Page 86 of A Week Away
“I just… I’m hoping you can help with Cass.”
“Sure.”
I was beginning to think someone was dying of cancer.
“Hector, the young man who was with Heather. You met him? Yesterday.”
“Yeah.”
“He says he’s Cassidy’s father.”
“Okay. Do you believe him?”
“I think so. I never thought Cassidy looked much like my family. But I thought that was the Sicilian in him. Dominant, you know?”
“Do you think your brother knew?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if he did. He loved Cassidy so much.”
“What about you?”
“Me? Well… oh, you’re asking... He’s my nephew. Always will be.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“It doesn’t seem fair not to. I mean, losing his mom, growing up without a dad. It doesn’t seem right not to tell him he still has a father.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?”
“I don’t know. I’m a little worried.”
And that was the point of telling me something that was none of my business. She wanted me to help with this if I could. I told her, “I’m hoping I’ll be able to go back to… home. Tomorrow, possibly.”
“I want to be the one to tell him. I want him to know that Dominick loved him, no matter. I’ll tell him soon.”
She looked bleak for a moment and then went back into the house. I went back in and straightened things up in the living and dining rooms. When I was done with that I went up to Cass’s room to tell him it was time to go. The room looked like Kansas after a tornado.
“What did Aunt Suzie want to talk to you about?”
“She wants me to encourage you to go to college.”
He stewed for a moment. “Well go ahead, say whatever you got to say.”
“It’s really not my business. If you want to be a plumber or a janitor, go ahead.”
“I’m not going to do either of those things.”
“I doubt Mr. Cray will keep you on. Not if we get him sent to prison. Speaking of which, we need to go.”
According to the clock on the dashboard of the Thunderbird it was 5:40 when we reached Top Dog. I drove up and down in front of the building until it was 5:46. Then we drove into the parking lot and circled the building. When I was sure Mr. Cray had gone home for the day, we parked. I opened the trunk and grabbed the bag with the hoodie and the gun. Then we entered the building.
We were quickly up the stairs to the second floor. Cass took out his keys and we were in the office. Mr. Cray’s office was a tiny bit larger than Joanne’s, and a bit nicer, mostly in that his fake wood was nicer fake wood than hers. There were a half a dozen photos of his family sitting on the credenza. His wife was pretty but washed-out looking—she didn’t have anything like the fire Joanne had. She was still alive though. Maybe fire wasn’t that desirable. There were four kids in the photos. The oldest boy wore a Spartans T-shirt. He was probably the original owner of the hoodie. He might have left it at the office while visiting. Or maybe he’d left it in his father’s car. I wasn’t sure about that.
Taking my new jacket off and laying it on the chair, I climbed up onto the desk, pushed one of the panels out of the way and reached down for the bag. I had clamped down on my jaw since raising my hands above my head was often painful. I promised myself another Tylenol as soon as I got down.
Before I took the bag, I stopped. “Your fingerprints are on the bag. Wrap the gun in the hoody and then hand them up to me.”
“What about fingerprints on the hoody?”
