by Dee Holmes
“Because I didn’t want you to.” At Molly’s confusion, she added, “I wasn’t sure how much Vern had told you about Brandon and me. So I went late and hoped to catch you after the others had left.”
“And you didn’t want her to see you today, either, did you?” Hunt’s tone was crisp and suspicious.
Francine looked at him, her eyes not flinching. “It was a moment for Molly to say her final goodbyes to Vern, not for me to appear and distract everyone.”
Molly was beginning to think she was blind. She had spoken to the few women who had attended the funeral in hopes that one of them would be Francine. “You were at the cemetery, too?”
“I stayed at a distance.”
“Ah, the thoughtful widow,” Hunt said in a tone that Molly decided was unnecessarily nasty. “She was mourning all alone near the entrance, ready to run and hide if anyone got too close. Weren’t you, Mrs. Wallace?”
“You saw her and never said anything to me?” Molly glared at him.
“I wasn’t positive then. I am now.”
“How convenient. Could it be that you were more anxious to search Vern’s apartment?”
“You were the one who insisted on going to the apartment,” he said flatly.
He was right, and that annoyed Molly. “You could have at least pointed her out and let me decide if a lone woman with a small boy just might be Vern’s family,” she snapped. Molly was fuming at his assumptions and attitude. “What did you think I was going to do? Rush over to her before she disappeared?”
Hunt gave her a direct look. “Yeah, I think that’s exactly what you would have done.” He resumed watching Francine.
Again he was correct. My God, Molly thought, does he know me better than I know myself? Of course he didn’t. He knew how anxious she’d been about finding them, though. If she’d seen a woman and a small boy at a distance, what other conclusion could he have drawn?
The boy had moved higher on the steps, giving the impression that he would defend his mother if Hunt got too close.
Hunt asked, “Were you sent by Pascale to watch Molly and see what she was going to do?”
Francine visibly shuddered. “No.”
“Hunt, stop it!”
He ignored her. “And what about her ride with Pascale yesterday? Did you know about that? Can we expect Pascale and his goons to arrive later, now that you’ve found us? You got a cell phone in that bag? Did you call Pascale when you saw us coming down the street?” The questions came in a rapid-fire delivery. He straightened and moved slowly forward. Francine tugged Brandon against her, her eyes a little frantic.
Brandon said, “You leave my mother alone!”
Hunt hesitated, his gaze falling on the boy for a few seconds before going back to Francine.
Molly stepped between them, then turned on Hunt, her own eyes narrowed. “Let me have the house key.”
He didn’t move. He wasn’t looking at Molly, either, but still focusing on Francine.
“Damn you, Hunt.”
Finally, he stared down at her. His blue eyes locked with hers in a possessiveness she’d never seen before. Not passionately, but with the authority of someone who never took anything as it appeared until he’d weighed every possible consequence. It gave Molly pause, because she guessed he viewed their relationship—as limited as it was—in the same way.
Now, he pulled her close to him, as if he had a secret. He cupped her chin, his hand tense. Molly closed her fingers around his wrist and felt the beating of his pulse. If she moved just a fraction, she could have kissed him. She pushed away the desire and wiped the thought from her mind, scowling at how easily he enticed her.
His voice was low and edged with caution. “You’re too trusting, Molly. Pascale knows you’re vulnerable when it comes to Vern. Sending a kid with the ex-wife would lure you like fish to bait. No doubt he’s still looking for that notebook and might have decided a woman and kid might get info out of you easier than he could. You don’t even know if she is who she says she is.”
“And you don’t know that she’s not,” she countered. “For your information, Brandon looks exactly like Vern did at ten years old. And I should know, since that’s how old he was when we were orphaned.”
“I don’t like it”
“You know what? I don’t care.” She stepped back, pushing his hand from her. “Now, are you going to give me the key or do I have to break a window to get into the house?”
He swore and then muttered something she didn’t catch, but he fished the key from his pocket and gave it to her.
Molly opened her purse, took out the box of condoms and slapped them into his hand. “Here. You can dispose of these in the garbage can over there.”
She didn’t wait for a reaction, but swung away and marched up the steps, unlocked the door and ushered Francine and Brandon inside. She let the screen door slam without looking back at him.
Molly invited them to sit down. From the refrigerator, she took a can of soda for Brandon, and fixed iced tea for herself and Francine. Brandon busied himself with the TV, while his mother sat so that she could watch him and still talk with Molly.
Molly perched on the edge of a. green ivypatterned slipcovered chair, her knees were together, her glass between both hands. Now that the actual moment she’d been anticipating was here, she didn’t know where to begin.
“I have so many questions,” Molly said.
Francine nodded. “Please tell me first how you found Vern. He promised to give me the details after he returned from his visit…” Her voice trailed off, and she was quiet a moment. Both women reflected on the tragic turn of events. Then Francine said, “I never even knew he had a sister until he told me you contacted him. He was always careful about concealing his personal life. But he was so excited about hearing from you, I think he needed to tell someone the good news. He told me about the adoption and the separation.”
Molly grasped on to one word. “Excited. Vern was really excited?” At Francine’s nod and smile, Molly said, “At first, he seemed uneasy, reluctant about our meeting each other…of course, then I didn’t know…”
Francine reached over and cupped Molly’s shoulder in a gesture of understanding. “He wanted to protect you. He didn’t want you to know what he ‘was. But, Molly, he couldn’t wait to see you.”
Molly’s heart swelled so much, she thought it would burst from her chest. She lowered her head, her eyes damp with tears. All over again, she felt the grief of losing her brother when she’d barely found him.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Molly wiped at her eyes and took a swallow of iced tea. “You haven’t. Everything has happened so quickly. I’ve learned so many things lately, some of them not very pleasant.”
Francine nodded.
Molly cleared her throat. For the next fifteen minutes, she told about the years she’d searched for her brother, the agencies that had helped her, and her deep terror that she’d never find him. She paused, then asked Francine. “His heart. How long had he known he had a bad heart?”
“A few years.”
“Was he taking care of himself?”
“Not as well as he should have been. His doctor, Amos Crombie, moved his practice to Florida in July. In the Jacksonville area, I believe. To my knowledge, Vern hadn’t gotten around to finding another doctor.”
“But with a bad heart—”
“Molly, you have to understand,” Francine said gently. “For Vern a heart attack was the least of his problems. His work made every day he was alive a plus. He simply never thought he’d die in an ordinary way. He had a ‘live by the gun, die by the gun’ mindset. Death from a heart attack…he didn’t think that would ever happen.”
Molly listened, trying to comprehend her brother’s logic.
Francine went on, “His doctor and I were the only ones who knew. Vern was very private. If that kind of news became public, it would mean disaster in the world he lived in. His boss would never chance giving Vern a contract
in the event that something unplanned happened.”
Like what did happen, Molly thought. Vern dying unexpectedly while possessing dangerous information. Pascale and his goons looking for an incriminating notebook. The police on a frantic search to learn when and where the hit would be carried out so they could stop it. Molly wondered if Vern’s boss had canceled the contract or given it to someone else. So many involved because her brother had unexpectedly died. Even Hunt.
Wearily, Molly said, “If Vern had been killed in the way he thought he would, he’d be just another mob statistic. But instead, his passing has provoked a lot of people.”
“Yes, it has.”
The door opened, and Molly and Francine glanced up.
Hunt had returned with two triple-scoop ice-cream cones covered with chocolate sprinkles. “Never could resist an ice-cream parlor,” he said with that heart-jumping smile that Molly found so mesmerizing. “Hey, Brandon.”
Her nephew turned, his eyes widening at the mammoth cones.
Hunt walked up to him. “Hope you like chocolate.”
“Yeah.”
Hunt offered him a cone. “Here. You better lick quick, it’s starting to drip.”
Brandon stood and carefully took the top-heavy cone, immediately licking the sides.
Molly stared, amazed at Hunt’s transformation. Gone were the suspicion and the guarded eyes. He barely glanced at Francine.
“Think we should go outside so these don’t make a mess?”
Brandon glanced at his mother. After Hunt’s quizzing of her earlier, she didn’t look too agreeable to entrusting her son to him.
Hunt pushed the issue by saying, “I wanted to ask you some questions about your baseball card collection. I’ve got a couple of nephews who collect, and I’m not sure which are the good cards.”
Ice cream ringed Brandon’s mouth. The idea that he could give advice on baseball cards had him standing a little taller and giving his mother pleading looks.
Francine still didn’t look too sure.
Molly intervened. “It’s okay, Francine. Hunt does have two nephews who collect cards. Their birthdays are coming up in a few months, and Hunt has been wondering what to get for them. Haven’t you, Hunt?”
Hunt gave her a measured look. “It’s been on my mind for the past twenty-four hours.”
Francine glanced from one to the other, looking a bit confused, but she made no comment.
Hunt held the door while Brandon walked outside. The screen door closed, and she heard Hunt say, “Let’s sit here so your mom knows where you are.”
Very clever, Hunt Gresham, Molly thought with some amusement. Act like a nice guy so I’ll forgive you, then sit by the door so you can hear what Francine and I talk about
She heard Brandon’s voice and something about a complete set of the 1967 Red Sox Impossible Dream team. Hunt asked some questions, and within a short time they sounded like two collectors exchanging information.
Molly sat back in her chair, crossing her legs and feeling somewhat content. Hunt, in effect, had apologized; a step she would have thought impossible twenty minutes ago. Francine, too, seemed relaxed, which reminded Molly she still had lots of questions.
“How did you and Vern meet?”
“We lived on the same street here in Fernwood. I worked at the deli in a local grocery store. Vern would come in for sandwiches and we’d talk. Then one night, on my way home, some guy tried to snatch my purse. Vern was coming out of his place and he nabbed the guy. I was so grateful. I’d just cashed my paycheck, and if I’d lost that money I couldn’t have paid my bills.”
Her brother helping Francine and her brother being a hit man just didn’t fit, but Molly liked it that way. It proved to her that Vern had never lost his way when it came to those he cared about.
“We started seeing each other—dating, I guess you’d call it,” Francine said, laughing a little at her own memories. “But Vern didn’t want to live with me and he didn’t ask me to move in with him.” She glanced toward the screen door, where Hunt and Brandon could easily be seen. The cones were rapidly diminishing. In a whispery voice, she said, “We were together, you know, in a sexual way, but Vern was adamant about separate apartments. Later, when I learned what he did, I knew why.”
“He wanted you to be safe.”
“Yes.”
Molly leaned forward. “How, uh…or maybe I should ask why…did he get into the work he did?”
“Money. Vern liked to gamble, and sometimes his losses were big. He ran with a tough crowd growing up, learned to use a knife and a gun. He knew who ran the streets and who to see if you needed anything done. He and Pascale were close. They’d play cards together. Vern knew he did a lot of illegal stuff, but Pascale was nice to him, loaned him money, that sort of thing. He was really sucking Vern into his operation. I think Vern always knew, but when he looked around at his options, a minimum-wage job looked pretty lousy compared to Pascale’s offer.”
“Was he with Pascale when you met him?”
“Yes, but more as a gofer. He had to prove that he could be trusted.”
Molly considered that and realized, in the end, Vern had looked out for himself. He hadn’t trusted Pascale, as evidenced by the notebook he’d kept. Vern definitely lived in a world of everyone for himself.
Molly continued, “After you married him…was he a hit man then?”
Francine shook her head vigorously. “He was one of Mr. Pascale’s bodyguards. After Brandon was born I begged Vern to get out, but by that time he was in too deep. Plus he had gambling debts. Vern adored Brandon. More than he loved me, I think. I sent Brandon to live with my mother up in Maine, hoping that Vern would miss him enough to leave Pascale. But he didn’t. The money he made was a huge incentive, ten times more than he’d ever make doing honest work. And by then he’d already done a couple of contracts—sleazy guys, but I couldn’t have our son living with a man who killed people to make a living. Deep down, I think Vern agreed with me. He was glad Brandon was somewhere safe. Then something happened…” She hesitated, and Molly leaned forward.
“I guess it doesn’t matter if you know. It was a long time ago. Pascale had a guy killed for trying to muscle in on a drug-dealing operation. Vern knew the man had been fingered to take the fall for someone else. He did everything he could to convince Pascale, but the old bastard took that to mean Vern was protecting his enemy. They had a falling-out and Vern sent me away. He laid low for a long time and then hooked up with another guy. He was called Weasel, and he was a hit man who worked for Solozi, a rival of Pascale’s. But Vern was scared of Pascale. We had a terrible fight. I blamed him for not getting free of them when he still could, and he blamed me for trying to make him into something he wasn’t. In the end, the divorce was a mutual agreement.”
“Oh, Francine, how awful.”
“I missed him so much,” she said sadly, her eyes misty. “We would meet and then Vern would set up some complicated arrangement so he could be with Brandon. But it was always dangerous and tense.” She shook her head derisively. “When we first fell in love, we had no money but we had each other. Later, I had all the money I wanted, but I didn’t have a husband and my son didn’t have his father.”
Molly’s eyes glistened. Poor Vern. He was always looking out for those he cared for, but at the same time he was doing horrible things. No wonder he had a bad heart. It was impossible to reconcile the two life-styles.
“Did you continue meeting?” Molly asked.
“No. I stopped it about two years ago.”
“What did Vern do?”
“He didn’t like it, but I had to get on with my life. Molly, it was like living behind a door I was afraid to open. Brandon needed a normal life where he could have friends. We moved to Wilmington, and I got a job at a discount store. Vern insisted I take some money, so I used it to rent a house in a neighborhood with a park nearby. Brandon made friends and so did I.”
“Did you stay in touch with Vern?”
She n
odded. “By phone, twice a month. He worried, and he wanted to make sure Brandon and I had what we needed. I guess I should be ashamed to admit it, but I took the money he sent us, even knowing it was dirty. I just felt that Vern had a right to give his son a few comforts since he couldn’t be there as his father.”
“No one is blaming you for anything.”
“Oh, Molly, I loved him so much, and I think he truly loved us, too, but the ties he had to the mob were so deep and tangled he couldn’t get free.” She paused, her head down, her fingers laced together. Molly noticed a ring on her finger, and when Francine turned it, a small diamond caught the sunlight. She rubbed her finger back and forth on the stone, biting her lower lip.
“Francine? What is it?”
She raised her head and looked at Molly, her expression drawn. “I met a man about six months ago. He has his own appliance repair business. He’s thirty-five and divorced, and he’s not as handsome as Vern was, and sometimes he stutters when he talks, but he makes me feel safe and he’s wonderful with Brandon….” She paused, again touching the ring. “He asked me to marry him and I said yes.”
“Oh.” Instantly, Molly chastised herself. “He’s a very lucky man to be getting you.”
“I dreaded telling Vern. It would have been easy if I hated him or he’d been a horrid ex-husband, but neither was true. When Vern called me about going to see you, he was so upbeat and excited, I thought that it was the right time to tell him about Rick.”
Then, with an instinctive insight that stunned her, Molly knew exactly how her brother had reacted. “I bet he wasn’t angry at all.”
“You’re right.” Francine laughed a little. “In fact, I was a little put out that he didn’t rage about how he wouldn’t stand for another man having me.” She ducked her head, adding, “Odd, but I wanted him to be jealous, and yet if he’d objected to Rick, I would have been upset at that”
“I understand, Francine. Hunt wouldn’t, but men don’t understand the way a woman’s mind works.”
Francine laughed, and the sound eased the tension. “You’re right.”