"associates" shriveled up in their seats. Nobody moves.
"OK, I'll go it alone," I say.
"Yeah," agrees Sophie, "we don't want to gang up on him."
Evvie gets up. "I'll go with you, Glad."
As we leave, we hear behind us a whispered "Good luck." And then, "Another doughnut?" And then, louder, "Look out for the cement mixer. You don't want to end up on a freeway."
Evvie and I cross the street. It's very hot today. How can these guys stand it?
When we reach Elio, all three men turn and look at us. "Mr. Siciliano?" I ask.
I get a chorus of three yeses. Definitely sons. Same big shoulders, though Elio's are bent. Same sharp, dark eyes, except that Elio's are watery.
"Mr. Elio Siciliano?" says Evvie.
Now the boys move off. This is of no interest to them. If we were blond, young, and cute, I'm sure they'd stay.
"Ladies. What can I do for you?" says Poppa.
"A private word?" I suggest, looking around at the rest of the men working close enough to overhear.
He leads us into the small shack that serves as his office. We sit down facing him on the only two rickety chairs behind a scarred brown desk. The tiny room smells heavily of cigar smoke. He stands in front of us, arms crossed. He doesn't bother to hide his impatience.
I've practiced what I'm going to tell him, as tactfully as possible, but now in front of Mr. Macho, I hesitate. Not so, stalwart Evvie. Where fools rush in, she's usually first.
"Your wife hired us," she blurts.
"What? You know my Angelina? She sent you here?"
He seems to loom over the desk at us. I tug at Evvie's skirt to shush her.
"What she means is—" I start to say, but Evvie's too fast for me.
"We're private detectives, and we were hired to find out if you're cheating on her."
Elio bursts out laughing. "OK, what's the joke here? I'm a busy man. It ain't April Fool's, so waddaya want?"
"Do you know a woman living at Forty-four Magnolia Court?" I ask. Thanks to Evvie there's no use pussyfooting around.
Now the humor disappears. He leans his arms on the desk and moves in too close for comfort. I can smell his cigar breath.
"What the hell is this about?"
Suddenly the room seems claustrophobic. Even fearless Evvie looks scared. I stand slowly.
"Mr. Siciliano?" My knees are shaking. "First, may I say, don't kill the messenger. We've come here to help you if you would just stay . . . calm."
"Spit it out!" He's yelling so loud that I imagine even the girls across the street can hear him, along with all the men on the site. Two male faces peer in the one grimy window. Elio waves them away.
"Your wife was worried about you—" I begin.
"My crazy wife never worries about anything but herself. Are you saying she hired you to spy on me? To find out if I was cheating on her! I'll wring her neck!"
Now he's got Evvie mad. "We were supposed to report to her what we found out," Evvie shouts. "If we told her, she'd wring your nec k . . . or worse. But we came to tell you first. To warn you."
"Listen, you old broads, who the hell do you think you are?"
With trembling hands, I take out our brandnew business cards and hand him one.
"Gladdy Gold and Associates Detective Agency?" he says incredulously. "You gotta be kidding!"
Evvie and I just stare at him. He glowers back at us. Through the window I can see the cement mixer outside, churning away. I shudder.
He slams his fist hard on the desk. Papers fly into the air. "All right!" Elio says. "You bring that jealous lunatic to Forty-four Magnolia Court at eight o'clock tonight! Now get outta here, I got work to do!"
He didn't need to say it twice. We ran.
20
Showdown on
Magnolia Court
S even forty-five p.m. I am walking with Angelina
Siciliano from her little gray house
"OK, I'll go it alone," I say.
"Yeah," agrees Sophie, "we don't want to gang up on him."
Evvie gets up. "I'll go with you, Glad."
As we leave, we hear behind us a whispered "Good luck." And then, "Another doughnut?" And then, louder, "Look out for the cement mixer. You don't want to end up on a freeway."
Evvie and I cross the street. It's very hot today. How can these guys stand it?
When we reach Elio, all three men turn and look at us. "Mr. Siciliano?" I ask.
I get a chorus of three yeses. Definitely sons. Same big shoulders, though Elio's are bent. Same sharp, dark eyes, except that Elio's are watery.
"Mr. Elio Siciliano?" says Evvie.
Now the boys move off. This is of no interest to them. If we were blond, young, and cute, I'm sure they'd stay.
"Ladies. What can I do for you?" says Poppa.
"A private word?" I suggest, looking around at the rest of the men working close enough to overhear.
He leads us into the small shack that serves as his office. We sit down facing him on the only two rickety chairs behind a scarred brown desk. The tiny room smells heavily of cigar smoke. He stands in front of us, arms crossed. He doesn't bother to hide his impatience.
I've practiced what I'm going to tell him, as tactfully as possible, but now in front of Mr. Macho, I hesitate. Not so, stalwart Evvie. Where fools rush in, she's usually first.
"Your wife hired us," she blurts.
"What? You know my Angelina? She sent you here?"
He seems to loom over the desk at us. I tug at Evvie's skirt to shush her.
"What she means is—" I start to say, but Evvie's too fast for me.
"We're private detectives, and we were hired to find out if you're cheating on her."
Elio bursts out laughing. "OK, what's the joke here? I'm a busy man. It ain't April Fool's, so waddaya want?"
"Do you know a woman living at Forty-four Magnolia Court?" I ask. Thanks to Evvie there's no use pussyfooting around.
Now the humor disappears. He leans his arms on the desk and moves in too close for comfort. I can smell his cigar breath.
"What the hell is this about?"
Suddenly the room seems claustrophobic. Even fearless Evvie looks scared. I stand slowly.
"Mr. Siciliano?" My knees are shaking. "First, may I say, don't kill the messenger. We've come here to help you if you would just stay . . . calm."
"Spit it out!" He's yelling so loud that I imagine even the girls across the street can hear him, along with all the men on the site. Two male faces peer in the one grimy window. Elio waves them away.
"Your wife was worried about you—" I begin.
"My crazy wife never worries about anything but herself. Are you saying she hired you to spy on me? To find out if I was cheating on her! I'll wring her neck!"
Now he's got Evvie mad. "We were supposed to report to her what we found out," Evvie shouts. "If we told her, she'd wring your nec k . . . or worse. But we came to tell you first. To warn you."
"Listen, you old broads, who the hell do you think you are?"
With trembling hands, I take out our brandnew business cards and hand him one.
"Gladdy Gold and Associates Detective Agency?" he says incredulously. "You gotta be kidding!"
Evvie and I just stare at him. He glowers back at us. Through the window I can see the cement mixer outside, churning away. I shudder.
He slams his fist hard on the desk. Papers fly into the air. "All right!" Elio says. "You bring that jealous lunatic to Forty-four Magnolia Court at eight o'clock tonight! Now get outta here, I got work to do!"
He didn't need to say it twice. We ran.
20
Showdown on
Magnolia Court
S even forty-five p.m. I am walking with Angelina
Siciliano from her little gray house
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