09 Dead Man Running, page 19
“You don’t really like Riley, do you?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I mean, yes. Yes, I do like Riley. He’s a very thoughtful and conscientious young man, and he certainly seems to have your best interests at heart.”
She was quiet a moment.
“Well, that is, as long as he’s kept his hands where they belong. If he hasn’t, then he’s a slimeball and I take away everything good I just said about him.” I took off my jacket and slipped off my shoes and sat down on the couch next to her.
“Is sex really all that bad?” she asked.
“Oh, wow,” I said. I was not ready for a conversation about sex. Not to mention, I think all the blood ran to my feet just because she had used the word in a sentence so casually. As if she were asking about a new pair of jeans. “Um, you’re too young, first of all. Secondly, no, it’s not that it’s bad, per se.”
She crossed one flannel-clad leg over the other and gave me a look that I couldn’t interpret. Whatever I was about to say was going to make or break what she thought of me as a parent and what she thought of sex. Don’t you hate it when you’re at one of those important crossroads with your kids and you feel completely inept? Or is it just me?
“It’s just that parents want to make sure that their kids get all the chances that they can in the world. Babies are the pesky little side effect of sex,” I said. “And then, there’s those darn venereal diseases running about. And, oh, Jesus, Rachel, are you really considering having sex? I mean … you’re too young!”
She burst into laughter then, and I felt a great pressure lift from my chest. “Nope. I just wanted to see what you’d have to say about it. It was pretty neat watching you sweat.”
“You’re evil,” I said.
“No, that would be Mary,” she said.
“You’re feeling better, I see,” I said.
“So, do you think Riley could drive me out to see the horses?”
I looked at her, imagining Riley taking the corners of the Outer Road at a hundred miles an hour. Being a parent was about surrendering your child to the rest of the world in stages. First was letting somebody else watch them. Then came sending them off to school. Then letting them stay all night with friends. Dating. Driving! This was one of those steps. And I had to take it.
“Sure,” I said. “He can drive you over, but I want to talk to him first.”
“Okay,” she said. “He’s out on the back porch with Dad.”
“What?” I exclaimed. I sat there speechless as she ran out onto the back porch and dragged Riley into the living room. He had his hands shoved into his pockets and gave me a sheepish smile. I was fairly certain I had been set up. “Riley, hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got some questions for you. If you answer them correctly, then you are allowed to drive my daughter places.”
“All right,” he said. “Shoot.”
“What does ‘be home by nine’ mean to you, exactly?”
“It means be home by nine,” Riley said.
“By nine. Not five after,” I said.
“Right.”
“Get yourself a good watch,” I said. “On your family tree, were your grandparents related to each other?”
“I … don’t … think … so.”
“That’s always good,” I said. “Who was last year’s Playmate of the Year?”
“Mom!” Rachel squealed.
“I don’t know,” he said, blushing.
“Good answer!” I said and clapped. “What does the term ‘pornography’ mean to you?”
“Oh, my God, Mother,” Rachel said. She hid her face.
“It means … not good?” he asked and glanced around as if the walls would help him.
“What does fifty-five mean to you?” I asked.
“Fifty-five.”
“Not sixty. Speed limit, fifty-five. Not sixty,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Is that it?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’ve got a few more.” I was having way too much fun with this.
“Do you own a van, a pickup truck, a motorcycle, or a Winnebago?”
“No to all of them,” he said.
“Who’s the monarch of England?”
“Elizabeth,” he said. Hey, points for him that he didn’t think a monarch was a butterfly.
“What is the most important subject in school?” I asked.
“Oh, Mom, can I help him with this one?” she asked.
“History,” he said and smiled.
“And when a girl says no, what does she mean, exactly?” I asked.
“She means ask me again later,” he said and smiled again.
I just glared at him.
“She means no,” he said quickly. “Sorry.”
I smiled. “All right, last question. Who loves Rachel more than anything?”
“You do,” he said.
“Yes, I do. Don’t give me any reason for my heart to be broken,” I said a little too seriously. He nodded his head. We understood each other. “You passed the test, Riley. Now, I just hope that Rudy never gives you his list of questions. I guarantee you won’t pass.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“All right,” I said. “I’m going upstairs. Where are Mary and Matthew?”
“Backyard with Dad,” Rachel said, staring into Riley’s eyes. Oh, gag.
I headed upstairs and booted up my computer first thing. Just as I was putting on my jammies, the phone rang. I answered it. “Hello?”
“It’s Collette,” she said. “I’ve got a ton of info for you. Can you meet me somewhere? Preferably outside of New Kassel. I need to get out.”
“Sure,” I said. “Name your place.”
“Tucker’s, up in South County,” she said.
“On South Lindbergh and Union?”
“Yup,” she said. “I’ll be in the smoking section.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
Tucker’s has great food, but it isn’t real kid friendly, so I rarely eat there. It sits across Lindbergh from the mall and across Union from the Best Buy. I walked in and was overcome by smoke, so I’m not sure there was a smoking section. It all seemed to be equally cloudy. I told the hostess that I was looking for somebody, and she pointed around the corner to where Collette was sitting at a small table, puffing away on a cigarette. “Thanks,” I said to the hostess. The room was dark, with warm glowing yellow lights. I sat down across from Collette, and she smiled.
“Eat,” she said.
“What? It’s like nine thirty at night,” I said.
“Eat anyway,” she said. “I’m buying.”
The waitress came over, and I ordered the grilled chicken breast with baked potato, salad with ranch dressing, and a glass of water. Collette cocked one eyebrow and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.
“I got bad news,” I said.
“What?”
“They just found Mrs. Castlereagh washed up on the river-bank down in Ste. Gen. Evidently something snagged the body and brought her to the bank, or she never would have been found,” I said.
“Oh, no,” she said.
“She was wearing concrete shoes,” I said. “I don’t know who got to her, Collette, but I know it was mob related. I just know it.”
“What about Bill?”
“No trace yet, but I don’t think his chances are very good,” I said. “I just keep thinking about his kids. I mean, to lose both parents so suddenly. It’s going to be really hard for them. But what did you get me up here to tell me?”
“I got information on the families. Tito de Rosa is not only the son of Victor de Rosa, he’s the baby son, Victor’s favorite. Word is he’s grooming Tito to take over the family business when Victor retires,” she said.
“And the family business is what, exactly?” I asked.
“Well, the business that we know about is exercise videos, believe it or not. They also own a few nightclubs along the lake,” she said. “Authorities are almost certain that the video business is a front for smuggling. And it’s a well-known fact that Victor was responsible for the murders of the three Baietto brothers. They just can’t prove it. Victor will never serve time for it, but everybody in Chicago knows he did it.”
“Wait,” I said and held up a hand. “Did you say Baietto?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Why?”
“The body that fell off of the paddle wheel during the parade was a Baietto,” I said.
She swallowed hard. “Shit,” she said. “I just swallowed my gum.”
“Well, that’s bad,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “Now I have to get a high colonic.”
I made a peculiar face. I wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but I knew it had something to do with a high-powered enema, and that didn’t sound pleasant.
“Anyway, about two years ago there was a full-blown war going on between these two families,” she said. “Supposedly it went back even further than that. It had something to do with the fact that Victor had eloped with Christian Baietto’s granddaughter. Christian Baietto wasn’t too happy about that, especially since they were Catholic. If you elope you don’t get the sacrament, you know? So Christian Baietto just knew for sure his granddaughter was going to hell for living in sin. Eventually they had a formal church ceremony, though. I found the announcement. However, Christian Baietto wasn’t invited. That went over like a ton of bricks. He had Victor’s accountant killed and then his brother.”
“I guess they have large families so that they have family left over after everybody’s done killing each other,” I said.
“Or you have no family at all. That way, there’s no weak spot. Family makes you vulnerable,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. “Right.”
“At any rate,” Collette said. “I think this feud has been going on for the better part of thirty years.”
“All right,” I said. “Well, what the heck are they doing in New Kassel and why have they brought their feud to my town?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Did you find out anything about Bill Castlereagh?” I asked. “I mean, have you found any connection between him and either of the families?”
“No,” she said. She lit up another cigarette and pulled the smoke toward her as if that would keep it from assaulting me. Collette has smoked for a while, but I’ve spent a whole day with her before and not seen her light up. The fact that she was on her second cigarette in less than ten minutes told me that she was anxious.
“Why are you so nervous?” I asked, eyeing the cigarette.
“A person could die,” she said. “Just from investigating these people. I cannot believe the son of Victor de Rosa was in your office!”
“I can’t believe I made fun of him,” I said.
She shook her head and laughed. “You got more balls than most men I know,” Collette said.
“Thanks, I think.” I was busy contemplating whether or not it was a good thing to be a woman and have that much testosterone when our dinner arrived. Actually, I wasn’t very hungry. I’d already eaten, it was late, and … well, Mrs. Castlereagh’s cadaver-blue face kept flashing in my mind. Still, Collette was buying, and if I didn’t eat she’d get upset, so I made a good show of it.
“So, what do you think Bill’s connection is to these people?” she asked as she cut into a medium-rare steak.
“I don’t know. Colin seems to think it’s a gambling debt,” I said. “Does either family own casinos here? I mean, I can’t even figure out when Bill would have been in Chicago long enough to get into that kind of debt. The last time he left for more than three days was when they took a cruise, back in ‘99.”
Collette’s face fell. “The fact that you know that about him is pathetic,” she said. “You so need to get out of that town.”
“He lives right next door. Of course I’m going to know when he’s gone,” I said.
“I don’t know when my next-door neighbors are gone. Hell, the guy three doors down from me was dead for a week before anybody on my street noticed.”
“See?” I said. “That’s the sad thing about big cities. Nobody would ever be dead in his home for a week in New Kassel without somebody knowing about it.”
She waved her fork at me and made a face.
“So, if I ask you something will you give me an honest answer?” I asked.
“Me? I’m incapable of giving anything other than the blatantly, scathingly honest truth,” she said.
“Do you think I’m overbearing?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said and took a bite of steak. “It’s your God-given right as a woman and a wife to be so.”
“I’m serious. I’ve overheard a few conversations … Lord only knows the ones I haven’t heard,” I said.
“About?”
“Well, me, and how people are happy that I’m moving out of town and how maybe Rudy can be in control of his marriage for once.”
Collette gave me a serious look and stopped chewing. Then she burst into laughter and showed me the better portion of the chewed-up cow in her mouth. “Rudy will never be in control of his marriage, because he’ll never be in control of you. No matter where the hell you live. You’re a free spirit, Torie, old gal. No matter how much you try to hide it in that stupid little town.”
“I don’t hide it,” I said. “Obviously.”
“Look,” she said, and grabbed my hand. “If Rudy was unhappy he woulda left a long time ago. I don’t think he’s unhappy. Honestly. Yes, I think you’re overbearing and stubborn and nosy and you overreact and jump to conclusions all the time, but, God, Torie, that’s why we all love you. Do you think Sylvia would have left her fortune to anybody less deserving? Honey, she hand-picked you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m not sure I actually feel better, but since you seem to mean it as a compliment, then I’ll take it as one.”
“Good,” she said. “Now, eat.”
Twenty-two
The next morning, I was sitting in my office gazing longingly out the window that showed River Pointe Road and the lace shop. I couldn’t stand it. I had to get out. I grabbed my purse and went shopping. A rarity for me, yes. It smelled like autumn outside. Woodsmoke drifted on the wind; a slight scent of hay was all around. I decided to do something special for dinner tonight. I stopped by the Grapes of Kath and got a bottle of wine. I really like sweet wines. They’re harder to find than dry ones, but Kathy knows exactly what I like. She put a bottle of port on the counter just as I walked in. I paid for it and went down to the tearoom and bought some tea. I ended up at the tobacco shop. It was closed.
I had no idea whether Colin had spoken to Tiny Tim since the incident at the mayor’s house. I was not in his circle of those who needed to know, and I’d forgotten to coerce it out of him. I wondered briefly if I should tell Tito that Tiny Tim had not opened his shop. I decided I would call Tito and let him know as soon as I got back to the office. I crossed the street and stopped at Debbie’s Cookie Cutter. I picked up a dozen of her peanut butter cookies and then another assorted dozen. Debbie’s cookies are so good that her store manages to thrive in a town with two other bakeries. As I was headed out the door, I noticed a sign in the window.
Don’t forget your mother this holiday season. Give her a gift certificate from Debbie’s Cookie Cutter.
It seemed a little early to be thinking about the holidays. Wait … Don’t forget your mother. Something occurred to me then. Something I hadn’t thought to check.
I all but ran back to the Gaheimer House. I skidded to a halt, opened the front door, and sprinted to my office. I pulled out the white pages for St. Louis and looked up the last name Castlereagh. I ran my finger down the page. Castlereagh, Lucy.
“Oh, shoot,” I said and ran back and set the alarm. Then I ran back to the office. I picked up the phone and dialed the Murdoch. “Eleanore, it’s Torie. Can I speak to Collette?”
“Room number, please?” she said.
“Eleanore, I don’t know the room number, just give me her room.”
“I can’t do that. Against regulations,” she said.
“Eleanore! It’s me, Torie. I know Collette is there. Just connect me.”
“Fine,” she said.
A few seconds later, “Hello?”
“Collette, it’s Torie. Are you busy?”
“Nope,” she said.
“You want to go visit somebody with me?”
“Who?”
“Bill’s mother,” I said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. Bill put down that his mother died in 1968. It never even occurred to me that he could have been lying about her. She’s in the phone book!”
“I’ll meet you on the porch of the Murdoch,” she said. “Five minutes.”
Five minutes for Collette almost always means ten, so I had time to set my purchases down and walk over without running. First, though, I booted up the computer and went to Bill’s Web site. I printed out the picture of him as a baby, then one of him with his whole family. They might come in handy.
A few minutes later we were on our way to see Lucy Castlereagh. We drove in Collette’s little red sports car, the windows down, our hair flipping all around in the cool morning.
“I can’t believe I never thought to look before,” I said.
“What made you think to look this time?” she said.
“A window sign at Debbie’s Cookie Cutter,” I said and laughed.
According to the white pages, Lucy Castlereagh lived in a house on Litzsinger. Parts of Litzsinger were really ritzy and expensive. However, her house number was not in that neighborhood. “Have you got a street guide?” I asked.
“Under the seat,” she said.
I checked it and found the block number for the address in the white pages. Lucy lived just north of Manchester Road, east of Brentwood. Collette cranked the car radio, and we listened to music all the way up Highway 270 and then down 44. I was far too nervous to have a coherent conversation, and the music helped me calm down and focus. I had no idea what I was going to say to Lucy Castlereagh when she opened that door, provided she was home, but it was now or never. Hopefully, she would be able to tell me her son’s secrets.
