“Now are you finished?” I asked him.
“No, I ain’t finished. I’m just sick of talking.”
“In the first place, I didn’t go to Ivy League schools…”
“Well, what do you call Johns Hopkins and Georgetown?”
“Marino, goddam it, shut up.” He glared out the windshield and lit another cigarette.
“I was a poor Italian brought up in a poor Italian neighborhood just like you were,” I said.
“The difference is that I was in Miami and you were in New Jersey. I’ve never pretended to be better than you, nor have I ever called you stupid. In fact, you’re anything but stupid, even if you butcher the English language and have never been to the opera.
“My list of complaints about you all go back to one thing. You’re stubborn, and when you’re at your worst, you’re bigoted and intolerant. In other words, you act toward others the way you suspect they’re acting toward you.” Marino jerked up the door handle.
“Not only do I not got time for a lecture from you, I ain’t interested in one.” He threw down his cigarette and stamped it out. We walked in silence to Denesa Steiner’s front door, and I had a feeling when she opened it she could sense Marino and I had been fighting. He would not look my way or acknowledge me in any way as she led us to a living room that was unnervingly familiar because I had seen photographs of it before. The decor was country, with an abundance of ruffles, plump pillows, hanging plants, and macrame. Behind glass doors, a gas fire glowed, and numerous clocks did not argue time. Mrs. Steiner was in the midst of watching an old Bob Hope movie on cable. She seemed very tired as she turned off the television and sat in a rocking chair.
“This hasn’t been a very good day,” she said.
“Well, now, Denesa, there’s no way it could have been.” Marino sat in a wing chair and gave her his full attention.
“Did you come here to tell me what you found?” she asked, and I realized she was referring to the exhumation.
“We still have a lot of tests to conduct,” I told her.
“Then you didn’t find anything that will catch that man.” She spoke with quiet despair.
“Doctors always talk about tests when they don’t know anything. I’ve learned that much after all I’ve been through.”
“These things take time, Mrs. Steiner.”
“Listen,” Marino said to her.
“I really am sorry to bother you, Denesa, but we’ve got to ask you a few more questions. The Doc here wants to ask you some.” She looked at me and rocked.
“Mrs. Steiner, there was a gift-wrapped package in Emily’s casket that the funeral director says you wanted buried with her,” I said.
“Oh, you’re talking about Socks,” she said matter- of-factly.
“Socks?” I asked.
“She was a stray kitten who started coming around here. I guess that would have been a month or so ago. And of course Emily was such a sensitive thing she started feeding it and that was it. She did love that little cat.” She smiled as her eyes teared up.
“She called her Socks because she was pure black except for these perfect white paws.” She held out her hands, splaying her fingers.
“It looked like she had socks on.”
“How did Socks die?” I carefully asked.
“I don’t really know.” She pulled tissues from a pocket and dabbed her eyes.
“I found her one morning out in front. This was right after Emily… I just assumed the poor little thing died of a broken heart.” She covered her mouth with the tissues and sobbed.
“I’m going to get you something to drink.” Marino got up and left the room. His obvious familiarity with both the house and its owner struck me as extremely unusual, and my uneasiness grew.
“Mrs. Steiner,” I said gently, leaning forward on the couch.
“Emily’s kitten did not die of a broken heart. It died of a broken neck.” She lowered her hands and took a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wide as they fixed on me.
“What do you mean?”