“What happened to Bobby?” I ask and try to relax. “Is he in the area, too?”
Having gone this far, Joe doesn’t seem inclined to stop. “I don’t know. About ten years ago, I finally gave up on trying with him. I don’t keep track of my brother anymore and have no idea where he is these days.” Joe’s eyes look sad. “But I think I’d have heard if he was around Scranton for any period of time.”
I decide to push things a little further. Maybe too far, but I keep my tone casual. “Whatever happened to Teresa Gonzalez? She was so young.” I lean in on Joe’s desk and steeple my hands. “From what I read, she sounded like the really tough one in the gang. Isn’t it unusual for the girl to be the alpha in the pack when the others are boys?”
Joe’s gives me a sharp look, but he does answer. “Teresa was our first cousin—our mothers were sisters. I don’t remember much about her father, Uncle Tony—except he had homing pigeons. But he wasn’t around much, so he gave the pigeons to Bobby and me when we were boys. Anyway, Teresa moved to Moosic with her mother, I guess when she was about ten or eleven.”
“Where did they come from?” I ask without any particular emphasis.
“Her mother worked somewhere in New York or New Jersey. I don’t remember where.” Joe looks up at the ceiling. “Anyway, they were pretty broke when they moved here. Teresa’s mom wanted to help her brother, our Uncle Marco, raise his kids after his wife died of cancer.”
“How sad.”
“Yeah, and two of those cousins got into a gang.” Joe sighs. “Teresa started acting tough, wanting to hang out with them, but they wanted nothing to do with her.”
“Did Teresa’s mother try to help her?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. She didn’t have the time. She got a job in addition to helping Uncle Marco with his boys. So Teresa was pretty much ignored. She developed real attitude.”
“Then what happened?” I want to keep Joe talking now that we’re getting somewhere.
“She decided to form her own gang and recruited Bobby and me.” Joe gazes down at his desk as if he’s looking into the past. “Teresa said we were going to be much tougher than our cousins’ gang. And in some respects we succeeded, at least in the eyes of the press, who referred to us as the Scranton Gang.” He rolls up the sleeves of his oxford shirt and appears to loosen up somewhat.
“Hey, was a guy named Frankie part of your gang?” I ask.
“Frankie? No,” he says. “I don’t know any Frankie.”
“So where’s Teresa these days? Did she turn her life around like you?” I hope my voice sounds suitably nonchalant.
“No one in our neighborhood has heard from her in a long, long time,” Joe says. “She ran away from the group home where she was living when she was sixteen. Headed South.” He snickers, and the sound isn’t nice. “Teresa always wanted to live at Disney World,” he sneers, “and be close to the Cinderella Castle—her favorite fairy tale. Hah.”
He pauses, and the derision evaporates from his face. “I did hear she actually got a job down there, I think in housekeeping.”
“How’d she make that happen?” I try not to sound overly eager. “I mean, she was on the run and underage.”
“She probably changed her name,” Joe answers me. “Remember, in those days, pre-9/11, employers weren’t always a stickler for workers’ papers. And maybe Teresa found a way to get fake ones.” Again, he’s in his own long-ago world.
I rub my neck. “How do you get started in a new place at such a young age if you just show up and don’t know a soul?”
“First, Teresa wanted to grow up fast, and she looked older, so that helps. Second, I heard there was another kid from the group home,” Joe responds. “Uh, Carmela. Carmela Suarez. She’d aged out at eighteen and moved to Orlando. Maybe they connected.”
“Amazing how fearless these kids are.” I wish I could ask Joe if Bobby ever attacked Teresa, but I’m concerned he’ll get suspicious again and clam up for good.
“What’s amazing,” he goes on, “is that I heard Teresa worked her way up to a job as one of those fairy tale characters who interact with the kids visiting Disney World.”
“Imagine that,” I say.
“I remember she was great with children. Teresa was in big demand as a babysitter in Moosic before she created the Scranton Gang. And she was such a beautiful girl.” Joe leans into his desk. He laughs and shrugs. “Hey, maybe she stayed in Florida and turned her life around, too, instead of ending up like my brother.”
Oh, the hell with it. I’m going to ask. “Joe, this is a bit delicate. Do you think Bobby ever went after your cousin Teresa? You know, maybe attacked her?” I regret my question the minute the words are out of my mouth.
His eyes go hard. I almost flinch, the change is so extreme.
“What does that have to do with anything? And where would you get that idea?” His voice is measured and as cold as his eyes. “Come to think of it, I believe a grant for my drug program is the last thing on your mind.”
Joe Taylor gets up from his desk again, walks around it and stands facing me. I’m frozen, entirely unsure what I ought to do next. He leans down, takes both arms of my chair, and gets right in my face. I smell coffee on his breath with a touch of some kind of booze. Whiskey? Not sure.
He never raises his now menacing voice. “One thing I don’t like is being toyed with. Lady, really, what is your story?”
I don’t say a word. I’m scrambling for a way to make a quick exit. He creates a way out for me, when he straightens.
“This appointment is finished. Show yourself out.”
~~~~~
The entire drive home, I chastise myself for blowing the meeting with Joe Taylor. I’ll never be able to call him again to ask any other questions. Man, I need to learn when to back off.
Will had offered to handle the interview, and I probably should have let him do just that. Still, I did learn a few interesting things about Teresa’s life in Florida.
I pull onto the drive to my house and see another car come up behind my Mustang. Frank jumps out of a blue, not black, Porsche and quickly circles to the other side to open the door for Juliana, calling to me, “Hope you don’t mind us dropping by.”
“Never, big brother,” I say, as he walks over to hug me. Juliana and I give each other quick smiles and wave. I nod to the car. “Loaner while yours is being repaired?”
“Yep,” he says. “Have an admission to make. I wanted Jules to see where you live.”
Noticing they’re both dressed casually in jeans, I ask, “Hey, how was New York?”
“Change of plans. Meeting got rescheduled at the last minute, so we’re going tomorrow.” Frank winds his way back to Juliana’s side and takes her hand.
I recall that blur in a baseball cap and sunglasses in the Toyota with the dent along the Pennsylvania highway. So that could have been Juliana.
“Sis, I told Jules all about Warrior. She loves animals and works with a couple of rescue organizations on the Coast,” he gushes. Well, not really gushes. It’s subtle, since Waspy guys don’t gush.
“I’d love to meet Warrior,” Juliana says, “but only if now is a good time.”
“It’s a great time,” I say. “First, I’ll let him out in the pen to do his business. You two go into the garden through the gate, and I’ll bring him in to meet Juliana. Then we’ll all go inside for a look around.”
In a few minutes, Warrior and I walk into the garden, where he circles Frank and Juliana for several quick sniffs and then stops in front of Juliana. All of a sudden, he howls, issuing the most sing-songy noise I’ve ever heard come out of him. The three of us freeze. Then his tail wags, and we laugh, realizing he was just being goofy. Warrior then heads to his usual spot to plop down.
After we tour my cottage, I send Frank and Juliana again outside to my garden, while I open some beers in the kitchen. Frank pops back in. “Thought you might need a hand, Ronnie.”
“Got it, Frank, but thanks for the offer.�
�� I stop what I’m doing. “Don’t mean to be nosy, but why were you and Juliana in such a hurry to get over to the lawyer’s office right before that guy ran you off the road?” I laugh nervously. “I thought you two were maybe intending to elope!”
He sidles over and squeezes my shoulder as he scoops up two of the beers. “Don’t worry about me, Sis.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, about my so-called love life.” He smiles at me. “You’re a real mama bear, always worrying about all of us. She’s good people, Ronnie. You don’t have to worry about Juliana.”
I smile back. “If you say so, Frank. Anyway, you don’t have to be in a rush to get to know someone, do you?” Frank says nothing. “Do you?” I ask again. “Have to be in a rush, I mean.”
He shrugs and smiles. “I don’t have to rush, but, Ronnie, life is short. The older we get, the more we realize we shouldn’t waste time. Anyway, Juliana needs a good lawyer for a confidential family matter she wants to resolve…”
My thoughts swirl as I listen to him. If you only knew my suspicions, Frank, but it’s too soon for me to share what I’ve learned. “Just want my big brother to be happy. That’s all.” I take the bowl of chips and my beer, and we go out.
The three of us sit in the garden enjoying our cold beers, shooting the breeze. The most interesting aspect of our visit is Warrior. He’s usually next to me no matter where we are, but right now he’s practically glued to Juliana’s side and flirting like crazy with her. I’ve never seen Warrior behave this way toward an absolute stranger. I remember though that my son told me some years back that Warrior was first raised by a young woman. I wonder if my brother’s girlfriend reminds Warrior of that person.
Juliana enjoys every moment of my German shepherd’s attention. I can see that she’s honestly a real dog person. She doesn’t mind when Warrior pushes his wet nose against her rolled-up sleeve for more rubs between his ears. She doesn’t scoot away when my dog wiggles his behind against her leg, shedding hair all over her jeans as he invites more butt-scratching. Juliana complies, which sends him into ecstasy.
Finally, Warrior lays his head in her lap and gazes up at her with his beautiful brown eyes. A deep look of understanding passes between them, and she leans over to whisper something secret into his ear. An audible sigh comes from my dog. He lies down at Juliana’s feet and falls asleep.
It’s not just Warrior who fascinates me. Watching Juliana meet my pooch, who usually makes most newcomers nervous, I see her being more open and down to earth than at any time since we’ve met. The wall is down, at least for these few passing moments. Animals have a solid sense of people, I believe. So is Warrior telling me that Juliana is a decent person—one I can trust is worthy of my brother?
~~~~~
They’ve left, and I stand in a guest room that I converted into a spacious walk-in closet, staring at endless hangars of clothes, cubbyholes of shoes, and overflowing shelves. I make a mental note to clear out what I no longer wear for the annual town rummage sale. Then I grab my favorite sweatshirt and almost fall over Warrior as I exit the closet. I kneel down to scratch his head.
My lovable seven-year-old German shepherd happens to be a highly trained bomb-sniffing dog that once belonged to my son. Tragedy arrived two years ago when the military notified my now-ex-husband and me that our twenty-seven-year-old boy, Thomas Livingston Lake, had died in combat in Afghanistan. Warrior, my dear Warrior, was next to Tommy when he died. He’s a link to my son during his final moments, and for that, I more than treasure this 85-pound furry creature. I scratch his neck, which he loves. I scratch the top of his haunches, which he loves even more.
My son was a Marine Corps dog handler. He and Warrior stuck together like glue during their many missions. Unfortunately, Taliban sniper fire hit Tommy during a patrol. His commanding officer wrote me that Warrior climbed on top of Tommy to protect him from additional gunfire, but my boy still didn’t make it.
The military granted Warrior early retirement because of canine post-traumatic stress disorder, and he came to live with me. The PTSD symptoms this four-legged veteran still exhibits are hypervigilance when it now comes to my safety rather than Tommy’s and a strong reaction to sudden loud noises—a reminder of the gunfire that fatally felled his beloved handler.
My gaze falls on my favorite picture of Tommy as a soldier. I unpacked it yesterday, and it sits on the nightstand next to the photo of the girls when they were little. In the photo, Tommy, in fatigues, relaxes on a cot while listening to music on his iPod. Warrior sprawls out between his legs, which encircle the dog like a big soft nest. Oh, my precious son…he had so many plans for his life after the military.
I bury my face in Warrior’s neck, partially to dry my tears. Even though my heart is slowly mending, I cry at the most unexpected moments.
Yes, the loss of Tommy does get a little easier with time. The pain doesn’t go away, but the days very slowly become easier.
Chapter Eleven
“Daddy left for the city. He’s got a business appointment this morning, and Juliana was supposed to go with him. But she changed her mind and asked to borrow a car to visit a friend in Pennsylvania,” Laura says in a low voice over the phone. “Wonder if it’s that mystery person who sent her the dead bird.”
“Maybe.” Who knows? But I’m thinking she’s probably going to see Bobby Taylor. “Which car is she driving? Is it that loaner-Porsche your Dad got from the dealer while his is being repaired?”
“She wants to take the Toyota,” my niece says, sounding puzzled. “I mean, who would take a Toyota when a sexy blue Porsche is sitting there practically calling your name?”
“Maybe someone who doesn’t want to attract attention,” I answer, thinking about the dented Toyota-sighting the other day when I drove up to Scranton to meet Joe Taylor.
I guess I have to let Laura in on one of my little secrets. So I tell her that I’m thinking of doing a little hands-on detective work. Today I plan to track Juliana. “Daniel’s working around my place right now,” I add. “I’ll see if I can trade cars with him and use his van. How much time do you figure I’ve got to get on her trail?”
“Well, they’re eating breakfast now,” Laura says. “Half an hour maybe?”
I nod to myself. “Juliana will probably follow your dad out to Hard Scrabble Lane, where they’ll split off in different directions. It’ll be tight, but I’ll be parked there waiting.”
“Don’t you think they’ll spot you?” Laura asks.
“Not if I’m parked near the Smith cottage in Daniel’s grey work van. Text me when they leave the farm.” I hang up, grab my camera, and signal Warrior to come with me.
~~~~~
I follow Juliana through the Delaware Water Gap, and forty-five minutes later we approach the outskirts of Scranton, Pennsylvania. So far, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t noticed me tailing her.
Rather than heading into town, Juliana drives west toward, where else but good old Moosic. My van follows her in the dented Toyota, both of us trying not to stand out in our forgettable vehicles.
We drive through the more commercially prosperous part of Moosic and then transition into the shabbier section of town. She parks in front of the Moosic Motel. Why am I not surprised?
I get lucky and slip into a parking space a few yards from the hotel—the better to watch and listen from a reasonably unobtrusive spot. I unclip Warrior’s seat belt, and he curls up on the front seat for a little nap. Soon I hear his baby snores.
Juliana finally exits the Toyota, wearing faded jeans, flip-flops, and a loose v-neck tee-shirt. Rather than showing off her fabulous long hair, she’s opted to twist it into a sloppy bun and stuff it into a baseball cap. Strands have fallen loose and hang around her face and in her eyes. Still, it isn’t easy hiding how beautiful she is. Juliana walks into a grubby-looking coffee shop next door to the motel, and I wait with Warrior.
Pretty soon a motorcycle roars up, and a guy with shaggy black hair and a leather ja
cket shuts down the engine and gets off. He removes the jacket, revealing a torn tee-shirt. His arms are loaded with tattoos all the way down to his wrists. His jeans hang low on his behind creating a sight that only a mother could love. Is that Bobby Taylor? If so, he and Juliana are like night and day. He also walks into the coffee shop, and I wait.
Thirty minutes later, still sitting in the van, I consider the fact that I’m conducting my first actual surveillance, and it sure is boring. I don’t dare read and risk missing something happening. I can’t nap like Warrior while I wait, and I forgot to buy the standard P.I. cup of coffee. I check my phone camera. I put the radio on low and listen to the news. Then I search the channels for some decent music. Unable to find any, I switch back to the news.
Another thirty minutes go by before Juliana and Mr. Butt-Crack come out the door of the coffee shop. I click off the radio and partially lower the passenger window in the hope of picking up their conversation. Fortunately, the van windows are tinted, so I don’t think they’ll notice me. To be on the safe side, I slide down a little more in the seat while remaining able to watch what’s going on.
“…he even bought me a cell phone to help me get back on my feet. No more calling from pay phones all over the place.” Bobby, if it’s he, pulls the phone out of his pocket to show Juliana. “Hey, if he thinks I can do it, so should you,” he tells her. She glances around what appears to be an empty street nervously, as if she’s checking to see whether or not they’re alone.
“Come on, say something.” The guy looks as if he’s close to Juliana’s age, and he’s got a swagger in his walk as they move toward her car. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal,” he purrs. “If I don’t show up with the money, he’ll be really pissed and cut me out.” His cocky purr turns into a whine. “You said you’d help me after I got out.”
“What do you mean once-in-a-lifetime deal?” As she walks swiftly, Juliana’s slightly raised shoulders and clenched fists at her side clearly reveal her state of tension. “I don’t want anything to do with giving you money for a drug deal.”
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