Now You See Her by Cecelia Tishy Read Free Book Online

berries on my account. “Ari, George, here’s a question. Do you ever make
     deliveries at Eldridge Place?”
    George nods. “Big apartments, swanky. Customers phones us.”
    “Do you remember Eldridge Street before the high-rise tower was built?”
    “Before was different. Peoples from before, these are not our customers. We not deliver then.”
    “But you remember the street, near the turnpike? A house with loud music? A big man stood outside and preached about poison.
     He wore a red robe. And there was an auto body shop too. Cars.”
    Ari bites his lip. George tightens his apron. They exchange glances but say nothing.
    “I hear it all burned down. There was a big fire.”
    “Long time ago. Our store was new.”
    Both brothers seem agitated. George says, “Past, all finish.” Ari steps close. “Mees Reggie, why you ask this? Something happens
     with that basement guy?”
    “Stark?” The Tsakis brothers take a dim view of Stark. “Bad guy, Mees Reggie. We try to tell your aunt. Stark is one customer
     we never miss. Go boom someday. We say, keep away from that guy.”
    “This isn’t about Stark. He was on a ship in the Marines when the fire happened.”
    “Then why you ask about fire?”
    They both look worried. I have a magic word, however: it’s psukhé#233;, which is Greek for psychic. They knew about Jo’s powers.
     In their eyes, she was Barlow Square’s own Delphic Oracle. The Tsakises believe psychic powers run in the family. Which evidently
     is the case, though I was long loath to admit it. “It’s psukhé,” I say. “I’m trying to help somebody out.”
    They nod. At last, George says, “We are new in America. We need a car. Somebody say go to B&B Auto on Eldridge Street. They
     sell cheap.”
    “You bought a car there?”
    “We not know there is a problem.”
    “Stolen car?”
    “We not know.” They look sheepish. “You got into trouble?”
    “Police takes the car.”
    “Confiscated?” There must be a vehicle theft record. “What kind of car was it?”
    “Ford,” says Ari. “Dodge,” says George.
    They confer and agree to disagree. Neither recalls the model. George says it was a four-door. “Do you remember any names at
     B&B Auto?”
    At last, Ari says, “Carlo.”
    “A mechanic? A manager?” Both men shrug. “Last name?”
    “We not remember. We try to forget.”
    “Maybe you have old papers filed away.”
    “All cash.”
    “Maybe you’ll remember later. It’s important. An innocent person could be freed from prison, a person who’s sick and badly
     needs medical care.”
    Ari picks up a tomato as two girls come in for chips and sodas and Newports. George says no cigarettes, the girls are too
     young. It’s a standoff as I call Biscuit, wave bye, and head home. I’m counting on the Tsakis brothers’ memories of Carlo.
     I’m counting on their conscience.

Chapter Five
    D evaney left a phone message, but he’s gone when I call the station house. I wash the strawberries and treat myself to a bowlful,
     one advantage of living solo—although sharing with a special someone would be nice. There’s still no word from the Hong Kong/Cairo
     man on my voice mail. Is a promise still a promise? Suppose he doesn’t call, ever?
    Well, so what? There are other fish in the sea and so on. Sulking and self-pity are not an option. I used up my quota in the
     divorce. Life goes on.
    I sleep badly, dreaming of cold riptides and swollen black sacks, grateful to awaken just before 7:00 a.m. to news about an
     armed robbery at a convenience store in Saugus. TV coverage of the Dempsey case continues on all stations. You couldn’t avoid
     it if you tried. One channel even shows her college yearbook photo. The TV ads for the governor’s race are starting. Michael
     Carney and Jordan Wald shake hands against a backdrop of flags and applauding supporters.
    I move closer to the screen. Carney, the gubernatorial candidate, is pink-cheeked and jovial with squinty eyes. Wald has a