“Where’s Pat?” he asked.
“He’s having breakfast right now. Maybe if you came back later—”
“The hell I will,” he said, trying to brush past me.
I felt a surge of adrenaline. If Cardini went in the house, Slider would be exposed, and the jig would be up. I summoned up an imperious voice. “Don’t you dare,” I said.
Cardini paused to give me a second assessment. “Or what?” he said.
“JACK!” I yelled. Max’s little lids flew open and he observed me with startled eyes, then began to fuss.
Jack jogged out the door and down the steps. “May I help you?” he asked, his face white. He must have feared I was confronting another kidnapper.
“Mr. Cardini is looking for his son Slider,” I said quickly, while my hands attempted to soothe the baby by brushing his hair.
Jack nodded. “Excuse us a moment,” he said. “I’ll tell my brother you’re here.” He pointed at the house and I preceded him back inside, after handing him the baby and reclaiming my crutches.
Indoors, Jack murmured some words to Pat, who met us in the entryway. After a moment, Pat stepped to the doorway and faced Cardini while Jack slipped into the kitchen with the baby, bearing his important message.
“Angelo. What can I do for you today?”
Cardini looked slightly intimidated by Pat, and I would have been, too. He had a no-nonsense expression on his face that must have been helpful in keeping the twins in line.
“You know how,” Cardini said, but his shoulders sagged slightly and he wouldn’t look Pat in the eye. “I’m looking for my boy, and I still think you know something about where he’s at.”
Pat descended the steps and put a hand on Cardini’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and sleep it off, Angelo? We can talk when you’re feeling more like yourself.”
“I’ll come in and see for myself, thank you.” Cardini was weaving as he walked, his cheek gone again and giving him the appearance of a half-eaten apple. Pat shrugged. “All right. Come on in, then. But you’ve been here before, Angelo, and I’ve told you the same thing.” He led the way back into the house and past us, toward the kitchen, where Jack had already gone with the message of Cardini’s arrival.
T.J. emerged from the kitchen and walked to the foyer, where I still hovered uncertainly. “I wondered where you went, Maddy,” he said. “Then I peeked out and saw you kissing Max. I pointed you out to Jack, and I told him you look ready. He’s great, isn’t he?” he asked.
“He’s incredible,” I said. “But I think he was rooting. He was starting to fuss when I handed him to Jack.”
“Man, that kid can eat,” T. J. said proudly. “Trina’s not gonna believe he’s ready again. At least she got some breakfast.” He ran his hands through his hair, which was much lighter than either of his brothers’.
We could hear Cardini’s loud voice as we walked into the kitchen. The only thing to betray T.J.’s anger was a slight reddening of his face. His voice hadn’t lost its easygoing timbre. “The guy gets on my nerves,” he said.
We stepped over the threshold in time to see that Slider was gone, Molly and Mike were quietly chatting with each other, and Libby was wiping down the table with a virtuous expression. No dishes were there to betray the number in our party.
Jack handed hungry little Max to his mama, and Trina smiled indulgently, taking the now gasping baby to a chair and settling him on a nursing pillow. Everyone suddenly found a reason to look the other way. How funny that women’s practically naked breasts are on every magazine, but when a woman removes one to feed a baby, the whole world gets squeamish.
I wouldn’t have minded going closer, watching the baby, whose little hands I could see kneading Trina’s breast with rhythmic motions. I’d have liked to ask some questions about what it felt like, giving birth, nursing a child, loving someone that much.
Jack appeared next to me. “T. J. says you’ve got baby fever.”
I turned to him. “That’s silly. Pat handed me the baby.”
“Okay.” But he was smiling.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You didn’t tell Cardini that—”
“No,” Jack said. “We didn’t, and we won’t. And I’m starting to get more of a sense of just why he doesn’t want to be found.”
Cardini’s voice rose higher again as he said, “The boy is just ungrateful. He always was, but his mom kept him in line, she kept him in line better than I ever could. He was a momma’s boy. Now, what can you do? He’s just a bad kid. He’s been down in that jail twice already, and as far as I can see he’ll make a career of it someday.”
“Now, Angelo, you know those arrests weren’t fair. The first time he was defending my daughter, and the second time—”
“The second time he raised his hand to his own father.” Cardini’s face was red again. He seemed to be one of those people who had no controls for his anger. “You saying it’s okay to hit your own father?”
Pat looked him in the eye and nodded. “I’d say that if your father raises his hand to you, it’s okay for you to reciprocate. You’re going to lose that boy, Cardini, and it’s because you have no self-restraint.”
Cardini stood up and pointed a trembling finger at Molly, who had watched the exchange wide-eyed. “If I lose him, it’s because of her, your whore daughter—”
In a flash Cardini was on the floor, fingering his lip where Pat had punched it. The whole room was in uproar; Molly had gasped and run from the room; Mike had wheeled after her, coming perilously (and, I thought, purposely) close to Cardini’s fingers; Pat stood above him, white faced and furious, and T. J. looked ready to take a turn once Cardini got up. Libby went to the freezer for some ice, wrapped it in a paper towel, and handed it to Cardini.
“There’s something for your mouth, Angelo. Pat didn’t show you very well how to control anger, but you spoke against my daughter and your son, and I love both of them, and you’re not welcome in this house as long as you’re going to speak that way.”
She turned on her heel and left the room, leaving the enforcement of the rule to the three brothers who stood menacingly over the man on the floor.
It was Jack who finally offered him a hand; Cardini slapped it away and got to his feet on his own. “I don’t need your help. I’ll find that boy, and if I find him here, you’ll all have such a lawsuit on your hands you’ll have to kiss this pretty house goodbye.”
He left after a final glare at me, despite the fact that I was the one person who’d said and done nothing. I left the Sheas to their discussion and crutched toward the door Molly had exited.
“Madeline!” Trina called softly. “Look at this.”
Surprised, I moved to the chair where she sat with the baby. Max had fallen asleep on his little pillow, his lips still thrust out for nursing, as if ready for a kiss. One tiny hand lay like a white flower on his mother’s tanned breast. “Isn’t he precious?” she asked me. “He always makes that face when he falls asleep.”
I nodded, studying the baby.
She carefully detached Max’s little hands, then lifted him from the pillow to set him in his little blue carrier.
I went to find Molly. She and Mike were sitting in an enclosed porch, full of sun, wicker furniture and pretty throw pillows. “Molly,” I said.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, still hurt.
“I don’t, either. I want to talk about something else. Where is Slider now?”
Molly sighed. “He took off into our back yard. He’s being forced to hide like an animal again. It’s ridiculous.”
“I’ll see if I can spot him through the back window,” said her brother. Mike wheeled out of the room, his expression thoughtful.
Molly was staring at the landscape. “Madeline, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said, sitting down next to her on the white wicker couch.
“Do you think it’s wrong for um—teenagers to have sex?” She continued to look out the window, o
bviously feigning disinterest.
Whoa. I wouldn’t have agreed if I could have seen that one coming. Why couldn’t she ask Jack? He was the one who taught high school. He was the one who understood the issues of kids nowadays. I made a clicking sound with my mouth, stalling for time. “Um. Wrong? No. Is it a good idea? I can’t tell you. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of experience in this area.”
Molly turned to me. “But you must, I mean—you and Jack.”
“Yes. Jack and me. But not anyone else,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I felt I had to tell that to Molly, but something about the look on her face made me blurt it out.
“You mean—”
“Right. I went out with a boy in high school. We went steady for a long time, actually, but it just never got to that point. I didn’t love him, not that way.”
Molly nodded. “I know what you mean. But I love Slider. I love him and I want to spend my life with him. And so I—did have sex with him. I don’t know if his father knows. I don’t know if that’s why he called me that.” Her eyes filled with tears.
I inched closer and put a hand on her arm. “First of all, he had no business talking about you at all. He’s a creep. Secondly, making love to someone you love doesn’t make you anything other than a lover. I assume you took precautions?” I said. The deed was done, so there was no point in pretending.
“Yes. We were—very mature about it. Slider actually said he was willing to wait, but I sort of talked him into it. You’d love him, Madeline, you really would. Do you know, he said he wants to marry me, but that he wants me to go to college first? He said he’d be happy to wait four years. He said he’d move wherever I went to school so he could be near me.”
This was impressive, I had to admit. Slider sounded like a wise and generous young man, despite his Statue of Liberty hair. “That’s sweet,” I said.
Molly nodded, her face softening. “Madeline? Can I ask you—did you, um—I mean, when you had your first time… did it get better after that? Or was it always the same?”
I squeezed the arm I was holding. “It gets better, Molly. It definitely does. The more you know and love and trust the person, the more relaxed and comfortable you feel. But of course there’s no harm in waiting—”
Molly laughed. “You’re so cute, Madeline. We were only together once, a little while before he went away. It was kind of like the blind leading the blind. It wasn’t like the movies at all, and yet it was in a way.” She looked thoughtful. “You know, my parents married when they were eighteen,” she added.
“I know.”
“But they don’t want me to do the same. They said it made a lot of things more difficult, and that at one point they almost got divorced.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“But then they said they learned to grow together. And that’s what saved them.”
She sighed. “But they don’t want me with Slider, and they don’t want us getting married young. It’s not fair.”
I understood what she was feeling. It wasn’t always fair, what parents wanted, and yet I knew the wisdom behind her parents’ advice. Learn from my life, they were telling her. Don’t make my mistakes. The universal song of the parent.
“You shouldn’t decide anything when you’re sixteen,” I said. “Just live your life, and be the great person that you are.”
Molly met my gaze and gave me a brilliant smile. “You’re so great, Aunt Madeline,” she said, and threw her arms around me. I hugged her back. It felt nice.
Suddenly I remembered something that Randy had said, back at the cabin. “Molly. Did you ever meet with Finn Flanagan?”
Molly shrugged. “I saw him a lot. I mean, Slider was there a lot, and I hang around Slider.”
“Is that where you—um—”
“Yeah. In Finn’s apartment. It’s really nice, really pretty for a guy’s house.”
“How about your mother? Did she see Finn a lot?”
“Mom?” Molly’s eyes widened. “No. She barely knew Finn at all. I mean, she’d have a drink down there now and then, she and Dad, if they happened to be in town. It’s a nice bar that Finn had. There’s a little restaurant attached, too. Finn said I could work there when I was old enough to serve alcohol.”
“Someone I spoke with while I was—detained—said that your mother met with him several times. Alone.”
Molly laughed. “They’re thinking of someone else. That’s not Mom at all. She’s much happier hanging out here, hanging with Dad.”
“How about Ardmore? Mr. Wilde’s son? Did you know him?”
“Sure. He was in the bar sometimes. He was kind of everywhere. Ardmore just shows up, it seems like. He’s really popular, too, everyone knows him. Half the girls in town are hot for him. Plus his dad is rich, although Ardmore, like, totally rejects his money. He delivers pizza right now, just to piss his dad off, I think.”
“So as far as you know, there is no real connection between him and Finn?”
“Finn was kind of a loner, even though he was always social. I mean, he had girlfriends, and guys hanging out while he tended bar, but I didn’t get the sense that he had tons of real friends. It’s kind of sad. But he and Slider—well, did Slider tell you—”
”That they were brothers? Yes.”
“Oh. I didn’t want to reveal any secrets,” she said with a smile. “They were getting real close. Finn had a brother and a sister, the real kids of his parents. I think the fact that they were biological and he was adopted always made him feel a little apart, like he didn’t belong. So somehow Slider was more important to him. That’s what I think, anyway. I took a psychology class.”
“Do the siblings live around here?”
“They do now. They came in for Finn’s funeral, and they’ve been sorting through things in the bar, and now it turns out they’ll be opening it again.”
Mike wheeled back in, followed by Slider. Molly stood up and gave them both a kiss. “Mom will want me to help her clean up,” she said. “Thanks again, Madeline.” She left the room. Slider’s eyes followed her with a wistful expression. Mike stared at his hands. He looked miserable.
Slider grabbed the wheelchair. “Hey, Mike, you want me to wheel you down to the driveway, so we can shoot some hoops?”
“You don’t have to babysit me,” Mike said.
“I’m not, man. Come on, we’re friends, you’re not, like, an obligation or something.” Slider’s face was so earnest it was almost humorous.
Mike forced a smile, but I saw the effort behind it. “It’s cool, Slider. But I feel sort of tired. I think I’m going to rest for a while in my room.” He wouldn’t look Slider in the eye. I wondered if Slider found that as obvious as I did.
“All right,” Slider said, unoffended. “I’ll probably just hang with Molly, then.”
He gave Mike a fake punch in the arm and Mike pretended to wince. Then Slider loped out of the room, leaving Mike and me. “Is anything wrong?” I asked him.
His head jerked up and for a moment he met my eyes. Oh, yes, there was something wrong. “No. Like I said, I’m just tired,” he repeated. “But thanks for asking.”
Slowly he wheeled himself out of the room.
Chapter Eleven
Jack didn’t have to figure out a reason to call Damian Wilde; Wilde called us, and asked if we would come by his home. I told Jack I didn’t think it was a good idea.
“What if the guy killed Finn?” I asked him in a hushed voice. “Why would we go there and walk into his little trap? That’s crazy.”
Jack nodded, but his face told me the truth. He wanted revenge. My sweet, thoughtful Jack was a different man now, a man whose wife had been kidnapped, and suddenly he was Clint Eastwood. He wanted a showdown, and he wanted it now.
“No,” I insisted.
Jack’s jaw jutted out. “You don’t have to go.”
“The deal was that we did everything together.”
Jack sighed, remembering this. “Maddy—”
“You can go
if the police go with you. And if the police are there, I’ll go too.”
This wasn’t what Jack wanted, but he knew a compromise when he heard one. Therefore, Pat made arrangements with the Grand Blue police, and Jack and I drove to the home of Damian Wilde, following Pat’s directions, with the understanding that an officer would be present when we arrived.
The mountains weren’t looming anymore; we were in them. We soon saw the address we were looking for. 1223 Cat’s Tooth Trail. We entered a stately gate and wended our way along a winding, forested drive until we reached the house, a large, sprawling affair that seemed to cling to the side of a hill. My awe was limited by the distraction of my crutches, of which I was fast growing tired. I wrestled them out of the car with me and began sticking along toward the front door. I wasn’t sure what to think of my surroundings. My vibes weren’t serving me well in Montana. My perceptions seemed different here, where every beautiful scene seemed in sharper focus, every breath of air tasted fresh, every breeze seemed mountain-scented. I was a girl who came from farmland, from flatland, and my spirit didn’t seem sure of anything else.
There was a police car in the driveway, an officer behind the wheel and one leaning on the vehicle. He stepped forward when we arrived and nodded at Jack. “Mr. Shea,” he said. We approached the stairs and the entrance door. The officer stood by his car; we could hear the squawk of his radio along with the chattering of something in the trees—a bird or a chipmunk perhaps. To the left of the great edifice knelt a man in a rock garden, weeding.
He stood up as we approached and said, “You’re the Sheas?”
He didn’t have the look of a gardener; his gray hair was too well-cut, his bearing too lordly. “We’re looking for Damian Wilde,” Jack said.
“I’m Wilde,” he told us, with a sudden glance at my crutches.
To my utter astonishment, Jack lunged forward and socked him in the jaw. I’d never witnessed a real punch before, just the ones in old westerns, but it looked like a solid one. Wilde reeled but didn’t quite fall; he held a hand up to his face. His other hand still held a clump of weeds. The police officer had rushed forward, but Wilde had waved him off. He stood there uncertainly, a blue line in my peripheral vision.
One Fool At Least (The Madeline Mann Mysteries) Page 9