Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [119]
“What happened to your tooth?” she shouts, taking my chin between her fingers.
“Oh, I . . . I . . .”
Troo says, “She broke it on the swings over at the school playground when she was waitin’ for me to finish up with Father Mickey. She should be more careful, shouldn’t she.”
“She certainly should.” Mother is tilting my head this way and that to get a better look. “I’ll make an appointment first thing tomorrow with Dr. Heitz. I’m not sure there’s anything he can do about it, but . . . oh, damn . . . the pot’s boiling over,” she says when she hears the lid clatter.
During supper Dave doesn’t talk much except to say, “Please pass the . . . what is this dish called again, dear?”
Mother says, like it’s the best thing she’s ever made, “Cow tongue in turnip sauce.”
That sorta takes the spunk outta all of us except for Lizzie. But she eats shoes, too.
Neither one of them asks us anything else about Father Mickey. I think they agreed in the bedroom not to talk about it anymore because it’s not suitable supper conversation. They wouldn’t want to scar us for life. Only once does Dave say, like he’s thinking out loud, “I’m going to have to question Tony Fazio first thing tomorrow morning.”
They spend the rest of the supper discussing Dave’s sister, Betsy, and her husband, Richie. Dave helped them move boxes back into their house today. Mother also tells us that she is going to look for a wedding suit like the kind Jackie Kennedy wears with a matching pillbox hat. Of course, her mentioning pills makes me think about Ethel and Mrs. Galecki’s coma. I know I should, but I’m too yellow-bellied to ask what’s going on with them. If it is fatal news, that will be the last straw.
Between going over and over in my mind whether Troo and me have any chance of getting caught burying Father Mickey and my worrying about what’s to become of Ethel, I barely notice how disgusting the food is. Not until Dave throws his napkin down on the table and does a little lying himself. “Delicious as always, dear.”
Mother says, “I’m so glad you like it. I’m thinking of entering it in the cook-off.”
I have to work hard to keep myself from groaning. The cook-off is held during the celebration that marks the end of summer. In two weeks, we’ll have the biggest party we have around here. The neighborhood ladies bring all the food and there is a contest for the best dishes. All I can see is bodies littered all over Vliet Street if Mother serves her cow tongue in turnip sauce to the crowd. We’ll never even make it to the crowning of the queen or hear any good rock ’n’ roll from the Do Wops. I won’t get to dance with Henry. It’s hard to do the box step when you’re throwing up.
When Mother lights her after-dinner cigarette and Troo and me get up to do the dishes, now that supper is over, Detective Dave is free to go back to interrogating us.
He asks my sister, “You sure Father Mickey was still at the rectory last night when you left?”
Thank goodness, I can always count on Troo to cover her tracks, even in an ambush. She scrapes a plate into the garbage and says, “Absolument.”
“Sally?” he asks. “Is that how you remember it, too?”
It’s my turn to wash, so I’m already at the kitchen sink filling it up. I’m so glad that I’ve got my back to him and he can’t see my face or my goose bumps. “Yes, sir.” Most sins are about doing or saying something you’re not supposed to, but there are also sins that are about not doing something or not saying something you’re supposed to. Those are called sins of omission. That’s what I’m committing when I tell Dave, “Just like Troo said. When we headed for home last night, Father Mickey was right where we left him.”
Chapter Thirty-three
After Dave and me get done watching Peter Gunn tonight, he tells me, “I’m going over to the Goldmans’ to fix the short in the stove light. Want to come along? Buy you an ice cream afterwards.”
As good as spending some time alone