on top of the small glass table. "But he called her grandma," he admitted. "And she was as good as a real one. She let us watch TV at her house when we could sneak away from… "He stopped, looked outside as if he were being watched, then continued. "Once she baked us a pineapple upside-down cake and let me and Timmy eat the whole thing."
"You've been in her apartment on Forty-Sixth Street? Next to the Jamaican restaurant?"
He nodded and told her more. "Once she brought Timmy to see a play. And she said she could help him, that he wouldn't have to do… some things anymore. That maybe she could get him a job somewhere. And then she promised to help me, too. She was going to give us tickets to Los Angeles, she said. We wanted to go where it was warm. She said it was a nice town."
"Los Angeles?" Auntie Lil asked. "Was that your idea or hers?"
"Hers. Timmy kept telling her he was scared because the winter was coming. He hated the cold weather. She said she'd send us to L.A."
"What happened to her?" Auntie Lil asked softly. "Do you know who killed her?"
His lower lip trembled and he shook his head furiously. "Don't know. First time I knew she was dead was when I saw those photos. We was supposed to see her the next day. It was my birthday and she had a present for me. Like she had one for Timmy on his birthday. But I never got the present." He stared into the tabletop. "She was nice to me. Said she could be my grandma, too. That it was okay to call her 'Grandma' like Timmy did. It was out on the streets that she'd been poisoned or something. But I don't know who'd do a thing like that."
"Did she ever tell you anything about herself?" Auntie Lil asked. "Where she was from? How she knew Timmy? Why she was being so nice?"
"Like what? Why you want to know?" He stared at Auntie Lil. The hard, suspicious expression flickered into view and disappeared. "She was nice to us 'cause she liked us."
"Don't you realize that she was murdered?" Auntie Lil asked gently. "Don't you want to find out who did it?"
The hard look came back for good. "I find out who, I'm gonna bust him," Little Pete said angrily. He jabbed with a fist for emphasis, imitating his television heroes and their cartoon courage.
"She never told you about herself?" Auntie Lil persisted. The little boy shook his head. "What about Timmy? Did he talk to her more? Can you get him to talk to me?"
Little Pete considered this. "I don't know. Timmy's scared. First I seen her dead in the photos. And then he seen an old lady coming out of her apartment and this man was with her, he thinks it was a cop. He ran away. Says he's real scared. And he's sad about Grandma dying. Real sad. He says something's going on and he don't understand it. But he won't even tell me what it is, so he ain't gonna talk to you none."
"Isn't going to talk to me at all," Auntie Lil corrected automatically, but her heart wasn't really in it. Little Pete tried on bad grammar like he tried on his street accent—sporadically and not very well. It was posturing and nothing more. Besides, her mind was on more important things. "What do you know about Timmy?" she asked. "Where is he from?"
Little Pete shrugged. He wasn't interested in people's pasts. He had run away to start a new life, not dwell on the old one. And so had his friend, Timmy. "I think he's from Texas," he finally offered. "That's all I know. Says his daddy was mean to him and his momma wouldn't stop it. Ran away. Came here. That's all I know."
"You can't tell me anything else about him?" Auntie Lil demanded.
"Well, he's kind of weird," Little Pete admitted. "Do I get dessert?" he added hopefully.
"Of course you do." She waved Billy over and soon Little Pete was digging into an enormous ice cream sundae, the treat bringing back the little boy in him. "What else do you know about Timmy?" Auntie Lil persisted.
Little Pete shrugged. "He's kind of spooky about religion and stuff like that. He likes to hang out near that church. But he never goes in, he says. Just kind of hangs around outside and looks in when they're praying."