A crime of a different s.., p.24
A Crime of a Different Stripe, page 24
Izzy tried to take his words in, to feel what he had felt those years ago. And all the years since. The sound of his sadness was raw, as if it were yesterday.
“And it did pass. I knew it was over. Martina acted strangely, distant, but at least she wasn’t seeing him. For a few weeks, things were almost normal. There might have been something going on in her head, but I let it be. I was crazy with relief that she wasn’t going off. About a month or two later, I had a business trip to Italy. I wanted it to be like a honeymoon, to erase the taste of those bad times. Forgive and forget.
“Martina said she wasn’t feeling so good, but I should go on the trip without her. ‘Go to the doctor,’ I said. ‘Take care of yourself.’ She told me she’d travel with me next time. So I went. And then I came back. To an empty house.”
Izzy could feel the emptiness, the air being sucked out of the room. Out of his house.
He looked around the room. “I didn’t change a thing in here. Martina loved this room.”
“But you must have thought she’d come back, right?”
“Yeah. I thought that for a long time. A lifetime, maybe. She didn’t take much with her. A few clothes. Some money from the checking account, but not a lot. None of the valuable doodads she had bought for the house. She was impulsive. I thought that’s what this was.”
Izzy hesitated but finally asked, “Did you assume she had run off with Harrison Grant?”
He sighed. A long and painful sound. Frodo licked his hand.
“I wasn’t sure. But that seemed logical, right? I tried to call her but got no answer. I even had a guy go look for her in New York, but he found nothin’. Like I said, she did impulsive things. Highs and lows. It drove me crazy sometimes. But in the end, I loved her, you know? I could wait. What else did I have to do?”
“Did you contact Grant yourself?”
Rico was quiet for a moment, as if thinking about Harrison Grant was too painful. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I was going a little crazy and imagined maybe he was making her promises or holding her hostage or all kinds of crazy things. So I finally went there myself. I thought I might find her, too, but at least I’d know she was safe, and she could tell me herself it was over. At least I’d know.
“But I couldn’t get within a city block of the guy at first. I finally found him in a fancy bar. He was a little tipsy, and I confronted him. He knew right away who I was. At first, he acted like a guy like me should expect a wife like her to have affairs. What was the big deal? He was an arrogant you-know-what.
“Then he told me he didn’t have a clue in hades where my wife was. And he added that Martina’s brains didn’t match her beauty. She begged him to take her back, he said. To marry her. She tried to trick him, blackmail him, making ultimatums. She was crazy, he said, but he took care of it. It didn’t take much to convince her to never, ever contact him again, he said. Or else. Women were easy to scare. Young and stupid were the nicer of the words he used. He made it clear that she’d be sorry if he ever saw her again. And then he turned on me, said he had some pictures of Martina. Ones I might not like to get around. And he suggested strongly that I never contact him again, either.”
Rico’s voice was harsh and furious as he repeated Grant’s words. If Harrison Grant were to walk into the Silva house in that instant, Izzy was absolutely sure Rico would kill him.
He finally paused, took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.
He hadn’t once looked at Izzy as he talked. She remembered going to confession when she was young, with an unseen priest listening behind a screen. She felt like that now, standing with this man, who might have done nothing but love a woman who didn’t love him back. At least not enough.
“Did you look for her after that?”
“For a while,” he said. “But then I stopped. It was clear Martina didn’t want to be found. I’d call her, but she never answered her phone. Except for one time, but it was almost a year after she left. Someone answered, an older voice. She said Martina couldn’t come to the phone and hung up on me. Then, a few days after that, I tried again, and the number had been discontinued. Shut off. Just like that. And I stopped looking, hoping she had found peace.”
Rico finally looked away from the portrait and walked across Martina’s room and into the foyer. Izzy followed. They stood side by side on the wet doormat while Izzy pulled on her rain boots. Outside, she could hear the rain lightening up, now more of a patter on the windows and steps.
She zipped up her jacket and looked at him again. His face was unreadable. But he didn’t turn away.
“Rico, that night at the reception for Grant, I thought I saw you coming up the beach steps over at the Art Haven place.”
She waited.
He scratched his scruffy beard, then looked at her. “No problem with your eyes. I saw the flyer for that thing you were doing, so I knew he was there somewhere.”
“So you were coming over to talk to him?”
“Maybe. Don’t know for sure. Then I remembered what he’d said those years ago, that he had pictures of Martina. I didn’t know what he had meant back then, didn’t want to know. Maybe he was lyin’, anyway. But maybe not. Besides, what would I say to the guy with all those people around, anyway?”
Izzy was quiet, not wanting to go any further, not wanting Rico to say things to her she didn’t want to hear. But finally, she did.
“Okay, Rico, then that next morning, when we met on the beach . . .”
Rico stared at her, as if daring Izzy to take back the question she was forming in her mind. But Izzy held her ground. She stared back, knowing he already knew what she was going to ask.
Finally, he said, “Frodo and I headed down my back steps that morning, going to Paley’s Cove, like always. We saw him lying there at the foot of my steps. Right there on my property, dead as a beached tuna. Frodo turned away, headed back up the stairs like it was the thing to do, and I followed him. Then we walked out to the road and down to the beach. Just like you hollered at me to do forever.”
Izzy tried to process her thoughts about what had happened that day, to move on. But to what? To ask what?
At that moment, the sound of a car in the circle drive interrupted her thoughts and sent Rico to the small windows bordering the door.
The look on his face caused her to move to his side.
She and Rico stared through the light rain at a familiar car.
As they watched, Detective Tommy Porter and a policewoman stepped out of the car and looked up at the house, then walked up to the door.
Chapter 32
Cass and Elena waddled through the rain and into the Y, leaving wet puddles along the way. Soft music welcomed them into the yoga studio at the end of the hallway.
When she had pulled up in front of the Costa home to pick up Elena, Cass was surprised to see Marco at the door, holding an umbrella, and then ushering his wife to the car.
“He finished the fatherhood book,” Elena had whispered to Cass as she climbed into the front seat. And then she’d added, “He’s a good man, Cass.”
Cass was beginning to believe it. Maybe scrappy young Marco was growing up.
The Saturday yoga class was almost always full, but Harmony spotted the two stragglers coming down the hallway. Her face brightened, and she cleared places in the front row.
With a shake of her head, Cass nixed the idea for herself, claiming with hand signals that she needed back-row privacy today. Just in case, she thought, although she was unsure of what “just in case” referred to. It could easily mean her own private, modified version of the child pose that allowed for a ten-minute nap. Danny’s baby was a night owl.
Looking over heads and bodies, Cass could see that Elena had already unrolled her mat and was sitting cross-legged in a quiet pose, eyes closed, collecting herself.
Libby, a longtime waitress at Garozzo’s deli and a neighbor of Cass’s, lowered herself down next to Cass, grinning at her and patting her barely visible bump. “The third. Can you believe it?”
Cass laughed. Libby was at least five or six years older than her. She gave her a high five. “A surprise?” she asked.
“Huge surprise,” Libby said.
“So you’re an elderly multigravida. I’ve got these terms down pat, Lib.”
Libby’s laugh was loud and, in the quiet of the yoga studio, slightly raucous. She covered her mouth.
“Me too,” Cass said. “But I’m a primigravida.”
“You’re a babe compared to me. Don’t try to one-up me.”
“So what does this do to your waitressing job?”
Libby laughed. “Easy. I’ll ask for more hours. Waitressing and people are my therapy. And my older kids are babysitting age. Besides, hubby Joe is thrilled with this surprise. He loves babies. So he can babysit, too. And I will happily toddle off to work. I love Harry’s deli. Keeps me alive and a better mom. I meet all sorts of people there. Including that lady up front.”
“Harmony?”
“Yeah. She eats at the deli a lot these days. Has business meetings there. Cheap office rent.” Libby laughed. “That’s how I heard about this class. But actually, I met her, heck, a couple dozen years ago maybe? A long time. Another life, as we call it. Pre-yoga. Pre-kids. Pre-life.’ ”
“Harmony has kids?”
“No, I was talking about me. But the rest of it was Harmony, no yoga back then and not much of a life. We met in a Gloucester bar, down near the harbor. There was a group of us. Accidental friends, we called ourselves. I was the youngest, I think. We were all down and out on our luck—lost jobs, messed-up relationships, all of us having a hard time in life and trying to figure a way out. Harmony was a real mess back then. She had just gone through a hard time, lots of losses. A divorce maybe but she never said. Something had happened that put her over the edge, and she acted a little crazy, angry, not always thinking clearly, you know? We weren’t sure if it was just the things that had colored her life or if it was her.
“But, anyway, she was in a dark place. Most of us moved on, pulled ourselves together, like you do at that age, and I lost track of her, until years later, when she showed up in Harry’s one day. I didn’t recognize her at first. She had pulled herself up. It was nice to see. And surprising.”
Cass listened with interest. At first, in the warmth of the yoga room, surrounded by the mats and peaceful women, the Harmony that Libby was describing didn’t fit.
She looked toward the front of the room, where Harmony was talking to Elena, looking motherly. She wondered if Elena and other young moms in the class were somehow filling a void in Harmony.
As she watched her now, calm and in control, she realized that it wasn’t a total surprise that Harmony had had a tough life. She had hinted at it that day in the Virgilio clinic. But she had stopped short of any details. And now here she was, in front of this class. Smiling. Calm. Not looking like the woman Libby had described, or the one who had started to let Cass see what was beneath that smiling facade. She seemed to have her life together.
Good to see, Cass thought. Sometimes things work out like they should.
She hoped this was one of those times.
* * *
An hour later, Cass rolled up her mat and joined Elena. Harmony stood with several of the women from the class and smiled over at them.
“Harmony, a quick question before we go?” Cass said, suddenly realizing she was about to lie—and she hadn’t planned for it. “I need contact information for that photographer who took pictures for your brochure. I’m collecting names in case Danny and I want some taken of junior here, once he’s ready.”
“Photographer?”
“The one who took photos of Elena. His name was Frank, I think.”
“Oh, sure. That one. Sure, well, I’ll ask him. I’m not sure he does babies, but I’ll let you know.”
“How did the photos turn out? Were you happy with them?”
“The photos?”
“Of Elena. For the brochure.”
“Oh, those. He still has them. They’re good. But how can you go wrong with Elena, right?”
Cass wondered if her cheeks were as red as they felt as she thanked Harmony. Probably more profusely than necessary. Lying wasn’t her game, hard as she sometimes tried. Her next thought was of her mother. Mary Halloran wouldn’t have liked that show at all. Why hadn’t she just asked Harmony why she’d said Frank what’s-his-name was a photographer? And what did it matter, anyway? And a third thought was the fact that she’d asked Harmony about the photos the last time she’d seen her. And Harmony’s first reaction had also been confusion. As if she didn’t really know Frank at all. Or remember a picture being taken until Cass had jogged her memory.
And finally, she wondered why she, Cass Halloran, was letting herself be obsessed with the whole thing.
She dismissed her thoughts and hurried after Elena. They picked up two juice drinks from the bar and headed out to her car, their heads ducked against the rain.
“That’s a good idea, Cass. Baby pictures,” Elena said.
“So, do you think the photographer is good? Have you seen his photos?” Cass asked, getting into the car.
“No. But he was very nice.”
Cass realized she hadn’t dismissed the thoughts completely, after all. “Frank was his name. You were a photographer’s dream that day. Did you sign the release papers Harmony mentioned?”
“Papers?” Elena shook her head. “I guess I forgot. I’ll ask Harmony about it. But it’s not important, Cass. It’s only for a brochure.”
Cass nodded and moved to a safer topic, one removed from what she was now considering her own paranoia. “Have you had your photograph taken before? You’re a good subject. So at ease.”
“Oh, sure. My parents loved taking my picture when I was little. I was an only child, and I think they poured all the love they had for the large family they wanted into me. And some friend of Marco’s took a photo at our wedding.”
“No, I mean for magazines. Or ads. Professional. Like a model. Maybe I’ve seen one of you.”
Elena laughed, slightly embarrassed, as she assured Cass she’d never been a model. Nor would she want to be one. And unless Cass knew the family she had au paired for in Boston, they’d probably never met in person either, because she hadn’t gone out much while she was working there.
And then she told Cass her big news. News that was far more important than photography or modeling. Or even yoga.
Marco was waiting for her at home to take her to the mall to get a crib for the baby.
“A crib?” Cass said.
“Yes, Cass, a crib.” Elena laughed at Cass’s surprise. “A baby crib.”
They pulled away from the curb and headed north. Then Elena went on to talk about crib safety requirements, in case Cass hadn’t read the articles yet. Compliant cribs, she said. And she talked about the danger of blankets in the crib and how close together the slats needed to be.
Slats? Cass needed to talk to Danny about that. They’d need a crib, too. One with slats that were close together. She mentally recorded the list in her head but was mostly reassured by the fact that she planned on borrowing everything she needed from Izzy—and surely Abby’s crib had the right kind of slats.
“So, Elena, am I correct in thinking you probably have the nursery all ready?” She turned off Harbor Road, heading toward the Costas’ neighborhood.
“We do. Marco painted it a gentle green. It reminds me of new gardens and spring, new life.”
Cass imagined it. She looked over at Elena and saw that she was thinking about it, too, and its future resident.
“I was inspired by photographs of my nursery, the one my parents decorated for me,” Elena said. “My mom and dad weren’t rich, but my nursery was filled with unimaginable love. From that very first day. My parents told me often about how they were in my life from the very beginning, coming to the hospital as soon as they heard I was on the way. Staying there all night. I was born early, was a little sickly, they said, but a week later they took me home to their small rural house. My father said they turned me from pale to pink in a heartbeat. It just took love, he said.”
“I almost forgot that you were adopted. But how great that your parents didn’t miss any of your life.”
“That’s what they thought, too. They were right there, waiting for me to pop out, my dad said. All the papers had been signed. ‘Every t crossed,’ my mother would say. The woman who birthed me told them she wanted me to have a happy home. And that’s what I got.”
“Do you think about her? Your birth mother?”
Elena looked slightly surprised, then thoughtful. “Well, I think about her in a kind of universal way, like we’re all connected somehow. But have I ever thought about her as my mother. No. My mother was Greta Abrams. She mothered me.”
Cass glanced over at Elena. Amazing, she thought, not sure she had any other words.
Elena settled into quiet memories then, ones that made her face light up.
She was young, Cass thought. She definitely wasn’t naïve. Her youth was deceiving. Inside that youthful woman, Cass was discovering traces of an old soul. “Sea Harbor must be very different for you. It’s nothing like rural Pennsylvania,” Cass said.
“But it has the ocean, and it has Marco. My garden. It has you, Cass. I’m happy here.”
“Speaking of nice people, Danny and I were at the Ocean’s Edge the other night, and I saw you and Harmony having dinner. I would have said hi, but you were having a good time and I didn’t want to interrupt. It was nice to see that. I sometimes wonder about Harmony’s life outside of yoga.”
Elena didn’t respond, and Cass drove on, slowing the windshield wipers when the rain turned into a light drizzle.
Finally, Elena said, “It’s a nice restaurant. She came by my house that day and knocked, invited me to join her for dinner. I was surprised. It was kind of like seeing a teacher outside of school, you know? But she was sweet, and I read into her voice that she needed company. Marco was out helping Eddie with a moving job to make some extra money for the baby. So I went. I’d never been to that restaurant before. Marco isn’t crazy about white tablecloths.” She smiled.
