by Lois Winston
Lucille, clutching a growling Mephisto to her chest, glowered at Fogarty as if he had just accused her of voting for Ronald Reagan. Twice. “I was out all day. And I have plenty of witnesses.”
Fogarty and Harley exchanged odd glances but neither commented. Fogarty backed away a step or two but kept a leery eye on Mephisto.
Harley continued his questioning. “And you, ma’am?” he asked Mama.
She tossed her head back and finger-fluffed a lock of newly cut and colored hair with her freshly polished French manicure. “Not while I was home,” she said in a perfect imitation of Liz Taylor’s seductive little girl voice, “but I did spend several hours at that day spa on Elm early this afternoon.” Then she batted her mascara-coated eyelashes at him.
Poor Seamus O’Keefe was still warm in his coffin, but that didn’t stop Mama, the quintessential flirt, in her quest for Husband Number Six—even if Officer Harley was nearly young enough to be her son.
I stole a quick glance at the third finger of his pudgy left hand. No wedding band, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
I thought about warning him, but if Mama hooked him as a Seamus replacement, I’d have one less headache—not to mention bruiseless legs. So I kept quiet. Every woman to herself. Besides, all’s fair in love and war, and Officer Harley looked quite capable of taking care of himself.
Harley scrubbed at his jaw, apparently immune or unaware of Mama’s seductive charms. “That’s when the perp must’ve struck. Maybe he heard you come home and high-tailed it out before he could grab anything or do any damage.”
He turned to me. “This may or may not be the same guy as last time. We’ve had a rash of burglaries in the area over the past few days and not much in the way of clues.”
“Similar to mine where the house is trashed but nothing taken?”
“No, that’s the odd part of this. All the other homes reported items missing.”
“And none of them were tossed the way yours was yesterday,” said Fogarty. “We’ve beefed up patrols in the neighborhood, but if I were you, Mrs. Pollack, I’d think about getting an alarm system installed.”
Sure, with the one hundred thirty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents left in my checking account. “I’ll consider it,” I said as I walked Fogarty and Harley to the door.
“The cops in this town are a waste of taxpayer money,” muttered Lucille after I closed the door behind the officers. “Those two are no different from all the rest. Only interested in harassing honest, hard-working people.”
I suspected her comment had something to do with the jaywalking ticket she’d received the day before. You’d think after nearly getting herself killed jaywalking across Queens Boulevard several months ago, my mother-in-law would have learned her lesson. Not Lucille. She expected the world and all its traffic to stop whenever she stepped off a curb. Intersection or no intersection. Green light or red.
Mephisto bared his teeth and growled in agreement of her assessment of Westfield’s finest.
That did it. I was tired, hungry, cranky, and pre-menstrual, and that poor excuse for a dog was a convenient target.
I spun around, baring my own pearly whites. “Some watchdog you are. If you want your daily dose of kibble, you’d better start pulling your weight around here. I can’t afford you and an alarm system.”
He answered me with a king-of-the-jungle snarl. Too bad he acted like the Cowardly Lion. Instead of behaving like other members of his species and chewing the intruder’s tibialis and gastrocnemius into mincemeat, the yellow-bellied chicken of a dog had probably hidden under a bed at the first sound of breaking glass.
Lucille’s face hardened. Her eyes narrowed. The purple veins on both sides of her forehead throbbed to attention. “He’s not a watchdog,” she said, “and now you’ve gone and upset him!”
With one arm still clutching Mephisto to her bosom, she shuffled down the hall, her cane echoing her anger as she pounded it on the hardwood.
I refrained from growling back at both of them.
I’d spent all of last night cleaning up from the last break-in with little help from the rest of my family. Everyone had had a handy excuse. Lucille cited her recent injuries, Mama managed to come down with a convenient migraine, and both boys had tests to study for and homework assignments due the next day.
Tonight I was accepting no excuses. After handing Mama the carpet cleaner and ordering the boys to wash the kitchen floor, stairs, cellar floor, and top of the washing machine, I grabbed my keys and coat to head for Home Depot.
“What about Grandmother Lucille?” asked Nick.
“Yeah, how come she doesn’t have to help?” asked Alex.
“Because if she got down on her hands and knees to scrub—not that she would—it would take the four of us to haul her back up. Besides, between her poor eyesight and rotten attitude, we’d only have to redo whatever she did.”
I left to the sound of grumbling complaints. You’d think I’d asked them to clean the floors of Grand Central Station with a toothbrush. Maybe it was time I came clean to my sons and told them the bitter truth of our situation.
~*~
I’d totally forgotten about Zachary Barnes until I arrived home to find him sitting at my kitchen table with Mama, Alex, and Nick. For two smart kids, mine sure act like a couple of nincompoops sometimes. As for Mama, her common sense disappeared sometime between her Periwinkle and Ramirez stints and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.
“Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” I told him, “but I guess it really didn’t matter, did it?” I said this last part as I glared at my sons.
“What did we do?” asked Nick.
“You tell me. We’ve had two break-ins in two days, and you let a total stranger into the house? What’s wrong with this picture?”
“What stranger?” asked Alex. “He’s our new tenant.”
“And exactly how did you know that?”
“Because he said so.”
“Well, then, my apologies. He said so. And with that every safety lesson ever drummed into the two of you flies out the window.”
“Jeez, Mom. Chill.”
“Chill, Nick? You let a stranger into our home, and you’re telling me to chill?”
“You told us his name,” said Alex, coming to his brother’s defense.
“Did you ask to see ID?”
Of course not. I could tell by their expressions.
“Did it ever occur to you to pick up that handy gadget Mr. Alexander Graham Bell invented and call your mother before opening the door to a total stranger?”
They both mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
“Is my life not complicated enough lately, guys? Do I have to worry that you two have been abducted by aliens and returned minus your Common Sense Genes?”
“Honestly, Anastasia, I think you’re overreacting just a little bit, don’t you?” said Mama. She flashed one of her Flora-on-the-prowl-for-a-new-husband smiles at Zack. “After all, how could anyone with such an honest face not be who he says he is?”
“I give up!” I turned to Zack, “Mama says you have an honest face, so mi casa es su casa.”
“Sorry,” he said. “It never occurred to me that I’d be igniting a world war, but you’re right. Your sons shouldn’t have let me in, not without first asking to see ID. I guess I figured if you had to go out, you would’ve mention I’d be coming.”
“Frankly, I forgot you were coming,” I said. “It’s been a little crazy around here since I got home.”
“So I hear. Two break-ins?”
Here it comes. A perfect excuse to pull out. With all his expensive camera equipment, I’m sure the last thing he wanted was an apartment in a burgeoning crime zone. “That’s right. Two break-ins. In two days. So I guess you’ve changed your mind and now want out of our agreement?”
“Did I say that?”
He hadn’t, but I figured it was only a matter of moments until he did.
“What kind of security
precautions are you taking?” he asked.
“Two-by-fours across the basement windows.”
He laughed. The man actually laughed at me. “Two-by-fours? You’ve got to be kidding. That’s not going to stop someone bent on getting in.”
“It’s all I can afford. I plan to bolt them to the walls, not nail them. That should do the trick.”
“Mom, Zack said he could install spy cameras for us,” said Nick.
“Mr. Barnes,” I corrected. “I guess along with sucking the common sense out of you, the aliens also made off with your manners.”
“He said we could call him Zack.”
I turned to the hunk in question.
“As long as you don’t mind,” he said.
“Fine. If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.” I had bigger battles to fight. “Did you finish your homework?” I asked my sons.
“Sort of,” said Nick.
“Almost,” said Alex. “Zack said he’s got all sorts of cool equipment, Mom.”
“Very cool equipment,” said Mama, back in Elizabeth Taylor mode and letting her gaze drink in Mr. Perfection.
“Mama!”
Zack had the decency to blush. Knowing Mama, the conversation would only get more X-rated from here. I turned to Alex and Nick. “Homework.”
“Just when we’re about to get to the good stuff,” complained Nick.
I pointed toward their bedroom. “Now.”
As they reluctantly headed down the hall, Mama continued her full frontal assault. “Can I assume the apartment is for you and you alone, Zack, dear?”
“Told you so,” grumbled Nick. “We never get to stick around for the good stuff.”
“Just me,” Zack answered, trying to keep from laughing. It didn’t take a PhD in psychology to realize he was enjoying this farce way too much.
Mama batted her lashes. I wondered if any of the local amateur theaters were casting a senior citizen version of A Streetcar Named Desire. Mama would make a perfect sexagenarian Blanche DuBois. “No wife?” she said. “How is that possible, a good-looking man like you?”
Good Lord, couldn’t she at least wait until Seamus had turned into a worm banquet before casting her husband-catching net upon the available waters? The woman had absolutely no shame.
Or maybe she was just scared to be alone and without a man in her life. As embarrassed as my mother made me at times, I did feel sorry for what was turning into an endless streak of bad luck for her. Ever since my father had died, whenever Mama gave away her heart, fate threw her a curve ball.
“I was married once,” said the overly-accommodating available man in question. “It didn’t work out.”
“And no significant other?” continued the Cross Examiner from Hell.
“Not at the present.”
“No children?”
“Wasn’t married long enough.”
It was time for me to step in as the adult in this situation. “You don’t have to humor her,” I told Zack. “And as for you, Mama, enough with the Flora Inquisition.”
Then I turned back to Zack and in my mind, the more pressing issue. “You’re welcome to install whatever you want for the apartment. At your own expense.”
“I intend to, but I’d be happy to fix you up with some equipment, too. We could catch this guy red-handed if he returns.”
“So you still want to move in?”
“Why are you finding that so hard to believe?”
“You’ll have to forgive my daughter,” said Mama. “She’s not into men.”
“Mama!”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat,” said Zack. “I don’t pass judgments.”
But was that a flicker of disappointment I saw streak across his face or just my own imagination shifting into overdrive?
“I’m not a lesbian!” I said.
“Well, honestly, Anastasia! Whatever would make you say such a thing?”
“You just implied—”
“I implied no such thing.”
“But it’s good to know,” said Zachary Barnes. He winked. Winked! What was that all about? “Want some help putting up those two-by-fours before I leave?”
Did I ever! But declining seemed a more appropriate response at the moment.
Unfortunately, Mama beat me to the punch. “We’d love your help, wouldn’t we, dear?
“Oh, and by the way, speaking of lesbians—”
“We weren’t speaking of lesbians, Mama.”
“Of course we were, dear. You brought the subject up. Don’t you remember?”
“I give up!”
Mama turned back to Zack. “As I was saying, speaking of lesbians, you’re not gay, are you, Zack dear? That’s not why your marriage ended, was it? Not that I have anything against gays, mind you. Anastasia’s cousin-by-marriage Lawrence Goldberg is gay, and he’s a lovely young man, isn’t he, Anastasia?”
“Sure, Mama. Larry’s the salt of the earth, but Zachary’s sex life is none of your business. Can it.”
“I was only making conversation, dear. No need to get all huffy. I still say you need a vacation. This stress is getting to you.”
What was I going to do with her?
Was Flora Sudberry Periwinkle Ramirez Scoffield Goldberg O’Keefe setting her sights on becoming Flora Sudberry Periwinkle Ramirez Scoffield Goldberg O’Keefe Barnes? Or was she trolling for a new son-in-law? I’d have to read my mother the Riot Act before she went to bed tonight. Meanwhile, I guess I was getting some help with those studs—from a stud.
~*~
“You realize this is a safety hazard, don’t you?” asked Zack. Using Karl’s electric drill, he fastened a bolt through one end of the two-by-four I held, securing it to the concrete wall alongside one of the six basement windows. “It may even be a building code violation.”
“How so?”
“What if there were a fire and you were trapped in the basement. You’d have no way to get out.”
“If the fire were upstairs, I’d have time to grab the drill and free up one of the windows.”
“What if the fire started from the furnace exploding?” he asked.
I glanced across the room and frowned at the furnace. “I didn’t think of that.”
He gave me one of those looks men reserve for women whom they think aren’t as smart as they are. I really, really hate that look.
I thought for a moment, then shrugged. “If the furnace exploded, I’d either be severely injured or dead, so it wouldn’t matter. Either way, I’d be in no condition to climb out a window, bolted or not.”
He moved to the other end of the two-by-four and set about attaching the second bolt. “Now that’s a pleasant thought. You always look at the glass half empty?”
“Actually, up until last week I always assumed it was half full.”
“What changed your mind?”
“My husband died and left me with a parting surprise—not a dime to my name and a secret mountain of debt.”
He stopped drilling and turned to face me. “Jeez, I didn’t know. For some reason I just assumed you’d been divorced for a few years. And here I’ve been—”
Dare I say it? “Flirting?”
He gave me one of those little-boy-caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar looks. “Human nature for a red-blooded male. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” I told him. “I’m flattered. And my ego thanks you for the much needed stroking. It’s not everyday a slightly overweight, middle-aged working mom receives attention from someone who’s been in People magazine.”
“Those were nothing but photo ops instigated by a money hungry publicist and a well-positioned photographer on his payroll.”
“Hey, I could strip down to my undies and strum a guitar in Times Square. I doubt I’d make it into People magazine.”
He eyed me head-to-toe, and I felt the heat rushing to my cheeks. “You never know.”
“You’re still doing it,” I said, but I couldn’t keep from chuckling. Zachary Barnes had a way of maki
ng me forget the shit swirling around me, even though we were talking about that very shit.
“I figured your ego wouldn’t mind. But you’re right. I’m a jerk.”
I shrugged. “Forget it. Shit happens. I just never expected it to happen to me.”
“These break-ins certainly haven’t helped,” he said. “You’ve sure had your share of bad luck lately.”
“You have no idea.” No way was I going to tell him about Ricardo and Marlys. I’d probably said more than I should already, but something about Zack Barnes made me feel safe in opening up to him. To a point.
We moved to the next window. “By the way,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the debt thing to my kids. I haven’t told them yet. I wanted to give them time to deal with their father’s death first.”
“No problem. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“So while you were waiting for me to come home, my sons and mother didn’t tell you every single detail of my life, down to the color of my toothbrush and whether I have an innie or an outie?” Or that I found a dead body in my office Monday night and the police think I killed her?
He grinned. “Nothing about a toothbrush but there was some mention of an innie.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“But you haven’t whacked me with one of those two-by-fours yet, so I figure you’re ego still needs some attention.”
“That’s totally not fair, you know.”
He screwed in another bolt. “How so?”
“Because thanks to my bigmouthed sons and mother, you now know so much about me—”
“And you think it’s only fair to have an even playing field?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re right. Equality among the sexes.” He moved to the other side of the window and secured the second bolt. “I guess I should admit that I, too, have an innie.”
“Great. I feel so much better knowing that about you, Zachary Barnes.”
“Okay,” he said as we moved to the third window. “I’ll tell you a couple of other things.”
“They don’t have anything to do with unexposed body parts, do they? Because if so, I’ll pass.”
“No body parts, exposed or otherwise.”
“And nothing that will embarrass me?”