Blood Runs Cold

by Catherine Maiorisi

Parker gave her a weird look. “Is this the PTSD talking?”

  “Give me a break, Parker. It’s a figure of speech. But no matter how many times I remind Simone, she forgets to lock the elevator door. Anybody could walk in.”

  The music was blaring when they stepped into the loft, but Simone and Nicky were not there. She spotted the two of them asleep on the floor behind the sofa. The kittens were curled up on Simone’s chest. Corelli strode to the stereo and shut it off.

  Two heads popped up, eyes wide. “Shit, auntie, you scared me,” Nicky said.

  Corelli stood over them, hands on her hips. “You should be scared, Nicky.”

  “I guess we fell asleep.” Simone gently moved the sleeping kittens to the floor and stood to hug Corelli and greet Parker. Nicky did the same.

  “Mom sent some food and we’ve been waiting for you to eat.” She pointed to the table set for four.

  “Looks like a feast,” Corelli said. “Let’s eat and talk.”

  “You sounded angry, sis,” Simone said, pulling out her chair. “Did we do something?”

  Corelli took the picture out of her briefcase before pouring herself a glass of wine from the bottle the kids had opened. “Wine, Parker?”

  “No thanks, I’ll eat but I’m driving so I’ll just take some water.”

  “Why should we be scared?” Nicky said, reaching for the wine.

  Corelli hesitated, then gave him the bottle. They weren’t going anywhere tonight. They were so innocent, these two nineteen-year-olds. She didn’t want to frighten them, but they needed to know. She handed the picture to Simone who looked at it and passed it to Nicky.

  “What were the two of you doing there, on the steps with the VIPs?”

  They exchanged a glance. “We were invited,” Simone said, “by someone we know.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Spencer Nickerson?” Simone said, her voice going up at the end of his name, making it a question.

  “And how—”

  “Auntie, don’t yell at Simone. He’s a friend of mine.” He coughed. “I met him through a group I belong to at college, a, uh, a…” He flushed, “a gay group.”

  It took all her highly developed detective skills to keep her face blank and her voice even. “You’re gay?” She took a sip of wine to cover her surprise.

  He flushed again. “Yes.”

  Chiara looked at her sister. “Simone?”

  Nicky jumped in. “No, she’s not. She was just with me.” Though Simone was his aunt, they were only months apart in age and were best friends.

  She focused on Nicky. “Were you and Spencer lovers?”

  “Are you kidding? He would never fool around with a kid like me. He works with gay kids at the college, you know, helping them to come to terms with it. He wanted us to meet role models so he invited a couple of us to City Hall and to the party to celebrate Kate becoming speaker. I asked if I could bring Simone since she’s interested in politics.”

  Corelli downed her glass of wine and poured another. She was dumbstruck. Patrizia would go berserk when she found out. “Does anyone in the family know besides Simone?”

  “No. My mom will probably kill me.”

  Both kids looked anxious.

  Maybe it’s in the blood. “It’s okay, Nicky. You know she accepted me and Marnie. Well, sort of. If she hadn’t met Marnie and liked her before she realized we were lovers, it would have been a lot harder. Then, when she figured it out, she decided Marnie was the lesbian, not me.” She took his hand. “I agree, she’ll probably go nuts. At first. Then she’ll blame me. And, eventually, she’ll realize you’re still her loving son.”

  Parker cleared her throat and the two kids turned toward her. “Spencer, Nardo, and Meg have been murdered in the past couple of days. We think the killer is going after everyone in that picture, so we’re afraid you two might be in danger.”

  Simone choked on her wine. Nicky paled and his eyes filled with tears. “Spencer was such a great guy.”

  “But why would we be in danger?” Simone asked, having recovered.

  “We don’t know,” Parker said. “Did either of you give your name or address to anybody at the rally?”

  “Just to Spencer so he could put us on the list. Right Nicky?” He nodded.

  The list. If Kate’s enemy Councilman Collins was the killer, he would have access to the list. And he knew she was checking on him. If he connected Simone to her… “Find out who has access to the list, Parker. See if you can get Burke on her cell.”

  Parker walked to the sofa to get some privacy while she made the call.

  Corelli moved behind Nicky and put her arms around him. She kissed the top of his head. “How long have you known?”

  He looked at Simone. “About three years?” She nodded.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been more observant, but I love you, and I’m here to help. We’ll deal with your mom later. Right now being gay is secondary to your safety. I’d like you to stay here in my apartment for the next few days, until we figure out what’s going on. If you lock the elevator when you’re here, you’ll be safe. Is that okay?”

  “No classes tomorrow, but we need our books and stuff for homework,” said Nicky.

  “Parker and I will drive you home to pick up some clothes and books tomorrow.”

  The teens exchanged a glance. “If you think that’s best, auntie,” Nicky said.

  “I do.” With their safety arranged, Corelli relaxed. “Did you talk to anyone at the party?”

  Now that he could be open, Nicky couldn’t stop grinning. “Yeah, it was funny. The mayor and Kate Burke and her friend Brett thought Simone was you at first. And they thought we were twins until I told them she’s my auntie.” He lightly punched Simone’s arm. “Brett said something about you, Auntie Chi. Do you remember what it was, Simone?”

  Simone threw a piece of bread at him. “She said she’d met you recently and you’d touched her heart. I thought that was sweet. She’s definitely interested in you, sis. She was real nice, looked after us. I liked her a lot. You have my permission to date her.” Simone grinned. “I also talked to Kate. She offered me an internship with her next summer if I’m interested, so I talked to some of the people who work for her, to find out about the work. We both talked to Abby and Nelson and Nardo and Meg and Spencer and some of the other kids from Nicky’s group. Anybody else you can think of Nick?”

  He shook his head. “You got them all.”

  Parker joined the group. “Burke says just her office and security had the list. But the night security guys didn’t know anything about it. I’ll have to call tomorrow morning.”

  “Let’s eat and call it a day, Parker. Nicky and Simone are going to stay here for the next few days.”

  After Parker left and the kids had gone to their separate bedrooms, Corelli stood at the window thinking about what they’d said about Brett and her friends. It was unfortunate Simone and Nicky were in that picture and possibly targets, but the experience was positive for both of them. For some stupid reason, knowing Brett had taken care of her sister and her nephew made her happy. And hearing the others in the group were also considerate of the kids deepened her sadness at their loss. Although whoever was targeting this close-knit circle of friends was not a traditional serial killer, he had to be sick. She felt better knowing Nicky and Simone would be safe in her apartment but she worried about protecting Brett and her remaining friends.

  She felt the needle prick of kitten claws on her legs and picked up the kittens to keep them from climbing up her legs. She sat with them on her lap and they immediately curled up. She ran her hands over them, smoothing their fur, fingering their delicate ears. “What am I going to do with you guys?” There was something comforting about the warmth of their bodies, their softness, and gentle rumble of their purring. They helped her center. She smiled at herself. Other veterans had service dogs but she had two service kitties and she wasn’t even embarrassed. She was hooked and probably should name them before t
hey got too much older. Maybe she could get Darla to do a news feature on them and solicit names.

  Her mind went back to Brett. She didn’t need Simone to tell her Brett was interested in her but it was nice to hear Brett was thinking of her. She shook her head. Maybe she was hooked there too.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sunday – 12 a.m.

  Instead of calling it a day, Parker headed for 125th Street and Hattie’s Harlem Inn. Earlier in the day she’d left a message for Randall Young, the man who claimed to be her father, telling him to meet her there at midnight.

  Being in Corelli’s loft tonight had made her realize how much she loved the bright colors, the warm, homey feel, and the sunlight that streamed in through the huge windows during the day. Maybe it was time to give up the dreary one-bedroom apartment she’d come to think of as her rat hole, a place to run and hide from life. She couldn’t afford anything as big or as nice as Corelli’s loft, but she would take her time and find a large one- or two-bedroom apartment, a place with light, that she could make into a home. She smiled. It was time she stopped waiting for something she couldn’t define.

  Now she sat in a booth at Hattie’s facing the door, gnawing her cuticles, bouncing her foot, and glancing every now and then at Jesse seated on a stool at the bar. Although he seemed to be watching the band, each time she looked, he gave a sneaky little wave and lifted his glass to her. Her hands shook as she fixed the coffee the waitress dropped off. Damn. Why was she nervous? She hadn’t spoken to Young, just left a voice mail. If he was her father, why show up now? As far as she knew he could be a drug dealer, or he may have murdered her mother. In any case, he was probably just a scammer. She’d meet him, hear what he had to say, and unless she learned something that led her to believe he murdered her mother, be done with him.

  A tall, well-dressed man appeared in the entryway and surveyed the crowd. Her stomach clenched and the rancid taste of bile filled her mouth. Serve him right if she threw up on him. She smiled at the fantasy. He headed for her table. No hesitation. Knows what she looks like. She unsnapped her holster. She didn’t expect any trouble in here, but just to be safe.

  Then he was there looming over her.

  “Detective Parker, I’m Randall Young. Thank you for meeting with me. May I sit?”

  “Yes.”

  He folded himself into the booth, clasped his hands on the table and studied her. “It’s strange for me to meet you. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”

  “What makes you think you’re my father?” she asked, bypassing pleasantries.

  “You look exactly like the woman I think is your mother.” He reached into his jacket. She drew her weapon but kept it under the table. Jesse slipped off the stool and moved quickly toward them. Randall withdrew an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to her, then clasped his hands again. “She’s younger than you in the pictures but you are the image of Tasha. When I saw your picture in the newspaper, I was pretty sure.”

  She slipped the gun back into the holster as Jesse veered away from the table. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure it would escape her chest. Was it audible on the other side of the table? She looked at Young, then lowered her eyes to the envelope. Tasha was her mother’s name. No one had ever told Parker she looked like her mother. And the only pictures of Tasha she’d ever seen were the ones in the murder book of her unsolved case, which showed a decomposing, bloated corpse with a face battered beyond recognition. She swallowed, glanced at Young again, then lifted the flap of the envelope and slid the pictures out. The girl in the first picture was sitting on a swing in a playground, smiling at someone. Aside from the hairstyle and the dress, it could have been Parker. Her hand shaking, she put the first picture aside. In the next picture, a younger version of Randall Young towered above the vibrant young woman and they smiled at each other like two people in love. In the third picture, the boy and the girl, both smiling broadly, stood side by side wearing caps and gowns and holding diplomas. Tasha was alone in the last picture, sitting on a park bench reading, a pile of books next to her. Parker felt light-headed.

  Randall Young studied her. “Would you like a drink?”

  She nodded. “Bourbon on the rocks.” He went to the bar and returned with her drink and a beer for himself. He placed the bourbon in front of her, careful not to get the pictures wet.

  She sipped her drink. “When were these pictures taken?” She slid them back into the envelope and pushed it toward him.

  He pushed the envelope back toward her. “These copies are for you.” He took a swig of beer. “June, thirty-one years ago, when we graduated from high school. When were you born?”

  She didn’t answer. She was born thirty years ago in May. Could it be true?

  “Which high school?” Not that she knew her mother had gone to high school, or where.

  “Holy Trinity in Harlem. We were eighteen and in love. I had no job and no prospects so I enlisted in the marines after graduation. I wanted to get married before I left, but Tasha wanted to wait until we could afford a real wedding. We agreed we’d save and get married when I finished boot camp.” He lifted the bottle to drink but stared into space, as if remembering.

  “So what happened?”

  He drank. “We were both ambitious kids, intent on making our way in the world, and we had managed to avoid the mistake many of our friends made, until the month before I left. Maybe it was anxiety about the separation or maybe because we knew we were getting married. I don’t know. But whatever the reason, we had sex. It was wonderful. We were so much in love. A month later I left for Quantico. We agreed to write every day.”

  “And?”

  “And, I got a letter every day. Tasha found a job and had started buying things for our apartment. Then I got a letter telling me she was pregnant. She was really excited, and so was I. Then she stopped writing and my letters started coming back, addressee unknown. I tried to call but their phone was disconnected. I kept writing but never got an answer. I still have the letters. Anyway, I was angry. I figured she’d met somebody else. When basic training was over, I came back to find out.” He seemed to go inward for a minute, as if picturing what he was about to describe.

  “I don’t know how she is now or whether she’s even alive, but in those days, her mother, your grandmother, was a drunk and out of it much of the time. It took me almost a week to find her awake and semi-coherent, but she was positively glowing with spite and hatred when she told me Tasha had met a rich man and had gone away with him. I was devastated. I left town that night and didn’t come back until a few months ago.”

  Well that sure sounded like her grandmother, but then again he could have found that out by talking to people in her old neighborhood.

  “I made a career in the marines, married and had two daughters. We lived in Florida. My wife died two years ago. I retired in June as a major and had a hankering to come back to New York. I tried to look up Tasha, but I haven’t been able to find her or anyone who knows what happened to her. I couldn’t locate your grandmother, and your uncle Al hasn’t returned any of my calls.

  Good old Uncle Aloysius T. Parker. How much did he know and why keep it from her?

  “Then, I saw your picture on the front of the New York Daily World. For a minute, I thought it was Tasha, but when I saw the age and the name I suspected you might be my daughter. She never mentioned me to you?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing. I don’t expect you to open your arms and say welcome home daddy. But I would appreciate your mother’s address. I want to talk to her, try to understand what happened.”

  “My mother is dead. She was murdered when I was three. She was selling drugs.” Parker couldn’t hide her anger and the bitterness.

  The color drained from his face. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know.” He signaled the waitress over. “A beer and a shot of Dewars for me. Anything for you, Detective?”

  Parker shook her head.

  Nei
ther spoke until his drinks were placed in front of him and he had downed the shot. He leaned forward. “No way. Tasha wanted to be a lawyer; no way would she sell drugs. Unless she was desperate.”

  They stared at each other. He lowered his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Who brought you up?”

  “My aunt Tiffany, the heroin addict, but she OD’d a year later, then my grandmother, the alcoholic, for a couple of years until Social Services decided she was unfit. Then, Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Mariah adopted me.”

  “Sweet Jesus. If I had known, there’s no way I would have left any child of mine with your aunt or your grandmother. Sorry. I don’t mean to insult—”

  “No problem. You can’t say anything worse than I’ve thought and said about them.”

  “I’m glad your uncle took you in. At least, you had a good upbringing.”

  Right. All the comforts of home, except when he wasn’t ignoring me, he treated me like trash.

  “I know you go by P.J., but do you mind my asking what your real name is?”

  “You tell me. What do you think your beloved Tasha would have called her daughter, your daughter?”

  His eyes went to the beer bottle he was rotating in his hands, and he didn’t speak for a few minutes. She glanced over at Jesse, who was totally focused on them.

  “Well, it’s just a guess. I didn’t think she would make it your legal name. When she told me she was pregnant, we were both so happy. She referred to you as our ‘precious jewel.’”

  Parker felt the blood drain out of her. She stared at him. Could it be? Or had he looked up her birth certificate? No, once she changed her name legally, the old birth certificate would have been destroyed. Wouldn’t it?

  “Looks like I’m correct,” he said. “If we had our DNA tested, we’d know for sure.”

  “Why bother? I’ve lived my entire life without you. I don’t need a father now.”

  “Proud. Just like your mother. Not that I blame you for being bitter. I can’t undo the past, but maybe we could start from where we are and get to know each other. Think about it and call me if you change your mind.” He put some money on the table and stood. “Thank you for your time, Detective Parker.”