Butchers Hill

Chapter 17

Tess yearned to go straight to Tyner's office the next morning, but it was her turn to take Gramma Weinstein to the hairdresser, one of Gramma's many codependent rituals. Unlike some older folks, who clung to the steering wheel long past the point of prudence, Gramma had announced on her sixtieth birthday that she would not drive any more. She had taken it for granted that her husband and, after his death, her children and grandchildren, would gladly pick up the chauffeuring duties.

But the rotation, as maintained by Gramma, was far from foolproof. Today, as Tess pulled into the parking lot behind Gramma's apartment building, she saw her mother getting out of her blue Saturn.

"Free at last," she said to herself. Now she could check in with Tyner, find out where things stood with Beale. But something in her mother's face kept her from throwing her car into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot. The tense lines on either side of her mouth, the anxious look in her eyes. She reminded Tess of herself, on her way to visit Judith.

"Hey, Mom. Looks like Gramma double-scheduled again. I thought it was my turn."

"Great. I had to take a personal day to get the morning off. Unlike you, I can't make my own hours. The federal government isn't quite so flexible."

"Nor is the state government, yet here comes Uncle Donald. Triple-teaming-that's a new one even for Gramma. Is she getting senile, or does she just not care what else we do with our lives?"

"Don't be disrespectful of your grandmother," Judith said automatically. "She won't be with us much longer."

"You wish," Tess said, and her mother looked stricken. By the joke, or the reality behind it? Impossible to tell.

Uncle Donald strolled up, whistling a show tune, "Younger Than Springtime." He was Gramma's favorite, if only because he had never married and his loyalties were clear. Even his fall from political grace, in the scandal that had sent his senator boss to prison, hadn't shaken Gramma's affection for him.

"Good morning, Sis, Tesser. How do you want to resolve this? We can toss a coin, or cut a deck of cards that I happen to have in my car. High card wins. Loser takes her to the Beauty Palace."

"I'll do it," Judith said. "I took the day off, I might as well."

A reprieve, Tess thought. Yet when she looked at her mother's dutiful, unhappy face, she couldn't just walk away.

"Let's all go. Make it a family outing. My mom and my favorite uncle. And Gramma," she added, when Judith gave her another look. "We could go to S'n'H afterwards, like we used to do with Poppa."

"Why not?" Uncle Donald replied.

"Why not?" Judith echoed weakly, but she looked as if she might have several reasons.

The Pikesville Beauty Palace sat in an old shopping center on Reisterstown Road, near the synagogues that had been built as Baltimore's Jewish families began moving to the north and west. Although the neighborhood was less and less safe as time went on, the Beauty Palace had scores of loyal customers like Gramma, who wouldn't dream of going anywhere else for their weekly sets and periodic root touchups.

"Mrs. Weinstein!" the receptionist said with the chirpy insincerity common to those who dealt with Gramma. "We're all ready to take you back to the shampoo girl."

"You didn't give me one of those Russians, did you? I hate it when they talk that gibberish around me."

"We have you with Lisa today."

"I've never had her. Isn't she the one who snaps her gum?"

"She won't," the receptionist said, her smile becoming more and more of an effort. "I'll speak to her about it."

"Why can't I have Wanda?"

"She's with another customer."

"Then put me with Francie. I always liked her."

"She left to work at a salon in Mount Washington."

"Probably running for her life," Tess said under her breath.

"Don't mutter," Gramma said. "If you have something to say, say it."

"Be nice, everyone," Judith pleaded. A whistling Uncle Donald wandered away, as if he didn't know this trio of querulous women, and developed a sudden fascination with the hair accessories in the display case by the front door.

"Let's just forget the whole thing," Gramma said suddenly. "I don't like the idea of someone new touching my head."

"But you've had Lisa," the receptionist said, a little desperately.

"Put me down for next Wednesday. And make a note: no Russians, no strangers, no gum-snappers. I want Wanda, you understand. Wanda for shampoo, Michael for my set. Donald, bring the car around. We'll just have an earlier lunch than we planned at S'n'H."

Uncle Donald jumped, as if he were a twelve-year-old boy again. Judith smiled feebly at the glaring receptionist, while Tess stared at the ceiling. One big happy, she thought.

Even with Gramma along, it was nice to be back at S'n'H, as the old-timers all referred to the Suburban House restaurant. S'n'H was a sanctuary, a windowless, timeless place with desserts to die for and placemats with supposed-to-be-funny Yiddish translations. Oivay, for example, was translated as April fifteen, a bris was "getting tipped off," and a goy was defined as one who buys retail.

Her breakfast long forgotten, Tess ordered chicken noodle soup with kreplach. ("Kosher-style ravioli," according to the menu.) Gramma decided on a potato pancake, while Uncle Donald chose cheese blintzes and a side order of herring. Judith wanted nothing more than an iced tea.

"That's right, Judith," Gramma said approvingly. "You'll keep your figure."

That was the cue for Uncle Donald, who acted as the peacemaker in those rare moments he realized there was peace to be made. "Has your lawyer finalized the division of that property yet, Mama? If you have any trouble with any of the government agencies involved, you just let me know."

"Not to worry, it's almost done. I'm having a crab feast next Wednesday night and we'll have a little celebration then, sign all the papers together." Even kosher Jews ate crabs in Baltimore, as if there were some unwritten exemption in the dietary laws. "That's why it's important for me to go back to the beauty parlor before then. Can you take me next week, Donald? I know how hard it is for you to get away from work." Not for Judith, Tess noted, who actually did work at work. Hard for Donald, who didn't really do anything.

"A crab feast in your apartment?" Judith asked. "But I crabs are so messy, Mama, you really need to do them outdoors, with picnic tables and newspaper."

"I know. I thought we'd do it at your place. You have such a nice yard. And if we do it outside, you won't have to clean. Working as you do, I know it's hard for you to keep on top of the house cleaning."

Time for Tess to jump into the cross-hairs. Conversation with Gramma was a little like running through a sniper's alley, each family member taking a turn as the target.

"Did you subdivide the land so each one has his or her own parcel, or are you transferring the deed so we're all listed as the owners?"

"One piece, so it's all for one, one for all. My children and grandchildren are going to have to learn to get along eventually."

A new complaint. Hand it to Gramma-at an age where most people declined to take on anything different, she was always open to new grievances.

"We all get along okay," Tess said tentatively. Gramma was spoiling for a fight this morning. The skirmish at the Beauty Palace had only whetted her appetite.

"You're hard on Deborah, Theresa Esther. She thinks you don't respect her because she's just a full-time mother and you're Miss Big Britches Private Eye, getting written up in the newspaper."

"Did she say that?" Tess was surprised. She thought she and Deborah, intense competitors during childhood, had agreed to an adulthood truce. They may not approve of one another, but they didn't call attention to it.

"No, but I can tell. I have a sixth sense about these things."

"Right. And I bet you tell Deborah that I'm, I don't know, jealous of her because she has a husband and a baby, while I'm ‘just' a spinster with a struggling business. Does your sixth sense pick that up as well?"

"Mama, did you see Hecht's has a sale on the hose you like so much?" That was Judith, trying to get Gramma's scope trained on her and away from Tess. "Would you like me to pick some up for you this afternoon? As long as I've taken the day off, I might as well put it to good use."

Gramma held her hand up at her only daughter like an impatient traffic cop, her eyes still fixed on Tess's. What had Treasure Teeter called that move? Doin' the Heisman.

"There's still time to take your name off that deed, Missy. What do you say to that?"

Tess had much she wanted to say to that. Go ahead, take it away from me, you bitter old woman. Give my share to one of your beloved china springer spaniels. You can't hold me hostage with money. You're mean and you're petty. Poppa probably died because he couldn't take living with you any more.

Uncle Donald started whistling another show tune, "Some Enchanted Evening." Judith simply looked miserable, even unhappier than she had when Tess had glimpsed her in the parking lot outside her grandmother's apartment building. But was the cause of her unhappiness her mother or her daughter?

"I say"-Tess took one last glance at Judith's face-"that I'm sorry if I sounded impudent and of course I'm grateful for your generosity. Can I bring anything Wednesday night?"

A plump, vaguely familiar woman was waiting on Tess's doorstep when Tess returned to her office.

"Miss Monaghan?" She wore a kelly-green suit with a red silk blouse. Merry Christmas, Tess thought, but she was touched at the same time. The woman, whoever she was, considered visiting Keyes Investigations important enough to dress up.

"That's me." Tess unlocked the door. The moment the key was in the lock, she could hear Esskay unfurling herself from the sofa, rushing across the floor with a great clatter of toenails. The dog sounded pretty impressive-she could be a Rottweiler or a pit bull, except for the lack of bark-and the visitor cowered behind Tess.

"The only thing my dog will do is lick you to death," she assured her visitor, who edged through the door, trying to keep Tess between her and the dog. "Now what can I do for you?"

"Don't you remember me?"

Tess hadn't, at first. She had made the mistake of looking at the clothes, not the woman's face. "Keisha Moore. Donnie's mother. Where's Laylah?"

"My sister-in-law's looking after her."

There was an awkward silence, Tess waiting for Keisha to say why she had come, Keisha apparently waiting for Tess to start asking her questions.

"Is there something I can help you with, Keisha?"

"I heard, on the news, that the man who killed my boy may have killed some other children. The ones you were looking for."

Shit. Tess had counted on the television stations not catching wind of the police department's suspicions unless Beale was officially charged. Either they had more evidence than Tyner thought, or someone at the police station had leaked the story, hoping to turn the heat up on Beale. As a convicted killer, he was a tough man to libel, alas.

"That's just speculation, Keisha."

The green suit was much too tight, and when Keisha sat down, her shiny red blouse seemed to surge out of the top. It was hard for Tess to believe that all this show was just for her.

"Well, if those other ones are dead, who gets their money?"

She certainly was focused. For five years now, Keisha Moore had tried to find a way to turn her son's death into a payday, and she hadn't given up hope there was some cash to be squeezed out of it.

"I regret to tell you there isn't any money for anyone. I thought there was, but it turns out things were not quite as they seemed."

"I heard the girl got her money. It's all over the street."

"You didn't know anything about her when I stopped by your house," Tess pointed out.

"Yeah, well I just didn't make the connection, you know? I was thinking of some little girl. How much she get, anyway?"

"All Destiny got was a pretty ugly death."

Without realizing it, Keisha was holding the tip of her tongue between her teeth, as unselfconsciously as a child. The tongue disappeared, and her eyes suddenly looked sly.

"Did you help him kill her and her brother, the one who burnt up?"

"Jesus, no. What a horrible thing to ask."

Keisha was unrepentant. "Well, you asked me some pretty rude things when you came to my house. Why was Donnie in foster care, as if that had anything to do with anything. What did I do to lose him? You were worse than any cop or social worker. That's the worst thing about being poor, having to answer people's goddamn questions all the time. ‘You own a car? You got any money in savings? You got a man living with you? Who's your baby's father?' I get sick of it, okay?"

"I can understand that."

"Huh. Like you ever had to answer some nosy bitch's questions."

"I was on unemployment for a while. Trust me, I answered my share of questions."

Keisha didn't seem mollified. She slumped in her chair, chin lowered to her scarlet chest, glaring at Tess.

"Do you need money, Keisha?"

"You know anyone who doesn't?" she countered.

"It's early in the month to be running short."

"I had some…unexpected expenses. There's a dining room set I put money down on. If I don't make a payment today, I'm going to lose it." So the Christmas finery was for the guy at the furniture store. Tess didn't want to think about what Keisha might do in lieu of payment. Jackie was right. She had never really known what it was like to scrape bottom, or even how far down the bottom was.

"I might be able to help you out. But first, I want to ask you some of the same questions I asked you before. Only this time, I'd like some answers."

Keisha's eyes were amber, Tess noticed. A cold, hard amber with a swirl of green at the center of the iris.

"I'll get my dining room set?"

"You'll get your furniture," Tess assured her. "Now why was Donnie in foster care?"

"I went off on an errand, up to Atlantic City. I thought I'd be home that night, but there was, like, an accident. When his teacher found out Donnie had spent the night alone, the Social Service came and took him."

"A car accident? A breakdown?"

Keisha squirmed a little in her chair, but said nothing.

"If I call a friend in New Jersey, am I going to find out you have a record?" Tess didn't actually have any friends in New Jersey, but Keisha didn't know that. It was plausible. Someone must have a friend in New Jersey.

"I was a mule, okay? I was a mule and I got popped."

"A mule?"

"I carried drugs for a man. I was taking them to Atlantic City on the train, and they picked me up the second I got off. The public defender up there got me off-he asked for a lab test and it turned out the stupid-ass motherfucker had put me on the train with a case of powdered sugar and quinine. But by the time I got home, I'd been gone for a week, and they had taken Donnie. He had to go to school and flap his big mouth about how he didn't have no mama and he was living off cereal. Social Services told me he couldn't come home until I took some class about how to be a parent. I had two more classes to go when he was killed."

"The man you carried the drugs for-was he Donnie's father?"

"No." Keisha's look told Tess that she found the question incredibly stupid. "He was just some guy I was with for a while."

"What was his name?"

"Look, he's dead. What you need to know his name for? He was a stupid, stone-ass junkie and he ended up the way most junkies do. I may have tried to help him sell some drugs, but I never took any."

"The guy you're with now, Laylah's father-he's not part of that life, is he?"

"Don't worry. I'm not planning on being the same fool twice." Keisha stood, her curves shifting again. She was like a big, walking Jell-O mold of a woman. She opened her purse, a bright yellow bag bigger than some suitcases. "You got any more questions, or can I go get me my dining room set now? I owe $119 on it. You can just round it up to $120 if you need to go to the ATM to get it."

"I said I'd get you furniture. I didn't say it would necessarily be the furniture you had paid down on."

Keisha's mouth was a round little O of rage, although no sound came out. If she hadn't been wearing her Sunday best, she might have flown across the desk at Tess. Instead, she snapped her purse shut, stamped her feet, stamped her feet some more. Tess ignored her dramatics, scrawling a set of numbers on a piece of paper.

"There's a man named Spike Orrick," she said, passing the paper to Keisha. "Call him at this number, and say Tesser sent you. It's important that you refer to me as Tesser, that's how he'll know I gave you this number. He'll get you the furniture you need by nightfall and some food, too. He may even throw in a new television set, or a stereo, if he has one handy."

Keisha looked at the piece of paper skeptically. "We talking new furniture, or some secondhand shit?"

"It will be as nice as whatever you picked out, probably nicer," Tess assured her. "And Keisha?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you have Spike throw in a changing table? On me."