ten years old and was nothing special. It had a leather strap. It wasnât hard to figure out why whoever had killed him hadnât bothered to take it.
(3) His wedding ring. It was a plain gold band and was engraved on the inside with his initials and my motherâs initials.
(4) A slip from an atm machine that showed he had withdrawn five hundred dollars on Saturday night.
(5) A brand-new deck of playing cards. The seal hadnât been broken.
(6) A lighter and two cigars. Phil liked to smoke cigars when he was driving or when he was playing poker at one of his buddiesâ placesâif the buddyâs wife or girlfriend allowed it.
(7) A key-ring chain with a fake-gold letter
P
attached to it, along with his house keys and car keys.
âWe found the keys a couple of blocks from where we found the wallet. They were both found in opposite directions from the car,â Detective Antonelli said. He frowned, as if this was some kind of problem. âMaybe whoever robbed him planned to take the car but changed his mind. Maybe he couldnât find the car. Or maybe he didnât see your husband drive up, so he didnât know that he had a car with him.â
My motherâs eyes widened. âDo you think that whoever killed Phil saw where we live, you know, from the driverâs license in the wallet? Do you think heâs planning to break into the house while weâre at the funeral? Iâve heard that people do that. They rob the houses of people who are already grieving.â
âI think if that were the case, he would have kept the keys,â Detective Antonelli said.
My mother continued to look worried. She stared at Philâs key ring and started to cry again.
Detective Antonelli nudged a box of tissues closer to her.
âIs there anything that you can think of that might be missing?â he said.
My mother nodded as she wiped at her tears with a tissue. She blew her nose.
âThe picture of Jamie,â she said. Jamie was my kid brother. âPhil always has a picture of Jamie with him.â I wondered if she noticed that she had said âhasâ instead of âhad,â as if Phil was still alive.
âJamie?â Detective Antonelli said.
âMy other son,â my mother said. She got all choked up again as she explained that Jamie had drowned when he was eight years old. That was nearly six years ago now, when I had just turned ten.
âPhil has a picture of him,â she said. âItâs in a little gold frame attached to his key chain. He says he carries it because he never wants to forget Jamie.â
Me, I was the opposite. I wished I could forget what had happened, but I couldnât. Instead I had replayed every detail of it in my mind every night for a couple of years. I still saw it a few times a month, like a movie, as clearly as if it were yesterday.
âWhere is it?â my mother said. âWhereâs the picture of Jamie?â
Detective Antonelli frowned again. âWhoever took the keys may have taken the frame. Is it real gold?â
My mother nodded. âI bought it for him.â
âWell, maybe thatâs why the thief took it,â Detective Antonelli said. He asked my mother one last time if there was anything else missing. When she said no, he thanked us for coming in.
I stayed home from school on Monday. More people phoned and came to the house. Later, I changed into a sports jacket, a good pair of pants (not jeans), a shirt with a tie (I had to borrow one of Philâs), and regular shoes, not sneakers. My mother changed into a black skirt and a black top. She didnât want to drive, which was probably a good thing because she kept crying, so we took a taxi to the funeral home for the viewing. My mother made me go with her to look at Phil,who was lying in a casket in his best suit. She stood there for a long time, staring at him, kissing him on the cheek a couple of times (donât ask me how
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