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It was more embarrassing than painful to sit in the upstairs bathroom of the Ghost House while Mary Catherine tended to my wounds. In terms of police work, they weren’t particularly serious. A split lip, some sore ribs, a couple of gashes near my right eyebrow. Nothing that needed stitches.
Sandy sat across from me, having already been inspected by Mary Catherine. Maybe this jerk-off dealer had some respect for a local cop and didn’t throw any real punches or kicks to her face. But she probably had a cracked rib. Sandy wouldn’t admit to anyone that her ribs bothered her. Most cops knew there was not much you could do for a cracked rib. It hurt to breathe. It hurt your pride. And in the end, you had to just suck it up.
Mary Cathe
rine and Sandy started to chat like I wasn’t even in the room. Always a good feeling when two women talk about you as if you didn’t exist.
Sandy said, “One time we were called to a domestic in the South Bronx. Mr. Manners over here starts talking to the wife, who had stabbed her husband with a fork in the shoulder. I was talking to him while the fork was still sticking straight up in his flesh. I hear Mike saying, ‘Ma’am, you need to calm down. Why did you stab your husband with a fork?’”
I stayed silent because I’d heard the story a thousand times.
Sandy could hardly contain her smile. “The woman says to Mike, ‘I didn’t stab my husband with a fork. I stabbed him with a goddamn butcher knife.’
“Mike looked over at me and the man, then said, ‘I can see a fork sticking out of his shoulder.’ The woman says, ‘That ain’t my husband. That’s my boyfriend.’ Then Mike asks, ‘Then where is your husband?’
“The woman looks right at Mike and says, ‘I already told you. I stabbed him with a butcher knife. He’s in the bedroom on the floor.’”
Mary Catherine was mesmerized and ceased putting the necessary Band-Aids on my face. “What happened next?”
Sandy laughed as she said, “Mike stepped into the bedroom, and sure enough, that was the start of his homicide career. We almost left the apartment with the woman’s dead husband lying on the floor. There was still a butcher knife stuck right in his throat. Mike turned white as a ghost. It was hysterical.”
It’s funny, but I don’t remember it being quite so amusing at the time. Not only had I almost overlooked a homicide, it was also the most blood I had seen up to that point in my life. But the story made Mary Catherine laugh, and her laugh always made me smile.
Mary Catherine said, “Has he always been so clueless with women?”
“If you mean not having any idea what they’re thinking, yes. He never knew when women were flirting with him or what kind of effect he had on them.”
Mary Catherine started to laugh again. “He’s that way with a lot of things. Sometimes the kids and I just point Michael in the right direction and tell him what to do. He really can be quite helpful when he sets his mind to it.”
Sandy said, “His manners hide his shortcomings quite well. I think Seamus had a lot to do with shaping his personality.”
When we were done and back downstairs, Sandy stopped in front of Juliana, who was almost as tall as Sandy.
Sandy gave her a spontaneous hug and said, “Oh, my God, I remember when you were bouncing around the apartment in New York. Your mom thought about tying your feet together. Look at you now. Such a beauty.”
Chrissy scampered up, looking for some attention. Sandy immediately went down on one knee and brushed some light hair out of Chrissy’s face. “You have some great role models to follow in this family,” she said. “Juliana and Jane are crushing high school and headed to good colleges somewhere. And you couldn’t have a better role model than Mary Catherine. You’re one lucky little girl.”
Sandy looked up at me. I didn’t have to say anything. I knew I was one lucky man. And for some reason it was important to me that the whole family like Sandy. Especially Mary Catherine. And they clearly did.
No matter what happened the rest of this vacation, I knew it would be worth it.
Chapter 57
Thanks to the efforts of Seamus and Mary Catherine, somehow a giant pot of Irish stew ended up on the stove. This dish was one of the kids’ favorites and a sly way for Mary Catherine to slip some vegetables into their diet. Thank God no one was an avowed vegetarian in the family. I couldn’t remember a meal in which meat wasn’t the main focus.
Sandy fit right in at our double-size table, and it didn’t take long for someone to ask her about the house we were living in.
The pretty, engaging woman had all the kids yearning for her attention. She immediately picked up on Eddie’s brains and Juliana’s calm demeanor. It was like she had been in touch with the family every day for the past eight years.
She told a few stories about our early days on the NYPD. Nothing too graphic, but I always ended up being the dumbass in the story. I didn’t mind, as long as the kids were happy and laughing.
Bridget said, “Tell us more about Linewiler. Have you ever been in this house before?”
Sandy lowered her voice and said, “I know you guys call this Mildew Manor, but before that, it was known in town as…” She paused for dramatic effect and spat out, “The Ghost House.”
I was surprised to see the teenagers a little more spooked by the term than Chrissy and Shawna were. They were both listening intently.
Jane asked, “Was anyone murdered here?”
