Dazed, she just shook her head.
"Anyway," Aurora muttered. "If your darling Joe gives you a beautiful new mink coat or a sparkly diamond bracelet on your next birthday, now you'll know where the money came from."
Sydney felt sick to her stomach. "Why haven't you told any of this to the police investigating Polly's death?" she heard herself ask.
Aurora leaned forward. "How old do you think I am?"
Sydney hesitated. She could feel the color draining from her face.
"I'm forty-three," Aurora answered for her. "And I'd like to live to see my forty-fourth birthday. I'm not saying the cops checking out Polly's murder aren't honest. But why take a chance, y'know?" She gazed at Sydney, her eyes narrowed. "Say, you don't look so hot."
With a shaky hand, Sydney pulled two twenties out of her purse. "This ought to cover my tab," she murmured, setting the money on the tabletop. "Don't worry. It's not my husband's money. It's mine. Thank you for your time."
Her legs felt unsteady as she got up and moved to the door. She was nauseous and dizzy. Staggering out of Anthony's Cha-Cha Lounge, she didn't even make it to her car. Sydney grabbed hold of a light post, braced herself, and then threw up on the sidewalk.
She still felt queasy driving home. Even after drinking half a bottle of Evian water and sucking on a peppermint from her purse, she still had an awful taste in her mouth--and a sore throat. She knew Aurora's story was probably true. Three weeks ago, she'd been in Boston on a Movers & Shakers story. For one of those nights while she'd been away, Eli had slept over at Brad's house. That had probably been the night of the raid--or heist, as Aurora called it.
"Please, God, let it not be true," she kept whispering during the long drive home. She tried to convince herself that there was an explanation, some reason Joe couldn't tell her what was going on. By the time Sydney turned down North Spaulding, she was crying. Something so dear to her had died back there inside that crummy bar in Cicero.
As she approached the house, she noticed a strange car in their driveway. Sydney pulled in and parked behind it. She took another Kleenex out of her purse and wiped her eyes and nose. When she looked up, she saw Eli shuffling out the front door. He gave her a listless wave.
She quickly checked herself in the rearview mirror, wiped her nose again, then climbed out of the car. She glanced at the white Taurus in front of her. Sydney had been on the road enough to recognize a rental car when she saw one. But the Hertz logo on the frame around the back license plate left no room for doubt. She gave Eli a quick kiss. "Hi, Eli," she said. "Whose rental car is that?"
Eli shrugged, and kicked the tire. "I dunno. This weird guy's in the living room, talking to Dad, and they asked me to leave."
"What?" she murmured.
Eli followed her into the house. She saw Joe standing in the living room with a can of Budweiser in his hand. He still had his tie on from work, but it was loosened. He appeared startled to see her. "Oh, hi, honey..."
She squinted at him. "Do we have company?"
Frowning, he heaved a long sigh. Then he nodded in the direction of the kitchen. "It's this joker from Seattle, who hasn't seen you in a year. He says he's your brother."
Kyle came around the corner from the kitchen, and Sydney let out a gasp. She threw her arms around him and started crying. Her brother hugged her. "It was all Joe's idea," she heard Kyle say. "He's been hatching this for a while. He even insisted on paying for my flight. Hey, Joe, next time, first-class might be nice..."
She turned and embraced Joe. "Thank you, sweetie," she said, past her tears.
"I've been such an unbearable grouch lately," he whispered, kissing her. "I'm going to start making it up to you, honey."
Sydney just nodded. She thought about what Aurora had said: "So if your darling Joe gives you a beautiful new mink coat or a sparkly diamond bracelet on your next birthday, you'll know where the money came from."
She couldn't stop crying. But she told herself it was all right. She wasn't giving herself away. Her family probably thought they were tears of joy.
That week while Kyle stayed with them, Sydney couldn't help wondering if Joe had planned the visit just so she'd be distracted and preoccupied--and less likely to pursue this Polly business any further. If that was Joe's plan, it sure as hell worked. Kyle's visit put everything on hold. Her brother kept asking her if she was okay, and saying she looked tired. Was she sleeping all right lately? She couldn't tell him the truth. Kyle thought Joe was wonderful.
"Okay, let's see," Kyle said, over drinks at a gay bar called Sidetracks. Joe had insisted she and her brother have a night on the town together while he looked after Eli. They sat at a counter by the window. Nancy Sinatra was singing "These Boots Are Made for Walking," and Kyle had to shout over the loud volume. "Joe does the laundry, and folds it better than Mom used to. He helps with the dishes. He doesn't bitch or moan about having to take care of Eli while you're away. Plus, he's so cool about me being gay. It's such a non-issue with him. And looks-wise, on a scale from one to ten, he's about a twelve plus. Plus he's still crazy in love with you after all these years, any fool can see that. Could I clone him, please? I want a Joe of my very own."
"Well, you haven't been exposed to him in the morning, while he's eating his Cheerios," Sydney argued, raising her voice to compete with the music. "He has to make sure every piece of cereal gets dunked in the milk, and he keeps clanking his spoon against the bowl between shoveling the cereal in his mouth. All that clanking, it's enough to drive you nuts. God help that man if a dry morsel of cereal passed his lips. And at night, when he's getting ready for bed and he takes off his wristwatch, he smells his wrist afterward! How gross is that? I don't know if he's sniffing for sweat or the leather wristband smell against his skin. But it's weird--and disgusting."
"I'd put up with that," Kyle told her.
Put up with that? Though she was complaining, she secretly loved those idiosyncrasies. Those were the weird, quirky little things about Joe that no one else knew. She cherished them--beyond his good looks and good deeds. And if she thought about it too much, she couldn't help crying, because this man she loved so dearly had obviously done something vile and deplorable.
But she couldn't admit any of this to Kyle.
When her brother had to go back to Seattle at the end of that week, Sydney cried inconsolably. Yes, she was going to miss him, but there was another reason for her tears. There would be no more distraction, no more stalling. She would have to face this awful thing Joe had been hiding from her.
At the time, Sydney had thought she wouldn't see Kyle for at least another year. She'd had no idea when she'd put her brother on a plane at O'Hare, she would be seeing him again--and temporarily moving in with him--in only five weeks.
Sydney glanced in her rearview mirror as she turned down their street. Eli wordlessly reached up toward the sun visor to press the gate-opening device for the Tudor Court Apartments. She didn't think that gate would keep Number 59 out. If he was the one who had broken into their apartment on July Fourth, he could certainly get in again.
She didn't want to call the police about this guy, not until she was positive he was stalking her. She'd already phoned 9-1-1 about their possible break-in last week; she didn't want to call them again about a possible stalker. They'd think she was a nut.
Turning in to the driveway, Sydney stopped to watch in the rearview mirror as the gate closed behind them. "What do you say to a pizza tonight?" she asked Eli, trying to sound nonchalant about it. "I can call Uncle Kyle and see if he's free. Maybe he can bring over a DVD."
Eli shrugged. "Sure."
He didn't sound too thrilled about it. Then again, it wasn't like one of his friends was coming over. Sydney had gotten in touch with Sharon McKenna to see if Tim could fly out and spend a week with his pal; she'd done the same thing with Brad's parents. She'd offered to pay for the flight. But the McKennas and the Reeces each had misgivings about putting their twelve-year-old on a plane by himself. And in the cas
e of the McKennas, they were friends with Joe once again, and she was the villain for taking her son and moving away.
Approaching the front stoop with the keys in her hand, Sydney couldn't help worrying that she'd find the door unlocked and open again. She'd experienced that same apprehension several times since coming home on July Fourth. The door was closed and locked, thank God.
Eli followed her inside, then headed upstairs to the bathroom. Kicking off her shoes, Sydney went into the kitchen, where she checked the back door to make sure it was closed and locked. No break-in. It only made sense. If Number 59 had followed them to Auburn and back, when would he have had time to break into their apartment?
She phoned Kyle and got his machine. "Hey, it's me," she said to the recording. "This is kind of last minute, but I would love it if you could come over tonight. Color me needy. I'll buy the pizza if you bring the DVD. Call me when you get this. Bye."
She was checking her voice mail when she heard Eli bounding back down the stairs, jumping from landing to landing.
On her voice mail, there were three hang-ups, and no messages. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have given the hang-ups a second thought. But she was already unnerved by this potential stalker situation. Moreover, the person calling each time stayed on the line long enough for Sydney to hear people talking in the background. She checked the last call return, and the automated voice told her: "The number called cannot be reached."
Sydney told herself that it was just a telemarketer.
It sounded like Eli was in the dining room. She heard a drawer squeak open.
Sydney headed toward the refrigerator, but remembered stashing Joe's letter in the breakfront's bottom drawer.
She swiveled around and hurried into the dining room. "What are you doing in there?" she asked, surprised at her own, almost-shrill tone. "Get out of there--"
Startled, Eli glanced up at her. He was crouched down in front of the built-in breakfront. He had the bottom drawer open. "What's wrong? What'd I do?"
"What are looking for?"
"The charger for my iPod," Eli answered, squinting at her as if she was crazy. "Jeez, what's the big deal?"
Sydney took a deep breath, then stepped over to the drawer and closed it. "Your charger's in the kitchen drawer, top right hand, where it always is."
"Well, thanks," he grumbled. He brushed past her and headed into the kitchen. "God, you don't have to bite my head off."
"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to snap at you," she called after him.
She listened to him open and shut one of the drawers in the kitchen. "Did you find it?" she called.
No answer. She heard him stomping toward the stairs. Swell, now he's mad at me--again. She should have just let him see the damn letter from Joe, and then he would have known just how much his dad cared about them. But she couldn't break his heart like that.
Sydney stooped down and opened the breakfront's bottom drawer. She found the letter in the back of the drawer, where she'd originally stashed it under a pile of loose papers and bills.
She heard the front door slam. "Eli?" she called, shutting the breakfront drawer. "Honey, are you there?" She didn't want him going outside, not when that stalker could be lurking around. "Eli?" she repeated, running to the front door. She opened it and called out his name again. He wasn't in the courtyard.
"Eli? Honey, where are you?" In her bare feet, she hurried toward the garages and gazed down the driveway. The gate was still closed. She didn't see him anywhere.
"Oh, God," she murmured, tears stinging her eyes. Her son had no idea this potential nutcase was out there--watching and following them. "Eli, honey, answer me, please!" she screamed.
But there was no answer.
Sydney obviously had no idea he was studying her every move right now.
From an alleyway off the courtyard--within the gated premises--he'd seen Eli bolt out the front door. The boy had ducked into the shadows of a little alcove, where the caretaker's unit was. He'd stayed there while his mother called out his name again and again.
He couldn't help smiling. Her son was hiding from her. He hated his own mother.
Sydney looked so upset--unhinged. Even this far away, he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. A hand over her mouth, she kept glancing around the courtyard. Each time she called out for her son, her voice became more warbled and strained. She looked so scared and pathetic, wandering out there barefoot, crying for her son. It amused him to see her suffer.
And he hadn't even really started in on her yet.
CHAPTER TEN
Eli listened to his mother calling out for him. She seemed awfully panicky, considering he'd just stepped out less than a minute ago. What was her problem? It was barely twilight, not even dark yet.
"Eli? Honey, can you hear me?" she called out, her voice shaky. "Oh, God..."
He kept his back pressed against the brick wall in an arched alcove to the caretaker's unit. There was a light above him, but none of the outside lights had gone on yet, so Eli was shrouded in darkness. It sounded like his mom was crying. Part of him felt bad for her, but he was angry at her, too.
Okay, so she'd caught him searching for that letter from his dad. She didn't have to get all snippy about it. Could he help it if he missed his dad?
Eli waited until he heard her go back inside the apartment. Then he slowly emerged from the shadows to make sure she'd gone. On the opposite side of the courtyard, he thought he saw someone in the alley. A dark figure darted behind some Dumpsters.
Eli gazed at that alley for another moment. Nothing moved. He told himself it must have been his imagination.
He glanced over toward their apartment. He thought about sneaking out of the courtyard and walking for a while--maybe along the beach. He just wanted some time to calm down--and yeah, maybe keep her wondering about him a little bit longer. It was pretty dumb, really. Here he was, twelve years old, and running away from home. Some home. He didn't think he'd ever call this place home.
He really did need to be alone for a while right now. He kept thinking about what that psychic lady had told him--about the danger around him, the loss he would have to face, and his communication with someone dead.
Reaching into his pocket, Eli pulled out the twenty-dollar bill with the two corners ripped off. He felt a little pang in his gut. His mom had given him this money to go on rides and have fun, and now he'd made her cry. What a little shit he was.
Eli figured he'd better go back inside and let her know he was all right. But then he saw something move in the alley again. He hesitated, then ducked back into the alcove. Keeping perfectly still, he studied the alleyway, especially around the Dumpsters. But he didn't see anything. He wondered if it had been a crow or something.
Maybe there were ghosts outside their apartment, too. Maybe Carl wasn't the only undead spirit haunting Tudor Court.
Eli glanced at the caretaker's door. If anyone knew about their ghost--and the murder-suicide in their unit--it would be Larry, the caretaker.
Eli figured his mom would be okay for another minute or two. In fact, that was all she probably needed to realize he'd just stepped out to blow off some steam. He was coming back. No reason for her to freak out about it.
He rang the caretaker's bell--then listened at his door. Larry's studio apartment was in the basement. Eli heard someone coming up the stairs. He stepped back from the door as it opened.
"Mr. Eli McCloud in Unit Nine," Larry said. "What can I do you for?"
About thirty, with a pale complexion, dark eyes, and a crooked little smile, Larry was handsome, but also kind of crazy looking. When they'd first moved in, Larry's black hair had been in a ponytail, but he'd recently cut it all off so he was practically bald. He was friendly enough, but a bit of an oddball. He'd come to the door in a thin, yellowish, tight T-shirt, pale blue shorts, and brown socks with sandals. Thick, black hair covered his pale arms and legs.
"Sorry to bother you," Eli said. He shot a glance over his shoulder. "I wanted
to ask you a few questions."
"Didn't I just hear your mother calling out for you?" Larry asked.
"Yeah, she found me," Eli lied. "Everything's okay. Um, do you have a few minutes?"
"Sure. My dinner's in the oven, but it won't be ready for a while. C'mon down."
Eli followed Larry down a short flight of stairs toward his apartment. He hadn't been inside Larry's place before, and had only glimpsed it passing by the basement windows sometimes. It seemed like a really cool place to live. But now, as Eli walked down the steps to a dark corridor, it felt like a dungeon. Whatever Larry was cooking had an overly sweet, spicy, meat odor that filled the studio apartment. It wasn't the kind of smell that was welcome on a hot day. But at least Larry's place was a bit cooler.
"Have you had dinner yet?" Larry asked, leading the way into his combination living room and bedroom. "I'm cooking rabbit. There's enough for two. It's mighty tasty. I have a whole freezer full. My buddy's a hunter."
"Oh, gosh, thanks anyway," Eli managed to say.
For someone who kept the Tudor Court's grounds so neat, Larry was a slob at home. Clothes were strewn over the unmade bed as well as the back of an easy chair that was losing its stuffing. Random pictures Larry had torn from magazines were haphazardly taped to the beige walls: lots of pretty girls (Eli recognized Cameron Diaz in three photos); some race car shots; nature scenes; and quite a few pictures of the Beatles. In the corner, he'd spread some newspapers beneath the cage holding a canary that wouldn't stop chirping. Just enough light came through the small, high windows for Eli to see how dirty and dusty the place was.
"So what did you want to ask me?" Larry said, heading into his kitchen.
Eli stopped in the kitchen doorway. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and a portable TV sat on Larry's battered, old wooden breakfast table. A Princess Di commemorative plate was being sold on the Home Shopping Network. Larry had it on mute.
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