I needed to get more involved in his life. But how would I find the time?
“Where are we going for dinner?” I asked, hoping to brighten his spirits.
“Your choice. Can’t be nothing fancy, because I ain’t dressed for it.”
“How about if you go and take a shower? I can wait.”
“Miss Bossy-Boots.” He glared at me.
“What’s put you in such a bad mood?” I asked.
“You won’t be satisfied until you stick your nose into my business, will you? That durned Detective Lou Murray’s been here for the past hour asking me one question after another.”
“About the Senator?”
“Who else? Santy Claus? Of course, he asked about the Senator. Old Jenny Beth is accusing yours truly of poisoning her hubby. Which I did not do. I coulda snapped that dried up twig’s neck if I’d wanted to. I didn’t need no poison.”
I raised my eyebrows and shook my head at him. “Why on earth would an intelligent man like you talk to a homicide detective? You should have called an attorney. Or called me and let me call an attorney.”
“Don’t make any difference. I didn’t do it. I didn’t touch that man. Didn’t give him no poison neither.”
“Did Lou believe you?”
Poppy lifted his shoulders and let them fall expressively. “Heck if I know. He asked all sorts of questions about Jenny Beth. What she was like. Then he started up about Josiah. Who he ran with. How he spent his time. Wanted to know what all I could tell him about both of the Wentworths. I told him I didn’t run with their crowd. He thought that was funny. A real knee-slapper.”
“That doesn’t sound too threatening to me.”
“Nah,” he agreed. “More irritating than threatening. Like he was poking around in the dark with a stick to see what jumped out at him.”
“Speaking of which, can I show you something?” Out of my purse, I took a copy of the photo that Kathy Simmons had purchased. “Do you recognize anyone in this picture?”
I knew it was a long shot, but I figured that since Honora, Poppy, Josiah, and Jenny Beth were all contemporaries, maybe the boys in the picture were the children of their friends. Or local kids. Back in the day, Poppy coached Little League. In fact, he tried to turn me into a softball player, but my first time on the baseball diamond, I got smacked in the face with a stray ball. That did it for me.
“Got to find my reading glasses,” said Poppy.
That launched a forty-five minute search. Ten minutes in, I grabbed a black garbage bag from under his sink. Throwing papers away made more sense than simply shuffling them around. I also took two armfuls of dishes to the sink and started a load of clothes.
The reading glasses were stuffed between two cushions on the sofa. Once Poppy had them, he perused the photo eagerly. “That there is Josiah Wentworth in his salad days. See how perky he looks? A real spritely fellow. He had more energy than a bunny rabbit running across the lawn.”
“And the boys?”
“Can’t tell.” He moved over to a lamp and held the picture under the light. “By gee-golly-whiz. That’s PeeWee Heckler! In the flesh! Would you believe that?”
“Who or what is a PeeWee Heckler? Someone small who makes a nuisance of himself as an audience member?”
“Huh?” My grandfather’s face scrunched up. “Girl, where do you come up with this stuff? E’ry good Floridian knows PeeWee Heckler. One of the few who made it out of Dozier. Best ballplayer this state ever produced. Had an arm like a bazooka gun. Could steal bases like a raccoon steals garbage outta a trash can. People would line up outside of stadiums for blocks to get in and see PeeWee play.”
“Where is he now?”
“You wanna go visit?”
“Sure, why not. We can pick up food on the way, right?”
75
~Cara~
I suggested that we swing by the drive-up window at Pollo Tropical. I love their chicken on the grill. I ordered a Tropi-Chop, grilled chicken on top of brown rice, beans, green peppers, onions, and tomatoes. Poppy ordered their rib dinner and baked plantains. We washed our food down with large cups of their tropical iced tea.
While my grandfather drove, I told him about the problems I was having with Dom.
“Your father was a great one for getting ever’thing on paper,” said Poppy. “I can’t imagine him not having a signed document to go with an agreement.”
“Normally, I’d concur, but I looked back on my calendar. I keep a sort of diary in my computer. Nothing personal. Dates I want to remember. We got Mom’s diagnosis the same week that Dom and Dad met to hash out the details of Tommy’s schooling.”
“You’re thinking that Thomas wasn’t himself?”
“I’m not thinking it; I’m telling you as much. When Dad heard that Mom’s cancer was terminal, he was inconsolable. You know Mom. She was sad, but she was such a strong woman. Tough as they come. Dad, being the emotional one, he went nuts. I thought he’d never stop crying.”
“Yeah, he called me. Couldn’t make out a word he was saying. Finally put your mama on the phone. She told me. No beating around the bush.”
“Dad never got over the diagnosis. I expected him to calm down, live with it, and carry on for her sake, but he fell apart.”
“Really?” Poppy shot me a sideways glance.
“Really. He kept trying to go with her to the doctor’s office, but he would get so upset that he’d just start bawling. Finally, I started driving both of them. One doctor asked Dad to stay in the car. He upset the other patients that much.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Poppy’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“I couldn’t handle one more responsibility. It was hard enough to take care of Mom, calm Dad down, and get Tommy off to school, much less deal with all the employees at the restaurant. Another person would have brought me to my knees. I couldn’t risk having you get nasty with me or Mom or Dad. I had to tough it out. Keep one foot moving at a time, you know? Does that make sense?”
“I guess.”
I didn’t care whether he understood or not. I was tired of dancing around Poppy. Trying to make sure he didn’t go ballistic. He was a big boy. Either he could take the truth or he couldn’t, but it wasn’t my job to baby him.
I guess I’m growing up, because I’ve come to the realization that if you have to tiptoe around a person, you can never have an honest relationship. Toe shoes are for ballerinas to wear on stage. They don’t work so well in real life.
Poppy and I rode along quietly for a while, thinking our separate thoughts. Then he asked me, “Did you look through all the papers in the safe deposit box? The one down here?”
I dropped a bite of chicken in my lap. “There’s a safe deposit box down here?”
“Used to be. In that there bank that got gobbled up by PNC. National City, I think it was.”
“Then the box would have been moved to a PNC branch. But I’ve never seen a key!”
“I got it.”
“You were planning to tell me this when?”
“When I got around to it. Didn’t seem to matter much. Mostly it’s got to do with your sister. You know all about Jodi.”
“I know she exists. I know I don’t like her. I hardly think that’s the same as ‘knowing all about Jodi.’”
“That might be a gracious plenty.”
76
~Cara~
I recognized the route Poppy was taking to Port St. Lucie. My mother had driven me this way to visit her mother’s grave in a little cemetery that overlooks the water. As he parked the car, I remembered the wild grape vine that grew up the fence. Even though the years had gone by, I could taste the pungent globes in my mouth.
I can’t imagine a prettier place to be buried. Poppy parked next to the tiny church on the hill. The aqua water, the green grass, and the white church were picture-perfect. Even the graying headstones seemed to have been chosen with an artistic eye. Only the rectory seemed out of pl
ace, plopped as it was in the middle of the graveyard. We got out of Poppy’s truck and ambled down the walkway dividing the cemetery into two halves. The silken rustle of the palm leaves soothed us. The scent of paw-paws and chocolate flowers was almost overpowering.
My grandmother was on the left, as you faced the water.
The cold stone monument told me nothing of her personality. On reflection, I’d learned more about Grandmother Josephina from Honora than I’d ever heard from my mother or Poppy.
Poppy stood there, staring down at the patch of grass. He didn’t say a word. I didn’t feel like talking either. A grave is a lonely place, a reminder that everyone you love will leave you. We must do what we can for each other in the short span we call a lifetime.
My grandfather bowed his head and wiped away a tear. I noticed a few weeds had sprung up around the headstone, so I got down on my knees and pulled them. Overall, the place was in great shape, well-tended and clean, but it’s not an elaborate graveyard. Just a pleasant resting spot with a view of the endless, eternal water.
After bugs had bitten me twice, I asked, “Does PeeWee live close by?”
Poppy glowered at me, his overgrown eyebrows shading his eyes. “Still on that, huh?”
“I’m getting eaten up by mosquitoes. Sorry.”
“Huh.” He stalked off in the opposite direction. Moving between the graves, taking care not to step on them, I followed him as he walked around to the other side of the rectory.
“That there is PeeWee Heckler’s house,” said Poppy, pointing to a gravestone with a baseball bat carved into the marble. “His permanent home. He’s one lucky fellow to be admitted here.”
“Because of the marker?” I wondered. Having buried my parents, I knew that most cemeteries had stringent rules about markers. The trend was low and small, so as not to overpower one’s neighbors.
“Nope.” Poppy sighed. “He’s lucky because he committed suicide, and they still let him into this place.”
I didn’t know what to say about that. So we stood there, thinking our separate thoughts. Finally, Poppy led the way back to his truck. We rode along in silence for several miles.
"I think PeeWee musta told the priest here about what happened to him at Dozier. That's the only reason I can figure that they took pity on him and buried him in that cemetery," said Poppy.
77
~Cara~
"Tell me more about PeeWee," I asked, when we climbed back into Poppy’s Toyota Tacoma truck. "You sound like you knew him well."
"I did," said Poppy. "Baseball teams have used Florida for spring training since 1888 when they first did a camp in Jacksonville. In the late 40s, they had 15 teams that came here and 15 that went to California. Seems like they were always needing umpires. A friend told me about an opening, and I got in. I needed to keep my skills sharp, so I volunteered to referee local kids’ games. That's where I first saw PeeWee. He was this scrawny kid, foul-mouthed and with a grin that split his face from ear-to-ear. But boy, oh, boy, that little fella could play."
The way back to Stuart took us down tree-lined roads in a meandering path. I kept my eyes on the scenery while Poppy talked.
"It was in the middle of the season, I remember. A big game. PeeWee never showed up. Afterwards, I asked around. Turns out he'd missed a couple of days of school. Overslept. See, his folks used to drink and party all night. The kid never knew what he was coming home to. He was on his own to get up and get himself to school. A truancy officer caught up with him, and before you knew it, he was sent to Dozier."
"Wait a minute. That sounds pretty harsh. Misses a few days and gets sent to reform school? Why didn't his parents protest?"
"Because they didn't much care. There were six other kids at home. Feeding one less was good news. They didn't have the money to spend on chasing PeeWee down."
"What did you do?"
"Wasn't nothing I could do." He sighed heavily. "I wasn't family. I didn't have any status to speak of. Couldn't even give him a visit. Then your grandmother died shortly, and…you know how it is after you lose someone."
I didn't like where this was going. There was a sadness in my grandfather's eyes that foreshadowed a bad ending. Sure enough, he continued, "I didn't see PeeWee again for years. He made it into the minor leagues. I hung around after a game, wondering if he'd even remember me. He did. We went out drinking together. Musta closed down a couple of bars. He was a sloppy drunk. Who could blame him? After all he’d seen and been through."
"What did he tell you about Dozier?"
"Unspeakable things. Things so bad that I won't repeat them to you. I didn't believe him at first. I couldn't. Shook my faith in mankind. Especially my faith in this here State of Florida.”
"Unspeakable things? That covers a lot of ground," I said.
"Those poor boys were abused in ways I can't even begin to think about. The sort of cruelty and depravity…" Poppy paused. “The State was asked to look into problems. Over and over. But they went on for more than one hundred years! Can you believe that? As a state, we were caretakers for these boys, but not one of our governors could admit there were problems—big problems—with how those children were treated. Makes me sick. I could puke thinking about it.”
The horror of the situation twisted his features into an angry knot.
Thinking of my own son and imagining him being mistreated, I felt queasy. “More than one hundred years?”
“That’s right,” said Poppy. "When I heard that PeeWee killed himself, I didn't wonder why. He told me that night that he could scarce stand to see his own reflection in the mirror."
78
~Lou~
Sunday
Stuart Police Department
Lou got into the station early and wrote up the notes from his visit to Dick Potter. Throughout the day, he kept checking with the crime scene investigators about the trash Davidson had brought back from Jupiter Island. Each time he called, the lab techs explained that they were swamped and hadn’t gone through the garbage yet. He also followed up on the print taken from Cara Mia’s store after the burglary. Once again, he hit a dead end.
Around noon he ran by Wendy’s and talked to two of the servers who’d been working that Monday night when Kathy Simmons had showed up. They didn’t remember much, so he bought a salad, sat down, and ate his lunch slowly. Davidson’s harping about staying mentally sharp was starting to sink in.
“He’s a smart guy,” said Showalter. “You know he’s right. You haven’t been your best. Of course, some of that is because you’ve gone and broken your heart.”
Lou tried to ignore his old mentor’s omnipresent voice.
Shortly after three o’clock, when the shifts changed, he struck gold. A young woman named Kiesha told him she’d actually overheard Darcy talking with Kathy.
“They were always getting together during Darcy’s breaks. I remember that night special because Kathy was wearing that funky raincoat of hers. The one that looked like newspapers? She could be so weird. They both were. But then, I’ve never worked with a lesbian before.”
Lou felt his jaw drop. “Lesbian?”
This put the roommates' relationship in a whole new light. Lou tried to get back to the line of questioning he'd planned to pursue. "The night that Kathy came in here, did either of the girls seem scared or nervous? I know they didn’t talk to each other for long.”
“They were always happy to see each other. Those two were a couple of lovebirds, for sure. But that night? They were acting different. I can’t say how. But I saw Kathy hand something to Darcy. I remember ‘cause she pulled it out from under her coat. She told Darcy to take special care of it. Said it was precious. Darcy went and put it in her locker.”
“Locker?”
“Uh-huh. We got us these employee lockers so we can put away our purses and a change of clothes during our shifts. They’re in the back.”
“That solves the mysterious disappearance and later reappearance of the photo,” said Showalter. “No wonder D
arcy kept repeating, ‘It isn’t here,’ because it wasn’t. She had it locked up at Wendy’s the whole time!”
Thinking back on all the time they’d wasted searching the apartment, Lou was furious. If Darcy had been more forthcoming, they could have made more progress!
Once again, Lou sat at his desk and typed up his notes. Since he relied on the hunt and peck method, writing was tedious and slow. He had to hit delete every other letter.
Around five, Davidson came by. “When did you last have a sit-down dinner, Detective?”
“Can’t remember,” Lou mumbled.
“Then you’re in for a real treat. We’re going to drive down to Flash Grill and get you acquainted with Robert and Anita.”
“That’s okay. I was planning to swing by Taco Bell on my way home.”
“Still avoiding Pumpernickel’s,” snickered Showalter. “Not only is your love life in the tank, your eating habits are going down the tubes, too.”
“Mens sana in corpore sano,” said Davidson. “A healthy mind in a healthy body. You wouldn’t run your car on bad gasoline or without changing your air filter. Why expect your mind to function without the proper care? That’s what I need from you, Detective. Brain power. Besides, we’ve got a lot to talk over. We might as well do it over good food. Meet me at my car in five.”
Lou quit arguing. He was tired of eating fast food.
79
~Lou~
Davidson drove them through Downtown Stuart and then picked up I-95 going south. Along the way, he asked Lou questions about his meeting with Cooper Rivers. The most telling was this: “What can you tell me that you didn’t you put in the report?”
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 116