Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [94]
She’s finally gonna come clean about her cat-stealing. They’re always telling us at church that confession is good for the soul so I should let her get it off her chest, but I’ve got Troo in one of her once-in-a-blue-moon generous moods. “Before you do that, could you do one more really nice thing for me?”
That catches her off guard. I don’t usually ask her for favors because the chance of getting one is too slim.
Troo says, “But . . . I need to . . . fine. I’ll go out to the new zoo to see that dumb gorilla with you, but if you start cryin’ and wavin’ at him, I’m warnin’ you, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
I hook a chunk of her hair that’s fallen in her eyes behind her ear and say, “That’s really sweet, but that’s not what I was gonna ask you.” I have thought this through already over ten times. I let it out in a rush so Troo can’t interrupt. “I want you to climb through our bedroom window, get Mrs. Galecki’s emerald necklace out of your sock and stick it back under her bed. Nobody’d have to know that you stole it.”
“What?!” Troo flies up off the bench, flapping her arms, legs going every which way. “What . . . what are you talkin’ about? Who told you I stole it?”
“I . . . I . . .” Nobody did. I was just so sure, but now . . . the look on her face, she can’t fake that one. That’s her genuine, you-better-not-be-callin’-me-a-liar-or-I’ll-sock-you-in-the-breadbox look. “Didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Then who did?”
“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, if you’d shut up and listen!” She is so agitated, she can barely get out, “Father Mickey. He stole the necklace.”
“Trooper,” I say, shaking my head low and slow. She’s mad at him, and trying to shift the blame onto somebody else the way she always does when she gets caught doing something bad. Father Mickey couldn’ta snuck into Mrs. Galecki’s bedroom to take the necklace because Ethel’s got eyes in back of her head. But then I remember that’s not exactly true. She isn’t watching every minute of every day. When Mrs. Galecki goes down for her long afternoon nap, Ethel leaves to do grocery shopping at the Kroger or over to the drugstore to get the medicines. During one of Father Mickey’s visits would be another good time to get those errands done.
Still flapping, Troo says, “I thought you already knew about . . . Mary Lane bragged that she filled you in when she ran into you up near church, didn’t she?”
I nod. Reluctantly. She’s gonna blow a gasket when she hears me admit that.
“Goddamn it all! That bigmouth Lane, she’s always trying to prove she’s better than . . .” My sister is pacing fast in front of the bench, punching her fist into her hand. “I was gonna tell you all about the altar boys and Father Mickey and . . . and the rest of it over at the Latours’ last night, but you never showed up and now—”
“Shhh, shhh, you gotta lower your voice. They’re gonna hear you.” I point to the house. The kitchen curtains are closed, but the light is on above the sink so we can see the outlines of Dave, Mother and Ethel sitting around the table. “Why don’t you . . .” I pat the bench.
Troo takes her time, but when she sits back down, she shoots me a hurt look that you never see much on her face anymore and takes one of her L&M’s from her shorts’ back pocket. I almost ask her for one. Cigarettes might smell like a cat box, but they seem to round the rough edges for everyone and I think I’m going to need a little smoothing.
“I bet Mary Lane didn’t tell me everything,” I say. “Start at the very beginning.”
Troo strikes a match, thinks about that for a minute and says, “The first time I went up to the rectory for my extra religious instructions, the doorbell rang and when Father Mickey went to answer it, I did, ya know, what I do.” She means she snooped like she always does in Mother’s dressing table and my notebooks and Nell’s closet and only God knows where else. “I pulled out the drawers of Father’s