I dreamt about shimmering blue birds with fanned red tails. My friends and I made them after school with papier mâché and glitter and paint. When we held the birds to the sun, they slipped through our fingers and flew away. We chased after them but they wouldn’t be caught. And they wouldn’t come back.
I awoke from my dream with a jolt. I stared at the ceiling and my heart jumped around in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
Inga whimpered and I pulled her close to me. “It’s okay, girl,” I said. “It was just one hell of a crappy nightmare.”
I rolled out of bed and pulled on my pink, fluffy robe and bunny slippers. My nightmare had me focused, I pulled down the attic stairs and followed my partner up the steps.
The morning sun cascaded through an attic window. The box I wanted was buried in a sea of Christmas ornaments, icicle lights, and ho ho ho. It hoarded childhood memories, school triumphs, and heartbreak diaries. I hadn’t looked inside since I graduated from pimples.
The carton was big and heavy. I dragged it on the floor in a warm patch of light streaming from the window. Then we sat in the sun with the dust bunnies and opened the box.
The summer I was thirteen, my Cousin Ginny’s family took me to Washington D.C. I packed my Nikon COOLPIX 100 and burned through oodles of film. The pics were stuffed in a shoebox tied with string. I untangled the string and flicked through a few envelopes. There was the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. There was Ginny and me on a Potomac River Cruise. And there was François.
Ah, François.
François was a French exchange student visiting Washington with his host family from Fargo. Both Ginny and I were crazy in love with him. He was fifteen and hot. We were staying in the same hotel. His accent made me breathless but when he spoke French, I melted into a puddle of goo. The first time François kissed me, stars exploded in my head. And his tongue surprised me. I bit it.
The day we flew back to Chicago I thought I’d die without François. But somewhere over Cleveland, I think, Ginny told me François kissed her. She wept in my arms, convinced she’d never love again. I promised that she would. I didn’t tell her François kissed me. I just wished I’d bit his tongue harder.
We were thirty-thousand feet in the air when I made the plunge into adolescence. Adolescence is free-falling and there’s no net to catch you. You’re hormonal, you’re stupid, and you make it up as you go. And if you look twice at a cute guy, your face will break out.
Ginny made the plunge to stupid too. When her parents wouldn’t leave her in Washington with François, she swore she’d jump from the plane. My uncle pleaded with her to be reasonable. But Mama’s sister smacked some sense into her. In the end, Ginny vowed to starve herself. Her protest lasted two and a half days. On the third day, she asked if I wanted pizza. I always want pizza. We took a bus to Lina’s Pizza and ate a large pepperoni and olive. We never spoke of François again.
I studied a pic of the three of us goofing off on the Capitol steps. I touched François’ face. He had kind eyes. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
I dragged more stuff from the box. Bunches of ticket stubs to White Sox and Chicago Bears and Bulls games. There were concert tickets and programs I saved from The Nutcracker and Chicago and the Blue Man Group. I found a dried wrist corsage from prom night, a promise ring from a guy I vaguely remember, and a basketball trophy from my senior year. I felt a surge of gratitude for my parents. They worked hard to give their kids a good life.
I decided to cut a piece of the string from the shoebox and tie it around my finger to remind me. And maybe when Mama and Mrs. Savino and Father Timothy embarrass the hell out of me on their boat cruise, I wouldn’t push them overboard. Maybe.
I dug deeper into the box, stuffed my hand down and exploring with my fingers until they clasped onto a wing. I thrust my other hand down, cupped the object with both hands, and gently brought it to the surface.
I held the blue bird with the red tail to the window and it shimmered in the sun. It didn’t fly away. But it told me Felix had been right.
And it told me who drove the blue van.
***
Felix was spanking a staffer in chess. I watched him move his pieces around the board and take his partner’s. He was in the zone. His last move trapped the staffer’s King. It was all over but the crying.
“Checkmate!” Felix shouted. I waited for his signature pounce on his opponent’s King and Felix didn’t disappoint. The staffer heaved a sigh. “I will beat you one day,” he said.
“You’re getting better,” Felix said encouragingly.
“Shut up,” the staffer laughed.
I waited for him to leave and I swooped onto his chair. “Hey.”
This time Felix’s smile reached his eyes. “You’re here and it’s not Wednesday.”
Apparently we had a standing date. I made a quick note on my phone and placed a gift bag on the table.
“Is it a donut?”
I laughed. “You might want to nix the sugar until next Wednesday. I found a few things in the attic from my trip to Washington D.C. I thought you might like them.”
He reached into the bag and pulled out a visitor’s pass from the Congressional Hearing tour. The pass was signed by Bridgeport’s former House Representative and two Illinois Senators.
“Awesome! Can I wear it?”
“It’s yours,” I said and pinned in on his sweater. My hand brushed something odd on his chest.
Felix pulled out more treasures. There was a board game of Presidents and Vice Presidents. He seemed to know all their names and pointed out a few of his faves. There was a picture of a younger me by the Lincoln Memorial and a sightseeing brochure with pics of Washington’s hottest touristy stops. At the bottom of the bag was a Lalique frosted crystal lion. His eyes misted behind the wire frames. “Only Mr. B gave me presents.”
“Life is hard sometimes. I want you to remember how brave you are.”
He stared at the frosted glass lion in his hands. “I wished I had saved Mr. B.”
“You told me you keep Mr. B’s things safe.”
Felix met my gaze and nodded solemnly.
“Why didn’t you tell me you have Danny’s lion medallion?”
He dropped his eyes. “I didn’t steal it.”
“I know. You kept it safe. But Danny had it with him before he died.”
“The bad men wanted it. They chased him to take it away.”
“You were washing windows when Danny ran from the store. Did he hand it to you?”
Felix shook his head. “I didn’t know. When the blue van hit Mr. B, I cried and cried. I didn’t finish the windows. Danny wouldn’t like that.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure He’d understand.”
“I emptied the soapy water in the storm drain by the curb. Like Mr. B showed me. It was there. The gold lion spilled out with the water when I emptied the pot.”
“Danny dropped the medallion in your pail when he ran from the store.”
“He wanted me to keep it safe for him.”
“I felt it under your sweater when I pinned on the pass. Do you mind if I see it?”
Felix smiled broadly and dragged out the medallion resting on his chest. He held it reverently in his hands.
“May I?” I asked.
He hesitated only a moment before removing it from his neck and lovingly placing it in my hands. It was heavier than I’d imagined. My fingers caressed the lion’s face and the canary diamond mane shimmered. The emerald eyes mesmerized me. I realized I wasn’t breathing.
I could imagine the thieves chasing Danny for the medallion. And I was certain Felix could be in grave danger if his secret came out.
“The lion takes my breath away,” I said.
Felix smiled softly. He understood perfectly. “You won’t take him away, will you?”
It was his turn to hold his breath.
I placed the medallion back in Felix’s hands. “The very last thing Mr. B. did was give you your most important job. Keep it safe.”
***
My phone made one sharp ding and I checked the screen. I had a text from Uncle Joey. He was with his financial advisor and best friend, Bernie Love.
Last night I gave Joey the pics I took from the little black book I found under Cam’s bed. He said Bernie would have a few things to say about the pages.
Joey texted: Hey Cat, Bernie said re/ ledger. C’s been a very bad boy.
No surprise there, I responded.
My source tells me IA was investigating C for drug trafficking and protection when he took disability retirement. B says ledger is consistent with suspected activity.
IA dropped their investigation when C retired?
Hey. CPD doesn’t need the freaking grief.
Got that. Thanks, guys. Anything else?
Yes. Stay the hell away from that AH. He’s got too much to lose.
***
I punched my brother’s number on my phone.
“Yo!” Rocco said.
“Do I have to put a pool table in my living room to get your attention?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. What’s up?”
“It’s about your buddy, Cam. He’s a crook, Bro. IA was investigating him for drug-trafficking when he bolted.”
“He didn’t bolt. He had a disabling injury. Give it a rest, Cat.”
“Uh huh. Bernie went over Cam’s little black book.”
Rocco groaned. “Tell me you didn’t break into Cam’s house.”
“How else would I know he has a little black book?”
“I’m going to hate myself for asking. What did Bernie say?”
“He said the figures in the book are consistent with an illegal drug operation. You know what they say. Cops have the best dope.”
“Dammit. He was talking about getting Jackson and me into his club.”
“Watch your back, Roc.”
“There could be a perfectly good explanation for all this. It wouldn’t be the first time IA went after a good cop.”
“You got that right.”
“Maybe I’ll be up front. Just ask him.”
“While you’re at it, ask Cam where he was the morning Ponytail was killed.”
Rocco blew air. “Is this another one of your hunches?”
I felt my cheeks burn. “I guess.”
“Cat, I’m hanging up now. You’re beginning to scare the hell out of me.”