"No wonder Paulie could afford the Italian villa. He had almost six mil, his share and yours."

"Paulie only gave Angelo one share to wash. I told Angelo that all Paulie gave me was ten grand. He can't believe it. We go outside and he's arguing with Paulie in

Italian. He tells Paulie that he's giving me his share. That's when Paulie tells me he knows about me and Lana. He says he had Lana whacked because of me. That's the word he used, 'whacked.' That's when I hit him. Twice, hard. He goes down, blood and teeth everywhere. The wise guys grab me."

"And they feel the wire."

"One guy does and rips my shirt open. I take the wire off, hand it to Angelo, and tell him I was only getting him proof that Paulie screwed me."

"He bought it?"

"Not right away. But he made a few phone calls and found out I wasn't working for any DA's office."

At the foot of the hill, a weekly gathering of the same ruddy-faced old men had begun. One by one, they shuffled down through the park, coming from Sunday Mass at Sacred Heart in tan raincoats and gray tweed overcoats. From youth to death, they trod the same weekly path to the front door of Morley's Bar and talked stiffly of politics and local history until Morley legally unlocked the door and the hops and malt commenced to unlock the tongues.

"You think it was true," Babsie said, "that Paulie really had her killed?"

"It could have been a macho thing-he had a problem with that. Then again, he had a wild mean streak."

A collective girlie scream rose from the field below as the ball neared the goal.

"So what do you think?" Eddie said. 'Too much baggage for you?"

"You? A cruise ship has less baggage than you."

"I was a bad drinker, Babsie. Virtually everything in my life that I regret, I did when I was drinking."

"Give me some time to think, Eddie. I'm still pissed off about Friday in Borodenko's house. You should have told me you had an affair with Lana. To me, that goes right to the heart of trust."

The bells of Scared Heart church rang behind them. They both looked at their watches, although they knew exactly what time it was. They'd heard those bells all their lives.

"My mother used to tell a story about you when you were a kid," Babsie said. "She stopped in church during the middle of the day one time. It was like a Tuesday afternoon. She goes in to light a candle. She thinks the church is empty, but then she hears this low murmur coming from the little altar on the side. She sees Father Prendergast. He must have been in his nineties then. He's saying Mass on the side altar, and you're the altar boy. Only the two of you in the entire church."

"He was dying then," Eddie said. "But he had some good days, and he'd want to say Mass. I was probably in the eighth grade. A little bigger than most of the others. They'd send someone to get me out of school."

"My mother said that you helped him to a chair, right in the middle of the Mass. He sat on the side for about fifteen minutes. And you knelt in front of the altar and waited."

"He had spells; then he'd get better. I missed him when he died."

"My mother said it was the sweetest thing she ever saw in her life. You helped him when he forgot where he was. Just the two of you saying the Mass. She said you weren't as bad as she'd thought."

"Well, actually, I missed the money. I always stole five bucks from his wallet after Mass."

"You're so full of it," she said.

"Now I want those days back," Eddie said. "I don't deserve it, but I want it all. I want the clean sheets, family dinner after Mass on Sunday, school plays, Monopoly on the floor, soccer games. All the things I thought were boring years ago."

"No more cocktails and showgirls?"

"Just you."

"No more secrets," she said.

"Absolutely no more secrets. I swear."

Eddie looked back down at the soccer field. The screaming got louder. Grace's team made a goal, or thought they had.

"You weren't as bad as you think," Babsie said. "I'll tell you this. If Paulie Caruso did that to me, no way would I have let him keep all that money for himself. No way I'd let that bastard walk away with my share. I would have burned it or given it to charity… anything but let that scumbag have it."

Eddie nodded. His brow furrowed, he kept nodding, deep in thought.

"You took the money," Babsie said. "Don't tell me you took the goddamned money. Oh shit. That's why that fake boodle in your trunk looked so good. It wasn't fake."

"I didn't say I took it."

"Jesus, Eddie. You are so goddamned high-maintenance. Does it ever end with you?"

"Babsie, listen to me. I never said I took the money."

She sat there breathing hard. This was exactly what her father had warned her about when she'd tacked his picture on her bedroom wall in freshman year. Look at those eyes, her father had said. All those eyes will ever see is trouble, because that's all they'll ever look for.

"I love you," he said. "And I understand the responsi-bility that goes with it. I promise you, no more secrets. I meant that."

He was willing to give up the money to save his daughter, Babsie thought, at least that's in his favor. She looked down the hill past the Toyota, at the girl who called her Gramma. Grace loved him. God, she loved him. Kids are never wrong.

"Keep me in the dark on this, Eddie," she said. "The new rule is we both get to keep one secret. This is yours."

About the Author

Ed Dee retired as a lieutenant after twenty years with the NYPD's Organized Crime Unit. Then he earned an MFA in Writing at Arizona State University. His debut novel, 14 Peck Slip, was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year.