Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

“No idea,” said Rita, and Odelia could see that the woman wasn’t lying. She had absolutely no idea what that brooch was, or where it had come from.

Odelia put her phone away. “Thank you so much, Rita. Now, to get me launched on the investigation, tell me everything you can remember about your father’s final days, weeks, or even months. Anything you think might shed light on his disappearance.”

“On his murder,” said Rita quietly. “Yes, of course. Anything you need. Anything at all.”

Chapter 15

“You see, we were a loving and a warm family, as I’ve already said, but of course, like in any family, there were tensions,” Rita said as she got up. “Do you want some tea? I don’t know if you remember this, but I’m an expert on weird herbal concoctions.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Odelia, who did remember. And as Rita disappeared into the kitchen, she threw her mind back to the time Rita Baker had been her neighbor. She distinctly remembered Rita as a cool neighbor, who never failed to say hi, or to babysit when Mom and Dad went out on the weekends. Rita had quickly become a friend of the family, and Odelia had been in and out of her house often, spending many a night on the couch watching TV together. She remembered her as warm-hearted and fun. Happy to babysit because she didn’t have kids herself, even though she always wanted them. She never married, though, and the family she’d hoped to have never materialized. She had boyfriends, though, which Odelia would see sitting out on the deck having breakfast in the morning. Whenever Rita babysat she would never have a boyfriend over, though. She was strict that way, which is why Marge and Tex entrusted her with their kid so much.

“So I have the usual, rosehip and linden and chamomile,” said Rita, offering her a selection of teas. “And then I have my special blends,” she added with a smile, and spirited a second box into her hands. “This is the stuff I keep for special occasions.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” said Odelia.

“Nonsense. We’re old friends, you and I, and if I can’t share my special blend with you, who can I share it with? Besides, Tom, bless his heart, hates tea with a vengeance. Devil’s brew, he calls it. He only drinks coffee, and especially all of that horrible Starbucks stuff. I’m afraid Wall Street has seduced him to the dark side.” She laughed.

“Does he have kids?” asked Odelia, vaguely remembering Tom.

“No kids. Staunch bachelor, that one. And I don’t think he’ll change now. My little brother is seventy-one, if you can believe it. I can hardly believe it myself. Or the fact that I’m seventy-six now.”

Odelia smiled, and selected one of the oriental blends she hoped she’d like.

“Excellent choice, young lady,” said Rita primly, and disappeared into the kitchen again. Soon Odelia could hear the kettle boiling, and Rita called out “So how is your grandmother?”

“She’s fine. Acting a little weird from time to time, but nothing we can’t handle.”

“You mean she hasn’t changed? Why doesn’t that surprise me? Do you remember she used to read you ghost stories? And when you couldn’t sleep afterward you had to go and sleep with your mom and dad because you were afraid of all the monsters?”

Odelia laughed. She hadn’t remembered but did now. “Gran always loved stirring up trouble,” she said as Rita returned, carrying a teapot and cups and saucers on a platter.

She placed them on the coffee table along with a box of cookies. “So as I said, my mom and dad fought from time to time, but never anything too serious. The usual stuff, you know. I do remember they used to fight about my dad associating with the wrong crowd, as my mother called it. Those unsavory work friends I mentioned.”

Odelia picked out a cookie and took a sip from her tea. She closed her eyes. “This stuff is amazing.”

“Delish, right? I love it. Got it from a little tea shop in Manhattan that my brother once showed me. He knows I like my teas.”

“You and your brother are pretty close, huh?”

“Oh, yes, we are. I guess it’s the curse of being left without a dad. Either you drift apart as a family, or you stick together. We stuck together like glue after Dad disappeared. Became thick as thieves, the three of us, and now, after Mom passed, the two of us.”

“When did your mom pass?”

“Um, ten years ago? She was ninety-four, and doing great right up until the end. She was in a nursing home. Well, you would know. She moved there when your mom and dad bought the house.”

“She was there for a long time, then?”

“Yeah, fifteen years. She never thought she’d last that long, but she had a great spirit and was blessed with excellent health. So we were lucky we had her for so long, my brother and I.” She smiled as she remembered her mother with obvious affection.

“So… these unsavory people your dad associated with, do you think they could have had something to do with his death?”

“I have no idea. I just know it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Of course, they’ll all be gone now, so it will be hard to find out anything about them. I just remember he was away a lot at some point, and usually with the same crew of people. And Mom always forbade them the house, arguing she didn’t want their bad influence to rub off on us.”

“Do you remember any names? Places they used to hang out? Anything like that?”

Rita nodded slowly as she thought back. “Um… They used to have a place where they met after work, shooting pool and hanging out. The Rusty Beaver, I think it was called. It’s not there anymore, though. It’s a flower shop these days, of all things. And the names…” She shook her head. “I’d have to ask my brother. He’s aces with names.”

“Well, please ask him and I’ll see if I can find out some more about these people.”

“Do you think the police will look into my dad’s murder?”

“I’m sure they will. Even though it’s a cold case, they’ll want to know what happened.”

“It’s going to be hard, though, right? It’s been…” She closed her eyes, then nodded. “Fifty-five years. Hard to imagine it’s been so long. I was twenty-one when he disappeared, still living at home, and Tom was sixteen. My mom used to burn a candle for dad each year on the anniversary of his disappearance, telling us it might bring him back. A light to guide him home.” She smiled as tears trickled down her cheeks again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I can’t imagine how I would feel if my dad suddenly walked out and never came back. And fifty-five years later I discover he was actually murdered.”

“Yeah, it’s tough, not knowing. That’s the hardest part. I sometimes think it would have been easier if we’d have found him immediately, but of course now I’ll never know.”

“So… your brother will get back to me about the names thing?” said Odelia, feeling slightly embarrassed to keep asking her reporter questions while the woman was in obvious distress.

But Rita pulled herself together, wiped away her tears and nodded. “I’ll call him now. I want to be the one to tell him about what happened.”

Odelia nodded. She’d taken out her notebook. “Your dad used to work for Courtyard Living, a landscaping company. Any idea if they’re still in business?”

“They might be.”

“I’ll have a dig. They might have an archive. Old personnel files.”

“Might be worth pursuing,” Rita agreed.

“Anything else that might be important?”

“Can’t think of anything right now, but if something occurs to me that I think might shed some light on his disappearance—his murder—I’ll call you, okay?”

“Please do,” said Odelia. “And please call me even if you don’t have anything to share and just want to talk.”