The Popsicle Tree (23 page)

“You're welcome,” she said simply. We both got up and she led me back through the house to the front door.

*

I was on my second cup of coffee at Coffee & when Estelle came in. She came over and sat across from me at the small table—the booths were already filled.

“I hope I haven't kept you waiting,” she said with a smile.

“Not at all.”

The waitress came over to refill my coffee and pour a cup for Estelle.

“Would you like to see a menu?” she asked Estelle. (I'd declined the offer earlier.)

“Coffee's fine,” Estelle replied, and the waitress moved on to another table.

“So have you found anything?” She reached for the sugar dispenser.

I took a sip of my coffee before answering. “Yes, no, and maybe,” I said, and then proceeded to go over everything I'd done on the case—leaving out her sister's possible involvement—and that I planned to talk with Kelly's father when he came in to town next weekend. If nothing else developed between now and then, and if talking with Roy D'Angelo didn't give me a viable lead, I was pretty much afraid we'd run out of options unless or until the police found Eddie Styles.

She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily, looking into her coffee cup. “I understand. But there's still a chance?”

“Of course.” I said it, though I don't know how strongly I believed it. Then, hoping she wouldn't make any connections, I said, “So tell me about you and Bonnie. It's really great that you two are so close.”

She looked into her coffee cup again, and nodded, giving me the distinct impression that she may have been thinking “Too close.” But she didn't say it.

“Has Bonnie ever had a relationship?”

She shook her head. “Just that one, when I was still in high school. Right after our parents died.”

“I gather it wasn't long term?”

She shook her head again. “Only a few months, and it was…well, it nearly destroyed Bonnie, I'm afraid.”

“How so?” I knew exactly what she meant, but I was hoping it might bring forth more information.

The waitress came over with a pot of coffee and refreshed both our cups, then moved off.

“Bonnie is a wonderful woman, and no one could ask for a more caring sister. But she has never really had any…well, any
fun
. She's six years older than I, and our mother had a very difficult pregnancy with me, and nearly died. She was never really healthy after that. So Bonnie had the responsibility of raising me. Our father was always away on business. Both our parents loved us, and they did what they could, but it was difficult.”

She paused while she added sugar to her coffee and emptied another small cup of cream into the mix. She appeared a little lost in her own thoughts, but I knew she'd continue when she was ready.

“Bonnie is very strong,” she continued. “She's one of the strongest women I know, and I've always admired her for that. When our father died of a heart attack while I was a senior in high school, it sent our mother's health into a downward spiral from which she never recovered, and she died within six months of my father. Bonnie was a rock. She hid her grief as best she could—which was very, very well, though I could sense it in her—and devoted her efforts to comforting me, and handing all our parents' business affairs, and…well, you know.”

I knew.

She looked out the window at the passing traffic on Beech, not really looking at anything in particular. Then, with a small jerk, she pulled herself back to the moment and gave me a quick glance and an equally quick smile.

“Sorry. Anyway, about eight months later, as I was getting ready to go off to college, Bonnie met someone…her name was Susan, and she was beautiful, and Bonnie actually fell in love. I really think that for the first time in her life, she was
happy
, and I was happy for her. So I went off to college. It was just to Mountjoy, up in Carrington, and I got totally caught up in being on my own for the first time. I'm afraid I didn't call home as much as I should have, and I deliberately didn't come home on weekends, to give Bonnie and Susan time to spend together.”

“So what happened?” I should have just waited for her to continue on her own, but you know me.

She put her cup down on the saucer and looked at me, again shaking her head.

“I honestly don't know! Everything was wonderful, and Bonnie was a different person, and then suddenly, it was over! Bonnie would never tell me what happened, but it must have been terrible. I never saw or heard from Susan again, and Bonnie refused to even let me mention Susan's name.” She sighed, heavily. “And Bonnie turned into a lesbian who hates women.”

She saw my startled look.

“Oh, not on the outside. We have a few lesbian friends, but Happy Day takes up so very much of our time. But as far as Bonnie's ever even trying to find another relationship…nothing. And while it hurts me to say so, she apparently projects her own experience onto me and any woman in whom I develop an interest. That's why I tried to keep my relationship with Carlene away from Bonnie. She's so afraid I'll be hurt like she was. She just doesn't understand….” Her voice trailed off.

It was my turn to shake my head in empathy. “Unfortunately, we can't always protect those we love from being hurt. It's just a part of life.”

“I know.”

We sat in relative silence, finishing our coffee, and I finally excused myself. “I've really got to be getting home.”

“Of course,” she said, a little sadly, I thought. “And so must I. I'm glad we had the chance to talk, and I hope you find out something from Kelly's father.”

The waitress came by again with coffee, which I declined, but Estelle accepted. “Just half a cup, if you would,” she said, then looked at me. “Oh, but please, don't let me keep you. I'll be leaving as soon as I finish this.”

I felt a bit guilty, but realized she'd probably enjoy a little time by herself.

I got up, we exchanged good-byes, and I left, first catching our waitress' eye and indicating I'd like the check. She met me at the cash register and I gave her money for the coffee and a tip, and left.

*

Joshua was having one of his hyperactive days—which, come to think of it, would probably apply to most of his days—and the apartment was strewn with toys, books, and the assorted debris found in the wake of a four-year-old whirlwind. When I came in, he was “helping” Jonathan water the plants, getting more on the floor than in the pots, and talking a blue streak. Jonathan gave me a weak smile, looking around the living room.

“I thought I'd give him his head today, so he might run out of steam by the time we go to Tim and Phil's.”

“Good idea.”

They'd already had lunch, not being sure when I'd be home, but Jonathan had left me a sandwich and some potato salad in the refrigerator. We still had an afternoon of chores: groceries, laundry—lots of laundry—etc., so while Jonathan corralled Joshua into picking up his toys and books with the lure of going shopping for something for him to get for Tim and Phil, I sat in the kitchen and ate my lunch.

There was a new Laundromat on the edge of The Central that had a kids' play area, so we went there, letting Joshua put the coins in the washers and press the Start button before we let him loose in the play area. We'd chosen machines fairly nearby so we could keep a close eye on both him and the machines.

Supermarket shopping with a small child is an adventure, and I'm glad both Jonathan and I were there. I don't know how one adult can do it alone with a kid in tow. I was kept busy returning things that Joshua kept trying to put in the cart, including a huge box of Yummy-O's cereal, whose main ingredient, according to the small print on the box, was sugar. He reluctantly settled for Rice Krispies. And we did let him pick out the kind of fruit he wanted. In the bakery section, we bought half a dozen large chocolate chip cookies for him to take to Tim and Phil (he wanted to take them a huge three-tiered wedding cake he saw in the display case, but was talked out of it).

*

We—Jonathan, Joshua, Bunny, and I—arrived at Phil and Tim's just before six. Just as we got to the door I exchanged the bag of cookies for Bunny. Tim opened the door, and Joshua immediately thrust the bag at him.

“Here,” he said. “These are cookies. Can we have one now?”

Phil came up behind Tim as we entered and Jonathan closed the door behind him. Tim handed Phil the bag of cookies and bent down to pick Joshua up and raise him over his head, then brought him down for a hug.

“Thank you, Joshua,” Tim said. “Those are very special cookies, so let's save them for dessert, okay?”

Looking only mildly disappointed, Joshua nodded and Tim passed him to Phil for a hug, then exchanged hugs with Jonathan and me, an act Phil repeated after setting Joshua down. The minute Joshua's feet hit the floor, he was off to the fish tank.

Tim, Phil, Jonathan, and I sat around talking and having a drink (soda for Jonathan and Joshua, who was too busy talking to the fish to drink it). Phil asked how my current case…if it could be called that…was going, and I told them what I could.

“Have you got any plans for next Saturday?”

Phil and Tim looked at one another, and Tim shook his head.

“Not that we know of. Why?”

“How would you like to join us for a night at the stock-car races? That way I could combine business with pleasure.”

“Jeez,” Tim said, “I haven't been out to Elmsley since I was a teenager. It sounds like fun.” He turned to Phil. “Okay by you, Phil?”

Phil nodded. “Sure: I've never been there at all.”

So we made it a tentative date, and after finishing our drinks, got up to leave.

Joshua came running over. “Are we going now? We haven't had our cookies yet!”

Jonathan got down on one knee and explained to him, for probably the fourth time, that he was going to have dinner with Uncle Tim and Uncle Phil all by himself, just like the big boy he was, while Uncle Jonathan and Uncle Dick went to a grown-up's place for dinner. “But we'll be back in plenty of time for your story.”

“I want to go with you!” Joshua said, on the verge of tears.

Tim stepped over to him. “But what will we do with those cookies?” he asked. “And I've made you a meatloaf—you like meatloaf, don't you?”

Joshua reluctantly nodded.

Then it was Phil's turn. “And I thought you might help me feed the fish after dinner.”

That did it.

*

Dinner at Napoleon was exactly what we both needed, but I, for one, hadn't realized just how much. We took our time, and splurged and had Chateaubriand and talked, and some of the old Jonathan peeked out from around the corners of his shell. It was good to see him. He even asked if maybe we could run home first before picking up Joshua so we could just chase each other around the apartment naked, and play a noisy, no-holds-barred game or two, but we both realized there wasn't time. But I was glad he was considering it.

We got back to Tim and Phil's around nine thirty. Phil opened the door with his index finger to his lips, and we saw Tim sitting on the couch, watching TV, with Bunny on his lap, and Joshua, sound asleep, using Bunny as a pillow.

We thanked them both profusely (and quietly), and declined with thanks their offer to stay awhile. Jonathan went over and picked Joshua up off the couch, and I took Bunny. Joshua woke up, sleepily, for just a moment, then put his arms around Jonathan's neck, laid his head on Jonathan's shoulder, and went back to sleep.

And our new little family went home.

CHAPTER 11

Sunday and the entire rest of the week went by quickly. I had a couple of fairly simple cases, the longest lasting all of three days.

With Saturday approaching, I began thinking more of Roy D'Angelo, and wondering when he might be coming into town.

I keep a city/suburbs map both in my car and at the office, so Thursday morning, after doing my coffee/newspaper/crossword puzzle routine, I got out both the map and the phone book and started looking up motels in Vernon and their proximity to Elmsley Raceway. Vernon is mostly industrial as opposed to residential, and there were only four motels, three of which were within half a mile of the track. I began to call each one, asking if Roy D'Angelo had a reservation for the weekend, and lucked out on the second call (The Twilight Inn). Apparently Roy stayed there whenever he was in town, because whoever it was I talked to mentioned that he “usually” checked in early Friday afternoon. I left a message asking him to call me when he got in. I had no reason to think that he would, if our last conversation was any indicator, but I didn't have anything to lose, and if he didn't, I'd still try to find a way to corral him after the race Saturday.

*

So, needless to say I was quite surprised to answer the phone around two thirty on Friday to hear, “This is Roy D'Angelo. What the hell do you want?”

I'm fine, thanks, Roy. And how are you?
my mind-voice asked.

“Thanks for calling. I really do want to talk to you about…”