Braden copied Mark’s pose and used both hands to grip the silver screw. His top teeth were clamped down on his bottom lip in a study of concentration. Mark’s heart did a crazy lift and fall. Braden was the spitting image of one of the few pictures Mark had from his own childhood. Tears clouded his eyes. He blinked furiously and focused on finishing the job.
“There,” he said, crawling backward. “We did it.”
Alex applauded. “Good job, both of you. Now, for the lights.”
They followed Braden’s lead—the more the better. Alex wisely plugged in every set before they looped them around the branches. Three of the hand-me-down strands didn’t work. She tossed them into the garbage.
Next came the ornaments. Mark hadn’t planned to bother with the box of Christmas stuff that had been Tracey’s and was now stored in his closet. But then Alex asked, “Does Braden have any personalized ornaments? Like ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ or anything?”
The cardboard box wasn’t in great condition. The silver duct tape across the top was peeling in places. Mark ripped it off and pushed aside the flaps. Memories assaulted him. The entire top layer was made up of strands of tiny gold beads. Tracey had bought them their first year together. Braden had been too young to understand, but they’d still dressed him in red and white and propped him up near their small but festive tree. He’d accidentally grabbed the beads in his tiny fist, and Tracey had panicked, thinking he was going to choke on one.
There’d never been any question in Mark’s mind that Tracey had loved their son. Unfortunately, some of her choices had put Braden at risk. Not intentionally, he knew. When she wasn’t drinking or using drugs, Tracey had been a good mom.
“Ooh,” Braden said. “P-pretty.”
“Very classy,” Alex said. “I like these.”
While Braden and Alex made a game of draping the golden necklaces around the tree, Mark dug deeper. Most of the decorations he didn’t recognize. He and Tracey had spent more holidays apart than they had together, but one item caught his interest. A small photo album.
“Hey, Bray, come take a look at this. Your mom kept pictures of you from every Christmas. Here you are as a little tiny baby. You loved lying on the floor looking at the lights on the tree. I remember how we used to put you in your car seat and drive around to see all the lights.”
He looked at Alex and admitted, “I think the motion of the car put him to sleep, but Tracey and I enjoyed seeing the elaborate decorations. She always said she was going to have a big house with thousands of lights on it.”
A deep sadness filled his soul. He’d hated his ex-wife at the end, but they’d shared tender moments of hope and possibilities, too. There was even a remote chance they might have made a go of things if Odessa hadn’t shown up. At a gut level, Mark had understood the hold the woman had had on Tracey—similar to the hold his father had had on his mother. And, sadly, the results had been the same—Mark hadn’t been able to save either of them.
Braden settled down in Mark’s lap and turned a couple of pages. He paused and pointed to an image of two women—Tracey and someone Mark had never met—with Braden between them. Braden’s finger was shaking slightly as he touched it to the plastic. “P-p-ig-g-eon.”
The name seemed tougher than it should have been for him to say. His little brow was furrowed tightly, and Mark could feel his tension. Instinct told him the little boy was trying to impart something important.
Alex dropped to her knees beside them. “Can I see?”
Braden handed her the album.
“Your mom looks really happy in this picture. Were you having a party?”
He nodded.
“Is this lady a friend of hers?”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “P-pi-geon.”
“Like the bird?” She made a flapping motion.
He grinned and nodded.
“Hmm. That’s an unusual name. I bet if she was a good friend of your mom’s, she might be able to tell us some things about Tracey’s life. Friends keep secrets for each other.” She looked at Mark pointedly.
Nice, he mouthed over Braden’s head.
Braden’s yawn cut the evening short. Alex insisted on calling a cab to take her home so Mark could give Braden a bath and get him in bed on time.
He walked her to the door. “I don’t know what this woman can tell us about Tracey’s last days, but I’ll check her out.”
“Good,” she said, putting on her gloves. She looked past him into the living room and smiled. “The tree looks great. The popcorn was an inspired idea. I bet someday when Braden is looking back, he’ll remember how his father burned the first batch and we had to open all the windows to keep the smoke alarm from going off.”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “Yeah, sure, rub it in. I never said I was a cook.”
She leaned closer and patted his shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. We always lose one batch at the preschool, too. It’s a tradition.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”
“I can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow—no, wait, Braden is going to Gregor’s, but you’re coming to the party on Friday, right?”
He nodded.
She smiled and kissed him again then dashed away as a horn sounded in the distance.
The party. He hadn’t planned on attending, but something had changed tonight. Not just the fact she might or might not be pregnant. They’d deal with that when she found out for certain. No, what really clicked in his mind was the undeniable truth that they belonged together. They fit. She belonged with him and Braden.
As he walked toward the bathroom, mentally preparing for Braden’s resistance to his bath, he realized that convincing Alex they had a future together wasn’t going to be easy. But he was prepared to do whatever it took—once he was free of the lingering doubt about the cause behind Tracey’s death.
Chapter Eighteen
It took Zeke two days to assemble a file on Pigeon, aka Patti Gionella. Two frustrating days for Mark.
Her name had turned up right away on a search through Metro files, but the woman had either moved away or disappeared beneath police radar since her last brush with the law. Her rap sheet included one charge of prostitution, a couple of drug-related busts and two domestic-disturbance complaints. The last incident had been one of Tracey’s cases after she’d returned from maternity leave.
“Do you suppose this is how Tracey and Pigeon met?” Mark asked, looking over Zeke’s shoulder at the file he had no business seeing. He was still relieved of duty and was supposed to be sitting around twiddling his thumbs.
“Seems likely, although look at the other name in this report,” Zeke said, tapping his finger at the bottom of one page.
Mark read it and let out a soft whistle. “Small world, isn’t it?” Years of experience, both as a cop and as an arson investigator, told him they’d stumbled across a good lead. This was too big a coincidence to ignore. His ex-wife’s best friend had at one time been living with the drug dealer who’d died in the same fire as Tracey. The man Odessa claimed was Braden’s father.
“So let’s try to establish a time line,” Zeke said. “According to Odessa, Tracey had something going with this guy when you two started as partners. He was a small-time pusher, and either she was screwing him in return for a little juice or her mother is full of crap. You say Tracey was clean when you were together.”
“I never saw any sign that she was using. She drank too much, but we know a lot of cops who escape into a bottle after work.”
Zeke didn’t disagree. “Since we don’t have the DNA results back yet, we only have Odessa’s word that Tracey and this bastard were sleeping together. What we do know for certain is the guy got popped for trafficking and was sent to Jean where he served three of six. He comes back to Vegas and hooks up with Pigeon long enough to knock her around. Tracey takes the call. He gets a slap on the hand. Since you and Tracey aren’t together at this point, Tracey offers the girl a place to stay. Sound about right t
o you?”
Mark nodded.
“Until Odessa shows up some time after this holiday picture,” Zeke said, pointing to the photo Mark had brought from home.
“That was always Odessa’s MO. She’d drop in without warning and expect Tracey to take her in. I think it’s safe to assume that once Odessa moved in, Pigeon split.”
“When I asked Odessa, she said Pigeon went back to the lowlife scum who abused her in the first place, but then there’s this.” He held up an official-looking fax. “One Patricia Gionella participated in an out-patient rehab program a full three months before the meth lab went boom. The same program you said Tracey claimed to be participating in.”
“Knowing Tracey, she kept in touch with Pigeon and provided an out when Pigeon needed help,” Mark said. “For all her faults, Tracey had a good heart.”
Zeke didn’t appear convinced. “Or Tracey and Pigeon could have been partying together.”
Mark threw up his hands. “That could be, too. I honestly don’t know. By that point, Tracey and I were barely speaking. And when we did talk, we fought over Braden.”
Neither spoke for a moment, then Zeke said, “One given is the fact that Tracey knows this jerk. If she had business with him—drugs or otherwise—would she have gone to a meeting unarmed?”
“Not the Tracey I knew.”
Mark could see a number of scenarios unfolding the day Tracey had died. He’d assumed she’d been at the meth lab to buy drugs, but maybe there’d been another reason for her presence there. If she’d taken along a gun, anything could have happened, including an explosion.
“We have to locate this woman. She may have a bird name, but I’d bet my badge she didn’t fly the coop,” Zeke said.
Mark groaned. “You keep that up, and Santa is going to whiz right past your house Sunday night.”
Zeke chuckled but didn’t look apologetic about his failed wittiness. “Speaking of Santa, I heard you and Alex did a little decorating the other night.”
“Bought a tree and put up lights. I burned the popcorn, but Alex and Braden still managed to string a few strands. That’s when I found this album.”
“Alex’s mother is worried about her.”
So am I. They’d talked on the phone, but she hadn’t been home when he’d dropped by on his way to pick up Braden after the play date at Gregor’s.
“Isn’t Yetta going to be at the party this afternoon?”
Zeke nodded. “Yetta, Grace, Kate…the whole clan by the sound of it.”
“Grace is in town?”
“She and Nick arrive at eleven. Have you met him? He’s a decent guy. Got a good head on his shoulders. Applied for a captain’s position in Detroit—well, some suburb, but same thing. According to Yetta, he was just told he didn’t get the job. It went to some guy with DEA experience. They’ve got their own kind of drug problems.”
“Hmm, too bad. Maybe he should move here and take your job.” Mark laughed. “Oh, right, I forgot. You’re never going to retire.”
Zeke scowled and stood up. “Let’s go find your little bird.”
ALEX WIPED A BEAD OF SWEAT from her brow. The noise level was surely going to take the roof off, she thought. Or the top of my head at the very least.
“Hey, sis, are you okay? You don’t look too hot,” Liz said, pausing as she circulated with a pitcher of punch. She’d volunteered to refill cups to minimize the line at the refreshment table.
The Dancing Hippo holiday party had grown into such a popular affair Alex was afraid she might have to start limiting the invited guests to immediate family only. Currently, grandparents, friends and extended family were welcome to attend. And they did—en masse. Too mass-ive, she decided.
But, a part of her was loath to restrict what was for many of her students a very important part of their holiday experience.
“No, I’m fine,” Alex said, putting some starch in her spine. She wasn’t feeling well, but nausea was a part of pregnancy, right? She hadn’t confirmed her condition with another test, but her cramps had disappeared without her period showing up. And this morning she’d spent a good hour vomiting. A bad hour, actually. An hour she couldn’t spare. “Is Grace here, yet?”
“Haven’t seen her. You know she’s always late. Maybe you should start the program.”
“Good idea.” Alex walked to the small raised platform where her students would be performing their songs and picked up one set of sleigh bells. She gave the leather strap with three brass orbs attached to it a shake. “Hello…Merry Christmas…Can I have your attention?”
Slowly the noise died down and people turned to face her.
“Welcome, everyone, to the Dancing Hippo’s holiday party. I see some new faces this year, so let me introduce my staff.” She called out the name of each of her aides. “Believe me, these dedicated ladies are the backbone of this enterprise, and your children are lucky to have them in their lives.”
After a round of applause, she motioned for her sisters and her mother to step forward. “The Dancing Hippo has always been my personal dream, but it wouldn’t have materialized without the support of my family. My mother, Yetta. My sisters, Liz, Kate and…” She scanned the audience.
As if on cue, the door opened and a woman in a fauxfur coat rushed in. “Grace,” Alex exclaimed. “Straight from Detroit.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Grace said, squeezing through the crowd to reach Alex. “The plane. The ice. Oh, you don’t want to know.”
The crowd laughed.
Alex was so happy to see her baby sister, she felt a little overwhelmed, but she managed to stifle her emotions. She cleared her throat and announced, “To start off our program, we’re going to give you ‘Jingle Bells’ rap. Those of you with hearing aids are welcome to turn them down.”
Liz helped pass out bells and arrange the students in order of height. The taller boys, William, Braden and Luca, would have been grouped together in the back, but William was missing. Alex frowned. Roberta was so good about letting Alex know if the family was scheduled to go out of town. She hoped everything was okay.
“Wait,” she said softly when one eager bell ringer started shaking too soon. “All together now. Nice and loud. And don’t forget to sing.”
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rap,” they sang. Of course, the last word was a shout, but delivered enthusiastically by the three- and four-year-olds. Under the cacophony of chimes, Alex swore she could hear Braden’s voice. Clear and unbroken. Tears clouded her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Not in time to avoid getting caught by Grace. Her sister was staring at her as if Alex had a flashing sign over her head: Alert. Alert. Possibly Pregnant.
And, of course, once the performance was completed, Grace worked her way through the crowd to say, “Alexandra, we need to talk.”
“You sounded just like Mom there.” Alex pushed a platter of cookies—each decorated by her students, which meant in some cases there was more frosting than cookie—into her sister’s hands. “Go. Mingle. I’m busy.”
“But—”
“Later, Grace. You and Nick are here till the third of January, right? We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
“But—”
“Not now, Grace.”
Her words seemed to carry above the hum of the crowd and everyone turned to look at her. Alex was certain her face was as red as the plush Santa hat on her head. “Be sure to take each of the paintings that your child did home with you,” she called, making a sweeping gesture with her hand. “These are real treasures that you’ll want to keep to show your children’s children. Just ask my mom. Our four handprints are the first decorations she hangs up every year. Isn’t that right, Mom?”
Yetta was standing close enough for Alex to reach for her hand and draw her onto the stage for a hug. A smattering of applause made her mother beam. “You’ve outdone yourself today, dear. It’s a lovely party.”
“I need a bigger house.”
“My mother used to say, ‘It’s not
the size of the house, it’s the size of the heart.’”
Alex made a little “oh” sound. “I never heard that one, but I like it. And thanks for your help, Mom. I really couldn’t have done this without you.”
They hugged again—and were soon joined by Grace. “Me, too. I need my Rom fix.”
“Your husband-to-be is half Romani,” Alex reminded her.
“Doesn’t count. He’s not a girl.”
“I would hope not,” Yetta said primly. “He’s far too handsome to be a woman.”
“Speaking of handsome,” Grace said, looking over Alex’s shoulder. “Is that major hunk who I think it is? Oh, my. No wonder you two are an item again. Way to go, Alex.”
Alex groaned and spun on one heel. Her equilibrium spun, too, but her sister was there to steady her. Grace’s perfectly plucked left eyebrow lifted the way a movie detective’s might. Another clue. Damn.
Before Grace could say anything, though, the handsome hunk in question walked up to them. “Hi. Sorry I’m late. Zeke and I were…on a hunt.”
Pigeon, Alex thought.
To Grace, he said, “Hello, Grace. Long time no see. I hear congratulations are in order.”
Grace shook his hand. “Thank you. The same to you, right?”
Mark looked at Alex sharply.
Gulping, she hastily explained, “She means about Braden, don’t you, Grace?”
Grace’s lips formed a thoughtful moue as she looked from Mark to Alex and back again. “Of course. What else? You don’t have news about the arson case, yet, do you?”
“Yet?” Alex asked.
“Zeke and Nikolai were on the phone the minute we landed. I swear they’re closer friends than any of the guys Nick has introduced me to in Detroit. They speak the same language. Do you speak cop, too?”
Mark smiled. “Firefighter. Slightly different dialect. But if they speak slowly I can usually understand them.”
Grace roared and gave Mark a quick hug. “I like you. There was a time I didn’t, but now I do. See you later.” She dashed off into the crowd.
Mark looked a little shell-shocked. “Wow. She’s…”
The Quiet Child Page 16