“Why don't you two stop telling me bad things about Darious and tell me who you think killed him?”
They looked at each as if nothing like that had ever crossed their minds. Finally, Luscious spoke up, “He was involved in lots of shady deals. I figure one went bad. Double-cross, maybe.”
Henry and the fire chief nodded their agreement. To me, it looked as if they didn't care. The borough was rid of one of its more unsavory residents, and that was all that mattered.
After the three men left, Cassie and I busied ourselves with cleaning up, carrying the half-full casserole dishes back to the kitchen, throwing out the paper plates, putting the silverware in the dishwasher. While I was refilling the cats’ dishes with Tasty Tabby Treats, the phone rang.
“I'll get it.” Cassie picked up the receiver and said, “Hello, Miracle residence.”
I liked the sound of that.
“Who's calling?… Just a minute please.” She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Someone wants to talk to you… a woman… she won't give me her name. Sounds upset.”
“Probably someone who wants me to rush over and take a five-generation photo before great-great-grandma dies.” I took the phone from Cassie and glanced at the caller ID unit, then said into the receiver, “Hello, Lillie.”
The woman's voice on the other end was faint. I couldn't tell if it was because of a bad connection or because she wasn't talking into the mouthpiece. She gasped and asked, “How did you know it was me?”
“It's a journalistic secret. What can I do for you?”
“Do you remember me? Lillie White? You done come and talked to me at the Brick Shed House.”
“Yes, Lillie. I remember. How can I help you?”
“There's something you said… I want to know… can you… like, you know…”
Impatiently, I said, “Lillie, would this be easier face-to-face? Do you want to meet me at my office?”
“I don't have a sitter. Can you come here? To my place?”
She gave me the name of a building, and I said I'd be right over. After I hung up, I asked Cassie if she knew where the Overholtzer Arms was.
“It's on Main Street, about a block and a half south of the Chronicle building, on the west side of the street.”
“Now if I had my handy-dandy Girl Scout compass with me, I'd know exactly where that was, wouldn't I?”
“Turn left, cross the next intersection, the Over-holtzer is on the right side of Main Street, before you cross the next street. It would really help if you would learn directions, Tori. Can't you remember Main Street runs east and west?”
“Sure. I just don't know which way is east and which is west.”
After a little trouble getting the car to start, I drove to the Overholtzer Arms, which was a Late Victorian brick building overlooking a bend in the Lickin Creek. Its balconies, large windows overlooking the waterfront, and stone gargoyles peering down from the roof were reminders of Lickin Creek's glory days. I imagined this building, at one time, had been a prestigious place to live.
Sagging floorboards creaked as I crossed the front porch and pushed open the door. The hallway inside was dim and smelled of mildew. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I spotted a row of doorbells set in the wall to my right. I peered at them until I found one that said L. WHITE and pushed it. Somewhere upstairs a door opened and a woman called out, “Who is it?”
“Tori Miracle.”
“Come on up. Be careful of that railing. It wobbles.”
Not only did the railing wobble, the whole staircase swayed as I groped my way up in pitch-blackness to the third and top floor.
Lillie was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Without her thick stage makeup and with her hair pulled back into an unadorned ponytail, she looked about twelve years old. She held open the door to her apartment and urged me to enter.
The living room was tiny, even by my New York standards. The furnishings were a green sofa, a reclining chair upholstered in mauve velour, two white plastic end tables, a wicker coffee table with the white paint peeling off, a floor lamp, and a large TV. That was it. There was no place more depressing than my Hell's Kitchen apartment, but this was definitely a runner-up in the not-fit-for-man-nor-beast category.
A little girl sat on the bare wood floor in front of the TV, watching cartoons with her thumb in her mouth. Her free hand clutched a faux Beanie Baby. She didn't acknowledge my presence.
“She don't hear so good,” Lillie explained. “Want a soda?”
I shook my head, sat down on the edge of the sofa, and watched her refill two glasses from a half-empty Coke bottle on the coffee table. She handed one to the child and took a long drink from the other before sitting on the recliner.
“Looks like we're in for a weather change,” she said. “Turned kind of cool after that windstorm.”
“Mmmm,” I agreed. Local custom called for starting every conversation with a discussion about weather conditions.
“Good thing. I don't like hot weather.”
“Mmmm,”
“Maybe if I had an air conditioner.”
“Always heard you don't need air-conditioning in Pennsylvania.”
“That's true. Fresh air's always the best. The first killing frost always hits near Halloween.”
That was enough weather-channel chatter for me. “Lillie, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
She took another long swig of her Coke. “It's something you done said to me on Sunday. I wanted to ask you if… like… you know…” Her voice trailed away, and she began to shred a Kleenex into little bits of confetti.
“Please, Lillie. Just ask me. I don't have all day.”
“It's what you said about Kayla's dad.”
Who's Kayla? “I'm sorry, Lillie, but could you give me a little hint? I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Kayla,” she said, nodding at the little girl on the floor. “You said I could track her dad down with dee and ay. Can you tell me how to go about it?”
“Sure. It's a DNA test, just the letters DNA. A lab can compare people's blood samples to prove paternity.” She looked blank, so I added, “Prove who the dad is. I believe they can even do it with swabs from the inside of the mouth. Do you want to find Kayla's dad?”
Lillie's ponytail bounced as she vehemently shook her head. “If he don't want to be her dad, then I don't want him nowhere near us. We're getting along just fine without him.”
“Then why did you want to know about DNA testing?”
“When you was talking to me the other day, it got me thinking. Do you know if they can test a guy's DNA after he's dead?”
“Of course,” I said. “If they can get a tissue sample. Why do you ask?”
She patted her skinny midsection. “Because Mack promised me that this kid would have everything it deserved, and I want to make damn sure it gets it.”
“You're pregnant! By Mack Macmillan?”
She smiled and nodded. “Mack never had no kids with his other wives. He was real excited about the baby. Wanted us to be a real family.”
“Did he tell you he had cancer?”
Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “Mack didn't have cancer. He would of told me.”
“He knew, Lillie.”
“If he'd known, he would of made a will and put me and the baby in it. He said he'd take care of us, no matter what.”
I must have been exhausted because suddenly a vision flashed through my brain of me sitting in an attorney's office preparing for my own death. And to my neighbor Murray Rosenbaum. I leave my aspidistra. I shook the crazy idea away; I don't even know what an aspidistra is. I just like the sound of the word.
“You probably should call your lawyer,” I suggested.
“Yeah, right. People like me don't have lawyers.”