Re: Zephyr

[Herr D]

Chapter 13: The Smaller Box

Is THAT what rotten moonshine and stagnant water smells like? That’s just how I imagined it–
“Thank you both,” said Tony, very quietly.
Are you CRYING? “What’s wrong?”
“I finally will know why my mama and papa died. I will be sure. No more doubt. Of course you realize I must keep this quiet until the right time.”
“Of course.” said Mike.
“I don’t mind keeping quiet till you’re ready, Tony,” said Jennifer. “But you probably want to call Backington Studios very soon. I could write your information release, and you could get some very good advertising out of this . . . “
“You two can break this story. But not till I say. I don’t care about the publicity. Mr. Crowe is my friend, but his father Tommy ‘The Claw’ was probably the one who killed my parents. I need to — to think about this for a while. Here. Let’s clean up for dinner. This room will take a while to dry out and be safe to sort through.”
Not a mob boss at all. Poor guy. Wait. Tommy was David’s granddad. He went missing the day David turned five. No wonder David is so rotten. His granddad was a $^#@ing hit man! I hope he’s in a shallow grave under the SEWER somewhere.
Both men cleaned up and then wordlessly, automatically put on aprons and garbage bags on one side of their bodies. Then each put on one of a pair of elbow-length rubber dishwashing gloves that Henri brought on a covered tray between the soup and salad. Just as wordlessly, Jennifer slid their steak plates to herself one at a time–I’ve never seen such grateful smiles. All I’m doing is cutting up their steaks so the boys can keep working on their buried treasure.
Jennifer sliced both of Mike’s steaks and two of Tony’s so they could continue taking turns bailing water from the flooded, formerly hidden alcove with the glass dressing sampler basket and a cracker bowl. Even with her hands aching slightly, she couldn’t hold in the smile. Young Mike and Ballast Tony after the treasure–arrrrr! I guess that makes me Long Jennifer with two wooden legs instead of one.

A twitching, greedy, murderous eye on a red-haired face screaming about gold in a small wooden box–

Where did THAT come from? Am I falling asleep at dinner?
“What’s wrong?” said Mike.
Jennifer pointed into the dark alcove. The three visible crooked stacks of wooden crates barely fit in the space had obviously settled as the bottom crates rotted to pieces over time. All the crates were the same size except for a smaller, darker wooden box on the very top of the middle stack. “I’m thinking the murders weren’t just about some overdue moonshine.”