“How sad. And what does that have to do with Ronnie or me? Absolutely nothing.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
“To advise you to keep my name out of it. My son’s running for county executive in a few months. We don’t want to give the opposition ammunition for their smear campaign.”
At last she had the reason behind his visit! Mick Diminio intended to see his son soar to higher pinnacles than he’d ever reached. The knowledge erased her last vestige of apprehension. It was time to burst his bubble.
“The police don’t need me to tie you and Ron to Daniel and Timmy John Desmond. They have evidence of their own.”
He clamped a gnarled hand around her forearm. “What are you talking about?”
Though his grip was strong, Lydia yanked back his pinkie until he let go. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now leave my house and don’t bother me again, or I’ll call Newsday and Channel Twelve to publicize your threats.”
“I don’t think you want to do that.” A sly expression flitted across his face, and Lydia felt her heart fall to her stomach. She’d underestimated the old pol.
“Did our Danny-boy make notes about our little chat?”
She nodded, mesmerized by his intense gaze.
“Sure, we met and talked about old times. A stroll down memory lane.” His eyes narrowed. “Anything else is pure conjecture. Let the cops question me. I’ll know if you opened your big mouth. Then maybe your family won’t be so happy.”
Lydia’s throat went dry. She had to swallow before she could speak. “What do you mean?”
“Your lovely little granddaughters live—where?—a few miles from here? It would be a pity if something were to happen. Say, if their lovely home burned to the ground.”
All breath left her body. Her legs turned to rubber and she crumpled to the sofa, her mind a blaze of white terror. “You wouldn’t.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to. But I’m sure you’ll keep our conversation to yourself, so little Brittany and Greta grow up to be lovely women like their grandmother.”
She stared at him as he walked toward the door.
“Good-bye, Lydia. I’ll see myself out.”
Chapter Nine
Lydia huddled on the sofa, unable to move. Her precious babies! The man was a thug. A monster willing to burn down her daughter’s home to shut her up. She shuddered to think he’d made it his business to learn the names and addresses of her family, the people she held dearest in the world.
She finally rose. Her hands trembled as she boiled water for tea. She stirred three teaspoons of sugar into her cup because she’d read somewhere that sugar was good for shock. Reggie, sensing her agitation, settled in her lap and lifted his head for her to stroke him. His purring soothed her, as did the sweet, warm liquid. Her pulse slowed down, and her mind returned to its normal state—alert, curious, and ready to cope with situations and problems.
As Lydia mentally replayed her conversation with Mick Diminio, her fear turned to anger. She discovered she was furious with Ron Morganstern. She’d frightened him, and so he’d set his dog on her. Mick Diminio was frightened, too. Why else would he come on like a goon and threaten her daughter’s family, a threat she dearly hoped was nothing more than the words of a desperate man?
She should tell Sol. He had the authority to confront Mick Diminio and put him on notice. But Mick was only a danger if she talked to the police. And Sol would be furious with her for getting into the situation in the first place. No, she wouldn’t ask for his help—yet.
Instead, she reached for the phone and called Barbara. Damn! She wasn’t in. She left a message for her to call back ASAP, then dialed Ron Morganstern’s home.
Bella Morganstern picked up. Lydia greeted her and asked if Ron was there.
“Yes, he is, dear. He’s saying good-bye to a friend. Can you hold on a minute?”
“Gladly,” Lydia said, hoping her steely tone hadn’t upset the older woman.
It didn’t seem to. “So much activity lately. Visitors coming and going, and we’ve tickets with friends for tonight’s performance of ‘South Pacific’ at the Bellport Theatre.” Bella giggled. “It serves one good purpose. I’m much too busy to think about my aches and pains.”
“I’m glad, Bella.”
“Well, here’s Ronnie. Bye, Lydia.”
“Yes?” Ron sounded wary. “What is it this time, Lydia?”
“Did your goon friend assure you everything’s fine? Because it isn’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? You both must be shaking in your boots to come up with a scheme like burning down my daughter’s home”
She heard his intake of air. “That’s absurd. I have to go, Lydia.”
“We’re going to talk, Ron. Now.”
“I just told you, I can’t—”
Lydia grimaced, an expression her former employees knew was a sign she’d reached the end of her patience. She intended to speak to Ron, and not in her home.
“Meet me in front of the hardware store on Main Street. I’ll be waiting. Be there in five minutes and don’t call your pal.” She trembled with fear and fury. “If you’re not there, I’ll call Detective Molina and tell him everything your pal Mick said. You’ll both be arrested for harassment and menacing, and that’s only the beginning of the charges against you. Won’t Bella be proud of you?”
“Don’t! I’ll be there, I swear. As soon as I can.”
“You’d better be,” she said, and hung up.
The phone rang. That’s Ron, canceling, she thought. It was Barbara.
“I need you to turn on your computer and find out everything you can about Mick Diminio, retired politician. Print it all out for me, okay?”
“Are you talking about Michael Diminio’s father? The man we met at the funeral?”
“That’s exactly who I mean. He was here, threatening to harm Meredith’s family if I don’t stop investigating what happened to the boy found in the root cellar.”
“My God, Lydia! Call Sol. Let him take over.”
“Not yet. The threat was meant to keep me from going to the police.”
“Sol isn’t a fool!” Barbara exclaimed. “He’d never do anything to endanger your family.”
“I’m off to meet Ron Morganstern. I’ll find out what happened to that poor boy, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Be careful, Lydia. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Me, neither. But if something should, I expect you to make Reggie a good home.”
She drove the short distance to Main Street and found a parking spot a few shops down from the hardware store. Ron Morganstern was pacing up and down the sidewalk. He must have jumped into his car and sped the few blocks the second he’d put down the phone.
“Hello, Ron,” she greeted him in her crisp CEO tone. “We need to talk.” She noticed his shirt was half in, half out of his pants. Sweat rolled down his cheeks.
“Okay, but I want you to know this isn’t good for my heart.”
Lydia pointed to a bench on a strip of lawn nearby. “Over there. No one will hear us.”
He nodded and followed her. Another eighty-five-year-old man, she thought as they sat down. Only this one was soft and pudgy. And guilt-stricken. From Ron’s reaction to Andrew’s mention of the unearthed body and from their talk yesterday, she knew that whatever had taken place seventy years ago still weighed heavily on his soul.
“Now,” she said softly, “tell me what happened to Timmy John.”
Ron sank heavily onto the bench. He looked at her with sad cocker spaniel eyes. “I want you to know, it was an accident. We never meant no harm.”
“Go on.”
Ron cleared his throat. “Danny, Micky, Billy, and I were friends when we were kids, as far back as I can remember. We were always together—playing ball after school, sleeping over at each other’s houses on weekends. Danny, being the smartest, was our leader. Sure, we knew how to goa
d each other. Insults flew, and sometimes we ended up fighting, but when it came to other kids, we four stuck together like glue. We were a team. Nobody pushed us around. Once, some kid stole Billy’s bicycle. Danny made a plan to get it back and we did. Mickey even beat the kid up, which made Billy forget about his smashed fender.”
Lydia nodded, but now Ron needed no encouragement to continue. Mick Diminio wouldn’t be happy that his old friend was spilling the beans.
“We were in tenth grade when Timmy John moved in with his aunt and uncle. Right after Thanksgiving. Our group was still close, but we were getting bombarded with changes—our bodies, for one thing. And we started noticing girls. We’d flirt with them on the way home from school. Danny and Mickey were on the school football and baseball teams. Billy was heavily into the thespian group that put on school plays.”
“And you?” Lydia couldn’t help asking.
Ron shrugged. “I concentrated on doing my school work and getting good grades. I’d decided I was going to college to become a C.P.A., which I did.
“As I said, it was after Thanksgiving when Timmy John came. The weather was turning cold, and the four of us were bored—no sports, no play, no anything. The principal brought him into our social studies class and said he was from Arkansas. The minute he opened his mouth with that funny way he talked, we all cracked up laughing. The next period he had art and so did Danny, and we lost Danny to Timmy John.”
Lydia was intrigued. “What do you mean? I thought you said he was a creep. Why would Danny be interested in a kid like that?”
“Because he could draw like nobody’s business, this tall, skinny kid with his Adam’s apple sticking way out, his teeth as crooked as a smashed-up piano keyboard. He’d squint at a scene or a person, and the next minute get every detail down with his pencil. I’m talking wrinkles, shading, emotion—you name it, it was there.”
“I saw his portrait of Daniel. It’s an amazing likeness.”
“It wasn’t just the art. Danny was like bewitched.” Ron shook his head. “I’m talking about Danny, who would cut school three days in a row and get the highest grade on a test. Danny was an athlete, for God’s sake. In baseball, he could field as well as he could swing a bat and score runs for our team. But he listened to Timmy John talk about Arkansas, about his bastard of a stepfather who beat him till he was knocked unconscious, about stuff we never thought about. Danny started talking strange, too. Like he was hypnotized. And frankly, we didn’t like it.”
“You thought Timmy John was taking Daniel from you?”
“We didn’t think; we knew. We’d invite Danny over to shoot pool, suggest we ride our bikes to the candy store where the girls hung out, but he was always busy. Studying, he said, but we knew he was with his new friend, talking for hours. Solving the problems of the world, for God’s sake.”
Ron paused. He covered his face with his hands, and for a moment Lydia feared he wouldn’t go on.
“Then Billy had this idea. We’d invite Timmy John over one afternoon after school. Tell him Danny wanted us to get to know him better.”
“For what reason? Were you planning to beat him up?”
Ron wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Mickey wanted to push him around a bit, let him know we were sore at him for taking our friend away, but Billy and I wouldn’t have let him go too far. That’s what I mean—we acted like a team. We knew one another as well as we knew our own selves and kept each other in check. Anyway, Billy’s parents worked at the factory, his older sisters worked on a neighbor’s farm, so we had the house to ourselves.”
He took a deep breath and continued. “I caught up with Timmy John as we came home from school and told him Danny said to tell him to meet him at Billy’s house. Timmy John was wary. He said that couldn’t be since Danny was coming over as soon as he ran an errand for his mother. I told him I’d just talked to Danny and he’d changed his mind. He wanted Timmy John to meet him at Billy’s so we could get to know him better. When he still hesitated, I shrugged and told him to do what he liked, but if he intended to have friends here he’d go along with Danny’s plans.”
Ron turned pale as he told his tale that ended with Timmy John’s death.
“In the end, he came. Billy let him in and took him into the kitchen. Timmy John blinked when he saw the three of us standing side by side, grinning like idiots. ‘Where’s Danny?’ he asked. ‘He’ll be along soon,’ we told him.
“Billy had this dumb braying laugh, and it scared Timmy John even more. He ran for the front door and the three of us went after him. We dragged him into the living room.” Ron shook his head. “I swear, I don’t know what happened. I mean, we held him down and told him he wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes about popped out of his head and Billy brayed again. Timmy John screamed and Mick slapped him. Slapped his face, I swear, nothing more, but the kid began to buck and moan and it looked like foam was coming out of his mouth.”
“He had an epileptic fit,” Lydia murmured.
“At the time, we didn’t know what it was, only that we were petrified. We let go of him. Slowly, Timmy John sat up. We thought he was all right. Then he jerked back his head and banged it against the coffee table. Hard. Then he was still.
“We stared at him in shock. Mick felt for his pulse and couldn’t find one. I checked his neck, his wrist, but there was nothing. We looked at one another, all of us as frightened as we’d ever been.
“‘He’s dead,’ Billy said.
“‘How can that be?’ Mick asked. ‘We didn’t do nothing to him.’
“‘He’s dead all the same,’ I said.
“We heard a noise outside and jumped to our feet. Billy said we’d better pull him outside. Mick said no, someone would see. What about the root cellar? At first Billy didn’t go for the idea, but I went down to check it out. The Evans’ house was a ranch, and the root cellar went all the way back, though his family never used it. Besides, it was cold down there. I remember how I shivered when I returned to the living room.
“We wrapped Timmy John up in a old quilt and carried him down to the root cellar. Just in time, too, because one of Billy’s sisters came home right after. We swore we wouldn’t tell anyone, including Danny, about what happened. We were petrified we’d be sent to the electric chair for murder. The cops came and questioned each of us, but we stuck to our story, that we had no idea where Timmy John could be. We met twice to talk about moving the body, but couldn’t come up with a good plan, so we ended up leaving it where it was.”
Ron gave a hiccup of a laugh. “After that, our group fell apart. Danny asked each of us if we’d seen Timmy John that afternoon, then he pretty much ignored us. I think he suspected we might have roughed him up, but couldn’t bring himself to think we’d actually harm the kid. Mick started hanging out with a tough crowd. We lost track of one another, but reconnected when my wife and I moved back to Long Island. Billy and his family moved away, after he graduated from high school. I worried a lot when I heard the new owners were doing renovations and putting on a second floor. But I never heard anything about finding a body, so I supposed they left the root cellar alone.”
“And Timmy John remained buried there until the house was demolished,” Lydia said.
Ron buried his face in his hands. A gut-wrenching sob rose from his throat. “We did a terrible thing, leaving him to rot, his family never knowing he was dead. Every day I wish I could undo it. I think of going to the police, but what good would that do? It wouldn’t change a thing, except Mick and I would end up in jail.” He looked at her. “And now you’ll tell your detective friend everything I just said.”
Lydia met his pleading eyes. “I should. He knows I went to talk to you about Timmy John, that Daniel started a file on you and your friend, Mick Diminio.”
Ron waved his hand. “Danny didn’t know anything, so nothing’s in his files. We answered those questions when we were kids. We can answer them again. There’s nothing to tie the body that was found in the Evans’ house to Mick and me.”
Ron gripped her hand. “I swear we didn’t kill him! You have to believe me! Mick and I, we don’t talk about what happened, but neither of us will ever forget, not one single day. Mick’s first grandson was born with a defective heart. The poor kid had one surgery after another and died before his second birthday. Mick made a very generous contribution to the hospital in his grandson’s name. For research. I know that was in large part because of Timmy John.”
“I’d find that touching if your pal hadn’t threatened my grandchildren.”
“It’s my fault and I’m deeply sorry. I told Mick to come on strong and he went overboard. He likes to talk tough, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not since he watched Timmy John die before our eyes.”
Lydia nodded, suddenly convinced he was telling the truth. She believed they hadn’t killed the boy and, seeing the sweat run down Ron’s pasty-white face, knew he suffered for his part in the scheme that had ended so horribly wrong.
“All right. I won’t repeat to Lieutenant Molina what you’ve told me, as long as I have your word you had nothing to do with Daniel’s death.”
“Thank you, Lydia, thank you!” He squeezed her hand, so tightly she winced in pain.
“What about Daniel?” she persisted.
“What are you talking about? Daniel had a coronary.”
“Did you follow him in your car?”
Ron cast down his eyes. All life went from his voice. “Mick did that. And I called his house a few times. Stupid, I know, but we were hoping to scare him off. He was persistent, Danny was. Oh, God! Are you saying that caused his heart attack?”
Lydia moved closer and lowered her voice. “Do you think Mick killed him?”
For a minute Ron didn’t answer. Then he shook his head. “Mick’s dying. The doctors give him four to six months. Murder’s the last thing he wants on his conscience.”
Lydia studied Ron’s wrinkled face. It was riddled with fear and guilt, his skin the unhealthy color of white paste. She suspected he hadn’t much more time, either.
“Thank you for telling me what happened to Timmy John. I’ll keep it to myself as long as I can.”
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