Read Online Always Say Goodbye: A Lew Fonesca Mystery by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart M. Kaminsky
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driving anywhere. He didn’t like driving in Chicago in particular. These weren’t streets. They were bumper-to-bumper miles of memories. He accepted Franco’s offer.
The phone had rung while they were still at the table and Franco had answered.
“Franco … got it … fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”
He hung up, said, “Work,” and kissed Angie on the cheek as she patted his hand. “Lewis, see you in the morning.”
And he was gone.
“Can I ask?” Angie had said, folding her hands on the table when Franco had left.
“Yes.”
“You going to see the rest of the family?”
“Not this time.”
“Uncle Tonio?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
He started to reach for the last baklava on the plate and
changed his mind. What he really wanted was a DQ chocolate cherry Blizzard. He knew his comfort food and that was it, something he had not tasted before Catherine was killed.
“You’re thinking about giving up, aren’t you?” Angie said. “Thinking it wasn’t such a great idea, your coming here?”
“Something like that,” Lew said.
“Don’t,” she said.
She got up, came around the table, hugged her brother from behind and kissed the top of his head. There was nothing more to say. Not now. He helped Angie clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then he went to Teresa’s room where he called Ann Horowitz.
“It’s me,” he told her when she answered the phone.
“We start with a joke,” she said. “You have one?”
“How many advisors to the president does it take to change a lightbulb?”
“I don’t know, Lewis,” said Ann Horowitz. “How many?”
“I don’t know. The president has appointed a committee to investigate and they’ll let us know the answer as soon as possible.”
It was almost ten at night in Chicago, which meant it was almost eleven in Sarasota. Ann and her husband went to bed around midnight and Lew had been told he could call until then. Now he said, “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You are trying to find out how your wife was killed,” she said, “and who was responsible.”
“You’re eating,” Lew said.
“Frozen Twix and green tea,” she answered.
“How is it?”
“So-so,” she said, “but I like to try new things.”
“I don’t,” Lew said.
“Where did you get the joke? Did you make it up?”
“No,” he said. “A Greek hit man told it to me. His mother baked us Greek pastries.”
“Good?”
“Yes,” he said.
“The trick is not just in the ingredients,” said Ann. “It’s in sharp, even cuts of the phyllo.”
“She killed her husband and his cousin with a very sharp baking knife,” he said.
“Tonight?” she asked calmly.
“No, about six years ago. Tell me again, what am I doing here?”
“I assume you’re not asking a what-is-the-meaning of-life kind of question.”
“No.”
“Good,” she said. “You are there to bring to an end a part of your grief and to come back and tell me whatever it is you have not yet told me.”
“I …”
“Not all of it,” she went on. “I will not deprive you of your grief and depression. Without them you fear you would be looking into dark emptiness, that there would be no more Lewis Fonesca for Lewis Fonesca believes he is defined by his grief and depression. I know, not because of my brilliance as a therapist but because you have told me repeatedly. I don’t need to have you do it again, so I’ve done it for you. You are a tough town, Lewis.”
“I know.”
“It’s not a compliment. Okay,” she said with a sigh, taking a crunchy bite of Twix. “I’ll give you some reasons for finding out what happened to Catherine. You pick one or more or all of them. Ready? No, of course you’re not ready, but you need the halftime pep talk. So, first, you owe it to her. It’s selfish to cling
to the darkness and videotapes on your cot, memorizing the lines from Mildred Pierce . Your Catherine deserves to lie in peace with the final line written by
The phone had rung while they were still at the table and Franco had answered.
“Franco … got it … fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”
He hung up, said, “Work,” and kissed Angie on the cheek as she patted his hand. “Lewis, see you in the morning.”
And he was gone.
“Can I ask?” Angie had said, folding her hands on the table when Franco had left.
“Yes.”
“You going to see the rest of the family?”
“Not this time.”
“Uncle Tonio?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
He started to reach for the last baklava on the plate and
changed his mind. What he really wanted was a DQ chocolate cherry Blizzard. He knew his comfort food and that was it, something he had not tasted before Catherine was killed.
“You’re thinking about giving up, aren’t you?” Angie said. “Thinking it wasn’t such a great idea, your coming here?”
“Something like that,” Lew said.
“Don’t,” she said.
She got up, came around the table, hugged her brother from behind and kissed the top of his head. There was nothing more to say. Not now. He helped Angie clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then he went to Teresa’s room where he called Ann Horowitz.
“It’s me,” he told her when she answered the phone.
“We start with a joke,” she said. “You have one?”
“How many advisors to the president does it take to change a lightbulb?”
“I don’t know, Lewis,” said Ann Horowitz. “How many?”
“I don’t know. The president has appointed a committee to investigate and they’ll let us know the answer as soon as possible.”
It was almost ten at night in Chicago, which meant it was almost eleven in Sarasota. Ann and her husband went to bed around midnight and Lew had been told he could call until then. Now he said, “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You are trying to find out how your wife was killed,” she said, “and who was responsible.”
“You’re eating,” Lew said.
“Frozen Twix and green tea,” she answered.
“How is it?”
“So-so,” she said, “but I like to try new things.”
“I don’t,” Lew said.
“Where did you get the joke? Did you make it up?”
“No,” he said. “A Greek hit man told it to me. His mother baked us Greek pastries.”
“Good?”
“Yes,” he said.
“The trick is not just in the ingredients,” said Ann. “It’s in sharp, even cuts of the phyllo.”
“She killed her husband and his cousin with a very sharp baking knife,” he said.
“Tonight?” she asked calmly.
“No, about six years ago. Tell me again, what am I doing here?”
“I assume you’re not asking a what-is-the-meaning of-life kind of question.”
“No.”
“Good,” she said. “You are there to bring to an end a part of your grief and to come back and tell me whatever it is you have not yet told me.”
“I …”
“Not all of it,” she went on. “I will not deprive you of your grief and depression. Without them you fear you would be looking into dark emptiness, that there would be no more Lewis Fonesca for Lewis Fonesca believes he is defined by his grief and depression. I know, not because of my brilliance as a therapist but because you have told me repeatedly. I don’t need to have you do it again, so I’ve done it for you. You are a tough town, Lewis.”
“I know.”
“It’s not a compliment. Okay,” she said with a sigh, taking a crunchy bite of Twix. “I’ll give you some reasons for finding out what happened to Catherine. You pick one or more or all of them. Ready? No, of course you’re not ready, but you need the halftime pep talk. So, first, you owe it to her. It’s selfish to cling
to the darkness and videotapes on your cot, memorizing the lines from Mildred Pierce . Your Catherine deserves to lie in peace with the final line written by
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