The Matriarch by Sharon; Hawes Page B

feeling for his pulse.
    “He okay?” I ask, beginning to be ashamed that I’d rather deck Deputy Al than help my uncle.
    She nods. “Pulse is strong. He’s coming around.”
    Charlotte rushes through the room toward the front door. “I’m out of here,” she says, clutching her phone. “Shelly’s alone at the Russos’ house. The police have taken Carla into custody.”
    I move toward her. “I’ll call you later,” I say, and she nods as she runs out the door.
    “Cassidy?” Frank says with his eyes wide open. He looks scared.
    “I’m right here, Uncle Frank.” I kneel, taking his hand.
    “Help me up, boy.” I pull him up into a sitting position. Dott brings him a glass of water, and he drinks it down. He looks over at the deputy. “It’s true?”
    Louie goes to Frank and licks the old man’s face.
    “Yes sir,” Deputy Al says. “I’m … real sorry.” After a moment, his gaze goes to my face. “That your Ranger out there?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I need to talk to you.” He steps to the door and motions me to follow.
    “I’ll be right back, Uncle Frank.” I walk out onto the porch with Schmidt.
    “What kind of dog is that?” he asks.
    “American Staff Terrier.”
    “Isn’t that the same thing as a Pit Bull?”
    “He’s an American Staff Terrier,” I say. “You bring me out here to ask about my dog?”
    Al looks toward the Ranger. “Your registration has expired,” he says. He’s smiling.
    “What?”
    “Your regis—”
    “Yeah, well. I’ll take care of it.”
    Now? You choose this moment to tell me about that?
    “Thanks for the reminder.”
    “No reminder,” the deputy says, favoring me with a grin. “I have to write you a ticket.”
    “Al, for Chrissake,” I begin, but I know this fucker is getting off, and happy as hell to write me a ticket.
    “No problem, Cassidy,” Al says with a wave of his hand. “You stay with your uncle. I’ll leave the ticket on your windshield.” He puts his hat on, gives me a mock salute, and goes down the stairs.
    With Dott’s help, I get Frank into his bed. He lies on his back, his hands across his chest. He’s hugging himself. I see him shiver and pull the covers up over his arms to his chin. A role reversal, I’m thinking. How many times had Frank put me to bed when I was little? I always wanted the blanket tucked in on both sides holding my arms and legs down, the tighter the better. I’d felt safe that way, as if strapped into security.
    Dott and I stand at Frank’s bedside watching him drop off to sleep almost instantly. We tiptoe out of the room and walk together to the front door.
    “I’ll be happy to stay if you think I can be of help.” She swipes at her hair with a hand.
    “Thanks, but I think he’ll be okay now—at least for the night. C’mon, let’s sit outside for a moment.” We go out onto the porch with Louie and settle into the wicker chairs at the table. The night is moonless but bright with stars. The serene beauty of it makes me uneasy, as if it’s hiding a menace I can’t begin to name. And I don’t blame my anxiety totally on the disturbing murder of Dante Russo. There’s something more going on here … but I haven’t a clue.
    “You knew the Russos?” I ask Dott.
    “Not well. They seemed happy enough to me. But marriage is a trip into the mystic unknown as far as I’m concerned.”
    “I need to ask you …” I laugh, knowing my questions will sound weird. “This is going to sound fucking crazy—” I stop, realizing I’m speaking to her as if she’s male, one of the guys. “Excuse my language, Dott; I do apologize.”
    Dott gives a snort and whacks me on my back. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “I need to ask you about fig trees. You seem to know a lot about them. Have you seen Frank’s tree?”
    “Not for a long time, I guess. Not since well before the quake. It was a little bit of a thing back then, a scrub.”
    “See, that’s part of the puzzle,” I say. I think for a moment, and Dott