Page 11 of The Happy Month
“I only met her once. Patrick brought her to the house to meet my parents. It must have been 1948, maybe. Thanksgiving or Christmas. I’m not sure. I was already in college, so I’d met Jack. It wasn’t serious yet so I wouldn’t have asked him to dinner.”
“What do you remember about Vera?”
“Oh, she was a beauty. And they were in love. The way they looked at each other. It was like they had a secret that only they shared. They smiled and giggled through dinner.”
“Do you know why the engagement wasn’t announced in the newspapers?”
“Well, they were taking it slow. She was only a few years older than me. And Patrick wanted to give her time to grow up some. Which I think is awfully wise. I started having kids so young that I missed a lot. Oh, I didn’t think that then, but I do now. I wish that we could be nineteen more than once. Like two or three times. No oneneedsto be sixty-five. I mean, people started telling me I was old at thirty, which means I’ve been old for most of my life.”
“Did he buy her an engagement ring?”
“He must have. I mean, I didn’t see it when they came to dinner. I remember he said it was being made. He’d designed it himself, you see. I couldn’t imagine Jack doing something like that. My ring was large but nothing to write home about. Which doesn’t mean Jack wasn’t a wonderful husband. He was, he really was.”
“So did you see a lot of your brother?”
“I’m a terrible sister. I mean, six children and then a stable to run. No, I didn’t see him often. Not until the last ten years. After Jack died. I started to make more of an effort. Patrick was already starting to decline, though… I suppose I was there when he needed me.”
“Can you tell me about the things he’s saying that disturb you?”
“He says he killed her. He says, ‘I killed Vera.’ I’ve tried asking him to explain but he gets agitated easily.”
We were in the Cahuenga Pass. We’d crossed the bridge over the 101 and were on the west side. I was gripping the door as subtly as possible.
“I found a book at the library calledCanyon Girl. Have you heard of it?”
“I have. I’ve even read parts of it.”
“Does it mention your brother? I couldn’t find his name in the index.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it wouldn’t. The author, terrible little man, contacted us several times. Finally, Jack threatened to sue if he mentioned any of us. I mean, the whole thing was ridiculous. I think he made the entire book up.”
“What kind of law did your husband practice?”
“Jack was the kind of lawyer who was always in the background doing things for his clients, very rich, very powerful people. I could never quite put my finger on what he did for them, but he charged a fortune for it whatever it was. Now Patrick was an entertainment lawyer. Contracts and things. That I understood.”
“What was it like when you found out Vera had been killed?”
“Oh, it was awful. Jack and I had already gotten married, and I was pregnant with my first having the worst morning sickness. You know, now that I’m thinkingabout it, Vera wasn’t at the wedding. She was supposed to come, but she’d gotten sick. Stomach flu, food poisoning. Something with vomit.”
“I’m guessing the police interviewed your brother.”
“My goodness, I have no idea. Would they have done that?”
“Boyfriends, fiancés, husbands. They’re usually the first suspect.”
“Oh, but this was so violent, so horrible what was done to her. No one who cared about her would have done those things. They couldn’t.”
I decided not to contradict her on that. We were passing the Hollywood Bowl.
“Last year, my girls got together and took me to Palm Springs to see Frank Sinatra at a hotel there. I mean, he’s a fat old man now, but my God, he’s still got it.”
“What did your parents think of Vera?”
“Oh, well, they thought it was horrible that both of their children were marrying Poles. Even though we explained that she was Czech, they just never remembered that. She barely had an accent at all. I remember that. And she smelled lovely. Patrick was destroyed of course.”
“By her perfume?”
“Oh my God, no. Don’t be ridiculous. You asked about what it was like when Vera was killed. Patrick was like a ghost. And he was still that way at Janie’s christening. I wanted to ask him to be the godfather, but I was afraid it would remind him of Vera. I mean, if she’d been alive, I’d have asked them both. I asked a friend of mine from USC and her husband. Not that they did much. I haven’t seen them in years. And Janie certainly hasn’t.”
