Date: Sat, 23 Jun 2001 08:30:42 EDT
From: Aterovis@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 14 of All Lost Things

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Chapter 14

	I drove back to the office fairly happy with my day's work. I
thought I had done pretty well considering it was my first real solo
venture. I hadn't discovered anything earth shattering but maybe I'd filled
in a few holes. I'd definitely raised more questions.

	"You must have found out something good," Novak commented as soon
as he saw me.

	"How'd you know that?" I asked. I was a little disappointed; I'd
been hoping to surprise him.

	"You look like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, much too
pleased with yourself. Spill it."

	I was going to have to work on my poker face. I quickly filled him
in on everything I had learned. When I had finished he pushed his chair
back and began to rub his chin.

	"So, Nadine and Ira waged war on a regular basis, huh?" he mused
aloud, "I can't say it surprises me. I knew she wasn't telling us
everything. Sounds like another visit with our favorite hairdresser is in
order."

	"What about Caleb and his friend?"

	"Let's not jump to any conclusions. We don't know that there even
is someone else. Sure it seems logical, but things aren't always as they
seem, and we're not in the business of making false leaps. Why don't you
talk to Caleb again, see if he'll spill anything about a friend."

	"Me?"

	"Yes, you. You've met him; you've already established a
relationship with him."

	"I wouldn't say that. We met once and I got the impression he
didn't like me."

	"It's more than I have. He doesn't know me from a soap
stick. Chances are I'd intimidate him. He'll be more likely to open up to
someone closer to his age, like you."

	I snorted. He hadn't met this kid.

	"Don't make rude noises. You sound like a rooting pig. On second
thought, why don't you hold off on that visit until we talk to all the
neighbors? There's still Mrs. Fields to talk to, she might tell us
something we don't know."

	"That wouldn't be hard," I commented. "What did you find out from
Sgt. Kaplan?"

	"About what I expected to find out. Hank's a good cop and he's far
from stupid. He'd come to the same conclusions we had and they're checking
things out. So far, nothing, but then, who in their right mind would admit
they were being blackmailed, it will most likely turn out to be a dead
end."

	"He wouldn't tell you who any of the people on the tapes were?"

	"Are you kidding? I didn't even ask. There would be about the same
chance of that as me riding a pig to Kalamazoo."

	"I see," I didn't but why ask why? "What do we do now?"

	"We keep digging. Sooner or later something will turn up."

* * *
	When I arrived home I found Steve pacing back and forth in the
hallway with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Adam and Mom, pink from her
day at the beach, were in the kitchen where Adam was busily making
enchiladas from scratch.

	"He's been glued to that phone all afternoon," Adam grouched when
he saw me, "If he stays on there much longer he's going to get a brain
tumor."

	"Who's he talking to?" I asked.

	"Who isn't he talking to?" he answered.

	"He's trying to line up his work crews for the house. He wants then
all working at the same time so things will get done faster, but they can't
be getting in each other's way."

	"Do you have any idea how hard it is to coordinate that many
different crews?" Steve asked as he came into the kitchen.

	"How many are there?" I asked him.

	"Well, let's see, there's the electrical contractors who have to
rewire just about the whole place, the plumbers and the painters, none of
which can finish until the construction crew finishes the addition."

	"What addition?" Mom interjected.

	"The existing kitchen is hopelessly out of date and much too
small. We're adding on a new kitchen that will be much larger, modern and
up to code. I'm also thinking about building a separate cottage for us to
actually live in. There used to be a guest house out back but it burned
down in the 30's. We've managed to come up with a couple photographs so we
think we can build it so it looks pretty much like the original."

	"What did they need a guest house for?" I jumped in, "the house is
enormous."

	"It wasn't original to the house. I think one of the later tenants
had it built, around the turn of the century from the looks of it. It was a
bit Victorian looking. But anyway, besides the crews I've already mentioned
I've got some guys coming in next week to start clearing the undergrowth in
the wooded areas, some botanical lady to start cataloging the gardens and
restoring what is salvageable and marine experts building a dock and gazebo
over the river."

	"Good grief! Is there anything you haven't thought of?" Mom
exclaimed.

	"Yeah, how I'm going to get all this done in time for our grand
opening this fall."

	"What's the rush?" Mom asked.

	"I work better with a deadline," Steve deadpanned.

	The phone rang in his pants pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it
open. After talking for a few minutes he snapped it shut with a satisfied
smile.

	"There is a God and he still works miracles," he declared.

	"She," Mom corrected with a wink.

	"He, She, Them, whoever, the crews start work on Monday. It's a
go!"

* * *
	The next day was Saturday so the case was officially on hold until
Monday. Mom and I went shopping and I tried to just enjoy the day with her,
but I just couldn't keep my mind off the investigation.

	"Hello? Earth to Killian," Mom shouted and I blinked her into
focus.

	"Huh?"

	"I just asked you like three times where you want to go for lunch,"
she said in the voice of someone who has had to repeat herself one too many
times.

	"Oh, sorry. Whatever you want is fine with me."

	"You're a big help. What planet are you on anyway? Are you mooning
around over Asher?"

	"No, at least not at the moment. I just can't get this stupid case
out of my head."

	"Tell me about it. I really don't have any idea what you're doing,
although maybe that's for the best."

	"It's nothing dangerous. All we're doing is talking to people." I
gave her a quick overview of what had happened so far, white-washing the
part about Zaranski to avoid worrying her unnecessarily. "I just feel like
we're missing so many pieces," I finished up.

	"Well, you are,' she said, "I mean, you've just started, right?"

	"Yeah, I guess. I just wish I knew what to do next. It seems like
everybody is hiding something."

	"Everybody has something to hide," she said quietly. I looked over
at her but her eyes were on the road. "Just be careful. You'll always be my
baby even if you are all grown up."

	"That doesn't make sense. How can I be grown up and a baby at the
same time?"

	"That's life, kiddo. None of it makes sense." We were quiet for a
minute and then she said, "I feel like I hardly know you anymore."

	"Where'd that come from?"

	"I've been watching you these last couple of days. You're not the
little boy I left when I moved to Pennsylvania. I've missed so much."

	"I'm still the same person, Mom. Nothing's changed, I just got
older."

	"I'm just being silly, huh?" She wiped a tear from her cheek and
gave me a grin. "So what's going on with you and Asher?"

	"I wish I knew," I sighed.

	"Humor me. Let me feel just a little like a real live mom. Tell me
what happened."

	"I don't really know what happened. Everything was fine, or so I
thought. We were going along just like always. We were even planning on
moving in together."

	"You were what?"

	"That's not important now. It was just like all of a sudden things
fell apart."

	"We'll come back to that moving in together part. Fell apart how?"

	"We started fighting, all the time, about everything, about stupid
stuff. The next thing I knew we were in Splitsville, population me, myself
and I."

	"Things don't just fall apart out of nowhere. What was the root of
the problem?"

	"I don't know. I wasn't sure I was ready to move in with him. That
seemed to cause a lot of tension."

	"Well, I'm glad to hear that at least. Not the tension part, but
that you weren't ready to move in with him. Was there something more beyond
that, do you think?"

	"I honestly don't know."

	"Have you thought about it, tried to figure it out at all?"

	"Not really."

	"That's what I figured. It runs in the family, that tendency to
avoid what is painful at all costs."

	"I've just been so busy with other stuff, the case..."

	"Or maybe you're afraid of what you'll find out."

	I looked away. "Maybe."

	"What does Asher think the problem was?"

	"I don't know."

	"Have you tried talking about it?"

	"Not unless you count last night and that was over before it even
began."

	"Well maybe that's part of the problem, you guys aren't talking."

	"Asher did tell me once that I never told him anything."

	"Sweetie, you can't imagine how important communication is in a
relationship. You can't have one without it. How can you expect to make
things right if you don't even know what you did wrong? Communication is
the key. It either makes or breaks a relationship. If you guys can't talk
to each other you don't stand a chance."

	"Is that what happened with you and Dad?"

	"You know what happened with your father and me. I've told you
about it before. There was never anything between us to go wrong, it was
wrong when it started and it was wrong when it ended. I never loved
him. Not like you loved Asher."

	"I still love Asher."

	"Then don't give up on this."

	"I'm trying, but he won't give me a chance."

	"Then try harder. Just don't give up. Don't give up."

* * *
	"Don't give up."

	The short, fat woman at the sink echoed Mom's words from a few days
before. She was talking to the woman she had leaning back into the sink
under a stream of water. "I think we can fix it," she told her.

	I was back in Curl Up And Dye. I had come to talk to Nadine again,
but she was busy with a client and so far no one had even acknowledged my
presence.

	"I told you not to try that other place," Anita barked from behind
her client, a wrinkled old prune of a woman who was nodding sagely, I guess
in agreement with whatever Anita was announcing. "They might be cheaper,
but you mark my words," she went on, "you get what you pay for."

	All the ladies nodded and mumbled agreement as if this had been a
highly original statement. "Half those girls are just barely out of beauty
school," Nadine added.

	"You here for a perm?" Anita asked in a smart-ass tone. It took a
second to register that she had finally deigned to speak to me.

	"What? Oh, no. I'm here to talk to Ms. Tingle, if that's ok."

	"Lordy, Nadine. You get more visitors these days then the Lincoln
Bedroom."

	"He was here the other day with that detective guy," Nadine said.

	Anita eyed me suspiciously and I felt like the last doughnut at a
weight watchers convention. "I don't remember him."

	"He was hiding behind the other guy," the other lady, the fat one
at the sink, added helpfully. I frowned. I wanted to yell that I wasn't
hiding and while we were on the subject I was standing right here so they
could stop discussing me like I wasn't present. Besides, a good detective
blends in, right? We're not supposed to get noticed.

	"Have a seat over there, sugar," Nadine told me, pointing towards a
row of uncomfortable looking plastic chairs. "I just gotta finish rolling
up Betty Jean
 here."

	I took a seat and looked through the rack of magazines. It seemed
my choices were Family Circle, Ladies Home Journal, Modern Maturity or
Women's Day. Yeah! I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of my coming here
alone. It had seemed like such a good idea back at the office when Novak
had suggested I go out for a few more solo interviews. Of course, I hadn't
planned on stopping to see Nadine. I had been on my way out to see if I
could get to see Mrs. Fields yet when I had turned onto the road that led
here on a sudden whim. I was starting to hate sudden whims. They seldom
worked out for me, really. Now that I was here I was wracked with
insecurity and my inexperience loomed large in front of me. I didn't even
know what questions to ask. The woman just plain intimidated me. Novak was
so much better with people, and especially Nadine, than I was.

	My spiral into panic was interrupted as Nadine breezed past me in a
cloud of cheap perfume and stale cigarette smoke. "Come on," She said
holding the door open. "You've got until this cigarette is gone then I
gotta get back to Betty Jean."

	I obediently followed her out. She lit up the Marlboro in her lips,
inhaled deeply and blew the smoke in my direction.

	"I don't suppose you want one," she stated rather than asked.

	"One?"

	"A cigarette."

	"Oh, no. I don't smoke."

	"I didn't think so. Just as well; a pretty boy like you. I guess
you're gay."

	"What?" I choked.

	"When they're as cute as you they're always gay. Murphy's Law."

	I decided to ignore that. This was not going the way I had hoped. I
need to regain control of this conversation and quick. At the rate she was
sucking on that cancer stick I didn't have too long.

	"We know you and Ira fought," I blurted out. That at least seemed
to catch her by surprise. She took a long drag and let the smoke out
slowly.

	"Far as I know that ain't a crime. Course, I may've missed
something along the way. That happens to me sometimes. You got a point?"

	"Witnesses say the fights were pretty violent."

	"Witnesses, eh? Like that old bat next door I guess. What's her
name? Fields?"

	"Actually we haven't spoken to Mrs. Fields yet."

	"Hmph."

	"We also have witnesses who place you at the farm the night Ira was
killed." That of course was a complete and total lie, but she didn't have
to know that.

	She almost swallowed the butt of her cigarette. "Look, little boy,
you'd better be damn careful where you step. I've swallowed babies like you
whole for breakfast and finished off with toast and marmalade."

	"Are you denying you were there?"

	"You're the detective, you figure it out."

	"That line won't work on me. I can always go to the police with
what I know." I was bluffing my way out onto a very fragile limb now. I
just hoped like hell it would break under my weight.

	She took a threatening step closer to me and I fought the urge to
step back. Her smoke-sour breath tickled my nostrils as her sharp eyes
drilled into mine. I don't know what she saw there, I would have guessed
abject terror but it must not have been, because whatever it was, it was
enough.

	"I was there. We fought. I left. End of story. He was still in one
piece when I left."

	She spun around and charged back inside, slamming the door behind
her. My knees buckled and I staggered back to my car, barely able to
believe what I'd just pulled off. I was very glad I wasn't in Betty Jean's
place just about now. She may not have any hair left after Nadine got
through taking her frustrations out on her.

	Once in the Mustang, I almost just drove directly back to the
office, I was so unnerved, but I finally came to the conclusion that since
I was this close I might as well go all the way. It's not like she was
going to answer her door anyway.

	I parked the car in the usual spot by the charred remains of the
Cohen house and walked across the field to the old lady's home. The door
swung open, seemingly by itself, before I was even to the steps. I froze in
mid-step. I was just about ready to book it back to my car when a tiny
figure materialized in the doorway. She was so pale that for a moment I
thought she was a spirit. It almost seemed I could see right through her,
but she was real and alive. Her hair was a snowy white cloud, so thin and
wispy I could see her pink scalp. Her skin, which appeared almost
translucent, was nearly the same color as the faded light blue of her thin
cotton dress. Even her blue eyes looked washed out, clouded by cataracts.

	"You're the detective boy?" she asked in a voice that was as thin
and brittle as she appeared.

	"Yes. Mrs. Fields?" I managed to squeak.

	"You'll have to speak up. I'm half-deaf these days."

	"Are you Mrs. Fields?" I asked again, louder this time.

	"That's right. Are you looking into that horrible business what
happened right here next to me?"

	"Yes, ma'am, I am."

	"That was a horrible thing, a horrible thing. I've been here on
this earth for nigh on eighty-five years, seventy of which I've spent in
this very house, and I ain't never been so close to something so horrible."

	"It was horrible," I agreed, "Would it be ok if I asked you some
questions?"

	"I don't know," she said uncertainly. "Would I be safe?"

	My heart almost broke at the fear in her voice. It seemed obscene
that a woman at her stage of life should have to be so afraid in her own
home.

	"I believe you would be safe, Mrs. Fields, but maybe it would be
better if we talked inside." At the volume I had to speak I felt like I was
broadcasting our conversation to the whole tri-state area.

	"I guess it would be ok," she consented, "but I don't know what
I'll be able to tell you that would be of any help."

	She stepped back to allow me in and I followed her into her home. I
stepped into the kitchen, first off. It looked as if it had been tacked on
as an after thought, which it probably had been considering most old homes
in the area had been built before kitchen's were a part of the house. It
was cluttered and worn, but clean. She led me into a dark hallway and a
musty, stale odor enveloped me. It smelled vaguely of decay underlying the
household scents of bacon, lavender perfume and powder. It was stiflingly
warm and damp, and I soon realized why as we came into her living room. All
the windows were shut tight with the curtains pulled across them. She had
barricaded herself inside the best she could.

	I got the impression that this was the only room she used
anymore. Everything she could have needed except for her bed and clothes
were crammed into the crowded room. An old yellow floral print sofa,
vintage 1950's, sat against one wall under a water-stained faded dime store
print. A large console TV was the room's focal point and she had pulled a
broken down recliner up close to it. A kerosene heater sat off to one side,
dusty with disuse in the summer heat.

	Mrs. Fields lowered herself carefully into the chair. It seemed to
be a painful process for her. I stood by helplessly, wishing there was
something I could do but knowing there wasn't.

	"I don't get many visitors these days," she told me once she was
settled, "Please, have a seat."

	I sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa. It was rock hard.

	"I never had any children," she continued, "We always wanted them
but I guess the Good Lord didn't see fit to give them to us. Me and my
husband I mean. His name was Edward. He was a good man, hard working, but
he never raised his voice nor his fist to me, not the 50 some years we were
married. He's passed on now, near 20 years ago I guess. I've been alone
ever since. You get used to it after a while. Still, it's nice to have a
visitor now and then."

	I felt as if I would burst into tears at any moment. I couldn't
speak for the lump in my throat. The best I could do was nod. Luckily that
was all the encouragement she needed.

	"Now, I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but that Ira Cohen, he
was nothing like my Edward. He was no good and I knew it from the day he
moved in next to me. He didn't treat that girl right, yelling and cussing
and carrying on. Makes no difference if she wasn't a good Christian woman,
no one deserves to be treated like that. Worse than a dog it was."

	"You saw them fight?" I asked, finding my voice at last.

	"Can't say I ever saw him hit her, if that's what you mean, but I
heard them many a time, even with my hearing like it is."

	'Arguing?"

	"You could call it that. Hollering and yelling, screaming the worst
obscenities you ever heard. And with the boy right there."

	"Caleb?"

	"Yes, I believe that was his name, from the Bible, you know. He was
a quiet boy, kept to himself mostly, never caused no trouble. I hate to
think he did that horrible thing, but they say he did so I guess he did
it. I suppose he just snapped. People do that, you know? Just snap, the
poor boy."

	"Did you hear Ira and the woman fight the night he died?" Even
though Nadine had already admitted it I wanted to see how accurate the old
lady's memory was.

	She thought a moment. "I do believe they did, now that you mention
it. Not one of their big fights, mind you, just some hollering and
cussing. Then she left."

	So far she was corroborating Nadine's story. "When did you notice
the fire? Was it long after she left?"

	"Yes, quite a while. The fire woke me up so it was well after
11:30. I don't sleep too well these days so I stay up to watch the late
news. She left hours before, when Wheel of Fortune was still on."

	"Did you notice anyone else around the house that night?"

	"Not that I can recall, but then I wasn't exactly watching it?"

	"Did you ever seen anyone else at the house any of other time,
except for Ira's lady friend?"

	She sat back in her chair and studied me with her filmy eyes. I
wondered what she was seeing. Finally she spoke. "I don't see as well as I
used to," she began, "one more thing gone along with my hearing and about a
dozen other things, but every once in a while I'd see the boy come sneaking
out of his house and across the back yard. He'd go around the side of the
barn and climb in through the window. Now I'm not a busy-body, but I
thought was a bit odd, you understand?"

	That explained the unopened door, I thought. I nodded and she
continued.

	"So I watched. It was never very long before another somebody would
come creeping across the field and climb through the very same window."

	I felt my pulse speed up. "This happened often?"

	"Fairly so."

	"Could you see who it was?" It was too much to hope for but I asked
anyway.

	"No, it was too far away and I could only tell it was a person."

	"You couldn't describe them?"

	"I'm sorry."

	"Can you tell me where they came from? Was it a boy or a girl? Big
or small? Anything at all?"

	"They came from out back, I can't tell you much more than that. It
was usually dark or close to it and they just kind of showed up. And I
always thought it was a boy for some reason, something about the way he
moved, but I can't say for sure. He was small though, that I know."

	My pulse was racing now fast and furious. Maybe, just maybe, I had
stumbled across our first big break.