by Vicki Vass
I was silent. I didn't know how to answer him. He’s not from the neighborhood. His kind eyes made me trust him even though he’s an FBI agent. “Sherman, I think there’s more going on here than poor Gary’s murder. We need to find out what was in the original impact report and then you need to speak with Alderman Sabatini.”
We finished our pulled pork sandwiches and we headed back to the FBI field office. “You may want to wash your tie,” I said to him, pointing out the barbecue stains on the red silk.
“Thanks, Jan, It was pretty decent barbecue for Yankees,” Agent Peabody said, trying to rub the stain out of his tie and slipping into a southern drawl.
“You know, Sherman, I never noticed your southern accent before.”
“I try to tone it down. It gives people an impression that I’m easy going, laid back. It comes out now and then when I’m upset.”
“You take care, Sherman.” He dropped me off in the parking lot in front of my gray Saturn.
“You too, Mrs. Kustodia,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Danny’s school called me after they were unable to reach Meg. The principal’s assistant wouldn’t give me any details over the phone, which made me even more nervous. The school office was directly to the right of the main entrance across from the gym where they held Cub Scout meetings. I took Danny a couple times. He didn’t really like it.
I signed in at the front desk. In the old days, you used to be able to walk right in but all that’s changed now. I went into the office, and the receptionist greeted me, “Hi, Mrs. Kustodia, Principal Grant will be right with you.”
I sat down on the little wooden bench. I felt like I was back in Catholic school waiting for the principal at St. Agnes. The nuns at our school were allowed, let me change that were encouraged to beat us with wooden rulers when we were bad. I think I still have the indent from a ruler on my backside. Donna and I did deserve every smack we got, especially Donna. She’s the one that talked me into smoking in the girl’s room and stealing a bottle of the sacrificial wine. I tapped my foot against the wooden bench. I was worried about what trouble Danny was in. At least I knew they couldn’t beat him. Not saying that Meg wouldn’t give him a smack on the backside. The office door opened, and Meg flew in, and ran up to the counter. “What’s going on? Where’s my son?” She asked.
“Meg,” I said from behind her.
“Gran, what are you doing here?” She turned and looked at me.
“They couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t reach you so I came.”
“What’s going on?”
“They wouldn’t tell me over the phone. I’m waiting for the principal.”
Meg sat down next to me on the wooden bench, tapping her foot. A habit she inherited from me. She reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette. She put it in her mouth. I grabbed it. “Meg, we’re inside a school.”
“That’s right, that’s right, Gran.” Meg paused.
I could see her hand shaking. I took it in mine. “Meg, you’re really worked up. Calm down. It’s the principal’s office. We’ve all been here before.”
“Yeah, but not Danny. He’s a good kid. He plays by the rules.” Meg paused. “I think I might have overloaded him between hockey and the guitar lessons and now karate.”
“Meg, you give him opportunities. That’s what a good mother does. Let’s wait and see what the principal says. Someone went to get Danny.”
A short while later, an aide escorted Danny into the office. Meg jumped up and hugged him. She stepped back, examined him as if to make sure nothing was broken and then hugged him again. “Cut it out, mom,” he whispered through his teeth. “We’re in school.”
Principal Grant came out, shook my hand and then Meg’s. She led us all back into her office. She sat down behind the desk and motioned for us to sit down in the three chairs in front of her. “Thank you all for coming in. I wanted to talk to you in person. There was an incident on the playground today. Daniel got into a fight with another boy in his class,” the principal said.
“Danny doesn’t fight. He’s never hit anyone in his life,” Meg said.
I became extra quiet. I knew what was coming.
“The kids were playing tag at recess and according to Daniel’s version, Joseph tagged Daniel harder than necessary and then Daniel punched Joseph in the nose.”
“Is that true?” Meg’s head swung around to look at Daniel.
“Not exactly,” Danny said in a small voice.
“Tell us your side of the story, Daniel,” Principal Grant said.
“We were playing tag and Joseph was it. He came after me, punched me in the back and knocked me down. He started laughing. I got up, walked off the playground. He came after me. He grabbed my shirt, pulled me back and I did what Gran Gran said to do, I punched him in the nose.”
“Gran, Gran told you to punch another boy?” Meg’s head swiveled around to me. “Gran, did you tell him that?”
“Well, I told him he should defend himself. If this big bully is coming after him, he has to protect himself, doesn't he?” I asked. It seemed logical to me.
Principal Grant interrupted, “Mrs. Kustodia, we have a zero tolerance policy for violence. It doesn’t matter who punched who first. Both boys will be serving detention.”
It was Meg’s turn to interrupt. “Daniel, is this the first time this Joseph has hit you?”
“No, mom, he does it every recess.”
“Is this kid bigger than you?”
“Yeah, mom, he’s like a foot taller and wider.”
Meg stared at the principal and unleashed her anger. “Is this how you run your school? How could you let this happen?”
“I wasn’t aware this was going on,” Principal Grant said.
“He needs to stand up for himself because you’re not.”
“You have to understand. . .”
Meg stood up and pounded her hand on the desk. Principal Grant jumped back in her seat. “You have to understand. I send my kid to your school thinking he is safe. That you watch out for him. Then I hear some bully has been beating on him every day.” She turned to Daniel. “Danny, you did the right thing.”
I interrupted, “See, I told you it would be okay, Daniel.”
Meg turned to me. “Gran, don’t get involved in this. You’re not off the hook.” Then she glared back at the principal. “How do I know this kid is not going to come after Daniel?”
Principal Grant started talking but Danny interjected, “Don’t worry, Mom, Mr. Trevino taught me how to punch. After I hit Joseph in the nose, he started crying. He’s not going to bother me again.”
I smiled at Danny’s new confidence and gave him a wink.
“I think we’re done,” Principal Grant said, standing up and opening her office door. I followed Meg and Danny out of the principal’s office and to the parking lot. Meg and Danny were holding hands, talking softly. Once again I was proud of my granddaughter.
I went over to my Saturn. “Gran, don’t think we won’t talk about this when you get home,” Meg called over to me. I smiled at her, gave Danny another wink and got in the car.
I made a quick stop at Wal-Mart for supplies. I promised to help Helen get ready for the block long garage sale. I got a case of water, garage sale signs, price tag stickers and markers. I pulled up in front of Helen’s. She was already working in the garage, the door was open. Her daughter, Sandy, was helping her sort through Tupperware bins. Jake the corgi was laying on the floor, chewing a bone. Helen’s husband, Bob, died ten years ago. I remembered because it was a few months before Gino. Helen was finally ready to get rid of his tools, beer signs and some of his old clothes. She didn’t see me watching her but as she opened a Tupperware bin full of his plaid work shirts she held one up and smelled it. She took a deep breath and squeezed it. I knew how she felt. I missed Gino’s smell, good and bad. That musky hardworking male smell. I gave her a moment to let that smell linger and then I walked up to her. She saw me coming out of the corner of her eye and put the
shirt back in the box.
“I stopped at Wal-Mart. I’ve got everything we need.” I brought up the bags with the supplies. I set them on the card table that Sandy set up.
“I’m trying to divide everything up. Clothes in one pile, tools in another, miscellaneous,” Helen said.
Sandy was trying to remove the rust off her old Schwinn bike. “Sandy, are you going to sell that?”
She turned around. “Hi, Mrs. Kustodia.” She looked at the bike again and ran her hand along the powder blue rim. “No, I don’t think I’m ready to give it up yet. I still have to lose my freshman fifteen.”
“Sandy, didn’t you graduate?”
“Yeah, but I kept the freshman fifteen. It’s an expression. It’s the first fifteen pounds you gain as a freshman in college from stress eating. I haven’t lost them yet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You look stunning.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Kustodia,” Sandy said.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I asked.
Helen looked at me. “Jan,” she scolded. “She just graduated.”
“No, Mrs. Kustodia, I’ve been too busy finishing my studies and working.”
“You’re still at Top Golf, right?”
“That’s right. It’s just temporary until I find something in my field. Plus I get to use the range for free,” Sandy said.
“I told a friend of mine that you gave lessons, Sherman Peabody. Did he happen to call you?”
“Jan, please,” Helen said.
Sandy shook her head no.
“Are you going to help me tomorrow? I hate bargaining with people,” Helen said. “This craftsmen wrench I’m going to price at $3. It’s probably worth a lot more. Someone is going to offer me 25 cents or 15 cents. It’s going to drive me crazy. I’m going to want to throw it at them.”
“Sure, I’ll help you. I’ll be walking up and down the block. I’ll stop in for a while and hang out,” I told her, opening the package of price stickers.
“How many houses are doing the garage sale?”
I stopped to think. With all the recent events, the garage sale slipped my mind unlike previous years. Last year I applied for all the permits for everyone and helped organize it. This year I was preoccupied. “I think just about everybody except Bob and the Hiros. I haven’t seen Alderman Sabatini and I don’t know if the Hiros know about the garage sale. Excuse me, Helen.” I thought about it. After Mr. Hiro came to my rescue, I thought it was time I was more neighborly to both him and his wife.
I walked across the street, a couple houses down to the Hiro’s. Mrs. Hiro was on the side of the house raking her sand. I was careful not to step on it this time. I bowed and said, “Hello, Amaya.”
She was pleased to hear me pronounce her name. Mr. Hiro walked around the side of the house from the back. “Mrs. Kustodia, good to see you. “
“Mr. Hiro, I mean Koji, are you signed up for the garage sale tomorrow?”
“No, I was not aware.”
“If you’re interested, there’s still time to put you on the permit. It’s a block wide event. We just need to add your signature. Do you have any items you want to get rid of?”
Mr. Hiro thought for a second. He walked over to his one-car attached garage and lifted the overhead door. Boxes stacked to the celling, swayed slightly threatening to fall. “My gosh, you do have a lot of stuff in here,” I said, stepping back.
“Yes, we haven’t unpacked many of our belongings. This house is much smaller than our previous one.”
“I’d be glad to help you go through the boxes if you’d like to start making piles and sorting through things,” I said. Helping my neighbors with projects like this was one of my favorite ways to spend my days. It made me feel useful.
“Yes, this garage disturbs me. I like everything in order. It must be organized,” Mr. Hiro said.
Amaya walked over and said something in Japanese. I assumed Mr. Hiro was explaining what we were talking about. Amaya smiled. She was very happy. She started reaching for boxes. Koji turned to me. “This garage bothers Amaya very much also. As you can see, she, too, likes everything in order.”
I spent the afternoon sorting through boxes with Koji and Amaya. There were dishes, pots and pans and knickknacks, some were Japanese, others were from airport gift shops. One box was full of beautiful silk kimonos. I held up a white one that was decorated with a beautiful purple lotus blossom. “That’s Amaya’s sister’s kimono,” Mr. Hiro explained. “They both studied at the Kyoto gardens when they were young.”
“My husband was stationed there back in the 1970s,” I said. “We lived in Japan for a while. We visited the gardens. They are beautiful. I didn’t quite understand what an art form the sand raking is until I saw it in person.”
“Yes, Amaya takes it very seriously,” Mr. Hiro said, taking the box with the kimonos back. “Her sister was a great raking artist. Very renowned. She died when Amaya was very young.”
“So sorry to hear that. This is very beautiful.” I ran my hands along the silk.
“Purple was her sister’s favorite color. That was her sister’s kimono,” Mr. Hiro said. Amaya bowed and took the kimono out of my hands. “They were twins.”
“That’s even more awful.”
“Yes, Amaya continues the raking in her sister’s memory.”
I knew Amaya wouldn’t want to part with her sister’s kimono. We continued sorting through the boxes. In the back of the garage was a bag with golf clubs. “Koji, do you play golf?”
He smiled and pulled the putter out of the bag. He did a practice put. “Not in many years. I’m so busy.”
“There’s a driving range just ten minutes from here.”
He put the putter back in the bag. “I have no time for that pleasure anymore.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Saturday morning. All the neighbors were out getting ready for the sale. I directed traffic, making sure the street wasn’t too crowded with parked cars. I helped hang balloons on the mailboxes and put signs on the corners. I walked to the end of the block and looked down the end of the street. Everything looked good. We were ready to go.
Garage doors were opening. Folding chairs were being brought out along with coolers full of bottled water and pop. The two nine-year-old girls, Becky and Allie, who live in the raised ranch set up their lemonade stand. I stopped to buy a glass and tried not to make a sourpuss face. I did suggest adding a little more sugar.
This is why I live here. This is why I love this neighborhood. The feeling of belonging to a community, being a part of a family. As I walked across the street, Koji and Amaya opened their garage door. Now organized, the garage was ready for the sale. They brought out a folding table and chairs. Amaya was wearing jeans and a Hello Kitty t-shirt. I’ve only seen her in her purple kimono before. It seemed strange to see her relax. She was always so polite and proper. I waved. Koji waved back. Amaya nodded.
I made time for a second cup of coffee before the sale began. The only houses on the block with their garage doors closed were Alderman Sabatini’s, Bob’s and Gary’s. Gary and Bob have good reasons. I wasn’t sure what the Alderman’s reason was. You would think he would want to be a role model for the rest of the block. Ten percent of all sales were going to the community food bank. Next to James’ house, Alderman Sabatini’s house was probably the most expensive on the block. In fact, probably in Woodland View. Alderman Sabatini’s house was built in the late 1990s during the teardown/McMansion explosion. Four bedroom colonials next to all the 1960s split-levels and ranches. It stood out, towering over its neighbors.
I knocked on the door. Alice Sabatini answered, “Oh, Jan, how are you? What’s going on?”
“Alice, today is the garage sale. Do you have anything you want to get rid of ? I can add it to the stuff at our house.” I peeked behind her while I spoke. I saw moving boxes.
“No, not right now. I’ve been really busy.”
She pulled the door closed behind her to obstruct my view. “Is the Alderman
home?” I asked.
“No, he’s out.”
“Can you let him know that I wanted to speak to him? If you change your mind, I’d be glad to help you put stuff out.”
“Thanks, Jan. I’ve got to go.” She closed the door in a hurry. I heard her flip the deadbolt behind her.
I walked next door to James’ house. His friend, Roger, helped him set up his tables. I think he has the nicest castoffs I guess you’d call them. “James.” I waved. “I see you have help.”
“Roger has been most helpful. I needed to clean out the basement and garage. I have a couple hundred books that I want to sell.” He set up two eight-foot long tables piled high with books. I looked through the piles.
“Mostly mysteries, I see?” I said.
“I’m addicted to them doesn’t matter if they’re paperback, hardcovers, even some old leather bound.”
“Do you want me to help you sort these?”
Roger looked over at me. “We’re sorting them by genre and subcategory. In fiction, we have mysteries sorted by cozy, suspense or thriller. There’s a separate pile for historical, modern and risqué romance.” He turned to James. “We should probably keep those away from the kids.”
James nodded in agreement.
“We also have a few science fiction novels. And, then in nonfiction, we have biographies, cookbooks, gardening and true crime.”
“Anything I’d like?” I asked.
“I’ve got some.” He ran back into the garage and brought out a milk crate piled high with cookbooks. “I’ve got French, Italian, fusion, Spanish, Asian, Mediterranean, low carb, paleo.”
“Paleo? What’s that?”
“It’s the caveman cookbook,” Roger said. “It’s recipes for eating nonprocessed foods that either cavemen would kill or pick up off the ground.”
“I’m supposed to enjoy that?” I asked. I browsed through the other tables. I picked up a paperback. I thought it was Shakespeare at first. I saw the name Romeo and Juliet. The cover depicted Juliet on a balcony. When I looked closer, I realized the title was Romeo and Juliet vs. zombies.