Yesterday's Stardust (28 page)

Todd spoke into the microphone. “Twenty-two. Three blocks from location. Responding.” He pushed the other red button. A siren wailed. The lights were already flashing. He peeled away from the curb.

“Copy twenty-two. One SP still in apartment. Other fled on foot. Be advised at least one person was on premises at time of B and E.” Several seconds passed. “SP running is Hispanic male, early twenties, dark sweatshirt, white shoes.”

Todd nodded. “Do you have an apartment number yet?”

“Not yet. It’s street level. Caller unsure of directions. Says it’s the only apartment with all lights on.”

“Twenty-two.” Another voice broke in. “Fourteen answering Twenty-two. I’m on Thirty-Ninth Ave and Forty-Fifth Street. Responding.”

“Copy.”

The cruiser slowed at a stop sign then took off again. Todd mashed the brake, stopped the car, and turned to her. “Stay here and stay low. Don’t get out of the car.”

Dani slid down. “I won’t.” Her pulse hammered. B and E… breaking and entering. If someone had seen her barge into China’s apartment… The thought took a backseat to the description of the “suspicious person.” Male, twenties, dark sweatshirt, white shoes. It fit hundreds of young men in the area. It also fit the boy she’d met in the shadow of the old garage.

The radio chatter increased as the second and then a third cruiser slid in front of the row of apartments. Four officers flew out. Two covered Todd as he approached a door that stood ajar. One officer darted toward a cluster of people in the front yard of the next block of apartments.

“Sargeant Metzger, witnesses say one SP headed north on Thirty-Seventh on foot, and a second just ran behind the building.”

“Copy.” Todd pulled his gun out, held it straight out, supporting his wrist with his other hand. Two officers stood on either side of him, several feet back. “Kenosha Police. Open up.”

Dani held her breath as seconds passed and he repeated the command, waited, then kicked the door open. He walked in, a second officer at his heels. Dani leaned toward the radio speaker, waiting for his voice. A knock on an inside door. “Police. Open the door.” Then the banging of a door against a wall.

“Apartment’s empty. Whoa—ho.” It was the voice of the second officer. “What do we have here?” A long, low whistle followed. “Must be two ounces at least.”

“A little home business,” Todd replied, the radio breaking up his voice. “Looks like we interrupted some pretty productive young entrepreneurs.”

A one-pound brick of marijuana and two and a half ounces of cocaine lay on a table in the back bedroom. Gloved policemen recorded everything on the table. A scale, scissors, a box of plastic sandwich bags.
A little home business.

Trying to stay out of the way, Dani wandered into the next room. Children lived here, but it was anything but a home. A crib with a broken spindle took up one corner. The sheet, stained with juice spots and who-knows-what, was so dirty it looked stiff. Two bare twin mattresses lay on the floor. A handful of toys and children’s books were almost buried in the dirty clothes and disposable diapers littering the floor. Her heart broke for the children. Her mind raged at the adults.

“That’s not always a bad thing.”

Todd had said Child Services would be notified. He’d also added, “There’s no chance whoever lived here is coming back.”

So where were the children? What possible hope did they have for a decent future? Again she wondered when it was too late to intervene in the life of a child.
Lord, what can I do?
She walked down the narrow, dirt-streaked hallway.

The only furniture in the living room was a stained flowered couch with a cushion missing. There was no kitchen table. Counters overflowed with empty chip bags and pizza boxes. The walls were bare. One dirty towel lay on the floor.

Todd walked in and opened the refrigerator. “Breakfast of champions.”

A half-empty bottle of orange juice and two cases of beer.

“Those poor… “Her voice disappeared as a picture magneted to the refrigerator came into focus. A Hispanic woman, early twenties, her head leaning on the shoulder of a bald man…with an eagle tattooed on his arm.

Dani’s pulse skipped. “I’ve seen that guy,” she whispered. “I know his name.”
Rabia.

A direct link to the Sevens. And maybe Jarod.

Whose arrest could set Rena free.

April 29, 1927

Francie poured a second cup of coffee and set it next to the melba toast she’d barely nibbled. She crossed her legs and stared down at the invitation. She’d had it for a week. She now had half an hour to decide if she should join Albert and his mother for lunch.

She hadn’t talked to Albert in months. Not since the second time Tag’s brother had shown up at the bank with a bulge the shape of a revolver in his breast pocket. The invitation made no sense.

The bathroom door opened. Footsteps shuffled in the hall. With dark circles under her eyes and hair wild as a dust mop, her sister plopped into the chair by the wall, jarring the table.

Coffee sloshed onto the oilcloth. Francie leaped out of her chair. “Watch it!”

“Sorry.” Suzette yawned and reached for a Lucky. “Aren’t you just the cat’s meow this morning.” She moved her finger in a circular motion.

Francie turned in a slow pirouette. The irregular hem of the rust tunic dress flared as she turned. The print chiffon overlay drifted back into place when she stopped. “I just finished it last night.”

“Love the belt.” Suzette blew smoke out of the side of her mouth and reached out to touch the brown velvet sash on the dropped waist. “Very chic. Guess it means I’m stuck with Franky.”

Francie cringed.

Suzette brought the cigarette to her lips then stopped. “Going out on the town with Timothy?”

“Suze! How’d you find that out?”

“Asked the right person after the right amount of champagne.
You
wouldn’t tell me. ‘Tag.’ Makes him seem kind of weak, doesn’t it? Timothy Arthur Gaines. Who goes around being called by their initials?” Her mouth curved into a sneer. “Why don’t you go by your initials, Francie Avril Tillman? That would have been perfect a few years ago.”

In spite of the way her sister’s attitude irritated her, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, yeah, and how about you, Suzette Orlene Tillman, you drunken sot!”

Suzette held her head with both hands as she laughed. “I guess mine fits.”

Francie took a sip of cold coffee. “What did you do last night after—” She couldn’t say “work.”

“George and Betsy and I hit a little joint on North Broadway, the Green Mill. Drinking room only.” She pointed at the band of fabric across Francie’s forehead. “Pretty. You do good work. So where did you say you’re going?”

“I didn’t. Albert’s mother invited me to have lunch at the Palmer House.”

“Albert? Thought you dumped him eons ago.”

“I did. That’s what’s so strange. I’m not sure if I’m going.”

Her sister’s bloodshot eyes widened. She waved her hand, the sign that Suze was slipping into pretend world. “Not sure? Are you crazy? Five years ago, you thought you were living high on the hog if you got a chunk of side pork in your beans for Sunday dinner. Now look at you. All dolled up like Greta Garbo and actually questioning if you should go to the Palmer House.
Go.
Albert’s a nice kid. I like him. He could be husband material.”

“Never. He’s a mama’s boy.”

“His mama’s got enough money to make you forget that little problem in a jiffy. If you don’t want him, I’m next in line.” Her eyes danced. It was a strange game they played, imagining they led normal lives. Sometimes it lifted them out of reality. Today it just seemed to make it all more depressing. Still, she played along.

Suze traced a vine on the oilcloth with her fingertip. “I can see you pushing a buggy down Michigan Avenue, cooking supper every night, going to church on Sundays. Tell me what your life will be like in five or ten years.” She closed her eyes, as if shutting out the present.

Swinging her foot, Francie leaned back and counted the pearl buttons she’d sewn on the satin T-strap on her shoes. “I’ll be married. To a man I haven’t even met yet. He’s tall and dark, with Valentino eyes. He’s insanely wealthy, but money hasn’t turned him into a snob. He’ll treat me like a queen and spoil our three kids. I’ll have a governess to push the buggy, a cook to cook, and a maid to serve, and on Sunday mornings we’ll have champagne and strawberries in bed.”

“Guess that means no church.”

Francie laughed. “Definitely no church.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “Hear anything about the job yet?”

“No.” She’d done what Tag had asked. She’d “bumped into” Mr. Walbrecht and forced out every ounce of charm she possessed. The next week he and his wife had sailed to France. Where she thought she’d be by now. “The Walbrechts are in Europe.”

“Ta-ta.”

“Yeah. Ta-ta. Can you imagine how much money they have?”

Suzette tapped the letter from Mrs. Hollanddale. Her expression turned serious. “With enough money, we could disappear.”

T
odd walked her to her car at the police station just after three on Saturday morning. He’d been laughing off and on for the past two hours. “Too weird,” he said for the tenth time at least. “How is it you just happen to be riding with me, and you just happen to recognize…” She tuned him out as she searched for Agatha’s keys. “I’m telling you, tracking down this kid could unravel something big.” He gave her another slap on the back. Gentle, but annoying. “So when do you want to do your next ride-along, partner?”

Her shoulders ached. The back of her neck felt like it was held in the grip of a massive hand. She forced a smile. “I’ll let you know after I recover from this one. Thank you so much.”

“If not a ride, how about dinner later this week?”

“I’ll check my schedule.”

“Good enough.” He bent toward her.

She offered her cheek. “Good night, Todd.”

He followed her home and waited in the cruiser while she trudged up the stairs to her apartment.

She walked in and kicked off her shoes then fixed a cup of chamomile tea and ran a hot bath. As the tub filled, she checked her phone for messages. She’d missed a call from Anna. And a text from Nicky. O
N A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN, HOW IMPORTANT IS SLEEP TO YOU?

He’d sent it at 9:45. She glanced at the time and texted back. Z
ERO IF IT’S WORTH IT
. W
HAT DID
I
MISS
?

Tapping fingernails on the edge of the tub, she pictured him finishing up for the night, taking bread from the oven, wiping down the table. Would he know when his phone signaled a message that it was from her? Would he smile? She counted the seconds it would take for him to set down a hot pan or a blob of dough, maybe walk to the sink and wash his hands before picking up his phone or pulling it out of his pocket. As she imagined him drying his hands on his apron, he answered. I
THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO COME AND READ TO ME WHILE
I
WORK
. W
HY ARE YOU AWAKE?

She replied that she’d been out working on a story, and she would have loved to read to him.

H
OW ABOUT TONIGHT
? I
’LL HAVE A MIDNIGHT SNACK READY.

“Time with you
is
a midnight snack.” She grinned at the phone as she sent a self-controlled
SEE YOU THEN.