The Popsicle Tree (33 page)

“Yes, Mrs. D'Angelo…this is Dick Hardesty calling. Your sister, Mrs. Collins, gave me your number.”

“Why would she (
hech-hem
) do that?”

“Probably because I asked her,” I said, not being able to resist. “I'm sorry to bother you at home, but…”

“Well, you
are
bothering me,” she interrupted. “I'm a busy woman, and I (
hech-hem
) don't have the time to waste on a bunch of foolishness.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't think you would consider looking into someone's death as foolishness.”

Damn it, Hardesty
I thought
, don't antagonize her! She'll hang up on you,

“(
hech-hem
) You know what I meant,” she said, just a shade less belligerently. “Just what is it you want?”

“I'm concerned that Roy might somehow be involved in Carlene DeNuncio's death,” I said.

She snorted derisively. “That's utter nonsense! He doesn't have the (
hech-hem
) backbone to be a murderer.”

“That may be true,” I said, “but I really would like to know more about his relationship with Carlene, and why Jan Houston hates him so.”

I threw Jan's name in there to see if I'd get any kind of response. There was none. Instead, “I'm coming back there tomorrow,” she announced. “If you (
hech-hem
) insist, I suppose I could find a few minutes to talk to you then.”

“I'd very much appreciate that, Mrs. D'Angelo,” I said.

We hung up and I paused to reflect on just why she might be coming back to town so soon, since she'd just returned to Louisville and her sister apparently had no idea when she'd be back. Based on the fact that from what Mildred Collins had said of her sister, this kind of behavior was apparently not all that unusual, I didn't want to put too much emphasis on a possibly sinister link between my call and her return. But I certainly couldn't rule it out.

*

Since I was on a roll in setting myself up as a moving target, I was tempted to call Jan Houston at work, but managed to talk myself out of it. Calling her at home after dinner would be better, and I could force myself to wait.

It was getting close to going-home time, and I had the urge to make a quick swing over to Cramer Motors to see what might be available when my insurance check came through, but then I thought that Jonathan would probably want to be along, so I shelved the idea, putting it on my mental calendar for Saturday.

I was just getting ready to leave when Jonathan called, saying he could get a ride home from Kyle and save me the time of driving the extra distance to pick him up. I told him I'd pick up Joshua and meet him at home.

I arrived at Happy Day about ten minutes early (surprise!), and was sitting in the car in front of the building when I saw Estelle Bronson step out onto the porch and motion for me to come in. A little surprised, I did.

“It's nice to see you, Dick,” she said, using my first name for what I think was the first time.

“I just happened to be by the door when I saw you sitting there. The other parents will be here in a few minutes, but I wanted to see if you might have heard anything at all about Carlene's death…even though I know you're not working on the case any longer, and I'm truly sorry about that, but…”

“It's good to see you, too,” I said. “And I'm still working on the case…on my own,” I hastened to add.

She seemed impressed. “Why, that's very kind of you, but…I mean…can you afford to do that?”

“Well, let's just say it's gotten personal,” I said. She looked puzzled but didn't follow up on it.

“So have you found out anything at all?” she asked.

“Yes, I think I have, and I think I'm very close to knowing who was behind Carlene's death, and why.”

“That's wonderful!” she said. “I…”

At that moment a very nice-looking guy, who I recognized from an earlier visit as the father of Happy Day's youngest charge, appeared at the door. Estelle let him in, then excused herself to go see about getting the children ready to go home.

The hunk and I exchanged a few words, though my crotch was too busy scoping him out to pay too much attention to what was being said. None of my other mind-voices seemed to object. I guess they all thought I deserved a little guilty pleasure from time to time.

The children began pouring in through the door to the back yard, riding a large wave of kid sounds and running feet.

Two other parents had arrived at the door, and Estelle came up with the hunk's little girl, handing her to him with one hand while opening the door with the other.

Since I'd only picked up Joshua once or twice before, I still wasn't used to the organized pandemonium of the ritual transfer of power from Happy Day to the parents, and was duly impressed by how everyone just took it in stride.

The hunk kissed his daughter, bounced her up and down a couple of times as she laughed, then gave me a very nice smile and a nod and left.

I felt a tug at my leg and looked down to see Joshua staring up at me as though I were a giant sequoia. “Where's Uncle Jonathan?” he asked.

“We'll meet him at home,” I said. “Are you ready to go?”

He nodded his head up and down rapidly, and I took his hand and led him through the door.

“Piggyback!” Joshua said as we reached the steps, and I instead picked him up and swung him up and around so he was seated on my shoulders, with his legs on either side of my neck.

“You can see better from up there,” I said, holding his legs securely so he couldn't fall off. I was very aware that he had put on a few pounds in the short time he'd been with us.

*

While I had my Manhattan and watched the news, Jonathan and Joshua fed the fish and watered the plants.

Immediately after dinner, I called Jan Houston.

“Hello?” the now-familiar voice said.

I decided to make it short and to the point.

“Jan, hi, this is Dick Hardesty,” I began. I thought I heard a man's voice saying something in the background, probably just the TV. “I just wanted to let you know I'm pretty sure I know who was responsible for Carlene's death, and I'll be going to the police with what I know.”

There was a pause, then, “So why tell me?”

Yeah, Hardesty, why tell her?
a mind-voice asked.

“I just thought you might like to know,” I said, “and didn't want it to come as a shock.”

I had no idea what I meant by that last part, but probably meant to imply either her real mother or her half-brother was a murderer.

“So who did it?” she asked.

“Well,” I said, “I've got just one more thing to check on before I go to the police, so I can't say right now. But, as I said, I just didn't want you to be surprised when you hear about it.”

“Ok, whatever. Is that it?”

“That's it,” I said, feeling somehow just a little bit foolish.

I heard the click of the phone being hung up.

Sweet girl,
I thought.
No wonder I'm gay.

I'd barely hung up the phone when it rang.

“Hello?”

“Dick, it's Jake. Jared's coming in to town for the weekend, and we were wondering if we might try to get the gang together for dinner Saturday night. Would that be a problem for you? Do you have somebody who can look after Joshua?”

Well, talk about serendipity!
I thought. “Yeah,” I said. “We just might. Can I call you back in a little while?”

“Sure,” he replied. “I'm in for the night.”

“Okay,” I said. “We'll get back to you shortly.”

I reported the call to Jonathan, and told him about my conversation with Mark Richman at lunch, and that his son Craig might be willing to babysit.

Jonathan was suddenly every inch the concerned parent. “I don't know, Dick,” he said. “How old is this Craig? Can he be trusted? I mean…”

I grinned. “He's sixteen, and if he's Mark Richman's kid, I'm sure he's responsible. He just came out to his parents, and that takes a lot of maturity.”

“He's gay for sure?” Jonathan asked. I'd mentioned to him before that Mark thought he might be.

“Yeah, and Mark thinks that you and I would be good gay role models for him.”

His resolve visibly softened. “That was really nice of him,” he said. “Well, I guess we could try it. And it would be nice to have somebody we can call on every now and then.” He glanced around to see where Joshua was (on the floor refereeing an apparent dispute between Cowboy and G.I. Joe), then lowered his voice. “It would be nice if we could have some time to ourselves once in a while. I miss that.”

I hugged him. “Me, too,” I said. “Now let me see if I can find Mark's home phone number.”

*

It was all set. Mark volunteered to bring Craig over at six on Saturday night, and Jonathan or I would bring him home. Jake contacted all the rest of the gang, and everyone could make it but Mario, who as manager at Venture, had to fill in for one of his bartenders who'd broken a leg falling off a horse. We arranged to meet at Rasputin's at seven for dinner, and then planned to stop by Venture for a couple of drinks after. We—Jonathan and I—wouldn't be able to stay very late, but we agreed it would be really good to get out and enjoy a “pre-Joshua” evening.

*

Friday passed without a hitch, though I noticed I was a little more aware of every corner-of-my-eye movement and sudden sound than normal. And I'd made a point of taking the bus to and from work, and even went into the garage to check the car before Jonathan and Joshua left. Probably paranoid of me, but my gut was telling me that this entire case was coming to a very rapid head.

We called out for Momma Rosa's pizza for dinner, and Joshua endeared himself to me even further by refusing to touch the mushrooms on the slice he was given from Jonathan's half of the pizza. Instead, he discovered the anchovies on my half, and whenever I wasn't looking, would try to steal them from my uneaten portion.

“See?” I said to Jonathan. “Even a four-year-old boy knows what's really good.”

“Four-year-olds are strange,” Jonathan said.

“Am
not
,” Joshua said vehemently.

“Well of course
you're
not,” Jonathan said, hastily backtracking.

After dinner…no dishes to speak of…Jonathan tried to study while Joshua variously wanted to wrestle, play “car,” scramble up onto and off the couch to watch TV with me, or went about indulging his active fantasy life, frequently with sound effects and animated dialogue.

Bed time/story time came and went without a hitch, and Jonathan and I were relaxing in the living room and just thinking of going to bed when the phone rang. Damn!

Hurrying to the phone so as not to wake Joshua, I picked it up, “Hello?”

The voice wasted no time. “This is Angelina D'Angelo. I want you to meet me.”

“I'd like that,” I said, rather surprised to learn she was back…though she said she'd be back Friday and this was Friday. “Whenever it's convenient for you,” I said. “Tomorrow at my office?”

“Now!” she said.

“It's a little late, isn't it?” I asked, mildly irked.

“Do you want to know who killed that…that woman, or not?”

“Of course I do,” I began, “but…”

“I went to a great deal of difficulty getting you documented proof. I do not want it in my possession one minute longer than I have to. Do you want it or not?”

“Well, of course,” I repeated. “Do you want me to come over there?”

“No. Mildred is already asleep. That's why I waited until now to call. She's not to know anything of this! Meet me in the Pence Avenue parking lot on the north side of Riverside Park in one hour. I don't know why I'm doing this, but I'm not about to have you falsely accuse me or my son.”

“I understand,” I said. “I'll see you there in one hour.”

She hung up without another word.

Jonathan, who had been listening to my side of the conversation and looking totally confused, said, “You're not going to go out at this time of night, are you? Where are you supposed to meet?”

“Riverside Park, the Pence Avenue parking lot.”

“But that's in the arboretum,” he said. “It's surrounded by trees.”

I was still holding the phone as I said, “Yes, and I know a set-up when I hear one.”

Luckily, I remembered Mark Richman's home phone number, and I dialed it.

*

Being in a residential area, the streets around Riverside Park were fairly deserted by eleven p.m. The park stretched along half a mile of the river in roughly the shape of an on-its-side V. The narrowest point of the park was a popular spot for teenagers, and there were a few cars parked by the river as I drove by. The widest end of the park was a small forest preserve that had been made into an arboretum. We'd spent a lot of time there for several of Jonathan's school projects. The Pence Avenue parking lot was set within the thickest part of the arboretum and was, as Jonathan had said, surrounded by trees. A great place for an ambush.