Butch waved at the bottle-blond waitress, holding up his bill and a credit card. She smiled and nodded, mouthing “One second” as she turned back to the table of six—all men. It felt as if she’d been taking their orders for an hour, chatting them up, undoubtedly hoping for a massive tip.
Finally, striding across to Butch’s booth, she grabbed his ticket and the credit card.
“I’d like more coffee.”
“Sure thing.” She removed his dinner plate and dirty silverware. “Be back in a sec.”
Butch didn’t much like Italian food, though his target sitting at a table next to the window obviously did. He’d ordered himself spaghetti and garlic bread. When it arrived, he found the red sauce watery, bland, and way too sweet. The wine list was equally pathetic. He’d nursed a glass of the house Cabernet, frowning at the flat, sour taste, until all the garlic bread was gone. Right now he was nursing his coffee, waiting until the target paid her bill. She’d come to Luigi’s directly from work to have a meal with a friend. Her name, as usual, was Jenny. All of them had been named Jenny. And none of them had taken him where he wanted to go.
His newest Jenny eventually said goodbye to her friend, giving her a hug. They continued their conversation on their way out the door. Butch knew where she lived, so he didn’t have to race to his car and follow her home. Even so, he took the same route she did, staying far enough behind her Nissan to not attract attention. As she pulled into her driveway, he eased to a stop a few houses away on the opposite side of the street and switched off his lights. There was a second car in her drive, an older model Dodge Charger, which intrigued him.
After she’d gone inside and he could see her through the picture window, he picked up his camera from the passenger seat, spending a few seconds digging through the camera bag for his telephoto lens. He wanted to get up close and personal without actually being up close and personal. That would come later. Clipping the lens on, he slid out of the front seat and jogged over to an elm tree large enough to obscure his presence. Holding the viewfinder to his eye, he scanned the living room until he saw her. He clicked off a few photos. She stood by a chair, talking to a woman who’d just come through a rear doorway into what looked like the living room. He clicked off several more photos, getting a good one of Jenny looking up at the woman, then giving her a lingering kiss.
Adjusting the focus on the zoom, he took a picture of the Charger’s license plate, then dashed across the street and crouched down next to the rear bumper. He hesitated another few seconds, looking both ways down the quiet street. When he was as sure as he could be that nobody was watching him, he straightened up and moved quickly to the passenger’s door, cupping his hands around his eyes and scanning the interior. What he found was a rolling garbage bin full of crumpled McDonald’s bags and discarded soda cans. Crossing over to Jenny’s Nissan, he glanced inside long enough to learn that the interior was immaculate. The two cars were owned by two very different people. The Charger likely belonged to the girlfriend.
Hurrying back to his own car, he slid in and started the engine, turning up the heat. He had such high hopes for this particular Jenny, but unless the photos caused him to rethink his conclusion, he’d wasted another evening with nothing to show for it but a slight case of indigestion.
“Bye-bye,” he whispered as he put the car in gear and drove off. “Wish you had better taste in restaurants.”
* * *
After stopping at a drugstore to buy a couple Snickers bars and a sack of Fritos, Butch pulled up in front of his house, ready for another night of renovations. He’d fallen behind on the work he promised to do in order to lower his rent. Earlier in the day, the owner had dropped off a cheap toilet, one he expected Butch to use to replace the even cheaper toilet in the bathroom. Butch figured it would be easy enough, unless he ran into something unexpected.
Tonight would also be another opportunity to make progress on the kitchen cabinets. In his opinion, no matter what he did, he was merely putting lipstick on a pig. Compared to the Skarsvold house next door, which might be in terrible shape but remained impressive in size and design, the puke-tan rambler he’d rented was a small, boring box.
Even before Butch got out of his car, he saw the bright lights illuminating what was left of the Skarsvolds’ garage. Crime scene tape had gone up, establishing a perimeter around the backyard, which appeared to be a hive of activity. He couldn’t imagine why an arson investigation would take so much manpower.
Seeing the neighbor he’d met last night, the old guy in his bathrobe, Butch jogged over to him. “Hey,” he said. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“Not entirely sure,” said the old guy, folding his arms. “But I’ve heard a few whispers.” He winked.
“About what?”
“Well, if you can believe it, the arson investigator they sent out found some bones buried under the garage floor.”
“Bones?”
“Human bones.”
Butch’s eyebrows shot up.
“Hard to believe those two old ladies are capable of murder. Still, the more bones I see them bag, the more I think we’ve got ourselves a homegrown case of Arsenic and Old Lace.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “The house is supposed to be haunted you know.”
“Yeah, well, I have a hard time believing that.”
He shrugged.
“Looks like they’ve dug down pretty far,” said Butch
“The pit was already there. I’m told.”
“Another whisper?”
He looked over and smiled. “I’m retired. I got a lot of free time on my hands and I like to monitor the local gossip.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
“You know the sisters?”
“I’ve met them.”
He nodded, and kept on nodding. “Yup. Just a matter of time before all is revealed.”
“What do you mean, all?”
In response, the man gave another wink.
Butch was repelled by how much the guy seemed to be enjoying someone else’s tragedy. Love thy neighbor didn’t seem to be operative along Cumberland Avenue.
Instead of returning to his house, Butch made a beeline for Lena’s front door, where he knocked loudly. He was more than a little startled when Novak opened it.
“Evening,” said the block captain.
“Can I come in?”
“No skin off my nose.” He walked away, leaving the door ajar.
Butch removed his baseball cap and stepped inside. Lena sat in her wheelchair in front of the cold fireplace, smoking one of her menthols and tapping ash onto a plate next to her on the floor. Novak had dropped down on the couch, his legs spread wide. He was smoking, too, although it wasn’t tobacco.
“Welcome to our den of iniquity,” said Lena, taking a deep drag. “You know Rich, right? My mad stoner buddy?”
“I thought Eleanor wouldn’t let you smoke inside the house.”
“There’s been a rule change around this joint,” said Lena. “I’m now allowed to do whatever I want.” She pulled a flask from her sweater pocket, unscrewed the cap and took several swallows. “This thing’s empty. Richie, be a good boy. Go into my room. You’ll see a wardrobe to your right. In the bottom, you’ll find my stash. Might as well bring the entire bottle. Or what’s left of it.” She eyed Butch. “That reminds me. I’ll need more of that sooner rather than later.”
Novak jumped up and left the room.
“Okay,” said Butch. “But go easy, okay?”
“Easy isn’t in my nature.”
He could tell that she was already pretty hammered.
Novak returned with the bottle and handed it to her.
“Who wants some?” She held it up triumphantly.
Butch shook his head.
“Nope,” said Novak. “I’ll stick with my blunt.”
“Your loss.” She set it down on the floor next to her makeshift ashtray.
“I ran into one of your neighbors outside,” said Butch.
“Sit down, boy. You’re making me nervous.”
He looked around, settling on a tufted chair. “The neighbor said that the arson investigator—”
“Discovered human remains in our garage. Yeah, yeah. I heard all about it.”
“Is it true?”
“Apparently.”
“And?”
“And what? Do I know who they belong to?” She pinched two fingers together and made a twisting motion next to her mouth.
“Not to change the subject,” said Novak, easing lower on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, “but I’ll say it again. You oughta sell this dump. Move on. I know, I know. Eleanor doesn’t want to. But I’ll bet you could get a good price for it. Plenty of money for you and your sister to go your separate ways. I mean, somebody just burned your garage to the ground. That means you’ll get a nice fat insurance settlement. It was me, I’d use it to repair the house, get it ready to be put on the market. I’ll do my best as block captain to get to the bottom of the arson, to make sure it don’t happen nowhere else along Cumberland. But, you know … maybe it’s time to talk to your sis again. Raise the question one more time.”
“I’ll … take it under advisement.” The cigarette dangling from Lena’s lips bounced as she spoke.
Watching ash fall onto her sweater, Butch had the sick feeling that there might be another fire in her future.
“Anyway,” said Novak, stretching his arms over his head. “I promised the wife I’d go pick up a pizza.”
“Get one for us while you’re at it.” She dug around in her sweater pocket, coming up empty.
The last thing Butch wanted was more Italian food, although he did want to talk. If pizza was the price he had to pay, so be it. “Here,” he said, taking some cash from his pocket and handing Novak a twenty.
“What kind?” asked Novak.
“Cheese is fine,” said Butch.
“Pepperoni,” cried Lena. “But none of those damn anchovies.”
“Your wish is my command, yo,” said Novak. “I shall return.”
Once he’d gone, Lena picked up the liquor bottle and took a slug directly from the spout. “Wish I had some beer to offer you. Better put that on the list.”
“What changed? You’re smoking inside the house. Drinking in full view of your sister.”
“She’s not home. But, to answer your question, I changed. I finally grew a pair.”
Which explained exactly nothing.
“Hey, Butch. Tell me something. How come you left last Friday morning and I didn’t see hide nor hair of you until Sunday night?”
He was surprised she’d noticed. He should have given her more credit. “Well, see, I’ve got a friend with a cabin.”
“On a lake?”
“Yeah, a nice one.”
“What’s the name?”
“Um, Big Lake.”
“What’s it near?”
“It’s not really near any towns.”
She dropped the nub of her cigarette, nearly missing the plate on the floor. “Huh. Sounds remote. What do you do at this cabin?”
He shrugged. “Sleep. Play cards. Drink.”
“Chase women?”
“Nah.”
“Right.” She snorted. “I know what young men like.”
He doubted she knew what he liked. “But … back to the bones in the garage.”
“Can’t talk about that.”
“You have no idea who they belong to?”
She jerked her head toward the piano. Staring hard, she whispered, “Do you see him?”
“See who?” He looked around. “There’s nobody here but us.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “He’s come home.”
“Who’s come home?”
“There’s so much I never told him.” She felt along the floor, found the bottle and took another gulp.
Butch doubted she’d still be awake when the pizza arrived. He decided to play along. “Tell him now.” He rose from the recliner, crouched down in front of her and took her hands in his.
“Ignore the crazy old lady.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Wha … what would I say to him? He must hate me.” She flicked her eyes toward the piano. “He scares me,” she whispered. Her eyes swam inside her head until she finally focused on Butch’s face. “I’m a wretched excuse for a human being.” None of the words came out clearly.
“Why is that?”
“You know why. I was a terrible mother.”
He felt suddenly sorry for her. “That’s not true.”
She blinked, closed her eyes, and swayed. As her shoulders began to shake, she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
Butch moved closer, put his arms around her and held her. “It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” She was in no shape to talk coherently about anything. He’d have to wait for another time. He continued to try to reassure her, although nothing he said seemed to penetrate. “Come on, Lena. Let me get you to bed.”
He wheeled her into her bedroom. It was a sad little room, with a twin bed, a small clock radio on the nightstand next to a lamp and a bunch of pill bottles, a recliner in one corner and the freestanding closet in the other. Everything in the room was old and worn, even the old rock posters on the walls. There were books, of course. She liked to read. He opened the closet door. Inside were a few dresses. A robe. A few shirts and sweaters. Two pairs of jeans. This was her life. She wasn’t starving. She lived in a warm house. She had family around her. And yet, if there was a God and he wanted to punish her, he’d done a good job.
As he lifted her onto the bed, her wig fell off. Underneath, her hair was gray and baby fine. He couldn’t believe how light she was—like a sparrow, a tiny damaged little bird with a fierce heart. After patting the wig back into place, he covered her with a quilt, and then stood looking down at her. He was about to turn away when he stopped himself. Leaning over her, he kissed her forehead. “Goodnight,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”