Yesterday's Stardust

by Becky Melby

  “Did it die in the end?”

  “No. But it had splints and bandages on every appendage.”

  He pointed at her left arm. “How fitting.”

  She smiled.

  “Voltaire said, ‘Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.’” He slid his hand over hers. “You ask good questions.” Her cheeks colored. He pulled his hand away. “I’ll read while you finish eating.”

  She nodded, wiped her hands on her napkin, and took the diary out of her purse. “I haven’t read a word. Really. I was tempted but I didn’t.”

  “I believe you. Really.” He opened to the marker and centered the book under the light. She pulled a penlight out of her purse and handed it to him. “Much better.” He ran his finger along the date. “‘November 8, 1924. My life has turned upside-down. I gave Daddy the money for Applejack and got a ride with two suppliers headed to Chicago. They stole a truck on the way. They talked about killing me. Maybe I would have been better off, but I have given up freedom because I had no choice.’”

  “She got a ride with suppliers? They’re gangsters! And what does she mean by—”

  “Uh-oh. Here come the questions.”

  “Fine. Read.”

  Nicky scanned several pages, looking only at the entries at the top of each page. “She only has six lines each day, you know. It looks like she’s trying to do catch-up. Mini flashbacks.” He took a sip of water. “‘Daddy always says be careful what you wish for. I wished for money and beautiful clothes. I wished for a rich boyfriend. I have all of that now. I did not wish for someone to control my life, but I have that, too. Mama always says this too shall pass. I used to think that was true, that all bad things were for a season, but this is not a season. This is my life.’”

  He turned the page, not bothering to read dates. “‘One thing I know to be true. If you look for good you will find it. My cloud has a bright and beautiful silver lining. His name is Franky. Suzette named him that because it was the closest thing she could get to mine and still be a boy name. He says the cutest things.’”

  The next one was only two lines. “‘What would mama say if she knew what I had done? How does God view a person who sells her soul to the devil to keep a child alive?’”

  A tiny gasp escaped the lips whose softness still lingered on the tip of his finger. Dani pushed her plate aside and leaned closer. “That’s all?”

  He nodded.

  “Keep reading,” she whispered.

  “‘ There are things from my childhood I want to remember forever. It helps me pretend that I can have that kind of life again. I need to record those memories before they slip into the darkness. My earliest memory is of my birthday when I was four. It was snowing that day and—’”

  Dani sighed. “She’s not writing anything about what’s going on in her life now.”

  “It’s not now. It’s then.”

  “I know.” She flicked her finger at the back of his hand.

  “Should we skip to the good stuff?”

  “No. It’s frustrating, but suspense is good, right?”

  “Right.” For the next hour he read stories of Sunday school picnics, a bee sting, and Francie’s first ride in an automobile. The name Theo came up regularly—the boy who carried her books, shared his lunch when she forgot hers, and picked daisies for her birthday.

  He rubbed his eyes. “That boy is so in love with her.” He looked across the table. “And she is so clueless.”

  “Is? He is in love with her? She is clueless? It’s not now, you know, it’s then.”

  He laughed and turned the page, realizing in the first few words that Francie was back in real time.

  “‘ February 21, 1925.’” He looked up at Dani. “She skipped right over Christmas.”

  “And her birthday. Maybe living in the past is easier.”

  He nodded. “‘T asked last night why I still insist on sewing my own clothes—’”

  “Who’s T? Theo?”

  “I doubt it. Theo seemed like such a nice kid, and she mentions him by name in her childhood memories. Seems strange that she’d do that if she’s afraid to write his name when she’s talking about her present-day stuff.” He found the spot where he’d left off. The interruptions were growing on him. “‘…when he buys me gowns from Paris. I told him I do it because I am impatient. That’s true, but it’s not the only reason. When everything around me belongs to someone else, I need something to call my own.’” He turned the page. “There’s a sketch in the margin.”

  Dani slid out of her seat. “Can I sit next to you?”

  He felt his Adam’s apple slide up and wondered for a second if the thing could get stuck. He moved over. Not too far. Her arm touched his as she stared at the penciled drawing of a dress that billowed out at the bottom like thin curtains fluttering on a breeze.

  She ran a fingertip along the lines. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “You’d look good in that.”

  “I love vintage clothes. There used to be a shop downtown on Fifty-Eighth Street with clothes from every decade. I’ve always wished I had a time machine.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” He nudged her arm. “What decade would you travel to first?”

  “Maybe this one.” She tapped the diary page. “I love the styles from the twenties and thirties, and I love the thought of a simpler life. Economically things were bad after the stock market crash, but people pulled together. They helped each other.”

  He tapped the book, mimicking her gesture. “Some of them just helped themselves.”

  “As our Francie can attest.”

  “Every era has its good and bad, I guess.” Nicky cleared his throat. Something about the our in her statement messed with his voice.

  Dani yawned.

  “Want to quit for a while?”

  “No. I want to cheat.”

  Nicky feigned shock. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “I want to skim for a while. Look for key words and important things. You do realize, don’t you, that five years times three-hundred-and-sixty-five is like a bazillion.”

  “But she skipped a few days.” He chucked her under her chin. “I’m all for it. If it were up to me, I would have gone straight to the end.”

  It was her turn to give a faux gasp. “Okay. You skim while I go to the restroom, but you have to stop if you get to something good, okay?”

  “Aye aye.”

  She got up and the waitress brought coffee. He ran his finger across page after page. Childhood memories, cute things her nephew said, here and there an argument with her sister. He’d reached October of 1927 by the time Dani returned.

  “Find anything?”

  “Listen to this. “‘I don’t think I mentioned that Suze works for T now. Don’t know what he paid or did to get her. I hate the time of day when Suze gets ready for work. Watching the makeup go on, watching her transform into something she’s not, deep down. I can’t sleep at night thinking of her on the street.’”

  “Whoa.” Dani fingered an emerald ring on her right hand. “Her sister was a prostitute?”

  “That’s what it sounds like.”

  “These two are like living right smack in the middle of a…sin pit. Okay, take a little nap if you want. I’m going to skim.”

  Nicky closed his eyes. If he were asleep he wouldn’t be responsible for his head dipping down to rest on hers. When it happened he was wide awake, and he figured she knew it, but she didn’t move. The rustle of pages lulled him.

  “Wake up. I’m in 1928. ‘I feel so free at work. For now, it’s a neutral country in the middle of a war. Sometimes when I punch the time clock in the morning, I feel like a refugee crossing the border to freedom. Before the doors open, I wander around display cases, pretending I am royalty, walking through my own collection and choosing the gems I’ll wear that day.’”

  “Gems?”

  “The newspaper clipping!” She described an article that had fallen out of the book. “I bet she
works for that jewelry store.”

  “I bet she robbed it and my great-grandmother helped her hide the loot. Our girl’s a hard-core criminal, and my father’s sainted grandmother is an accomplice.”

  “But did they set her up, or did she do it herself?”

  “They did, for sure. Her job’s a cover.”

  She smiled. “Or she’s there to case the joint.”

  “Or unlock the safe for them.” He pointed her back to the book. “Keep skimming. Wake me up when they break in.”

  He stirred when she fished in her purse for a tissue and blew her nose.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Listen.” She stuffed the tissue back in her purse. “‘If I hadn’t been so full of unreachable dreams, I might have simply gotten a job up north and sent the money to Suze. I might, right now, be in India with Theo. Will a man ever again look at me the way he did when he said I was meant to marry a missionary?’”

  She wasn’t actually crying, but her eyes were glassy. “It’s so sad,” she whispered. “I really want to skip to the end to find out what happened to her.”

  “But we won’t.” Because we need a reason to keep on seeing each other until the day we no longer need a reason. He hid a smile. He was starting to think in the roundabout way she talked. “Will we?”

  “Maybe you should take it home with you.”

  Wonderful idea. He moved away, just enough to allow room to angle toward her. “Do you trust me?”

  Green eyes lost their glassy sheen. She nodded. “You’re not the tough guy you want people to think you are.”

  He blinked. “Who says I want that?”

  “Don’t you? Think of how you sounded the first time we met.”

  “I don’t come off to everyone that way. That was justifiable anger. You were…” He let the sentence die.

  “Dumb. And stupid. But even at Vito’s you came upstairs with a major attitude.”

  “That was Rena’s fault.” He caught the twitch of her eyebrow and smiled. “But it bothered you, huh? You like me better without the ’tude.”

  Her eyes closed for a fraction of a second. She shook her head in what appeared to be a gesture of resignation. He’d take that. “Yes. I like you better without the ’tude.”

  Like a middle school kid who’d just heard the cute girl in the front row had a crush on him, he imagined doing handsprings on the way to the car. She likes me!

  “Read.” She looked down at the diary, a deliciously restrained smile gracing her lips.

  He cleared his throat again. “‘I had a dream last night that I was trapped in a cage. It was smaller than the one they locked me in, but—’”

  “What? Who are these people?”

  “You’re not a terribly patient person, you know.”

  “Of course I know. Patient people sit back and wait for life to happen. They don’t ask questions, and they don’t meet writing deadlines.”

  “But impatient people go crazy when they have to wait till next time to find out what happens next.” He closed the diary.

  “You can’t stop there!”

  He tucked it behind his back, inhaling the scent of her hair as she lunged for it. “Oh, yes I can.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Who was she?”

  Through jaws clenched almost shut, Jarod breathed the question again.

  “A friend.” Rena lifted her chin and tried to pull away from him. “What did you hide in there?”

  She pulled away from Jarod, watching his face in the streetlight as she waited for his answer. It was after nine, but he still wore sunglasses. She’d know if he was lying if she could see his eyes. If he actually said anything.

  Leaning against the lamppost, Jarod flicked ash off a cigarette, looked up the street, turned and looked the other way, and snorted. “When I asked you to be my girl, did you think I was askin’ you to be my mama? ’Cause I already got one of those.” His laugh lifted goose bumps along her arms.

  “It’s my place. I have books and things in there. If you get caught, I’ll look like an accomplice. I have a right to know.”

  He threw the cigarette at the sidewalk and straightened to a stand. “You have a right”—he pulled his sunglasses off—“to ab-so-lute-ly nothing.” He reached for her. She stepped back. His hand clamped around her arm, squeezing until she moaned. The harder she pulled, the tighter he held. “I take that back.” He yanked her toward him. “You have the right to love me.” His laugh hung in the heavy air. His left hand dug into her hair. His lips smashed against hers.

  Ignoring the pain, she tried to turn away.

  “Is this how you want it? Don’t make no difference to me. I like a good fight.” Again, the cold, evil-sounding laugh. “Or maybe you want to introduce me to your friend. Maybe we’ll make a deal. You get rid of me, I get your—”

  Rena felt the car approaching before she heard it. Music reverberated through the sidewalk. Jarod swore and shoved her away. She fell, her knee skimming the cement. She gasped and he swore again. “Shut up and stay there.”

  A bright purple car with Illinois plates pulled up to the curb. The music shut off. She didn’t recognize the car or the driver, but Trish’s boyfriend, Rabia, sat in the passenger seat. His eagle tattoo looked like it was staring at her. Jarod walked over to his open window. “You’re early.”

  Rabia didn’t respond. “Got it?”

  Jarod nodded and opened his jacket.

  “Chick’s cool with lettin’ me in. We got a history now.” Rab’s laugh drifted up like the smoke still spiraling from Jarod’s cigarette on the ground. “But just in case…” He held out his hand.

  Jarod pulled out a gun.

  Rena gasped.

  Rabia pointed to Rena. “She gonna be a problem?”

  Jarod handed him the gun. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “See to it. Be at…”

  Rena eased to her feet and stepped out of the circle of light. The lawn behind her sloped up from the sidewalk. She took another step into the shadow, and another.

  “…be the only one home…in and out like…”

  “Later.”

  Jarod patted the roof of the car. The music rumbled to life.

  And Rena ran.

  Dani stood on the sidelines at the preshift briefing on Friday night. She recognized streets and businesses and the name of a store that had been robbed several times in the past few months. After the briefing, Todd took her out to his cruiser—to begin a shift in her new neighborhood.

  Probably wouldn’t be smart to mention the lease she’d signed two hours ago.

  “You’ve never done a ride-along?”

  “In school we got to choose a ride in an ambulance or a patrol car. I chose blood and gore over coffee and doughnuts.” She ducked the hand swinging her way.

  “This is a state-of-the-art doughnut-mobile. It has all LED overhead lights.” He gestured toward the top of the car. “The rack has a much lower profile than the old ones.” His grin matched the expression Evan had every time he bought a new lens.

  Men and their toys. “You’ve come a long way from Barney Fife’s bubble light.”

  “Are you making fun of me, Miss Gallagher? This is serious stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of making fun of an officer of the law.” She touched the glass on a spotlight fastened to the side mirror.

  “You wouldn’t believe how many people don’t have reflective numbers on their houses or mailboxes. They call 911, we get to the neighborhood in time to save the day, and then we can’t find the house. Somebody should write an article about that problem.” He nodded toward the spotlight. “Also works well for blinding a driver.”

  “That sounds malicious.”

  “When I pull someone over, I park so that the middle of the cruiser lines up with the right hand corner of the vehicle on the side of the road. That protects my back.”

  “And you point the spotlight at the car’s mirrors so they can’t see you walking up to the car.”

  �
�Exactly.” Todd opened the driver’s side door and pointed out the radar system and mounted laptop then reached in and flicked a red button, turning on the lights he’d been bragging about. Red and blue light splashed the building behind them.

  “Déjà vu.”

  “That had to have been scary to wake up to. But, hey, it’s how we met.”

  Dani inched away. It was also how she’d met the Italian with the attitude.

  “Go open the back door on the other side.”

  She walked around, opened the door, and stared at the stark gray interior. “It’s hard.” The whole back seat appeared to be one big piece of molded plastic. “No creature comforts.”

  “We can just hose it down when needed. I’ll leave the reasons to your imagination.”

  “Gross. What are these indentations?”

  “Handcuff room. See, we do make a few concessions for comfort. We’re not as inhumane as some people think.” He swept his hand toward the seat. “Get in.”

  She thought of the bottle of hand sanitizer in her purse as she slid in. “The seat belt is strange.” She fingered the massive buckle.

  “You, I wouldn’t have a problem reaching around, but I don’t want to be that vulnerable with a guy who wants to bite my face off. Literally. The cage”—he tapped the grate between the front and back seats—“is open on this side and Plexiglas on the other in case I have two passengers and the one over there decides he’d like to spit at me.”

  “My respect for your job is growing by the second.”

  “Thank you. Another storyline, maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  The words, even though said in a calm tone, gave her a chill. She did as she was told. Todd closed the door.

  She wasn’t normally claustrophobic, but the cramped space and hard seat combined with a door that didn’t open from the inside made her chest tighten. She looked up at the shotgun mounted on the other side of the cage and thought of a wad of money and a boy with fire in his eyes hiding…what? Mitch’s words floated through her head.

  “Just keep it legal, Miss Gallagher.”