Chains cut into ice, clanking rhythmically as he pulled out of the Simpsons’ driveway and followed the street to Midlothian Turnpike and soon was chopping through I-95 North and taking the West Gary Street exit. Very few people were out, and really, no one should have been. Marino kept his speed down to no more than forty miles per hour~
“Why are you doing all this for us?” Mrs. Simpson quietly asked.
“You got your seat belt fastened?” It was more an order than an inquiry, as he eyed her in the rearview mirror.
“Just like it was a minute ago,” she said.
“He made me an omelet this morning,” Jimmy bragged to his mother. “With cheese in it and jelly. And he likes Cocoa Puffs, too. I saw a box on top of his refrigerator. He’s really cool!”
“Cocoa Puffs aren’t good for you.” Mrs. Simpson sounded tired when she spoke. “Sure they are, if you slice a banana on top of ‘em,” Marino answered, as he carefully turned onto a narrow, tree-lined street.
He stopped at the guard booth and rolled down his window to greet Roy, who was still on duty this snowy winter’s night.
“Keeping trouble out?” Marmno asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Just these Cadillacs sliding everywhere.” Roy shook his head. “One of them’s gonna hit the gate, I just know it.”
“I guess if you live in a high-dollar neighborhood like this, the weather don’t affect you, right?”
Roy laughed, glad that none of the homeowners, who paid his salary through
their monthly dues, could hear him having fun at their expense. “You eaten yet?” Marino asked him.
“Not ‘till get off at midnight.”
“You hungry?”
“I can’t go anywhere,” Roy reminded him. “Don’t need to,” Marino told him.
The windows were lit up in Scarpetta’s well-appointed home, and now that Marino’s pickup was added to the cars in the drive, it was beginning to look like a party or a tow lot. Mrs. Simpson almost lost her balance when she stepped out on the running board. She had never been in a neighborhood like this, much less invited inside a house so fine. She was suddenly intimidated, but the lady who opened the front door dispelled any insecurities or doubts. A Christmas green apron covered her slacks and turtleneck, and she was handsome, blond, blue-eyed, and somewhere in the middle years of her life. Her smile was warm and kind.
“Please come in,” Scarpetta said, as if she had been waiting for them long before they had ever met. “I’m Kay.”
“I’m Jimmy and this is my mom.
“So you’re the one throwing snowballs,” Scarpetta wryly said to him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he politely said. “But I didn’t try to hit him.”
“Maybe next time you should.”
“Yes, ma am.
“Then what happens to you, huh?” Marino poked him.
“Same thing that happened last time, Captain. Nothing.” Jimmy was full of himself.
He and his mother were trying not to stare, not sure where to let their eyes rest. There were antique microscopes and apothecary scales, old books and beautiful paintings, so much to look at.
“I’ve never seen a house this big before,” Jimmy told Scarpetta.
“Well, I’ll be glad to give you a toul” she said.
“How ‘bout you let me take a bowl of stew to Roy?” Marino asked.
“There’s plenty for everyone,” Scarpetta said.
“You can give me a hand,” Marino told Mrs. Simpson, as if he had known her for quite some time.
“What?” She was startled.
“There are Tupperware containers above the stove,” Scarpetta said to them. “You two take care of Roy, and I’ll get Jimmy to help me out in the kitchen.”
“Come on.” Marino nodded at Mrs. Simpson. “The rule around this joint is you gotta earn your keep.”
“I always earn my keep,” she said, with a trace of defiance.
“Oh yeah?” He tugged her sleeve, moving her into the kitchen. “You like to bowl?”
“Before Hank left…I…I used to belong to a league. The Lucky Strikes. I’m
pretty good.”
“You ever heard of the Silvertips?”
“As in ammo. Hollowpoints-Plus P.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. She removed the lid from the big pot on the stove. The stew was simmering and looked delicious.