Matt nodded. "Without going into too much detail, let's just say you and I are more on the same side than my public image might imply."
"I get that part. You're working against the drug gangs, not for them." Joe tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "It makes a lot of sense," he said, eyes still closed like he was trying to absorb all of this. "Murderous Matt DiPietro never felt right. But why are you telling me now?"
"I shouldn't be telling you, even now. But we've got a problem and I'm running out of time. I need your help."
Joe opened his eyes. "I'm sure we can help. I'll call Captain Knight and we'll get right on it."
Matt shook his head. "That's why I came to you. I can't go to the local cops."
"I'm a local cop."
"You're the guy who got me ten days detention when Sister Patience found us playing Mission: Impossible in the old church."
Joe laughed. "I thought I was pretty clever to tell her we were cleaning the cobwebs off the stained glass. It was better than saying that you were really Tom Cruise, and you were hanging from the rafters to infiltrate the enemy camp and steal the cache of microfilm from under the altar. I really don't think the sister would have appreciated the importance of your mission."
Matt smiled at the memory, even all these years later. "It probably would have worked if you had been a better liar."
"And if Kyle hadn't dropped the rope and made you fall into the apse."
"That, too. But your terrible lying is the reason I'm here now."
"I was ten years old, Matt!"
"And you couldn't tell a lie to save your life—or mine." He gripped the steering wheel. "I trust you. Even after all these years, I know in my gut I can trust you."
Joe nodded. "I get that. But my boss is one of the good ones."
Matt shook his head. "You can't involve him. You can't tell anyone. I'm serious. I'm not working for the Moreno cartel, but someone is. It could be a cop, a fisherman, a coastie. It could be one of my own team. It could even be Kyle or Xander."
"Xander O'Keeffe goes by Alec now," Joe muttered.
"Yeah. It's been a long time since I've seen any of you," Matt said. "People can change."
"But not me?"
"Not you, Joe. You couldn't change enough to go from rescuing baby mice from your mama's chicken coop to shooting me in the dark."
"Kyle and Alec haven't changed either. Captain Knight is a good guy, too. Can't you trust me on this?"
Matt shook his head. "You have to give me your word. You won't tell your boss."
Joe looked really worried. "I could lose my job if I withheld that kind of information." It was that look on Joe's face, the same as when he had been a young boy and couldn't stammer out a simple lie to get out of trouble, that told Matt he could be trusted.
"I need you to promise," he said again.
Joe still hesitated. "Don't you have a whole bunch of secret agents, or whatever they are?"
"All the people we can trust are already in place. This has been planned for a long time."
"But still—"
"You know as well as me what winter's like in Pajaro Bay. There aren't any tourists around. A stranger would stand out like a tuxedo on a surfer. And," Matt added, "somebody shot me. Maybe somebody I thought I could trust. Maybe one of my own team. You're the only person I know who's already here in town and can be trusted 100%. It's either you, or I have to call off the whole plan and we lose Moreno—probably forever. You're the only person who can save this operation right now."
He looked at Joe for a minute, watching him struggle through the decision. Finally Joe sighed, a resigned sigh that said Joe knew what he was going to do, but didn't like it.
"Okay, I promise," Joe said. "What do you need from me?"
While Aunt Zee and Sandy were out, Lori spent some timing grooming Shadowfax. At first she thought she'd do it outside, where the breeze would carry away the clouds of loose fur the brush stirred up. But though the day was clear, the winter wind off the sea chilled her hands and she quickly decided that she'd just have to groom him inside and clean up the mess afterward.
Shadowfax was mellow about it. He didn't seem to care where she took him, or what she did. He just smiled at her in that goofy way of his, bumped up against her whenever he got the chance, and all in all just seemed happy to be with her. She wondered why she had been so afraid of animals before. She also wondered if he could possibly learn to predict her seizures. Once she got a new phone she would do some online research and find out if there was any way to teach him to help her. Now that she had a real dog, not just the abstract idea of one, she realized how comforting it was to have someone with her. Even if he couldn't predict her seizures he was still nice company. Somehow she felt safer, less alone.
She was sitting on the sofa grooming him. He kept moving around, trying to get her to brush his back, his hips, behind his ears, and she dutifully groomed each part that he presented to her.
Then he sat in front of her very nicely, paws close together in front, head up, and his big, brown eyes looking at her intently.
"You like that spot, boy?" she said, brushing him where the hair parted on his forehead....
She realized that she'd somehow dropped the brush without noticing, and she was gripping Shadowfax's fur. He sat in the same position as before, but when she unclenched her hands, she felt a wave of dizziness.
Another seizure. It wasn't too surprising, since stress often made them happen more frequently, and she'd been pretty stressed the last few days. That's what she told herself, anyway. She didn't want to think about the feeling of not being able to trust her own body, the sense of helplessness and failure the seizures gave her.
The dog just sat there watching her. "A lot of help you are," she said to him. "You'd think you could do something more than sit there like a lump."
Then she put her arms around his neck and cried into his fur while he licked the salty tears off her cheeks.
Chapter Twelve
"You look very nice, Sandy," Lori said as she entered Aunt Zee's dressing room later that afternoon, Shadowfax at her heels as always.
In the beautifully fitted tuxedo, the little man looked almost handsome. He bowed slightly in response, his chubby cheeks turning a bit red.
Lori used the hand signal for down, and the dog obeyed, letting out a big sigh and resting his head on his paws.
"Sandy is really quite dashing tonight," Aunt Zee said, giving him an affectionate smile. "But how do I look?"
"Amazing. Of course." Aunt Zee's gown was floor-length silk taffeta, of a deep magenta, and it skimmed over her erectly held body as if it had been made just for her, which it probably was.
"Dior?" she asked.
"My favorite Dior," Aunt Zee replied, smoothing down the front. "Appropriate for an occasion like The Mikado. Get me the jet pieces, will you, dear? Middle drawer."
Lori went to the jewelry wardrobe in the closet and opened the drawer. Inside lay an incredible necklace and earrings of rose gold filigree with black beaded accents. She lifted the pieces from their velvet nest and carefully brought them out to the dressing room.
As Aunt Zee sat down at her dressing table to put on the necklace, she explained: "This was designed for me to wear in the nightclub scene in Lady Versus the Mob, but when they were filming they decided it didn't photograph well. So I ended up wearing some gorgeous Harry Winston diamonds instead."
Lori stood behind her, and they were both visible in the mirror above the table: Aunt Zee in her shimmering silk and glittering gold jewelry, and Lori, in jeans and cotton sweater. Still, they looked so alike it was, as always, startling.
"Twins?" Aunt Zee said, looking in the mirror at the two of them.
"Hardly," Lori answered. She kissed her on the top of her head. "I haven't a tenth of your style."
"But at least you know what you'll look like when you're old."
Lori noticed the twinkle in Aunt Zee's eyes. "I hope so. So the studio gave yo
u the jewelry?"
"Gave? Darling, I bought it from the jeweler. He offered it to me, but he had a crush on me and I just didn't want to give him any ideas. I can't remember how much I paid for the necklace. It was outrageous, I'm sure. But it's important to keep one's independence," she said wryly.
"Yes, it is."
She wondered if Aunt Zee was about to start on another lecture about that no man is an island stuff, but she just continued with her reminiscing: "But then my third husband—"
Lori ran through the list of names. "—McCabe?"
"Yes. Dear Lucas McCabe." Aunt Zee sighed.
"Of course. Lucas McCabe. He gave you the clock in the guest room." Lori had never met the man, though Aunt Zee had remained friends with the strapping cowboy star until the day he died last year. Lori remembered her quote in his New York Times obituary: "He was one of the kindest souls I ever knew. His death is a great loss to all who loved him." He too had been part of her little social circle in Pajaro Bay, though their divorce had been final decades ago.
Aunt Zee fiddled with a gold beaded bag, taking out a magenta silk handkerchief that matched her gown and handing it to Sandy. "Dear Lucas had some earrings made to go with the necklace. That was years after the film, of course."
"He must have loved you very much."
"People marry for many reasons, Lori. Not always for love."
"Is that why you got divorced?"
"It's a long story." She rose with a rustle of taffeta, then patted Lori's hand. "One we don't have time for right now. Now, are you sure you are all right?"
Lori had told her about the latest seizure, and Aunt Zee had wanted her to go to the local clinic and get a checkup, but she had refused. It wasn't likely they could do anything the specialists in Chicago couldn't. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm not going to climb on any ladders or do anything foolish while you're gone."
"Then I'll give you one last chance: sure you wouldn't rather go to the opera with us than mope around here?"
Lori stuck her tongue out and both Aunt Zee and Sandy laughed.
While they were talking Sandy had carefully arranged the handkerchief and then inserted it in his pocket. When he finished, there was a perfect three-point fold visible.
Aunt Zee took his arm and he led her down the stairs.
Lori and Shadowfax trailed after them.
"So what are you planning for this evening?" Aunt Zee asked when they stood in the entry before the great double doors. "Not really going to mope, are you?"
"Of course not. I had a good cry earlier and I'm all cried out for the day. And I had my post-seizure nap, so I'm wide awake now. I'll have a sandwich for dinner so I don't have to face your stove."
"Sandy will appreciate that," Aunt Zee said.
"I'll try to get some of Shadowfax's hair off the living room couch," Lori continued. "Then I'll watch something on TV. Maybe even stay up for the local station's all-night Zelda Potter marathon."
"That's hardly necessary," Aunt Zelda said with a grimace. "So you're not planning on climbing around on the cliffs rescuing any more lost poets?"
"Never again," Lori said. "I'm through with sticking my neck out."
"Famous last words," Aunt Zee said.
Sandy opened the door.
"You two have fun," Lori said. "And stay out of trouble."
"Where's the fun in that?" Aunt Zee asked, and then they were gone, and Lori was alone in the big house with the big dog, the grouchy cat, and a quiet evening in front of her.
The sun had set outside the lotus window in a stunning shimmer of purple and gold. Now at nearly six p.m. the light was gone, and the glass was a black mirror reflecting the warm glow of the living room fireplace.
In the hours since Aunt Zee and Sandy had left, Lori had succeeded in removing a good amount of dog hair from the dog, the couch, the floor, and her sweater. All the while the local TV station was on in the background, tuned to the Zelda Potter retrospective. They had first shown one of Aunt Zee's earliest films (Lori hadn't even known that she had been a chorus line dancer in her early studio days), and now had moved on to her serious period. She was playing the queen of England in some overwrought historical epic, and Lori was only half paying attention and thinking about what she would make herself for supper, when Shadowfax suddenly ran excitedly to the front door and barked.
A moment later the doorbell rang. She turned off the TV and went to the door.
Matt stood there, holding a cane with one hand, carrying a small blue duffle bag in the other, and looking as devastatingly handsome as he had that day at Santos' Market when she'd first laid eyes on him. How could he make her feel all mushy inside when she now knew what he was, what he was capable of? She must be nuts to still react to him like he was some swashbuckling pirate when he was really a ruthless criminal.
But he asked, "may I come in?" and Shadowfax looked up at her with a big grin, and so she found herself saying, "yes," and opening the door wider so he could enter.
He stepped inside. Shadowfax bumped against him and he caught himself on the doorknob to keep from falling. "That's enough, pup," he said, and she noticed his voice wasn't raspy anymore.
"You must be feeling better," she said, more to fill the silence than for any other reason.
He nodded. He set down the little duffle bag and moved further into the house. The dog walked alongside him and kept bumping him, a move Lori now knew Shadowfax used to express his happiness.
She shut the door and followed them.
"I haven't been here in a long time," he said. He went toward the living room, the click of his cane on the polished floor loud in the quiet room. He opened the lotus door to the back yard, letting in the sound of sea and wind. He went out onto the lawn.
She and Shadowfax followed him outside.
The storm of the last few days was gone, and the cloudless black sky was littered with icy white stars. Across the sea, there were little flickers of white as the waves broke in the moonlight. The air was crisp, and the golden lights of the wharf jutting into the water seemed far below them. Out in the middle of the bay, the beam from the lighthouse ticked around in its circle, on and off, beckoning. Lori crossed her arms to keep warm and watched Matt.
He didn't look at her. He gazed out toward the horizon. She was wondering if he had even noticed she was right behind him when he said, "You're a lot like your great-aunt."
"No I'm not. She says exactly what she means. Knows exactly what she wants and goes for it."
"You don't seem to have any trouble expressing yourself."
He still wasn't looking at her. He just stood on the grass, leaning on the cane, and staring out to sea as if he would find some answer in the endless black expanse of sky and water stretching to the horizon.
What answer was he looking for, she wondered. "You didn't tell me you knew Aunt Zee so well."
"I don't know her well. I just used to come here sometimes when I was a kid." He looked down at his feet, and his voice grew so soft she could barely hear him. "I must've been about six years old. I snuck into her back yard and she caught me—right about on this spot."
"What were you doing up here?"
His shoulders drooped slightly. "I know. I had no business being up here in this neighborhood."
"That's not what I meant. Why did you want to come here?"
"Paper airplanes."
"What?"
"This is the holy grail for paper airplane connoisseurs. To fly one straight off the cliff on a clear, sunny day, when the off-shore flow is just right...." He glanced her way and she saw his face as a pale circle in the moonlight. Then he turned back to that mesmerizing view of the sea and sky. "There's a legend a paper airplane was flown off this cliff and landed on the deck of a fishing boat ten miles off shore."
"Yeah, right."
"I was a little kid. I believed stuff like that. Anyway, Ms. Zelda caught me snooping around her yard. So she fed me milk and cookies and told me I could come by whenever the conditions were right for
a good flight. Can you imagine? A kid from Wharf Flats in her house any time he wanted? She's a real lady. She always treated me like a regular kid—like I had a right to be up here with people like her."
"People like her? You really think there's a difference between people like her—like me—and people from your neighborhood?"
Silence. He gazed at the horizon, and she gazed at his broad, strong back, trying to understand this strange man who seemed so lost and vulnerable.
"Has your family always lived in Wharf Flats?" she finally asked.
"Ever since my grandfather came to America and bought a fishing boat. He married, and had a son, but then World War II started. There was a lot of anti-immigrant sentiment then, and he volunteered for the army to prove he was a real American." He stopped. She watched his dark hair ruffle as the wind caught at it.
Finally, she prompted: "You said before that he had died in the war."
"Yeah. And the family couldn't afford to keep up the boat payments. So they started a restaurant, and named it after him."
"Matteo's Oceanside Pizzeria. Matteo named for him. And you."
How had he described the theme of his favorite book? The story of a hero who ended up too wounded to go back home, but it was okay because he'd saved the people he left behind. Like grandfather Matteo DiPietro.
Like Matt himself?
He stared out at the sea, his broad shoulders holding up the weight of the whole world.
After a while he straightened up, and turned back toward the house. "Come on," he said.
They went back inside. She sat on the couch and Shadowfax took his usual place lying next to the coffee table. While the dog went into his usual routine of sighing, snorting, and then snoring, Matt got the little duffle bag and brought it into the living room. He sat on the opposite end of the couch and put the bag on the coffee table.
She watched as he opened the bag and took out a little black box. Some kind of mini computer, she guessed, when he pressed a button and red and green lights came on.
He waited a minute until all the red lights turned green.
Lighthouse Cottage Page 15