“We want that dress.” The desperation in Ernesto’s voice could have easily been mistaken for command.
The clerk’s head lifted. Her green eyes focused on the doll. She smiled. “I don’t think we ordered any mannequins.” Ernesto said, “This is my wife and she would like to try that dress on.”
The clerk stepped back, clutching at the neck of her dress revealing STEPHANIE on a silver name tag.
“She knows I don’t mean HER dress,” Ernesto said to the doll. “Okay, I’ll tell her we need a dress to fit you!”
Stephanie looked at the door then appeared to do a mental calculation of her commission. “She looks like a size six or seven. Which would you like to try on first?”
Lane leaned on Ernesto Rapozo’s doorbell for the third time. Double-checking the house number, he said, “2412, that’s it.”
He walked to the side of the house and opened the gate. Shade covered the north side of the yard. The weight of the sun lifted from his shoulders.
At the back of the yard, near the garage, he could see the back of what he assumed was Ernesto’s love doll. An accented male voice said, “Don’t worry about the police. Ernie’ll be fine.”
Lane stood out of sight near the edge of the house where raspberry bushes bent low with ripe fruit.
“He doesn’t remember what happened,” Nonno said.
Lane loosened his tie and felt sweat collecting along his close cut hairline.
“Don’t worry about Leona. She’s the one who made me promise. She’s got a big mouth but she’s Ernie’s grandmother. Leona always says she’d lie down and die for her kids. She understands.”
Lane reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve his handkerchief. He lifted it to his forehead. The almost imperceptible crack of cartilage made him freeze. No way the old man would hear that, Lane thought.
“They’re never gonna…,” the old man said.
Silence wavered in the heat.
“What do you mean there’s somebody here?”
The brim of Ernesto’s ball cap appeared from around the corner of the house closely followed by his nose and beach ball belly.
“Hello, I’m Detective Lane.” Silently he cursed his inability to stay still.
“Ernesto,” the old man said and pointed pruning sheers at Lane’s belly.
“Ernie Rapozo’s grandfather?”
“Yes. That’s me.”
“That’s a nasty bruise.” Lane indicated the swelling on the side of Ernesto’s head.
Ernesto reached up with his free hand. He winced as fingertips brushed the bruise. “Trouble at the mall this morning. No police around then.”
Lane ignored the implied accusation. “What kind of trouble?” “Doesn’t matter now.”
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Lane moved out of the shade.
Ernesto looked at the doll. “Okay.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
Lane wondered if the old man was talking to him or the doll.
“My wife says you should sit down.” Ernesto pointed with the pruning sheers to an empty lawn chair.
Lane moved around the other side of the table, pulled out the chair and sat. “Thank you.”
“Helen says you should take your jacket off.”
Lane slipped the jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair. What’s the best way to play this? he thought. If the Ernesto thought the woman was real, then he’d have to follow the old man’s lead. “Your wife is very considerate.”
“Iced tea?” Ernesto said.
“That would be nice.”
Lane watched the man’s hand as he set the green handled sheers down on the table. The old man’s palm was as wide as a soup bowl with fingers callused and nails black with earth.
He watched Ernesto move up two steps, open the door and kick off his shoes before stepping inside.
Lane turned to the doll. Her eyes were blue. Her lips, too red to be real. The shade from a sun hat created a semicircle across the tops of her breasts. The sharp, polished edge of a crease in the dress told him it had been ironed recently. Its floral pattern matched the flowers along the inside of the fence.
The latch on the screen door rattled. “In Italy a grandmother is called Nonna,” Ernesto said as he backed out the door with a tray, three full tumblers and a pitcher of iced tea. He set a tumbler down in front of the doll, another in front of Lane and sat down between them with his own glass.
Lane lifted the glass in appreciation. He sipped. “Real tea.”
“Of course. Nonna likes it that way. Always keep a pitcher in the fridge.”
Lane looked at Nonna. For an instant he thought a smile creased the corners of her lips. He turned to the brown of the Ernesto’s eyes. “Since your grandson was attacked, we’ve been unable to determine Mr. Swatsky’s whereabouts.”
Ernesto turned to Nonna and then back to Lane. The old man held onto his silence.
“It’s been six days since we found his car at the airport. We’ve been unable to contact his wife.”
“The radio says he stole three million,” Ernesto said.
“I’m investigating the disappearance.”
Ernesto put his glass down and rubbed at his shoulder.
“Hurt the shoulder when you got the bump on the head?”
Lane’s voice was genuinely sympathetic.
Ernesto turned to Nonna before answering the question. It was a pattern he followed throughout their conversation.
“Yes.”
“Anyway, since you live so close to your grandson, I thought you might be able to shed some light on the disappearance of Mr. Swatsky.”
“Maybe a little.” Ernesto took a drink.
“Did you ever meet Mr. Swatsky?”
“Once.”
Did his pupils just dilate? Lane felt the sharp shiver of excitement in his belly and fought to keep it out of his voice. Dilating pupils were often the telltale sign of a lying suspect. “When was that?”
“When Miguel, our son, married Beth,” Ernesto said.
“Where is Miguel right now?”
“Tunisia. Works for an oil company.”
Lane felt himself easing into the flow of the conversation. “Does he see his son very often?”
“Every two months he’s back for a week or two.”
“Was Miguel in town when Swatsky disappeared?” Lane said.
“Nope. He’ll be back soon.”
Wait. Be patient, Lane told himself. Set it up carefully, try to make him uneasy, then watch for the reaction. “What was your grandson’s condition when you arrived at Leona’s house?”
Ernesto’s face turned red with anger. He fought to control his voice. “Had a cut on his nose.” He closed his eyes and drew his right forefinger across the bridge of his nose. “He was… How do you say?… Unconscious. Out cold.”
Almost there. Lane was operating almost entirely on intuition. “What was Leona’s condition?”
“Not good.” Ernesto put his left hand on Nonna’s. “She was having trouble catching her breath. And she was worried the boy wouldn’t wake up. That Swatsky, what he tried to do to my Ernie!”
Good, he’s looking at me. Now’s the time, Lane thought. “Do you know where Robert Swatsky is?”
Ernesto looked at the doll, then turned back to face Lane. A slight dilation of the pupils. To Lane it was as significant as the difference between midnight and noon. “Nope,” Ernesto shook his head.
CHAPTER 8
Beth felt the best part of the day settle around her like a prayer. Mom’s having a nap and I’m enjoying a cup of tea, she thought. She took a sip and felt the warm gold of Earl Grey wander its way to her toes. They wiggled at her. She pushed her black hair back with her free hand.
She looked up. Ernie used his thumb and forefinger to pick up a green tennis ball. He shook off some of Scout’s drool. She jumped at the ball but he held it high. Scout sat, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. Ernie flicked his wrist. Scout was after the ball before it hit the fence. She jumped. The ball rebounded past her nose and she was frozen; tail pointed here, nose over there.