At Home in the Dark Read online

  “Hallelujah,” Frank said.

  “Peter Lotts,” I said. “I guess he got mixed up with some bad people and was in the process of flipping on them with the Feds. The bad guys found out and took his daughter.”

  “And the dumbass didn’t tell anyone?” Hughes asked.

  I shook my head. “They warned him that if he called the police, his wife would be next. And after that it’d be his turn.”

  “Poor bastard’s downtown right now, blabbing his guts out,” Frank said. “Foster said he’s a mess. He had no clue they’d already killed his daughter. He thought she was alive all this time. He was trying to come up with enough cash for the ransom.”

  “But it was never about a pay-off? It was all about him flipping?” Hughes asked.

  “Bad guys hate rats,” Frank said.

  “Hey, speaking of rats, I meant to mention this earlier,” Hughes said. “My wife said she saw you with some pretty lady at Giovanni’s last Friday night. She was carousing with her book club in the bar. Said you two had a table in the corner and looked awfully chummy.”

  “Oh, she did, did she,” I said, staring at my partner and trying not to smile.

  “It’s late,” Frank grunted and stomped toward the car. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  “What’s his problem?” Hughes asked.

  I shrugged. “Hey, wait up, I have the keys.”

  Frank swung open the passenger door, looked our way, and flipped us a middle finger, then slammed the door behind him.

  • • •

  “Not one word,” he muttered, as I pulled onto the interstate.

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath. “What Einstein back there said . . . not one damn word about it.”

  “You mean about you and your . . . date?”

  “I mean it, Ben.”

  I put my hand up. “Okay, okay.”

  We drove in silence for a while, then:

  “It’s been three years since the divorce, Frank. It’s okay if you’ve found someone to pass the time with.”

  He grunted.

  “I’m happy for you.”

  Another grunt. Then:

  “We’ve only gone out on two real dates. But we play Scrabble online and she showed me how to text.”

  I looked at my partner, at the sudden vulnerability on his face, and wanted to pull over the car and hug him. I thought back to the divorce and how lost he’d been, how he’d started drinking again and with the drinking came the tears and the rage and the bars and the fights in the bars. The two in the morning phone calls to pick him up, the tearful confessions, and bloody fists slamming the walls of his apartment. Three years. It had taken three long years, but here he was playing Scrabble and texting with a woman.

  “I met her at the bookstore. She teaches history at the community college. Can you believe that?”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Karen. She’s a real nice lady. I don’t know what she sees in me.”

  “Probably the same good things I see in you, Frank.”

  He laughed in the darkness. “Jesus, don’t say that.”

  I smiled.

  “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Ben?”

  “Nope, I won’t say a word, except maybe to Katy.”

  He nodded. “I guess that’s okay.”

  “You know there’s nothing to feel embarrassed or awkward about, right?”

  “It’s not that,” he said, his voice going soft. “I just don’t want to . . . I don’t want to somehow jinx it.”

  “I get that,” I said, taking the White Marsh exit off the interstate.

  “Thanks for not being a jerk about it.”

  “No need to thank me,” I said. “But there is one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You were whistling.”

  “Jesus, Ben.”

  “Admit it.”

  “I’m not admitting a damn thing.”

  “Third time this week, too. It just came to me, the tune you were whistling. It was from Doctor Zhivago.”

  “Doctor Zhivago? I’ve never even seen that movie.”

  “You’re a big fat liar, Frank.”

  “You’re a big fat asshole, Ben.”

  The station house lights glowed in the distance. I slowed and switched on the turn signal.

  “You know what, I’m kinda hungry,” Frank said.

  I turned off the signal and drove on past. “Me too, partner, me too.”

  For Ed Gorman

  O, Swear Not by the Moon

  Jill D. Block

  ACT 1 He Said . . .

  Rich was sitting at his desk, and Chazz was sprawled across the beanbag chair. They each held a copy of the Ridgely Fells Report.

  “Hey, who’s this one?” Rich asked. “She’s new, right?”

  Chazz got up to see which picture Rich was looking at.

  “Which one, her? Maggie May Costello. Good God. Who would name their kid Maggie May?”

  “It says she’s from New York City but doesn’t say what school she came from. Tenth grade.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Chazz said, sitting back down. “I think I heard about her. She’s CeeCee’s daughter.”

  “CeeCee Castile?” Rich turned in his chair. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “I’m serious. I heard she was coming here.”

  “Oh, you heard?” Rich asked.

  “What, you think you’re the only person who hears stuff?”

  “So, who exactly did you hear from?”

  Chazz dropped his copy of the Report on the floor and picked up his phone. “You know that girl with the red hair? The tennis player? You know the one I mean. She hangs out with those girls from San Diego. Anyway, she told me. Her mother is on the board.”

  “So you’re telling me that CeeCee’s daughter is a student at Ridgely Fells?” Rich took another look at her picture. “Google it.”

  “Okay,” Chazz said. “Hang on. God, what is with the shit WiFi in this building? Okay. Here it is. We’ve got CeeCee tour dates. CeeCee’s new album. CeeCee at the VMAs. Oh, here. This says she had a daughter in 2003, so she’d be fifteen. That sounds right. Right?”

  “Big deal. That doesn’t mean—”

  “Ok, wait. What about this?” Chazz read from his phone, “Quote, while CeeCee has never confirmed paternity, there have been persistent rumors of a brief affair with Rod Stewart during his marriage to Rachel Hunter, unquote. Uh, hello? Maggie May?”

  “None of that proves that she’s CeeCee’s daughter,” Rich said, getting up. “She’s in Turner. Let’s go meet her.”

  She Said . . .

  “That was so nice,” Maggie said. “Don’t you think? For them to come by like that?”

  “Are you kidding?” Katie replied. “Yeah, it was nice. Seriously. Those guys are seniors. They have never even looked at me before, let alone spoken to me.”

  “Oh, so that thing about them being from the Welcoming Committee . . . ?”

  “Umm, yeah. There’s no such thing. I think they just wanted to see you in person.”

  “Really? That’s so . . . did I act like a total dork?”

  “You were fine. A little shy, maybe. But people like that. Everyone’s just really—”

  “That one guy, Rich? He’s really cute.”

  “Oh, totally. He’s definitely in the top ten. I would have said he was out of reach, but apparently not.” Katie continued, “Chazz, though? Total jerk.”

  “Yeah. But it’s like Rich thinks so too. Do you know what I mean? How he acts like he doesn’t even like him?”

  “He probably doesn’t,” Katie said, getting up from her desk and sitting down on her bed. “My guess is that he just hangs out with him for the Blueblood cred.”

  “What’s that?” Maggie asked.

  “Okay, so here’s how it is.” Katie stretched out on her bed, her legs crossed at the ankle, her hands behind her head. “People here are either Misfits or Bluebloods. The Bluebloods ar
e super rich, usually old money, mostly legacy, but also major corporate types. I mean, children of, obviously. But yeah, hedge funds, Fortune 500 companies, like that.”

  “So, like you,” Maggie said.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I’m fourth generation.”

  “Right.”

  “And the Misfits are also mostly super rich, but it’s different. New money, or shady money. Plus there are the scholarship kids. Oh, and the fuck-ups. You know, like, the kids who got thrown out of other schools.”

  “Oh, great,” Maggie said. “So I’m a Misfit?”

  “You? Uhh, no. You’re Spawn. Third category: Superstar Spawn. There aren’t very many of you. We get maybe one a year, if we’re lucky. Maybe not even. There’s a girl here, Christina? You’ll meet her. Anyway, her father used to be a pro golfer. Like, big time. All the dads were super psyched for parent’s weekend last year, like he was going to be helping them with their swings or something. But that guy’s nothing like CeeCee.”

  “Superstar Spawn. Okay. It could be worse.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s the best!” Katie said, sitting up. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my roommate. Seriously. This is going to make my whole year.”

  “I’m glad I could help. So umm, what makes Rich a Misfit?”

  “Shady money. I don’t know this for sure, but I think his father is connected.” When she saw the look on Maggie’s face Katie continued. “Connected. As in, in the mafia.”

  “Oh. Well, I just thought he was cute.”

  “He totally is. Plus, it’s not like being a Misfit is even a bad thing. The Bluebloods are mostly pretty dull. Except for me, I mean. But seriously, the Misfits are definitely the coolest and the most popular.”

  “Other than the Spawn?” Maggie asked.

  “Right. The Spawn are on their own level. See? You get it. Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  ACT 2 He Said . . .

  Dad, I think I’m in trouble. He closed his eyes, repeating the words in his head, in sync with the on-hold music. I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble.

  “What?” Emphasis on the T. It wasn’t a question. It was an order, a command, a countdown clock.

  “Oh, hey Dad. Hi.” Rich pictured him, hair combed back, double breasted suit, the knife-sharp edge of a white handkerchief just poking out of his breast pocket.

  “What is it? She pulled me out of a meeting.” He was probably standing at his secretary’s desk, Rich imagined, using her phone, stretching the cord across her keyboard, invading her space, while she sat there pretending to be invisible, watching, listening.

  “Yeah, I know. JoAnn told me— I mean, I know you’re busy. I just—”

  “You just what? Richie, I can’t do this right now.”

  Shit, just say it.

  “Okay. I umm. I think that I—”

  “Speak.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Rich said. “I’m sorry to bother you. I think—” The words he’d practiced were gone.

  “You think. You think what? For Christ’s sake. Can you understand that I do not have time for this shit today?”

  “I know. It’s just—” Rich looked up, making sure that he was still alone in the room, that the door was still closed. “There’s this, uh, girl,” his voice lowering almost to a whisper.

  “Jesus Christ. Call your mother.”

  Wait. Don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up.

  “I would, but I thought— It’s just that— I didn’t want—”

  “Richie, I’ve got a conference room full of lawyers charging me by the goddamn tenth of an hour. I don’t have time for your girl problems.”

  “Yeah, ok. I know. I’m sorry. It’s not really—”

  “You’re eighteen years old. Whatever it is, deal with it.”

  “I know. I’m trying, but I really don’t— Dad, I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ve got ten seconds and I’m hanging up.”

  “Okay. Sorry.” Say it. Just say it. “I umm, I think I raped a girl.”

  “You think—? Jesus, fuck. Call Roland.” Click. The call was over.

  She Said . . .

  “Maggie! Hi, Doll. I’m so glad you called. I was just thinking about you. Are you getting all settled in?” Maggie could hear the muffled street noise in the background, the beep beep beep of a truck backing up.

  “Pretty much, yeah. I just, umm, I wanted to thank you for driving me up here. And, like, for helping me unpack and everything.” She looked around her room, at the pink throw rug on the floor, the Broadway show posters framed and hung on the walls, the bookcase filled with the books she couldn’t bear to leave behind.

  “Are you kidding me? I loved it. Besides, isn’t that what being an aunt is all about? I get all the glory, and none of the stretch marks.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Maggie wondered how many times had she said that.

  “Hey, so I was just looking at your mom’s Instagram. It looks like Tokyo is cuckoo for CeeCee. Have you spoken to her?”

  She’d seen all of it. The Instagram stories, the tweets, the TMZ reports.

  “Yeah. I mean, no. I haven’t heard from her.” Hashtag CeeCee. “I read about the show. It sounds like it went great. I was going to text her, but then I decided I didn’t want to bother her. You know how she is when she’s on tour. Like, especially after a big night?”

  “Seriously big. Can you believe the Dome holds something like 55,000 people? It’s nuts. Anyway, I talked to her right after I dropped you off. And you saw that I sent her those pictures of you and your room. I copied you, didn’t I? She really wishes she could have been there to set you up.”

  “It’s okay.” The tour was planned more than a year ago. It would have cost a fortune to cancel. Blah blah blah. “I get it. The show must go on.” Hashtag Mom.

  “Sweetie, are you ok? Taxi, hey! Sorry, honey, hang on a sec. Hi, thanks. Here, let me just—” The car door closed, muting the background noise. “I’m going to 84th and Riverside. Okay, hon. I’m back. Oof, it’s hot out. Anyway, you sound a little, I don’t know, homesick maybe?”

  “I’m ok. It’s weird though, you know? Being new? Everyone here already—”

  “Can you just take Madison and then go across on 86th? Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “It’s nothing. Just that everybody who’s my year already knows each other. Pretty much no one ever starts in 10th grade.”

  “Do they know who your mom is? That should help break the ice.”

  “Believe me, they know. Everyone keeps pointing and whispering, and then they stop talking when I walk by.”

  “I’m sorry. That must be annoying. But people will get used to it. I really do think you’re going to love it there.”

  “You’re right. It’s fine. I mean I think so, too.”

  “I bet you’re going to make some great friends there. Once they stop all the pointing and whispering.”

  “I know. My roommate’s really nice. Katie, who you met? She knows everyone here, and how everything works. I’d be pretty lost without her.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. It sounds like she’s a good friend to have.”

  “Plus, there’s this, umm, this boy.”

  “Oh yeah? A boy you like? That was fast.”

  “We just met. Obviously. But he’s really nice.”

  “Tell me more.”

  ACT 3 He Said . . .

  “I spoke to your father. I need you to tell me what happened.”

  “I thought it doesn’t matter what happened,” Rich said. “She’s fifteen, so it’s statutory rape.”

  “Tell me again where you went to law school?” Roland asked, impatient.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean— I googled it.”

  “Oh, good. You googled it. Next time, google it before you do it. Now tell me what happened.”

  “So it’s not automatic? I thought—”

  “Rich, just tell me what happened.”

  “Okay
. We were hanging out, just talking and stuff. And then we were, you know, fooling around. But my asshole friends came looking for me and because they were loud and stupid and it was after curfew, Security followed them into the Tower. And then, all of a—”

  “The Tower?”

  “It’s the building where most of the classrooms are. Other than Sciences which they— Anyway, all of a sudden this guy Walter, he’s one of the security guys here, came out onto the roof and—”

  “The roof.”

  “Roof, terrace, whatever. It’s like a roofdeck. There’s furniture and stuff, like outdoor furniture, but it’s just for teachers. Kids aren’t supposed to go up there but sometimes we do. There’s a door, around the back by the dumpsters? And it’s never locked. Anyway, it’s called the Tower because it’s the tallest building on campus, and from the roof you can see all the way out to the lake.”

  “Go back. I need you to start at the beginning.”

  “Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure how much— Okay, from the beginning. After dinner, everyone went to Assembly, which started out exactly the same as last year. And every year. The Dean spends forever going through the PSL, even thought it’s the—”

  “PSL?”

  “Policies for Student Life. You know, like the academic honor code, dorm curfews, that kind of thing. But anyway, there’s this new thing this year. They’ve always had a zero tolerance prohibition against smoking, drinking and drugs, but he added this whole other thing, which is new. The Intimate Contact policy statement. You know, about consent and stuff.”

  Roland didn’t say anything, so Rich continued.

  “It was pretty awkward, you know? To be sitting there with everyone while he was talking about inappropriate touching, and how no means no? It felt like it went on forever. When it finally ended, there was only about an hour before curfew. Anyway, I saw Maggie while she was walking out and I went and caught up to her. She was with her roommate and some other girls, but they sort of sped up or something, like they were letting us be alone. You know, together. So I figured that meant she liked me. Like, that maybe they had talked about it.”

  “Right. Then what?”

  “We just walked around for a while. People kept coming up to us, kids I know. And at first it was like they were just saying hey, asking about my summer, that kind of thing. But it was pretty obvious people were just trying to get a look at her. It seemed like it made her uncomfortable. So I asked her what it was like, you know, to be CeeCee’s daughter.”