Luis ambled over to the porch with Michael; Carl Martinez apparently had taken off. “You get everything settled, Roz?” It didn’t sound like a casual question.
“Coming up roses. You worry too much, you know-you’re just like your mama that way.”
We stood up. Roz hugged me. “I may call you yet, Warshawski. Get you to stuff envelopes or hold my hand if I freak.”
“Sure, Roz. Whatever you want.”
I followed her down the shallow steps. When Luis had hustled her around the side of the house, Furey took my arm.
“Let me meet you back at your place, Vic, get things talked out. I don’t want to have matters go completely bust between us without at least saying good-bye in a friendly way.”
I was staring at the corner of the house where Roz had disappeared, still trying to figure out what the hell that whole conversation had been about. I was so busy with my thoughts that I found I’d agreed with Furey without even realizing it.
8
A Devoted Mother
It was dark when I pulled up behind Michael’s silver Corvette on Racine. I’d expected to be home long ahead of him-he’d run into Ron and Ernie after seeing me into my car. When I pulled out they were still talking. However, relying on superior police knowledge of city routes-and professional courtesy from the traffic cops-he managed to beat me. He climbed out of the Corvette when he saw me behind him and came over to me.
“Vic. This is not destined to be our best day. A call came in on the radio while I was driving over. I’m not supposed to be on duty until tomorrow morning, but Uncle Bobby doesn’t care much about official rosters when there’s been a triple homicide. Sorry. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay?”
I tried to muster an appropriate expression of sorrow, but I was just as happy to be on my own tonight. The idea of a nice soak in the tub without having to be pleasant to an outsider had been tantalizing me during the long drive home. I barely waited to wave good-bye before heading up the walk to the front door. And the shattering of my dreams of solitude.
Elena was parked on the first-floor landing, her duffel bag at her feet. Next to her sat a young black woman. Even in the dim hall light I could see she was dressed with a stylishness that highlighted Elena’s worn face and bedraggled clothes. When I saw them my guilty worries about my aunt vanished. My stomach knotted and I felt a cowardly impulse to shut the door and head back to Streamwood.
Elena sprang jerkily to her feet and opened her arms in a wide meaningless gesture. “Victoria, sweetie, your nice neighbor let us in so we wouldn’t have to wait for you in the lobby. The old gentleman. He’s a real gem, you don’t find too many as chivalrous as him today. He told us you hadn’t left town so I figured we’d just wait for you ?stead of coming back later.”
“Hi, Elena,” I said weakly. “I found a room for you. Over on Kenmore.”
“Oh, Vicki, Victoria, I mean, family’s family and I knew you wouldn’t let me down. This here is Cerise. She’s the daughter of a buddy of mine from the Indiana Arms. Cerise, meet my niece Victoria. Finest niece a woman could ever want. If anyone can help you, she will.”
Cerise held out a slim, manicured hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“I can’t put her up, Elena,” I said grimly. “No amount of sweet-talking is going to make me turn my place into a way station for victims of Wednesday night’s fire.”
Elena pursed her lips in exaggerated hurt. “No way, sweetie. I wouldn’t dream of it. Cerise here needs a detective. When I heard her story I knew you were just the gal for her.”
I wanted to pull my hair out by the roots or scream or anything extreme that would keep me from pounding my aunt. Before I could formulate a nonviolent response, the door to one-north opened and the banker popped out again.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said disagreeably. “I might have known. Well, this time I am calling the cops. I saw your pimp pull off just now in that silver Corvette. What are these-your drug clients?”
“What do you do all day long at work?” I snapped. “Spy on the clerks to see who’s taking five minutes too long at her coffee break? You must be one of the most popular guys around if all you do is peer over people’s shoulders into their business.”
“It’s my business if you conduct your sleazy affairs at all hours-”
“No, no, honey,” my aunt popped up. “She’s a detective. A professional. We’ve come to consult her on business. You don’t want to frown in that angry way-it’s just as important for a man to keep his looks these days as it is for a girl, and you’ll get terrible wrinkles around your eyes if you keep scowling like that. And you’ve got very nice eyes.”
“Elena, just be quiet, will you? We can discuss Cerise’s problem upstairs. Take her on up, okay?” I wasn’t going to resolve anything with the guy if Elena was mediating.
Elena protested, hurt, that she was just trying to help me get along better with my neighbors, but she finally agreed to start upstairs. I looked at the banker, debating whether I should say something conciliatory-it’s not a great idea to have a vendetta with a neighbor in a six-unit building.
“Be sure to give the cops the Corvette’s plates when you call, will you?” I told him. “The fellow who drives it is a detective with the Central District’s Violent Crimes Unit. The beat guys’ll enjoy razzing him about getting accused of being a pimp. If you didn’t catch the plate, it’s ‘fureous’-that’s F-U-R-E-O-U-S.” Some days I’m just more conciliatory than others.
He scowled at me with dark angry eyes, trying to decide whether I was bluffing. Hearing the license plate spelled out apparently made him decide I wasn’t. He stalked back into his apartment and slammed the door. From the south unit I could hear Peppy’s insistent whimpering as she begged to join in the fray. I ran up the stairs two at a time to avoid Mr. Contreras’s predictable harangue.
I ushered Elena and Cerise into my apartment. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”
“I’ll take a beer,” Cerise said.
Cerise settled on a Coke while Elena asked for some of that wonderful coffee like my ma used to make. I served up the remains of the pasta salad I’d taken to yesterday’s picnic and heated a couple of rolls. Neither woman seemed to have eaten much recently. Beyond Cerise’s asking what the queer white things in the salad were, and accepting “calamari” with a wise nod, they both ate rapidly without speaking.
“So what’s the problem that needs a detective?” I asked when they’d finished.
Cerise looked at Elena, asking her to speak for her.
“It’s her baby,” my aunt said.
In the bright light of my living room I could see Cerise wasn’t as old as her sophisticated clothes had made her look downstairs. She might have been twenty, but any legitimate bar would card her.
“Yes,” I said as encouragingly as possible.
“We think she died in the fire,” Elena said.
“Died in the fire?” I repeated stupidly.
“At the Indiana Arms,” my aunt said sharply. “Don’t gape there like a carp, Vicki. You must remember it.”
“Yes, but-you think? Don’t you know?”
I’d spoken to Cerise. She shook her head and again turned to Elena. My aunt spoke briskly, using wild hand motions and pursing her lips periodically to underscore a dramatic point.
“The whole point of an SRO, Vicki, is that it’s
Elena paused, as if waiting for an answer, but I didn’t try to interrupt the flow.
