There Was an Old Woman Page 7

  “Hey, I thought you had a date with Seth tonight,” Ginger said.

  Evie held on to the grab bar overhead as the bus slowed and pulled to the curb. “I told him I couldn’t make it. Family emergency. He’s going to the basketball game.”

  A pause. Then, “Oh.” Ginger’s oh was filled with understanding and tinged with regret, and Evie hated that one stinking syllable. Ginger was like a heat-seeking missile when it came to piercing Evie’s confidence and poking at her vulnerabilities.

  Ginger quickly filled the silence with “Don’t worry. You’ll—”

  “Worry?” Evie got off the bus. “I’m not worried.” She took a breath and coughed bus exhaust. “It’s really no big deal, and he’s not the one. He was never the one. Got to go.” She disconnected the call before Ginger could start in with her favorite platitudes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “So what do you make of this?” Mina said. She was standing at the checkout counter at Sparkles showing Finn the work permit she’d snitched.

  He examined it. “I . . .” His gaze traveled from the front of the store to the back, and he lowered his voice. “Where’d you get this?”

  “From Angela Quintanilla’s house. Have you seen what a mess it is? I went to pay a condolence call and found the house roped off and this stuck to the front door.”

  “And you helped yourself?”

  Mina fiddled with the top button of her sweater and smiled. “It blew off the door, and I picked it up.”

  “So that’s your story and you’re sticking to it? You know, one day they’re going to arrest you for—”

  “For what? I was picking up litter. Pfff. Besides, they wouldn’t want to draw attention, would they? And there’s another house not two doors away from this one that’s already been demolished. Did you know that?”

  “I heard, but—”

  “So who’s responsible? I’d like to know that, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

  “I don’t know anything more than you do.”

  “But you talk to everyone. Surely—”

  “Haven’t heard a thing.”

  “So I think you should find out.”

  “But—”

  “You’re an attorney, aren’t you?”

  “Was.”

  The bell over the front door tinkled. Mina looked over. It was Sandra Ferrante’s daughter. She dropped a slip of paper as she entered the store. Stooped and picked it up.

  When Mina turned back, Finn had slid the permit under the mat on the counter.

  “Hi,” the girl said as she picked up a shopping basket from the stack nested by the register. She looked tired and frazzled.

  “Hey,” Finn said. “Need help finding anything?”

  The girl consulted her crumpled scrap of paper. “Roach bomb?”

  “Over there, against the wall,” Finn said, pointing to the far side of the store.

  “Lightbulbs?”

  “They’re over there, too.”

  Mina followed Finn’s gaze as he watched the girl walk off. When he turned back, Mina winked at him.

  He chuckled. “You’re entirely too observant for your own good.”

  “Have to be blind as a bat not to see,” she said. “So that permit. You’ll look into it?”

  Finn took the permit out again and read it, front and back. “SV Construction Management. Soundview?”

  “Do you know them, or are you guessing? Because guesswork I can do myself. You have a computer, don’t you? Isn’t that what they’re for?”

  “Mrs. Yetner.” He shook his head.

  “Do you need a retainer?” Mina found her change purse in her bag, opened it, and pulled out a neat roll of bills—about a hundred dollars. She thrust it at him. “Here.”

  “You are relentless,” Finn said, taking the money from her. He opened the roll, peeled off a single, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “There. That’s plenty,” he said, giving her back the rest.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Mina said. But she put the money away before he could change his mind.

  The girl brought her basket to the register, and Mina watched as Finn began ringing up the items. When he got to the third frozen chicken potpie, he said, “Gourmet dinner?”

  “Easy dinner,” the girl said.

  Finn bagged the groceries in two bags. Mina picked up one of them. “I can take this for you,” she said heading for the door.

  “You really don’t have to,” the girl said, following her outside.

  “I don’t mind,” Mina said, and she didn’t. The bag was light, and it was always more pleasant walking with a companion. Besides, the girl looked dead on her feet and Mina wanted to be sure she got back in one piece.

  “See you later?” Finn called after them.

  The girl gave an absentminded wave.

  Mina and Sandra Ferrante’s daughter walked in companionable silence until they were a half block from home.

  “Why did you take the bus?” Mina asked.

  “My mother’s car won’t start.”

  That explained it. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

  “You can say that again.”

  They were in front of Mina’s house. “Thanks,” the girl said, taking the grocery bag.

  “So how’s your mother doing?”

  “Fine. Good, actually.”

  Mina gave her a long look. The poor thing couldn’t even meet her gaze.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Evie realized that Mrs. Yetner was only trying to be kind, asking about her mother, but Evie was finding it overwhelming enough without having to deal with the concern of others. Peace, quiet, and some time alone were what she craved.

  She closed some of the windows and plugged the refrigerator back in. Started a potpie in the oven and put the rest in the freezer. Pure comfort food was exactly what she needed, never mind that it was mostly cornstarch and salt.

  She put away the rest of her purchases. In the bottom of one bag, along with her receipt, she found another copy of the Soundview Watershed Preservation brochure. The photographs of the marsh on the back cover could have been taken from her mother’s back porch. She set the brochure on the mantel.

  Other than pretending that stems of feathery marsh grass were their magic wands, Evie and Ginger had always been oblivious to the marsh and its wildlife. Mostly Evie had been embarrassed by its farty smell.

  Now she didn’t mind that smell so much. It was preferable by far, she thought as she took in the remaining mess, to sewage and rotting food. At least the smell in the house was better than when she’d first gotten there. Sleeping there wouldn’t be as miserable as she’d feared.

  While she waited for the pie to heat up, Evie went methodically from room to room, looking on every surface, in every drawer and box and closet, grabbing any mail or official-looking papers that might help her assess her mother’s finances. She piled everything she found on the kitchen table.

  It was only when the smell of baking chicken pie filled the kitchen that she remembered how often her mother had made them for dinner. How their freezer had been packed with Stouffer’s potpies and Swanson TV dinners and Van de Kamp’s fish sticks.

  Evie pulled the pie from the oven, let it cool a bit, and then devoured it directly from the baking tin. After that, she began to sort the papers she’d accumulated. Piece by piece, she fell quickly into a rhythm, separating bills and statements into categories, setting aside the occasional personally addressed envelope, and discarding junk mail and advertising circulars. She’d done this kind of thing countless times when the Historical Society acquired paper archives, separating the wheat from the chaff.

  When she had everything categorized and sorted by date, she stopped to assess. REMINDER. PAST DUE. OVERDUE. The words were in bold on envelope after envelope. Water, gas, electricity, heating oil bills: all were at least two months overdue.

  And yet there were also envelopes with checks. Social Security. Fireman’s pension. In all, the uncashed checks a
dded up to about fifteen thousand dollars, plenty to pay off unpaid bills.

  Evie opened her mother’s latest bank statements. There was only five hundred in checking; a little over four thousand in savings. There’d been no activity in either account since mid-March. No deposits. No withdrawals. No nothing.

  She was afraid to open the latest credit card bill. But when she did, she found a zero balance due. Zero! She opened the three earlier statements. Her mother hadn’t even used the credit card in March, when the overdue balance had been more than eight thousand dollars with finance charges accruing to the tune of hundreds of dollars a month. In April that balance had been paid off in full.

  How had her mother paid the bill? Evie went back to the bank statements but found no checks corresponding to the payment. And how on earth was her mother managing to keep herself stocked with vodka and cigarettes, never mind cat food for strays, if she wasn’t withdrawing money or using her credit card?

  The only mail left to be sorted was about a dozen pieces that looked personal. There was the birthday card Evie had sent, unopened. Two more of the envelopes also looked like greeting cards. One turned out to be happy birthday from her mother’s dentist; another birthday card was from “Frank.” Of course, the neighbor who’d come over and introduced himself that morning. She put all three cards on the mantel.

  Finally, there were five identical brown envelopes, each with her mother’s name and address handwritten on the front. She picked up one of them. It was thick, as if a sheaf of papers was folded inside. The flap wasn’t sealed. Evie lifted it and looked inside. She pulled out a bundle wrapped in a sheet of white paper. She opened it up to find a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  What on earth? Evie started to count them. When she got to twelve, the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Startled, Evie dropped the envelope. Cash scattered across the linoleum floor. As she scrambled to pick up the hundred-dollar bills and stuff them back into the envelope, there was a rap at the door and a voice. “Hey, Evie. It’s Finn.”

  “Hang on. I’m coming,” she called as she cast about for somewhere to stash the cash-filled envelopes. She stuck them in the refrigerator’s veggie bin. Then she went to answer the door.

  Finn stood at the foot of the front steps. “Hope it’s okay I came by this late. I saw you were up.”

  He saw she was up? Then she realized that anyone on the street side could have seen in. She’d left the kitchen curtains open.

  “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” Finn said, apparently unruffled by Evie’s silence. “So I brought you this.” He pushed forward a panel of plywood. “For the window. And you left this in the store.” He held out a six-pack of beer, raised his eyebrows, and gave her a tentative smile.

  Nice gambit. Evie hadn’t seen this guy in, what, decades? She felt safe with him, but she knew better than to go on instinct alone.

  He must have sensed her reticence, because he set the beer on a step. “Listen, never mind. I’ll just . . .” He propped the plywood panel against the front of the house, held up his hands, and backed away.

  How dangerous could a mudflat-hugging birdwatcher be? Besides, she needed to take a break. Her shoulders ached and she was bleary-eyed. A cold beer was exactly what she needed, almost as much as she needed someone to talk to.

  “Come on,” she said, stepping aside so he could come in.

  He cantered up the steps, scooping up the beer, then stopped just shy of the threshold. “You’re sure?”

  Evie felt herself drawn into his smile. She took the six-pack from him. He had strong-looking hands. No ring. A thick braid made of black silk or maybe hair was tied around his wrist. As she looked down at the bottles, slippery with condensation, she could feel him watching her.

  “Okay, so you didn’t leave the beer at the store.” He poked a sneakered toe against her foot. “I wouldn’t want to start with a lie.”

  Start?

  “You know, I used to have the worst crush on you.”

  Even though she knew she was being played, Evie felt herself blush. She turned and walked through to the kitchen and set the beer on the counter.

  “Listen,” he said, following her, “I thought—” He stopped, staring at the piles of papers on the kitchen table. “Whoa.” Then he took in the disarray of the two rooms beyond. “I had no idea it had gotten this bad. No idea at all. ”

  “Believe it or not, it’s a lot better than it was. And I’m done for now. I need to take a break.”

  “How’s your mom?” He gave her a searching look.

  Evie started to say fine, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. She turned away, tears pricking at her eyes. “I talk to the doctor tomorrow. I’m not expecting good news.”

  “I’m sorry.” He gave her a long look. “Listen, never mind. Obviously this is a bad time. I’ll come back another—”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I don’t mind the company. Please, stay.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well. Okay then.” He clapped his hands together. “I’ll get started on that window.”

  “You want to fix it now?”

  “No time like the present, as my dad used to say. Your mother’s got a ladder in the garage, and I brought my own tools.” He unhooked a hammer from his belt and dug a handful of nails from his pants pocket. “Be prepared. Dad used to say that, too, but I don’t think these are what he meant.”

  Finn plugged in an extension cord and rigged an outside light so he could see what he was doing, and an hour and a half later, the upstairs window was securely boarded over with a sheet of plywood and Georgia O’Keeffe was back on the bedroom wall, no worse for the wear. On top of that, he promised to come back and replace the front steps, and he said he knew a local plumber he could call who would come and take care of the leak under the house.

  “That would be wonderful,” Evie said, feeling ridiculously grateful. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, holding her gaze for a few moments. He really wasn’t bad looking. Not bad looking at all.

  Evie got out two beers, opened them, and handed him one. It was a brand she’d never seen before, Bronx Brewery, its label a black-and-white image of the back of a subway car. She saw him eyeing the counter where she’d left the business card that Frank from across the street had left.

  “What was he doing here?” he said.

  “Asking about my mother. Apparently they were friends.”

  “Friends.” Finn seemed to consider that for a moment before he shrugged and turned his attention to the refrigerator. “Your dad was a firefighter?” He pointed to her father’s official firehouse photo that her mother had stuck on the door. “How could I have forgotten that?”

  The picture showed her father’s big smile, crinkly eyes, and bushy mustache. He had on black turnout gear, the jacket collar pulled up framing his face, a white 3 over the visor of his battered black helmet. He used to let her wear that helmet for dress-up, and whenever she’d put it on, she’d been surrounded immediately by the smell of sweat and smoke. She wondered what had happened to it, whether it was still in the house somewhere.

  “Rescue 3?” Finn said. “That’s up in Tremont, isn’t it?”

  Evie nodded, surprised. That wasn’t something most people could come up with.

  “I remember him pretty well, actually. Looks like he was about my age in that picture. Nice guy.”

  “Yeah. He sure was.” Evie took another swallow of beer, sideswiped by the sadness that welled up in her.

  “He used to come to the store every Sunday morning for doughnuts.”

  “I remember. Best doughnuts ever.” It had been years since Evie had eaten a doughnut that came even close to the decadence of the jelly doughnuts of her childhood.

  Finn grinned. “The very best. They’re from a little mom-and-pop shop. They keep trying to retire, but they still make them for us. Your dad’s still a firefighter?”

  �
�Died in ’02.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I was away.” He took a step closer to her. She could smell the tang of his perspiration. “Was he one of the first responders on Nine-Eleven?”

  She shook her head. “He retired a year before.”

  Her dad had died a year nearly to the day after that awful morning when eight of his best buddies boarded the rescue truck and never came back. He’d never gotten over the fact that they’d all perished and he wasn’t with them.

  Finn didn’t say anything, and Evie appreciated that he didn’t feel like he had to rush in and fill the silence. “So where were you?” she asked, after a moment.

  “In class. Third row.” He closed his eyes, like he was visualizing. “Second seat. Civil Procedure. Required class, and they tortured us by scheduling it at eight in the morning.”

  “You went to law school?” Evie hadn’t meant it to come out sounding quite so incredulous.

  “Columbia Law, class of ’04. Michael Finneas Ryan, J.D., at your service.” He took a little bow. “Another lifetime. Different things mattered to me back then.” He stared out into space. “I remember that day like it was yesterday. We could see the smoke all the way from the fifth-floor classroom window up at 116th Street.” He sighed and shook his head. “A group of us trooped over to St. Luke’s, right from class, and tried to give blood.”

  Evie and her friends had gone to St. Vincent’s Hospital in the Village. They’d been turned away.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “In the dorm at NYU.” Her mother’s phone call had woken her up. She almost hadn’t answered because she hadn’t wanted her mother to know she was skipping her nine o’clock class.

  Are you all right? Then, Turn on the TV.

  Later, Evie had wandered out into the acrid haze, through drifts of paper that turned lower Manhattan into a perverted snow globe.

  Finn took a long pull on the beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Listen,” he said, “was I kind of arrogant when you first came into the store? I tend to be a bit judgmental.” He tilted his head and smiled. “My ex-girlfriend called it something else.”