MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 74

Old Memories

Current Day 

I didn’t bother to clean out the safe deposit boxes. New York was as good a place as any to keep them. I did, however, take Bugs’ advice, and packed for a trip. I needed to get away. Think. Figure out what to do with my life. The mountains seemed like a good choice, so I headed into New Jersey on my way to the Poconos. I put the car on cruise control with music blaring. 

I thought about what Bugs said—that I should go visit Angela. It kept eating at me. How stupid would that be, though, to show up at her house after all these years? She probably wouldn’t remember me. No, she’d remember, but she might not want to see me. I decided Bugs was crazy and continued driving toward the Poconos. 

Five miles later, an oldie came on the radio, a song by the Tavares, “Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel.” It reminded me of Angela. I found myself smiling as I sang along. 

Maybe it’s a sign.

But I tried talking myself out of it. She’s probably got half a dozen kids. Hates my guts. 

At some point, as I pondered the logical reasons why I shouldn’t go, I got off the interstate and took a turn toward I-95, heading south. Wilmington wasn’t that far. I could say hi and still be out in time to reach the beach by nightfall. Yeah, I’d go to the beach instead of the mountains. To Wildwood. I’d always loved Wildwood. Best boardwalk in the world.

I thought of a million reasons why I shouldn’t do what I was doing in the couple of hours it took to get to Delaware. Despite my internal objections, I kept the course, heading toward my old hometown. Once I got to Wilmington, I looked her up in an online phone book, but found no listing. I checked all the social networking sites and found nothing there. I decided to check at her father’s old house. I made the drive, slowing to a crawl as I drew near. I parked, sat in the car for a minute, then walked up to the door, nervous as hell. Suppose she was here? 

An older woman answered. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Catrino,” I said. “Actually I’m looking for his daughter, Angela.”

Her face seemed to go blank. “I’m sorry, young man, but Mr. Catrino moved away years ago.”

“Sorry to have troubled you,” I said, and started down the steps.

“Young man,” she called after me. “Angela lives a few blocks from here. Let me think…1022—”

My step paused, and I turned around. “Clayton Street,” I said, finishing the address for her. 

My old house. 

“Why, yes. That’s the one. Are you from around here?”

Smiles and tears fought for control. “Yeah. Long time ago.” I extended my hand to say thanks. “I appreciate your help, and sorry again to have bothered you.”

“No trouble at all. Tell Angela I said hello.”

I couldn’t believe it. Was this a good sign or a bad one? Why was Angie living in my old house? Only way to find out was to go there and ask. I pulled up the street by the park, as much to bring back old memories as to stay hidden while I worked up the nerve to see her. 

What if her husband answers? What the hell do I do then? 

I watched from the car, waiting, but the house seemed empty. After an hour, I felt like a fool. What the hell? Was I a stalker? A bunch of kids passed by. One small girl, a skinny little thing, was rough-housing with a few boys, playing tag and chasing each other. It reminded me of old times. After a while, most of the smaller kids left. Then a few older girls came by and sat on the bench. They seemed to be just talking, probably mulling over the events of the day. That bench had seen a lot over the years. Laughter, joy, tears. Soon, two of the girls left; one remained. She sat staring at the trees and twirling her hair. It reminded me of Angela and the way I used to watch her in class.