Trip Wire_ A Cook County Mystery - Charlotte Carter [47]
“No,” he said. “Not now.”
I waited a long time for him to speak again.
“I should go now, Sandy,” he said finally. Then he stubbed the joint out on the bottom of his shoe.
“All right. Just one more thing. How come Barry’s got the Volvo?”
“He asked to borrow it for a couple of days. To do some business, he said. He laid some mescaline on me for it. I said sure, just gas it up when you’re done.”
“Oh. That’s not such a big mystery at all, is it?”
He kissed me on the forehead. “Tell him it’s his now.”
“If I get the chance.”
“If what?”
“We haven’t seen him for a couple of days. I’m thinking . . . well, what difference does it make now? I’ll tell him.”
Cliff and I, both teary-eyed, watched as Dan and his grandfather found seats on the bus.
“Don’t forget us, man,” Cliff called.
Dan gave him the peace sign. And then he lifted his Polaroid and aimed it. He took our picture.
CHAPTER SIX
SATURDAY
1
I did miss Hyde Park, in a way. It had an austere beauty in the cold. The streets on the North Side were so much noisier, and no whispering trees towered protectively over the houses.
I passed Toad Hall, the electronics store where I’d bought a radio with my birthday money the year I turned fifteen; Jimmy’s Bar, the old beatnik hangout where the poetry readings with bongos took place at night; the used-book store, where as a twelve-year-o1d I regularly made a pest of myself with the owner, Mr. O’Gara.
Woody and Ivy always had lunch out on Saturday afternoon, after they took their walk. They either went to Valois on 53rd Street, a cafeteria with a long steam table, or to the Medici, a little café where UC students sat reading for hours, and where they served the “espresso scrambled eggs” and warm Italian bread that Ivy and I loved.
I caught up with them at Valois. As popular with cabbies as it was with coeds and librarians and retirees, the place was busy and loud. I pushed my way past the crowd at the door and joined my aunt and uncle at their table.
No, no, no, I didn’t want anything to eat, I told them. I wanted their help. Obviously Jack and his cop friends don’t give a damn about who killed Wilt, I said. Now that I had put together the meaning of Wilton’s keys, I knew they had something to do with the murders.
“Cass, you can’t just invade those people’s property,” Ivy said sternly.
“I know that. But I’ve got to figure a way to get a look around up there in Kent.”
’’It’s damn sure Oscar Mobley’s not going to let you do that,” Woody said. “You said he wouldn’t even tell his own wife what he found. What are you planning to do? Just go up there and boldly let yourself into that man’s house with his dead boy’s keys?”
“I don’t know. I might’ve tried that. But I don’t have them anymore.”
“What happened to them?”
I was going to pick the moment to tell them about the break-in. But it looked as though the moment had picked me. “Listen. I may as well tell you. There was a little trouble—a little more trouble—at the apartment.”
Ivy dropped her soup spoon into the bowl.
“Calm down,” I said. “It’s all over now.”
“What trouble?” Woody demanded.
“Somebody was waiting for me when I got home a couple of nights ago. He roughed me up, took off with those keys. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew how you’d react. Exactly like you’re reacting now. But he didn’t hurt me. He got what he came for. The keys. Don’t you see? That’s why he left the minute he found them in my bag. That’s why nothing else has happened.”
Ivy pushed her soup away. “Oh, Lord. Don’t you care anything about your safety, child?”
“Yes, I do, Ivy. You’re not the only one who doesn’t want me to get my neck wrung.”
I dared to look over at Woody then, dreading his gaze. “I have one thing to say,” he pronounced. “And I’ll only say it once. Sim will be going with you when you go back home. And he will stay in that apartment until you move out. I don’t expect to hear any argument, understand? Because if you say one word, let alone try to refuse . . . I’m through. Through with it all. No more help. No more information