The Secrets of Bones

by Kylie Logan

  “What are your plans for the summer?” Jazz asked Gwen at the same time she dug one dollar and three quarters out of her purse for the girl. “Vacation?”

  “Helping my grandpa at his stand at the West Side Market.” Gwen didn’t look especially happy about spending the summer at the city’s historic market and she made a face. And an excuse. “It’s great getting paid, but we have to be down there at like five every morning.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d love to have a real vacation like you have and just sit in the sun all day.”

  Jazz laughed. “Is that what you think happens once the school year is over?” She put the bills and coins into Gwen’s hand and told her to “forget it” when Gwen swore she would pay her back at the beginning of the next school year. “I’ll take a few days off next week before summer school starts,” she told the girl. “And another two weeks at the end of July. But aside from that, I’ll be right here. No sitting in the sun for me!”

  “That sucks,” Gwen decided. “You think there’s anybody who really gets summer vacation?”

  “Not me!” Sarah breezed into the office. Gwen was one of Sarah’s art students, a talented graphic designer, and Sarah sidled up to her. “I’ll be here teaching oil painting one session of summer school and computer animation another. And you…” She gave Gwen a look. “Remember, you promised you’d do some design work over the summer. I’d love to see what you come up with. Scan it and email it to me.”

  Gwen promised she would and headed out.

  “Another year bites the dust!” Sarah plopped into Jazz’s guest chair. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to see this one gone. You celebrating tonight?”

  “Wally and I are working on long stays.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “That does sound like celebrating!”

  “I just want some quiet time.” Jazz shuffled the papers on her desk. She was off Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of the next week, and she wanted everything to be in order when she got back. “What are you doing to celebrate?”

  Instead of answering, Sarah smiled.

  “Matt.” Jazz didn’t need her to confirm or deny; the way Sarah sparkled spoke volumes. And who was Jazz to put a kibosh on that kind of exhilaration? Still, she couldn’t help herself. Sarah was a friend, a good friend. And good friends always deserved honesty.

  “Are you two moving too fast?” Jazz asked.

  “Look who’s talking!” It was a completely justified criticism, and to prove it Sarah laughed. “You and Nick jumped into bed practically the moment you met.”

  “Practically,” Jazz admitted. “But it didn’t work out, did it?”

  “This is different.” Sarah’s chin came up. “Matt and I are different. Jazz, I’m telling you, this feels like the real thing!”

  “And you know I’m thrilled for you. As for me and Nick—”

  “As for you and Nick, hey, he brought you that puppy of yours, didn’t he? The guy knows the way to your heart.” A smile playing around her lips, Sarah got up and sauntered to the door. “Maybe this time things will work out for you, too.”

  “Maybe,” Jazz admitted to herself once Sarah was gone. “Or maybe…” Maybe she didn’t want to think about maybes. Instead, Jazz finished her work, gathered her things, and headed out. Long stays with Wally would have to wait.

  She had a stop to make before she went home.

  * * *

  Jazz’s Tremont neighborhood abutted a part of town known as Ohio City, a neighborhood that was just as trendy as Tremont, just as lively, and just as busy thanks to restaurants, bars, and boutiques. From the day Bernadette was hired at St. Catherine’s, Jazz had known she lived in Ohio City, but it wasn’t like they’d ever been sociable outside of school.

  At the thought, Jazz made a face.

  Heck, she and Bernadette were hardly sociable even in school!

  Bernadette never joined the staff on those rare occasions when they went out for a drink after school. She didn’t go to Sarah’s that weekend Sarah’s divorce was final and they all met to commiserate, watch chick flicks, and eat junk food.

  Bernadette didn’t come to any of the cross-country meets. She missed the staff Halloween party and used the excuse that she couldn’t come up with a costume idea. The Sunday before Thanksgiving when they all got together for brunch, she told them she was so sorry, but she had other plans.

  Naturally, Jazz had never visited Bernadette at home.

  That Friday after she left St. Catherine’s she drove to Franklin Boulevard, got out of the car, and double-checked the paper in her hand, the one that listed Bernadette’s last known address. She was in the correct place, all right, and at the same time she closed in on the house she wondered how a woman like Bernadette—plain and modest to a fault—could have lived in a house so downright …

  Astonished, Jazz pulled in a breath and studied the house, from the two turrets that loomed three stories above the street to the wraparound front porch, from the gables with their mustard-yellow gingerbread trim to the fanlight stained-glass window above the double front doors. The gardens surrounding the house were lush with early-summer blooms—tulips and pansies in a muted purple that matched the color of the house, white geraniums, riotous pink roses, vibrant orange daylilies that added more than just a pop of color; they added charm and panache.

  The house wasn’t just amazing, it was spectacular, and so unlike Bernadette, she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever known Bernadette—really known her—at all.

  She rang the bell.

  There was no answer.

  Then again, what did she expect? She had no idea what Sam Tillner’s schedule was like and stopping by in the hopes that he just might be there checking the house or feeding the cat had been a crapshoot from the beginning.

  She’d just turned to start down the front porch steps when she heard a noise behind her and the front door opened. She turned back just in time to see a sleepy-eyed Sam Tillner tighten the belt on this green satin smoking jacket.

  “Ms. Ramsey?”

  At least he remembered who she was.

  Jazz stepped to the door. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she told him. “I knew I was taking a chance. It’s lucky that you just happened to be—”

  It took a moment for the details to register, and when they did Jazz did a second mental inventory of Sam Tillner’s appearance.

  His feet were bare. So were his legs. His hair tumbled over his shoulders. His eyelids were heavy.

  “You’re not here feeding the cat. You live here!”

  Suddenly he didn’t look so sleepy anymore. He opened his mouth to respond. Snapped it shut again. Before he could get any words out, the front door of the house next door popped open and a middle-aged woman walked outside carrying a watering can. She waved. Tillner waved back. After he rolled his eyes.

  He pushed the door open wider and stepped back. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk about it,” he said.

  The entryway had a polished marble floor and a crystal chandelier that hung beside a spiral staircase. The walls were painted a delicious soft caramel color. The rug on the floor was an old Persian in shades of red and tobacco and deep green.

  Ahead of her was a dining room and beyond that was the kitchen, where stainless appliances gleamed alongside sleek black cupboards.

  As long as she was gaping, Jazz figured she might as well go all out. She turned to take a look at the fanlight window above the front doors. The sun gleamed through the riot of flowers depicted on the window, gold and red and green and a vibrant blue that the way she remembered it—and she remembered it all too well—was the exact color of Nick’s eyes.

  “I never knew…” Jazz wondered how to say it and not insult Tillner’s late cousin. “I never imagined Bernadette had such a wonderful home. Or such fabulous taste.”

  “Bernadette?” Tillner snorted. “Bernadette had as much taste as a bowl of cold oatmeal. Why don’t you…” He stepped back and waved to his right. “Why don’t you go sit down,
Ms. Ramsey. I’m going out late tonight and I was just trying to catch a few winks. I’ll go upstairs and get some clothes on and then I’ll bring in some iced tea.” Before she could agree on either staying or having iced tea, he bounded up the stairway and Jazz went where she was told.

  Back when the house was built—it must have been well over one hundred years old—the room had once been a formal front parlor and Jazz imagined it hadn’t looked much different then than it did now. There was a stiff and uncomfortable-looking red velvet fainting couch along one wall, and another couch across from it. That one was maroon, with fat cushions and piles of brightly colored pillows tossed onto it. An antique secretary desk filled one corner of the room, an old red English phone booth another. The tables were chockablock with porcelain figurines, there was a player piano nearby, and the lamp on the table in the front window had a stained-glass shade in colors that reminded her of the peacocks at the zoo.

  There was a faux tiger skin rug on the floor.

  Carefully, Jazz stepped over it and sat down on the maroon couch. She sank so far down into the overstuffed cushions, she had to squirm and reposition herself so her knees weren’t up around her chin. By the time she was settled, Tillner was back wearing jeans and an “I Love Cleveland” T-shirt. He carried a silver tray with two glasses of iced tea on it, and he set it down on the low table between the two couches and sat down in a wing chair upholstered in fabric that reminded Jazz of a medieval tapestry.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said, and he handed her one of the glasses of tea.

  “This isn’t what I think?” She looked at the glass in her hand. “Or this…” She glanced all around, from the tin ceiling to the stuffed swordfish that hung above the wide doorway that led into a library. “This whole incredible house isn’t what I think?”

  “Well, I guess the house actually is what you think it is since you think it’s incredible.” Tillner’s laugh was as uncomfortable as his couch. “What you said before, though, you were right. I do live here.” He picked up his own glass of tea, set it back down. “But I’m not a squatter or anything. I’m Bernadette’s only living relative, after all. If anyone deserves to live in the house, it’s me.”

  “You may have known you were her only relative, but for all you knew, she could have come waltzing in here anytime.” Her gaze pinned him. “Unless you knew all this time that she was dead.”

  “What I knew…” Pumpkin jumped into Tillner’s lap and he ran a hand through the cat’s orange fur. “What I know is that I came over here to feed Pumpkin. Just like I promised Bernadette I’d do. And I came again, and again, and again, and again. And she was never here. Pumpkin needed companionship.”

  “And you needed…?”

  He scooped up the cat and set Pumpkin on the floor so he could cross his legs. “Just to help. I just wanted to help. I lived in Chicago for a while, and sure, it’s not like Bernadette and I were close, but we were family. And I was back in town, craving a little family time, looking for full-time work, and—”

  “And delivering pizzas.”

  He went perfectly still. Except for his chest, rising and falling suddenly as if he was running a marathon.

  While she still had it, Jazz used the element of surprise to her advantage. “It was the last day of school before Christmas break. Bernadette ordered the pizza right before the last bell rang. You arrived at St. Catherine’s with it at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “All right. I get it.” Like a traffic cop at a corner, he held out a hand. “You did your homework. You’re right. Of course you’re right.” His shoulders folded into the high back of the chair. “It’s like this. I’ve got a master’s degree in art history. As you can imagine, it’s not easy to find work in the field. At the time … three years ago … my options were pretty limited. These days I work at an auction gallery and I get to surround myself with beautiful artwork and find some amazing deals.” His hand slipped to the table beside him and the porcelain figurine of a shepherdess in flowing skirts. “But back then…” He wasn’t happy about it then. He wasn’t happy about talking about it now. He frowned. “I took the only work I could get and the only work I could get was delivering pizzas.”

  “And you delivered one to Bernadette. That’s how you knew where she worked.”

  He tried for a smile that dissolved instantly. “I know when I saw you after the memorial service I told you I hadn’t seen Bernadette in years, but obviously that’s not true. I did see her that day. I’m sorry I lied. I just didn’t want to get into the whole thing right there in your office with Sister Eileen standing there and those maintenance guys coming in and out.”

  Jazz could only imagine. “That day before Christmas break, you were surprised to see Bernadette?”

  “Of course.”

  “And was she just as surprised to see you?”

  Tillner cleared his throat. “Bernadette could be quite judgmental. You knew her, so I’m sure you know that. She wasn’t rude to me. Not exactly. But she was stunned to see me walk into her classroom with that pizza box in my hands, and she did make it clear that if I was a different person—if I followed the rules more closely, if I lived what she liked to call a cleaner life, if only I would find my way back to the religion I was raised with…” He let out a long breath. “Well, she told me if I was a better person, I could turn my life around. That I wouldn’t have to live with the humiliation of delivering pizzas.”

  Jazz knew Bernadette could be sanctimonious, harsh. She leaned forward. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you for that. Unless you mean you’re sorry I was delivering pizzas. I’ll tell you what, that was one of the best experiences of my life. I met some really nice people, learned my way around town, came to appreciate the value of working hard. After years in school, I needed that dose of reality to bring me out of the ivory tower of academia and back to my senses.”

  “And let me guess, Bernadette didn’t get it.”

  “I don’t think that friend of hers did, either, because while Bernadette was criticizing me inside and out … well, that other woman, she never said a word.”

  Jazz sat up. “Other woman?”

  “Is that important?” Tillner wanted to know.

  Jazz had to admit she wasn’t sure. “It’s just that Bernadette…” She thought about trying to be politically correct, then decided with the way Tillner felt about his cousin, it really didn’t matter. “By the last day of school before Christmas break, Bernadette really didn’t have any friends at school.” Anyone but Maddie, she reminded herself. “Any chance the person with her was a student?”

  He didn’t have to think about it. “Definitely not. Nicely dressed, as far as I remember. About the same age as Bernadette.” Tillner shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you except for the fact that when my cousin came at me like the self-righteous little bitch she was, that other woman sat there and didn’t say a word.”

  “And Bernadette didn’t introduce you.”

  Tillner grinned. “Bernadette didn’t care much for niceties. And by the way, she tipped me seventy-five cents.”

  “But that day you took her the pizza, the day she criticized your life and your religious beliefs, and ran down your job and your lifestyle … as far as we know, that could be the day Bernadette was killed.”

  “And you think I killed her because she only tipped me a lousy seventy-five cents?” His laugh was harsh.

  “But the house…” Once again, Jazz looked around the room. “Having a house like this—”

  “It didn’t look like this then. Not when Bernadette lived here. The house had been in her mother’s family for years. That’s how Bernadette ended up with it. And in all those years, no one ever bothered to restore it to its original beauty. Beauty was not…” He emphasized this last word. “It was not something Bernadette cared about. Oh, she took care of general maintenance, but the walls were painted white. The carpet was beige. The whole place was unoriginal and unimaginative.”

&
nbsp; Since Jazz’s walls were white and she didn’t even have carpeting, she was not one to criticize. Rather than think about how that made her unoriginal and unimaginative, she asked him, “So you were saying, about how you ended up moving in and redecorating and making the place your own?”

  His cheeks flushed. “Things were a little iffy for me back then in the way of finances. Even after I delivered the pizza to Bernadette that day and she treated me like crap, I still came over to check on the cat. It was the most natural thing in the world. Anyone would have done it! I started visiting more often, staying longer. Someone had to keep poor Pumpkin company. And it’s a good thing I did. Back when I first started coming here, I let him outside one day and someone tried to kidnap the poor baby! Nearly snatched him right out of the backyard. That’s the last time I let him out, I’ll tell you that much. Besides, the way I see it…”

  Tillner sat up, his elbows on his knees, his fingers twined together so tightly, all those gold rings he wore sat one next to the other and looked like brass knuckles. “I thought I was actually doing Bernadette a favor by staying here and looking after the house. A year later when there was still no sign of her, I couldn’t stand the drab place anymore, so I painted and decorated. The gardens were a holy mess, and I redid them and put in a patio in the backyard. What you said earlier, you were right. For all I knew, Bernadette could have come walking in the front door any day. I was looking after the house for her and I did a hell of a lot for her property value.”

  “Didn’t you wonder where she was?”

  “No.” It was as simple as that. At least to Tillner. “I figured she’d come home eventually and when she did and saw how I’d taken care of everything, even the cat, I hoped she’d let me stay. I’ve developed quite a love for this house. And if she said no to that, well, I inherited some money when my mother passed; I was willing to make her an offer, a generous offer, to buy the house.”

  “And now…?” Jazz wanted to know.