by Vicki Vass
“Yes, that’s one of my guilty pleasures. I love the reimagining of Shakespeare stories with the occult and supernatural. The author of that book, Mr. Sakai, is a very talented writer. He really captures the essence of the Shakespeare story but with more blood and guts,” James said.
“Really, James, this is what you read?”
“I love it. I read to relax.” James paused. “I was thinking for Halloween this year I was going to dress like a zombie and throw a party.”
“It sounds kind of gruesome but I’m sure people will love it,” I said knowing that everyone in my house tuned in to the Walking Dead every week. I was not a fan. I’ve seen enough dead, and they don’t walk. Then my attention turned next door. “I just spoke with Mrs. Sabatini. I guess they’re not doing the garage sale this year. Have you seen the alderman around lately?”
“No, we’re having issues. My basement flooded with the last flood. We got into a shouting match with the Alderman while Roger and I were carrying out some damaged furniture from the basement.”
It was almost 9 a.m. and cars were starting to pull down the streets off of Spring Oaks. People jumped out and moved from garage to garage. They browsed through the tables. With the bad floods this year, a lot of neighbors were clearing out their garages to make more room for storage.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
My 4:30 a.m. wild bird alarm clock went off. I love sleeping with the window open but the whole forest wakes up at the same time every single day. I closed the window and tried to go back to sleep. It was no use. I was still sore from helping all my neighbors with the garage sale. It was a success. We made money for the food bank and people got their houses cleaned out.
I threw on my neighborhood watch windbreaker, made a cup of coffee, walked around to the front of the house and sat on the front porch. It was too early for the Sunday papers but I liked watching the sun rise over the trees. A white American taxi pulled up in front of the Sabatini’s house. He honked his horn softly. I thought that was rather rude for 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Sabatini’s front door burst open. Mrs. Sabatini walked out, carrying a suitcase and rolling another. Mr. Sabatini followed her out. He was in his boxer shorts yelling at her, his hand clutching a bottle.
All I could make out was the word Arizona. She ran down the steps, jumped into the cab that took off leaving the Alderman standing on the doorstep. I knew they were having problems but I didn’t know it was this serious. I had heard them arguing more and more over the past year. He sank down on the stairs and put his face in his hands. Then he took a long chug off the bottle. When he stood up, he wobbled almost falling down the stairs. He zigzagged down the sidewalk like he was trying to catch up to the cab.
Over the next week, the only time I saw Alderman Sabatini leave his house was to get the mail. I saw the usual delivery drivers -- pizza, Chinese and even Jimmy John’s. I thought about knocking on his door to check on him but it seemed to be a family matter and I didn’t want to stick my nose in.
I sat on the front porch, watching. My neighborhood was falling apart. Gary was dead. The raccoons were taking over the block. The flooding and contaminated water was going to get worse. I couldn’t stop it. Sabatini was no help at all. He was teetering on the edge, looking down into the void ready to jump. I rocked for hours. I traded my coffee for wine. A black Mercedes 300 pulled up in front of the house. Donna jumped out of the passenger’s side. Donna was in Woodland View. This is what scared me the most. Worse than anything happening in my neighborhood. My sister had left Chicago and showed up on my doorstep.
She sat in the rocker next to me. “You got another of those?” she pointed to my glass of wine.
I could see her husband, Sammy, watching me from the car. I reached down to the jug of wine I had next to my rocking chair. I filled my glass and handed it to her. She downed it one gulp. “Jan, Sammy and I are leaving for Italy today, right now,” she said.
“I thought you weren’t leaving until later this month,” I said.
She motioned with the empty wine glass. I filled it up again and she downed it. I noticed the Mercedes was still running. Sammy bent his head down to get another look from the driver’s side motioning for Donna to hurry up. “Jan, you wanted me to ask questions. I asked questions. You know people don’t like when you ask questions. It upsets the whole applecart, you know what I mean.”
“Are you in trouble?” I asked.
“We’re all in trouble. Sammy and I are going to be gone for longer than we originally thought. I don’t know. We might not come back. I just don’t know.”
“D, I can help you. I know people. I have friends.”
“It’s too late for that. We’ll be fine. We’ve got money socked away. Sammy’s got cousins over there. Maybe sometime you can come visit.”
I placed my hand on her perfectly manicured hand. My nails were bitten down and had a little bit of dirt under one. It didn’t matter. For all our differences, we are still sisters. “D, you take care of yourself. I’ll be fine.”
“You know you can come with us.”
“I can’t leave my neighborhood. I’ll be fine.” We hugged as Sammy honked the horn. And then they were gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tonight is James’ annual murder mystery dinner, a costume party based on the classic game Clue. Everyone is assigned a character and comes dressed as that character. This year I’m Mrs. White. Last year I was Mrs. Peacock. Maybe James assigned her to me because of my white hair. When I asked, he didn’t give me a straight answer. He did say that Roger offered to die my hair but I like to let nature take its course.
I quickly dressed into Mrs. White’s housekeeping dress. James sent the costume over for me earlier in the week. I grabbed the feather duster to complete my outfit. Looking out my front window, I saw the dark clouds gathering and grabbed my umbrella. I walked the few houses to James’ colonial, which is on the east side of Linden Avenue.
After I knocked on his mahogany door, James opened it wearing Professor Plum’s purple bow tie, round glasses and crushed velvet purple smoking jacket. I made it in just before the rain started.
When I walked into the living room, Helen was already there dressed as Mrs. Peacock with a large feather hat and veil and fur wrapped around her neck. Helen’s daughter, Sandy was wearing a red satin evening gown, long white gloves and carrying a gold cigarette holder as Miss Scarlett. I had made sure James assigned Miss Scarlett to Sandy.
I couldn’t talk Bill into coming as Colonel Mustard so at the last minute James was able to enlist Roger to play him. He appeared as if he was enjoying his character wearing his hunting jacket, a safari hat and waving his pipe around while he talked.
James’ house was the perfect setting for a game of Clue. His furniture looked like it was right out of the game. His side tables and wingback chairs he told me were from the early 1900s. He found them at an estate sale in London, the year he and Roger took their European vacation. The inside of the colonial is huge, bigger than it appears from the outside with a formal dining room and sitting room.
James calls the greenhouse off the kitchen the Conservatory when he hosts his Clue parties. There is a library and study. Before the night was over, we’d visit each room looking for clues. For now, we listened to James’ collection of 78 albums, sipping champagne and enjoying his canapés. The game could not start until our last guest arrived. I hoped that he would show up. Almost 8 p.m. Dinner would be served soon. At that point I was almost certain we’d be short a Mr. Green. Then the doorbell rang. Since I was dressed like the housekeeper, I answered. Agent Peabody looked quite handsome in his green suit. After our last conversation, I could tell he was lonely. Sherman had been here for a few months but didn’t appear to know anyone. He didn’t seem the kind of man who made friends easily. I convinced him to come to the party by dropping the deputy director’s name again. I curtseyed, “Mr. Green, dinner is served. Please come in.” I closed the door behind him.
James led us into the formal d
ining room, the centerpiece of which is a massive beautifully set table. James told me it was Chippendale. It could have been Wal-Mart as far as I knew. I watched Sherman’s face when he first laid eyes on Sandy. Her beautiful auburn hair wrapped around her bare shoulders. Her red dress and red fingernails sparkled in the soft candlelight. She is a beautiful young woman. I nudged Roger out of the way and sat Sherman next to her. James stopped me, “Mrs. White, according to the Clue game, Mr. Green. . .”
I shushed him. “He’s sitting there tonight. Let it go, James.”
James got it and sat down at the head of the table. He raised his champagne glass. “Welcome, all my friends. Enjoy dinner and then the game is afoot.” As he raised his glass, lightning struck outside almost as if on command. The lights flickered. Everyone smiled, believing it was part of his theatrics. Did I mention James volunteers for the Woodland View community theater? All his costumes are borrowed from the local theater troupe. Next week, they’re performing Our Town. I don’t know anything about the play but I don’t think it’s about Woodland View.
Throughout dinner, Sherman couldn’t stop talking to Sandy. They were hitting it off. At one point, he looked over at me, raised his wine glass and nodded.
On the opposite wall from me, the large picture window lit up with lightning. I could smell the electricity in the air. I watched with growing concern as I saw the rain was not letting up. Lightning struck again and thunder shook the house. The lights went out. “James, is this a power outage or is it part of the game?” I leaned over and asked him.
There was a flash of light and then another flash of light, followed by an explosion. “James?” I whispered. “I don’t want to ruin the game but was that a gunshot? Or thunder?”
James stood up and tried the light switch. Nothing happened. He carried over some brass candelabras and lit the candles. He whispered to me, “Mrs. White, fill everyone’s wine glass.”
After I finished serving everyone, I sat back down. The conversation continued around me. Everyone appeared to be having a good time. “James, I’m worried about the rain. Maybe we should stop the game?”
“Certainly not. This is the perfect night for a game of Clue. I couldn’t have directed it better myself,” he said.
“James, tell me is the murder weapon a gun? Was that a gunshot?”
“Jan, I can’t tell you. It will ruin the game.” At my stern look, James gave in. He always gives in to me. “Jan, it’s Colonel Mustard in the library with a knife. That was thunder.”
The thunder struck again. This time I was sure it was thunder. A flash of lightning followed it. James picked up the candelabra and left the room. Then he yelled. When he got the candles, James placed a mannequin dressed as Mr. Boddy on the floor in the library. We all ran to see what he was yelling about. James took his pulse and shook his head to confirm Mr. Boddy was truly dead. He held the candle up to his face giving him an eerie glow and said, “Dear Friends, there’s been a murder.” He placed a sheet over Mr. Boddy. “We must find out how Mr. Boddy was killed and what room he was dragged from. And most important, who the murderer is.” The lightning struck on cue again. Thunder rolled. James was very proud of himself.
I knew we’d find clues in the library. I pushed everyone toward the study. James gave each player a candle. He left clues throughout the house like a blood-stained swatch of Mr. Boddy’s suit in the study. Then we walked to the kitchen. For those observant, they would have noticed the missing knife from the butcher block holder. As the game went on, I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about the rain. The rest of the guests went into the library. I grabbed my umbrella and stepped onto the front porch to look at the street. It was pitch black but when the lightning flashed I could see a small stream of water pouring down from North Linden onto our street. It was going to be another bad flood. Lightning flashed, illuminating the rain hitting the black pavement. I walked down the sidewalk heading north to see how much water was coming. All the houses were dark. I could see into their picture windows, people turning on flashlights and lighting candles. Lightning flashed again. I could see Alderman Sabatini sitting in his living room chair. He knew what was coming as well as I did. I waved at him, he didn’t wave back. He was drunk and still mad at me from the council meeting. Those Sicilians hold grudges.
I walked up his porch, and knocked on the screen door. The front door was open. “Have you called the city? This is going to be bad tonight,” I shouted over the pouring rain. He didn’t answer me. I was wet and worried and tired of his bad attitude. I didn’t care what was going on in his life. He has a responsibility to the neighborhood. I was going to give him a piece of my mind. I opened the door and walked into the living room.
“Listen, Alderman, whatever our differences are, we have to come together for the neighborhood. There’s going to be a lot of people hit hard tonight,” I said.
Lightning flashed, illuminating his lifeless eyes. Blood dripped down his forehead. His nine-millimeter Beretta still in his hand. I stepped back. I thought he committed suicide and then I saw his feet were chopped off.
Chapter Thirty
I walked into Katz funeral home, the only funeral home in Woodland View. Cascades of lilies and roses surrounded the mahogany casket. The sweet smell of lilies nauseated me. They always reminded of Gino’s funeral, and I could not stand to be around them. It was a closed casket. I found the body, I know why it was closed.
Most of the town came out for Alderman Sabatini’s wake. The line of people waiting to pay their respects to Mrs. Sabatini stretched out the door. I think more people respected Mr. Sabatini in death than in life. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but the truth is the truth. Beside the casket were several pictures of the Alderman from different stages of his life, including his high school graduation, wedding day and his Cub Scout troop from Taylor Street.
Valerie and I waited our turn. Directly behind us I could hear North Linden Avenue Jan talking loudly about all the recent crime on South Linden Avenue. I heard her say something about building a wall or a gate but this wasn’t the time to engage her or her nonsense. I’ve lived on Linden Avenue for over forty years, and we’ve only had petty crimes. Cars occasionally broken into, some vandalism but nothing like this. Two murders in two months were unthinkable for our street and for Woodland View. Those kinds of numbers were daily numbers in Chicago but not in Woodland View.
We finally reached the front of the line. Wearing an elegant black suit, Mrs. Sabatini thanked us for coming. Supported by her oldest son, Angelo, Jr., she was not holding up well. I did the sign of the cross and placed my hand on the casket. I whispered a prayer. No matter how I felt about Angelo, he didn’t deserve to die like this and to leave a widow. Thankfully, his children were all grown with children of their own.
Mrs. Sabatini started crying. I walked over to her, sat down next to her and handed her a tissue. “My Angelo, my Angelo,” she cried. “What kind of animals would do this?”
Angelo Jr. put his hand on her shoulder. “Shhh, mom,” he tried to comfort her.
“I begged him to come to Arizona with me.” She sobbed into the handkerchief. “I begged him to move. I couldn’t live here any longer. We had to get out.” She continued crying, her sobs growing louder.
“Mom, settle down. This isn’t good for your heart,” Angelo, Jr., said, throwing a helpless glance toward his wife.
Francesca, Angelo Jr.’s wife, came over, put her arm around her mother in law. “It’s okay, Ma. You come live in Arizona with us. We'll take care of you,” she said.
I stepped away to allow Mrs. Sabatini a moment. I went into the little kitchenette off the parlor. I brought a tray of cookies like every other well-meaning neighbor. The small room was filled with tins, trays and paper plates piled high with cookies of all kinds. Banquet stacking chairs were scattered around the tables so people could sit and have coffee. Agent Peabody was sitting next to Sandy. She was wearing a little black dress and pearls. She looked adorable. Agent Peabody was taking care
of her by handing her a plate of cookies and a coffee. I smiled at him and walked over.
“Sandy, Sherman, it was nice of you both to come.”
Sandy said. “Alderman Sabatini has been our alderman for the past twenty years.”
“Agent Peabody, it was nice of you to come pay your respects,” I said.
Sandy blushed.
“Sandy, do you mind if I borrow Sherman for a minute?”
We stepped over to a quiet corner. “Sherman, Sabatini’s feet. That was a message,” I told him.
“Jan, not here. We can’t talk about this here,” Agent Peabody said. I could tell he was nervous, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.
I pulled him into the hallway to look for a quiet room. I found a door and we went into the embalming room. The guy lying on the slab wouldn’t overhear us. “Sabatini was depressed. He was walking around the neighborhood drunk after his wife left him,” I told him.
“When did she leave?”
“I saw her take off a couple days ago. I overheard her say she was going to Arizona. That’s where her kids live. Sabatini loved her, I know he did. He wanted to go after her, and they couldn’t let him leave. That was the message, ‘You can’t walk away without your feet.’ He got one shot off at his attacker,” I said. “Did you find any blood other than Sabatini’s?”
“Yes, we found blood but couldn’t make a DNA match,” he said.
“I knew it was a gunshot,” I said. Agent Peabody just confirmed my suspicions. “There were sixteen bullets in his clip but the chamber was empty. I could smell the gunpowder.”
“How do you know all this?” Agent Peabody said.
“I watch a lot of CSI, can’t sleep at night,” I told him.
Agent Peabody continued, “I checked with the Army Corps of Engineers. The environmental impact report that was on file with the city is a fake.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.