Cheated By Death

by L. L. Bartlett

  I doctored my coffee. “So what else have you been up to for the past thirty-two years?” He missed the dig.

  “I had my own dry cleaning shop on Grant Street. I made good money. But then I got sick. Doctors said it was the chemical fumes and smoking. I had to give up both. Last I heard, you were in insurance.”

  “I got laid off. I was about to start a new job when I got hurt. Richard brought me back to Buffalo. He’s been a good friend. He’s done a lot for me.”

  “He owed you,” Chet said. “What his people did to your mother—”

  I tuned him out.

  Richard and I had a rocky history. Some of it was his fault—some of it was mine. Since I’d moved back to Buffalo, he’d shown me nothing but kindness and generosity. I used to think he only acted out of guilt, and maybe at one time he had. We’d both come a long way since those days.

  I lost track of what Chet was saying, but my ears pricked up when he said, “—and I hope you’ll look out for her when I’m gone.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ll be the man of the family. It’ll be up to you to take care of Patty.”

  “But I don’t even know her.” Good Lord, what did the man expect?

  “She wants to meet you. How about tonight?”

  “I have to work,” I answered automatically, anxious to avoid any further entanglements.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “I’ll call her later in the week.”

  “What’s the matter? Is she not good enough for you since you live with those Alperts?”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?” I asked, trying not to lose my temper.

  He frowned, but continued the interrogation. “Where do you work?”

  “I tend bar at The Whole Nine Yards on Main Street.”

  “A sports bar, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Our conversation continued in that vein for a few more minutes, bantering back and forth like a tennis ball in a tight match. Soon it became obvious the old man was tiring.

  “I’d better get going.” I rose from my seat and offered him my hand. He shook it, and I had to grit my teeth against the onslaught of emotions the old man broadcasted. Chief among them was regret, but I wasn’t sure just what it was he regretted.

  “You’ll come back soon, won’t you?” he asked, his brown eyes hopeful.

  “I’ll call,” I said, making no definite promises. I headed back for the front of the house, but paused in the doorway. The old man smiled at me and I was overcome with an unwelcome guilt I didn’t deserve to own.

  Elena saw me to the front door. I could hear the TV blasting once again.

  “You make him very happy, Mister.”

  “Is he good to work for?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes good, sometimes bad. This job won’t last too much longer, I think.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for taking care of him, Elena.”

  She smiled and closed the door behind me.

  I walked slowly back to my car and got in. I’d wanted to hate the old man. Instead, I felt pity—for the whole lousy situation. My mother had loved him, but she’d loved Richard more. And when my father left, it had nearly destroyed her.

  What had she ever seen in Chet Resnick? He was nothing like Richard’s father, in looks, temperament or social standing. Maybe she felt she’d married above her class the first time. Still, a part of me couldn’t help but wish John Alpert had donated his sperm in my cause.

  In that house, in front of the old man, I’d felt numb. But now I was out of that oppressive atmosphere and my anger bubbled over. He wanted me to watch out for Patty? What kind of reality did he live in, anyway? For years he’d ignored me. Years! And now he wanted me to be some kind of nursemaid to the child he had cared for? The one who’d had a father all that time.

  Not likely.

  I don’t even remember the drive home, but eventually I found myself pulling into the driveway. A blue Altima with Pennsylvania plates sat in my usual spot. Something about that didn’t feel right.

  I headed straight for Richard’s house with an unexpected sense of urgency. The side door was locked. I took out my key and opened the door that led to the butler’s pantry.

  “Richard?” Brenda called anxiously.

  “No, it’s Jeff.”

  I came into the kitchen. A black man in a bulky, dark sweater sat at the kitchen table. His bulging biceps and thick neck reminded me of a weight lifter. Brenda’s delicate china cup looked ridiculous in his beefy hand.

  “This is Willie Morgan. My ex-husband,” Brenda said, her voice strained with tension. “Willie, this is my brother-in-law, Jeffrey Resnick.”

  I stood there dumbly until Willie got up, and offered me his hand. At six three or four, he towered over me. He probably weighed sixty or eighty pounds more than me, too. I’d heard how he’d beaten Brenda senseless countless times during their brief marriage. His size alone was enough to intimidate me. I didn’t want to touch him—didn’t want him to awaken my heightened awareness. But courtesy demanded I shake his hand.

  Thank God I got nothing.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said politely. Knowing their past history, I expected his voice to be lower, menacing. It wasn’t.

  “Will you stay for coffee?” Brenda asked me hopefully.

  “Sure.” I shrugged out of my jacket, hung it over the chair and sat down at the round table.

  Willie took his seat again.

  “I noticed your license plates. What brings you to Buffalo?” I asked.

  “I got a job with the Bisons.”

  “Coaching?”

  “No, marketing.”

  I’d had the impression he worked more physical jobs. His imposing stature implied the same thing.

  “How long has it been since you two have seen each other?” I tried again.

  “Twelve years,” Willie answered easily. “That was when Brenda moved to California and divorced me.”

  Brenda’s mouth was tight; fear shadowed her eyes. “My mother gave Willie my address. She thought he might want to look me up.”

  Mrs. Stanley hadn’t approved of Brenda living with Richard, a white man. When Brenda married him, her mother cut all ties.

  Brenda set a cup of coffee and a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table before me, but she didn’t take a seat, instead retreating to the counter.

  “Have you found a place to live yet?” I asked Willie.

  “I’m staying at a residence motel. Most places I’ve looked at won’t be available until the first of the month. I hope to find something permanent by next week.”

  I nodded. Now what could we talk about?

  The silence lengthened. Finally Willie pushed his half-empty cup away. “I guess I’d better be going.”

  Brenda forced a smile but said nothing.

  “Good luck in your new job,” I said.

  “I’ll see if I can get you guys some free tickets for next season.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Willie got up, shrugged into his Bisons jacket, and headed for the door. “Nice to meet you.” He looked past me toward Brenda. “I’ll see you again sometime, Brenda.”

  Was that a promise or a threat?

  Brenda remained riveted to the counter, radiating sheer terror. I followed and then closed the door on our guest.

  I returned to the kitchen as Willie’s car revved to life. Brenda stared at Willie’s now-empty chair for a long moment.

  We watched as the car passed the kitchen window as it backed out of the drive.

  The quiet that followed was unnerving.

  “Do you need a hug or something?” I asked Brenda.

  A tear slid down her cheek and she nodded. I crossed the room in three steps, held her as she clutched me, let her tears soak into my shirt.

  “You didn’t go to the clinic with Rich this morning.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t feel
well. My stomach’s been upset lately.”

  “So Willie picked the one day you’re home alone to come visit. Are you okay now?”

  She nodded. “I’m so glad you showed up. I was so afraid.”

  “Come on, sit down.” I led her to the table. “What happened?”

  “I heard the doorbell, opened the door, and there he was. He barged right in.”

  “He wasn’t overtly threatening,” I said.

  “He never was in front of other people. Believe me, under that quiet veneer lies a monster.”

  “Why did you ever marry him?” I blurted—a stupid question.

  “I’m embarrassed to even remember.” She took a cookie from the plate and nibbled at it. “My sister Ruthie was his girlfriend.”

  “She was killed by a drunk driver, right?”

  She nodded. “We were twins,” she reminded me, and her eyes filled with tears. “A few months after the accident, Willie and I started dating. At first, it was wonderful. He treated me like a queen. It was a whirlwind courtship. I was still in nursing school, but we got married anyway, for all the wrong—and obvious—reasons. It didn’t take long for him to realize that I wasn’t Ruth. He had loved her. And although we were twins, I wasn’t her. Nothing I could do was ever right. It was like a nightmare when he lost his job and I was supporting us.”

  “And your mother would still prefer you to be with him?”

  “He’s the right color, if nothing else.” She got up to pour herself more coffee, but the pot held only dregs. “Do you want another cup?”

  “Sure.” I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost lunchtime.

  “Richard said he’d come home at noon. Do you want to stay?” she asked hopefully.

  She was giving off weird vibes—still afraid, even though the object of her fear had departed. “Sure.”

  “Thanks,” she said, relieved, and busied herself by getting a new filter for the pot and measuring the coffee.

  “What did you guys talk about?” I asked.

  “He talked—about the good old days. About the church where we got married. He said he still has the pictures. It gave me the creeps. I don’t want to remember those times.”

  “How long was he here before I arrived?”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “What do you think he wants?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  The coffee was almost ready when Richard’s car pulled up. He came in, saw me sitting at the table then glanced over at Brenda, and took in her troubled face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Now,” she said.

  Richard looked at me as he took off his coat, draping it on the back of a chair.

  “Brenda had a visitor,” I said.

  His wary gaze traveled back to her.

  “It was Willie. My mother gave him our address.”

  “And you let him in the house?” Richard yelled, quite uncharacteristically.

  “Hey. It’s cool. I was here.”

  “Right when he got here?” Richard demanded.

  “No. Just after.”

  “No offense, Jeff, but from what I heard, you’re just some little pipsqueak compared to this guy—he’s like a linebacker. Right?”

  “I wasn’t in any danger,” Brenda said.

  “Oh, yeah? How many times did he hit you? How many bones did he break?”

  I looked at Brenda, my stomach turning. She stared at the floor, on the verge of tears. “Please don’t raise your voice, Richard. You sound just like he used to.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . .” He moved to stand beside her, put his arm around her, and spoke gently. “I get so angry thinking about how he hurt you.”

  She looked up at him and Richard bent down to kiss her. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Jeffy was great. He ran interference for me.”

  Richard looked over at me and I shrugged. “I don’t do so bad. For a pipsqueak.”

  Brenda cleared her throat. “Who wants tuna for lunch?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, grateful to change the subject.

  Brenda headed for the butler’s pantry and Richard took a seat at the table, his voice low. “We’ll drop this for now, but I want a full report later.”

  “I’m working tonight.”

  “Then I’ll stop by the bar on my way home from the clinic.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Brenda came back with a large can in hand. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes.”

  Tension still filled that kitchen. Somehow I felt like I had done something wrong. I hadn’t planned on mentioning my earlier adventure, but it seemed like a good distraction.

  “I went to see my father this morning.”

  They both looked at me in wide-eyed surprise. “Great,” Brenda said cheerfully, no doubt grateful for a change of subject. “That’s great.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need family. Everyone needs their family.”

  “I have you guys. I have Maggie.” What I wanted to say was, I don’t need any more.

  “How’d it go?” Richard asked, his tone neutral.

  I shrugged. “He’s a sick old man.” I stared at the tabletop for a long moment. “It turns out I have a half-sister, Patty. She was at work.”

  “That’s terrific,” Brenda said. Her enthusiasm seemed strained. “When will you meet her?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not in a hurry.”

  She looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “It’s all happening too fast. I need time to get used to all of this.”

  “Don’t take too long. At least, not if you want to get to know Chet. He hasn’t got long.” The quiet was ominous. Richard stared me straight in the eye. “I mean it, Jeff, he doesn’t have much more time.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  As promised, Richard stopped at the bar on his way home from the clinic that night. A lot of neighborhood regulars had dropped in for a few beers before heading home—not a good time for me to chat. I bought Richard a drink and he hung around until there was a lull in the action.

  I noticed his glass was empty. “Can I get you another?”

  “No. What did you get from Willie?”

  So much for small talk. “Not a vibration, not a funny feeling. Nothing. In fact, he was kind of subdued. I know Brenda was afraid, but I get the feeling it’ll be okay now.”

  “No, it won’t. She’s—” He stopped himself. “She’s still pretty upset about it.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. Just thinking about her ex gets Maggie going. I’m the same about mine. You get the gold star as the only one of us without a failed marriage.”

  Richard’s blue-eyed gaze bore into me. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  A couple of women came in and I had to get back to work. Looking grim, Richard gave me a half-hearted wave and headed for the door, looking as gloomy as when he’d arrived.

  The happy hour crowd was long gone by nine o’clock. The place was dead, and Tom was about to let me leave when the phone rang.

  “It’s for you, Jeff.”

  I frowned. Maggie seldom called me at work, and since Richard had already dropped in, it wasn’t likely to be him. “Hello?”

  “Jeffrey? It’s Patty.”

  Oh, wonderful.

  “Hi. How’d you get this number?”

  “You told Dad where you worked. I wanted to connect with you as soon as possible. How the hell are you?”

  “Fine,” I answered, wary. “How are you?”

  “Great, now that I know you’re home in Buffalo. I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you. When’s a good time? How about tonight?”

  “I won’t get out of work until late,” I lied. I’d had enough emotional overload for one day.

  “Damn. How about tomorrow? I can stop over at your place on my way home from work.”

  “It’s not exactly on your way,” I said, remembering
Chet said she worked in Lockport.

  “Don’t worry about that—I just want to meet you. Is four-thirty good?”

  “I suppose so. I live at—”

  “Oh, I know the place. Dad’s been driving past and swearing at it for years.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. Had he cased the house years before with the crazy idea of kidnapping Richard?

  “I live in the apartment over the garage. There’s an entryway on the left side. Just ring the bell.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find it. This is terrific! I can’t wait to meet you.”

  “Me, too,” I said without enthusiasm.

  “Well, see you tomorrow, brother.”

  “Bye.” I hung up.

  Brother.

  I wandered back to the bar in a kind of uneasy fog, and automatically started washing the glasses piled by the sink.

  “That didn’t sound like Maggie,” Tom said.

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Hmm, inviting a lady over to your apartment?” Something in his tone made me feel sleazy.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “I didn’t know you had one.”

  “Until yesterday, neither did I.”

  I didn’t have to tend bar again until Friday. Since Brenda went to the clinic with Richard, I wasn’t on call to take her to work. I planned to spend the morning with Sam Nielsen interviewing the protesters in Williamsville. It gave me something to do besides wait for Patty’s visit later that day.

  Sam met me in the parking lot of a coffee shop a block from the Women’s Health Center. We bought coffee to go and started walking. The brisk wind was at our backs and we talked as we went.

  “I called Bob Linden’s office. He’s expecting us,” Sam said.

  “Why?”

  “Showing up unannounced looks sinister. Like everyone in the movement, he’s suspicious of the liberal media.”

  “You don’t look like a bleeding heart scumbag,” I said.

  “I work incognito.”

  I told him about Brenda’s confrontation with the Reverend.

  “Better let me do all the talking,” he said. He got no argument from me.

  Sure enough, Linden was on the lookout for us. Standing a head taller than most of his followers, he looked pretty much the same as when I’d photographed him; well-dressed, respectable—and definitely in charge. The hard glint in his gaze conveyed his stance as a man of uncompromising beliefs—yet my pictures hadn’t captured the depth of his commanding presence.