Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [102]
I don’t think he expects me to answer that question, but even if I could, Troo sets her last pair down on the table and says, “I win. It was great to see you again, Mr. Gary.” She stands, brushes the brownie crumbs off her legs and picks up her shopping bag. “Thanks for the refreshments. We hope your mother gets better really soon. We gotta go right away, Sally.”
I don’t know what her hurry is, but she’s already out the door.
I don’t rush right out after her. Troo stuck our host with the Old Maid. I can’t leave him sitting here by himself feeling so defeated. Ethel wouldn’t like that. So I say, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite and if they do, beat ’em black and blue with your shoe.” That’s the same thing she would tell him if she was here. I’m being charitable. But I’m also reminding him one more time how Ethel has slaved over his mother for so many years, just in case he should believe for one second those terrible things Father Mickey told him about my good friend falling down on the job. “And by the way, just so you know, Doc Keller is not the end and be all. He can’t even cure his own stinky breath. ’Night.”
Catching up to Troo in our backyard, I get her by the arm and say, “Why didn’t you let me tell him about Father Mickey doin’ what he’s doin’? Didn’t sound like Mr. Gary’s nuts about him either. He mighta believed us.”
Troo yanks outta my grip. “So what if he does? What do ya think he’s gonna do about it?”
“He could tell Dave. He could explain to . . . somebody would have to listen to him. He’s a grown-up and—”
“A fairy who’s livin’ with our old pastor in the land of fruits and nuts! Nobody ’round here is gonna take anything he says seriously. You saw the way people were makin’ fun of him after Mass on Sunday.”
They really were. When Mr. Gary walked past the St. Francis-is-a-sissy statue sorta up on his toes, more than a couple people snickered.
As I go through the back door of our house, another reason comes to me why my sister didn’t want to tell Mr. Gary about the bad stuff that Father Mickey is up to. There’s always the chance Mr. Gary really could do something to help us. That would mean Troo wouldn’t get her revenge and she wouldn’t like that at all. She needs to do that plan.
Both of us call out “Good night” to Mother and Dave, who are on the living room davenport with their arms around each other, and head straight to our room. Troo peels off her grimy shirt and shorts, switches on the fan and swan dives into our bed. Her head hits the pillow like a brick, so she doesn’t hear Mr. Gary crying from next door the way I do. I feel plenty bad for him, but his feelings are not what I’m thinking about. What’s rushing around in my mind is what Mr. Gary told us about Ethel not getting Mrs. Galecki’s money when she dies. How his mother is leaving it all to the church instead of to the hardworking woman who so rightly deserves it. Mr. Gary told us he doesn’t know why she would do that, but I think I might.
During his many visits next door, slippery Father Mickey musta slowly but surely put a bug into Mrs. Galecki’s ear. The first thing he would have to do is convince her that Ethel was the one who stole her emerald necklace after he rolled under Mrs. Galecki’s bed, opened up her hatbox and helped himself. After he was sure she fell for that lie, he probably picked another rose from her bush and set it in her lap before he said so charming with his black Irish smile, “It would be very charitable if you left your money to me, I mean, the Church, dear Bertha, and not to an outsider, who is also a Negro and a thief. It’s your chance to guarantee a spot for yourself in heaven.”
He could use that money to pay back the gambling debts he owes Mr. Fazio before he makes him a cement overcoat and drops him in Lake Michigan. But how did Father find out that Mrs. Galecki had all that dough in her will? I know from watching movies that kind of thing is usually kept very confidential. Did she tell him what a