Page 50 of A Week Away

“Okay. Thanks.”

As soon as I got back into the Belvedere I realized I had a problem. There was no such thing as a cupholder in 1958. I sat at the gas station, swallowed four Tylenol and drank my coffee until I was halfway through it.

The car also didn’t have a clock. I figured it was a pretty basic model. Problem was I never wear a watch so I had to guess at the time. I’d dropped Cass off around eight, spent a lot of time driving down 10 Mile Road, and been sipping coffee for at least ten minutes. It had to be around nine.

I got out and tossed the rest of my coffee into a garbage can, then got back in and set off for the bakery on McNichols. About ten minutes later I’d found Telegraph and then completely missed the turn onto McNichols. I doubled back and started going east looking for an Italian bakery.

I found it about six blocks from Telegraph. It was called Barones and had a red-green-and-white awning. Signs in the window advertised that they were open, and that they served cannolis and cakes as well as imported Italian specialty foods. The building was free-standing and there was parking along the sides.

When I walked in a bell rang above my head. I was met by a row of glass cases filled with cookies, pastries and cakes. Behind the cases, a woman in her early sixties stood frowning at me. Her hair was gray, refused to be pulled back, and her eyes suspicious. She wore a smudged apron.

I busied myself looking at all the cookies. I pointed and asked, “Can I get a dozen of these?”

“Biscotti originali?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Using her hands, she plunked a dozen in a white bag. Before she was finished, I asked, “So… is Josette Di Stefano working today?”

She stood up, looked around the small shop as if she might find Josette, then said, “No. She’s not.”

“Do you know Josette well?”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Chuck Henderson.”

Why not? I could almost prove it.

“I’m helping out Josette’s nephew, Cass Reilly. He wants to know what happened to his father.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Did you know Dominick Reilly?”

“We went to Saint Rose for a while. His family went there, too. They said a mass for Dominick at least once a year.”

I wondered if my family ever had a mass said for me. Then I quickly pushed away the idea. It didn’t matter. I was fine. I wasn’t in a car at the bottom of Lake Erie.

“Do you think he just ran off?”

She shrugged and said, “Men do, you know.”

“What does Josette think?”

“She and her sister aren’t close. Mainly because her sister’s a narcissistic whore.” Before I could ask, she added, “Her words. Not mine. Not that I disagree.”

“Does she think her sister had Dominick killed?”

“She doesn’t have any proof, if that’s what you’re asking. But if you’re taking a survey, yeah. Joanne and her cousin killed her husband. Everybody knows it. Nobody can prove it.”

“Her cousin Luca?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“What do you know about Luca?”

“I know what everyone knows. I know to stay away from him.”