A Dress to Die For (23 page)

Laura stuffed him back into his box, but the flaps didn’t close right. The doubts she carried and the holes in the story she told herself about him kept him from fitting as well as he had for so many years. She thought about her broken seventh-grade shoes, the ones with the sole flopping off at the toe that made her trip, and how she and Ruby had tried to stick it back together with tape. She thought about Ruby getting suspended for punching Brandon Ferben in the face when he made fun of her flop-shoe. Dad should have been there. Her childhood had contained Ruby and a mom sometimes too depressed to get out of bed. He should have protected her. He should have glued his kids’ shoes properly and punched someone in the face for making fun of them. That box was just about closed when Mom woke up.

“Hi,” Laura said. “Jimmy went to get dinner.”

“The hospital food’s not that bad.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Mom reached for a water pitcher and nearly spilled it.

Laura took it and poured some into a glass.

Mom took a sip, then asked, “Why aren’t you at work?”

“Jeremy’s taking care of it.”

“Good.” She patted Laura’s hand.

Laura watched her drink, a little line of water dribbling from the lip of the cup. She wiped up and took the cup back. “Mom, I wanted to tell you something.”

“Nothing too serious, okay?”

Laura hadn’t obeyed her mother since she’d hit puberty and wasn’t about to start on a day when she had things to say. “I love you, Mom. And I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate what you did for us. I always thought it was just me and Ruby, and you were kind of, you know, just at work because you couldn’t stand us. And I wouldn’t blame you anyway if you couldn’t stand us because we were practically feral.”

“You were at Dalton, darling.”

“Compared to those other kids? Their shirts were starched and white. Their pants were always pleated. My God, how did you do it? How did you keep us from getting thrown out? I can’t imagine the work that went into that. And I never did. I never thought about you or what you wanted, and I never asked, hey, Mom, how about a boyfriend? How about you find someone to love you? You know, I just thought you were Mom and nothing more, and you didn’t need anything, and I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Except, I’m sorry. I feel like I wasted so much time thinking you were some
thing
instead of some
one
.”

Mom smiled weakly. “You’re always too hard on yourself.” She seemed less energetic than she had on the first day, and Laura wondered if she should be concerned.

Laura put her head on Mom’s lap, and she felt the gentle tingle of her hair being stroked by loving fingers.

“They kept you at Dalton because your Uncle Graham got his boss at Havershim & Layngle to draw up a nice lawsuit. And I knew you loved me as best as you could.”

Jimmy entered with bags crinkling. “Still here? I got you the fettuccine Alfredo.”

Laura got up and cleaned off the table. “Who do I look like? Ruby? I can’t eat that.”

“You can have my salad,” Mom said.

“No, you cannot,” Jimmy countered.

“Did you hear from the Harbor Police?” Laura asked, peeling the top off a hot container of fat, dairy, and starch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

When she looked at him, he tapped his watch. Apparently, he wasn’t answering any questions about the boat until visiting hours were over.

“I thought we might tell Cangemi. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said, then took Mom’s hand. “Do you want to go for a walk or something after we eat?”

Mom sighed, poking at her salad. “Probably should.” Her eyes made their way to Laura’s white, salty glob of pasta.

Laura covered it and put it to the side, then took out her phone.

“What are you doing?” Jimmy asked.

“Seeing how the fitting went.”

He snapped the phone out of her hand.

“Hey!” Laura reached for it.

He tapped his watch again, then pointed at Mom.

“Really, Jimmy, I—” Mom said.

Laura interrupted, “It’s fine, Mom. Come on. Hit that salad. I could use a walk.”

**

A “walk” was up and down the hall with an IV pole. Laura cracked a few jokes, but she was short on material and inspiration. She knew Mom was embarrassed to be in such straits in front of Jimmy, but she couldn’t imagine him tolerating one second of vanity. He’d probably bulldoze through any hint of discomfort.

At a quarter ‘til nine, they took another turn down the hallway. Laura heard her phone buzz in Jimmy’s pocket. Then it dinged, but he just ignored it. She guessed nothing so dire was happening at work that fifteen minutes couldn’t be spared. She put on a bland, vaguely happy expression so Mom wouldn’t suspect she wanted to rip the phone out of Jimmy’s pants.

When they’d tucked Mom in, kissed her good night, and gotten chased out by the nurse, it was nine fifteen. Laura stood in the lobby with Jimmy, watching people pace under the high ceiling, worry streaking their faces in the bright lights. Whoever had decorated had attempted to make the area more inviting with wood trims and warm lights, but a hospital was still a hospital. A place built to contain sickness, panic, and death would never have a lobby that screamed composure.

Jimmy handed her the phone. “You were a trooper.”

She snatched it and checked the texts. Ruby asking about Mom. Jeremy reporting that the fitting was fine, but another Heidi screw-up was costing them a bank’s worth of money. He also reminded her that she loved him.

“Are you going back to work?” Jimmy asked.

“What did the Harbor Unit say?”

He didn’t answer right away, but he scanned the lobby as he jingled his keys.

She lost patience. “I waited until—”

“Let’s go.” He walked deeper into the hospital, down a hallway, and out an industrial-looking door with a clacking bar across it.

She practically had to run to keep up, but she knew better than to ask for details. If he felt that he needed to go elsewhere, she wasn’t going to question him. Yet. They exited into an underground parking lot.

“You took a car?” She knew few people who owned or needed a car and even fewer who would bother taking it into Manhattan to pay exorbitant parking fees or deal with standstill gridlock.

“I hate the subway,” he replied, blooping the alarm for a boxy SUV. “Get in.”

She opened the passenger door and climbed up into the seat. Jimmy got behind the wheel.

“I heard from harbor,” he said. “And they put me through to someone you know.”

“Cangemi? Crap. So you have nothing. I’m back to square one.”

“Yes. Detective Cangemi, who likes you, by the way. What you and Jeremy did for those three girls? He told me about it. You get a lot of leeway with him after that. So, here’s what I got. A Brunican sailboat’s got a berth at Chelsea Piers. It’s called
Beloved Isla
. And it’s not docked right now.”

She sucked in her lower lip because she wanted to say something but needed to think first. Should she ask for more information, like the size of the boat or the name of the person one might speak to in order to ask all sorts of questions about when the boat came and went? Should she ask for a lift over there? Should she see if he wanted to go, as well? Her mind turned all those questions like a kneading machine, mixing it up with the batter of what she actually wanted, which was to thank him, then go out there and figure it all out herself.

Jimmy started the car and pulled out of the spot. “They’ve been watching it, but no action. I told him what you found out with the storage room and all the rest. He says to be careful. He says there’s stuff you don’t know, and I think he’s right.” He paid the cashier, and the gate arm lifted. Rain poured down in sheets, overflowing gutters and drains.

“Whatever I don’t know probably brought the high prince into town.”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble again.”

“Why are you going east? I’m going to work. You can drop me at the L train.”

“You ain’t going to work. I don’t know you, but I know you. And I’m not telling your mother I let you go to the pier alone.”

**

Chelsea Piers used to be dangerous, back when they were just poured concrete slabs lined with wood pilings and covered in filth. Though still quite expensive to rent a berth, in the past ten years, “expensive” had changed to “affordable by conglomerates and monarchies.”

Jimmy parked on a side street in a loading zone. Retired cops didn’t get tickets, apparently, and though she asked what secret code alerted the ticket writers that the owner of an illegally parked vehicle was in the force, his answer was an unsatisfactory grunt. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, tucking it in. The cashmere wouldn’t survive the rain. Another expensive accessory ruined. She felt like a luxury repellent.

They ran across the West Side Highway to a three-story sports complex, blocks long and extending far into the Hudson. They skirted the southernmost end of the complex where the driving range loomed above, palatial nets keeping the golf balls from littering the river. The rain kept the golfers away but couldn’t drown out the thumping of a huge event taking place inside the complex. The music rattled the pier. She’d been to an event or two there. The first had been with Ruby, and it began at one in the morning. The place had been a sweatbox of dancing men and spilled drinks in plastic cups. The second event had silver dinnerware, and she’d accompanied Jeremy. She had fond memories of both but didn’t feel the need to repeat either.

Jimmy stopped her under an awning. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and pointed past a chain-link fence to the two long piers on the other side. “Okay, Five B. There’s row A. Second one in.” He used his finger to count. “Spot one, two, three, four, five. It’s empty. Okay? Am I driving you back to work? It’s ten o’clock at night.”

The pier was full of boats, fancy ones, mostly with masts and tall hulls, rocking in the ice-cold December rain.

“Yeah. Fortieth and Eleventh. I have patterns to check.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Yes.” She started walking back toward the highway. If there was no boat, that meant the dress was somewhere in New York, probably not too far away. As soon as that boat arrived, though, the Saffron gown was going to be carted off to Brunico and destroyed, and whatever secrets it held would go with it.

She looked back at the pier, mostly to memorize the spot because she could stop by again after work, maybe just drive by in a cab to see if a boat was moored. The chain-link fence was six feet tall. Easy pickings. More of a psychological barrier, actually, and she wondered if she could climb it later if a boat happened to be there.

She tugged on Jimmy’s sleeve. “That’s row B? Because it looks like that’s D, which makes that C and the row closer to us is B. Which means there’s a boat there.” It was hard to see in the rain, but she was sure she had the correct row. The boat was a three-mast sailboat. A silhouetted figure worked on a wet deck. She didn’t know anything about sailing, so the guy could have been putting the sails up, dropping anchor, or repairing some part she had no idea even existed.

Jimmy squinted, then stepped back. “We’ll call Cangemi.” He took out his phone.

“You’re going to call a homicide detective who would rather eat his shoe than chase around this dress? To tell him what? A boat’s moored? He already doesn’t care. He’s probably chasing a killer down an alley right now.”

“Then we should just go.” He stepped out from under the awning and into the driving rain.

“You miss it,” she shouted over the wind.

“What?”

“That’s why you’re trying to mentor me. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you tracked down this boat in the first place. Because you miss the life you had before you retired. You made a difference.”

He strode toward her, finger pointed as though he was going to give her a piece of his mind. “Don’t you tell me what I do that makes a difference.”

“You miss that badge. You miss being in charge. Why else would you chase reporters away from my front door with a crowbar?”

“Because I care about your mother. You? You’re a pain in the ass.”

He was lit from behind for a second by the headlights of an oncoming van. She shielded her eyes. Jimmy looked, as well, and they watched as the vehicle turned and rolled down the A/B pier. The van was white with a green stripe down the side.

“That’s the van that picked up the dress from Jobeth,” Laura said. “The Brunicans had it from jump. The real one never made it to the museum.”

“Okay, so what do you want to do?”

“The real dress is in that van.”

“What do you want to do? I’m asking you again because you’re all energy and no focus.”

She looked back at the van and the boat. The van had cut the lights, and the two were no more than black blurs against the distant streetlights of the highway. “I want to go look. Maybe we’ll see the dress. Or if we can get the plate number, maybe we can report back to Cangemi. Come on, Jimmy. What are you going to do? Go home to an empty house and wonder what would have happened if you’d gone thirty feet that way?”

“No,” he said. But no didn’t mean no. His body leaned toward the boat as if the wind was going to take him. All he needed was a little push. Unfortunately, outside of begging and pleading, she was out of ammunition.

Without an umbrella or hood, she resigned herself to ruining her cashmere scarf and ran past Jimmy, into the rain. She hooked her fingers in the fence, hitched up one leg, and slipped her foot into one of the openings. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She couldn’t get half a sneaker in there, but she had enough purchase to get her other foot up and her fingers found higher links. She heard Jimmy splash up behind her, but she swung her leg over the top edge, the points of the links digging into her thighs. She knew how to climb over a fence. It was fingers on the way down and a controlled slide into a puddle. She’d ripped her leggings, and her high-heeled leather boots were wet. She hadn’t had nice things when she was a kid getting into trouble in Hell’s Kitchen. She still didn’t, apparently, but she was on the other side. She looked at Jimmy. He shook his head.