Murder On The Mind Page 19
CHAPTER 11
I knew when I showed up for breakfast the next morning that it wasn’t the time to announce I’d made a couple of new friends. Brenda and Richard weren’t speaking, and I more than half suspected I was the cause.
Richard announced he’d made an appointment for me at UB Medical Center with an orthopedic specialist for that afternoon. I didn’t argue.
Plaster is old-fashioned. My new physician gave me the option of a fiberglass cast—in designer colors, no less—or a removable plastic-and-Velcro brace. I chose the latter, glad to be rid of the anchor-weight cast. An x-ray showed my ulna to be healing nicely.
No one mentioned sending me to a shrink.
Even so, I wasn’t feeling cocky as I left the doctor’s office. Something was definitely up with Richard.
We walked in silence back to the car. Richard had accompanied me to the clinic, and sat in the waiting room until I’d finished. He didn’t ask how things had gone.
He unlocked the car door for me, walked around to the driver’s side, and climbed in. He turned the key in the ignition and cleared his throat.
“Anywhere you want to go?”
I shook my head. “Let’s just go home.”
Snowflakes began to fall, dancing on the windshield before being blown away, replaced by new ones. I gazed at the traffic whizzing by and remembered what Richard told Brenda days before: “He’s different.”
He was right, I was different. And I looked at everything in a new, harsher light—especially myself.
I didn’t like what I saw.
Minutes later we were home. Richard stopped the car in the driveway, letting me out before he parked the Lincoln in the garage. I started for the house, but paused. I couldn’t let this go on. Pulling up my collar, I waited for him. Although it was only three o’clock, the sky had darkened to the west—a storm was brewing.
The garage door closed and Richard came out the side door, shoulders slumped, head down. He looked as bad as I felt. He glanced up, surprised to see me.
“Wanna take a walk?”
He took in the sky. “In the snow?”
“Why not? Besides, I want to talk.”
He blinked at me. “You never want to talk.”
“I never had a crack in my skull before, either.”
“You think that makes a difference?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Richard sighed. “What’s the point?”
The defeat in his voice scared me. “You giving up on me already?”
“No. It’s just—I don’t like things being so awkward.”
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk about.”
We started down the driveway at a snail’s pace. Awkward was a good description for how I felt. And he was right. Expressing myself was something I’d never been good at.
I took a breath for courage.
“Back in New York I said something I’m not proud of. That you’re always rubbing my nose in the fact that you have a lot of money. It isn’t true. You’ve never treated me with anything other than kindness. In return—”
“Jeff, don’t—”
“Let me finish. In return, I’ve been an ungrateful son of a bitch, too proud to accept your generosity gracefully. I’m sorry.”
“You’re my brother. You’ve been through hell.”
“Well, I just wanted to say thanks. I’ve asked a lot of you and . . . I have a feeling I’ll be asking more before this is over.”
“You mean this stuff with the murder?”
I nodded.
He forced a smile, but his eyes were still troubled.
For all I seemed to know about Sumner’s death, I was unable to read anything on my own brother. Time to risk it all. “What’s going on with you and Brenda?”
Richard’s gaze remained fixed on the sidewalk ahead. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I wish I knew.”
How arrogant of me to think he’d be preoccupied by only me and my problems.
“Once my arm heals, I could be out of your hair in a month or so.”
He looked at me, his eyes pained. “You going to abandon me, too?”
“What do you mean?”
He looked away. “Brenda’s thinking of going back to L.A. Something about the climate here not agreeing with her.” His voice sounded shaky.
Major guilt trip. “Oh, man, Rich.”
“It’s not your fault. This has been brewing for a while—ever since we came here.”
“I don’t understand. When we got off the plane, she seemed so glad to see you. I could feel she really loves you.”
“We’ve been together a long time,” he admitted. “She knows I love her. I know she loves me. But she says we don’t have a life here—that I’m ashamed of her. That’s bullshit.”
“Is it a race thing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, you ever take her out?”
“Where? This is Buffalo, for chrissakes.”
“There have to be some nice restaurants. Toronto’s only ninety minutes away. Go to a movie, join a country club, I don’t know.”
“It goes deeper than that. A lot deeper.”
“How?”
“She says I don’t trust her any more. That I used to ask for her opinions—trusted her judgment. She says I don’t any more.”
“Why?”
“Mainly because I haven’t been supportive of you and this psychic crap. She fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”
“These things are really happening to me.”
His voice was gentle. “I know you believe that. But things are different here. Buffalo’s a working class town. I’ve heard it called a city of no illusions.” He paused. “Maybe she’s right. I was open to more possibilities back in L.A. We dabbled in so many things at the Foundation. Our team collaborated with Stanford on experiments with extrasensory perception. We studied a psychic with frightening psychokinetic powers. Things like that don’t exist in Buffalo—certainly not with my own brother.”
I wasn’t comfortable talking about that. “Maybe you’re going through a mid-life crisis. You could sell the house, go back to L.A.”
“No, I belong here. I can’t explain why, but I can’t leave again. And because of that, I’m going to lose Brenda.”
“I think you need a job—both of you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it? Here I am, wondering if I’ll ever work again. I’m thinking maybe I could tend bar—something part-time. Something where I won’t fail. Damn it, Richard, you’re a doctor. And you’re good.”
He shrugged. “I used to be. But I don’t want to start a practice at this stage of the game.”
“How about volunteering somewhere? There’s gotta be clinics just crying for someone with your talent to work gratis. You could probably name your hours, do as much or as little as you please. But you’ve got to do something. You’ve worked too hard to just let your skills—and Brenda—slip away.”
He nodded, but I could see he wasn’t convinced. We walked half a block in silence.
“Thanks,” Richard said finally.
“For what?”
“A different perspective. Maybe I do need to get back to work. And maybe I have been ignoring Brenda. Maybe if we did something together. . . .” His words trailed off, but he seemed to warm to the idea.
An inch or more of snow had fallen in the short time we’d walked, covering the sidewalks, the wind whipping it into peaks. Fooled by the premature darkening of the sky, a few of the street lamps flickered to life. Lights were blazing in the house as we approached, welcoming us.
Once inside, Richard clapped me on the back before disappearing into his study.
After I showed Brenda the brace, I grabbed a cup of coffee and parked myself by the phone. Thanks to a helpful library aid and the city directory, I tracked down the employers of several of the three little Jackies’ parents and talked to the two fathers. Neither admitted knowing Matt Sumner, but then why would they? One hung up on me
. I needed to talk to Maggie. Maybe she could check to see if any of the parents had accounts with Bison Bank. And it would give me an excuse to call her.
Donning a sweatshirt, I wandered out to the sun room—a misnomer on that chilly, dark day, but a great place to think. I borrowed Brenda’s portable radio, listening to mellow jazz while I froze my butt off watching the wind make snow sculptures. The winter storm watch had turned into a full-blown blizzard, and the snow began to drift out on the driveway. I was glad I didn’t have to drive in this weather, although I’d have to get the hang of it if I decided to stay in Buffalo.
The thought didn’t seem as appalling as it had just a week ago.
In addition to the weather, the hourly newscast reported that the police had found Sumner’s car in a mall parking lot in Erie, Pennsylvania—the same city where his youngest son went to school. Interesting. Seeing the car was a pipe dream. The cops would impound it, though they wouldn’t find much to further their investigation. It’s harder to get a decent fingerprint than most people think, and I suspected the murderer hadn’t been stupid enough to leave them.
Eventually Richard came out and hauled me in for dinner. He and Brenda were back on speaking terms, albeit extremely polite.
Afterwards, I volunteered to clean up the kitchen. Being one-armed, the job took longer than I thought. By the time I finished, every pan was clean, the table wiped, and the floor had been swept. Maybe I could find employment as a domestic. Meanwhile, I must’ve glanced at the phone a hundred times, trying to work up the courage to call Maggie.
Finally, I punched in the seven-digit number I’d memorized the night before. It rang once. Twice. Three times. I was sure an answering machine would kick in when a breathless voice answered, “Hello?”
“Maggie? It’s Jeff Resnick. Is this a bad time?”
“No. I just came in from walking the dog.” She sounded pleased. She might not be after I begged my favor. “How are you? How’s your arm?”
“Better. Some snow, huh?” I wasn’t showing her my most articulate side.
“Yeah. But, it’s late in the season. It’ll probably melt in a day or two.”
“Yeah.” A lengthy silence. “Uh, I’m a little out of practice. You know, with this dating stuff.”
“Yeah?”
“So, you want to go out?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, that’s kind of a problem. See, I’m not working, and I might not be for a while. I don’t have a car, either.”
“Oh.”
“Did I just blow my chances?”
I envisioned her smiling. “Well, my mother wouldn’t say you were a hot prospect, but I’ve always rooted for the underdog, so you haven’t blown it. Yet.”
I might now. “Could you check on something for me at the bank?”
She hesitated. “Does this have anything to do with Matt Sumner’s death?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you using me? I mean, I could still do whatever it is you want, but do you really want to get to know me better, or are you just feeding me a line?”
“No. I think you’re nice. I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t have any friends in town.” My foot was jammed so far into my mouth, it would take major surgery to remove it.
Silence, then she laughed. “Okay, what do you want?”
She listened patiently while I explained the situation.
“Because of privacy laws, I can’t give you specifics. I can let you know if they’ve got accounts or loans with us, but that’s it.”
“That’s all I need. Thanks.”
“Okay. What about going out? Can you swing lunch? Dutch treat?”
“Yeah. Where?”
She gave me the address of a place close to the bank and we agreed to meet the next day.
I found Richard and Brenda in the study. As usual, Richard sat behind his desk, his nose buried in a book. Brenda had parked on the leather couch by a lamp, doing some kind of needlework. They both looked up as I knocked on the door jamb.
“I need a favor tomorrow. A ride. I sort of have a date.”
Brenda’s eyebrows rose. “A date?”
“I met this lady at the bank the other day. We’re going to lunch tomorrow. I thought maybe you two could go out, drop me off, then pick me up later.”
“You mean you don’t want us to join you?” Richard asked. There was a lightness in his tone that had been absent for days.
“No!” This wasn’t my night for conversation. “I mean, sure, if you want. But—”
“No one’s taken me to lunch in ages. Richard?”
He smiled at her. “Sure.”
I figured I’d better make a fast escape before my foot became permanently lodged in my mouth. “Thanks.”