stairs, her charcoal trench coat billowing after her. She wore heels and had very nice legs. A set of keys hung from a lanyard in her hand along with a collection of IDs. Probably something to do with Henry.
I was still looking after her when a black, basket-weave Sam Browne belt with a Glock 19 blocked my view. I looked up at a young, blonde policewoman with a name tag that read OFFICER SHARPE, and spoke into the phone. “Let me call you back.”
“Dad? Wait a…”
I pushed the red button, and the tiny phone chirped again. Dog growled, and I hushed him with a quick glance. I tipped my head back to look at myself in the cop’s sunglasses; she gestured with her pen, which was already out.
“He didn’t drive the whole way, did he?”
I tossed the cell phone onto the center console and smiled. “No, we switched off in Cleveland.”
She didn’t smile back. “Ya need’a move the vehicle.”
I looked over the steering column at the empty switch. I had never seen Henry Standing Bear take the keys out of anything in thirty years. I glanced back up. “I don’t have the keys.”
“That’s okay, I’ll get it moved for ya.” She snapped the button on her two-way and held it toward her mouth. “Unit 43, 10-92 at the corner of Cherry and Broad.” She paused. “Roger that, 10-51. I need a hook.”
I thought of my luggage, of Henry’s, and of the Northern Cheyenne photographic find of the century that was in three hatboxes in the trunk. “Patrolman Sharpe, I think my friend just ran inside to find out where we could unload some things.”
She smiled for the first time, maybe because I noticed her name and rank, or not. “That’s okay, we let’ya get ya stuff out, before we take the car. I’ll even let’ya keep the dog.” She was talking into the mic again. “Long as ya got a leash for him.”
I thought about all the things Dog didn’t have, including a leash, as the cell phone began ringing. “Can’t you just write a ticket?”
She pulled out her docket and flipped it open. “I’m gonna do that, too.”
I picked up the phone and read Cady’s work number. “Make it an expensive one, will you?”
I pushed the talk button again. “Hello?”
“Did you just hang up on me?!”
I was distracted by a movement to the officer’s side; the woman I had seen disappear up the stairs was back. “Hi, Kathy.”
Officer Sharpe lowered her pen as she half-turned. “Michelle?”
I looked up at the window on Market, and I swear I could feel Cady looking down on me. “I didn’t hang up on you…”
The woman indicated the car in which I was sitting. “This is one of ours.”
The officer sighed. “Is it movin’ soon?”
The voice on the cell phone was insistent. “Are you still there?”
I tried to speak quietly. “I’ve got a little situation here.”
Michelle nodded and stepped back to trail an arm toward Henry, who was now standing at her side. “This is Henry Standing Bear. He’s here in conjunction with the Museum of the American Indian and the Smithsonian to…”
“Look, Dad, I’ve got to work late tonight so you’re on your own. I probably won’t make it home till after ten. All right.”
It wasn’t a question. “All right.”
“You remember where I told you I hide the key?”
“Yep.”
“You and the Bear can find the place?”
I nodded at the phone, like I always do when I’m trying to get it to like me. “I think so.”
“See if Henry can take the dog, please? Devon is deathly allergic.” I stared at the receiver for a while. “Dad?” It was quiet on the phone. “It’s been a long day, and it looks like it’s going to get longer.”
I nodded some more. “Anything I can do, like bring you dinner?”
“No, Patti went out already. Dad…” The irritation was returning to her voice. “That Moretti woman called twice to set up lunch with us. I spoke with her earlier today, when I thought you were going to be here, and she wanted to stop by tonight.” The irritation was now back in full. “Do you know why this has suddenly become so important to this woman? I mean…I’ve been here for a while.”
I remembered the conversation on the jail steps. “Vic said something about how her mother was feeling guilty about not getting in touch with you.”
“Well…If you would, her number is on the notepad by the phone at my place. Can you call and set something up with her for some other time? Tonight just isn’t good.”
“I’m getting that.” The longest silence since I hadn’t hung up on her.
By the time I’d closed the phone and rejoined the outside world, Dog had jumped into the back, Henry was fastening his seat belt, and the women were gone. He watched my face. “Trouble?”
“Always.” I studied the windshield. “Where we headed?”
He watched me for a moment longer and then slipped the big bird into gear. “I can drop you off, then come back here and unload the stuff.”
“You wanna get something to eat?”
He cleared his throat very quietly. “I think I have a date.”
I had to smile and shake my head. “Already?”
His turn to look out the windshield. “The corner of Quarry and Bread, over in Old City?”
I thought about how there were more than nine times as many people in Philadelphia than there were in the entire state of Wyoming and how it seemed that none of them wanted to have dinner with me. We circled around City Hall and headed east on Market. I wanted to reconnoiter a little before being left on foot; I had never been to Philadelphia before and was planning on spending the next day as a tourist, so we took a brief detour around Independence Square, taking in Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell Center and Pavilion. There were more trees on this side of town, and I was comforted by the park rangers in their dark green uniforms and Smokey-the-Bear lids. At least I wouldn’t be the only one in town wearing a cowboy hat. “Where have they got you staying?”
He shrugged, checked the rearview mirror, and took a right on Race, between the National Constitution Center and the Mint. I could see why Cady had chosen this part of town, with its narrow, tree-lined streets, its access to the Delaware River, and the overarching view of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. It felt like a neighborhood. I guess it had always been one; the AAA book said that Old Ben was buried here, at Christ Church.
A year ago, when Cady had bought her building with the trust money bequeathed to her by her maternal grandmother, Old City had again been an up and coming area. As I looked around at the boutiques, coffee shops, and trendy bars, it looked like Old City had arrived. Henry slowed the convertible and waited for traffic to move so that we could turn at Bread Street and Paddy O’Neil’s Tavern, a little Irish bar on the corner that Cady had told me about. She went almost every Saturday night to hear the live music and stayed until the musicians were subdued by the local Yuengling beer. Cady always brought me a six-pack of the longnecks in her carry-on.
I looked at the blue and gold lights of Ben’s bridge shooting into the darkness, the suspension cables only half-lit in the fading umber of twilight. The stacked stone buttresses looked like castled pavilions along the Delaware River, with the arch lights illuminating the stone with a yellowish-green tint. I could hear the clatter of the light rail banging along on the tracks below the bridge’s walking paths. Cady didn’t have a car and generally walked the thirty-two blocks back and forth to work. I wondered if she ever had the time to see this picture-postcard view of her neighborhood. I worried about her walking home at night, but I worried about her brushing her teeth and breathing. Like most parents, I just worried.
“You can drink your dinner.”
It sounded appealing; they probably had food, and it was within easy crawling distance of home. I glanced in the windows of the bar as we passed. It was a Thursday night, which meant I wouldn’t be assaulted by live music or a crowd; I’d just pay for the privilege of my own company.
I had seen pictures of the little tannery building she had bought, and there it was, a strangely squat, one- and-a-half-story commercial-looking structure with a forged-iron atrium. The large carriage opening was still there
