Part 17 (2/2)

”Oh,” Poppy said. ”Oh, dear, is this Manny?”

”Manuel Valdes, yes it is.”

”Oh. Manny. Well, h.e.l.lo.”

”h.e.l.lo. Who is this, please?”

”Well, it's me,” she said. ”It's Veronica Landry, your sister's friend.”

Silence.

”It's Poppy,” she said. ”The redhead.”

He laughed, but it wasn't an unpleasant laugh. ”Poppy. Right.”

”I need to see you. On law enforcement business.” She hadn't known what else to call it. ”May I come to your police station tomorrow?”

”Sorry. I'm off duty tomorrow.”

”Oh,” she said again. ”Well.”

”How about Friday?”

By Friday she might have changed her mind, retreated into her Poppy, scared-little-girl mode. ”No,” she said, ”Friday might be too late.”

For a few seconds, Manny said nothing. Then he asked, ”Where are you now?”

”In Mount Kasteel. At my mother's.”

”Do you know how to get to Brooklyn?”

Poppy, of course, had no clue. But she did have one of those navigation things that Duane had made sure were installed in both of their cars so they ”could always find one another,” he'd said. More than once she'd thought it was really so he could find her when he needed an advance on his allowance. ”If you give me an address, I can find it.” At least she'd paid attention when Duane taught her how to use it.

Manny rattled off an address, then added, ”I hope you like kids.”

”Kids?”

”It's my house. I have three kids, and they can get pretty loud.”

Poppy told herself it didn't matter that Manny had three kids and no doubt a wife. She was not going to do what she was going to do in order to win a man...or even to get a date. The truth was, he was the first police officer she'd known whom she felt she could trust. And it was high time she set a few things straight.

For her own sake.

For Elinor's sake.

For Momma's sake, too.

She went into Momma's house and did what she needed to do. Then she entered Manny's address into her car's navigation system and headed for Brooklyn, alone.

Thirty.

A picture of the Virgin Mary hung over the television, which was tuned in to a program where people were dressed like they lived on a deserted island and were playing some sort of game. None of them appeared to have recently showered, and all were shouting.

Two boys (teenagers?) were sprawled in front of the television. One of them wore a sweats.h.i.+rt with a hood pulled up over his head.

”Gentlemen,” Manny said, ”we have a visitor. A lady.”

The boys hauled themselves to their oversized feet. They were both taller than Manny. They had dark hair and dark eyes and wide, sparkling smiles.

”This is my eldest, Enrico, and my youngest, Alejandro. Boys, this is Veronica.”

They took turns shaking her hand and said, ”Yo,” or a ver sion thereof. Manny said he also had a daughter, Marisa, who was at a friend's.

”They're twelve, thirteen, and fifteen,” he said. ”And their sole purpose in life is to drive me insane.”

”That's right, dude,” the eldest jested. ”And don't you forget it.”

The boys laughed and resumed their positions in front of the TV. Manny rolled his eyes and looked at Poppy. ”I am blessed,” he said, and she could tell that he meant it.

They returned to the narrow entry hall, where Manny picked up the large satchel she'd brought.

”Follow me,” he said, and so she did, through a French door that, like the rest of the house, was framed in dark wood. ”It's an old house,” Manny said. ”It's a little tired, but it's home.”

She wondered what it was like for Manny's kids to have a father who lived under the same roof, a father who protected them, loved them, every day. For all the money Poppy's father had left Momma, it hadn't filled up the hole Poppy felt whenever she saw kids with their dad.

The room they went into was too small for the overstuffed sofa and the wide wooden desk and had the aura of a man. In place of end tables, there were stacks of magazines with book bags teetering on top. Manny grabbed a bunch of newspapers off the sofa and gestured for her to sit down. He moved to the other side of the desk and sat. Behind him was a wall-length bookcase that held more magazines, books, and a number of trophies, though Poppy couldn't make out what sport the little gold man on top played.

The trophies, however, reminded her of her satchel.

”So,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. ”To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She'd sat too far back on the cus.h.i.+ony couch, so she had to struggle to move forward to open her bag. ”I think my husband is blackmailing my friend, Elinor, because he knows I'm a thief,” she said. ”Actually, at first I thought he was sleeping with her, too, but now I think it's just blackmail.” She dipped into the satchel, surprised that her hands were not trembling. Then, one after another, extracted the trinkets. ”This is from the Lord Winslow,” she said, pulling out the call bell. ”And this from the Waldorf, and this from the Plaza before it was turned into condos. That was a shame, don't you think?”

In less than a minute she had a dozen of Momma's treasures lined up on Manny's wooden desk.

”There are more back at Momma's,” she said when she was finished. ”Now you'll have to arrest me.”

Manny cleared his throat and inspected the collection a.s.sembled before him. ”Well,” he said. ”Before I arrest you, I'd like you to explain what this has to do with your friend and the half million dollars.”

She adjusted her shawl and curled a few strands of hair. Then she took a long breath and launched into a full explanation of Duane and his brother and the old silver mine and the money they needed to get it going again.

”It's too much coincidence,” she added.

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