The Popsicle Tree

by Dorien Grey

  I laughed and we talked for a minute or so more, then hung up, with the usual promises to keep each other informed.

  *

  About two thirty that afternoon, Marty called back to give me the address of the cabin on Lake Verde—too late to drive up there and make it back in time to go to Tim and Phil’s for dinner. I thought we might drive up there on Saturday and take a look—maybe even let Joshua go swimming. That was something Jonathan and I had never done yet. Maybe have a picnic.

  Won’t that be sweet? one of my mind-voices said sarcastically. A family outing! Just like the straight folks.

  I told it to knock it off.

  I planned to leave work a little early so I could stop by my favorite bakery, about two blocks from work. I’d told Tim we’d bring dessert, and had ordered one of the bakery’s specialties, a Devil’s Food whipped cream cake that Tim, Phil, and I loved. (To say that Jonathan loved it too would be slightly redundant, since there was very little other than fresh lox that he didn’t love.)

  Just as I was getting ready to leave, the phone rang, and I was surprised to hear Glen O’Banyon’s voice.

  “Glen, hi! To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Are you by any chance investigating the death of a Carlene DeNuncio?” He obviously wanted to get right to the point.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.” I assumed he was calling after having talked to Beth Erickson.

  “Just what do you know of this child custody case involving Kelly DeNuncio?”

  “I gather Beth Erickson called you.”

  “She did.”

  “Well, as to what I know, it’s really not much. Just that after Kelly’s mother, Carlene, was killed in a hit-and-run, all of a sudden his biological father shows up to announce that he wants Kelly. Very odd timing, if you ask me, especially considering Carlene had thought he didn’t even know Kelly existed—and even if he did, he’d never shown any interest in him at all. Anyway, Beth asked me if I knew of an attorney who might help them, and I gave her your name. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I explained that child custody cases aren’t my specialty, but I’ve set up an appointment for her with one of my associates here in the office. She’s coming in shortly, I believe.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Glen.” And it certainly was, considering that he was one of the busiest and best lawyers in the city.

  “But here’s where it gets interesting.”

  “How so?” I asked with my usual inability to just keep quiet until he was ready to continue.

  “I know quite a few attorneys in Louisville, and I asked Mrs. Erickson the name of the attorney who’d filed the custody papers. It turns out to be Kelsey Bowman, probably the best criminal defense lawyer in Kentucky. What in hell he’s doing handling a child custody case is beyond me, but I’d say Roy D’Angelo must have pretty deep pockets.”

  Deep pockets? From what very little I knew about Roy D’Angelo, I somehow doubted that he had the kind of money a high-class attorney would demand.

  But maybe his mother would.

  CHAPTER 6

  If Carlene’s death was not an accident, Roy D’Angelo’s timing in filing for custody put him right up there with Jan Houston on the probable-suspects list. The guy by all accounts was a jerk, but was he just being monumentally insensitive in the timing, or could he possibly be so incredibly stupid as to murder Carlene and then turn right around and file for custody? If indeed he first learned of Kelly’s existence from his mother’s reading the newspaper report of Carlene’s death, it had to be the former.

  And how did Roy’s mother fit into all this? From what Carlene had said, I gathered mother and son were not terribly close, and that she’d strongly disapproved of Roy even seeing Carlene. Why would she immediately jump to the conclusion—correct though it was—that Carlene’s son was Roy’s? And why would she ante up the money for a high-powered lawyer?

  Well, the thing about the lawyer was, I suppose, understandable. Roy D’Angelo didn’t exactly strike me as being great parent material, and any court would probably see it right off the bat. But never underestimate the power of a good lawyer!

  I definitely should talk with Roy D’Angelo, and maybe his mother as well. But how could I reach either one of them if I wanted to?

  I pondered these questions to my usual excess while leaving the office, picking up the cake at the bakery, and driving home.

  *

  I got home about ten minutes before Jonathan and Joshua—just enough time to wash up and change my shirt before I heard Joshua’s voice at the door saying, “Let me! I can do it!” and Jonathan’s reluctant acquiescence, followed by fumbling sounds around the doorknob and lock, and finally the door opened and Joshua came running into the room while Jonathan retrieved the keys from the lock.

  “Hi, Uncle Dick!” Joshua said brightly. “I unlocked the door all by myself!”

  I glanced at Jonathan who gave me a slightly raised eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Good for you!” I said, kneeling down. “Now, how about a group hug?”

  I scooped Joshua up in one arm, noting that he must weigh around 40 pounds or so, and was joined by Jonathan for the hug. Jonathan gave an exaggerated grunt in response to Joshua’s squeeze and, when we broke the hug, said, “You’re getting pretty strong there, Joshua!”

  The boy beamed.

  While Jonathan was getting dressed, I took Joshua into the bathroom for a quick washcloth face-and-hands scrub and a hair combing, then led him into his bedroom where Jonathan had set out a clean Winnie the Pooh tee shirt and pair of pants.

  Four-year-olds are pretty good at changing their own clothes, but haven’t quite mastered all the fine points yet, such as the reasons for putting on one’s pants before putting on the shoes.

  We took Jonathan’s car, which proved to be something of a challenge with me trying to hold the cake on my lap while Joshua decided he and Bunny should ride up front, too. After being assured he could ride in the front seat on the way home, he developed a sudden interest in traffic lights, wanting to know how they worked and who told them when to change color, etc.

  We and the cake arrived in one piece, and found a parking place about half a block from Tim and Phil’s apartment.

  Phil greeted us at the door. We forewent our usual hugs, Phil apparently not wanting to confuse Joshua, to whom he extended his hand.

  “Hello, Joshua,” he said, “I’m Phil.”

  Joshua dropped Bunny on the floor, took Phil’s hand without hesitation, and said, “Hi.”

  *

  The evening went remarkably well, and Tim endeared himself to Joshua by taking him over to the large, octagonal aquarium and introducing him to the fish. Joshua, of course, wanted to know all their names, and though unlike Jonathan, Tim and Phil had never found it necessary to name them, Tim quickly pointed from fish to fish, reciting the names of the Seven Dwarfs and the main characters from Bambi, which was fine with Joshua.

  Their aquarium was about four times the size of Jonathan’s and stood on a low table, which made it possible for Joshua to stand on the floor and put his nose against the glass and slap his palm against the sides to try to get the attention of the fish. Fortunately, it was also about four feet tall, which made it unlikely Joshua might decide to try to pet them.

  “Be careful, Joshua,” Jonathan said. “You’re pretty strong and you might knock the tank over and hurt the fish.”

  There was very little chance of that, of course, but it got Joshua to stop.

  After Joshua and Tim were through greeting the fish, Phil fixed drinks for himself, Tim, and me, and Jonathan shared a bottle of ginger ale with Joshua.

  Tim had made a pot roast, which was, as always, delicious. Joshua, with just a small amount of assistance in the cutting of potatoes and a few larger pieces of meat into manageable sizes, did very well for himself. He and Jonathan got into a little game of “monkey see/monkey do”—Jonathan would spear a piece of potato with his fork, and Joshua would follow
. When Jonathan wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, Joshua did the same. It soon evolved into Jonathan making exaggeratedly slow movements with his fork, and Joshua following suit. Joshua, of course, thought the whole thing was hysterically funny and soon dissolved into laughter. But it kept him occupied, and it wasn’t until he’d pretty well finished most of the food on his plate that he began getting antsy. With Jonathan’s okay, he scooted off his chair and, grabbing Bunny, wandered into the living room, toward the fish tank.

  “Uh…” I began, but Phil cut me off.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “He can’t do any harm.”

  “Dream on,” I said, grinning.

  But Tim was sitting in a position that he could keep an eye on him, so I wasn’t too concerned.

  “He’s a great kid,” Tim said. “And I can sure see the family resemblance, Jonathan.”

  “Devastating good looks run in the family,” Jonathan said with a grin, “and yeah, he really is a good kid. I think even Dick will agree on that one.”

  “Yeah, I guess it hasn’t been anywhere near what I was afraid it might be.”

  Jonathan gave me another one of his “significant” looks and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

  After coffee and cake for the grown-ups and milk and cake for Joshua, we went into the living room to sit and talk for a few minutes. I could tell Joshua’s clock was starting to run down when he wanted to get up on the couch between Jonathan and me and, after a minute or two of fidgeting and a lengthy if subdued conversation with Bunny, his eyelids became heavy. Despite valiant attempts to keep his eyes open, he began a slow list to port, ending up with his head against Jonathan’s arm.

  We left shortly afterwards, with Joshua waking up only briefly when I picked him up to carry him to the car. He put his arms around my neck and laid his head on my shoulder and I thought how maybe having a kid wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

  Watch it, Hardesty! a chorus of mind-voices said firmly.

  *

  I’d mentioned to Jonathan on the way home about running up to Lake Verde to check out Jan Houston’s story, and he thought it was a great idea, especially when I mentioned that we might take Joshua swimming.

  “We’ll have a picnic!” Jonathan enthused. “But we’ll have to buy Joshua a bathing suit—he doesn’t have one with him.”

  “Can’t he just wear a pair of shorts?”

  “Would you just wear a pair of shorts? Joshua’s four years old; he needs a real bathing suit.”

  So what I’d envisioned as a simple leave-the-house-after-breakfast drive turned into a go-grocery-shopping-and-swimsuit-hunt. We didn’t even get everything into the car before eleven thirty.

  When he learned we might be going swimming, Joshua immediately asked if we were going to take the fish with us and, upon being told “no.”’ launched a long series of questions as to why, whether we could bring home some new fish from the lake, if he could take along the fish food to feed the lake fish, etc., each negative answer being countered by, “Why?”

  *

  It was a nice day, warm and sunny, and traffic was light. We didn’t get to Lake Verde until quarter to one, during which time both Jonathan and Joshua dipped into the large cooler Jonathan had packed with sandwiches, fruit, soft drinks, chips, and several half-pints of milk. Joshua wanted the chips and a coke, but Jonathan persuaded him to settle for an apple and a carton of milk until we got where we were going.

  I decided to drive by the address Marty had given me first, so that when we did finally park we could just relax. It took awhile to find the road I was looking for, which proved to be the only road on and circling a small peninsula jutting out into the lake. Cottages and cabins lined the shore, and the one I was looking for was just before the curve where the road turned and headed back to the mainland. I slowed down as we approached. There was a fairly long asphalt driveway with a new bright red convertible in front of the closed garage door; definitely not the car on the side road at Carlene’s funeral. The owner’s maybe? I could see no one, but since we had all the windows down, I could hear a familiar sound from the lake side of the house: a lawnmower. I noted that there were large sprays of fresh grass clippings on the driveway. If it was the owner’s car, I imagined she was probably a little unhappy at having to mow the lawn herself, since she’d probably assumed Jan had done it when she was there last.

  As we passed the house, I looked back to see Jan Houston coming around the side of the house pushing a mower. I quickly looked away and kept driving, and she didn’t look up as we passed. Just as well.

  So, that answered that question. From the amount of grass clippings on the driveway it appeared to me that the lawn probably hadn’t been mowed in some time, which meant Jan Houston’s story of having been at the cabin when Carlene was killed was most likely a lie. If she’d come up to mow now, and apparently with the owner or someone else with a red car—though I didn’t see any signs of anyone else—it made me wonder just what the real story was between the two of them.

  *

  We drove to the other side of the lake, which was mostly state-owned property with one large public beach. It was rather surprisingly uncrowded, but there were several kids Joshua’s age running around—which didn’t escape Joshua’s attention.

  We’d put on our bathing suits under our clothes before leaving the apartment, and while Jonathan got Joshua stripped down to his swimsuit—a process not made materially easier by Joshua’s fidgeting eagerness to get out and start playing—I carried the cooler, blanket, and towels to an area a bit removed from the main concentration of people.

  As I was spreading out the blanket, I heard Jonathan call, “Dick!” and turned just in time to see Joshua racing past me toward the water. I ran over and scooped him up.

  “Whoa, Cowboy,” I said as he struggled in my arms.

  “I wanna go swimming!” he protested, squirming to get me to put him down.

  Jonathan, who had been in the process of taking off his own pants when Joshua made his getaway, came up and took Joshua out of my arms, setting him down, but with a hand ready to grab should he try to make another break for it.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Jonathan demanded.

  “Swimming!”

  “Well, just wait a second until Uncle Dick and I are ready.”

  Joshua was like a racehorse at the starting gate, so I said, “You go ahead. I’ll get undressed and be right with you.”

  Joshua was off like a shot, with Jonathan close behind.

  After I’d kicked off my shoes and was unbuckling my belt, I looked across the lake, seeing if I could spot the cabin—or even the peninsula—where I’d just seen Jan Houston, but the lake was just too big and meandering. I really was curious about her, and the possibility of her having had anything whatever to do with Carlene’s death. Having a few words with a distraught mourner at a funeral doesn’t exactly paint a fully rounded portrait of who that person might be under other circumstances. But after our brief encounter at the cemetery, I knew getting to talk to her again would be something of a problem. Still….

  I felt a small, wet, sand-coated hand pulling on my arm.

  “Uncle Dick! Uncle Jonathan says for you to hurry up!”

  I looked out into the water to see Jonathan standing waist-deep, hands on his hips, staring in our direction. The sun was glinting on the water behind him, and I thought yet again of just how damned lucky I was.

  Having performed his messenger duties, Joshua raced off toward Jonathan. He stopped just at the water’s edge and bent over to examine something of obviously great interest. I finished stripping down to my bathing suit, put my wallet and my keys in my shoes, and hurried over to see what had gotten his attention. It was a small, very dead catfish. Joshua had picked up a nearby stick and was tentatively poking at it.

  “It stinks!” he said as I walked up. “How come it’s dead?”

  I shrugged. “Fish die.”

  “Do fish go to heaven?”
He dropped the stick but continued staring at the fish.

  “I’m not sure.”

  He apparently pondered his question, then nodded firmly, not looking at me.

  “They do,” he pronounced. “Jesus loves fish.”

  “Come on. Uncle Jonathan’s waiting.”

  *

  Joshua slept all the way home, and Jonathan napped. It had been a fun but exhausting day. There hadn’t been as much suntan lotion in the bottle as we’d thought, so most of it went to basting Joshua regularly. I could feel the heat on my shoulders as I drove, and knew I’d probably be lobster red by morning. We didn’t get back to the apartment until after six and ordered a pizza for dinner. There was a message on the machine from Samuel and Sheryl, telling Joshua how much they missed him. They confirmed that they’d be flying back to the mainland on Wednesday and should be here late Friday or early Saturday.

  I had suspected that Joshua’s long nap would merely recharge his batteries and turn bedtime into a major skirmish, which it did—complete with an Oscar-caliber tantrum and flood of tears calculated to melt even the most icy of hearts, and culminated by that absolutely sure-fire winner, “I want my mommy!”

  When that didn’t work, he fell back on a variety of stalling tactics and frequent use of Jonathan logic. (“I don’t want to take a bath! I just went swimming!”) We—make that Jonathan—finally got him to bed by telling him that he could stay up all night if he wanted to, but that we were going to go into his bedroom and read Bunny a story and this would be his only chance.

  *

  As we were getting ready for bed, Jonathan suggested taking Joshua to Sunday School at the Metropolitan Community Church. Apparently Samuel and Sheryl were regular Baptist churchgoers, and Jonathan felt he should keep up the tradition for Joshua’s sake. As a practicing agnostic who feels uncomfortable with any kind of organized religion no matter how nondenominational, I said I thought it was a good idea, but that I’d let the two of them go by themselves while I stayed home and read the paper.

  Sunday morning, while Joshua “helped” Jonathan make breakfast by putting the silverware and napkins on the table and pushing the On and Off switches on the blender to mix the eggs—Bob and Mario called, inviting us over for a barbecue that afternoon, and we readily agreed.