Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [106]
When my sister’s done explaining, she folds her arms across her chest and says, “Any questions?”
She taps her foot on the concrete floor. “Sally?” She’s staring at my hands, where there is a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on.
I answer, “No, no questions,” and so does Artie.
But Mary Lane says, “Yeah, I got a couple.” She fans her hand in front of her nose. “What the hell did you eat for supper tonight, Fartie? The Wisconsin Gas Company?”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I don’t know if it’s a sin to skip the fish fry, but everybody sure acts like it is. In the winter or when it rains, people drive their cars if they’ve got one. But on a clear summer night like this one, that’s considered bragging. For blocks ahead and behind Troo and me, we can see the faithful heading up Lloyd Street on their way to Mother of Good Hope Church and School for our every-Friday-night supper.
Before we left the house, I went out to the garden to spend some time with Dave, who I have hardly gotten to be alone with lately. That’s why I’ve been feeling a little shy around him. I watched him water the garden, thought how ruggedly handsome he is, a real Viking, then told him, “By the way. When we were playin’ kick the can last night, I noticed the light over Mrs. Goldman’s stove was on again even though I turned it off weeks ago.”
He said, “It’s probably a short. I can’t tonight, but as soon as I get a chance, I’ll take my toolbox over there and make it right.”
I waited for a little bit and then asked him what I really wanted to know. “Could you please, please, please tell me how the questionin’ of Ethel went?”
When he switched off the hose, his eyes looked like he wanted to tell me, but his mouth said, “I know you’re worried, but it’s an ongoing investigation, Sally. I wish I could, but I can’t discuss it.” He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. “Your mother and I are going to pick up your grandmother and uncle and drop them off at the church, and then we’ll swing back to get Nell and the baby at the apartment.” He gave me a couple of dollars. “We’ll see you and Troo up there.”
So, no thanks to Dave, all I know right now for sure about what’s going on with my dear Ethel is that she didn’t come back to Mrs. Galecki’s after they were through questioning her at the station yesterday. And I only know that because I sat and watched the house all afternoon. Mr. Gary came back from the hospital looking glum.
Ethel’s not in jail; Dave would’ve told me that. She musta gone back to the Core to be with Ray Buck, or Reverend Joe Willow, who is also good at making her feel better. She might also be at the Greyhound Bus station. Since she is the smartest woman I know, she has got to have put two and two together by now and figured out that she’s going to get blamed for Mrs. Galecki’s coma. She is the perfect patsy. As much as I’m going to miss her, I wouldn’t blame Ethel for buying a bus ticket for far, far away, maybe all the way back home to Mississippi to go live in a swamp, which sounds like a dangerous place, but has to be a whole lot safer than staying around here. (Alligators with their huge choppers and sharp claws are attempted murderers, too, but at least a person knows to steer clear of them. Not like you-know-who with his black Irish smile and manicured fingernails.)
On the corner of 54th Street, Troo points and says, “There they are. Right on schedule,” and takes off toward Mary Lane and Artie Latour, who are standing out in front of the Sheinners’ waiting for us just like Troo told them to last night.
When I catch up to them, even as nervous as I am, Artie makes me smile. He’s back to his old self, yo-yoing like it’s going out of style. He’s already started practicing for when his best friend gets back. If everything goes the way it’s supposed to tonight, Artie is going to write to Charlie Fitch tomorrow morning and tell him that he can come home to be adopted by the Honeywells.
Troo can tell Artie’s raring to go by