Connections
Page 29
She hoped the kids would have a nice time over the Labor Day weekend. Well, they were in their thirties, so they really weren’t kids anymore—except to her. They made a good-looking couple. Rosa pictured them as bride and groom, walking down the aisle in a fancy synagogue. Louise was Christian, but Rosa was sure she’d convert if she and Ken got married. “Do Jewish people walk down the aisle?” she asked Princess.
Not knowing, she pictured them walking down the aisle of a church, everybody nodding to the beautiful maid of honor in her long blue gown. Rosa twirled around in the street, pretending to show it off. Blue was her best color.
They said they’d call her on Tuesday to let her know how it went—if his parents liked her. Anyway, Ken also promised to tell her every single detail, give her a blow-by-blow description of the police investigation, and let her know if it was the guy in the vet’s office. The guy for whom Louise got the job. Rosa had seen him there last time she went to the vet. She didn’t like his looks, and she wouldn’t let him hold Princess on the table. The way he came in and out of the room, so quiet—there was something sneaky about him. She knew it then. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to catch him without her.
She picked Princess up and nuzzled her. “You tired already? Mama carry you. They going to need my help. Because it’s really me who figure it out, bambina. And me who knows all the stories. Me who find out about that Jason, and me who think to call him and ask if he still go to his old vet from when he live on the East Side. Sí, they need me to tell them everything.”
An old man came up the block, walking slowly. He went into the six-story building near the corner, and Rosa strolled in that direction, waiting for him. She knew who he was. A cranky old Kraut who lived on 80th Street off York. He came out with a big broom and started sweeping the sidewalk.
“You late,” she announced. When he didn’t answer, she repeated it.
“Says who?” He glared at her, pointing the broom like a weapon.
“Says me.”
“And who’re you?”
“Me, I’m Rosa Bassetti, and I live on this street.”
“So? I don’t have to answer to you.”
“No?”
“No. I don’t have to talk to a crazy old lady talking to herself on the street.”
“I was not-a talking to myself. I was talking to my dog!” she shrieked at him, holding Princess’s head.
The man sneered, confirming that she was even crazier than he thought.
“Hey, you capice?” She put Princess down so she could use both her arms to give him the old Italian salute.