A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [59]
“No.”
“He just seems so . . . so, like, coiled.”
“He’s just quiet, that’s all. He’s shy, reserved.”
“Did he ever say anything about the murder?” Karen’s eyes gleamed. “He did, didn’t he? Come on, Delores. You can tell me.”
“No. But I wouldn’t say anything even if he did.”
“Oh, come on, you know you would. You’ve never been able to keep a secret, Delores, and you know it.”
Mrs. Jukas was still in the hospital. “She’s a tough old bird,” the nurse had told Dennis when he called. Gordon felt almost as useless as the night Mrs. Jukas called, gasping that she was having a heart attack. There was little she’d let him do, other than wait on the porch for the cab, then help her into it. The only thing she’d said before they wheeled her away was, “Keep them away from my house.” Her grass needed mowing, but he wouldn’t dare cut it without her permission. Sticking out from her door was a white card that hadn’t been there yesterday. He hurried onto her porch. It was from the gas company, a postcard for reading the meter. He slipped it through the brass mail slot in her door, so no one would know she wasn’t home. A brief but violent windstorm had littered both yards with broken branches. He bundled them all and left them on the curb in front of her house for pickup along with one of his own trash bags for additional signs of life.
Across the way, Jada’s puppy was caught in a frenzy of barking at the end of his tangled rope. Tied to the railing, he had only a few inches of slack left after all his jumping and running in circles. Gordon felt bad for the frantic creature but continued on his way to work. The kinder he was, the more the girl wanted from him.
That night he had just finished dinner when Jada showed up with the puppy in her arms. He spoke to her through the locked screen door. She asked if he had any leftovers. She had run out of dog food.
“What about your mother? Can’t she get some?” He had seen Marvella Fossum leaving the house only moments before with Ronnie Feaster.
“She’s asleep,” the girl said, lowering her voice as if not to disturb her. “And Leonardo’s hungry. My poor little baby’s starving, aren’t you?” She kissed the puppy.
“That’s what you named him? Leonardo?”
“Yeah! Cool, huh? That’s who he reminds me of.”
“The painter? Leonardo da Vinci?”
“No!” she hooted. “Leonardo DiCaprio! The guy on the Titanic,” she added, seeing his blank expression.
“Just let him have the meat. He might choke on the bone,” he said when he came back. He passed the foil-wrapped packet through the door, then locked it.
“Smells good.” She and the puppy sniffed at the packet. “What is it?”
“Chicken.”
“Oh! KFC? I love their new barbecue kind. But this isn’t, though. I can tell by the smell.”
“It’s baked. I made it.”
“Oh!” She parted the foil. “Well, I gotta see how good a cook you are, then, right?” With the dog straining to get at it, she bit into the drumstick. “Delicious,” she said, then took two more bites. “You’re a really good cook!”
He smiled. “Maybe I should get you another piece, huh? I think you’re as hungry as he is.”
“Well, I am, a little. We were gonna have takeout, but then my mother had to . . . go and fall asleep.”
As he ripped off a larger sheet of foil, he heard the door handle jiggle against the lock. He wrapped up another drumstick, a cold baked potato, and some green beans. She thanked him, then glanced across the street. “I’m not supposed to be over here. My mother, she thinks every guy I talk to’s tryna come on to me.”
Two nights later she returned with the puppy. Her mother had bought dog food, but Leonardo hated it, and her mother said, well, too bad then—it could just sit there on the floor and rot until he got hungry enough to eat it. “She said she doesn’t need two fussy eaters in the house!” Jada called after him as he headed into the kitchen.
She was halfway across the street with her packet of steak and macaroni and cheese when