“Al…”
“In the summer, the men of Christian Street always found a reason to be out on the stoop at ten in the morning to watch her go by.”
“Al…”
“Fourteen years old, and she is cussing them like a sailor.”
I took a sip of my own wine as Lena spoke. “If you’re through with your stories, we’re starving.”
He looked at me. “You see…Principessa.”
She leaned forward. “What are we having?”
He raised his hands with a flourish. “Pizza Rustica Alphonse.”
Lena clapped her hands. “My favorite!”
He downed the rest of his wine, set the glass back on the table with more flourish, and stood. “I stole the recipe from Termini, but he is not here…” He disappeared through the kitchen doors, singing “One for My Baby” just under Frank.
I raised my glass, and she touched the rim with hers. “Here’s to the lady’s revenge and sandals with little flowers between the toes.” She smiled and drank. I motioned toward the kitchen where Alphonse was overpowering Sinatra. “He’s quite a character.”
“My ally.”
“He seems to enjoy life.”
Her head tilted slightly. “And he makes excuses for people who also make that mistake.” The glass lingered there at her lower lip, a movement that echoed Vic’s. “When I had the affair, Alphonse let me stay above the restaurant.”
“You make it sound like an historic event.”
She took a sip. “In our family, it was.” She studied me. “I’d imagine you were true.”
“True?”
“You know what I mean.”
I thought about it, trying to come up with some way of not sounding like a self-righteous prig. “We were always saving for something. I mean I don’t think it was that we got along all that great. There were plenty of times we would have called it quits, but it seemed we were always needing something, a new television, a washer and dryer, a car, or for Cady…It’s amazing what civil service wages can do for fidelity.” She laughed, and I studied the pattern of the tablecloth. “I’m not sure how to go about this, but I think we’re close enough friends that I have to tell you something.” She looked back up at me. “I think I’ve stumbled onto who it might’ve been that you had the relationship with.”
Her expression changed very slightly, and then she looked at the tablecloth. It was a very long pause, and I was about to say something when she started talking. “I understand Michael threw you out of the hospital?”
“Yep.”
“He is healing fast.” She held the glass at her lip. “He got a three-day suspension, and it seems to me I should be mad at you about that.”
I waited and then spoke very carefully, “As long as that’s all you’re mad at me about.” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow as I continued. “It was my plan, but it wasn’t my idea.” I didn’t care for this line of conversation either, so I changed the subject again. “I went to Delaware today. First to sign the Constitution; they have a plaque.”
“How was the opera?”
“I think your husband would just as soon I go back to Wyoming.”
“I’m sure he would.”
I smiled and took another sip of the wine. “Opening night tomorrow?”
“Yes, why?”
I shrugged. “I was looking for a date to take to Henry’s opening, but I guess you’re otherwise engaged.”
She took a long moment to respond, looking at her glass. “Yes.”
It was quiet, and I watched her clench her jaw muscles; again she looked like Vic. We listened as Alphonse finished up on a note. “Victor really can sing, but I think I prefer Alphonse; more heartfelt.”
“And flat.” She laughed a slow laugh that pulled at the top of my chest. “So, if we can’t seem to talk about anything else, what’s happening with the case?”
“I’m having a beer tonight at O’Neil’s with an assistant district attorney. He was a friend of Devon’s and was a player in the Roosevelt Boulevard thing.”
“Vince Osgood?”
“Yep, I guess it was in all the papers…”
“No, just recently there was something.”
I let her think while I continued. “Suspended…”
She held her hand out to stop me from speaking. “No, this was something that connected with something you said. I’ve heard those two names mentioned together. Osgood and Conliffe.”
“Roosevelt Boulevard…”
“No, no, no. It was something else.” She continued to think. “I knew I’d heard that young man’s name before, but now I can’t think where.” Alphonse returned with two plates and wrapped flatware, carefully placing them on the table, and poured himself another glass of Chianti. “Alphonse, what do you know about Vince Osgood?”
“The assistant DA on suspension?” He tightened his lips under his mustache. “He would burn his mother to stay warm.”
“What about him and Devon Conliffe, the judge’s son?”
“What about him?” He took a sip of his wine. “He fell off the bridge; end of story.”
“Al…”
He looked at me. “You know, I leave you here with this beautiful woman, wine, candlelight…And you talk like cops.”
Lena set her glass down. “You were a cop.”
“Not anymore. You want to talk cop stuff, you talk to your husband; you want to talk women, wine, or song, you talk to me.”
She held the glass with both hands and didn’t look at him. “Do you still have those friends of yours in the DA’s office?”
“No.”
Now she looked at him. “Are you going to make me ask Victor?”
He sipped and thought about it, finally sighing. “What do you want to know?”
“There’s some kind of connection between Osgood and the Conliffe boy, something I overheard or read somewhere, something recent.”
“I’ll make a phone call…tomorrow, but only on one condition.” We waited. “No more cop talk.”
I called Henry from O’Neil’s. He had a number of ceremonies he wanted to perform in Cady’s hospital room and told me he would relieve Michael, and to take the rest of the night off. I told him I wasn’t sure I could do that. “Then you have to help.”
“I’ll help.” I could hear him talking to the nurses and wondered about the other patients and the upcoming rituals. “How did the installation at the Academy go?”
“Wonderfully well. They are very accommodating.” I thought about the woman with the keys and the security pass. “You are coming to the reception.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I can, but somebody’s got to stay with Cady.”
There was silence on the phone. “She will be better by then.” The heat in my face hit like exhaust, and the stinging in my eyes wouldn’t go away. Even across the telephone lines, he felt it. “Do me a favor?”
“Yep?”
“Wait until very late. I am not sure that they like pagan ceremonies…and bring some eagle feathers.” The line went dead.
Ian looked at me as I hung up the phone. “Trouble?”
“Just a little. I have to find some eagle feathers.”
He crossed his muscled arms on the bar, the intertwined Celtic snakes writhing up his forearms. “I’ll see
