Worst Fears Realized

47

STONE WAS HAVING AN EROTIC DREAM; then he opened his eyes and found that he was not dreaming. Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows, and, lifting his head from the pillow, he found himself looking at the top of Dolce’s head. His head fell back, and he emitted a small noise, taking her attention from her work.

She climbed on top of him, taking him inside her, and bent over to kiss him. The sunlight disappeared behind her falling hair, and he gave himself to the moment, which turned out to be longer than a moment. They had christened the house.

Stone lay on his back, sweating, breathing hard, while Dolce went into the bathroom and came back with a warm face cloth and tended to him.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “I think I’m ruined for the day; I’ll never get out of bed.”

“You rest, and I’ll fix us some breakfast”, she said, then went away.

Stone lay staring at the ceiling, then drifted off. He was awakened by Dolce getting back into bed and by wonderful smells. He sat up and built a backrest of pillows, and Dolce set a tray in his lap. He stared down at scrambled eggs, sausages, English muffins, orange juice, and a thermos of coffee. The Sunday New York Times was on the bed beside him.

“I could get used to this,” he said, buttering or muffin. He looked over, and Dolce was having melon and coffee. “You fattening me up for something?” The eggs were delicious.

“You don’t gain weight,” she said. “I know all about you; you eat and eat, and stay the same size. How do you do that?”

“I chose my parents well; they were both slim all their lives.”

“If I ate everything my aunt Rosaria put in front of me, I would weigh four hundred pounds,” she said.

“Are you named for her?”

“Yes.”

“Is she your only other relative?”

“Most of my relatives are dead; Mama died last year, and Papa’s two older brothers died a long time ago, when they were in their twenties.”

“In their twenties? Of what?”

“Of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Oh.”

“Papa wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral; his father shipped him off to Columbia Law School and told everybody he was in Europe, studying. He wasn’t allowed to come to Brooklyn for three years. He was the only student in law school who went to class armed.”

“It’s hard to think of your father doing anything as crude as firing a weapon.”

“He never had to, as it turned out, but Papa is a survivor; he would have done whatever was necessary.” She gazed at him. “It’s a family trait.”

“Did you know your grandfather?”

“No, he died a long time before I was born. Papa was still in his twenties, so he had a heavy burden to bear. He didn’t marry for a long time, for fear of making his wife a widow. It took him years of work to stabilize the situation he inherited. It was a mess.”

“But no longer?”

“No longer. Papa has devoted his life to making the family respectable; that was why he was so upset when I married Johnny.”

“Why did you marry him?”

She laughed. “I was a virgin. With Papa watching over me, it was the only way I could get laid.”

“There must have been more to it than that.”

She laughed again. “Not really. When I went out, I was always watched by somebody Papa sent. If I had let a boy make a wrong move, he would have gotten hurt, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”

“I’m glad to know you have a conscience.”

“Of course, I have a conscience!” she nearly yelled. “You think I’m like my grandfather?”

“I have very little idea of what you’re like, except in bed, and there you are spectacular.”

“A native talent,” she said, “like singing.”

“I believe you.” Stone set aside his breakfast tray and began leafing through the Times. He found it in the Metro section. “Here it is,” he said, showing Dolce the paper.

“That’s Mitteldorfer?”

“Yep.”

“He looks like such a little twerp.”

“He is, but he’s a dangerous one.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“My guess? Manhattan, somewhere on the East Side, living well. That’s why I’m hoping one of his new neighbors will recognize the picture.”

“Who’s the one in this drawing? He looks like Mitteldorfer.”

“That’s the drawing done from Mary Ann’s description of the man who attacked her. They really do look a lot alike, don’t they?” Stone stared at the two pictures. “Holy shit!”

“What?”

Stone picked up the bedside phone and called Dino.

“Hello?”

“I’m looking at the Times. You notice anything about Mitteldorfer’s photograph and the police sketch?”

“Sure, they look alike. Remember the guy who cut your neighbor’s throat? He looked like Mitteldorfer with hair. That’s why we checked to see if he had any kids, and we drew a blank; just a nephew, and he’s living in Germany.”

“Dino, if Mitteldorfer has another wife, as Arlene said he did, maybe he’s got a kid by her.”

“Ah, good point.”

“You have any luck on the marriage records?”

“Not yet. The computer records only go back a few years, but I’ve got a couple of rookies going through the old files, on microfilm.”

“That’s it, I know it is. If we can find the first Mrs. Mitteldorfer, then we can find her son, and then we’ll find Mitteldorfer. Why don’t you check everybody by that name in the state? Hell, in the country; it can’t be that common a name.”

“I’ll get my people on it first thing tomorrow morning. How was your dinner last night?”

“I’ll tell you later; call me if anything comes up. Oh, I almost forgot: how’d it go at the theater opening last night?”

“Zilch; nothing happened.”

“Maybe Mitteldorfer doesn’t know Palmer’s name.”

“That’s my guess. When are you coming back to town?”

“I’m not sure; I can’t go back to the house.”

“Okay, talk to you later.”

Stone hung up. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any results yet from your inquiries at Sing Sing?”

“Let me make a call,” she said, picking up the phone on her side of the bed. She dialed a number. “You know who this is? What have you got?” She signaled Stone for paper and pen, and Stone got out of bed to get it. “Yeah. Spell it. You got an address? What’s the parole officer’s name? Thanks.” She hung up and handed Stone the pad. Three names were written on it. “The first two were in with Mitteldorfer; the third name is the parole officer for both of them; they were both released before Mitteldorfer was. My man couldn’t get an address, but he says they were both tight with your man.”

“That’s something to go on,” Stone said. “But not before tomorrow. Come on, let’s get dressed and out of the house. It’s a beautiful spring day, and there’s an auction up the road somewhere.”

“An auction of what?”

“You know, a country auction – lots of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Antiques, furniture, pictures, bric-a-brac.”

“Can’t do it; I’ve got to get back to the city.”

“But it’s Sunday.”

“I’ve got a board meeting tomorrow, and I’ve got to read over a hundred grant applications by then.”

“Aw.”

“Besides, there’s too much oxygen up here for a city girl. You said you don’t want to go back to your house?”

“Not yet.”

“Why don’t you stay with me?”

“In Brooklyn?”

“Of course not; I live in the East Sixties.”

“Sure you’ve got room?”

“Sure; you don’t take up much space.”

“Maybe I’ll come into the city tonight; that okay?”

“Sure.” She wrote down her address. “Call me on your car phone when you’re in the block, and I’ll open the garage door for you.”

“You and I must be the only people in the city with a garage.”

“Could be.” Dolce got up, threw her things in a bag, kissed him, and left the house.

A moment later, he heard the Ferrari’s high-pitched roar. A moment after that, he was asleep again, exhausted.