The Stamford Pistachio Trail, Part III

Lego City

In the afternoon Rosie and Merri laid on the playroom floor in the basement amongst the mini skyscrapers and other colorful architectural wonders they’d constructed the day before out of Ronnie’s vast and now disowned collection of Legos. For a while they played Catch The Strangler (“Where would he be hiding in this great metropolis???”) but soon Merri got bored, frumping onto the pullout sofa-bed to watch Creature Double Feature on the little black-and-white which sat on an old rickety stand a few feet from the foot of the bed.

For some reason around here they showed Creature Double Feature on both Saturday and Sunday. And on Sunday the scary movies numbered more than two: running into the night endlessly it seemed. They never used to bother Rosie much, but now after every commercial break she would return to the confines of her city.

Toward early evening -- they were both on the bed watching The Creeping Hand -- there was a noisy disturbance upstairs. 

Uncle Jerry was home. Out at the office for most of the day, he was snarling about at the far end of the house in the family room. In the daytime, with its long comfortable couch, a record player and thick overhanging wooden beams, this room was Rosie’s favorite.

She had learned by now to expect Uncle Jerry’s temper, but she still couldn’t get used to it. Though he was usually simply indifferent and had never been more than a tiny bit mean to her, his flashes of anger always made his presence ominous.

Merri seemed to agree, and both stood rigid in the front entryway, watching down the long hallway which led to the family room, awaiting his next move. He came up the little steps, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket, white dress shirt open at the collar, bald dome gleaming atop eyeglasses and menacing expression, stopped at the first door and looked inside.

“Ron. Ronnie, god---- it, where are you?”

“Ronnie is outside,” Merri said as he drew closer halfway down the hallway.

“Where outside -- any idea?” he said.

“No.”

“Then do you know where the hell it is?”

“No, I don’t.”

He passed the door of his study and then checked the last room, the sewing room, before walking past them to the center of the entryway. There was a long, curving stairway with a spacious landing at the top.

“Ron!” he called up to the railing. Then looked at them and smiled. Merri held his gaze with hurtful eyes, and Rosie could smell his bitter aftershave.

“Hey, Ronnie!” he called upstairs again, trying to sound hip and friendly, then finally left and headed toward the kitchen.

“Creep…” Merri muttered.

“What´s he looking for?”

“I could care less, c’mon -- Ronnie’s gonna get it.”

They followed Uncle Jerry into the kitchen and then made sure he had proceeded all the way through and into Nana’s wing before following again.  

They reached a back window just in time to spot Ronnie sprinting off into the fading twilight and toward the woods. Uncle Jerry trailed, taking his time, hands set deep in pockets. Andy then appeared from under the overhanging back porch. 

Concerned, he glanced back at the house and saw Rosie and Merri watching from the window. ‘What should I do?’

Rosie pointed forcefully toward the others. ‘Go after them, help your cousin!’

Had it been Creedy the ghost himself or even the strangler trailing Ronnie, Andy would have gone. Instead he came inside.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked Rosie. “Uncle Jerry would beat the shit out of me!”

“Language...” she reprimanded.

“He’s right,” Merri said. “There’s nothing we can do, not now anyway. Ronnie is doomed. C’mon,” she said to Rosie with a sly smile, and Andy followed.

They stopped for a moment in Nana’s sitting room while Merri planted a kiss on her cheek. Rosie gave her a hug and Nana replied, ¨Liebling.¨ She spoke mainly in German now, needed a walker to get about and had a daily caretaker. Rosie could remember being five or six and passing by the sitting room while Nana giggled hysterically at an episode of Hogan's Heroes.

They went back through the kitchen, the entryway, and down the hallway to the door of Uncle Jerry’s study. Rosie and Andy did not want to go in. Merri paid no heed and all three entered, closing the door behind them.

A small cloister of a room, it reeked of leather and cigar smoke. The only window was set high and had a view of one of the canvas-covered brambly bushes at the front of the house. There was a fancy leather loveseat, a fancy high-backed chair with matching ottoman, and a large cherrywood desk which took up nearly half the room. Two of the burgundy walls held built-in bookcases full of hardcovers.

Right at home, Merri belly-flopped onto the loveseat which wheezed like a fart. Rosie felt drawn to the smoothness of the desktop, and Andy stood there fingering the books.

“There’s some racy stuff in there,” said Merri. “If you’re into that.”

“No, thanks,” Andy replied, suddenly stiff and formal. 

“Do you think it’s right?” he asked. ¨I mean, should we even be in here?”

“As long as we’re out before Uncle Jerry comes back,” Rosie said.

“We have some time. Ronnie won’t be caught easily. Now -- can anyone guess where Jerry keeps his gun? It’s somewhere in this room.…”

Rosie’s hands shot up from the desk.

“It’s not loaded,” Merri said.

Just then a hand turned the doorknob, and three stomachs rose uncomfortably.

It was only Aunt Ann. Not that they weren’t in a fix.

“All of you, out now,” she said, then looked down the hallway.

“My God in heaven -- what happened to you?!”

They went out and saw Robbie with his nose bloodied, it dripped through his cupped hand, spotting the rug. Aunt Ann provided near-hysterical support as Uncle Jerry came up behind.

“My God in heaven, Jerry -- why?”

“I didn’t hit him,” he answered, always on the defensive, and for good reason.

“I fell,” Robbie said. “I slipped on some ice. Really.”

“We have to get this cleaned. Does it feel broken? Should Daddy take you to the hospital?”

“No, it doesn’t feel broken.”

They went down the hall toward the bathroom. The others slinked past Uncle Jerry, who winked right at Rosie.

A few minutes later he came down to the basement, his dark shoes and trouser legs on the stairs an unnatural sight, and Rosie was sure the end was near. She sat with Merri in front of the black-and-white, Andy between them on the floor.

He bypassed Lego City, and asked Merri who the hell was just in his study.

“Not us.”

“Don’t lie…”

“You’re the liar,” she said.

He looked at Rosie and winked.

“Andy -- any idea who was just in my den?”

“No, sir.”

He looked at Rosie again, and she shook her head.

“You kids stick together, I’ll give you that,'' he said, his mood lightening, and he turned to check out the model city.

“Who did all this?”

No one said anything.

“I like it!”

Not a word.

He stayed a little longer, hands in pockets, shoes scuffing the tile floor as he gradually circled the city. Then he went back upstairs.

Merri got up, “I hate keeping a secret…”

She went into the dark, unfinished side of the basement, presumably up the back stairs, and didn’t return. Sometime later Andy woke Rosie, switched off the hissing snow of the TV, and after a stop in the family room to check for Creedy’s light (which wasn’t there), both went up to bed.

No sooner had Rosie laid her head on the pillow when a raised, agitated voice registered faintly in another bedroom. It was Aunt Ann. She and Uncle Jerry were arguing. His was a deeper, tremulous vibration, though she was doing most of the talking. Rosie couldn’t make out any words, which made her feel very lonesome.