Foxy Roxy (24 page)

“Flynn’s downstairs, talking to Sage.” Roxy handed her the plate and pulled a fork from the hip pocket of her jeans.

Loretta accepted the fork. “Is that wise?”

Roxy kept the coffee for herself and sat down on the bed. She swung her sock feet up onto the quilt. “He says you need to stop buying instant coffee.”

“I hide the good stuff in the back of the freezer alongside my Dove bar stash.” Loretta cut a delicate bite with the fork and nibbled it, eyeing Roxy. “Patrick didn’t sleep on the couch with you last night, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Thank heaven for small blessings.” Loretta began to eat with enthusiasm. “He’s got more baggage than most men in this neighborhood. Does Sage know his whole story?”

“I haven’t told her anything.”

“Good call. Let him do it when the time is right. You’ve got enough problems without him. Especially now.”

“So, Sage told you the big news.”

“I started worrying days ago. I hoped I might be wrong.”

“How’d you guess?”

“I heard her vomiting. She sounded exactly like you did. With a little squeak at the end of your retch.”

“Thanks. It’s good to know that I have a memorable gag.”

Roxy sipped coffee. She’d spent a lot of time in this room. Her relationship with Loretta hadn’t been quite the average foster parent and rebellious teenager dynamic. It wasn’t sisterly, either, but somewhere in between. Around her, Loretta’s bedroom was crammed with clothes. On rolling rods, hanging on padded hangers, organized by color—all probably according to some diabolically anal Martha Stewart plan. She had business suits lined up along one wall—each one specially tailored to fit her extravagant figure. Church clothes along another wall—Easter colors, lots of lace. Their labels meant nothing to Roxy, but she saw brands that were not available at JC Penney or Target.

On the dresser, Loretta had arranged a photo tribute to her dead husband. Pictures of Lou looking a lot like Archie Bunker. One large picture of Sage sat in the middle, though. A ninth-grade school photo with Sage still in braces.

Loretta set down her fork, also perhaps thinking of Sage at that moment. “Roxy, where did we go wrong?”

Roxy eased back against the extra pillow and stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. The ceiling was easier to look at than the walls, which featured Jesus on the cross—three different versions, including a modern Jesus who looked like Keanu Reeves.

“It’s my fault,” Roxy said. “I didn’t think she was paying attention to boys yet. I thought she was playing basketball and studying.”

“She was studying! But boys had her on their radar. You didn’t notice at the basketball games? It was only a matter of time before one of them worked up the courage to seduce her. A bad boy, of course. All of us are drawn to bad boys.”

“Was Uncle Lou a bad boy?”

Loretta’s husband, Lou, had died just two years into their marriage. He’d had a heart attack in a strip club at a bachelor party, but his buddies had dragged him across the street to a Burger King, where he’d died waiting for an ambulance. To this day, his parents thought their darling son went to meet the angels after choking on a French fry. They blamed his wife for not cooking him decent meals at home.

“Lou was wonderful.” Loretta got misty-eyed. “At first, I thought the only reason he married me was to get into the mob. He was a nice Polish boy who wanted to be Don Corleone. I thought he’d settle down eventually. I’m just sorry we never had children,” Loretta said for the ten thousandth time. “You and Sage—you became my children. And look what happened. Just goes to show, a family needs a man around, doesn’t it? To balance the yin and the yang.”

“I’ve got too many men around,” Roxy said. “Some are more helpful than others with my yin yang.”

Loretta radiated disapproval of Roxy’s sex life. She knew few details and clearly wanted to keep it that way. “Don’t let Sage hear you talk like that.”

“Maybe I should have. If she treated sex like I do, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“I remember you had a few romantic dreams when you were her age.”

“Are you kidding?” Roxy snorted. “Watching the way my dad treated my mother? He broke her nose three times before she died.”

Loretta fell silent, her fork toying with the last bites of her breakfast.

“Okay,” Roxy said. “I had a weird childhood.”

“It would be hard to be well-adjusted, considering.”

“I survived. Not everybody did.”

As always when things got uncomfortable, Loretta changed the subject. “It’s going to be expensive, you know, if Sage is really expecting. Prenatal care. The hospital. And then the baby.”

“I know, I know.”

“Will you let me help?”

Roxy shook her head. “We’ve had this discussion a hundred times, Lo. Okay, maybe I’m a rotten mother, but at least I pay for everything. I can’t let you start chipping in—not if you’re going to buy into the partnership at the law firm. And I can do it. I’ve got possibilities.”

Cautiously, Loretta said, “Are you considering working full-time for Carmine?”

“You know about that?”

“He’s ill, Roxy.”

“You sure he’s not faking?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

Although a lawyer and technically an officer of the court, Loretta tended to ignore the “crime” part of “organized crime” and looked upon Carmine’s activities as simply a family business—one with a few more twists and turns than other businesses, perhaps, but a respectable source of income.

“I can’t get mixed up with Carmine. Not until Nooch gets off probation. He could go to jail if he associates with known criminals, and—”

“Nooch, Nooch, Nooch.” Loretta set her empty plate sharply on the nightstand.

“It’s about Sage, too. If I start working for Carmine, what will she think?”

For all of Sage’s life, Loretta and Roxy had worked hard to keep Carmine’s business a secret from Sage. So far, it had worked.

Roxy said, “Besides, I like my own job. Sage wants to invite Zack over for dinner, by the way. To break the news to him gently.”

Loretta perked up at the mention of food. “I’ll fix some veal. A nice scallopine.”

“No offense, but she wants to do the cooking herself.” Roxy gave Loretta a kiss good-bye and rolled off the bed. “I gotta go. I’ll tell Sage it’s okay with you for her to have her rendezvous with Zack.”

“Let’s you and me have a nice dinner together. You can wear something other than your jeans for once. Rizza’s? If Flynn can work magic like this with eggs, think what he could do with a nice lamb chop.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Run along. I need another shower. I’m going to be late for work.”

“Hang on a minute. Did you hear anything at Valentino’s salon?”

Loretta flashed her fingernails—coral pink. “New color. You like it?”

“Sure, but I meant about Julius Hyde. You know—from Valentino’s grandmother.”

“Oh, yes. It’s Valentino’s uncle who worked for the Hydes. He married and divorced one of the Calderelli sisters—the family that owned the penny candy store, remember them? Anyway, he’s called a chauffeur, but he’s really a mechanic who does a little driving for the family. Mostly when Mr. Hyde had too much to drink. His name is Valdeccio—Valentino’s real name.”

“Did he know anything about the murder?”

“I don’t know. Valentino didn’t mention anything. You know he’s always touchy about gossip that’s too close to home. That family has a lot of dirty laundry.”

“Don’t we all. Okay, thanks.” Roxy lingered at the door. “One more thing.”

Loretta was climbing off the bed. “What?”

“Nooch’s hearing is on Friday.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“How about representing him?”

Loretta began shaking her head before Roxy stopped talking. “I practice elder law. When Nooch is ready for a nursing home, he should call me.”

“What about being a character witness?”

“In your best interests, I should keep my opinions of Nooch to myself.”

“You’d be a big help, Lo.”

“You don’t want to hear what I think about your sidekick. Tonto he ain’t.”

“It’s not what you’d say that’s important. Just show up. You’ll make a good impression on the judge. As long as you’re not hot flashy. C’mon. Wear your red suit. The one with the slit in the back of the skirt.”

Loretta went into the bathroom. Through the door she said, “Don’t you have work to do? Surely there’s some other weak-minded soul who needs your help today.”

Disappointed, Roxy grabbed the doorknob to leave. But she stopped. Loretta’s choice of words triggered an idea.

Suddenly she remembered a weak-minded soul who might buy the statue.

Loretta stuck her head out of the bathroom, a mascara wand in her hand. “You okay?”

“Terrific,” Roxy said. “Gotta run.”

17

With Malibu Barbie watching, Arden made an overseas call to an old boyfriend.

“Arden!” Tiki Papadakis cried warmly. “How often I think of your funny narrow bed at Brown! Do you still make that little snore in your nose when you sleep, I wonder?”

“Hello, Tiki.” Although the memory of his golden shoulders was still quite powerful in her mind, she attempted to divert him back to civilities. “Is the weather warm in Athens?”

“Glorious. When can you come? My family’s house on Mykonos is available this weekend. Bring sunscreen. You haven’t been topless since senior year, have you, my blushing little American?”

“That’s a sweet invitation, but I’m sorry, I can’t get away right now. I’m swamped with— Well, listen, do you remember me telling you about my grandmother’s garden?”

“With the sculpture, early classical period, perhaps a Hercules or a gem from Olympia. It had a pleasing angle of the hips and shoulders—quite unusual. Yes, of course I remember.”

Arden avoided looking at Barbie, who was no doubt staring at Arden with deep disappointment for forgetting how perfect Tiki’s memory could be, particularly where art was concerned. His mind was the proverbial steel trap for details—dates, artists, materials, everything. He’d grown up in a family of museum folk and studied anatomy and painting at Brown—emphasis more on American female anatomy, of course. Arden had a vague memory of sketching Dodo’s statue for him once, with the Rhode Island moonlight streaming in her window.

“Uh, yes, Tiki, as a matter of fact, it’s that statue I’m calling about. You see—”

He crowed with pleasure. “I’m delighted, Arden! Your family is ready to give it back!”

“Actually, I’m just hoping to learn a little more about—”

He wasn’t listening. “I can be on the next plane. I work with my uncle Christos now at the Ministry of Antiquities. Oh, he’ll be overjoyed! It will be a coup for us to recover such a masterpiece!”

“It’s not exactly in my possession at the moment—”

“No? Well, we’ll get it for you. We have the power to seize Greek property now, did you know? Well, at least we can kick up a fuss, draw attention. International scrutiny, you see. It’s as simple as alerting Interpol, and they take care of all the legalities. Even the inevitable squabble with the State Department. I can get Interpol on the other line right away.”

Arden’s heart had begun to pump hard enough to send a rocket into orbit. Already, things had gotten out of control.

“We can be there in a trice,” Tiki said. “Maybe the FBI will join us. Wouldn’t that make all the newspapers? A grand photo op! It will be an international triumph!”

Or an international scandal, Arden thought with dread.

18

Roxy picked up Nooch on the sidewalk outside his house, glad she didn’t have to ring the doorbell. His grandmothers were legendary for hating each other. They conked each other with frying pans and broomsticks, inflicting damage that frequently ended in ambulances. Repeated citations for domestic disputes finally required a clear division of labor in the household. One night Nooch’s nonna cooked spaghetti and meatballs. The next night, his bubbe made pierogies. The grandmothers still squabbled all day long in their respective languages, but the police weren’t needed as often.

Except for Nooch and his uncle Stosh, all his male relatives were in jail. Neighbors claimed they committed their crimes to get away from the grandmothers.

“Feeling better?” Roxy asked when Nooch climbed into her truck.

“I’m okay.” He yawned like a lion who’d just awakened from a three-day snooze.

“Have you heard from Kaylee lately?”

He frowned, flummoxed by the simple question. “Huh?”

“I’ll take that for a no. I have to go see her.”

“She sleeps late. And she hates to be waked up.”

With no desire to cope with Kaylee’s temper so early in the day, Roxy said, “Okay, after lunch we’ll go see her.”

Glad Nooch didn’t bug her with a bunch of questions, Roxy drove down to the yard, and Rooney greeted her with delight. Roxy herded Nooch into the warehouse, where he wrestled the griffin fireplace from the Hyde mansion onto the handcart. Together, they loaded it onto the back of the truck just as sunshine broke through the clouds. Roxy lashed it down with bungee cords, and they got back into the cab of the truck. Rooney jumped in, too.

“Where we going?” Nooch asked, sitting as close to the window as possible to stay away from the dog.

Roxy said, “I’m not telling, because I don’t want you getting hysterical again.”

“When did I get hysterical?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, wow! Are we gonna see Lapraxo again? Oh, wow! Oh,
wow!
”

“We are not seeing Lapraxo! Probably, that is. So calm down.”

But Nooch was bouncing in his seat at the thought of meeting his hero, professional football player Lapraxo DuPree. Rooney began to bark as Nooch crowed, “I want his autograph! I wanna shake his hand! I wanna see his Super Bowl ring!”

“Get a grip, will you? First we have to find his house. Damn, I hate the suburbs.”

Roxy found her way out of the city and into a far-flung burb where every house was built to impress the hell out of the Joneses. While Nooch chattered on about his favorite Steeler, she got lost twice and was cursing up a storm as she roared through the labyrinthine streets.

“All these McMansions look the same to me,” she snapped. “All the same, ugly sprawl. I feel like that kid who went up to Alaska and just kept walking until he found a school bus and died of starvation.”