Cross Fire - James Patterson [56]
Bernice Talley waved it away like so many flies in the air. “Don’t you give it a second thought. Come in, come in.”
As she reached past Denny to close the door, her eyes lingered on the Lexus ES parked at the curb.
“I’ll bet you boys are hungry” was all she said, though.
“Yes’m,” Mitch answered.
“Mitch is always hungry,” Denny said, and Bernice laughed like she knew it was true. Her right hip rode up badly when she walked, but she limped right on past the cane hooked over a doorknob in the hall.
“Mitchell, offer your friend something to drink. I’ll see what I can shake out of this fridge.”
Denny hung back as they passed through the living room. It was all matching furniture in here, but old stuff. “Grandma on a budget” stuff. It was the kind of place where he could imagine his old man trying to sell his vacuums, or knives, or whatever had been paying for the whiskey bottles back then. He couldn’t have been too good at it, though. The son of a bitch never drank anything better than Old Crow.
On a side table, Mrs. Talley had three gold-framed pictures arranged in a perfect little arc. One was of Jesus, with his eyes raised up to God. One was of Mitch, looking young and doofy in a suit and tie. And the third was a military portrait of a middle-aged black man, in full uniform with a decent show of ribbons on his chest.
Denny stepped into the kitchen, where Mrs. Talley was busying herself while Mitch sat at the old Formica table with a couple of open Heinekens in front of him.
“Hey, is that Mr. Talley in the picture out here?” he asked.
The old woman stopped short. Her hand floated halfway to her bad hip before she reached over and opened the fridge instead.
“We lost Mr. Talley two years ago,” she said without looking around. “God rest his soul.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that,” Denny told her. “So it’s just you here by yourself, huh?” He knew he was being a shit, but it couldn’t be helped.
She mistook it for concern. “Oh, I’m fine. There’s a boy who mows the lawn and shovels the snow, and my neighbor Samuel comes over if I got something heavy needs moving.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have brought it up, Mrs. Talley. I didn’t mean to —”
“No, no.” She waved away more of the invisible flies. “It’s perfectly all right. He was a good man.”
“A good man who left behind a fine son,” Denny added.
Mrs. Talley’s face eased into a smile. “You don’t have to tell me that,” she said, and ran a hand over Mitch’s broad shoulder as she passed from fridge to counter with a bag of onions.
Denny could see that, under the table, Mitch’s knee was just starting to bounce up a storm.
Chapter 74
EVEN WITHOUT ADVANCE NOTICE, Bernice Talley managed to pull together a fast New England–style clam chowder, some good bread, a salad, and a couple of microwaved potatoes with everything on them, from butter to sour cream to Canadian bacon. It was the best dinner Denny had eaten since he’d started this whole mess, living in the shelters and that godforsaken Suburban, which he was glad to be rid of now. He contentedly filled himself while Mrs. Talley chattered on about people he’d never heard of. Mitch mostly listened.
Finally, after seconds of Edy’s French Vanilla with gobs of chocolate sauce, Denny pushed back and stretched his arms and legs.
“Ma’am, that was spectacular,” he said.
Mrs. Talley beamed. “Wait until you try my waffles,” she told him.
“We ain’t staying the night, Mom,” Mitch said, more into his ice-cream bowl than to her.
Right away, the woman’s face fell. “What do you mean? Where are you going to go at nine thirty at night?”
“We’re just coming back from a conference in New York,” Denny put in quickly. “Mitch thought it would be nice to drop by, but we’ve got to be back in Cleveland tomorrow morning. We’ll be driving all night just to get there for work.”
“I see,” she said quietly, but the heartbreak in her voice was hard to miss.
“Tell you what” — Denny got up and started clearing dishes — “why don’t you two go talk in the living room for a while? I’ll clean