Outside, the morning air was fresh and clear. I bought a
Emblazoned above the window, a banner ad boasted that the diner had been voted best in Manhattan. Doubtless, tourists would be impressed since New Yorkers knew their food, but only until they walked past other diners and discovered those too had been voted best in Manhattan. The details were in the who, what, and when of the vote. I had no quarrel with the breakfast, though, and the fresh coffee revived me.
Recalling the questions I’d mulled over last night, I sensed something hovering just outside my awareness. As I ate I let my thoughts flow, helter-skelter. Then it came. I felt as if instead of handing me the bill, the waiter had just tipped a bag of gold onto my plate.
It was Corinne’s remark about Hal’s mother’s funeral. Although I’d been out of town at the time, I knew that Mina’s funeral had been held at the Church of the Intercession in Hamilton Heights. If there was a family mausoleum, Hal would have had unlimited access to it. It would make a brilliant hiding place.
I threw some cash down on the table to cover my tab and ran to the subway. I got off at the 155th Street station and rushed the two blocks to the Church of the Intercession.
A wall of dove-gray limestone closed off the cemetery from the street. Stationed inside the entrance, a tall Celtic cross with birds and animals sculpted in relief had been installed as a tribute to John Audubon, who’d once owned the land. The grounds had a serene, parklike feel; ancient elms shaded the lawn, still quite green despite the prolonged heat. The gravestones ranged from prominent headstones surrounded by picket fences to simple markers. Many were so old, the names had blurred into the stone. No one else was around.
Seeing all those headstones reminded me I had no family left. With Samuel gone, the nearest person I had to a relative was Evelyn. I should have gone to see her by now. Only in her mid-fifties, her arthritis had worsened to the point that she needed extended care. She’d come to us a few weeks after my fourth birthday. It was a surprise Samuel had lasted that long. A studious older man with a penchant for quiet and order could not have coped easily with a boisterous toddler. The story of Evelyn’s origins remained a mystery to me because she never spoke about growing up in the Middle East. Children are hypersensitive to secrets withheld, but somehow I always knew that questions about her early years or why she’d fled her country were forbidden.
During grade school, every morning she’d carefully wrap a homemade lunch in waxed paper and a brown paper bag she’d saved from shopping, tuck it into my knapsack, and walk the five blocks to school with me. When I was older I grew to resent this. She always wore black, and like a great black crow fluttered around my shoulders, never letting me out of her sight. Even in winter, which she hated, on would go her oversized galoshes and she’d set out beside me, moaning all the way about the slippery ice and mounds of snow. I couldn’t bear the contrast to the other kids’ mothers and tried everything to get rid of that plodding presence by my side, but despite her quiet nature, I could never shake her off.
It was only when I went to boarding school in my teens that I realized how much she meant to me. Of all people, she’d been the hardest one to face after Samuel died.
A circular path led to a group of large mausoleums. Only these were big enough to hide anything. Like miniature mansions, they sat in a row around the walkway. Two of them caught my eye but they had the wrong names: Garret Storm and Stephen Storm. Garret’s resting place was an elaborate gothic folly with a lacy wrought-iron door and a pitched roof flanked by spires and topped with a cross.
I looked for Mina’s tomb under Vanderlin, her married name, and Janssen, her maiden name. But fifteen minutes of searching proved fruitless. One of the largest mausoleums, built of aged brownstone the color of milk chocolate and mossy with age, had no name at all. Its door was fastened with a rusty padlock. If Mina was interred in a mausoleum, this would have to be the one. I took a few steps forward to see whether it had been recently opened.
“Hey there.”
A man marched toward me. He wore a black leather vest, blue jeans, and a satin shirt. Chunky necklaces flopped around his neck. “Sir,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in here.”
“I thought it was public. The gate was wide open.”
“Don’t you read signs? It says you need permission from the cemetery office. Appointments only.”
“I’m sorry. My great-aunt died recently while I was out of the country. She’s supposed to be buried here.”
“I see.” He crinkled his eyes, trying to take my measure. “What was her secret?”
“Pardon me?”
“Her secret to a long life. People would pay serious money for that.”
He was making some kind of joke at my expense. I waited for the punch line.
“The last person buried here was born in 1836. Now, that would put your aunt at a ripe one hundred and sixty-seven years old. I just hope for your sake you got her genes.” He burst out laughing.
“I must have been told the wrong location.”
Tears glinted at the edges of his eyes, but not of sorrow. “Did they say Trinity?”
“Yes, that’s what they told me.”
“Go to the columbarium. We’re the only cemetery left in Manhattan carrying out active interments, but it’s all cremations now. You’ll probably find your aunt’s remains there.”
A niche in the columbarium would be too small to hide anything of significance, but I’d check it out anyway. Maybe Hal had left a note or other directions.
The clerk on duty at the columbarium told me I’d need an appointment even for that viewing. When I explained I had to leave New York that afternoon she relented. “What was the name?”
“Janssen.”
She tapped a few words into the computer and checked the screen, then shook her head. “No record of a Janssen. Maybe in the cemetery but not here in the columbarium.”
“Okay. Could you look up Minerva Vanderlin?” I spelled it out for her.
“Oh yes, here it is. The niche is no longer assigned to her. Her son picked up the remains.”
“When would that have been?”
She peered at the screen again. “January 25—six months ago.”
The urn I’d seen back in the closet at the townhouse had likely once held her cremation remains. He’d scattered her ashes, probably over some favorite spot of hers as people often do, and used the urn to stash the gemstones.
I headed over to the subway, pissed as hell. Hal had trumped me once more. I was so sure I’d been on the right track. The disappointment weighed heavily on me.
I waited for the train, hoping to get one of the cars with functioning air conditioning and a welcome blast of cold air. Even the short hike from the cemetery had me dripping with sweat. A few paces away, two kids were putting on a show for the waiting crowd. They both wore pants that had to be size XL, though neither one was heavyset, and oversized Ts, one with Tupac Shakur’s image silk-screened on the front; the other was a Sean John. The shorter kid had a pair of Air Jordan 18s that must have set him back two hundred bucks.
I watched their moves, appreciating their skill. One kid suddenly grabbed the ankles of the other and flipped himself up. His partner caught his ankles in turn so that they formed a human O. They somersaulted down the platform and back again with a prowess that would have left professional acrobats gasping. The crowd clapped and threw quarters, the kids scooping up the change just before the train came shooting into the station. We rocked and rolled along the tracks at warp speed. I savored the meat-locker cold of the car.
Twenty
MoMA’s temporary site was located in a former Swingline staple factory. The good citizens of Queens had cheered when they found out the top prize in culture would hop over the East River and settle in their burg. They’d painted the building a rich blue.
Near the front entrance, Ari stood taking nervous drags off his Gitane. Laurel, appearing a bit frail and worn, waited beside Tomas. On the one hand, knowing that he was watching out for her took a weight off me, but on the other, he looked proprietary and it got under my skin.
Claire Talbot met us after we signed in. She gave me an emphatic double kiss and Tomas and Ari a
