Phantom of Riverside Park Read Online Free PDF Page B

the check that had suddenly
shrunk down to normal size. Elizabeth snatched it off the table and
marched to the telephone. Papa pretended not to notice what she was
doing as she thumbed through the telephone book. He went to the
sink and turned on the water as she worked her way through the
bank’s computerized answering service until she got a real person.
But she knew he was watching out of the corner of his eyes. She saw
how he was standing tilted sideways with his good ear turned her
way so he could hear every word.
    She found out what she wanted to know and
hung up the phone.
    “The check’s good.”
    “I knew it the minute I saw it. I’m not so
old I can’t tell counterfeit from the real thing. No ma’am, I
didn’t roll off a watermelon truck. Even if some folks around here
whose name I won’t bother to mention think I don’t know what I’m
doing.”
    Papa snapped the dish towel, a sure sign he
was miffed.
    “I didn’t say that, Papa.”
    “Now if it was me, I’d cash that check before
this fellow, whoever he is, changes his mind and takes it all
back.” He gave her a sly glance. “If I had a child who needed an
operation and if it was me.”
    Elizabeth smiled. Papa would offer advice
till the cows came home, as Mae Mae used to say, but he was never
one to ask questions.
    That wasn’t Papa’s way. He hadn’t even
questioned her when she’d showed up on his doorstep with all her
suitcases five years ago.
    “The sheets in the spare room are clean,”
he’d said. “Get a good night’s sleep. We can talk in the mornin’ if
you want to. Breakfast is at five-thirty.”
    Lying in the pine bed Papa had made she’d
felt as if she were constructed of glass. She lay with her feet
together and arms straight down at her sides, unmoving lest she
shatter. She’d heard the wind stir when it was disturbed by a
hawk’s wings, the call of the owl as it soared through the darkness
looking for prey, the soft scrunch of dead leaves as mice scurried
through the night.
    Having a baby out of wedlock might be the
norm in some parts of the country, but in a small Bible belt town
still divided into the
haves
and the
have nots
,
it still brought censure. Elizabeth didn’t give a fig about public
opinion; that’s not why she’d run to Papa. The terror clawing at
her gut was the prospect of raising a child alone, with no job, no
support, no higher education, and no way out. Or so it seemed.
    But Papa never chastised, never pried: he
merely took up the slack, filled in all the gaps.
    How much longer could he fill all the roles
he’d taken on?
    Though he blustered and postured and claimed
to be tough as nails, he looked so fragile standing beside the sink
that Elizabeth swallowed a huge lump in her throat. It was her turn
to be the caretaker, her turn to be head of the house.
    It would be so easy. All she had to do was
cash the check. All those lovely zeroes.
    Best to put temptation out of her sight. She
started to fold the check when the creature imprinted in the corner
leaped out at her, his hideous face and misshapen body suggesting
demons, his wings reminiscent of angels. The gargoyle. The
protector.
    Where had she seen that logo? The sight of it
sent shivers through her, and even after she put the check out of
sight at the bottom of the Mickey Mouse cookie jar she was still
chilled, as if an icy wind were blowing through her house.
    “I’m going to look a gift horse in the mouth,
Papa.”
    “You think they’re behind the million
dollars?”
    They never spoke the name aloud, as if the
very sound of it could conjure up the powerful Delta family in the
midst of their shabby house in Memphis. Belliveau. Even the thought
of it brought back memories so disturbing Elizabeth had to wrap her
arms around herself to keep from shattering like a cola bottle
tossed on the sidewalk.
    Papa was watching her, his thin lips pressed
together in a tight line, his brow furrowed in concern. Elizabeth
nodded.
    “If I was twenty years