1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun (21 page)

AFTER ZACK LEFT I headed for Alex and Nick's room. The time
had come for the family talk I'd put off since learning of Karl's
deceit. Both Lucille and Mama already knew what Karl had done.
Sooner or later one of them was bound to let something slip.

Better the boys heard the truth from me. Minus the Ricardo
chapter. I figured one member of the family scared out of her wits
was already one too many. Alex and Nick were still trying to come
to terms with their father's death. Dumping abject poverty on
them was enough of an added whammy without them having to
worry about some threat-hurling low-life scum stalking us.

"How could Dad do this to us?" asked Nick. He pounded his
fist so hard on his desk that his wireless keyboard went flying.
Luckily, it landed on the bed.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Try to control yourself. We can't afford any repair bills right
now. Or new computer equipment."

I placed my hand on his shoulder. His most recent growth
spurt had added another two inches to his lanky frame, which now
hovered just shy of the magic six-foot mark. Both boys had inherited their father's good looks, but Nick, still suffering from the
gawkiness of adolescence, had yet to grow into his.

At first the boys greeted my pronouncement of destitution
with stunned silence. It took awhile for the news to sink in. Then
their silence transformed to anger, and Nick had taken his out
with his fist.

"What about college?" asked Alex.

Time for me to harness a Scarlett O'Hara moment: As God is my
witness, I'll scrub floors if I have to. But floor scrubbers don't make
enough to pay Harvard tuition and neither do editors of secondrate women's magazines. My salary would cover monthly bills, but
there would be little left to dig us out of the debt Karl had plunged
us into, let alone pay for college.

Still, I couldn't leave my kids without hope, no matter how
slim. "Scholarships. Loans. Part-time jobs."

Who was I kidding? Harvard was over forty grand a year. Even
the reasonably priced local community college now loomed out of
reach, but somehow we'd manage. I just needed to figure out a
game plan.

"Goddamn fucking asshole!" yelled Alex. "That selfish bastard's
ruined my life!"

I didn't blame him for the outburst, and now was not the time
to reprimand him about his language. I knew he loved his father,
but he felt betrayed. He'd worked hard to achieve his dream. His
grades proved that, but his parents hadn't held up their end of the
bargain.

He turned his anger on me. "Damn it, Mom, how could you let
this happen?"

My eyes welled up with tears that I fought back with a loud
snuffle. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

The damning truth was, I should have known. I'd been kicking
myself twenty-four/seven since learning of Karl's deception.

With a full-time job, two kids' schedules to juggle, and a mental block when it came to anything remotely mathematical, I had
gratefully accepted Karl's offer to handle the family finances. Hell,
I never even bothered to glance at our 1040s each year, just blindly
signed my name to the bottom of the first page of the tax form
and handed it back to him.

Karl had handled our finances, all right. Manhandled them
into non-existence. Now we were all suffering because of my lamebrain idea that a wife should be able to trust her husband. What
was I thinking?

"Are we going to lose the house?" asked Nick in almost a whisper.

"I don't know. I hope not."

"How bad is it, really?" asked Alex.

"Really bad."

"Fuck!"

"But I have a few ideas. We'll make it through this. Somehow. I
promise."

Alex wrapped his arm around my shoulders. The hostility
drained from his face. "Okay. I suppose this is one of those spilled
milk times, right? Nothing's going to change what's been done, so
we need to make the best of it and move on, yada-yada-yada?" He
didn't sound like he was all that convinced.

"Trust me, if crying could solve our problems, we wouldn't be
having this conversation."

"So what can we do to help?"

"Yeah, just say the word," added Nick. "We'll pitch in any way
we can.

That's what I'd been hoping to hear. I'd expected angry outbursts, blame placing, and sullenness that would last weeks, if not
months, before they finally accepted this additional cataclysmic
shift in our lives. Their maturity in light of the situation swelled
my heart.

"Will we have to give up cable?" asked Nick.

So much for maturity. Maybe the reality hadn't completely sunk
in yet. "Definitely."

He frowned, then shrugged. "I suppose I can live without
ESPN." He cast a sideways glance at me, his eyes hopeful. "If I really
have to."

Poor kid. A fate worse than death for a teenager who lived
sports round the clock. "You really have to. The Internet connection goes, too." Between the two, I'd save over a hundred and fifty
dollars a month.

"Mom!" They both jumped on me at once.

"I'll get a paper route. A job at McDonald's," said Nick. "I need
the Internet."

"And when will you have time for school, homework, and
sports?" I paused for a moment and eyed him. Nick spent far too
much time online as it was, and he knew that I knew it. Maybe
doing without some things wasn't such a bad thing, at least not
from this parent's perspective.

He tried another tack. "We need the Internet for homework."

"You can use the computers at school and the library when you
have to go online."

"But, Mom-"

"No buts. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I got
through school without an Internet connection in my home, and
you can, too."

"They didn't have Internet in the Stone Age," he said.

"And I survived in spite of it."
"

I suppose this means no car, huh?" asked Alex.

Karl had promised him one for his seventeenth birthday. Karl's
company car was reclaimed from the airport parking garage the
day after his death. We had one car and would have only one car
for a very long time to come.

"Definitely out of the question." I didn't add that he'd have to
postpone getting his license because we couldn't even afford the
additional auto insurance. One whammy at a time was my new
mantra.

"What about Grandmother Lucille?" asked Nick.

"What about her?"

Nick scrunched up his face. "Does this mean she's going to live
with us forever?" He glanced at his brother. "No offense, bro, but
sharing a room with you really sucks."

"You're the slob," said Alex, jabbing his brother in the shoulder.

"You snore," retaliated Nick.

"She's the only family we have," I said, "and she has nowhere
else to go"

"There's no old age home for crotchety commies?" asked Alex.

"Not that I know of."

"So we're stuck with her?" asked Nick.

"We're stuck with her."

Both boys groaned. Of all the ugly truths of our new situation
I'd just hit them with, I think that was the one hardest for them to
accept.

By eleven o'clock the next morning, I was on my fourth cup of
coffee. Once again I had gotten far less than my suggested daily
requirement of Zs, thanks to Mama's nocturnal aerobics and my
eventual flight to the den sofa.

It's not that I didn't have the courage of my convictions. I fully
intended to lay down the law and make Lucille and Mama share
Nick's bedroom last night. However, Lucille threw a monkey
wrench into my plans when she locked herself and Mephisto inand Mama out-of the bedroom after Harley and Fogarty left.

While we were all gone yesterday, that conniving commie
hadn't been "out all day" as she'd claimed to Fogarty. For part of
the day she'd been home having a lock installed on Nick's bedroom door. No wonder she got all defensive when Fogarty questioned her about her whereabouts.

Anyway, repeated poundings on the door last night refused to
budge the stubborn, sulking pinko. I figured she'd at least have to
open up to let Mephisto do his doggy business at some point, but
no such luck. The dog must have a bladder the size of Texas because neither Lucille nor Mephisto made an appearance until early
this morning.

As I headed for the break room and Caffeine Fix Number Five,
I added one more item to my to-do list. As soon as I returned home this evening, I planned to remove the lock from Nick's door.
One more night on the den sofa and I'd wind up a crippled zombie.

I groaned as I entered the break room. Some inconsiderate
bozo-most likely one of the chauvinists in sales who looked on
coffee-making as woman's work-had finished the pot and hadn't
started a fresh one.

It's a good thing I didn't know who it was because I refuse to
accept responsibility for my actions when I'm dealing with PMS as
well as sleep and caffeine deprivation. I started the coffee and
waited impatiently until it had finished brewing.

"Mrs. Pollack."

At the unwelcome sound of Detective Batswin's voice, I froze
mid-pour. Pasting a smile on my face and still holding the coffeepot, I spun around to find the dynamic detecting duo hovering in
the break room doorway. Dressed head-to-toe in black, except for
the splotches of yellow and red on the Dick Tracy tie knotted
around Robbins' neck, both looked as grim as twin Reapers.

"Detectives. Making any headway in finding Marlys's killer?"

"Possibly," said Batswin. "We'd like to take a look in your office
if you don't mind."

"Most of my office now resides at your headquarters," I reminded her as I finished pouring my caffeine fix, "but be my
guest."

A quick mental inventory of the contents of my cubicle revealed nothing that could be of interest to Batswin and Robbins.
The police already had my computer and files. And my tools and
supplies. Even my chair, since Marlys had been glued to it.

Yesterday while I gallivanted around Manhattan, playing Jessica Fletcher, someone at Trimedia had removed the crime scene
tape from the entrance to my cubicle, cleaned up the fingerprint
powder, and installed a replacement computer and chair. The only
other items in my cubicle were my coat and purse, a few family
photos, a shelf of books, a spare sweater, and an umbrella.

All the same, I had to force my hands not to tremble. I couldn't
shake the feeling that these two were out to get me.

Masking my nervousness with hospitality, I raised the pot toward them. "Java?"

"Don't mind if I do," said Robbins. He turned to Batswin.
"Fred?"

Did I hear him correctly? "Fred?"

"Short for Winifred," she said, her lips thinning to a tight line.
"I'll take a cup."

I poured two additional cups, passed them to the detectives,
and waited while Robbins added two packets of sugar to his and
Batswin lightened hers with a drop of half-and-half.

After they had both taken a sip, I waved my hand for them to
precede me into the hall. "After you"

When we arrived back at my cubicle, Batswin reached for a
framed photograph of Karl and the boys. She studied it for a moment. "I knew I'd seen him before." She passed the photo to Robbins.

Robbins took one look at the photo and agreed. "That's him,
all right."

Batswin turned to me. "Mrs. Pollack, would you mind explaining why you failed to mention your husband was having an affair
with Marlys Vandenburg?"