The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) (24 page)

“Maybe you remind them of their grandchildren. Or maybe they just think you’re cute.” But it was more. Pair after pair of eyes gaped at Molly, but seemed to be seeing something else, something lost or forgotten. Maybe youth?

But Molly came up with a more benign answer. “Maybe they’re sad because nobody’s here to visit them.”

Maybe. Given that possibility, we made it a point to smile at everyone, to nod hello and good evening at all the people we passed. By the time we got to my father’s suite a smile was frozen on my face, so I didn’t have to force one. The door was open, but Molly knocked anyway.

“Dad?”

Nobody answered.

Molly peeked into the room, eager to see him. “Grandpa?”

We stood at the door, listening, realizing that Grandpa wasn’t there.

Molly looked crushed, near tears. I knew how she felt, having myself been raised on my father’s broken promises. But I told myself that he’d appear any moment. Maybe he’d gone for a walk. Or maybe he was in the gym or watching a movie. I refused to consider the idea that, once again, he might have left the premises, gone back to his house.

Molly complained. “You promised. You said we were going to eat dinner with him.”

“He said he’d be here, Molls.” What was I supposed to say? That it wasn’t my fault if Grandpa broke his promises and couldn’t keep his word? “And don’t stamp your foot.”

She let go of my hand, indignant. At opposite sides of the hall, we walked in tandem, looking for other residents, anyone who might know where Walter Hayes was. But we couldn’t find anybody. Not a soul. The entire corridor was empty.

I was furious. How could my father disappoint Molly? It wasn’t enough that he’d ruined my childhood; now he had to hurt my daughter, too? Why was I surprised? How foolish I’d been to let him near my child.

“Let’s go, Molls.” I took her hand, ready to exit and never come back. “I guess he’s not here.”

“Wait. Shh.” She stood still, listening. “Do you hear that?”

Faintly, I heard men’s voices swell and subside. Then silence. Molly had already scrambled toward them. At the end of the hall she turned right, disappearing through swinging double doors.

“Molly, wait.” She didn’t hear. Or, at least, didn’t obey.

By the time I got through the double doors, she’d already scampered halfway down the hall. She glanced around to make sure I was coming before vanishing through another doorway.

The voices were louder now. And there were lots of them, a crowd. I ran to catch up with Molly, passing door after door, not sure which room she’d entered. I stopped, angry that she’d run ahead of me. Where was she? Which door should I open? I didn’t have to wonder for long; laughter exploded behind the door to my left. High-pitched, shrill twittering and deep belly laughs. What was going on in there? What had Molly stumbled into? I opened the door, ready to pull her out of the room and scold her but couldn’t find her. I faced a wall of backs. Dozens of people, facing away from me, staring at something in the center of the room. Stepping inside, I made my way deeper into the room. Where was Molly?

“Excuse me.” I bumped into an elderly woman who stared ahead into the shoulders of the men in front of her.

“Watch yourself,” she bristled. “We all want to see.”

“See what?”

She eyed me with disapproval. “Who are you?”

I decided not to ask her about Molly. I kept moving, working my way around the throng. Finally, peering through a cluster of gray heads, I spotted Molly. She was standing in the center of the room, amid the flock of women who hovered over my father, who was seated at a table in the middle of the room. Several other men sat there, too. Holding cards. At the center of the table was a mountain of coins and paper money. Ones. Fives. A few tens. I almost keeled over, couldn’t breathe. It was an old familiar feeling, catching my father in a lie.

“I’m out.” One of the men put his cards down.

“Me, too.” Another followed.

“Call.”

The room hushed. Nobody moved. All eyes were riveted on the center of the room.

“Three tens.”

The crowd murmured with anticipation.

“Two pair, jacks high.”

Now it rustled, waiting, expectant.

“Fold.”

Somebody sighed. “Damned bluffer,” someone else muttered.

Nobody moved. Nobody as much as breathed. All eyes were on my father.

Slowly, silently, he laid out his hand. Five diamonds. “Flush.” That was all he said.

Pandemonium broke out. Women were cheering, shoving one another to get close to my dad. Men were cursing or smiling, giving each other high fives, paying each other five dollars or ten, side bets on the game.

“I told you.” A man held his hand out to collect his winnings. “The man cannot lose.”

“Nobody wins that much.” I recognized Leonard, my father’s roommate. He grumbled as he handed over a twenty. “He’s got to be cheating. There’s no way he could win the way he does without cheating.”

“You’re just a sore loser.” The other man pocketed his money. “Tell me how he’s cheating. Otherwise, be quiet. Don’t taint a man’s honor.”

Leonard leaned into the other man’s face. “All I know is nobody wins ten hands in a row. Not unless they cheat. He got away with it so far. But he’ll get his. What goes around comes around.”

The other man walked away, ignoring him. Sputtering, glaring at my father, Leonard stomped out of the room. Except for the ladies adorning my father’s shoulders, everyone was clearing out; I couldn’t make my way through the crowd to get to the table. I stood against the wall, watching as Molly took a seat on my father’s lap, as he deftly gathered up his winnings. The scene was so familiar that for a moment I had the sense that the child I was watching was not Molly, but myself. I knew the routine, could predict what would come next. I stood silently, seething, replaying a memory as my father demonstrated for Molly his flashy way of shuffling cards, as he deftly showed her a card trick.

“Pick a card.” He held out the deck. I watched her baffled expression as he told her that she held the jack of spades. I almost recited his lines as, before he pocketed his money, he pulled a quarter from her ear. A regular magician. “Bet you can’t guess who this is for,” he teased.

Molly giggled. “Bet I can.”

“Okay. You’re on. Who?”

“For me, Grandpa!” She shrieked with glee.

“Okay.” My father sighed, feigning defeat. “You win the bet.” He held out the coin.

I covered my belly before he suddenly jabbed to tickle hers; I tightened my fists before he let her grab the money. Who knows how long I stood there, watching my past, before I managed to reclaim my voice. Who knows what those straggling onlookers thought as a madwoman stormed across the room, shouting, demanding that the little girl give the money back.

Molly blinked reflexively, as stunned as if I’d struck her. “But, Mom—”

“What’s the big fuss?” my father interrupted. “It’s only a quarter.”

“It’s gambling money, Dad. You lied to me. You swore you weren’t gambling anymore.”

“What? It’s a nickel-and-dime game. It’s not real gambling.” He lifted Molly off his lap and stood. “Let’s go have some supper, why don’t we?”

His teeth twinkled as he smiled, changing the subject, diverting attention from what he’d done. Molly clutched his hand with one fist, the quarter with the other. Together, they started for the door.

“A dollar says you can’t guess what’s for supper.” Why was he persisting? Was he deliberately taunting me?

Molly glanced my way before answering. “Okay. I say I can.” Her tone was gleeful and defiant. Oh, Lord. She was taking his side. Of course she was. He was fun.

Playfully the two of them started toward the dining room. I followed, seething. My father would never reform; he had no reason to. Why was I surprised that he’d lied to me about his gambling? He’d lied to my mother about it; probably he’d lied to Beatrice as well. Were there no limits to his lies? Was no price dear enough to get him to stop gambling? Of course not. He was addicted to it, completely at its mercy. Was there any game he wouldn’t play? Any moral lines he wouldn’t cross? I wondered how involved he’d been with the gangs, whether he’d owed them money. He’d denied having any ties to them, but how could I believe him?

Women trailed along, and people swarmed around my father and Molly as they walked to dinner. “Walter, I hear you did it again!” “What’s that—ten in a row?” “Who’s that beautiful girl, Walter? Your good-luck charm?”

My father was his old sparkling self. Charming, waltzing his way through the dining room as through life. My daughter gazed at him, as enchanted with him as I had once been. “Do they have roast beef, Grandpa? Was I right? Did I win?”

He reached into his pocket for a single. “Yes. They do. You win!” He beamed as Molly grabbed the dollar, clapping, and he leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in her ear. I knew without hearing—I could remember what he would say: “Don’t let your mother see this.”

While my father and daughter got in line for a table, I shut my eyes and saw my mother, heartbroken, sneaking down the stairs, stashing away stacks of fives and tens to pay our grocery bills.

S
OMEHOW, I MADE IT
through dinner without strangling my father or even berating him further in front of Molly. I controlled my temper as he boasted about his social conquests and his latest winning streak, as he waved and nodded to admirers and fans. In just a short time, my father had become a celebrity at Harrington Place. In just a short time, he had become a hero to my daughter. And if I had to endure many more moments, I was going to choke from swallowing so many angry words.

Let it go, I told myself. What was the point of destroying Molly’s image of her grandfather? What would I accomplish by pointing out his failings? He’s an old man. She’s a child. Let them enjoy each other. But as I listened to their happy banter, the cadence of my father’s voice recalled my childhood. I could almost see my mother, almost touch her as she sat between us at the dinner table. My father and Molly ate roast beef and mashed potatoes as if she weren’t there. He drank hot coffee and she a Shirley Temple, oblivious to the silent ghostly form beside them. He entertained her with humorous stories and number games, and I followed my mother, drifting to a dark place I couldn’t quite remember and conversations I couldn’t quite hear. I forced myself to chew and swallow, to feed the baby despite my lack of appetite. And when Molly finished the last of her chocolate sundae and Dad polished off his rice pudding, I whisked her away as soon as I could.

“It’s not a bad spot for a vacation,” my dad repeated as we walked him back to his suite. “They have lots of amenities. Nice people. But, fact is, I’m ready to go home.”

Great. I’d have to explain it to him again. I searched for words to remind him that he was going to stay.

“But Grandpa, this is your home.” Molly beat me to it.

He blinked at her, then at me. His mouth opened and closed. He seemed confused.

“Do you need anything to make you more comfortable?” I kept the conversation moving. “Is there anything you want me to bring?”

The man responsible for my mother’s death looked at me, panic flitting through his eyes. “What’s she talking about? Did she say I live here?”

“Yes, Dad.” It was an awkward, painful moment when the information finally seemed to sink in. “But I can bring you whatever you want from the house.”

His eyes aimed at me but looked inward, seeing his thoughts. “I suppose nothing matters there. Well, except Jackson.”

“Jackson’s taken care of, don’t worry.” I didn’t know what else to say. Apparently he didn’t remember that his dog was dead, and I didn’t want to upset him.

“Oh, get me my slippers. You know the ones.”

I didn’t know, but I nodded anyway.

“And you might as well bring some of my pictures. Maybe that wedding picture—In the silver frame.”

His wedding picture? Why would he want that? Then again, why had he kept all my mother’s clothing for thirty-five years?

Molly grinned impishly. “Grandpa, I bet you a dollar you don’t know what I’ve got for you.”

Then, without giving him a chance to guess, she grabbed his waist and squeezed. “It’s a hug, Grandpa. You couldn’t guess! I won, didn’t I?” She held her hand out for her winnings, and my father paid up.

I
T WAS ONLY SEVEN
o’clock when we left. In the car, I thought about what to say to Molly. Should I warn her about the pitfalls of gambling? Scold her for unconditionally adoring her grandfather, for letting him enthrall her with his sparkling eyes and funny games? Anything I thought of saying sounded bitter and petty, even to myself. I drove in silence, practicing lectures, finally deciding to leave the topic of Grandpa alone for a while. But she wouldn’t.

“Why are you so mean to Grandpa?” Her voice was petulant.

“I’m not mean to him.”

“Mom. The whole world heard you yelling at him.”

Oh, that. I’d already forgotten. “It’s a long story, Molly. It goes back a long way. And you shouldn’t take money from him.”

“Why not? He’s my grandpa.”

“Just don’t.”

I felt her eyes boring into me as I turned onto Lincoln Drive, as I followed the curving road and stopped at a red light. I felt her studying me as I drove. She pouted but didn’t say anything else until I parked. I looked out at the orange-and-red trees, wondering what about the street seemed altered. Was it my imagination? Or had the evening air suddenly cooled? Were the birds suddenly silent? Maybe it hadn’t been wise to come here. Maybe we should go. But that would be ridiculous. I’d just have to come back again for Dad’s things.

“Mom, don’t take this wrong, okay?” Molly persisted. “I think you shouldn’t be mean to him. Miss Sarah says everybody has goodness in them. So think about the good part of Grandpa and be nice. You don’t want him to be sad, do you?”

I was distracted; it took a second to process her question. No, I assured her. I didn’t want him to be sad. But I didn’t want him to get himself into trouble, either. What was the matter with me? I wondered. Why was I so hesitant about going into the house? We were there simply to get my father’s slippers—no big deal. And I hadn’t broken my promise to Nick again; with Molly along, I hadn’t gone there alone. We’d go in, find the picture and the slippers, grab them and leave.