“Oh honey, stop.” My anger was seeping away, as my puzzlement increased. “Just stop and tell me all about it. I’ll try not to be mad, but I really need to know. Here.” I handed her a tissue from my pocket.
As her tears slowed, she started talking between sobs. “It was that poor girl. I felt like I needed to do something for her. So I thought I’d try to find out about it on my own.”
“You did what?” I remembered too late my promise not to get mad.
“I tried to talk to the police about it, but they treated me like a kid. Can you believe that? They were so rude! And I asked Uncle Rick for help but he turned me down too and said I was nuts. I let him think he convinced me.” I was fuming but forced myself to be silent. I knew it was the only way to keep her talking.
“So I thought maybe I could find out about the house and work from there?”
“All right,” I said cautiously. “What did you do? How did you even know where to start?”
“Umm, you had something from the museum, a pamphlet about researching your own house.”
My daughter, who always claimed my work was boring, said that. This was getting more surprising by the second.
“So I went to the City Register office
,
to see if I could find out about who owned our house back then, you know, when they think whatever happened here happened. And I did it!”
The rest came out in a rush of words. “There was this guy working there, he’s in college and seemed pretty bored, so you know, we got to talking and I brought him a soda, and he was really, really helpful. He even gave me his number and said to call anytime if I need more help. He made me copies for free and everything. It’s all up in my room.
“Lots of people owned it. Did you know it’s a hundred years old? But around then, when they think that skeleton is from, it was this guy named Rogow. It’s Rogow Realty, I think, and he had it until 1980 when he sold it to a couple, and they sold it to you.” She took a breath and said, “That’s it.”
“Rogow? No kidding. I was actually reading about him today. So they owned our house?”
“And this Mr. Rogow—I think it said he was the principal?”
“That means he’s the main partner.”
“He owned a lot of houses around here. I have a list. That cute guy looked up a bunch of other locations for me, they were all around here, and his name was on most of them.”
“Forget cute. A college boy is too old for you.” She looked indignant. “I don’t know if I should be proud of your initiative or ground you for life. For crying out loud, Chris, what were you thinking? I wasn’t being whimsical when I said to leave it alone! Was I speaking Russian?”
“But I told you…I was even having dreams….”
“I know. I do know.” I stopped, thought, then told the truth. “Oh, hell. I had some myself. But this is not acceptable behavior, not even….”
She slid across the step and put her head on in my shoulder. I put an arm around her, but I was saved from further discussion by the arrival of Detective Russo, who had been here when we found the body, and a team of uniformed officers. They took my key and disappeared inside for an endless period of time.
When Russo came out at last he assured us that no one was hiding anywhere and that they had seen the note when they searched. The cops dusted for prints on the computer, took mine and Chris’ for comparison and examined the front and back doors and all the windows. Russo finally said, “No one broke in, so either you’ve got a very skillful lock picker, or it’s someone who has a key. I need a list of names, the people with keys and anyone who could have been here today.”
I wrote out everyone I could remember, with Chris prompting me, and I was surprised at how long the list was. Joe of course. Rick. Two sets of neighbors in case we were locked out
because of keys lost or left at home or work or school. A plumber who’d come for an emergency repair. I was pretty sure he’d never given them back. Our regular exterminator, who came to spray for ants and roaches when I was out. Various people who’d stayed with us for a while. Perhaps some of Chris’ friends? I added a note that Joe and his work crew had been in and out much of the day.
Russo looked it over. “What are you, nuts? Any of these people could have passed it on, left it lying around, lost it. You shouldn’t be giving your key out to repairmen.”
“Well, sometimes it’s been altogether too much. I had a job, classes, a child to get to school, a flooding sink….”
“I know, I know. But that leaves a lot of loose ends here. If you had workmen here, I want to talk to them. Give me your contractor’s number and call a locksmith now, tonight. I can give you some good places that work twenty-four/seven. Your window bars are in good shape but change the door locks ASAP. And keep a good control on the keys this time. Got that?’
“I got it.” I felt like a fool.
“Now let’s discuss that note. You got any ideas about what it means?”
With obvious reluctance, Chris described her day.
He said softly, “This is pretty scary, isn’t it? And you’re already having an eventful week. I have to ask you some questions, anyway. You won’t get into any trouble, but you need to think hard about the answers. And your mother can leave if you’d prefer.”
She shook her head.
“First, I need everyone who might know you are asking questions about this. I gather it was all news to your mother, but who else?”
“Lots of people.” Her voice was despairing. “I told everyone. All my friends. They think a skeleton is weird but in a cool way. Who knows who they might have told? Uncle Rick. Some cops. Even that cute guy at the Records department.” She turned to me. “And there’s a little more.”
“Chris!” I swallowed the expletives on the tip of my tongue.
“There was an address on the papers for that Rogow company? Well, it isn’t in the phone book now, but the papers had a phone number too, so I took a chance. And called it.”
“And?”
“I got a machine and it said Rogow Incorporated so I thought, why not leave a message? You know? I told them who I am and what I wanted. And asked if they were related to this Rogow. I mean,” she added quickly, “I only talked about history and didn’t say anything about the girl.”
“Ok, I got it, but I sure don’t like it. Now, is there anyone you know who might be trying to scare you, just in case this is some kind of prank after all? Anyone who has it in for you?”
She shook her head. “I’m a regular kid at school. Not so popular that everyone hates me. Does that make sense?” She looked from him to me and back again. “And not one of the kids, well you know, there are always one or two, that everyone picks on, you know, because they just do.” She saw my face and added quickly, “I don’t do that, though.”
He closed his notebook. “I think that’s it for now. I might be back and you can call me any time you need to, or if you think of something. Ms. Donato, I expect you have my number memorized by now. After all, we don’t want anything happening to Sergeant Rick’s goddaughter.”
He laughed at my surprise. “Yeah, I asked around. How is Rick anyway? I had him for a teacher one time at the academy.”
“He’s fine. Real busy.”
“Give him my best, when you can. Tony Russo. Tell him I made detective.”
“I’ll do that.”
As soon as he was gone, I made my decision, right then and there, before I even tackled the locksmith problem.
“If we can get you in this late, do you still want to go to camp with Mel?”
“Well, duh, yes, are you kidding? I—but this is crazy—I don’t understand…”
“Uncle Rick offered to send you.”
“You mean I’m sprung from the chain gang? I have to go call Mel!” Her expression went from joy, to confusion, to worry and back to joy in the space of two breaths. Then she stopped. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes.”
“Cause you think I’ve gone off the deep end?”
“You bet.”
“I’ll go, but only if you promise not to forget about her. Promise to bug the police.”
“Let me get this straight. After completely blowing off everything I said about this, I am sending you to camp instead of locking you in the house until you’re forty, and you are bargaining with me?”
“No. Well, yes, I guess you could see it that way…but I didn’t mean it like that. Mom, you know…don’t you…I didn’t…”
I let her off the hook. “I do. Now go away. I have a locksmith to get over here tonight. No doubt it will cost an arm and a leg. Or maybe my first-born child. That would be you. Don’t tempt me.” I hoped he would take a credit card. That would at least give me a little time to scrape up the money.
A few phone calls early the next morning and it was done. The camp had a cancellation due to mono, and if I faxed a mountain of paperwork and my credit card information, Chris was going. I sent up a prayer that Rick’s check was on the way.
After that, I hardly had time or energy to think about anything but getting Chris ready. As Joan, Mel’s mom, said, “Moving Catherine the Great from the Winter Palace to the Summer Palace was nothing compared to getting a teenage girl ready for camp.”
My bank account program showed Rick’s check had transferred. Hooray for electronic transfers. I wanted to say thank you, to tell him Chris was really going, to give her a chance to say goodbye, but I didn’t reach him in several calls. That wasn’t unusual; he was living a busy life in his retirement and often took off for a few days of fishing or a gambling excursion to Atlantic City. And I didn’t have time to think about it after a couple of tries. I knew he’d get back to me.
Oh, yes, and I had a fight with Joe. I meant to give him a heads up that the police would be asking him some questions about security when he was working at my house, but they got to him first. He was more than a little ticked off about this and told me so by phone at seven a.m. I had an uncomfortable feeling he was right, too, so of course I came back with a strong “I really don’t have time to deal with this!” and hung up.
There was no work on my house scheduled that day, and I did not have a moment to think it over until very late that night. I reached for the phone to apologize to Joe, stopped myself, thought it over and did it again, sucking in my breath as I punched the buttons. He wasn’t there. I wasn’t about to leave a message for anyone who came in with him to hear. His phone would record that I had called.
Camp departure day. The sounds of Chris opening and closing drawers. I squinted at the clock—five a.m. Like any teen, she normally had to be dragged out of bed for lunch. Today she was up so early I wondered if she had gone to bed at all.
By nine, we were cramming her bags into Mel’s parents’ overstuffed car trunk and heading out to the bus meeting place in New Jersey. Joan had made the trip many times before, with all three of her children. Every once in awhile she’d turn from the front seat to me and say, “Don’t worry. It will be fine.” Did the knots in my stomach show in my face? Or was she reading my mind?
The scene at the vast mall parking lot was one of barely controlled chaos, with parents parking and unloading, small children running around, teenagers screaming in the bliss of reunion with last summer’s friends, and counselors with clipboards shouting for attention. Somehow, with Joan’s crisp direction, we got the gear unloaded and stacked in the correct pile. Mel, doing her share of screaming, took Chris off to make introductions, and I watched my daughter’s expression change slowly from apprehension to wide-eyed excitement. I was surprised, relieved, exhausted, anxious to leave, anxious to grab her for a big, embarrassing hug. Exhausted.
Before the bus boarding started, she came back and pulled me aside, whispering, “Don’t forget what you promised. About our girl.”
“I did not promise. In fact…”
She cut in. “I’m counting on you. I know you won’t let me down.” I knew where she’d learned to say that manipulative, guilt-inducing phrase. My own words over the years were coming back to haunt me. What nerve.
One last hug and then she was gone, on the bus and on her way. I slept all the way back to Brooklyn and Joan had to wake me when we reached my house.
Though it had been a few days since that frightening note, and nothing else had happened, I still paused at the front door, looking it over to make sure it was just as I had left it, locked and untouched.
The house was empty, not the delicious, all-to-myself emptiness of coming home to find Chris temporarily out, but the complete emptiness of too many rooms that suddenly seemed too big even in my small house. It took me by surprise, that disorienting feeling, tripping me up like a cat around my ankles. I could not remember how to be in my life without Chris.
I wandered around. I put the breakfast dishes away. I fiddled with the old air conditioner. I noted that the work in the kitchen was progressing, even though I had not seen Joe in several days. I guessed he was still mad at me. I would need to do something about that, but not today.
Come to think of it, I still hadn’t heard from Rick either. Sometimes his
in loco
parentis
behavior annoyed me, but it wasn’t like him to be out of touch for so many days.
Where was everyone? I needed to hear another human being. The Pastores next door had gone to the shore with their son. Mel’s parents were celebrating the departure to camp of all three children. Darcy was packing for her Maine vacation. I don’t have a lot of other social friends, hanging out friends. One, because I am too busy to make them. Two, because my too-adult responsibilities cut me off from my classmates. Three, because my academic responsibilities and changed life cut me off from my old neighborhood friends. Usually I am too busy merely getting through my days to care. This day was most definitely not the usual.