“I wasn’t living at home back then. I thought Ray was crazy—that he was making it up. But he had a newspaper clipping.”
“Why didn’t you ask me about it?”
“I asked Richard, the day of the funeral.”
They’d covered a lot of conversational ground that day. “Why’s Ray so interested in us? Do you think he might be behind the shooting at the Women's Health Center?”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say that. I just thought he was overly interested in Richard.”
“You called him away from his wife at a time like this to tell him that?”
“What’s the big deal? She wasn’t the one who was killed.”
“She lost their baby,” I blurted.
My announcement wasn’t met with surprise—Richard had probably already told her. Patty’s face held no hint of sympathy. If anything, her mouth curved up, her eyes taking on a sly glint.
God, I hated the bitch.
“What’s Ray’s last name?” I asked.
She was still thinking, plotting. “What—?”
“Ray’s last name,” I repeated.
“Sampson.”
“Is he from around here?”
“Yeah. But he was living downstate for a long time.”
“Doing what?”
“How should I know?”
“Then why did you want to tell Richard this?”
Her eyes blazed. “I was looking for an excuse to see him, okay?”
I glanced around the place. “In a dump like this? Honey, Rich has a lot more class. And if you haven’t figured that out yet—”
“Why don’t you just shut up,” she said and got up. “Ask Richard about Dr. Concillio. Just ask him!” She grabbed her purse, jumped out of her seat, and stalked off.
The waitress got up from her vigil on a stool at the counter, and handed me the check. “Looks like she stiffed you.”
I reached for my wallet, and took out a five. “Keep the change.”
Patty’s Mustang was gone by the time I got to the parking lot. I was so angry I wanted to punch something—or someone. Why the hell was Ray Sampson so interested in Richard and me?
But that wasn’t why I was angry. It had been gnawing at me ever since Richard put down the phone. Patty couldn’t have called him—she didn’t have his newly unlisted telephone number. That could mean only one thing.
He’d called her.
I sat behind the wheel of my car, quietly fuming.
Family.
It was time to get some answers.
CHAPTER
20
The old woman’s face lit up as she saw me standing in front of the bakery’s plate glass door. She shuffled forward on stiff legs and let me into the shop. Her delighted smile faded, however, when she caught sight of my hooded expression.
“You’re early tonight. You didn’t have to work, eh?” Sophie Levin asked.
“No.”
“Come in, sit down. You want some coffee? How about cocoa?”
“No, thanks.” Hands stuffed into my pockets, I followed her into the back room.
She took a chair behind the wobbly card table. A well-thumbed deck of cards was laid out in the classic solitaire pattern. She picked up the pack, turned over the first card.
“Tell me about your family,” I said.
Sophie studied the layout, avoiding my gaze. She put the four of hearts on the five of clubs. “You don’t want to hear about them. I’ve bored you so many times already.”
“How many children do you have?”
She didn’t look up. “Three. Two girls and a boy.” Her laugh was more a snort. “They haven’t been children for a long time now.”
“How many grandchildren do you have?” I asked.
She turned over the next card, the Queen of diamonds, and set it on the discard pile. “Five. Four girls, one boy.”
“You talk about your grandson like he’s a small boy. How old is he?”
“Not so small any more,” she admitted.
“How about your youngest granddaughter?”
“Pretty grown up by now,” she admitted.
“Younger than your grandson?” I pushed.
She shrugged. “A little.”
“Ten years younger?”
Her eyes darkened, as though with loss. “It seems like only yesterday they were all babies.”
“Where’s your family now?” I pressed on, relentless. “Why do they let you live here all alone? Why don’t they visit you?”
She got up from the small table. “I’d like some tea. How about you?”
“No, thanks. Where’s your son?”
She hung her head, her face hidden in the shadows.
“He died, didn’t he?”
Her head bobbed ever so slightly. “Not long ago.”
“Your son was my father, wasn’t he?”
She turned, her face filled with anguish. “Why would you ask that?”
“I saw your picture in an old photo album the day of his funeral. You with a little boy on your lap. That boy was me.”
She wouldn’t look at me. “There are some questions you shouldn’t ask. Things you won’t want—or need—to know.”
I was on my feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re my grandmother?”
Sophie shrugged, turned to face me, tears filling her brown eyes. “I am here for you. I am only here for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you need me. To accept these things that happen to you. Not so much the how or the why—just to accept them.”
A shiver of panic went through me. My grandmother had died decades ago. Yet, impossibly, Sophie was here, now.
She was right. I didn’t want to know the why of it.
I looked away, my voice shaky. “I . . . never knew my father, and now it’s too late.”
“I didn’t want it that way. He didn’t, either,” she said, her voice filled with sadness. “Things sometimes don’t work out the way we want. Only sometimes, if we work hard enough, if we believe, we can reach out—beyond our usual senses—beyond all disbelief. If you want to, you can find a way to touch those you love. I know. I’ve done it.”
I didn’t know what to say—or to believe.
“You could try,” she said. “Please, just try.”
Shame flooded through me. I’d been too afraid to reach out—to touch—my father in his last moments. Was it too late? I looked into the old woman’s eyes and wanted to believe. But how? How could I connect with a dead man?
Through his daughter said a tiny voice in the back of my mind. I wanted to reject the thought—reject Patty.
Sophie shook her head, as though reading my mind. Maybe she did. She loved Patty, too.
“Please try,” she again pleaded.
“I will,” I said, unsure if I could. Suddenly I was unsure of everything.
Sophie pulled out a wadded tissue from her sweater sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “It's time for you to go. They need you at home.”
We walked toward the exit. “Please be careful,” she said. “There’s still danger. Keep a sharp eye out these next few days. Watch out for Brenda.”
“I will.”
“And take care of Patty. If only for me, eh?”
I let out a weary breath. “I’ll try.”
Her expression brightened. “Come and see me Tuesday night. I’ll make macaroons.”
“I’ll plan on it.”
She unlocked the door. I paused, looked into her deep brown eyes. “I need you, Sophie Levin. I think I always will.”
Her smile was beatific. “And I will be here for as long as you do. I promise.”
I hugged her, felt the warmth of her body, the depth of her limitless love, and reveled in it.
It was almost eleven by the time I got back to Richard’s house. I’d driven home, pondering exactly what I should tell him and wondering why I even considered not telling him everything Patty had said or intimated. I didn’t intend to mention my visit with Sophie. I didn’t understand
it—and I wouldn’t know how to explain it.
I opened the door and Holly loped into the dimly lit kitchen to greet me, with Maggie following close behind. She was silhouetted in the doorway, dressed in a filmy nightgown and robe, looking like something out of a wet dream.
“What did Patty want?” she asked.
“Richard—as a sugar daddy.”
“I hope you put her straight.”
“Maybe.”
The dog nosed my hand and danced around me in a circle. “Does she need to go out?”
“Yeah.”
I let Holly out, and closed the door behind her.
“Where are they?” I asked, unzipping my jacket.
Maggie moved into the light cast by the lamp on the stove hood. “They went to bed early. Brenda was worn out. I’ve been watching TV and waiting for you.”
“Are you staying here or at my place?”
“Here.” She stepped close, trailing a finger down my throat, toying with my shirt collar. “Will you stay with me?”
I couldn’t see her eyes in the weak light, but I caught the scent of her perfume, and felt her need for company. I put my arms around her, letting my hands slide down the silky softness of her thin robe. “Sure.”
I pulled her close, kissed her as my hands trailed down her hips. Her warm lips brushed across my neck, nibbled my ear. I was so tired, so ready to fall straight into bed with her, reaffirm our connection, but I was also practical.
“I have to feed the cat.”
She pulled back, her smile seductive.
“I’ll, uh, grab some stuff and be back in a few minutes,” I said.
Her lips pressed against mine. “Okay,” she murmured, and gave me another long, sensuous kiss.
“You’re making it very hard for me to go—so I can hurry back to you.”
She slid from my embrace. “Then don’t be long.”
The wind was brisk as I crossed the drive. Holly was nowhere in sight. Probably on the trail of another squirrel.
I trudged up the stairs, opened the door, and found Herschel waiting for me. Yowling, he wound round my feet as I shook some dry food into a bowl. I needed to hit the grocery store for litter and more canned cat food. I hadn’t stocked my own cupboard in over a week. I gave him fresh water and left the cat to his dinner.
Grabbing my shaving gear, I tossed some clean clothes into a duffel and left the apartment, not overjoyed at the prospect of spending the night in a strange bed. But sleeping with Maggie was worth it, no matter where.
“Holly? C’mere, girl.”
No dog. Maggie must’ve already let her in.
I entered the house and flipped the deadbolt behind me. Then I armed the security system and turned off the stove light.
Only the hall sconces blazed. I headed up the stairs, and switched them off when I reached the landing. Light from the open guest room door spilled into the hall. Maggie was curled in bed, reading.
Nudging the door shut with my foot, I dropped my duffel, yanked off my jacket, and tossed it onto a chair.
Maggie looked up over the top of her book. “Where’s Holly?”
“Didn’t you let her in?”
“No. I came right up after you went out.”
“I called her, but she didn’t come.” I grabbed my jacket. “Damn that dog.”
“Don’t yell at her. You’ll wake the neighbors.”
The backyard was filled with shadows. The security firm hadn’t yet installed all the new motion-sensor lights.
“Holly! Holly!” She usually came when I called.
I walked into the darkened yard and called again. Still no dog. I hoped to God she hadn’t jumped the fence. I wanted to go to bed, not search the neighborhood for her.
The sky was heavy with clouds—no moon. The street lamps in the next road cast scant light. I ventured deeper into the yard. “Holly!”
A low growl came from the bushes to my right. I squinted in the darkness. “Holly?”
She sprang, but not at me. Someone—a man—roared as she tore at his clothing. Her growling turned to angry barking, then she yelped.
I dove at the figure, grappling with him. He was shorter than me, skinny, with a wad of hair at the back of his neck.
Lou Holtzinger kicked and bucked, his arms flailing, but he wasn’t much of a fighter. His sour breath assaulted me. Drunk, too. I pinned him in seconds.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to the doctor,” he panted. “I got some information—about the shooting at the health center.”
“Why didn’t you come to the door?”
“The cops are all around. I don’t wanna go back to the joint.”
I yanked his arm behind him, made him howl. “You can tell me!”
“No. Only the doctor. He’s got money—doctors always got money.”
“He won’t pay you a dime. You’re going to spill your guts to the cops. Come on!”
He started to struggle and I slugged him, a blow that sent him reeling. “That’s for breaking my headlight the other night!”
I hauled him to his feet, shoved him forward and marched him toward the house and down the driveway. The startled rent-a-cop got out of his cruiser. “What the hell—?”
“Have you got handcuffs?”
He grabbed at his belt, unhooked the cuffs. I took them, clamped them around Holtzinger’s wrists, then yanked open the cruiser’s passenger side door, shoved Pony-tail in.
“The Amherst police have a warrant out for his arrest. Call ’em—then get this piece a shit outta here.”
Winded, I started back for the house, only then realizing that Holly hadn’t followed us down the drive.
“Holly!”
No dog.
I headed for the backyard again. My gut tightened as I saw a light-colored mound near the bushes where I’d fought with Holtzinger. I broke into a jog, skidded to a halt, and found Maggie’s Golden Retriever lying on her side.
Crouching, I placed a hand on her chest, felt the damp stickiness.
Holly whimpered.
At least she was still alive.
The knife lay in the grass, inches from her, glinting dully in the scant light.
I lifted her—all sixty-plus pounds. She let out a tortured wail as I staggered across the grass toward the back door.
I must’ve been gone five or six minutes—where the hell was Maggie?
I found the door locked, and didn’t remember doing it. I leaned on the bell and yelled to the guard at the end of the driveway, who seemed to have gone deaf.
I waited and waited. Holly was panting, her head lolling. She weighed a ton. Maybe I should just put her in the back seat of my car. Only I didn’t have my keys.
“Hang on, girl.”
I sat down on the step, my newly cleaned jacket stained scarlet again. I reached up and kept my bloodied hand on the bell.
The pantry light flashed on. Dressed in a dark velour bathrobe, a sleepy-eyed Richard opened the door. “What the hell—?”
“Lou Holtzinger stabbed the dog!”
I struggled to my feet. He held the door open and I crashed into the house, stamped through the butler's pantry and into the kitchen, where I dumped Holly's limp body on the kitchen table. “Do something!” I yelled.
“I’m not a vet.”
“Then stop the bleeding ’til we can get her to one!”
Richard grabbed clean dishtowels from a drawer. “It’s not an artery, or it would be spurting.” He wadded the cloth, pawed through Holly’s long hair searching for the wound. He tossed me one of the towels. “There’re two wounds. Her chest and her leg. Grab the phone book. Find an Emergency Vet.”
I wiped my shaking hands, and then flipped through the yellow pages. “The guard’s calling the cops. We got Holtzinger handcuffed in the back seat of the cruiser.”
“Jeff?” Maggie called. She entered the room and stopped short at the sight of her bloodied dog stretched out on the table. “Ohmigod!”
&
nbsp; “Help me, Maggie,” Richard said, the epitome of professional calm. “Get more dishcloths from the drawer.”
A voice came on the line. “Animal Emergency Care.”
“My dog’s been stabbed. Can I bring her right over?”
Maggie held the dishcloth, tears already streaming down her pale cheeks.
“We’re making a pressure bandage,” Richard told her, his voice calm. “It’ll slow the bleeding until we can get her to a vet.”
The voice on the phone asked more questions, which I answered numbly before hanging up. “They’ll be waiting for us.”
“Maggie, go get your coat,” Richard said.
She nodded, and disappeared into the hall.
“Will she make it to the vet?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Richard said, and Holly whimpered softly. “I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER
21
The sun was barely over the horizon, but the crisp, clear morning was bright when I left the warm comfort of Richard’s house and headed for the spot where I’d found Holly the night before.
Dark patches of dried blood stained the short-cropped grass. Holtzinger’s knife was gone, probably in police custody.
I couldn’t shake the memories from hours before. Of driving through darkened streets while a sobbing Maggie sat in the back seat of my car, holding a near-lifeless Holly. The vet techs were waiting for us, and whisked the dog into surgery.
I’m so in tune with Maggie I don’t even need to touch her to be sucked into what she feels. ‘Shattered’ seemed an apt description. She wanted to be held during the hours we waited at the animal hospital. It was impossible to appear strong and supportive when I was sentenced to experience every emotion right along with her. God knows what the staff thought. Prolonged exposure to such raw emotion sets my head pounding, an added complication.
Afterwards, I pulled out my Visa card, authorizing the more than six hundred dollars the emergency surgery had cost. I would’ve paid a million to save Maggie’s dog.
Richard had waited up for us. He hugged Maggie, and kept apologizing to her. He wanted to know all the details about Holly's surgery and her expected recovery. After that, he told us that the Amherst cops had taken Holtzinger into custody. He felt better knowing the creep was in jail.
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