Yesterday's Stardust (11 page)

“No, I come from ingenious parents who bought a run-down mansion and turned it into three apartments. My peeps are land
lords,
not land
barons,
and they bought it when I was in high school. I actually grew up in an upstairs apartment two blocks from here. He pointed a butter knife at Nicky. “At least I’m not descended from the mafia.”

Nicky closed his eyes for a millisecond and shook his head. “Have a pickle, Metzger.”

Dani pushed aside her plate. A streak of whipped cream was all that remained of the chocolate chip cannoli. “Delicious.” It was at least the third time she’d said it.

Nicky stood. “Anyone want more coffee?”

So he does have a thoughtful cell in his body.
Dani watched the bulging-over-biceps gray shirt disappear behind the cupboards hanging over the counter that separated the kitchen and dining room. This was her chance to corner him. And blast him.

Before she worked up the courage to follow him, he was back with the coffee pot. He refilled every cup, including hers. When he got to Lavinia, he bent and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“What’s that for?”

“For dinner. And for putting up with me.”

Lavinia blushed.

Maybe she wouldn’t blast him. Maybe she’d just ask. Dani picked up her plate and stood. “Guess I’m on KP duty.” She followed Nicky into the kitchen.

“You called the paper.” She waited for him to turn around.

He slipped the pot back into the coffee maker. Seconds passed before he looked up at her. For a long time. Without a word. Then finally he nodded. “I’ll help you with dishes.”

What?

“You will not.” Lavinia materialized from out of nowhere. “This is your day off. Get out of here. Go enjoy that car for the rest of the night.”

Todd walked in carrying a stack of plates. “She’s right, Nick. I’ll help with dishes.”

Not a chance.
Dani had no intention of being left alone with the cop and his questions. “I think the girls should do dishes and let the men shoot pool or something. Rena, come help me.”

Lavinia shook her head. “I have something to show Rena in my sewing room.”

Nicky grabbed a pad of paper from the refrigerator and scribbled something on it. Todd peered over his shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Something vaguely resembling a smile lit his dark eyes. “I’m giving the woman my phone number.” Without making eye contact, he thrust it into her hand and walked out.

Todd picked up a dish cloth. “What was that all about?”

She slid the paper deep into her back pocket. Her hand shook as she reached for the towel. “I have no idea.”

Todd washed and she dried. Through glasses and silverware, they chatted about their jobs. While seemingly engrossed in scraping the burnt edges from the mostaccioli pan, Todd tipped his head and stared at her over his shoulder. “You’re covering the story, aren’t you?”

“Story?” The wide-eyed stare might buy her the moment she needed to figure out her own story.

“Don’t pull the dumb blond routine on me. Do you know how many times I see that look every day? ‘The speed limit’s twenty-five? Really?’ He batted his eyes. “‘Why, officer, I thought the sign said
fifty
-five.’”

Dani laughed. “Makes you all weak in the knees, I bet.”

Rena padded into the kitchen in bare feet. “Makes him all weak in the head more like.”

“Watch it, girl.”

Rena yawned. Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, Dani smiled at the girl with the black 7 healing above her collarbone. “I’ll take you home. It’s not safe to be out at night in this neighborhood.”

“…and he went all ballistic on me right in front of Jarod. He can’t accept that I’m not a little kid anymore, and I’m not a moron…”

Dani rolled down a window. In defiance, maybe. They were parked in the same spot where she’d fallen asleep in Vito’s car. Finally the venting trickled to a stop. She looked up at dark kitchen windows that had blazed last week at two a.m. “Nicky works strange hours. Why doesn’t he bake during the day?”

“Tradizione.
It goes back to wood-burning ovens or something. You bake at night when it’s cool, and that way if something burns or flops you have time to do it over. Nicky’s weird. He says he wants to change things, but he’s stuck on old school stuff.”

“Old school like wanting to know where you are and who you’re with?”

“I’m three months away from eighteen. My great-grandmother had two kids by my age. He needs to chill.”

“What do you do when you’re not working? Are you with Jarod all the time?”

A tiny crease formed above Rena’s nose. “Most of the time, but we hang out with…other people, too.” She shifted in her seat. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No. Not since college.”

“How come?”

She loved the directness of teens, but it could be disconcerting when they tried to turn the tables. “I guess the honest answer is I’m way too picky. I’ve been disappointed too many times by guys who aren’t who they pretend to be.”

Rena folded her arms and leaned her head against the car door. “Yeah…”

“Sounds like you know what I mean.”

“I grew up with people who let you know what they were thinking. Nicky gets upset with me, he blasts me. Jarod’s all closed up.” She made a fist and held it out. “Like that.”

“What attracted you to him in the first place?”

“I felt safe with him.” She blinked, as if sweeping away a mirage. “Todd asked if you were covering the story. Did he mean about Miguel?”

“You knew him?”

“Yes.” She ran a finger under the lashes of her right eye. “And you know China?”

Rena’s head tilted to one side. “How do
you
know her?”

“I did a story awhile back about families affected by online gaming. I interviewed her. Do you know how I can get ahold of her?”

“You’re the one who told her to get rid of Miguel, aren’t you?”

A sharp breath rasped in Dani’s throat.

“She told me she talked to a reporter. You told her she was too good for him, didn’t you?”

Dani rubbed her hands against her knees. “Did she tell you what she thought about that?”

“She figured you were right, but she couldn’t walk away from him until she had somebody to protect—” Rena bit her bottom lip. Her foot tapped against the door.

“Was she afraid of what Miguel would do?”

Rena fingered the door handle.

“Rena.” Dani quieted her voice. “Was Miguel involved in a gang?”
Are you?

The foot tapped faster, giving the impression she might bolt at any minute. Tears spilled onto pale makeup. “Yes.”

“Was that why China was afraid to break up with him?”

Choppy hair batted her face. “She was going to run, go out of state, but he caught her and…” In the glow of a streetlight, pooled tears glimmered. “The guys in… A lot of guys are like Jarod. China and I talked about that a lot. It’s hard when people keep secrets from you, when you don’t feel you really know them or that they don’t really want to know you for who you are.”

“Is Jarod part of the gang?”

Rena picked at dark nail polish. “Are you doing a story on what happened to Miguel?”

“Yes. And no. I don’t know if I’ll use his name, but can’t you see where his story could touch a lot of people? Maybe stop somebody else from taking the same path?” Rena didn’t comment. “I want to do a story on kids in your neighborhood, about“—the focus of her story suddenly crystallized—” gangs and why there’s so much crime here, and what can be done about it. I want to talk to kids and see what’s going on in their lives. Miguel’s death is just kind of a starting point.”

Silence. Rena chewed one fingernail then another. “You said you wanted to talk to China. What did you want to tell her?”

“That Miguel’s death isn’t her fault. Or mine. I’m worried about her. Do you think she’s capable of hurting herself?”

“Maybe. Her family’s getting her out of here. I don’t know where she’s going, but they’re leaving Friday. We’re doing our own memorial thing at the beach Friday night, and they won’t let her stay for it. That’s seems wrong, but I get why they’re doing it.” She turned to the window and folded her hands. “If you did a story on kids in gangs, not hard-core bangers, but people on the fringe who were in danger of getting deeper, the ones who aren’t beyond hope…what could happen? To you. Or us.”

Dani didn’t react to the last word, the girl’s admission. “I don’t know. There would be a risk, I suppose, that someone would retaliate. I wouldn’t use names of minors, maybe not even the name of the gang.”

“But you wouldn’t want to keep it all generic, right? ’cause the goal would be to show adults, parents, and teachers and people like that, what’s really going on so they could do something—make a safe place for kids to hang out or“—knuckles pressed into her lips; tears brimmed—” a way to get out.”

Do you want out?
For once, she held the question in. “It could work that way. I always hope my stories will stir someone to act.”

“Then I’ll help.”

“So I can start with you? Are you willing to answer some personal questions?”

A faint smile brightened the tear-streaked face. “How ‘bout I just take you somewhere where you can start getting answers yourself?” She reached out and touched the ends of Dani’s hair. “Have to do something about this first.” She fingered the sleeve of Dani’s retro gauze shirt. “And this.”

September 30, 1924

Francie’s legs felt weighted as she climbed to her room. One end of Daddy’s old leather satchel pushed out the curtain nailed to the crate beside her bed. She’d already filled it with stockings and undergarments. She closed her diary on the lines she’d written an hour ago. Tonight she’d write about giving up her money to save Applejack. And not going to Chicago.

As she picked up the coin-filled jar, the putter of a car motor wafted through the open window. The syrup truck braked to a stop in front of the barn.

Daddy was gone, and Mama wouldn’t know what to do. If they didn’t get this delivery, there’d be nothing to sell. She climbed down the steps, skipping the last two altogether. “I’ll go sit with Applejack.” She set the jar on the table, took her coat, and ran to the barn.

Two men stood in Daddy’s office. Francie smoothed her hair back. “My father was called away on an emergency. I can help you.”