Cheddar Off Dead (4 page)

“Thanks for keeping the home fires burning,” Esther said, squeezing my hand. “Try not to kill Bart.”

I smiled and waved, then went back to refrigerate my soufflé batter. I loaded some dirty dishes onto a cart and wheeled them back to the self-proclaimed king.

He stood at the scrub sink, his hands immersed in soapy water, his iPod making him immune to my approach. I pushed the cart until it made contact with his blue-jeaned rear. He turned, smirk in place, and pulled one earbud out of his ear.

“Bring them on, Lilah. I'm in the zone.”

“Why are you in such a good mood? It's annoying.”

He grinned at me. “I'm on vacation, dude! Not to mention, I just heard there was an incident at my old school! Don't get me wrong, it's terrible what happened to that man and everything, but it's also the most exciting thing that could have happened—and at my school!”

“You went to JFK?”

“Yeah. Graduated last year.”

“So did you know—Mr. Whitefield?”

He sobered slightly. “Sort of. He played Santa a couple times for us, too. He was a nice enough dude, but also kind of a tool. I guess he was some kind of actor? But, like, super failing at it. I mean, if you have to take Santa jobs at grade schools, right?”

“Huh.”

“Plus my mom kind of knew his family, and they think he's kind of a jerk.”

“What do you mean?”

Bart rinsed off a dish, set it in the rack, and then turned to me fully. “When I was in fourth grade, he got married to this pretty hot lady. My family was invited to the church part
of the wedding, and my mom actually went. She said it was really pretty and romantic and blah blah.”

“So?”

“So when I was in seventh grade there was this rumor that he was in trouble with his wife and staying at someone else's house.”

I felt my lips curling with my skepticism. “And how would your mom know that?”

“Because she's gossipy, and ladies are always scrambling at the chance to call her on the phone and tell her stuff. Her friend Betty was friends with Mr. Whitefield's wife, so that's how we knew.”

“So he got divorced?”

“Nope. He got back with his wife. But my mom figures he was a cheater. My mom says once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“That's not proof.”

“No. I just heard some things. But I don't want to, like, speak badly about a dead man and stuff.”

“You just did. You called him a tool.”

“Yeah, well. He was a nice guy sometimes, too. When I was in eighth grade and he played the Santa, he gave me five bucks. The eighth graders didn't even get in the present line, because that was for the little kids. We were on the sidelines, singing carols for the little kids and crap like that. I went to the drinking fountain when Brad was leaving in his Santa suit, and he said that us older kids should get something, too, and he handed me five bucks.”

“Huh.”

“He said when you had a windfall at Christmastime, it
was always good to pay it forward. I know, because I had to go home and look up the word
windfall
.”

“That's swell.”

“You crack me up,” Bart said, turning back to his dishes.

“Bart,” I said, before he could plug his earbud back in.

“What?”

“The other stuff you heard—was it all about him having affairs? Cheating on his wife, I mean?”

“No, man. My dad says Whitefield was a major gambler and that he was in serious debt.”

“And how would your dad know this? Is he a gambler, too?”

Bart smirked. “My dad is a lot of things.”

That didn't sound good, but I didn't want to trod on that territory. “Thanks for the information,” I said.

I went out into the kitchen and sent two text messages. To Jay Parker, I sent:
A boy from JFK said Whitefield cheated on his wife and had serious gambling debts. Also I have arranged to stay with my brother tonight—no ride needed.

To Jenny, I wrote,
Are you OK? Have things calmed down?

She texted back almost immediately.
We need to meet. When are you free?

I typed,
I'll be at Cam's for a couple days. MB after that
.

OK. I'm fine—how about U?

Hanging in there. I hope all the kids are OK.

She decided to call me then, rather than text a long response.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey. The kids are all right. I think we handled it well, and they went home without being too traumatized. We made it clear that they were all safe. The little children were just told that we had a police incident, but that everything was fine. The older children were told there had been a shooting, and that it had not involved any students or teachers at the school.”

“This is crazy, Jenny.”

“I know. I have to run—call me soon,” she said.

Nowadays people were always in a rush, including me and my family and friends. This did not make me feel Christmassy—nor did the day's tragic events. Perhaps a couple of days away were just what I needed to put me in touch with my holiday spirit. Living at Cam's would give me a chance to relax, breathe, enjoy the sights of Christmas in the city, and get some perspective. Serafina would undoubtedly have decorated their house with European flair, and I would make a point of enjoying their hospitality. It would be all right.

I just had to focus on the invigorating cold air, the peace of Christmas, the joyful contemplation of a New Year.

And forget that I had seen a man
die.

B
y eight o'clock I had prepped all the food for Thursday's gig. The salad fixings were chopped and stored; the soufflé batters, both cheese and chocolate, were refrigerated; and the ramekins were carefully wrapped for travel. Bart had finished and gone, and I had moved to Jim and Esther's impressive wine wall to find the bottles Jim had selected for the next day's event: a 2010 Côtes du Rhône and a 2011 Oregon Pinot Noir, both of which Jim had tasted recently and had found an appropriate match for this particular cheese blend.

My phone buzzed, and I saw that I had two text messages. One was from Parker. It said,
Thanks for the info. In touch soon.
Typical Parker. His Tarzan-like texts weren't that different from the way he communicated in person. He was definitely the tall, dark, and silent type, but he also seemed
uncomfortable in any context beyond police work. I would have drawn the conclusion that Parker didn't have a romantic bone in his body, except that I knew that to be untrue. One just had to plumb the depths of Parker.

The other text was from Cam, and it said,
We're on our way. I'll toot the horn when we get there.

I heard the horn about a minute after Esther and Jim got back, so I just had time to show them all of my prep work, and then Jim walked me out to the street where my brother waited. “I'm sure this is all just a ridiculous precaution,” I said, but I was glad to have Jim's arm around my shoulder as I stepped onto the cold, dark street.

Then I was tucked into Cam's warm car and being softly serenaded by Andrea Bocelli while Serafina handed me a box of Frango mints, and my sweet dog, Mick, nuzzled my cheek.

“Thanks for picking him up, guys,” I said.

“He was happy to see us,” Serafina said. “I also put some of your clothes in a bag. Now eat a chocolate. I got them at the lab today from a friend of mine,” she said.

“A guy who's in love with her, she means,” said Cam, but without any apparent jealousy.

“He is too late,” Serafina said, diving at Cam with one of her luxurious kisses, almost sending him veering off the road.

I tensed, holding Mick more tightly. “Geez! You guys are supposed to save me from death, not plunge me into it.” It was only about eight thirty, but it felt like two in the morning, and I was exhausted.

Serafina looked at me over her left shoulder with wide brown eyes. “I'm sorry. But I love your brother so much that
I couldn't resist him anymore. So I married him,” Serafina said, flashing me a pretty white smile.

“Right,” I said. Then I leaned forward. “Wait—what?”

Serafina stuck out her left hand, which contained a beautiful diamond ring and a thin silver band. “Cameron proposed to me last week, and I accepted. And then, because we are very spontaneous, and because we realized that I could apply for my permanent residency if we married now—we did it!! At city hall. Very romantic, and snowing.”

“Oh my God—Cam! Serafina! I'm so happy for you! Mom is going to have a spaz!”

“She already did. We called her just before we came to get you,” my brother said, meeting my eyes in his rearview mirror.

“Oh my gosh. So what—you've been on a kind of honeymoon? And I've ruined it by asking to stay at your love nest?”

“No! We love to have you, especially at Christmas!” Serafina cried, reaching back and taking one of the chocolates. She had a terrible sweet tooth, I'd learned. I held her hand and studied the ring—Cam had good taste. It was a large, center-cut diamond on a band that looked silver in the dark car.

“Is this platinum?”

“Yes. Isn't your brother a lovely man? He chose by himself.”

I let her hand go.
My big brother
. I met his eyes again and saw his happiness. “Great job, Cam.” I ate one of the chocolates myself and suddenly felt a little burst of my Christmas spirit coming back. The car was warm and merry; a light snow was falling; and my brother was a married man.

“We have to throw you a party!” I yelled. Mick nodded. Sometimes I was convinced my dog's special talent wasn't a random act he did in hope of treats, but an actual response to human dialogue.

Serafina giggled and Cam beamed, and their joy engulfed me; but I couldn't help but look over my shoulder every now and then to see if someone was creeping up behind us, ready to ram our car and send us off the road.

*   *   *

At their apartment Serafina took my coat, poured Mick a bowl of water, and disappeared to make some tea and find some cookies. Cam said he had to make a phone call, and that I should make myself at home.

His apartment—now theirs—had always been one of my favorite places. It had high ceilings and a view of the lake. There were two bedrooms, but since Cam and Fina both needed an office for their respective careers, they had shoved a twin bed into a space meant to be a walk-in closet, so that their sleeping area looked sort of like a generous train car accommodation. Somehow, though, it was both cozy and romantic, and it added to the overall eccentricity of their home.

Their kitchen was generally untouched and the cleanest part of the place; neither of them had the time or the inclination to cook, so they ordered out often. I always felt a pang, looking at the beautiful stainless steel appliances and the red tile counter and center island, that there wasn't more food being prepared in that lovely space. It looked even lovelier right now, because Serafina, still dreamy eyed, was
filling a kettle at the sink, her curly brown hair tumbling down her back in wild array.

After Mick found a spot on their kitchen rug, walked in circles a few times, and curled into a little Labrador ball, I took a seat on a stool at the island and said, “Tell me about it. How did Cam propose?”

She turned to me, her face soft with love. “He was late home. It was the eleventh of December. It was that very cold night—do you remember?”

I nodded. I had made hot chocolate and sat with Mick against me for extra warmth, watching a rerun of
The Daily Show
.

“I was tired and had taken a bath. I was sitting in my flannel pajamas and big robe, looking not at all beautiful.”

“Serafina, don't even start. There is no scenario in which you don't look amazing.”

Serafina ran around the island and treated me to one of her trademark engulfing hugs; as usual, she smelled like flowers. “You are so sweet, my little Lilah.”

Serafina acted as though I was decades younger than she was when we were perhaps two years apart. I doubted she was even thirty yet.

Now she sat down on the stool beside me and continued. “Anyway, Cam came home and said that he was freezing and was going to make a drink to warm him up. He asked if I would join him because he had good news that we had to celebrate. I said yes, lovely.”

I smiled. Cam was my brother, and in a lot of ways I still considered him an idiot, as I had when we were teens, but I had a sense that he had done the engagement right.

“He turned out the lights, and we moved the couch near the windows so that we could look out at the night. We could not see the stars, but we could see the lake tossing, with its whitecaps. I asked what we were celebrating, and Cam said that he had fallen in love.”

To my surprise, Serafina's eyes filled with tears. “I stared at him. I didn't think he was going to tell me that he had met another woman, but I didn't know why he was saying he was in love, since we had already said these words to each other, long ago.”

I patted her hand.

“I asked what he meant, and he said that he had fallen in love with being in love, and he knew he wanted to love me forever. Then he told me there was no night so cold that he did not feel warmed by the love he felt for me, and there was no star in the sky so bright as my eyes. And then he handed me this box, with a diamond inside, and asked would I marry him.”

Now my own eyes were moist. “That's wonderful.” Cam wandered back into the room, and I said, “Nice proposal.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged. “I just couldn't wait anymore.”

Serafina beamed at him, and my phone rang. I looked down at it and saw that Parker was calling. “Can I take this in one of the offices?” I asked.

“Sure.” Cam glanced over my shoulder, read Parker's name, and scowled. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No, I do not.”

I whisked away from them and heard Serafina hissing at Cam, “It is
her
love life, Cameron!”

I eased into Serafina's office and shut the door, then flicked on the phone. “Hello?”

“Lilah. I'm glad you answered. Where are you?”

“I'm at Cameron's apartment on Sheridan. Right near Loyola, where he teaches.”

“Good security there?”

“Yes. We're on an upper floor, and people have to be buzzed in. What's going on?”

He sighed. “We followed your tip about the debt and found out that Whitefield owed money to Enrico Donato. Known as Big Rick Donato.”

“So?”

“He's rumored to have mob connections. We actually don't have a lot on him. He keeps a very low profile; we didn't even know he was living in Pine Haven, among other places. He's said to own several residences in Chicagoland.”

“What do you mean mob
connections
? He's a mobster? Like a horse head in the bed mobster?”

“I'm meeting with someone from the FBI tomorrow, so I'll get more information. Tell me this: the car you saw—was it big, like a limousine?”

I closed my eyes, thinking of the moment I had been trying to forget all day. “No—it was smallish—maybe a two door. And metallic blue, like I said.”

“And you're sure you didn't see a face? Anything you could ID?”

“I don't think so, Jay. I mean, the moment was so confused, but I don't think I saw a thing. By the time I turned around and came out from between two cars, the other vehicle was leaving.”

“Right. Okay. Are you working tomorrow?”

“No. Esther and Jim gave me the day off. But I can't stay here forever, obviously.”

“And will you be alone there?”

“No. It's Wednesday, but my brother's school is off for the holidays, so I think Cam and Fina will be here.”

“Give me the address.” I did, sitting in the chair and studying Fina's cluttered desk, which held everything from printed computer graphics to test tubes to a multitude of writing utensils. A giant gray gargoyle pencil holder sat to one side, holding a blue pen in its mouth. I started collecting pencils and pens and putting them back in the gray cup attached to the gargoyle. I found another little box of chocolates—hopefully Serafina had a good dentist—and slid it to one side. I was straightening her space without realizing it, feeling nervous and jumpy.

“Parker—how does an unemployed actor end up owing money to a reputed mobster?”

“How do you know he was unemployed?”

“Oh—well, just something Jenny said about him maybe needing the money. I don't actually know.”

“In any case, we hope to know the answer soon so that we all have a merry Christmas.”

“Yeah. Well, I have to go.”

“Don't go out, Lilah.”

“Okay.”

“I'm not trying to scare you. I just—care about you. Okay?”

I studied the gargoyle, attempting nonchalance. It scowled back at me with a horrifying expression. “Okay.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine, I guess. I've had better days.”

“This will be over soon. Keep your chin up.”

“Good night, Parker.”

“Good night, Lilah.”

I clicked off the phone. Serafina's desk had been neatened, but behind me were a table and chair covered with books, discarded outfits, mail, and more lab equipment. I left her office and peeked into Cam's, which was incredibly neat by comparison—his book-lined shelves were orderly, and his Renaissance knights collection stood guard on his windowsill in a surprisingly elegant display. The big brown leather desk chair was empty of any clutter, ready for Cam to come and sit in it and grade his papers or do his research on Alessandro Manzoni, Cam's favorite Italian writer, about whom he had already published several articles.

I wandered back to the main room and sat down. “Parker says that the dead man—Brad Whitefield—owed money to a mobster named Big Rick Donato.”

Serafina snorted. “Americans! They think that every Italian is in the mob. They watch too much
Sopranos
and
Godfather
.”

Cam nodded at her, apparently agreeing, and the teakettle whistled. Fina went to make the tea, and Cam turned to me. “So he thinks this was a mob hit?” he said, his voice low.

“I don't know. I just happened to tell him that this kid who does dishes at Haven said that he heard through the grapevine that Whitefield had debts. So I texted Parker, and this is what he found out.”

“So he's—on it? I would hope that they can get to the bottom of this in a day or so, if they already have a suspect.”