The Common Thread (7 page)

“First, I need a potty break.”

Placing the suitcase beside her, Katie stood next to the piano in Nan’s living room and studied the keys, waiting. How many times had her fingers danced across all eighty-eight of them? Without thinking, she stood before the bench, and her fingers formed the chord of C. The first few notes of Beethoven’s
Ode to Joy
filled the room before she thought to quiet her hands
.
It was one of the earliest songs she’d mastered as a young student, and if she closed her eyes, she could still see the delight on her mother’s face as she stood beside the piano in the living room in their home on Rhawn Avenue.

She’d spent her childhood there, and her mother had given piano lessons to neighborhood children after school. Katie had often heard words of praise in her mother’s voice as she encouraged her students and motivated them to practice. But only Katie could put that expression of true joy on her mother’s face. And that had motivated Katie more than anything else.

Katie had been shocked when she first came into Nan’s home years before and realized she could still play. Apparently, the endless hours of practice had effectively chiseled the finger patterns into memory, because much of what she’d learned for recitals and Christmas pageants easily came back to her.

She didn’t have much time to play now, but both her children were taking piano lessons, and she always sat beside them on the bench as they practiced, showing them the fingering and correcting their mistakes. At eight, Chloe was already very good, but Andre seemed to have inherited Katie’s mom’s extraordinary musical skills. Marge could play at the master level, and Andre shared her passion and ability. Katie had to pull him away from the piano just to allow Chloe equal practice time. And every once in a while, she’d play something herself.

Another memory came back to her, and Katie shuddered.

What are they doing with your piano?” Hope Bevan, her best friend, asked as they walked home from the school-bus stop one sunny fall afternoon. Katie was thirteen. A long, hard year had passed since her mother was killed in a car accident, and so much had changed in that time that Katie’s head was spinning.

Katie had gotten her first period, an utterly terrifying and mortifying experience. She was humiliated as she asked her father for money to buy the necessary products, reduced to tears when he made a big deal out of the expense. As if it were her fault. Her father was angry because the judge had awarded most of the money in their lawsuit to Katie and not him. Katie would have gladly given him every penny, though, just to make him happy. She’d even visited her lawyer to discuss that option. Unfortunately, the judge had issued strict instructions, and Katie could have only a modest amount for monthly living expenses until she turned eighteen. That wouldn’t buy her dad the new car he wanted, though, and he was taking his frustrations out on her.

She’d had to change schools, because her father didn’t want to pay the tuition at Christ the King, the Catholic school she’d attended from kindergarten through sixth grade. She wouldn’t be attending Archbishop Ryan High School as planned, either. She missed her friends and her teachers at CTK. They were like family to her. She still waited at the bus stop every day, though, and walked the half mile home with Hope, who was still her best friend.

The worst thing Katie had to deal with was the unexpected change in her household. It had increased by one when her father’s new girlfriend, April, moved in. Although they hadn’t officially made an announcement yet, from the look of April’s ever-growing abdomen, there would soon be four of them living in the modest-sized duplex in the quiet residential area of Northeast Philly. Her father was fifty-four years old that year, and his new girlfriend hadn’t even reached thirty.

Since she’d moved in, April had made it clear that she was now running their house. The thermostat was set at a temperature way too cold for Katie’s taste. The refrigerator was filled with take-out food and diet soda. The interior of the house had been repainted, from the calm pastels that matched her mother’s personality to vivid, screaming bright colors that were all April. She’d changed and rearranged so much that it hardly seemed like the same house. Katie was homesick in her own home.

She lifted her eyes, looking ahead to the end of her block, where April and three men were gathered on her front lawn. Her mother’s piano was sitting on the small porch, and several men were positioning planks on the steps, preparing to roll the piano down and into the moving van that had backed into the driveway.

Katie broke into a run, dropping her backpack in the grass of a neighbor’s yard, screaming as she approached the group of men set at their task. “Stop! Stop! You can’t take my mother’s piano! It’s mine! Stop it!” Tears were running down her face, and she was sobbing so hysterically her words were barely intelligible.

April met her on the edge of the lawn and promptly slapped her. “Since you stole all of your mother’s money, your father and I can’t afford piano lessons any more. The money we got for the piano won’t even keep you in Tastykakes for a month, so shut your trap, you little spoiled brat.”

What was she talking about? Katie had never taken piano lessons; she’d learned from her mother. And her father sold Tastykakes. They got them free.

What are you talking about? I don’t need lessons!”

Another slap knocked Katie off balance, and she landed on her butt. She sat there in the grass, pleading, as April looked down at her with an inexplicable hatred in her eyes. “Shut your trap.”

But it’s my piano! It was my mother’s and she left it to me! You can’t sell it. It’s not fair!”

There’s a lot that ain’t fair in this world, and the sooner you learn that, the better.”

“Okey dokey, I’m all ready now!” Nan announced, bringing Katie back to the present. She squeezed Katie’s shoulder and marched right past her to the front door, as calmly as if they were headed to church.

Katie looked down at the keys once more, going back in time again, hearing April’s voice in her mind.
There’s a lot that ain’t fair in this world.
In the years since that confrontation on her front lawn, Katie had come to know that no truer words were ever spoken.

“Simon says turn on the television!” Simon instructed Angelica as he hurried through the front door and began stripping off his clothing. This modest, single-family home in the Andorra section of Northwest Philly was the perfect hiding place for him. This was a quiet, residential area with no violence or drug trafficking, and his neighbors here had other things, like careers and children to think about. They’d pay no attention to the shooting in the Northeast, and never link their quiet neighbor to the crime.

More than an hour had passed since he’d fired two bullets into Billy Wallace, and Simon Simms was hopeful for some news about the shooting. He wanted to be sure Billy was dead. He also wanted to know if his name had been brought to the attention of the police and if the police had caught up with Katie.

Simon had never liked Katie, and on more than one occasion he’d tried to derail her relationship with Billy by leading Billy astray. Simon fixed Billy up with women and made sure Katie knew about it. He arranged for Katie’s car to be stolen while Billy was driving it. He planted drugs in her apartment before his last arrest and then tipped off the police. Somehow, though, the drugs were never found and Simon was out five thousand dollars. And it was all because of that bitch. She was too smart, and he couldn’t manipulate her the way he could the other girls in their circle, and she was too feisty to control. She’d always been a threat to Billy, he’d just been too blind to see it, and now she’d become a threat to Simon, too.

What if she decided to ignore his warning and talk to the police? She might not have seen him shoot Billy, but she could certainly testify that he’d shot at her. The bullets from the gun he’d used in the attack on her were scattered all over, and it would be a pretty strong case that he’d shot Billy once the ballistics experts examined all of the evidence. And while Simon could always disappear if the police got too close to him, he wasn’t quite ready to go yet.

He’d already ditched the gun in the Delaware River and returned the SUV to the parking garage where he’d borrowed it. The guy working the lot was one of his dealers and had given him a vehicle that was parked for the night. Unless the owner was highly observant and checked the mileage, he’d never know Simon had used it as transportation to and from a crime scene. The vehicle wasn’t damaged in any way—there were no dents and no bloodstains. He’d need to shower and toss his clothing, but since no one knew where he was staying he wasn’t in a hurry. Even the car he was now driving was a difficult trace. Angelica had purchased it in her name, using his money, and it wasn’t on the police radar.

Angelica, who often sheltered him, looked up from the laptop she’d been working on, then stood and closed the sliding-glass door behind her. During the daylight hours, the backyard of their property overlooking Fairmont Park would have been deserted, but at this time of night, someone with sharp hearing was bound to be sitting out on their deck enjoying the warm night. Reaching for the remote, she asked, “What channel would you like to watch?”

“Any fuckin’ channel. I just want to see the news.”

“What’s going on?” She crossed her arms across her chest and stared at him.

“I blew away Billy Wallace. I wanna see if he’s dead and if they know it was me.”

Showing no reaction to his confession, she calmly pointed the remote toward the television. Her cable service offered access to local channels, and she began searching them, working her way up from the low numbers. There was no report of the shooting in North Philly. “Why don’t you try the computer? Or call the hospitals?”

Simon smiled. Angelica was smart, and he couldn’t help admiring her beauty. She was tall and slim, with wavy brown hair and eyes to match, and he loved how she looked at him. Even during a stressful time like this, she could bring his blood to a boil in seconds. Those were just two of the reasons he’d fallen for her. She was also cunning and ruthless and blindly ambitious, traits he greatly admired. “Great idea! Get me some phone numbers.”

Simon melted into the buttery soft couch and continued to channel surf, but the television was filled with movies and reruns, and no news at all. After a few minutes, Angelica handed him a list of phone numbers for the closest hospitals and then turned her attention back to her laptop while Billy studied the paper before him.

“Where have you been for four days?” she casually asked, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.

Aiming the remote at the giant television, Simon pressed a button and the house grew silent. He knew it would remain that way until he spoke. Angelica would wait him out, make him squirm and sweat, waiting to find out if he was forgiven. He wished he could tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to hurt her, and he knew it would. And never was he sorrier that he hadn’t been here with Angelica than he was now. If he had, none of this shit with Billy would have happened. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say.”

“Did you have an obligation?” she asked.

“I did.”

“You should have told me.”

“Soon, baby. This is all going to change.”

She didn’t acknowledge the unspoken promise in his words. “Why’d you shoot Billy?” she asked as she looked up from the computer a minute later.

Angelica had never met Billy; she was part of Simon’s other life. His dealers, his couriers, his friends on the streets—they were his tough life. He had other people, too—family, coworkers, and associates—in what he considered the good life. Angelica, she was real life. She knew she was the only woman, the only person with whom he’d ever connected. With her, Simon felt truly alive, truly real, and he considered this place, with her, to be his home. They’d bought this house together, and he spent much of his time there, eating at the glass table they’d picked out together, cuddling on this couch, wearing out the mattress in the bedroom.

“He’s a fuckin’ snitch. He got out of jail early for givin’ up names.” This was a lie, but Angelica didn’t need to know that. The truth would have pissed her off. Simon hadn’t planned to kill Billy, but when he met him at the bar, something he said had caught Simon’s attention.

“Katie told me she ran into you down at the beach. You workin’ on your suntan?” he’d asked. Simon had known at that moment he had to kill Katie. And to diminish suspicion, he’d make it look like Billy was the target. Normally, he was patient and calculating. He took his time and decided the best course of action only after weighing all his options. Tonight, he hadn’t done that, and he hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.

Billy had also told Simon that Katie had just received the last of her inheritance. He knew Katie had gotten money in the past, and Billy had squandered every penny of it. Simon figured he’d take the money while he was there, as a sort of bonus for his troubles. All that money would be a nice addition to the nest egg he’d been accumulating, the money that would keep Angelica and him living in style for the rest of their lives. For the past two years, they’d been quietly smuggling money into the islands, using a chartered boat to haul the loot and taking along her young niece and nephew to lend the appearance of family and help avoid suspicion. It’d been Angelica’s idea to move the money—which he’d been stockpiling in a bank safe in his home—to an account where it could earn interest. In a few years, he’d have enough money transferred so he could live comfortably forever. He’d disappear to the islands and live a good life with the woman he loved.

He didn’t really need Katie’s money, but he wanted it anyway. Years earlier he’d heard Billy bragging about all the money Katie had coming, and Simon figured that was the only reason Billy kept her around. He’d never given much thought to stealing it, though, because with the drugs she was doing back then, Simon didn’t think she’d live long enough to see it.