If this was his space, it gave little away about its occupant. Some file folders had been piled neatly on the desk by a day book, stacked edge to edge, but there were no framed photographs, nothing personal. Only an empty coffee mug with the college’s logo, which I didn’t expect to see in the police department. Of course I had no reason to expect anything. And then I noticed a small paper bag that looked suspiciously like it held doughnuts from Gibson’s.
“I’m glad you could come,” Mrs. Roberts – Annie – said.
“I’ll leave the two of you,” Foley offered. “Take your time.”
When he turned to go, we looked at each other hesitantly. “Thank you, officer,” Mrs Roberts called to him as he closed the door.
“I wonder if he’s bugging us?” she asked immediately.
“Beats me,” I said. “Why would he want to do that?”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’ve been trying to talk to my son. He’s always been stubborn, and when I phoned the police here this nice man told me you’d been helpful to them, you knew Guy and his family.”
I was wary but hooked. “That’s true.”
“Now I’ve got a little problem. You see, my son and I haven’t spoken for twenty years, and he won’t respond to my phone calls or e-mails.”
“You must feel awful, but what can I do?”
“Well, dear, it’s like this. I want to see my son.”
“I don’t think I can help.”
“Now just hear me out.”
“I’m listening. Really.”
“That’s so nice of you. I mean it. I don’t know where else to turn. Ever since I learned about Guy’s death I’ve been sick at heart. You have to believe me. He was a darling boy and I’ve never forgiven my son for keeping me from him all these years.”
“What was it about?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“I have a big personality – that’s what my last husband used to say. And I don’t think Nicky liked it. I know his wife didn’t. But I’m just a mother. Families put things aside. That’s no reason to disown your mother, don’t you think?”
I nodded along with her.
“I loved Guy. I was probably a better grandmother than a mother. Did Nicky ever talk about me?”
Those large dark eyes might have been her son’s. “A little.”
“Oh,” she said, “come on, dear.”
“This is very awkward. Why don’t you call him again?”
“He won’t answer. I told you he’s stubborn. And that wife of his…”
“She’s a very old friend of mine. Since we were fourteen.”
She blanched, then conceded, “She was a pretty one. Very pretty. Nicky always liked that. But I don’t want to talk about her. She distracted him from his studies and ruined his career, though that’s all yesterday. When I learned about Guy I cried and cried. Believe it or not, I loved that boy. And he loved me.”
“I know.”
“You do? How?”
“When Guy rented a house not far from here I visited him, and he told me about his trips to Knoxville, how you piqued his interest in the Civil War.”
“We watched my tape of Gone With the Wind every visit. We’d make a pan of fudge…”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, we did.”
“I packed up his things after he died, and he had some drinking glasses from a restaurant in Georgia. I gave them to Hedy.”
“Aunt Fanny’s Cabin? He loved that place. I’d like one of their mint juleps right now. I had four visits from Guy, each one for a month. It was almost like…” she stopped.
“Like what?”
“Like having Nicky back as a boy.” She took a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. “I won’t cry, I promise. Do they still have that guru of theirs?”
I nodded.
“Guy, too?”
“Yes.”
“Oh dear. You know Nicky was raised Catholic but he never had much interest in religion. He was like me. When I married his father, Joe Antonacci, I had to convert, my family were Baptists. But I always liked Italian men. Sinatra, Dean Martin, Vic Damone. They always did it for me. So I told Joey I’d go along with him, I’d raise our kids anyway he wanted. He wasn’t religious himself, but his family, well, is the pope Catholic?
“I remember one time his sister came to our house with this big framed photograph of the pope. Pius whatever. He had a number and a sour face, that one. Joey wanted to hang it in the dining room, right where we ate, but I said no way, I wasn’t having it. But he was scared of his family, he didn’t like arguments, and he hung it anyway. So the next day I went to the dime-store and bought a nice picture frame, not as fancy as the pope’s but painted gold, and I cut a page out of Photoplay, a good picture of Elvis Presley, and put it in the frame and nailed it to the wall, up there by that other one. Elvis and Pius, hanging together. You should have seen Joey’s face. And I said, ‘Both of them go or both stay.’”
As we laughed together, I realized I was starting to like her. Nick had been right – she could be charming.
“And they were gone before his family came over again. Poor Joey. Now Mr. Roberts, he wasn’t Italian, but he was nice to me. And he adored Guy. He never had kids of his own and he thought the world of Guy.”
“You tell a good story, Mrs. Roberts.”
“It’s all true. When Joey died – Nicky was nine or ten, I forget which – he said he didn’t want to get up early for church anymore, and I certainly didn’t, so that was it for religion. He’d gone through all that first communion stuff, I still have his picture, but from then on we only went to church at Christmas and Easter. And I liked it that way. Did he ever tell you that?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I knew he’d been raised Catholic.”
“What else did they tell you about me?”
“Not much. Really. I hate to say this but for years I thought you were dead.”
She winced. “It’s terrible, what they did to me. She was behind it.”
“What went wrong, Mrs. Roberts? You must have some idea.”
I often wished my parents were still alive, so Nick’s obstinacy made little sense.
“The first time Guy came to Knoxville he was curious and lively, the ideal grandson. The next visits, too. But when he turned thirteen it was like another person was growing inside him. Some mornings I’d find him staring into space like he didn’t know where he was.”
“A moody boy?”
“I figured it must be his glands – his body was driving him nuts. I thought he’d turn into a dreamy teenager but it didn’t happen. The next summer he was worse. Maybe not worse, exactly, but closed off. And sad. He was so sad. I tried to get him to talk about it, what he liked in school, what he didn’t, but I couldn’t get anywhere. So we drove all over looking at old battle sites, that would distract him for a while. And then one night he told me he didn’t want to go home ever again, he wanted to stay with me.
“You can imagine what happened. Nicky exploded and Hedy screamed into the phone that I wasn’t going to steal her son. I remember her words. But what Guy told me next made my blood boil.”
“What did he say, Mrs. Roberts?”
“That a man had touched him where he shouldn’t. He could barely say the words.”
“Who was it?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, I never knew, but I phoned Nicky and said he’d better find out what was going on. Guy was afraid to tell his parents – it must’ve been one of his teachers. I read Nicky the riot act but he insisted Guy was making it up and told me he’d take care of everything, that I shouldn’t interfere. When Guy went home that summer he cried all the way to the airport. And he blamed me for sending him back.
“Next thing, Nicky told me I was stirring up trouble, I didn’t understand Guy, and forbid me to contact him. I tried for a while but never heard back. And then Nicky said he’d hire a lawyer to keep me away from his family. My own son said that.” Her eye
s brimmed with tears but she ignored them. “Can you imagine? I never heard anything like it. My husband put his foot down and said we had to stay clear of them. And I gave up. I listened to him. He was my husband, and at least someone cared about me.”
“I’m speechless, Mrs. Roberts.”
“Annie, please. That’s my name.”
There was a knock on the door and Lieutenant Foley stepped into his office. “Can I help with anything?”
“My life’s almost over, I’m eighty-three, and I want to see Nicky one more time, but I realize there’s no point to it. And now that Guy’s dead it’s too late to fix things. I should have stayed home.”
Lieutenant Foley and I looked at each other; he’d wanted me to hear this.
“You’re my last chance,” Annie continued, wiping her nose.
“Do you have friends here?” I asked.
“A cousin, in Lorain. I’m staying with her. She’s waiting for me at the inn, we were planning to spend the night but now I just want to go home. To Knoxville. As soon as I can. I won’t bother my son anymore. I lost him long ago.”
“I’ll drive you back to the inn,” Lieutenant Foley offered gently. “This has been pretty tough.”
I stood to leave with them.
“We can talk another time,” he said over his shoulder, as I followed them out of his office.
The world was closing in on me. Just ask yourself, what gets you up in the morning? It has to be more than work, or duty, or love. I could almost see into the future, catch a glimpse of my life’s obliteration. But I haven’t yet used up my days. I felt a terrible sadness about what was going to happen, and an anger that pushed me forward, an anger for Guy, dead from a trauma to the back of his skull in a near empty basement. It was no longer possible to look away, as Nick had turned his back on his mother.
By the end of the day I wanted to hide out in my own place, but ahead was an evening at Theo’s, with me as chaperone. Or buffer zone. Daphne had agreed to bring Stavro for dinner and I was meant to diffuse any tension. Apparently I’d smoothed over some rough spots at our last meeting and Theo felt grateful. As my mother used to say, no good deed goes unpunished. I brought along a bottle of white wine, and hoped to make a short night of it. I could always plead an unfinished report for an early meeting the next day.
“Theo, you’re good with names,” I said, while settling in one of the plaid chairs across from Daphne. “I’ve been trying to think of one all day but so far my mind’s a blank.”
“Give us a clue,” Daphne said.
“She was a sixties folk singer with a husky croak.”
“Odetta?” guessed Daphne.
“No. That’s not it. There was a line in one of her songs that keeps going through my head: ‘There’s a bottom below the bottom you know.’”
“Oh, that’s easy!” Theo exclaimed. “Malvina Reynolds. I had one of her albums at university. It might still be in the attic.”
“I knew you’d remember.”
“Theo’s great with names,” Daphne said to Stavro.
“I didn’t think you liked folk music,” I said to Theo.
“He used to have a ponytail and wear a dashiki,” Daphne teased. “I’m not kidding.”
“At least we weren’t covered with tattoos,” Theo said.
“You don’t see that in Greece,” Stavro joined in. “Only on garage mechanics or tourists.”
There’s a bottom below the bottom you know.
“Why were you thinking of Malvina?” Theo asked.
“Just that line, that’s all.” I didn’t want to mention Lieutenant Foley. Or Nick’s mother.
“It’s a good one,” said Stavro. “I never heard it before.”
“I’d better get to the barbecue or we won’t eat till midnight,” Theo said, adding to me, “Want to help?”
We left Daphne and Stavro with the sherry, stopped in the kitchen for a plate of raw fish, and then headed to his backyard. “It’s going well,” I said. “Aren’t you pleased?”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Not when you put it that way.”
“But I have some news. Neil’s moving back. He called late last night. It’s not working out with his wife. They can’t stand each other. I won’t say ‘I told you so,’ but it’s okay if I think it.”
“Well, you know what I think.”
“Don’t tell me, please. I don’t like being alone, and with Daphne getting married I may as well stay put here. It only takes forty minutes to drive to her new house. And you won’t believe this – it’s a block away from where Sam Sheppard murdered his wife.”
“I wouldn’t want to live in that house.”
“Oh, it was torn down long ago. I wonder where her ghost went.”
“Shall we ask Daphne?” I joked.
“It might scare Stavro.”
“He won’t scare easily. He’s not the type.”
“We’ll see.”
“Theo, be careful.” What a stupid thing for one grown man to tell another.
“I’m always careful,” he replied.
Meanwhile, the salmon steaks were going to be overcooked.
When I got home that night I half-expected a message on my answering machine from Guy. Not from his ghost, just from Guy. I finally had to admit what I knew.
21
Saturday, June 16
On the morning before driving over to the Antons, I stopped at my supermarket and bought a pound of white Ranier cherries, which had just made their annual appearance. Nervous, even fearful, I didn’t want to arrive empty-handed for this visit. We hadn’t spoken since our awkward meeting a week ago, and Hedy hesitated when I called to say that I needed to pick up some rare books from a retired professor in Medina and could stop by for a quick cup of tea. “Around two or so, if that’s okay. After lunch.” Reluctantly, she agreed.
At two-fifteen I knocked on their front door. “I’ve rinsed the cherries, the first of the summer,” I said, handing her the bag. “They’re ready for eating.”
Hedy made an attempt to smile. She had about her the lush scent of gardenias, her favorite.
The early afternoon sun was too hot for us to sit in their garden, so we settled in the dining room, where I set my cell phone on the table. Hedy poured the cherries into an old milk-glass bowl as Nick emerged from their kitchen.
“You’ve joined the twenty-first century,” he said, spotting the new cell phone.
“Well, I’m too late for the twentieth.”
“Do you like it? We couldn’t live without ours.”
“I’m not used to it yet. Next month I’m driving to Maine, and it seemed best to have one in case of any problem on the road. My car’s not getting younger.”
We sat around the table like old times. But it wasn’t old times. Since my last visit someone had put a silver-framed studio photograph of a young boy on the buffet. It might have been Nick or Guy at six or seven, the resemblance so strong. “There’s something I have to tell you,” I began.
They looked at me cautiously.
“This is pretty awkward. I don’t know how to start, so I’ll just jump in. Yesterday I met your mother.”
Apprehension clouded Nick’s face, and his eyes narrowed on me.
“What are you talking about?” asked Hedy. Her eyes flitted between mine and Nick’s.
“I met Nick’s mother yesterday. At the police station. In Oberlin.”
“At the police station?” Hedy said with a frown. “What was she doing there?”
“She’d contacted them about Guy. And the police left a message for me at work.”
“Why would they call you?”
“Have you met Lieutenant Foley? He knows we’re friends.”
“Is my mother causing trouble?” Nick protested. He sat straighter in his chair, almost preparing for the next blow.
“She wants to see you, she told me…”
“That’s not going to happen.”
I looked down at the bowl of cherrie
s. No one touched them now. Outside the dining-room window, a lone goldfinch picked at the birdfeeder, tossing seeds about as if they weren’t to his taste.
“She talked about Guy,” I said, “and how much she loved him.”
“I still don’t see why the police contacted you?” Hedy pressed. Her voice was a higher pitch than usual.
“Maybe they wanted a go-between. Someone to…”
“Is that why you’re here? Nick’s mother put you up to this? We warned you about her.”
“I wish I’d known Guy better. I might have been able to help him.”
“He didn’t need your help.”
Be careful, I told myself, and glanced back out the window, already regretting the fact that I’d come. I could almost swear that the goldfinch cocked its head and peered into the dining room.
“I know it’s been an awful time, but does the name Neil Breuler mean anything to you?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Hedy snapped. “You’ve asked that before. Why bring it up again?”
“You’re not going to like hearing this, but there’s no other way of saying it. He and Guy were having an affair.”
“What?” Nick exploded. “You have a lot of nerve coming here to attack our son.”
“I’m not attacking anyone. The police know all about them. And I’ve met the man. He’s a security guard at the college.”
“This is crazy,” he said.
“We don’t have to listen to such nonsense,” Hedy added.
I think all of us knew it was too late for me to stop.
“It’s nonsense,” she repeated. “I’m not listening.”
A look of bewilderment filled her eyes, and the air in the room had gone dead. I’ll never be in this room again, I told myself.
“I don’t have all the answers, but there’s more to say. Neil Breuler was one of the last people to see Guy alive. The police have questioned him. I saw the two of them on Tappan Square a couple nights before Guy’s death, and it looked like they’d been arguing. At first I thought one of them might be selling pot.”
“Bullshit!” Nick said. “Guy didn’t use drugs.”
“No, you’re probably right, I don’t think he did.”
“Then why bring it up?”
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