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19
Pippa turned to see a little girl in jeans, sneakers, and a Baltimore Ravens sweatshirt, too large for her. She was holding a basketball she’d been bouncing up and down on the driveway.
Where was the hoop? “Hi, I’m Pippa. What’s your name?”
“I’m Anjolina Sleeman, Jo for short. That’s what everyone calls me, but my mama hates it. She always says I’m Anjolina, with an O. I think she was stoned when she picked that name and Daddy let her. She didn’t even spell it right.” She paused. “Maybe Daddy was stoned, too. When I grow up, I’m going to ask them why they weren’t stoned when they named my brother. His name is normal—Christopher.”
Pippa was charmed. This kid could rule the world someday. She said, “So your grandparents live here? It’s a lovely house.”
Anjolina dribbled a couple of times, nodded. “Yes, Grandpa and Grandma live here. I told you, it’s their house. My pain-in-the-butt brother and I visit on Sundays so my folks can drive to Washington to eat at their favorite restaurant in Foggy Bottom.” The little girl thought a moment, frowning. “Do you know why it’s called Foggy Bottom?”
“I guess I knew once, but I forgot, sorry.”
The little girl shook her head. “That name makes it sound like they were stoned, too.”
Pippa laughed, couldn’t help it. “So what’s your dad’s name?”
“Mama calls him ‘jerk’ a lot, but his real name is Mason. Mama said it was his great-granddaddy’s name and that’s why he got stuck with it.”
The little girl leaned over and started bouncing the basketball from right to left, left to right, imitating Steph Curry. She was smooth and looked up, never at the ball. “My stupid brother got sick because he ate too many candy bars last night. I told him Captain America wouldn’t stuff food down like a baboon, but he wouldn’t listen. Well, he puked it all up. My parents still went to Foggy Bottom. Grandma is letting him lie on the couch and watch TV. She brought him saltine crackers and ginger ale. Do you know, he doesn’t even like basketball? Can you believe that?”
“No, I can’t,” Pippa said. “And here you are, doing Steph proud. You take it easy, Jo.” Pippa was turning to leave when the front door opened and a large older woman appeared. Solid-looking, that was Pippa’s first impression, and she wasn’t dressed like the lady of the manor, either. No, she was wearing jeans and a red turtleneck and she was wiping her hands on her apron. Was this Mrs. Sleeman?
“Jo, don’t bother the lady.”
Pippa took a chance and called out, “Mrs. Sleeman?”
“Yes, I’m Joyce Sleeman. Who are you?”
“Pippa Cinelli. I grew up in St. Lumis. I’m back for a short visit. I remembered your beautiful home.”
Pippa could see the woman relax from twenty feet away. Whatever else she might be, Pippa was a local and thus harmless. “Come in, why don’t you, and have a cup of oolong tea. My precious little brain-dead grandson isn’t moaning so loudly from his bellyache. Field just got home—Mr. Sleeman, my husband. I remember you now. Your mama had such a green thumb. She could make any place in St. Lumis look as green as Ireland. And her flowers, I miss all the gorgeous colors. I remember neighbors would bring her dead plants and I swear she’d have them dancing the hula within a week. Your mama had amazing juju. I trust she still does?”
“She does indeed.”
“Do come in, Ms. Cinelli.” She said to Jo, “It’s not too cold, Jo, so you can stay outside and practice your dribble.”
Pippa gave Jo a little wave and followed Mrs. Sleeman into the grand house. She hadn’t remembered how spectacular it was inside, all golden polished wood and rich Persian carpets, a chandelier overhead sparkly as diamonds.
A man’s voice came from behind her. “And who is this? Wait, I saw you last night at the Halloween party at Leveler’s Inn. Sorry, didn’t get your name.”
Mrs. Sleeman said, “Field, this is Pippa Cinelli. She grew up here in St. Lumis. You remember her parents, don’t you?”
“Of course. How are they?”
“They’re great, thank you, sir. They moved to Boston seven years ago. I saw you, too, last night at Leveler’s Inn.”
“A great party, as usual.”
Mrs. Sleeman said, “I couldn’t make it this year, I was part of the kid patrol.” She turned to her husband. “You weren’t tipsy when you came home, Field. How come?”
Mr. Sleeman said, “Business last night. Had to keep my wits about me.”
His wife rolled her eyes. Joyce Sleeman looked like his housekeeper standing next to him. Today, he was dressed in a dark gray pinstriped suit with a pale gray shirt and dark blue tie. He had a headful of iron-gray hair, beautifully styled. Fact was, unlike his wife, he looked rich. Had he been at church sitting through the homily, or buying more real estate? And what was his business last night? Pippa’s dad had always been cautious of Mr. Sleeman but only shook his head when Pippa asked him why that was.
“You don’t look any the worse for wear, Ms. Cinelli. Did you enjoy the party?”
“Yes, along with a couple hundred other people. I saw you speaking with Chief Wilde.”
