“None of your business, man.”
“Everything that happens in this neighborhood is my business.”
“Not today.”
Rix got in Hennessey’s face. “You think because you’re a cop you’re so much fucking better than me?”
“Not because I’m a cop.”
Hennessy had balls of steel—that was for goddamn sure. But Rix didn’t need to know what had just happened. He’d find out soon enough.
“I’ll get back with you on the car soon. Let’s table that discussion for another day.”
Rix eyed us both, and it was obvious from the ticking in his jaw that he hated being in the dark.
“You know I’ll find out what’s going on. I got my sources. Don’t need to get my information from a cop.”
“Then like I said, you best be on your way,” Hennessy replied as broken pavement crunched under the tires of the police cruiser turning into the alley.
Rix gave me a chin jerk and strode to his car. “I’ll be in touch.”
I nodded in response, and Hennessy and I both watched as he started up his Caddy and pulled away.
A second police cruiser and the ambulance pulled into the alley a few moments later, and I steeled myself for what was next.
“Mama, you’re up?”
It was one of those stupidly obvious statements, but my surprise got the better of me, and it tumbled out. My mother was sitting at the dining room table, one hand lifting a teacup to her lips. It was only nine, and I didn’t think she’d been up this early in years.
“I have a funeral to plan today.” Her words were crisp—no hint of slurring.
“I know. I thought I’d see if I could help.”
“I’ve already called the funeral director. He’s coming to the house in an hour to go over everything.”
I was surprised she hadn’t said she’d called the priest. Hesitantly, I asked, “Do you want me to call Father Benedict?”
My mother’s eyes swung to me. “Whatever for?”
“To talk about the mass?”
She shook her head and sipped her tea.
“That man is going to hell whether he gets a mass or not. But I suppose … people will talk if we don’t have one. The last thing I want is people having more to talk about.” I expected a snide comment about people having plenty to talk about because of me, but she added, “Margaux told me what I did to the library. I must’ve gotten the attention of the whole neighborhood last night.”
The way she said it, it sounded like she had no recollection of her actions. And maybe she didn’t. I’d been black out drunk exactly once, and we all knew how that had turned out.
“You didn’t attract any attention, Mama. The only person who was here was Doc Monroe. He came to … umm … help calm you down.”
Her face—already drawn—paled further. “Why would you call him? Of all people, why would you call him?”
“Because he’s the doc?” I replied, my answer coming out more like a question.
She lowered her teacup to the saucer with a clatter. “A woman should never be seen by a man when she’s at anything less than her absolute best. That wasn’t well done of you, Eleanor.”
Her vehemence surprised me. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Her hand shook as she reached for the teacup again. “Oh well. I suppose he should know the whole of what he’s getting.”
I choked on air. Yes, it was possible, because I did it.
“Wha—what?”
She looked at me, and I felt like this was some kind of twisted déjà vu—like a few weeks after my dad died, when she’d called me home one weekend from college, and I’d arrived to find movers packing the entire house. That was when she’d dropped the bomb about getting remarried. Somehow, her announcement had been secondary to the fact that she needed me to determine if there was anything I could get rid of from my room to make the packing go more quickly. It’d been like a gut punch followed by someone ripping your heart out. And now this?
“Mama, are you saying you’re going get remarried again? Like, now?”
She straightened. “I’ll do whatever I like, Eleanor. And this time, I’m not getting married. I don’t want to sentence John to the fate of the black widow.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve been trapped in a hell of my own making for over a decade. He tried to get me to wait after your father died, but I couldn’t. Now, I don’t have a lot of good years left, so I’m going to make the most of them.”
“But, Mama, what about—”
A knock on the door interrupted my stuttered words. Was the funeral director early?
Margaux’s voice carried from the foyer, and footsteps signaled the arrival of whoever was at the door.
But it wasn’t the funeral director. It was a woman I’d never seen before. She was around my age and dressed in a neat black suit.
My mother stood as she entered. “Eleanor, could you give us some privacy?”
I rose and looked from the woman to my mother. What in the world? But my mother didn’t offer any explanation, and I was still reeling from her confession about Doc Monroe. I made my way out of the dining room and headed for the kitchen. Margaux was retying her apron when I entered. There was nothing I could do about the doc at the moment, but I could find out who had just arrived.
“Who was that?” I asked Margaux. If she didn’t know, then no one would.