Mayson woke to the gray morning, the fire’s soft popping, the crisp scent of burning wood... and the sweet memory of last night’s kiss. How had Stephen, given complete authority over her, tapped but a thimbleful of passion when Tyler, with just a kiss, had opened the floodgates of paradise? It was the kiss she hadn’t dreamed possible. And when it ended, he’d looked her squarely in the eyes. “Let the record reflect that you’ve been officially kissed.”
They’d gone to bed then; him to sleep, her to spend the next hours trying to grasp what had happened. It was something wonderful, yet dangerous; something sweet, yet probably disappointing. Turning, she found his abandoned pillow and a note which read: I’ve gone for a walk by the lake. So she’d know where he was. I won’t be long. So she wouldn’t worry. I started a fire. So the cabin would be warm when she woke. She put the note down and closed her eyes.
He returned from his hike, invigorated. The cabin was toasty, the shower running. Reaching for the phone, he froze at the strange sounds coming from the bathroom. She emerged to find him gazing out the window. “I didn’t know you were back,” she said.
Turning, his eyes fell to her slender legs, bared to the panties’ lace where they molded into exquisitely rounded hips. Her delicate shape did more than stimulate his senses. It seemed to solve their mystery, touching chords deep inside him.
“Thanks for starting the fire,” she blushed. “How was the lake?”
“Deep.”
“Don’t tell me you took a swim?”
“Let’s say it looks deep.”
“Maybe we can we take another walk later.” She pulled on her slacks, then brushed her damp hair. “Tyler, you’re being so quiet. Something’s on your mind.”
“You were singing in the shower.”
“Oh... And do I have a good voice?”
“It moves me,” he replied. “But what does that prove?”
That nothing else matters, she thought.
“That song,” he said. “I’ve never heard it before.”
“That’s because it’s old — and very Italian. A Dean Martin classic.” She offered another verse. “Non dimenticar means don’t forget you are my darling...”
“Go on,” he insisted, until she’d rendered every verse.
“You really like it, don’t you?” she marveled.
“Enough to imagine buying a Dean Martin CD.”
She laughed. “It was our song. We used to sing...”
“Who is ‘we’? A boyfriend?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugged.
“The fact that you won’t tell me proves it matters a great deal.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t owe you an explanation anyway,” she yelled as she dashed out.
“Damnit Mayson, come back here!” He followed her down to the lake. Gazing over the water, she refused to acknowledge him as his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin dropping in her hair. Quiet seconds drifted as they enjoyed the beauty of their strange, new world: the silvery lake, the crisp air so still they could hear the wind sigh, the trees creak, and every rustle and crawl of life. They could hear their own thoughts, and for an instant, imagine the towering mountains sealed them off from the threatening world.
He followed an eagle’s glide across the gray sky - Eagles Nest, the camp’s name. “You’re going to tell me. Why not now?”
“Because I’m not ready,” she replied.
“When will you be?”
She turned sharply. “When will you?”
“And what do you assume I have to say?”
Her eyes gleamed impatiently. “Tyler, don’t you think I know that behind your quick smile and easy manner is a deep sadness? One that draws you to the window, pains your eyes, and expresses itself in everything you say or do. Madonna mia, it’s even driven you to create a museum of souvenir posters!”
He’d been foolish to allow her so close, he realized now as she scratched on the private chamber holding Kara. Releasing her, his eyes drifted away.
“Then you’re not ready either, I see.”
“I guess not.” He started back up the slope.
Following, she reached him at the top. “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned last night. I guess you’ll want to kiss me again, now that I’ve stupidly set the precedent.”
He smiled. “Would you mind?”
“You’re not supposed to ask.”
As he kissed her, her arms slid up around his neck, her mouth eagerly meeting his. Like the first, this kiss was a fresh discovery, his warmth flowing sweetly through her, melting the world away. Breaking it first, he left her mouth still hungering, her eyes smoldering. “I guess we’ve missed breakfast,” he sighed. “Let’s go see about leftovers.”
Retrieving his cap and shades from their cabin, he rejoined her for the hike across the camp. “Since you haven’t provided a shopping list, I’ll improvise. That is, if Lou will take me to Iron Ridge.”
Thinking quickly, she rattled off items as they descended the knoll: “Shampoo, toothpaste and hand cream. This cold weather is drying out my skin. And some nail polish — any dark red will do. And I guess you’ve already thought of gloves. And don’t forget you need a coat. Maybe some thermal...”
“Wait a minute!” He spun sharply. “I can’t remember all that!”
“I’ll write it down at the Adkins. What’s your excuse for not driving the Prelude?”
They froze suddenly at the sight of Lou talking with a man in front of her cabin. His Jeep left no doubt about his identity. “Jimmy Dale!” Mayson gasped.
As they watched, Lou’s suspicious gaze drifted up to their cabin. Soon Earl ambled out to join them. A ridiculous pantomime then followed — Earl’s cupped ear, Dale’s shout, Earl’s shrug, Dale’s shout, Lou’s scowl and flapping arms. Finally Dale returned to his Jeep and left. Tyler nodded at Earl’s blank expression. “I still don’t think he got it.”
“Got what is the question,” Mayson said.
“I suppose there’s no choice but to find out.” He continued down the knoll.
As Earl met them at the cabin door minutes later, Mayson asked, “Was that your mail carrier, Jimmy Dale?”
“Mail?” He squinted. “Jimmy Dale just brung it. You two expectin’ something?”
Lou appeared, her eyes and hands restless. “Figgerin’ on some breakfast, I reckon?”
“Earl was just telling us Jimmy Dale brought the mail,” Tyler said. “Anything new from Bayou country?”
“Nuthin’ like that, Bob. Sit down and I’ll warm you up some leftovers.” She shuffled off to the kitchen. As Earl drifted back out, they exchanged grave glances. She knew. But what had she told Dale? She soon returned with their plates, joining them at the table.
“Lou, you’re spoiling us.” Tyler beamed at the fluffy biscuits and gravy. “And grits? They’re Lucy’s favorite,” he explained, as Mayson studied the creamy puddle on her plate.
“There’s a heap more if your skinny bride can finish that pile on her plate.”
As Mayson turned her first shade of green, Tyler stated his request. “I reckon I can do that,” Lou nodded. “We need some things at Callahan’s Hardware anyway.”
As she went to get ready, he said, “She’s either taking me shopping or to jail. We’ll know which pretty soon.”
“Tyler, don’t go.”
“If we’ve reached the end of the road, going to Iron Ridge won’t make a difference.”
“It will to me. I might never see you again.”
“Why are you so upset?” He smiled at her plate. “I got you out of that second pile of grits.”
Lou returned wearing a floppy hat and tattered coat. On the way out, Mayson stopped to study the pictures cluttering the shelves. Some were of a little boy, a larger boy and finally a young man, his features blunted, his eyes dull. “Earl, Jr.,” Lou explained.
“So... I mean where... “
“He’s dead, Lucy, if that’s what’s got you so tongue-tied. A drunk driver kilt him back in ’75.”
“Oh Lou, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed.
“You were living here at the camp?” Tyler asked.
She nodded, “Fore that we lived over in Pine County.”
“How old was Earl, Jr. when he died?” Mayson asked.
“Nineteen,” she frowned. “Damn near kilt Earl and me, too. Almost lost him at birth. Fool doctors didn’t know what they was doing. That’s when I started midwifin’. Figgered I could spare other women what I went through.”
“So he was injured at birth?” Mayson asked.
“Can’t prove how it happened. All I know is he never was like them others. He weren’t no retard or nuthin, just slow in the head. But not enough he didn’t know he was differn’t. He had no confidence in hisself. We could hardly get him out of the house. That special school changed all that. We boarded him when he was twelve. Shoulda’ done it sooner, only Earl was too stubborn to admit his boy was differn’t. Earl, Jr. done real good at that school. Them teachers learn’t him what no one else could; to believe in hisself. When he left at eighteen, he was full growed in every sense of the word; even had a girlfriend.
“Just a week ‘fore he was kilt, he got a job pumping gas at Bernie Larkin’s station down in Iron Ridge. He was real excited. Me and Earl was just thankful for that school and the wonderful lady who runs it — Lativia Norris, a saintly woman. I don’t give a darn what color she is.”
Mayson glanced at Tyler. “Would that be the Hope Mountain School, the one that just received the huge private endowment?”
“If that means a big mess of money, it is sure ‘nuff. Folks like Earl and me think it was long overdue, too.”
“Why is that?” Mayson asked.
“‘Cuz Jasper Crenshaw owed it to Lativia. The old coot never was no good in my book, even if the rest of Pine County kissed his feet. That sheriff’s badge made him the Big Daddy and he didn’t let nobody forget it. He bullied people, ‘specially when he was drinkin’. Jasper was a big drinker; gambler, too. Only he didn’t let nobody else do it unless he was invited. He was crooked as hell. How else you figger he piled up all that money? Only decent thing he ever done was leaving it to Lativia instead of his no-count kids.”
“Why did he owe Lativia Norris so much money?” Tyler asked. She studied him carefully now. “That’s real important to you, is it? Well I reckon there ain’t no reason not to tell you what folks in these parts already know. Those who weren’t on that Pine County jury forty years ago, anyway. Most think Lativia’s husband, Edgar, didn’t kill that white girl they executed him for. Just ‘cuz he did maintenance work over at that university and talked to her on occasion don’t mean he’s the one who kilt her. But Crenshaw and that county attorney he carried around in his hip pocket tried to twist everythin’ into somethin’ it wasn’t. If you ask me,” she said, “it was one of them sex-crazed boys. Most were spoiled brats who thought all their rich daddies had to do was write a check to bail ‘em out of trouble. And I reckon maybe that’s what happened in this case.”
“The university you’re talking about is TSU?” Mayson asked.
Lou nodded. “Fanciest school I ever heard of. They say if you want to be a lawyer or judge, there ain’t no better place to go. Don’t know why they put it in Pine County, but personally I’d just as soon they’d put it somewhere’s else. Them college kids think they’re better than other folks. Call us townies, as if we should be ashamed of ourselves.”
As she left to tell Earl good-bye, Mayson followed Tyler out to the truck. He looked like a handsome redneck in his cap, gold hair tumbling over his ears, the shades hiding his magnificent blue eyes. As he slipped behind the wheel, she gripped his arm, “Tyler, please be careful.”
“I will, darlin’.” He grinned as a huffing Lou hopped in beside him. “You ready?”
“Ready as I ever will be, I reckon.”
Lou clammed up again as they rattled down the mountain, her eyes glued to the window. They’d almost reached Iron Ridge when a patrol car passed in the opposite direction. Instinctively Tyler clenched the wheel. “Them John Laws scare you, do they?” she asked now. “You want to tell me somethin, Bob? Or’s that your real name?”
He smiled. “What else would it be?”
“Oh, maybe one that’d snap them John Laws’ heads over in Pine.” She nodded at his cap and glasses. “You figger that disguise will keep ‘em from recognizing you? And that Jap car? Hunnerdto-one says it starts just fine.”
“Come on Lou, you don’t...” His eyes fell to the pistol in her hand.
“Don’t what, Bob? Believe you and Lucy’s the pair them John Laws are looking for? Jimmy Dale says you’re dangerous, but knowin’ you somehow makes that hard to believe.”
They reached the town limits. Heading where, some Mayberry-like jail? He must make her understand. “Now Lou, I don’t know what Dale said, but trust your sharp senses that told you I wasn’t dangerous. And I bet they’re also telling you I’m not a crook. So how...” His eyes widened on the mirror as a patrol car now closed in.
“Pull over,” she ordered. “You’ve got some explainin’ to do and there ain’t no better time.”
The crisp mountain air soon relieved Mayson’s anxiety. As she strolled by the lake, resounding fear became the calm voice of reason, then finally the whisper of reflection. Stopping at the spot where Tyler had kissed her that morning, she closed her eyes to indulge another playback of the moment. How easy to push away the world’s clutter in a place like this, where there was no sound but the occasional dapple of a fish, a chirping bird, the wind’s gentle brush over the mountains. Not disruptions to her thoughts, but pleasant refrains. How she’d changed! And in the quiet refrain, her heart echoed, I know.
She returned to the cabin later with pinkened cheeks, misting breath and an exuberance she’d never known. Starting a fresh fire, her eyes drifted restlessly. How empty the world had become without him. How dreadfully quiet. He was returning, wasn’t he? Her gaze stopped on the door. If she believed in him, she must also have faith in this new door and know that if she waited long enough, he’d come through it. If it was within his power - if he wasn’t dead. Fear glistened in her eyes.
The trip down the mountain, the shopping, the return trip; how long should it all take? Three hours? They’d been gone for four. She wanted to cry but called Harvey instead. Madelyn Stump’s recorded voice greeted her. Taking a deep breath, she said, “This is Deborah from the airport. I just wanted to let you know the scallops at your friend’s restaurant...”
“Don’t give me that bull.” A man came on. As the line’s silence deepened, he said, “It’s me, kid, don’t worry. Where the hell have you two been? I thought I would’ve heard from you by now.”
“We’ve tried,” Mayson replied. “Only Tyler wouldn’t leave a message.”
“But you figured it was worth the risk,” Harvey laughed. “So’d you make it to Tennessee like the world assumes?”
“Flavin County. It borders Pine, although I can’t recall on which side.”
“It wouldn’t mean crap to me anyway. You’re close to the target, that’s what matters.”
“Who’s Madelyn Stump?” she asked.
“An old friend, only that’s not her real name. Anyway, that’s another story. Listen kid, in case you’re not following the news, the Feds and their John Law sidekicks have canvassed your Redneck Paradise. The clock’s ticking. Get what you can and get out.”
“‘John Laws’ — that’s what Lou calls them.”
“Who the hell is Lou?”
She explained the circumstances that had brought them to Eagles Nest. “It was safe until this morning, when we think the mail carrier put a bug in Lou’s ear. Tyler’s in town with her now getting supplies.”
Harvey sighed. “Let’s just pray the carrier’s bug didn’t include the one hundred grand reward. I assume you got your hands on those probate records?”
“A boxful,” she confirmed, now summarizing its contents: the Norris murder case, Lativia’s letter campaign and Crenshaw’s bequest to the Hope Mountain School.
“You’re hoping one, or possibly all three jurists, attended TSU at the time of the girl’s murder?”
“Their ages fit chronologically. And their families were wealthy enough to buy Crenshaw’s silence. That is, if you can imagine them raping and murdering a defenseless young woman.”
“We’re talking forty years ago,” he replied. “A man’s hormones don’t incite him at sixty like they do at twenty. They could’ve gotten drunk, done something stupid and then killed her to cover it up.”
Restlessly, her eyes drifted to the window. How long could it take to buy supplies in a small town like Iron Ridge? Certainly they should’ve been back by now. “If our theory’s valid, the trio’s attendance at TSU would’ve likely ended with the girl’s murder.”
“And the records destroyed,” he added. “So thoroughly they didn’t surface in either Falkingham’s or Mann’s confirmations.”
“So far, no one’s had a reason to ask about TSU.”
“It’s no problem to check out. I have a few contacts left.”
Her gaze returned to the window. Had Lou turned Tyler in? Had someone else spotted him? She asked, “Can you get us new identities?”
Harvey laughed. “Real flashes in the pan, those Cartwrights. They’re suddenly liabilities just like Corelli and Waddill. The IDs won’t be a problem,” he confirmed. “How’s the money holding out?”
“Tyler’s loaded.” Her eyes were glued to the empty lane. But was he coming back?
“Don’t worry.” Harvey sensed her fear. “He’ll be back. Now give me your new mailing address.” Jotting it down, he grabbed his notes. “So you wanna hear what I’ve got?”
“Of course.” Her eyes watched the lane with growing fear.
“I got access to the NYPD’s files through a remaining contact. Duke’s one thorough sonofabitch, thank God. Anyway, let’s start with the Outer Banks call Mendelsohn received from Crenshaw’s nephew, Dale Markham. He lives in Snow Peak, a little Minnesota ice-hole. We can assume their conversation was serious, given that hours later Mendelsohn was on a flight to St. Paul. He took a rental car to Snow Peak, checking into the Norsemen’s Lodge, where he stayed two nights. On Saturday he returned to St. Paul, boarded a flight to La Guardia but got off instead at O’Hare and returned to Minnesota. Duluth this time. He returned to New York the next morning.”
“What did he do in Snow Peak and Duluth?” she asked.
“Spent a lot of time with Markham and his cousin, Ford Crenshaw, one of the Sheriff’s shafted kids, who flew in from California at the same time. Something big was up, no question.”
“But do we know what they did, where they went? Anything?”
“Duke asked the same questions but got nowhere. Crenshaw and Markham claimed their discussions were protected by the attorney-client privilege. Any idea where they got that line?”
“Lamp, no doubt,” she replied.
“Probably, but also the firm partner who flew to Snow Peak after Mendelsohn’s murder. A guy named Demetrius Colonna.”
“There’s no partner by that name.”
“No kidding. And you’d remember this big, ugly sonofabitch. Six-six, glass eye and Igor limp?”
“Leopold was in Snow Peak!” she gasped.
“Telling Crenshaw and Markham to keep their mouths shut, no doubt. Coming from a guy like him, I’m sure they took the advice to heart.”
“Duke didn’t press the issue?”
“Why should he? Minnesota wasn’t important when he had you right there in Manhattan.” Scanning his notes, he added, “I’ve also got phone records documenting Mendelsohn’s and Lamp’s calls through the weekend. Lamp explains these as ‘pressing firm business.’ The last nuggets don’t come from Duke’s files, but my own. Specifically the phone records from Lamp’s Westchester home, which reflect numerous calls that Sunday — to Mendelsohn’s apartment, Harrington’s Houston office, and a certain Manhattan hotel Leopold uses. I guess it takes a lot of hot air to arrange a murder. So what do you think, kid?”
“That our next stop is Snow Peak, Minnesota.”
“An army will be waiting,” he warned. “You won’t be able to get anywhere near...”
Lou’s battered truck suddenly rattled up the lane. “Tyler’s back!” Mayson shouted as she dropped the phone, burst from the cabin, and flew down the knoll. As she approached the Adkins cabin, Lou squirmed out of the truck with her bags. Rushing towards her, Mayson quickly froze, then ducked behind the closest tree as a patrol car glided up the lane. Where was Tyler? Horrified, she watched Lou greet the trooper, their solemn gazes soon drifting up to the fugitives’ cabin. He started towards it. Lou’s laughter stopped him. He shrugged and retraced his steps. Playfully smacking his arm, Lou started into a long-winded tale. Mayson remained pressed to the tree until the trooper returned to his car and left. Then she rushed forward again.
“Well, I’ll be darn!” Lou spun around. “I thought you’d locked yourself in the cabin. Wouldn’t done no good though, if you seen what just happened. Clark darn near talked hisself into believin’ you two was up there. It took some fast jawin’ to convince him you weren’t.”
“Where’s Tyler?” Mayson asked.
“You mean Bob, don’t you? Why he’s...”
They turned as an ancient VW Beetle suddenly rattled up the lane. Jumping out, Tyler’s grin quickly vanished as Mayson charged him. “You scared me!” she thrashed viciously, a tearful spasm ending with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“I didn’t mean to.” He held her. “You know that.”
“Why should I? Give me one good reason.”
“There,” he nodded proudly at the Beetle. “It’s for you.”
She scowled at the dent-riddled car. “And what am I supposed to do with this German jalopy?”
“Drive it, you darn fool.” Lou answered.
“I’ve never driven a stick shift.”
“I’ll teach you,” he said. “It’s not hard, is it Lou?”
“Shucks no.” She marveled at them in a lazy embrace. “I declare, if you two really ain’t married, you should be the way you carry on.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” Mayson fretted. “No husband would scare his wife like Tyler just did to me, and then apologize by giving her a German jalopy she doesn’t even know how to drive.” She realized now that their names had changed. “Lou, then you really won’t turn us in?”
“I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t figgerin’ to do just that when Darrell Pamplin stopped in his Big Blue Top. Only that’s when Tyler here done some mighty fast jawin’ at the end of my pistol.” She laughed. “And they say I can flap my jaws. You shoulda’ heard this charmer’s silver tongue. It was a skippin’ and a dancin’ like you wouldn’t believe as he swore y’all didn’t kill nobody, same as Edgar Norris didn’t kill that girl, which he said was why you was in Tennessee - to help Lativia prove it. And hell, Lucy, or Mayson, I reckon it is. I couldn’t argue with that. Which led to my next question, ‘cept I couldn’t get it out ‘fore he was a tapshoin’ again about who really done the murderin’ - them big Washington judges, when they was rich kids at the University.
“He said y’all was sure they done it but that knowin’ and provin’ was two differn’t things. And hell, I couldn’t argue with that point, no more’n the next. That the provin’ wouldn’t get done if you two was sittin’ in jail, or worse, gettin’ yourself kilt, which he said would happen if I turned him over to Darrell Pamplin, whose big nose was pressin’ against the window by then. So you’re I-talian, are you?” She squinted at Mayson now. “Never seen one with blond hair. Anyway, my gut feelin’, which ain’t too far off most times, told me he was shootin’ straight even if his story was crooked. Ain’t no lie’s ever been told anymore twisted than the one he managed in under a minute.”
“With a gun in my ribs, too,” Tyler added.
“I done told her that part. Anyway, as the window come down, I figgered Tyler might just as well be my sister’s boy, Grover. Darrell didn’t know no differn’t. Didn’t ask for his license or nuthin.’ Just told us about the Thanksgivin’ sale at Callahans and then waved us off.”
“Darrell was the trooper just here?” Mayson asked.
“Shucks no. That was Lem Cain’s boy, Clark. He come by ‘cuz he thought you two mighta’ strayed up here. Scared the dickens out of me when he started towards your cabin.”
“What did you say to stop him?”
Lou shrugged. “Just that there weren’t nuthin’ on that knoll ‘cept black bears, like the one I seen snoopin’ around this morning.”
“Black bears?” Tyler asked.
“Clark’s scared of ‘em; has been since one chased him off from Jackson’s Pond as a boy. He was fishin’ when he shoulda’ been school learnin.’ Gretchen, his Ma, said he never played hooky again. Didn’t take no more’n the mention of them big hairy critters for Clark to plumb forget you two.”
“Lou, you’re a genius!” Tyler cried as he hugged her.
“If you ain’t a mess!” She blushed. “So now that I saved you from jail, can you really clear Edgar?”
“If not, we’ll spend our lives running from John Laws.”
“You’ll figger it out. Then you’ll get hitched like you was supposed to be in the first place.”
“He doesn’t want to marry me,” Mayson frowned. “He thinks I’m a pain in the ass.”
“You are a pain in the ass,” answered Tyler.
“And you’re a big gavonne! How much did you pay for that German jalopy, anyway?”
“A thousand.”
“Then you’re not just a big gavonne but a stupid one!”
“Harley Bogins swore it was a sweet deal,” Lou said. “And them Bogins been sellin’ cars darn near fifty years.”
“And it’s in excellent condition,” he added.
“How would you know?” Mayson huffed. “Let me guess — you changed the oil once on your Porsche? No, I’ve got it. You put gas in the country club’s golf carts one summer?”
“See?” He glanced at Lou. “There’s no bigger pain in the ass on the planet.”
But Lou only saw a mess of energy flowin’ between the two that wasn’t the anger or frustration they pretended, but a fierce passion that made folks want to kiss one minute and spit the next.
“So you think I’m a sucker for every two-bit car dealer who comes along?” he asked.
“Think?” Mayson came back. “How much more proof do I need than this ton of dilapidated metal here?” She cringed as his eyes fell away. She’d hurt his feelings. Madonna mia, so she’d learn to drive the car. “It’s not so bad actually,” she said as she studied it again. “With a paint job, it might even be cute. And I don’t think you’re a stupid gavonne. I practically let you kiss me at will.”
Watching his smile return, Lou started off. “There’ll be supper if you want. If not we’ll expect you for Thanksgivin’ at noon. And don’t be late. Earl don’t wait for nuthin’; cuts the turkey right on the dot.”
A chilling dusk settled over the mountains as they returned to the cabin. He started a fire as Mayson unpacked the bags. Rejoining at the hearth, they kissed soothingly. “There’s no law forbidding a second,” she said, her eyes lifting hopefully.
“Are you sure?” he smiled. “This is Tennessee.”
“Of course there’s none requiring it, either.”
“Do you want a second kiss or not?”
“I told you: You’re not supposed to ask.”
As their lips touched she quivered, daring to imagine them joined completely, his warm, sweet passion flowing through her, rippling into every nerve. Again he left her breathless. “Did I mention thirds are permitted, too? In fact, I now recall Tennessee allows an unlimited number.”
He smiled. “I won’t take advantage of your generosity just because the law allows it.”
“Only because you don’t want to,” she pouted. “Tyler, don’t lie just to spare my feelings. The truth is you find a third kiss intolerable.”
He glared at her with fresh irritation. “What difference does it make how many kisses I want? The first two were fine. If there was a third, you’d ask why not a fourth. And if a fourth...”
“I get your stupid point.” Zillions of women, and she must be the first to repulse him. “No matter what you say, you don’t want the third kiss because I sicken you.”
“Mayson, you don’t have the first clue what I want.”
“Then tell me.”
“When I’m ready.”
“One thing. You can’t even tell me one thing.”
“All right,” he relented. “I miss your hair.”
“Then why did you cut it off?”
“You’re raving, Mayson. You should know it’s not very becoming.”
“And you should know you’ll never kiss me again.” She suddenly remembered something. “I reached Harvey this afternoon. I was right; Madelyn’s recording is a cover.”
He gaped at her, incredulous. “You made contact with the only person on the planet who can help us, and yet we’ve wasted all this time counting kisses before you can remember to tell me!”
“At least I had the thimbleful of sense necessary to get him on the phone.”
“You’re unbelievable.” He stormed to the window.
“Do you want to hear about the call or not?” She summarized all they discussed, including the calls gleaned from Lamp’s phone records.
“It’s unfolding just like we thought.” He gazed at the moonlit sky. “Morris was drawn to Minnesota by something related to Crenshaw which, once acquired, was taken to Lamp.”
“The negotiations got hot and heavy,” she mused. “Beginning in Minnesota and ending with Morris’s death in New York - a death we assume resulted from Lamp’s cry for help and Harrington’s response in the form of a big ugly gavonne named Leopold.”
He extended their supposition. “Hours after the murder, Leopold was in Minnesota posing as a firm partner to sweep up Morris’s litter.”
“He must be in Pine County now to finish the job,” she said. “Or two-thirds, anyway. Once they kill us, then Harvey, it’s over.”
“There’s an if in there, Mayson.”
“A when, you mean. With an army of cops surrounding us and a professional killer lurking in the shadows, how could it not?”
“Because you’re overlooking one important factor.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The forty-year-old secret that made Crenshaw rich and has the conspirators sweating now. We’re being pursued so heavily not because of what we know, but what we might find - the secret they were unable to bury with Morris.”
His optimism glowed much too brightly for the dark storm facing them. “That’s wonderful, but where’s the proof of this secret: Florida, Minnesota, Tennessee or New York? And what form does it take?”
“If it’s not here, we’ll go to Minnesota,” he said.
That was much easier said than done; she recalled Harvey’s warning about the welcoming party that’d be waiting. “Then you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“Over five minutes now.” He glanced at his watch. “A new record. What else did Harvey say?”
“He’s sending new IDs.”
“Did you tell him what we’ve learned from the records?”
“Yes, and I recruited his help in uncovering what two Senate confirmations couldn’t.” She watched his eyes gleam. “I don’t know why you’re smiling. The reason quite possibly is because it doesn’t exist.”
“Then again it might. Come on,” he nodded. “Let’s go see what’s for supper.”
The phone was ringing when they returned later. He reached it first. “So does that old mountain woman know the score?” Harvey asked, then quickly received an account of the afternoon’s close call.
“Have you checked on our three jurists?” Tyler asked.
“No TSU, kid, but the holes are definitely in the right places. You’ll see what I mean when you get my research. If you have a pen, I’ll tell you...
Tyler scrawled three pages of notes, which Mayson quickly swiped up. Harvey added, “I think your suspicions are valid. We just need to fill in the gaps. Corelli says you may be heading north soon. Like I told her, icy roads will be the least of your problems. The trail will be hot wherever you go.”
“Thanks for the warning – and the research.” Hanging up, he nodded at the notes in Mayson’s lap. “What do you think?”
“There’s definitely an unexplained gap between their bachelor and law degrees. It took them four years to earn JDs, when the Western world knows it takes just three.”
“Four if you hang around for tax certification.”
“They didn’t.”
“Are the four-year periods the same?”
“Identical,” she nodded.
“Why didn’t this gap year come out in the previous confirmations?” he asked.
“Why should it? There was too much else for those predatorial senators to sink their teeth into — abortion, family values, public decency laws and the death penalty. That gap year was certainly the last thing on their minds.”
True, he thought, too exhausted suddenly to debate it any further. “Are you ready for bed?”
His eyes opened to the crackling fire and Mayson standing pensively over it. More than the icy cabin and a midnight restlessness had inspired the fire. It was a ghost she was chasing away.
“Is it time for our talk?” he asked.
“What if it is?”
“Then I’m here, like I said I would be.”
“And when you’re not?” she asked.
“I wasn’t aware I was going anywhere.”
“I meant: How long will you be here?”
“As long as you need me. Now get back in bed,” he insisted.
Shrugging, she slipped back under the warm covers. One fragile glance was enough for him to draw her into his arms and wait patiently for the story lived but never told.
“He was the largest presence in my life,” she began. “He made the world safe, warm, happy; the wonderful place of fairy tales. When I woke to find payment for a lost tooth under my pillow, he’d double the amount. The Tooth Fairy can be a little chintzy because she has so many kids to pay, he said. And I believed him. I believed everything he said.”
“Who are we talking about?” Tyler asked.
“Anthony Corelli, my father, my reference source for everything. He made the most complex things seem simple, wrapping his explanation in some colorful tale as he twirled dough in Corelli’s Pizza Shop. It was tiny and our apartment above it was cramped, but it was my world - a full, happy one. And noisy,” she laughed. “Italians are loud, passionate people. I never knew the difference between a friend and customer. The people who came to our shop were the same ones who visited the apartment, gave me Christmas presents and sat in St. Mary’s pews on Sunday. Their children were my friends and schoolmates.
“In the evenings, Mama would shuffle between the shop’s cash register and tables in a floating conversation, until Papa emerged from the kitchen. Then they’d sit with our friends and the vino flowed,” she remembered dreamily. “The air grew thick with smoke and the tales grew taller.”
“And the bullshit deeper?”
“Of course.” She squeezed his hand with a deepening intimacy. “While Santa and Vinny took over the shop’s duties, I sat in Papa’s lap, trying to follow the twists of a conversation that shifted between English and Italian.”
“You loved both your parents, but your father more,” Tyler mused.
“Not more, just in a different way. Mama was the quintessential Italian wife: submissive, loyal, and quiet. She took her cue from Papa. When he was in the room, she blended. There were things I could only discuss with her. But she doted on Santa and Vinny, while I was clearly Papa’s pet. In the afternoons, he’d leave the shop in Mama’s care and take me on his forages for supplies.
“For me, the shopping trip was a very special moment. I was small and my tall, handsome Papa was the king of my world, which included the noisy Italian market, where zillions of paesani dashed about in a zillion directions — like a carnival, each street with its own attractions. Try to imagine these same Italians crammed into these narrow streets, absorbed in their bartering and tall tales.”
“I get the picture,” he smiled.
“Papa would greet the proprietor at every sidewalk stand and then nod at me on his broad shoulders, Hey Gino, Sal: you met my little girl here? And they’d answer, Hey Tony, can’t you see I’m busy here? But always they’d stop what they were doing to shake my hand as if for the first time. My Mayson Angelina! Papa would boast. She’s bellissima, huh? Go on, tell me she’s not bellissima!
Bellissima, Tony! They’d shout back. I tell you this every day! Why you not listen, huh?
Give her a cookie, Tozani, Papa would say. One of those freshly baked ones. Or Gino, give her a soda, huh? At the next stop it’d be a stick of gum or whatever the paesano had, and off we’d go again.
“Later we’d return to the shop, and I’d curl up on the kitchen counter as Papa tied his apron on and began slicing vegetables and cooking the sausages that would dress the pizzas that evening. Soon the oven glowed as he twirled the dough in his skillful fingers. We’d sing, laugh and chatter away the time until Mama came back to announce the Gentilinis; then the Taravanos and Silecchios. By six the shop would be buzzing, Papa singing louder with each pizza pulled from the oven. He had a deep, beautiful baritone that carried out to the tables and brought Mama back to scold, Stop now, Papa! No one can hear themselves think!
“Think? He’d shrug. This is Corelli’s Pizza Shop. Paesani pay to eat, drink and be merry. They want to think, you tell’em to go to the library! Grabbing her, they’d soon be dancing around as old Mr. Pilenzo slinked back. Vincent Pilenzo! Papa would grin. Is my sweet Rosa bellissima or what?
“Bellissima! Bellissima! He’d growl. Now bring me my dinner! It was like that every night,” she laughed.
“The shop’s kitchen was my personal classroom, where Papa taught me about the world. He cooked and rambled. I listened and learned. Then as the steam rose, pepperoni spicing the air, we sang. Some afternoons he’d say, Mayson Angelina, let’s go shopping, huh? Maybe there’ll be a fresh cookie at Tozani’s bakery. Lifting me to his shoulders, off we’d go singing, always singing.”
Tyler cradled her as she cried softly, envisioning a sunny afternoon, she and her father serenading each other along the narrow streets of their Italian market. Non dimenticar means don’t forget you are my darling... He’d learn it, every verse. And then sing it with her.
“I remember the day I learned what to call our joy,” she resumed. “We’d shopped that afternoon, then returned to prepare for the evening crowd. As Papa sliced vegetables, twirled the dough, then finally turned the oven on, we moved from one song into the next. When my lungs gave out, he marched on alone.
“Papa, I asked. Why do you sing so much?
“Mayson Angelina! He gaped at me. How is it that the wonderful truth has escaped you this long?
“What truth? I shrugged.
“That your Papa is a songbird, of course.
“A songbird? I asked, confused.
“Why not? Am I any different from the birds that sing in the trees? Don’t you know why they sing?
“Why Papa?
“Because they’re happy, Mayson Angelina.
“But Papa, how can a songbird know it’s happy? Its brain isn’t big enough.
“What brain? He scoffed. Happiness flows from the heart.
“After that, whenever I was sad, I’d go to him and beg, Please songbird, sing away my sorrow! And each time he’d take me into his lap and say, Mayson Angelina, sing along and together we’ll chase your sadness away. And without fail it fled, until finally one night, so did the songbird.”
“What happened?” Tyler’s fingers slipped down her neck.
“I woke one morning and Papa was gone, without explanation. Mama called the police and sent my brothers out looking for him. We could only imagine him mugged, lying dead in some alley. Our friends were wonderful, visiting the apartment in shifts so we’d never be alone, bringing food and hounding the police for reports. Poor Mama was shattered. She just sat by the window in shock, while my brothers struggled to keep the shop going. They tried to hide their fear but I knew when they’d been crying.”
“And you?” he lifted her chin.
“My world rested on Papa’s strong shoulders,” she confessed. “Without him, I was suspended in a terrible darkness. For days I waited by the apartment door, my ears desperate for his cheerful voice in the street, his heavy feet on the steps. Many times I imagined these sounds, only to return to the terrible silence. I cried, prayed, even sang, hoping somehow he could hear me. But I never left that door, even at night, when I’d dream of him bursting inside, singing and lifting me from the floor. Finally I woke to the reality that he wasn’t coming back.”
She sighed. “It never occurred to us that he’d just walked away. At least not until that morning Mama tried to withdraw some funds to pay for shop repairs. Imagine her shock upon discovering that our entire savings had vanished the same day as Papa. He was never again mentioned in our home.
“But his ghost remained. It could be heard in the deep quiet of night, in the walls that echoed with his singing, in Mama’s sobbing behind the bedroom door and in the questions that ripped at my sleepless soul.”
“What questions?” Tyler asked.
“How Papa could be the rock of our family one day and tumbleweed the next? Had I made him mad? Disappointed him? Or had Santa and Vinny, by not helping more around the shop? Or was it Mama’s fault? Had she not loved him enough? For years I asked myself these questions until I was finally forced to confront the truth. Papa was to blame; no one else.”
“Did you ever hear from him again?”
“Not from but about him. It was years later, after we’d sold the shop and moved into another neighborhood - one of those small-world coincidences. Mama’s cousin from Newark, Carlo Metzanno, was in San Francisco visiting an old army buddy when he stumbled upon Papa.” Her eyes gleamed with a bitter irony. “You’ll never guess what he was doing.”
“Twirling pizza?”
She nodded. “In one of those fancy waterfront pizzerias. He was remarried to a young Italian girl, and had...”
“Had what?”
“Two little girls.” Biting her lip, she resumed. “Anyway, having found him, Mama now sued for her share of the savings and any support she could get. Papa’s new wife worked for one of San Francisco’s most prominent judges, something we didn’t discover until it was too late to appeal the ruling that despite his desertion, Papa had a new family to support and most critically, a California one. With only so many pennies to go around, the court held the New York Corelli family must take its place in line. Suffice it to say, we never collected a cent.”
Having been blessed with so much, Tyler now struggled to comprehend this injustice. “How did you get by?”
“After selling the shop, we moved into an older neighborhood, a euphemism for more rundown. But it wasn’t so bad. We had three large rooms, running water, electricity most of the time - and only a few mice,” she smiled.
“I hate to think of you living with mice,” he frowned.
“I said a few.” She stroked his elegant nose. “But we weren’t the only ones in Brooklyn who shared living space with little, fuzzy creatures.”
His pained eyes disturbed her, as did the dark shadow that had settled over him. Her private reflections had deeply affected him. And if their release had freed her to a degree, they’d shackled him in an equal amount. This meant he cared. And that she chose now to end her confessional, when she wanted desperately to continue, meant she cared as well. “A chapter in my troubled life,” she smiled.
“Then let’s begin the next. This is good for you.”
“To snooze in your arms is even better.” She settled back in her safe, warm nest.
A soothing silence crept into the darkness. The fire’s shadows danced on the cabin walls. “Mayson, there aren’t any doors in our friendship,” he said finally. “I just wanted you to know that.”
A serene smile crept over her face as she drifted off.