Cork had called early in the afternoon to tell Jo he’d be late and not to hold dinner for him. She didn’t feel up to making anything when she got home. When she suggested to the children that they all eat at Johnny’s Pinewood Broiler, she got no argument.
Jo was fond of the Broiler, of how it was the center of much that went on in the community. A big bulletin board hung near the entrance, crowded with notices of local events. Everyone knew everyone else and warm hellos were thrown across the dining room. The aroma always made her mouth water the moment she stepped in, the smell of grease on the griddle, of deep-fry.
They took a booth near a front window overlooking Center Street. After they ordered, Jo and Jenny talked about college applications while Annie helped Stevie with the maze and puzzles on the children’s place mat. Several people stopped by to tell Jo how awful it was, what had happened on the rez, and to ask did Cork have a clue who was responsible.
They were near the end of the meal. The waitress was clearing their dishes when Ben Jacoby appeared at the table looking tremendously pleased to see them.
“Hello, Jo. What a nice surprise.”
She wasn’t sure it was.
“I drove by with your husband yesterday. Smelled delicious. I wanted to stop in before I left. Is this your family?”
She introduced the children. “This is Mr. Jacoby.”
“How do you do?” he said, addressing them all at once with a charming smile. He studied Stevie’s place mat. “Looks like you solved everything. Good for you.”
“Annie helped.”
“That was nice of her.” He turned to Jenny. “I understand you’re interested in Northwestern. That’s my alma mater.”
“Really?” Jenny’s eyes danced.
“My son’s a senior there this year.”
“Sweet,” Jenny said.
“Sweet?”
“She means way cool,” Jo interpreted.
“I’d be happy to talk to you, tell you anything you want to know. The only problem is that I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Oh.” Jenny’s disappointment showed. Then she brightened. “We’re having pie at home. Maybe you could join us?”
“I’m sure Mr. Jacoby has other pressing matters,” Jo said.
“Actually, no. I’d love some pie. That is, if it’s all right with you.”
She wasn’t pleased, but there didn’t seem an easy way out.
“All right,” she said, reaching for her purse.
“I’ll just follow in my car,” Ben suggested. “How’s that?”
He sat at the kitchen table with Jenny. Jo made coffee while Annie dished up the apple pie, which, she explained, she’d made herself from a recipe her aunt Rose had given her. Ben declared it delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. Annie blushed deeply under the compliment.
Stevie went out to play, and Ben told Jenny all about Northwestern. She asked about the writing program.
“I’m not familiar with it,” he said. “You want to be a writer?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” She laughed.
“Who are your favorite authors?”
“Anais Nin, Virginia Woolf, Louise Erdrich. And I absolutely love To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” It was his turn to laugh. “Do you know Tillie Olsen?”
“Should I?”
“Read Tell Me a Riddle. I think you’ll find it to your liking. Have you ever visited Northwestern, toured the campus?”
“No, but Mom and I have been talking about it.”
“I’d be glad to show you around sometime. If you and your mom decide to come down.”
“Really? That would be terrific.”
Ben looked at Annie. “And you, I’ve heard, are an athlete. Softball, right?”
“That’s my favorite, but I like all sports.”
“Notre Dame fan?”
“Go Irish.”
“It’s not that far from Evanston to South Bend. You could probably talk your mom into visiting both campuses the same trip.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink.
The back door opened and Cork stepped into the kitchen. His surprise at finding Ben Jacoby at the table with his family was obvious.
“Good evening,” he said.
Jo rose to greet him, kissed his cheek. “We ran into Ben at the Broiler. When Jenny found out he graduated from Northwestern, she had to give him the third degree.”
“Informative?” he asked Jenny.
“I’ve learned tons, Dad.”
Jo said, “Have you eaten?”
“Grabbed a sandwich.”
“How about some pie, then?”
Cork shook his head. “Looks like everybody’s finished. Maybe later.”
“Dad,” Jenny said. “I’m going canoeing with Alexandra Cunningham tomorrow on Higman Lake. You said I could borrow the Bronco, remember?”
Cork said, “I’ll leave the keys on the counter for you.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a beautiful evening out. Why don’t we have our coffee on the front porch?” Jo suggested.
“I’d like that,” Ben said.
“Can you stay, Cork? Or do you have to get back?”
“I’ll stay.”
The children cleared the table while the adults stepped out onto the porch.
“A porch swing.” Ben smiled. “I’ve never actually seen one except in movies. May I?”
“Be our guest,” Jo said.
He sat down and began swinging gently. Cork leaned against the porch railing. Jo joined him there.
“I hate to bring up an unpleasant topic, Cork, but did you make any headway on Eddie’s murder today?” Ben said.
“Maybe. I need to follow up a couple of things before I know for sure.”
“Promising leads?”
“Leads often look promising but end up nowhere.”
“You must have a lot of patience.”
“What he has,” Jo said, “is obsession. Once he starts on an investigation, he can’t stop until he’s solved it.”
“Bulldog Drummond, eh?” Ben laughed.
It was Friday evening, the sun had just set, and Gooseberry Lane was cradled in quiet and a soft amber light. In the O’Loughlin house across the street, someone played easy blues on a guitar. Stevie stood in the yard tossing a baseball into the air. It fell back into his glove with a little slap of leather.
“This is nice,” Ben said. “All so very nice.” He sipped his coffee. “I understand you were a cop in Chicago for a while, Cork. You ever miss the big city?”
“Never. This is my hometown.”
“Mine is Chicago. I love it, but this is pretty damn fine, I have to admit. What about you, Jo? Miss Chicago?”
“No, but I would love to get down there soon. My sister lives in Evanston.”
“Rose?”
“Yes. With her husband Mal.”
“Convenient. Especially if Jenny decides to attend Northwestern.” Ben scanned the street, the yards in late shadow, and gave a satisfied sigh. “All the arrangements have been made to fly Eddie’s body home. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. Jo, it’s been a pleasure seeing you again. Cork, you’re a lucky man.”
The front door opened and Annie said, “Dad, there’s a phone call for you. She said it’s important.”
“I’ll be right there.” He glanced at Ben. “Excuse me.”
“Of course.”
When Cork left, they fell into silence, but Ben didn’t take his eyes off Jo. She wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what, and was relieved when Cork returned.
“I need to go,” he said.
“Business?” Ben asked.
“It was Dina.”
“Dina?” Jo hadn’t heard the name before.
“A consultant the Jacobys have brought in to help with the investigation.”
Ben drank the last of his coffee. “What did she want?”
“She was a little circumspect, but she seems to think it’s important.”
“Should I come?”
“You’re leaving tomorrow, Ben. I’ll be consulting with Dina when you’re not here, so I might as well start now. Anything important, she can fill you in.”
“Of course.”
Cork started toward the steps. “I might hit the office afterward, Jo. Don’t wait up. Ben, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but this hasn’t been pleasant business.” He shook Jacoby’s hand. “We’re going to solve your brother’s murder.”
“I’m sure you will.”
On the way to his Bronco, Cork said something to Stevie, who giggled. A minute later he’d backed out of the drive and was gone.
Jo glanced at her watch, then at the sky, where the light was fading rapidly. “I should bring Stevie in. It’s time to begin winding down for bed.”
As if he knew what was coming, Stevie suddenly bolted across the street and disappeared behind the O’Loughlins’ garage. Jo guessed that he’d spotted Rochester, the O’Loughlins’ cat, for whom he had a great affection.
“Winding down?” Ben asked.
“He gets into his pajamas, we have a cookie and milk together, then I read to him-or sometimes these days he reads to me. The kind of bedtime stuff you probably did with your son.”
He stared into his empty cup. “Unfortunately, no. We’d probably have a better relationship if I had.” He looked up, smiled a little sadly. “Thank you, Jo.”
“For what?”
“I know my being here isn’t your choice, but I appreciate that you let me come. It’s good to see how happy you are.”
“You’re not?” she said.
“The last time I remember being truly happy was when I was with you. But that’s the past. Or maybe just the nature of the past. Everything seems better in retrospect.”
“You were the one who left,” she reminded him.
“That I was.” He stood up suddenly and put his cup on the porch railing. “I’d best be off. We leave early tomorrow. Good night, Jo.”
“Good-bye, Ben.”
He took her hand briefly, then left the porch. He glanced back once and waved. A minute later, he was in his car, heading down Gooseberry Lane in the same direction Cork had gone.
Jo stood for a little while, alone, aware of a feeling like loss, but a small one, in her heart. Then she turned on the porch lamp and called, “Stevie, time to come in.”
Almost immediately her son appeared, loping through the growing dark toward the light of home.