“Is it something I can carry?”
“You can take my clothes out of the plastic bag and stick them in the closet. Stuff the file folders in it and it can hang it from your wrist.”
Yeah, and it would probably bang into my leg or crutch and trip me up, but it was the least I could do for the poor guy. “Sure.”
A commercial ended and the newscaster returned with a story about a fire overnight. Richard started on about needing a cup of coffee when, recognizing the front of the building ablaze on the TV before us I leaned forward. “Oh, my God. It’s The Whole Nine Yards!”
Richard shut up, fumbling with the controller in his hand to crank up the sound.
“—fully engulfed when firefighters arrived,” the reporter on the scene went on.
“Goddamn that Maria!”
“Fire officials believe arson was the cause—”
“Of course it was!” I practically shouted at the TV.
“Poor Tom,” Richard said.
We watched in horror as the rest of the all-too-quick report finished up.
“That bitch,” I grated, so angry I could spit. But why was I surprised? She’d already committed murder to get what she wanted. “I told Tom not to talk to her—I told him!”
“When?”
“Last night. At Dave’s wake. I intimated that she was responsible for my accident and Dave’s death—and I told him to watch his back. I’ll bet he went straight to her to have it out.”
“And she burned his bar to the ground?” Richard asked, incredulous.
There hadn’t been much left when the last shot of the bar had been shown at the end of the report. Just a smoldering pile of rubble.
“Surely the cops will start adding things together now,” Richard said. “She can’t get away with everything she’s done—or had someone else do for her.”
“You think?” I asked, not at all sure that the legal system would be able to nail the likes of Maria. The fact that the bank couldn’t trace where my money had gone meant she was in cahoots with highly skilled hackers and who knew who else? She hadn’t become successful by backing down when things weren’t going her way.
“What are we going to do?” Richard asked.
I didn’t hesitate. “Retreat. At least until I can stand on my own two feet again.”
“Where?”
“That’s a good question.”
“I don’t want to go to Philadelphia.”
“And neither do I.”
“How about Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket? I’ve always wanted to try summering there. We could rent a house—maybe Maggie could come and stay a few weeks, too.”
“That would be nice. But we’ve got too much to wind up first, not the least of which is getting my cat out of that hotel before Maria does him in, too.”
“I can have Bison Security take care of getting our stuff and Herschel, too.”
Hey, he’d just called my cat by his name. Progress!
A young woman dressed in maroon scrubs entered the room with a tray. “Breakfast.”
I knew what would be on offer for Richard; a can of ginger ale, and something bland and dreadful. “I’m going to hit the can and then the cafeteria,” I said, reaching for my crutches.
“Would you get my phone for me? I’d like to call Brenda and run the whole Nantucket thing past her and then contact Bison Security.”
“Sure thing.”
I stopped at the room’s miniscule closet, grabbed the bag containing his personal effects and rummaged until I found his phone. I gave it to him. He set it down and turned his attention to his uninspired meal. I shuffled back to the closet, grabbed the bag and his keys, and then headed out the room and down the hall.
After making a pit stop, I found the nearest bank of elevators and started the long journey back to the emergency room and the parking lot where we’d left the minivan the evening before.
The day was bright and already hot. It would be a scorcher. Hard to believe Dave would be buried in just a few hours. That the place we worked was history. That so many lives had been damaged or destroyed in just a few short weeks. Yet a sunny day always made things seem less hostile—more friendly. Safe.
And on that day, a total sham.
I approached the minivan, fumbled for the fob in my pocket, and pressed the auto unlock. Obediently, the button on the door jumped upright. I opened the passenger side door and slid my ass onto the seat, leaving the crutches, standing outside the vehicle. I pulled my right leg mostly in and twisted to retrieve the file folder of pages. I did a quick look around the parking lot, saw no sign of a threat, and turned my attention to the pages on my lap.
Richard’s work was always meticulous, and what he’d done to trace Alice’s family tree was exemplary. He’d even constructed a graphic showing the family line, which he began with her parents. It was the side line of grandchildren where there were still a few question marks.
I shuffled through the pages, skimming through the notes he’d made. It looked like he’d found the names to plug into his graphic, but hadn’t had a chance to do so before we’d had to leave for the wake the evening before.
I leaned back in the seat and the gun reminded me it was still there, and that if caught off guard I wouldn’t be completely helpless to protect myself.
I read through the list of names and short bios Richard had written. The last piece of the puzzle had been tracking down Hiram Newcomb’s granddaughter and her issue. Marlena Buchanan had left the Buffalo area in her teens and had apparently met and coupled with several different men, for each of her children had different last names. Batina M. Randall, Christopher V. Bowman, and Ryan W. Harper.
I read the names over several times. Something about them bothered me, but I wasn’t sure what. And then a cold shiver ran through me.
Batina M. Randall.
I remembered the job application Dave had handed me weeks before where he’d scribbled Maria’s personal information, along with her social security number. B. Maria R. Spodina.
No. It couldn’t be.
And yet…. I traced my index finger over the name. It was Richard who, days earlier, had suggested there might be a connection between Alice’s appearance and the goings on at The Whole Nine Yards. Why the hell hadn’t I listened to him?
Alice had no idea why after decades of nothing, she’d suddenly found someone she could talk to—me. I’d had no idea why I was drawn to Forest Lawn to find her. To find out who’d killed her. And here was the missing link that bound us both together—a family tie.
Alice’s own father had been responsible for her death.
Maria had been responsible for Dave’s death, my accident, and I had no doubt the arson at The Whole Nine Yards, too.
Had Hiram Newcomb’s ruthlessness been passed down the generations, manifesting itself in his great granddaughter? And if so, how the hell could I stop her?
Perhaps it was time to tell Alice the whole sordid story. She deserved to know the truth. At least one of us deserved some kind of closure.
The keys on the ring in my pocket dug into my leg—all but the minivan’s electronic key, which was smooth and rounded on all sides.
Forest Lawn Cemetery was just around the corner. I could drive there in less than five minutes. Okay, it wouldn’t be easy, but all I had to do was drag my ass—and leg—across the van, plant myself in the driver’s seat, and I could use my left foot to press the van’s gas and brake.
It was a stupid idea. It was dangerous. The lack of common sense and anger were a potent combination. I could drive to the cemetery, and I didn’t even need to get out of the van to speak with Alice. And I had my gun. I could do it.
I hauled the crutches inside the van, pulled the door shut, and struggled to maneuver myself across the center console and into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable position, since my broken leg was stretched across the small space and into the foot well of the passenger seat, but my left foot was quite capable of working the controls.
Yeah—of course it could.
Shoving the key into the ignition, I started the engine.
25
Driving with your left foot isn’t as easy as you’d think. And driving with your broken right leg stretched to the max across the floor at an acute angle makes driving with your left foot even harder. Thankfully, I didn’t have far to go. I drove like a granny with people honking and swearing at me, but in less than five minutes had made it to Forest Lawn Cemetery once again.
I eased the minivan through the Delaware Avenue gates and began my round-about journey to Alice’s grave—or at least nearby. No way was I walking up that little hill and falling on my ass when I had no backup. In fact, it had been really stupid of me to pull this stunt in the first place. If I didn’t end up dead, I was sure Richard would be out for my blood. But sometimes you do things knowing the risks—and hoping against hope that things will work out. Crossing my fingers just then would have inhibited my driving, but it might have been worth it.
I still didn’t know how things could possibly work out, but Alice was the key to everything, and it was time for me to tell her all I knew.
As always, the cemetery was peaceful, and pretty much deadly quiet. I passed a couple of cars parked by the side of the road with people taking pictures of the Blue Sky Mausoleum. An older couple tended a grave in Section B, while some workmen weed-whacked monuments in Section E. I’m sure there must have been more people around, but I sure didn’t see them.
I steered the minivan over the hill and saw the familiar bench where I’d perched on the other occasions when visiting Alice. I wasn’t sure she’d appear unless she knew I was alone. I pulled off the narrow road and cut the engine. I hit the power window control. Obediently, it retreated.
“Alice? Alice! It’s me, Jeff. I’m alone. You can come out now.”
I looked around. She’d always appeared from the west side of the bench, but I waited and nothing happened.
“Alice?”
I waited a little while longer, but still she was a no show. It looked like I was going have to leave the damn van after all.
I wasn’t sure I could safely get out of the driver’s side, and scooted over the console to the passenger side, fighting against the crutches in residence in that small space. I managed to get the door open, set the crutches against it, and ease myself out of the van. But before I got out, I checked my gun, making sure the safety was off. If something bad went down, I’d have no time to do it later.
Once on my good foot, I tucked the crutches under my arms, moved around so I could shut the van door with my ass, and started for the bench. Alice usually appeared within a minute of me sitting down, and I hoped that would be the case just then, too.
I crossed the road and flopped onto the hard stone bench, but kept the crutches close at hand. Leaning forward, I retrieved my gun from the holster, setting it on the bench behind me, hoping the wrinkled, oversized shirt I’d slept in would keep it hidden from view.
“Why did you drive here?” Alice demanded, standing not three feet from me.
My heart nearly exploded from my chest at the sound of her voice. “Don’t scare a guy like that!”
“Well, you scared me driving up in that vehicle. Where’s your brother?”
“In the hospital. Someone tried to poison him.”
“Poison?” she practically gasped.
“That’s not the least of everything I need to tell you.”
Her eyes widened. “You found out who killed me?”
I nodded. “It won’t be easy for you to hear what I have to say.”
Alice sat down on the other side of the bench and primly folded her hands on her lap. “I don’t suppose I ever thought it would be.”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
“The beginning usually works best,” she suggested grimly.
I nodded. Still, what I had to tell her would be painful. I thought carefully about how I should convey the information.
“Sometimes the people we love do bad things,” I began. “I loved my wife very much, but she was into drugs.”
Alice’s eyes widened. “Did she smoke—” She stopped herself, as though what she was about to say might be considered vulgar. “Reefers?”
I couldn’t help myself; I laughed. “If only that was the extent of it. She did many bad things, including stealing and prostitution.”
“Oh my goodness! What did you do?”
“I tried to help her, but she wouldn’t let me. She was eventually killed by someone who took advantage of her.”
“And you’re telling me this because someone took advantage of me?”
“Not in so many words.” A shiver ran through me, a distinct feeling of apprehension, although I couldn’t have said why. I eased my hand behind my back, curling my fingers around the butt of the gun.
“It seems your papa was involved in the illicit liquor trade,” I continued.
“That can’t be!” Alice protested. “Mama would never have allowed it.”
“I’m afraid it’s true. And unfortunately,” I said in my kindest tone, “that wasn’t the worst of it.”
Alice looked skeptical.
“In fact, his closest rival threatened your papa. He warned that if your father undercut him again, he’d do something terrible. He promised to kill you in retaliation.”
“No!” Alice protested.
“Your father called his bluff. Two days later, you and your beau were ambushed outside of the Blue Moon speakeasy.”
Alice shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “No, that can’t be. My papa would never.…” And yet she didn’t finish the sentence, her expression souring. Maybe she could envision her father betraying her—something she might never have wanted to believe.
She gasped, which seemed odd as ghosts don’t need to breathe. “Did—did my mama know?”
“I don’t know. But I heard she died of a broken heart, so … it’s possible.”
“That’s a sad story,” came a voice from behind me, dripping with sarcasm. “But why are you talking to yourself in the middle of an empty cemetery?”
I turned to face Maria, taking in the sneer that curled her upper lip. Somehow I wasn’t surprised by her presence. “This place isn’t empty. The dead are all around us—but not all of them went quietly into oblivion.”
“Dave Morris did. They’re about to bury him, you know, although not in this cemetery.”
I did know that. I started to lean forward when Maria’s voice stopped me.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you, Mr. Resnick.”
Her right hand rose up to reveal a gun—the mirror of my own—and she aimed it straight at my face. “Ah-ah-ah,” she warned. “Please put your hands in the air so that I can take that nasty weapon away from you.”
“What makes you think I have a gun?”
“Because I keep tabs on everything you do, Mr. Resnick. Ever since the day you had my brothers ejected from The Whole Nine Yards.”
“The obnoxious college guys?”
She nodded.
“One of them was driving the SUV that hit me,” I guessed.
Again, she nodded. “That was Chris.”
“And the other—Ryan?”
“Is a computer whiz. He made it easy for me to follow your—and Dave’s—every move online. For example: I know you went to a sporting goods store yesterday and made a six hundred and forty seven dollar purchase with your newly issued credit card, which had been activated only forty-two minutes before that transaction. The cast rather limits your mobility, so I took an educated guess that you didn’t buy any kind of exercise equipment.”
She sounded so damned smug. I had no doubt that Chris had also stabbed Dave to death.
“If you’ll lean forward, I’ll just relieve you of that little piece of hardware.”
It was hard to argue with that deadly steel aimed straight at my nose. I did as she said and Maria stepped forward, shoving the barrel of her semi-automatic against the carotid ar
tery in my neck. She grabbed my shiny new gun and tossed it onto the ground in front of the stone bench.
Alice had disappeared the second Maria had revealed herself, but when I saw movement out the corner of my eye, I knew she’d returned.
“That woman can’t see me,” Alice whispered.
I nodded ever so slowly.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, sounding desperate.
I could only shrug. Then I thought better of it. “I could finish my story,” I said, not sure if I was speaking to Alice or Maria.
“Go ahead,” they said in unison.
“Hiram Newcomb’s second family probably never knew of his Prohibition ties. All they knew was that they had money. He was a respected businessman in the furniture trade. His second family wasn’t nearly as financially savvy as he. They all inherited, but each of them squandered the cash.” And here was where I had to take a bit of poetic license. “When it came to the next generation, there was nothing left to leave.”
“You’ve got that right,” Maria said. “My mother was abandoned by her family when I was conceived out of wedlock. The old-fashioned fucks wouldn’t lift a finger to help her, so she left Buffalo to find her fortune elsewhere.”
“And did she find fortune?” I asked.
Maria didn’t answer.
“Is this horrible woman related to me?” Alice asked, appalled.
I swung my head in her direction and nodded.
“What are you looking at?” Maria demanded.
“Your great Aunt Alice. Alice Newcomb. Surely you’ve heard of her.”
Maria laughed. “She’s legendary—as the most moronic female who ever lived.”
“Hey!” Alice protested, not that Maria could hear her.
“What were you told about Alice?” I asked.
“Ever heard the phrase ‘too-stupid to live?’”
“I was not stupid!” Alice declared. “I did very well in school. My mama and papa hosted a wonderful party for me on my high school graduation. I was fifth in my class!”
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