Joanie shook her head again, but Hugo answered, “Yes. She talks sometimes.”
“All right,” Deborah said, feeling the anxiety rise around her. She’d drop the topic for the moment. “Let’s get to work.”
By the time night fell, the firehouse’s second floor had been transformed into an urban cabin. Claudine hadn’t been able to get power, but lanterns splashed warm pools of light against the vibrant flowers and vines on the walls. The bearskin rug lay unfurled in one corner near the velvet armchair, where Tinkerbell had already made herself at home. A camping stove and milk crates of supplies on a card table occupied another corner in the firehouse’s old kitchen. Soft sheets with small patched areas billowed softly from the windows. A faint hint of pine-scented cleanser hung in the air.
“Wow,” Scotty said.
“It really does look cozy. All we need is a fireplace,” Ruby said.
Claudine pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “It won’t be long before it’s cold enough to freeze water in here. This is an okay solution—for now.”
Deborah’s satisfaction at seeing the firehouse transformed slipped away. Claudine was right. They couldn’t stay here. They had maybe another month before the windows would frost over.
“We could buy them a propane heater,” Ruby said.
A little hope flamed in Deborah’s chest, although she saw Claudine bite her lip.
“Sure, but that’s just buying time,” Claudine said. “The kids can’t stay here on their own forever. We need to figure out something more permanent.”
* * *
“So, what are our next steps?” Deborah asked Claudine and Ruby the next day after the waiter deposited the pots of Oolong. Despite yesterday’s hard work, she had driven home feeling lighter than ever. Plus, Louie was on his way back—at last.
Claudine sat with her back to the wall and calmly took in the tea house’s post-church crowd murmuring above a string quartet.
“I’ve looked into shelters, and unless Hugo is the kids’ legal guardian, the kids wouldn’t be able to stay together,” Claudine said. “Even then, it’s dicey.”
“Maybe we should help him get guardianship,” Deb said. “He’s eighteen. He can take custody, right?”
“Honey,” Ruby laid a hand on hers from across the table, “I’d wager Hugo isn’t much older than sixteen.”
Deb put down the macaron. Her chest felt heavy. “Those poor kids. They need someone to care for them.”
“And somewhere to live,” Claudine added.
“They’re too young to stay alone,” Ruby said. “Hon, you’re not going to cry, are you?”
Deborah took a deep breath. Thank goodness she had Louie. “No. It’s just so sad.”
“We’ll help them. We’ll help them stay together,” Ruby said. “Maybe we can convince the shelter at St. Jude’s to take them all, together.”
“No way,” Claudine said. “As soon as social services found out the children were there, they’d plop them in strict foster homes. They have a reputation as runaways, remember.”
“Besides,” Ruby said, “what about other children like them? Even if we managed to find a place for them now, other kids might end up split up.”
“Our job is to deal with the Rizzio kids, not try to save every kid in town,” Claudine said.
“She’s just saying, we shouldn’t forget about the others,” Deborah replied. She hoped she didn’t sound too defensive.
“Well, what are our options?” Ruby said. “I’d say they could come live with me and Bruce, but all we have is a hide-a-bed in Bruce’s office. Plus, Hugo insisted they weren’t leaving the firehouse.”
The Granzer mansion was gigantic. Each of the kids could have his own bedroom, and Tinkerbell could run in the yard. But Louie would never go for it. He needed his rest for those early mornings at the wildlife refuge looking at ducks, or whatever he did. She didn’t even need to ask him—he’d squelch the idea before she’d got the words out.
It killed Deborah to have to say it. “My husband wouldn’t want the kids at home.”
Claudine paused, as if she might be considering a possible home, but from her expression, Deborah concluded she’d dismissed the idea. Claudine leaned back in her chair. “The alternative is to buy a new place for them. Or build one.”
Ruby shook her head. Her Chihuahua-shaped earrings swung. “That could cost millions. We’d have to buy land, design a building, get all the permits, have it built—”
“There are ways to cut corners if you know the right people,” Claudine said.
“No.” Deborah was surprised at the insistence in her own voice. “We need to do this all above board. Completely legitimately. We need to give the children a fresh start.”
Claudine took a deep breath, and Deborah prepared for her rebuttal. “You’re right. I agree.”
“Me, too,” Ruby said. “Absolutely.”
“Well, then,” Deborah said, surprised at the lack of resistance. “What if we just fixed up the firehouse? I mean, really fixed it up.”
The string quartet chewed over an especially busy baroque number while the women pondered this idea.
“Not a bad idea,” Ruby said.
“The structure’s there. It’s already on public land, and it’s close to downtown. You’d have to insulate it and fix up the kitchen,” Claudine said.
“The bunks sleep twelve, and there’s room for more,” Ruby said.
“You could even expand into the space next door over time,” Claudine added. “It would be much less expensive than starting from scratch. It would take care of the problem of the kids not wanting to leave, too.”
“We’d essentially be starting our own family shelter,” Ruby said. “We’d have to hire staff.”
“The community would be willing to chip in some, but I’m not sure you could come up with enough to run a full-fledged shelter. At least, legitimately,” Claudine said with a glance at Deborah.
“You know who loves firehouses?” Deborah said, ignoring Claudine’s persistent use of “you” rather than “we.” “Grandpa Granzer. He used to be a volunteer fireman.”
“That’s nice, honey,” Ruby said. “I wonder if the county would transfer the land for a good cause? Or at least sell it at a public charity price?”
“Let’s go back to old man Granzer a minute,” Claudine said. “What do you think he’d say to helping renovate the firehouse?”
“Wait—you said Grandpa Granzer. The Granzer? The one who started the grocery chain?” Ruby said.
“I could ask. He has buckets of money, you know.” Louie’s siblings sure knew. They sucked up to him night and day. She was the one he insisted on sitting next to at Thanksgiving dinner, though.
“I could do some research on what it might take to get the land transferred to us. You might have to form a nonprofit,” Claudine said.
“We’ll need money,” Ruby said.
“I have quite a few valuable watches—” Deborah began.
“Hush,” Claudine cut her off.
“Besides, we’re going to do this right. Straight. We don’t need to get the kids in trouble,” Ruby said. “A fundraiser. We’ll hold a fundraiser. Remember? We talked about that.” She turned cautiously toward Claudine.
“Who will come?” Deborah asked. “I mean, besides Grandpa Granzer.”
“Thanks to the rock star whose hair I cut, Taffeta Darling, I have lots of clients I could invite.”
Claudine shook her head. “No. Too risky.”
“Why not?” Deborah said. “It’s just a party.”
Claudine leaned forward. “I have, um, customers who run in that set.”
“Then they’ll be happy to see you.”
“It’s more complicated than that. They’re my customers, but we haven’t met.”
“I don’t understand—” Deb started.
Ruby cut in. “Fine. How about this? Claudine, you can help by managing the kids. If you want to stay undercover, go ahead.”
“We’
ll just say it’s the Booster Club hosting the event. We don’t have to say who’s in it,” Deborah added.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to raise our profile. I mean, considering?” Claudine said.
She didn’t need to add “considering what,” Deborah thought. She got it. “We’re doing everything above board, totally legit. We don’t have to hide.”
Claudine sank into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure, I guess. Just leave my name off the invitation.” When the women didn’t respond, she added, “I can do some research into what you’d need to buy the firehouse. And I have some connections in security. I bet I could get someone to check in on the kids from time to time, make sure there’s no trouble until you get this set up.”
“Too bad more people can’t know about the kids,” Deborah said. Claudine looked so much more relaxed now that she didn’t have to mingle. Funny.
“It would help drive ticket sales,” Ruby said.
They were quiet for a moment. Decent people, if they saw how the kids lived, would want to help them. Deborah knew that. But drawing attention to them could ruin everything.
“I do hair for Brenda, the anchorwoman for Channel Two. What if I told her the story? She could interview Hugo. We’ll leave the rest of the kids out of it.”
“As long as you didn’t let on where they are,” Claudine said, “that might work. Or not.”
“So then,” Ruby said. “Let’s get down to business. Does anyone have a calendar handy?”
* * *
Claudine shut the county procedures manual and pushed away from her usual carrel at the library. Thanks to her frequent research on building plans for break-ins, one of the assistant librarians, thinking Claudine an architect, was always ready to pull documents.
Buying the firehouse was simple. The Boosters had to get the county commissioners to agree to sell. There’d be a hearing first, then a vote. If that went well, the commissioners might even grant the land to them outright. They’d done it before, and the firehouse, as it now stood, was a public liability.
Once the vote passed, there would be a second, more perfunctory commission meeting to seal the deal and present plans for the property. In the past, these land transfers had taken up to two years, but in a few cases they’d slid through in as little as six weeks. She’d see if she could get the Boosters on the commissioners’ agenda right away. Encouragement from the governor should speed things along. Gilda might cash in on some inside info from a few decades ago to get him to write the commissioners a letter. Sure, the Boosters had promised to do everything above board, but a tiny bit of blackmail didn’t count.
She rose from her chair. Six weeks was too long to keep the children at the firehouse. It would be winter by then. They’d have to convince them to move. Plus, the timing wasn’t the greatest: Eight weeks was when the Cabrini heist would go down. She wouldn’t worry about all that now. They’d figure it out. All the Boosters had to do is raise money and make a strong case to the county commissioners. If Deborah succeeded in getting her grandfather’s support, their plan just might work. After that, they’d figure out the details with staff and renovations.
Claudine skipped down the library’s marble steps to the street and halted. Idling on the corner was the gray sedan that had surprised her the week before. After a second’s hesitation, she resumed walking in the opposite direction. She heard the sedan pull into the street behind her. Damn it. She took a quick right into a narrow alley too choked with dumpsters for the car to pass. The sedan crawled down the street, likely to circle the block and intercept her on the alley’s other side. Claudine leaned against the wall, clenching her fists, then releasing them.
The sedan should be at the other end of the alley by now. She glanced back toward where she’d come just as a bus rumbled in front of the library. Within seconds she was wedged into a rush-hour crammed bench. As the bus pulled away, the sedan paused, then turned the corner. Away. She let out a long breath.
By the time Claudine had negotiated the bus, returned downtown to her car, and—eyes on the rearview mirror—made her way home, pink cloaked the horizon. From her back window, she saw it would be a clear, cold night. The elm tree was beginning to shed its leaves, and a few stars pierced the dusk.
She had one more task today for the Booster Club. She picked up the phone. “Mickey? Claudine here. Listen. I need a favor. You know the old firehouse by the train station?”
She and Mickey went way back. In fact, her father had first pegged Mickey rather than Oswald as her intended when she was in kindergarten. Claudine and Mickey certainly got along better. But Mickey—tough Irish guy he was, with a nose twice broken and inexpertly set, with fists itchy for trouble—had an unwavering crush on Dick Tracy, which he’d eventually transferred to his current partner, an elegant African-American ex-dancer named Maurice. Mickey and Maurice, or “M & M” as they were called, were the best security company in town. They weren’t listed in the yellow pages.
Claudine explained the setup with the kids, and Mickey assured her he’d have someone keep an eye on the place.
“No problem,” Mickey said. “Mo—” he called into the background “—would you turn down the heat on the stroganoff? Thanks, hon.” He returned to Claudine. “Sorry. I put in some tarragon before you called, and it really loses its edge if it’s overheated. Anyway, how long you need the patrol?”
“I’m not sure.” Once the county commissioners approved the land transfer, they’d be in the clear. First she’d need to get their petition on the agenda. “Two months at the outside.” Wind raked the tree’s leaves like fingers through hair, wresting more from its branches. “What do you think it will cost?”
“For you, for Wanda’s kids, we’ll do it for expenses. Mo and I, we like to do one job a year for charity, you know? I’ll talk it over with him, but don’t worry your pretty head.”
“One more thing. Could you track down a license plate number for me?”
7
Life sure was good when Louie was home. Deborah leapt out of bed early to bring him breakfast, laid in stocks of milk and cola, and mended his safari trousers. While he took day trips to bird sanctuaries or kept his weekly meetings with the Carsonville Warblers Association, she slipped out to the firehouse to bring the children leftovers and check their homework against the home study program she’d started them on. It was hard to believe it had already been a month since they took charge of the Rizzios.
Best of all, Louie had promised to stay through the Booster Club’s fundraiser that weekend. She couldn’t wait to show him her hard work.
At the sound of the doorbell, she set down the birdwatching binoculars she was polishing. Ruby. They were going to Klingle’s to buy a dress for the fundraiser.
Ruby hugged Deborah. “I still can’t get over what a fabulous house this is.” Her gaze wandered the acres of wood floors, Victorian sofas, and leaded glass windows looking over a wooded lot.
Deborah remembered her own first step into the Granzer mansion, with a shy but loving Louie at her side, and how she’d felt she’d wandered into the Addams Family set by mistake.
“Seen the kids lately?” Ruby asked.
“I dropped off their lessons this morning. They really want to go trick or treating, even Hugo. We’re going to work up some costumes.”
“I’ll come with you.” Ruby wiped a finger along a mahogany side table. “Lord, you keep this place spick and span.”
“Come in. Let me take your coat.”
“The fundraiser will be so perfect. We’ll easily get a hundred people in here—maybe more.” Ruby walked through the living room to where the dining room opened into the kitchen. “Oh, yes. We set up the buffet here, and the caterers can work from the kitchen. Does that open to the driveway?”
“Yes, on the side,” Deborah said.
“They can pull the van up there.”
“Don’t worry, Ruby. I already worked it out.” She patted an envelope on the hall table. “Plus,
I’ve sold about twenty tickets. Mostly to my mother’s friends.”
“I’ve already sold almost forty, and one of my clients took another bundle of ten. Everyone wants to see your house.” Ruby reached into her purse for a mirror and touched up her fuchsia lipstick. “Ready to go? You’re petite. I see you in something form-fitting, just above the knees. Maybe a grayish purple.”
“Not too low in the front, though.”
“I know, I know. Louie wouldn’t like it. I don’t think it would suit you, anyway.” Ruby narrowed her appraising gaze. “I’d still love to cut your hair. A pixie. Like Audrey Hepburn’s.”
“I couldn’t.” Louie loved her long hair. Her hair wasn’t thick, but it was silky, the color of the Wedge-Billed Woodcreeper, Louie always said.
Ruby sank back into a chair and flopped an arm along the chair’s back. “Is Louie going to be here for the party?”
“Yes.” Deborah smiled. “So’s Grandpa Granzer.”
“I bet I can sell another twenty tickets on that alone. Grandpa’s still okay with the firehouse, right?”
Deborah’s smile widened. “He’s on board, no problem.”
Ruby rose and hiked her bag—not the lilac tote this time—up her shoulder. “Good. Let’s go get you a knockout dress.”
* * *
At Klingle’s, Deborah glided in the big glass doors, a white-gloved man holding them open. “Ruby? You coming?”
Ruby paused just a moment and seemed to glance toward the Chanel boutique. “Right behind you.”
They passed a man in tails playing a piano. He smiled at Deborah and winked at Ruby as he launched into “Ain’t She Sweet.” Ruby shook her head. The piano man segued into “Tomorrow.”
“He seems to know you,” Deborah said.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
They rode the escalators to Special Occasions. Ruby froze before they’d even reached the mannequin in the wispy peach dress at the edge of the boutique.
“Ruby? Are you coming?” Deborah scanned the floor for what might have stopped her, but all she saw were racks of frothy dresses, a couple of harmless-looking shoppers, and a beefy security guard with a mustache.
The Booster Club Page 6