CHAPTER 40

She hogged the bed. The occasional whimpers, that were cute at first, grew tiresome, and she kicked me awake several times throughout the night. Sharing a bed with Ginger was going to take some getting used to.

Early in the morning, at least to me, she woke me up by shoving her wet nose under my chin and pushing my head up. Even though I had little experience caring for animals, I realized she probably needed to go out and take care of business. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. I kept picturing Doc Livingston pulling back the sheet on one of the bodies lying on the morgue tables to reveal Tina, eyes open and staring past me as when I found her on the bed.

Ginger and I went out back. The ground was still damp with morning dew, which I felt under my bare feet. When I was a kid I used to run over this entire place on feet with soles so tough that not even a piece of glass could pierce them. Now, every little pebble and stick on the ground felt like daggers stabbing my tender feet. I followed Ginger until she squatted and then picked up her pile with one of the neat little baggies Jackie had left for me. I threw it in one of the trash cans sitting alongside the back of the house.

Ginger romped around the yard, uncovering the smells of animals that might have trespassed onto her realm during the night. She found a stick and brought it to me. I had to wrestle with her to get it out of her mouth and, once I did, she kept her eyes on it with an unwavering intensity. I tossed it as far as I could and off she went on the chase. In no time, she was back in front of me, gripping the stick so that most of it was in her mouth and I had only a small end to grab onto to loosen it. We repeated this over and over until my arm felt like it might fall off and my throws went shorter and shorter. She must have sensed my fatigue because she eventually lay down a distance from me and made short work of turning the stick into toothpicks.

I went and sat on the end of the dock, dangling my feet into the water. It was cool and soothing and the scene so peaceful and quiet, the water flowing by slowly. Hard to believe three people could be murdered in a place that could provide such tranquility. But they had been and, for some reason, I still couldn’t fathom, it had seemed to fall onto me to expose the people behind it. Of course I wanted to do right by everyone who was once important to me, but they were really overestimating what I could possibly accomplish. I knew deep down I was going to let them down. Sitting there and looking at the river roll by I wondered if it all wouldn’t be simpler if I just slid my entire body off the dock and into the water, letting the current just carry me away downstream.

Ginger came to edge of the dock, stood beside me, and barked twice loudly, bringing me back to the here and now. I took her barks to mean it was time to feed her. Guess I wasn’t going to be too tough a human to train.

We went back into the house. I read the feeding directions Jackie had provided for me, measured out the appropriate amounts of dry and canned food into Ginger’s bowl and laid in on the kitchen floor. She attacked it ferociously and, in no time, was pushing the empty bowl around the floor, intent on getting every last molecule of food out of it.

As I was waiting for my coffee to brew, Stacey came into the kitchen. He was barefoot and wearing a pair of deep blue lounge pants and no shirt, revealing a set of six-pack abs and chiseled chest. I instinctively sucked in my stomach, even though it was not visible beneath my T-shirt.

“Can I get you some coffee?” I asked him as I opened a cabinet and grabbed a coffee cup.

“No thanks,” he said, walking past me, grabbing the teakettle off the stove, and going to the sink to fill it. “Never touch the stuff. I’m a tea man.”

He reached over, grabbed a cup of his own out of the cabinet, and threw a tea bag that he had taken from a box on the counter into it. “Got some good news for you. Finished working on your car last night. It’s about as good as it will ever be, although I think it’s time for you consider looking for a new ride,” he said.

“Well, I don’t see that happening anytime soon,” I answered. “Besides, I have a sentimental attachment to my Camry.”

“Your call,” he said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a jar of strawberry preserves and a package of Thomas’s English muffins. He opened the package and pulled out one, split it, and put it in the toaster. “I even filled your gas tank with a gas can I found in the garage,” he said.

“Thanks. That must have been the old gas can Danny tripped over the night Puddy was killed,” I said. “Do you mind putting one of those in the toaster for me?”

He did and pushed the toaster levers down for each pair of slots.

“Old? No man, this can was brand new, and I can’t believe Stevie kept it in that garage, seeing as it’s full of nothing but old boxes of stuff. Don’t think that guy ever threw anything out. Bit of a fire hazard if you ask me,” he said.

The muffins popped up. Stacey took two plates from one of the cabinets, tossed the hot muffins onto them, and crossed to the table. Ginger watched the plates intently. Stacey grabbed a butter knife out of a drawer and placed it and the preserves on the table near the muffins. We sat down at the table.

“Um...I want to thank you for working on my car and...well, everything you’ve done around here for me,” I said.

“No problem,” he answered while slathering some preserves on his muffin.

“Can I give you anything? I don’t have much--” I started.

“No, man. It’s cool. Ronald will take of me,” he said, offering me the knife. I took it and covered my muffin in preserves.

“You two good friends?” I asked.

“Yeah, me and Ronald go way back. I used to be a bit of a bully back in the day, ’cause I was always bigger than the other kids. Ronald was the only one who wouldn’t take my crap. I’d beat him up but he’d just keep getting up until he wore me out. He was one tough mother-fucker.”

“And you stayed in touch all this time?”

“When he got back from the navy, he looked me up, started giving me little jobs to do around the Augustino’s, hooked me up with Kenny...well, him and Mrs. A.”

“But where’d you learn to do all this stuff--fixing cars, security systems, cooking?”

“I like to keep busy. Always been good with my hands. My mom was a car mechanic, I learned that from her,” he answered.

“Really? Your mom was a mechanic?” I replied.

Stacey broke out in a wide grin. “No, man, I’m messing with you. Both my parents worked for the school district. My dad was a custodian and my mom worked in cafeterias at a couple of schools. Man, I thought you were some big-time reporter, falling for that,” he said, laughing.

I laughed too, couldn’t help it. Stacey had an infectious personality.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little rusty. But really, if there’s anything I can do--” I started.

“You just do right by Mrs. A,” he said.

“I’ll do my best,” I answered.

“Listen,” he said, finishing off his muffin and tea. “I’ve got to run over to Boyersford to pick up some things for the house, can’t get them in East Hastings. Be gone most of the day. You be all right without me?”

“Sure,” I said. “Matter of fact, this is going to be the first uneventful day I’ve had since I got here. I was going to start looking through Stevie’s things for Sue Ellen. Might as well start with the garage, and Hoppy gave me a little walking around money so now that I’ve got a car, I think maybe I’ll just run into town and shop for some new clothes.”

“Yeah, you could definitely do with some new threads. Tell you what. You talk to Antonio at Williams Clothing for Men. He’ll set you up. Always does right by me. ’Course I look good in everything,” Stacey said, again with a smile.

“Will do, thanks,” I said, thinking that old Antonio would have to be a miracle worker to make me look as good as Stacey.

He got up and put his dishes in the sink. “Well, I’m gonna grab a shower and hit the road. You sure you’ll be okay?” he said.

“Sure, of course. Like I said, my first non-eventful day. It’ll be a nice change,” I answered.

***

I spent the better part of the morning carrying boxes from the garage into the living room and sorting through them. Stacey was right, in that Stevie didn’t throw anything out. There were boxes full of broken toys from when he was a kid, tattered baseball gloves and spikes, old report cards and homework assignments, birthday cards and decade-old bank statements. Most of it was clearly of no use, and that stuff I stuffed into large trash bags and carried out back. Anything I was unsure about I set aside, boxed and put back in the garage. I made a pretty good dent in the number of boxes by mid-day.

When I first started clearing out the garage, I had noticed the gas can sitting outside next to the garage, where Stacey must have put it. It was new, so new in fact that the price sticker from Kegler’s Hardware was still on the can. It struck me as a bit odd that Stevie would have any need for a gas can. It’s not like he had grass to mow, since the lawn, if you could call it that, was mostly dirt because the abundance of shady trees on the property prevented grass from growing. And besides he didn’t even own a lawnmower. The can was empty now. I guess Stacey had poured the gas into my gas tank. It didn’t seem to pose any threat where it was, so I left it next to the garage.

It seemed like a good time for a nap. I hadn’t done any kind of physical labor in a long time, and the mere act of carrying boxes back and forth from the garage had tired me out a bit. Instead, I decided to take my repaired Camry out for a drive.

Not only had Stacey performed major surgery on the engine and replaced worn shocks, struts and other components of the car’s undercarriage, he had done a remarkable job cleaning the inside of the car as well. The dashboard glistened, as much as a sixteen-year-old car’s dashboard could glisten, there were new floor mats, and he’d somehow managed to dispel the accumulated smells. In many ways, it was like I had a new vehicle. One thing was still the same, however. The way my body fit so perfectly in the driver’s seat that had taken years to sculpt to my contours. It was still my car.

It handled like a champ and it actually took me a while to stop overcorrecting the steering as I’d grown accustomed to doing over the years. It felt so good, in fact, that I decided to test it out on the winding, long-forgotten back roads I’d driven on so often as a teenager. I actually got lost a few times. I didn’t mind. I just turned around and retraced my journey until I came to a road I remembered. It really was a beautiful area, the musky smell of fallen tree limbs rotting in the thick growth running along small streams and the quaint stone houses tucked behind neatly painted wood fences. I could have driven for hours.

Instead, I ended up at the Chronicle. Maybe that had been my intention the whole time. Seeing as how Hoppy had bankrolled the repairs to my car, I did owe him an article, after all.

It took me a couple of hours to write about the fact that evidence suggested there were actually three murderers, not one as initially claimed by the police. I tried my best to avert any suspicion from Doc Livingston being my source, even though he said he really didn’t care. The powers that be would probably figure it out, but some room for deniability couldn’t hurt. Besides, maybe they’d be too busy trying to explain themselves and the lack of progress on any of the murders to worry about retribution in the near term. Or maybe they’d just be more pissed at me for writing the story. I saved the article and sent it along to Hoppy’s inbox for his review.

I had to admit it felt good to write something that was newsworthy again. It seemed like a long time. The piece on Tina was nice, hopefully giving a little comfort to her family and maybe setting a few things right, but it wasn’t the same as digging my teeth into a story.

I leaned back in my chair and looked around the near-empty newsroom. Something had been nagging me since we left the morgue--about what Doc Livingston said about the blood probably getting on Puddy’s killer and something that I saw at the crime scene that night at Stevie’s, but I couldn’t put the two things together yet. It wasn’t much, a fleeting image.

I had been tired that night, maybe a little drunk, and a little shook up after discovering Puddy’s body, naturally, but I knew it would come to me if I just sat back, relaxed, and let it reveal itself. Or at least I hoped so.

It was not to be. My ringing cell phone snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at the number displayed on the screen, but didn’t recognize the caller’s number.

“Hello, Wes Byrne,” I said, pressing the number to activate the call.

“Mr. Byrne, this here’s Ada Salvatore--Puddy’s mother.”

She really didn’t have to identify herself as the old woman I’d met the day before. The twangy, high-pitched voice reminded me of one of those old prospectors you hear in classic western movies. I could practically hear her gums smacking.

“Yes, Mrs. Salvatore, what can I do for you?” I asked.

“Can ya really write a nice article ’bout my son sos people don’t think he was a bad boy?” she answered.

I tried to hide the surprise in my voice. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Had some time ta think it over. I apologize for being a little rude to ya yesterday. I was a bit shook up, ya see, watching my boy put in the ground like that. Ya won’t pull nothin’ will ya, make him look stupid?”

I pictured the Puddy Salvatore that stood in front of me, waving a knife in my face, those yellow teeth. I guess almost everybody had some redeeming character. I might have to be creative, but I’d do my best. “No, ma’am, I won’t,” I answered.

“Okay, well come right over before I change ma mind and let’s get this done,” she ordered and then the call ended abruptly.

“Mrs. Salvatore...hello?”

She was gone. I looked at my watch. It was a little after four in the afternoon. I debated giving Stacey a call and having him meet me to drive over to the Salvatore place. Frankly, I felt a little embarrassed thinking I needed his help. Mrs. Salvatore was barely five-foot-tall and had to be in her late sixties. I had a good foot and a half and fifty pounds on her. If I couldn’t face her alone, what kind of man was I?

Then I remembered the thoughts I had of the old lady doing me harm when Kenny and I were driving back from the funeral. I’d be on guard, but there was always that possibility of her slipping something into my drink. I decided to stop at the liquor store on the way over to her place and pick up a bottle of Powers. If I was going to be poisoned, it would be on my own terms.