tweed Chanel-style suit with a deep V neck that showed
her cleavage. Beneath the short skirt she wore silvery stockings on her killer legs.

“Lindsay,” said Nina. “I was looking for you.”

Lindsay looked vaguely uneasy. “Nina,” she said.

“Could I just talk to you for a few minutes?” Nina asked.

“I’m busy right now,” said Lindsay.

“It won’t take long,” said Nina. Glancing over Lindsay’s shoulder, she recognized
the graying good-looking man emerging from the private bathroom. “Hello, Patrick,”
Nina said.

Lindsay looked down at the pointy toes of her gray calfskin stilettos and then opened
the door wide. Patrick was rolling down his shirtsleeves, and his jacket was draped
on a chair back. He looked up and faced his sister. “Nina. What are you doing here?”
he asked, clearly surprised to see her. He began to pull on his jacket. “I thought
you went back to New York.”

“I was looking for you. I called Gemma and she told me you were working late. Then
I saw your car parked outside,” she said pointedly. Nina’s heart was in a tumult.
She couldn’t say what she wanted to say. She wanted to accuse her brother of betraying
Gemma. But it wasn’t as if she had found him in bed with Lindsay. She knew what she
was seeing, but she felt utterly tongue-tied when it came to accusation. “I have to
talk to you,” said Nina, looking from her brother’s florid face to the glamorous antiques
dealer.