by Anthony Izzo
Although the weather was rotten, it occupied the back of everyone’s mind. At Russ’s Diner, the retirement set jawed over the topic of who killed the college kid. The rumors flew and the coffee flowed as the town tried to be brave. But everyone was scared. Parents drove kids to school, and residents who usually left their doors unlocked now clicked dead bolts into place. More than one handgun was pulled off the shelf and loaded.
School was done for the day. Barney Lillie, the weatherman at WKTO, was calling for six more inches of snow, adding to what had already been a blisteringly cold winter. The adults grumbled about it, but to Jack it didn’t matter. It was three days to Christmas break, and even better, Emma had come back today. He had gotten to homeroom before her, and a pleasant little jolt coursed through him when he spotted her. She smiled and gave him a little wave, and the little rush came again, starting in his belly and fanning out.
Vinnie and his boys had even left Jack alone. Either his appetite for violence had been satisfied, or John had scared him so bad he decided to back off for a few days.
Before homeroom, Jack, Paul, Chris, and Emma had gathered at Jack’s locker and agreed to meet in Paul’s basement room. It was away from any adults and meetings could be conducted in secret. The perfect place for Jack and Paul to share the story about the encounter in the tunnel.
After seventh period, as Jack pulled his coat on he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned around and found Emma standing there.
“Miss me?”
“Yeah, like I would miss diarrhea.”
“Sit and spin, Harding.”
“How you feeling?”
“Better. My throat still hurts, but there was no way I was staying home another day.”
“Ready for our meeting?”
“I don’t know what you and Paul could be up to that’s so supersecret.”
“It’s big, trust me.”
Vinnie Palermo and Harry Cross strolled by, the smaller kids parting like the Red Sea as they passed. “You and fruitcake going steady?” Vinnie said.
Emma turned around and flipped Vinnie off.
“You wish,” Vinnie said, and strutted down the hall.
“I hate that turd,” Emma said.
“I hear you. I’ll tell you all about him in our meeting.”
“Okay. Can I talk to you in private after we meet?” Emma said.
“Huh?”
“Your hearing going? I need to talk to you about a couple of things. Things I don’t want the other guys to hear.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Here they come.”
Chris and Paul, looking like David and Goliath, walked side by side down the hall. They approached and the four friends said their hellos.
“No practice today, Chris?” Jack asked.
“I’m skipping out.”
“Won’t MacGregor be ticked off at you?” Emma said.
“He’s already pissed at me. Besides, it’ll serve him and my old man right. Let them stew in their own juices for a while.”
“It’s your hide, pal,” Paul said.
“Don’t worry, Mother.”
“Your dad won’t be home, right, Paul?” Jack said.
“Not until five-thirty or six.”
“Good. No offense,” Jack said.
“None taken.”
That was a good thing. One time Paul hadn’t come into the house fast enough when Mr. Fussel called him, so he took off his shoe and whipped it at Paul. Paul ducked, but it missed his head by inches. Jack thought Hitler might have made a better father than Mr. Fussel.
“Let’s head out,” Jack said.
They left the school for their big meeting.
CHAPTER 21
Kempf turned on his wipers as Dion played in the background, full of static on the unmarked car’s factory radio.
He had found the Winters’ number in the phone book and called this morning. They were listed under Cassie, but a man with a voice that started in his shoes had answered the phone. He agreed to let Kempf see Mrs. Winter after a five minute delay in which he set the phone down.
Kempf rolled up to the gate, lighting up a Camel to get the last smoke in before talking with the unseen Mrs. Winter. He cracked the window and blew smoke out. Official department policy prohibited smoking in patrol cars, but he was the only one who ever used it. Besides, it calmed his nerves. With a killer loose in his town and a reporter coming to see him about it, he needed all the help he could get.
He rolled the window down, reached out, and pressed the button on the intercom box.
“May I help you?” It was the same rich voice from the phone.
“Detective Kempf to see Mrs. Winter.”
“I’ll open the gates, Detective. Can you find the house okay?”
“It might be hard to miss.”
“Fair enough. The property’s large.”
A motor whirred and the gates swung open. Kempf pulled the car through and crawled up the hill to the mansion. He took a last drag on the cigarette and flicked it out the window between his fingers. The damn things didn’t even taste good, and he had quit a year ago, only to start up again two months ago. The habit grew from three smokes a day to a pack and a half, no doubt helped along by his illustrious boss. Ramsey would glide in and out of Kempf’s office, asking him about retirement plans, or when he was going to buy that sailboat. Ramsey always mentioning his nephew Larry and how Kempf could show him the ropes, teach him how to be a detective. Not giving in to you yet, Chief, he thought.
The snow pelted the car harder, and through it he saw the silhouette of the mansion.
He pulled the car around the circular driveway and parked it at the foot of the steps. After rolling up the window, he got out and climbed the stairs. He rang the bell and it gonged from inside the mansion’s depths.
The door opened and a young woman appeared. She had brilliant red hair, creamy skin, and wore bell-bottom jeans. Her toes, also painted red, poked out from the cuffs of the bell-bottoms. A real looker, maybe the daughter.
“Is Mrs. Winter home?”
“I’m Cassie Winter.”
“Oh.”
“You can pick your jaw up off the floor.”
“I’m sorry. You look so young.”
“What did you expect?” She smiled, looking at Kempf as if he were dressed in a clown suit.
“Someone about thirty years older.”
“A wrinkled old widow.”
“Something like that. Can I come in?”
“Certainly.”
She stepped aside and he entered the hallway, stomping his feet on a welcome mat depicting two cocker spaniels lying in the grass. He brushed the snow off his shoulders and out of his hair.
“Nice to meet you.”
She held out her hand and he shook it. It might have been nerves (the pretty ones always turned him to putty), but he felt a surge of warmth in his arm when he shook Cassie’s hand.
“Come in please.”
He followed her, passing a baby grand piano, ducking under an archway, and proceeding down a hallway. They passed a ballroom with hardwood floors and a door marked POOL. He knew the Steadmans had money, but never imagined enough to build a place like this. It was a palace.
She stayed ahead of him, bottom twitching as she went. “See anything you like, Detective?” Cassie said. He blushed and reminded himself he was a married man and old enough to be her father.
They wound up in a study, something that looked like it came out of Masterpiece Theatre. He strolled over to the window and looked out, trying to gauge what you could see from in here. Like someone being killed or a murderer fleeing across the property.
“Care to sit down, Detective?”
“I’ll stay on my feet.”
He removed his overcoat and draped it over a chair. “You’ve heard about the murder that took place.”
“It was right outside my doorstep.”
“Did you see anything, Mrs. Winter? Anyone strange on your property? Strange noises?�
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“It’s a large property. And technically it wasn’t even on the grounds, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t think I’ll be much help.”
“I was hoping you would be. The killer could have fled onto your property.”
“Oh, my.” She placed her hand palm down over her chest. It looked calculated to Kempf. “You don’t think I have something to do with this?”
“Not at all. But I suspect the killer fled across your property. He may even be hiding somewhere on it.”
“Do you really think he’s still around? That’s frightening.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” Kempf asked.
“What time did the murder take place?”
“The coroner estimated the time of death between eight and nine P.M.”
“I was probably asleep at the time.”
“Probably or were?”
“I said I was. Is that so hard to believe?”
Had he hit a nerve? Did she know something? People quick to the defensive usually had something to hide.
“Fair enough. Nothing though, huh?”
She ignored him, staring out the window. Time to make nice with her.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push.”
“I suppose you’re just doing your job.”
The smile came again, one that said I have a secret. The same smile prom queens and cheerleaders flashed in high school, capable of cutting deep. It made his mouth go dry just thinking about it, and when he reached in his pocket for a business card, he fumbled. It dropped to the floor. Still no good around the pretty girls, George. He stooped over to pick it up and when he stood up, she was right in front of him.
“Are you married?”
“Is that a proposal?” she asked.
“No. Just wondering where all this money came from.”
“He’s deceased. Surely you’ve heard of Ronald Winter.”
“The WINCO Ronald Winter?”
“Yes.”
“I should have made that connection. Here’s my card.”
He handed her the business card. “Do you mind if I have a look around the property? It would be for your own safety.”
“I’ll give you a tour myself. And who knows? Maybe you’ll stumble onto something.”
I already did. Just not sure what.
Kempf turned on the wipers. The snow fluttered down in front of the car and he wondered if they would ever see spring after all this.
Someday I’ll be on the Gulf of Mexico in that boat. Then the snow can pile up to the treetops for all I care.
“You mind if I smoke, Mrs. Winter?”
“They’re your lungs.”
He took out a fresh Camel, dug out his lighter, and lit up.
“You know that’s bad for you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said absently.
“Ronald smoked. Mostly cigars.”
“Some snow, huh?”
“I like it,” Cassie said.
“Oh?”
“I’ve got everything I need here. A wonderful home. More money than I know what to do with, and Ronnie.”
“Ronnie?”
“My son. He means the world to me.”
“How old is the boy?”
“Twelve.”
He almost swallowed his cigarette. She didn’t look old enough to have a kid that age. Kempf raised his eyebrows in surprise, and she picked up on it.
“I had Ronnie very young, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“It’s just surprising, that’s all. Do you think your boy might have seen anything?”
“He’s not very observant.”
“You never know. Do you think I might be able to talk to him?”
“I don’t want to expose him to all this, Detective.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t press me on it.”
A sharpness crept into her voice that hadn’t been there before.
“It’d be nice if you cooperated.”
“It would be nicer if you left my son out of this.”
“Fair enough.”
He decided not to press, for he didn’t want to completely alienate her. Besides, the kid probably hadn’t seen anything. It was just a possible angle to work.
Kempf had noticed a barn, a stable, and two red houses off in the distance. He assumed the houses were for groundskeepers.
“Are the other buildings still in use?”
“One of the houses is occupied by our driver, John. The other is empty. I plan on purchasing some horses and some sheep.”
“And the barn?”
“Full of tools and an old tractor.”
“Do you mind if I have a look at it?”
“It’s so full of junk you wouldn’t be able to even get in the door.”
“I think I’d like to have a look.”
“No, you don’t want to.”
At that moment he couldn’t describe what happened to him. It was like the start of a headache. His body twitched, almost like having a dream where you fall and catch yourself at the last second. The car jerked to the right and his whole body convulsed again before he pulled the sedan back onto the road.
“What the hell were we talking about?” Kempf said.
“How bad the weather was getting.”
“We were?”
“Uh-huh.”
What the hell had she done to him?
“Are you okay?”
“Just a little light-headed.”
Two roads appeared before him and his vision went in and out of focus. Nausea overtook him and he sincerely thought he might blow chow all over little Mrs. Winter’s lap.
“Would you like to come back another time, Detective? You don’t look well.”
“I think I will.”
For a horrible moment he thought he was having a stroke. Didn’t your vision sometimes get messed up right before you blew a gasket in the old melon? He knew he should have quit smoking.
He slowed down and pulled the car over to the side of the road. Kempf put it in park and cranked the window down, hoping the fresh air would relieve his dizziness. Snow pushed into the car, a blast of flakes hitting him in the face.
It did nothing other than freeze his face, so he rolled the window back up. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel, eyes closed, reciting the drinker’s prayer that was so familiar during his partying days: make it go away.
That prayer was usually said to the white porcelain god, and the same prayer would be repeated the next weekend after too many Genny beers. It never worked when he was praying not to puke up his liquor, but the nausea did subside after about thirty seconds. Likewise for the dizziness, though he still for the life of him couldn’t remember most of the conversation from the last five minutes.
The Camel had burned down to the filter, but he couldn’t remember smoking it. He took one last drag, rolled down the window, and tossed it.
“Would you like to come back up to the house?” Cassie asked.
“No, no. But let me drop you off. We covered everything, right?”
“I believe we did,” she said.
He pulled away from the side of the road, did a three-point turn, and drove back to the mansion. He thanked her for her time and she said if she could be of more assistance to call her anytime.
He agreed he would.
Cassie Winter agreed they covered everything, and for the moment, Kempf believed that. But why did it feel like someone just blew fog into his brain? If he were a superstitious man, he would have believed she had done something to cloud his judgment.
But that was nonsense. He pulled around the circle in front of the mansion and drove off, wondering what he had said to her in the car.
The four friends removed their boots and padded downstairs to Paul’s basement. The basement was dry and warm; the furnace whooshed as it kicked on. They walked around it, next to a stack of cardboard boxes. A pile of soiled
white shirts sat on the floor in front of the washers, and next to the boxes was a stack of dusty books with titles like Hitler’s Generals and The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.
Beyond the boxes was a door that led to the playroom. Paul opened it and flicked on the lights. They all came in and sat in a small circle on the rust-colored rug. One wall was lined with cabinets, stocked with plastic army men, Star Wars figures, GI-Joe vehicles, and Dungeons and Dragons books. Paul’s father had built the room not so much out of wanting a special place for his son to play, but as a way to keep him out from underfoot.
“So what’s the big secret?” Emma asked.
“Where should we start?” Paul asked.
“With the Palermo situation,” Jack said.
Jack recounted their first meeting with Ronnie Winter, the way he pissed Vinnie off, and Jack’s shot to Vinnie’s face after Vinnie flattened his PB and J.
“I already know all this,” Chris said.
“We’re just filling Emma in,” Jack said.
“So Vinnie’s gunning for us and Ronnie. We left school and halfway down Main they were waiting for us in the alley.”
“Who’s they?” Emma asked.
“The Three Stooges. Vinnie, Harry, and Leary,” Paul said.
“I wish I could’ve been there to help you guys out,” Chris said.
“Anyway, they jumped us,” Jack said.
“Jack got it the worst,” Paul said, then looked to Jack almost apologetically.
Jack gave him a look back that said it’s okay. He was only telling the truth, for Vinnie had pounded the snot out of him.
“What did that shit do to you, Jack?” Emma asked.
“Basically used me as a punching bag. And kicking bag. Kicked me right in the ribs.”
“You don’t look like you’re hurting too bad,” Chris said.
“We’ll get to that part,” Jack said. “The only thing that saved me was Ronnie’s driver. Big black guy. He could play for the Bills if he wanted to. Scared the three turds off.”
From there Jack told them about John scooping him up and putting him in the limo. Then the ride up to the mansion and waking up in Mrs. Winter’s room.