by Harper Lin
I decided to take a shortcut across a few backyards, the same shortcut I used to take when I was a kid running back and forth between the house and the café ten times a day. I hadn’t taken it since I’d been back because I’d still been wearing my New York stilettos, which weren’t exactly suited to grassy wandering, but my aching feet had finally convinced me to dig some of my mother’s loafers out of her closet. Fortunately, her obsession with Italian leather, combined with regular visits to Cape Bay’s cobbler, meant that her nearly twenty-year-old shoes were still in great shape and comfortable to boot.
I turned off the sidewalk and stepped onto the grass. The shade from the trees was a nice break from the summer heat. With how humid Massachusetts summers could get, I had learned long ago to keep my thick mass of hair in a chignon pretty much the entire season. As a teenager, I had argued with my mother that black hair made me hotter in the summer sun and I would be so much cooler if I could just dye it blond. She refused, insisting that it would turn orange. I didn’t believe her and bleached it at a friend’s house one summer day when I was avoiding working at the café. It turned orange. Very, very orange. After that, I listened to my mother’s beauty advice.
I trekked across a few yards, reminiscing about all my childhood adventures. As I got close to my house, I saw Mr. Cardosi, the town barber, sitting on his back porch. He had lived two doors down from my grandparents my entire life, and I had played and gone to school with his son Matteo, or Matty as I had always called him. It was unusual for Mr. Cardosi to be home at that time of day, but it was unusual for me to be home at that time of day too.
“Hello, Mr. Cardosi!” I called, waving.
Mr. Cardosi didn’t move. I thought that was strange, but when he sat out back, he usually had his radio turned to the Red Sox game, so maybe he just couldn’t hear me. I decided to wait until I was a little closer to call out again.
I waved again as I got into his backyard. “Hel—”
I stopped, noticing that Mr. Cardosi’s chin was resting on his chest. Was he sleeping? I cut across his yard to check on him. This had always been the kind of neighborhood where everybody watched out for everybody else. I appreciated it now, but I’d hated it when I was a kid and Matty and I were running around, causing trouble. I’d never once made it home before the news of whatever mischief we’d gotten ourselves into had reached my grandmother’s ears.
I walked across the lawn, wondering if I should call out to Mr. Cardosi so as not to startle him or stay quiet to let him keep sleeping. Not wanting to scare the old man and give him a heart attack, I called out again. “Mr. Cardosi! Mr. Cardosi!”
He didn’t move. I slowed down as I got to the porch.
“Mr. Cardosi?” I said more quietly. Still nothing. I nudged his shoulder. “Mr. Cardosi?”
He slumped farther over, and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mr. Cardosi wasn’t asleep—he was dead. I backed away slowly, reaching for my phone in my purse so I could call for help.
I lurked at a distance while I waited for the police and ambulance to arrive. I knew I couldn’t leave, and really, I didn’t want to just abandon poor Mr. Cardosi, but I didn’t want to hover too closely either. I didn’t know how he’d died, but I knew the police would want to look around, and I didn’t want to mess with things. Besides, being so close to a dead body was a little unsettling.
I wasn’t too surprised that the police car arrived first—it’s a small town, and the police station is just across the street from the café. The ambulances have to come all the way from the next town over. I heard the cruiser pull up, and I poked my head around the house and waved. The officer climbed out of the car and approached the house. He was a big, imposing man. Not overweight, just very tall and broad.
“You the one who requested police?” he called when he spotted me.
“Yup, that’s me!” I yelled.
He strolled a little bit closer then motioned me toward him. “How ‘bout you come over this way for me?”
He sounded suspicious. His brow was furrowed as I walked toward him. He was clearly trying to figure out who I was and what I was doing there. While everyone pretty much knew everyone else in town during the off-season, the summer brought a lot of tourists, and the officer seemed to think I had wandered off the beach and into trouble. We recognized each other simultaneously.
“Mike!” I exclaimed.
“Francesca!” he said at the same time.
He held out his arms, and I hurried to give him a hug. Mike was another former classmate of mine. It wasn’t really surprising to run into him, but it was pleasant all the same. I hadn’t seen him since I’d gotten back.
He held me out at arm’s length. “You look great!” Then a shadow passed over his face. I knew he’d remembered why I’d moved back. “I’m really sorry about your mom. She was such a great lady. Sandy and I would have come to the funeral, but we had booked a trip to Disney with the kids…” He seemed to realize how awkward it was to go from talking about my mother’s death to his trip to Disney. He grimaced and looked at his shiny cop shoes.
“It’s fine, Mike, really. You have your life to live.”
Mike smiled, grateful for the out. “So I heard you’re sticking around for a while?”
“That’s the plan. I was kind of in a rut in New York, and I figured coming home would be a good change of pace.”
“That’s great! That’s really great. We’re happy to have you back in town.” He chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll see it hasn’t really changed all that much over the years.”
I laughed with him. “I’ve noticed! It’s like stepping right back into high school! All the old neighbors are living in the same places—”
All of a sudden, I remembered the neighbor who had prompted the call that had brought Mike out here. The look on Mike’s face told me he had just remembered too. He rubbed a hand back and forth across his high-and-tight hair.
“So, uh, you were concerned about Mr. Cardosi?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, I was walking home, and I took the old shortcut through the back. When I was coming across the yard, I yelled to say hello, but he didn’t move, so I went over to check on him, and, well…” I gestured toward the back of the house.
“He’s around back?” Mike asked, starting in that direction.
“On the patio.”
Mike took a wide path toward the back of the house, I guessed so he could get a good look before he got close. When he got to where he could see Mr. Cardosi sitting in his lawn chair, he held a hand out to me, motioning for me to stop. He glanced back. “You check his pulse or anything?”
I shook my head. “No. I just nudged him, and he—he kind of slumped.”
Mike nodded and continued across the back of the house toward Mr. Cardosi. He rested his right hand on his gun. A cop habit, I assumed.
“Mr. Cardosi?” he called softly. He took a couple of steps closer. “Mr. Cardosi?”
There was no movement from the lawn chair. Mike reached out a hand toward Mr. Cardosi’s neck and held it there for a moment, checking his pulse. He withdrew his hand and pushed the button on the walkie-talkie on his shoulder.
He spoke quietly, but I could just hear, “You can let the ambulance know there’s no rush. He’s gone.”
Hearing that, I realized I’d been holding out some hope that Mr. Cardosi really was just sleeping very soundly, or maybe even had passed out. Not something I’d normally wish for, but given the options, I would have preferred it.
Mike walked a wide circle around Mr. Cardosi’s chair, leaning down to look from all angles. I wondered if that was standard procedure or if he’d seen something suspicious. I hadn’t noticed anything, but I also hadn’t lingered once I’d realized the situation. Mike walked back toward me with a grim expression. I felt tears unexpectedly fill my eyes. So much had happened in my life recently, and this was just one more thing on top of it all.
Mike must have noticed my expression because he put his hand awkwardly
on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Francesca. I know you knew him well growing up.”
I sniffled. “It’s not just that. Everything has changed so much lately…” I covered my face with my hands. “Sammy made me leave early today because she thought I needed a break and now—” I waved toward Mr. Cardosi.
Mike patted my shoulder. “It’s a lot.” He seemed very uncomfortable.
I took a couple of deep breaths then shook my shoulders. It was what I always did when I was trying to cheer myself up—literally shake the bad feelings off me. I wiped my eyes and forced a smile. “Whew—sorry about that. Just got a little overwhelmed there for a minute.”
“That’s all right.” He seemed happier now that I had regained my composure. “Now, uh, I know you told me you were taking a shortcut home. Is this a way you come often?”
I shrugged. “Kind of. I mean, it’s the way I always walked to and from the café growing up, but I think I’ve only done it once or twice since I got back in town.”
“Uh-huh.” Mike reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a small notebook with a pencil through the spiral at the top. “And is this the time of day you usually come home?”
“No,” I said. He must not have heard me say that Sammy had sent me home early. “Usually I stay until close at eight, but today—” I thought about telling him about Mrs. D’Angelo’s visit but decided against it. “Today, Sammy thought I should leave early and get some rest.” I paused while he scribbled, then I thought of something. “Wait, why? Did you see something? You don’t think someone—” Crime was virtually nonexistent in Cape Bay, and murder was practically unheard of. Surely he didn’t think someone had killed Mr. Cardosi!
Mike looked up from his notebook and smiled at me. “Just trying to make sure I have all the details right for my report.” He resumed writing, looking at me again when he was finished. “Now did you see anybody nearby? Anybody coming or going? Anything suspicious?”
I shook my head. “There were a couple of tourists out on the street when I left the café, but once I got on the side streets, I didn’t see anyone.”
Mike grunted and wrote something else. “Sammy can confirm what time you left the café?”
“Yes, and Becky had just gotten there. Mike, you’re not telling me something. You don’t think I did something to him, do you?”
Mike smiled at me again. It wasn’t the friendly smile from when he first recognized me. It was more of a cop-placating-a-citizen smile. “No, I don’t. I’m just establishing a timeline so they know what they’re working with when they do the autopsy.” He waved toward Mr. Cardosi. “Case like this—no one around, no obvious cause of death—they always do an autopsy, just to figure out what happened.”
I nodded. That sounded reasonable. Still, Mike’s tone made me a little anxious, as if he wasn’t quite telling me the whole truth.
“Helps the family rest a little easier too,” he said.
The family! I remembered Matty. Poor Matty! His mother had died when we were kids, and now his dad was gone too. He’d be all alone in the world. Like me. I brushed the thought away. This wasn’t about me, and I’d already had my breakdown for the day.
“Do you know if anyone’s called Matty?” I asked.
“No, they haven’t,” he replied quickly. “Not unless one of the neighbors has seen my car out front and called him. Which is actually pretty likely.”
It was. In a neighborhood where everybody watches out for everybody else, something like a police car parked out front was unusual enough to raise interest.
“Should I call him?” I reached for my phone that I’d shoved in my pocket. “I’m not sure if I have his number. Do you have it?”
Mike held out a hand. “No, no. I’ll call him in a bit. Just want to finish getting some things down.” He looked at his notepad. “When you left for work this morning, did you take the shortcut or go another way?”
I sighed. All his questions about my day were a little frustrating. “I took the main road. Out the front, down York Street, and out onto Main.”
“What time was that?”
“About seven.”
“And did you see Mr. Cardosi?”
I sighed again. All I wanted to do was get out of there. “This morning? No, I didn’t.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“A couple days ago. Maybe more. He was out getting the paper when I was on my way to work.”
“And you haven’t been around the back since that time?”
“You don’t think he’s been dead that long, do you?” I exclaimed.
Mike smiled his vaguely patronizing smile again. “Just asking questions.”
“A lot of them!”
He chuckled. “Just doing my job. Now, have you been around the back since then?”
“No, no, I haven’t.”
“Have you seen Matt since then?”
“Matty? No, I haven’t seen him since the funeral.”
Mike looked at me sympathetically then back at his notebook. He seemed to be reading over what he had written. “I think that’s about it.” He flipped it closed then flipped it back open almost immediately. “Almost forgot—what’s your cell phone number? That’d be the best way to reach you, right?”
“My cell or the café,” I said before rattling off both numbers.
He jotted them down and flipped the notebook closed again, then he slid it back into his breast pocket. “Thanks for your help, Francesca.” He looked toward the street. “Ambulance is sure taking its time, isn’t it?”
It did seem as if it had been forever since I’d called. Just then, we saw the ambulance coming down the street, and at the same time, from the other direction, a car pulled up to the curb. The driver hesitated a moment then opened the door. Flying toward us with a panicked look on his face was Matty Cardosi.
Chapter 3
“Matty!” I shouted, stepping toward him.
He didn’t even hesitate, just kept running toward where we were standing at the back of the house.
Mike, in full cop mode, walked forward to intercept him. “Matt!” He caught Matty as he tried to run by and held him in place.
“What’s going on? Where’s my dad? Let me go! Tell me what’s going on!” Matty fought against Mike’s grip, but Mike held on.
“Matt, Matt, you gotta calm down, man,” Mike said as he struggled to keep Matty from running past him.
Matty made a few more attempts to escape before he gave up. “Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in surrender, and Mike let him go slowly. Matty ran a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Where’s my dad?”
I didn’t know whether to reach out and comfort Matty from the pain I knew was coming or keep my distance. I ended up stepping closer so that I was barely an arm’s length away, close enough to reach out and touch him but far enough away that I wasn’t crowding them. It had been less than a month since I’d gotten the news about my mother that Matty was about to get about his dad, and I knew how much it hurt.
Mike took a deep breath. “Matt, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this—”
Matty stepped back, shaking his head rapidly. “No, no, no, no.”
Mike stepped toward him and rested a hand on Matty’s shoulder. “Matt, your dad passed away.”
“But—he can’t—” Matty glanced at me.
My eyes filled with tears I struggled to keep from pouring down my face.
“No, no, no,” he repeated and ran around Mike.
Mike caught him as Matty got around the corner of the house to where he could see his dad slumped in his chair on the patio.
“Dad,” Matty cried out as he collapsed to his knees.
Mike grasped Matty’s shoulder. “You can’t go over there, Matt. We have to process the scene.”
“‘Process the scene’?” Matty exclaimed. “What do you mean, ‘process the scene’? Did someone kill my dad?” He looked frantically toward his dad’s body as if he were searching for blood or bullet holes or s
ome other sign of foul play.
“We don’t know,” Mike said. “In cases of unexpected deaths, we need to make sure we document everything just in case.”
Matty sat back on his heels. Mike looked at me and nodded toward Matty. I knelt beside Matty and took his hand.
“They’re just covering their bases, Matty,” I said quietly.
Matty looked at me as if he were just noticing that I was there. “Franny,” he said quietly.
I smiled at him sadly. I hadn’t heard anybody call me “Franny” in years. We heard motion behind us and turned to see the paramedics we’d forgotten about wheeling a stretcher across the lawn.
“Uh, Francesca, how about you take Matt inside?” Mike suggested.
I looked at Matty, and he nodded. We both stood, our knees wet from the damp grass. Still holding hands, united in our orphan sorrow, we started toward the front of the house.
“Try not to touch anything!” Mike called after us.
I glanced back and nodded as Matty’s hand tightened on mine. The added reminder that someone may have killed his dad pained him.
Mike said to the paramedics as we passed them, “Let me get my camera out of my car, then you can take him.”
Matty and I walked to the front door. I reached for the knob, but Matty shook his head.
“He always keeps it locked,” he said, reaching in his pocket for his keys.
But my hand was already turning the knob. I looked at Matty and saw him crumple.
“I’ll make sure to tell Mike,” I said. I knew we both hoped that his dad had just forgotten to lock it this once. As painful as my mother’s death was for me, I couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if someone had taken her from me deliberately.