mother . . . and he gave them to her.”
“No.” I dismissed her theory without hesitation. “Sal wouldn’t do that.”
“He wouldn’t kill her?” Esther asked, incredulous. “Sal wouldn’t kill Maude?” She laughed softly, like I was a bigger fool than she thought. “He wanted her and she refused him. You said so yourself.”
“No . . . he might . . . kill her,” I admitted softly. “But he wouldn’t have given her earrings to Theresa.”
“Why?”
“He would have kept them or thrown them in the bay. But he wouldn’t have given them to Theresa. He hardly even notices her.”
Esther shook her head, like she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t know Sal. She didn’t know Theresa. Not like I did.
“I promise you . . . it isn’t what you’re thinking, Baby Ruth. It isn’t.”
She released her suspicions on a heavy sigh and picked up the photo, and we left the apartment, but I caught her fingering her earrings throughout the evening, her face pensive, the gift ruined.
Berry said the photograph of Bo Johnson and Maude Alexander was perfect for the album, and we ended up posing for pictures of our own for the first half hour of the party.
“Don’t smile,” George insisted from behind his camera. “It looks all wrong. And you all need your hats. Lament needs a cigarette . . . or maybe a cigar. He only has one look.”
“What look is that?” I asked, taking the cigar someone handed me and putting it between my lips.
“Gangster,” Money supplied, and George nodded in agreement. “If ya can’t beat ’em . . .”
I ended up sitting in the center, Esther to my right, Money on my left, Lee Otis and Alvin behind me. Everybody was angry or uncomfortable, and George said it was gold.
“We’ll put it in black-and-white and give it an aged look, like the other one,” Berry said, a drink in his hand and a smile on his face. “Classic.”
I asked Berry if I could make a call, and he waved me toward his office. I left a buck on his calendar to cover the cost. I dialed Sal’s house. No one picked up. I stewed for ten seconds and then called La Vita.
Sticks answered, the muted sounds of merriment behind him.
“It’s Benny,” I heard him say, and a minute later Fat Tony came on the line and the noise quieted.
“Benny. Merry Christmas, kid. You okay?”
“I’m good, Tony. I need to talk to my uncle.”
“You just missed him. He and Theresa are having dinner with the girls.”
“Without you and Sticks?”
“We got Nicky filling in for your pop. Driving. He’s good, Nicky. Not as good as your dad. But good. We all miss him, Benny. Especially Sal. How you holdin’ up?”
“I’m all right,” I lied. I wasn’t even sure what I would say to Sal or why I had called. I wanted to know if he’d heard anything from Alexander, whether he knew about Pittsburgh, and what I should expect in Chicago. He’d told me to stay put and I’d done the opposite; he wouldn’t be happy to hear from me.
“Hey, uh, Benny,” Tony said, his voice deepening like he’d dropped his chin. “They . . . uh . . . they found Carla’s body. Washed up on the banks not too far from Sands Point. Sad deal.” He cleared his throat. “They think maybe she had a little too much to drink and walked out on the pier. Fell in or somethin’.”
I must have been silent too long.
“Benny, you there?” Tony asked.
“When?” I asked.
“They found her a few days ago. But they’re saying she was in the water for a while.”
“Why are you tellin’ me this, Tony?”
“Well . . . the cops are askin’ questions, you know. Nothin’ to worry about. But someone mentioned your name. Said they saw her with you at La Vita.”
“Saw me with her?” I gasped.
“Yeah. Here at La Vita. Hey. No worries. When you get back in town, they might want to ask you some questions, is all. Just thought I’d say, heads up.”
The room was spinning, and I closed my eyes.
“I’ll have Sal call you. He know where to reach you? Or maybe you can just talk to him in Chicago.”
“You and Sticks gonna be in Chicago, Tony?”
“We’ll be there, kid. And for the record, I think you’re doing the right thing.”
Everything was a riddle. Pop used to be that way over the phone, like he was convinced someone was listening. It was all coded words and inferred meanings. I didn’t know what