Final Winter

The interior of the living room was dark, with the lights on low and the shades drawn. Mamma Garrity was an old woman, in her eighties or nineties, who moved slow and whose dark skin was wrinkled and lined, but whose tongue was sharp to go along with an equally sharp mind. She had invited Brian in after he had shown his identification, and now he was sipping a lukewarm glass of lemonade as she sat across from him in an overstuffed easy chair that looked like it was ready to swallow her whole. For about a half-hour she had talked to him about growing up in Cincinnati, about her youth and courting and marriage and two sons and three daughters and numerous grandchildren and greatgrandchildren, about her hip-replacement surgery and her sore knees and cataracts, and using the listening skills that he had developed over the years at the NYPD Brian had nodded at all the right places, until finally Mamma Garrity had slowly used up her memories and stories, and had seemed to focus .

‘Mmm… Detective Doyle, you’re asking me about that Scott woman… and her aunt — correct?’ she said.

‘That’s right, ma’am,’ Brian said, trying not to show any expression as he swallowed the warm, sour mixture. By his side was a fireplace, blocked off, with rows of photographs lined up on the mantelpiece, photos of families and young men and old women and serious-looking men in uniform, firefighter uniform, Navy uniform… a whole spectrum of an old woman’s life, frozen forever with photo paper and chemicals.

The old woman said, ‘Yes, I remember her now. Elyse Annanova… kept to herself. A well-dressed woman. Went to church every Sunday. A clean, quiet life… and then her niece moved in suddenly. There had been death in that young girl’s family. So she came in and she kept to herself — the both of them. Just went to church every weekend, saw them in the local markets… kept to themselves. Quiet neighbors. Wish we had more of them.’

‘Did you ever see if they had any visitors?’

‘Not that I can recall… you see, it was different, back then. Before the money came in. Before those yuppies bought up buildings and such…not that I mind much, I mean, money is green and doesn’t really care what color your skin is, am I right?’

Brian said, ‘Yes, I believe you’re right.’

Mamma Garrity smiled at him, like a retired teacher pleased at the progress of a long-ago student. ‘Yes… yes, I do believe I’m right. So. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

He managed another sip of the sour lemonade. ‘No, I’m afraid that’s all. I’m very grateful for your time, Mrs Garrity.’

She smiled. ‘It’s so nice to have visitors… and this pains me to say this, detective, but… well, you said you’re with the Federal government, am I right?’

‘I’m attached to the Federal government, yes, in assisting them with inquiries about certain issues.’

‘Like Miss Scott’s life, right?’

‘That’s one of my roles, yes.’

She nodded, her smile in place. ‘And this all confidential, am I right? Everything I say to you is just as if I was talking to the government. Right?’

This was going in an odd direction. ‘Yes, you’re right. All confidential.’

Mamma Garrity seemed pleased as she nodded again. ‘Good. I’ve been wondering for a very long time who I should complain to. You see, ever since I moved here, after my oldest son moved to Detroit and gave me this home, I haven’t been getting my money. And I wonder if you can help me out.’

Brian said, ‘You mean your Social Security?’

She laughed. ‘Oh no, not that. My Social Security comes right as it’s supposed to — one of the few things in God’s world you can count on. No, it’s the other money that I’ve missed, ever since I moved. The support money.’

Brian’s head felt foggy, as if he had woken up from an unexpected afternoon nap. He had been seconds away from leaving this musty old house and tossing the Adrianna Scott file into his luggage, ready to ignore it for another few weeks. Until this.

‘Mrs Garrity, I’m sorry that I don’t understand about the support money, but if you let me know what it’s about I’ll see that you get it.’

Now she was a bit suspicious. ‘Including the past months? I warn you, it’s going to be a large number.’

‘Sure. Whatever it is, I’ll make sure.’

‘Well… I hate to bring it up, but I was promised. And the others, we were promised, too, and we all got those checks, month after month. After a while, you got to depend on them. We surely did. And trust me, I think I might be the last one alive… but still, a deal is a deal, right?’

‘Yes, you’re absolutely right,’ Brian said, looking at that old, calm face. Mamma Garrity’s words were making his fingertips tingle at the thought that something was going on.

He said, ‘Tell me all about it, right from the beginning, and then I’ll take care of it.’