over that alley with everything. It's like he stepped out of thin air, walked a few steps, then croaked.”
"Kaspar Hauser," she mumbled. "How about a fall?"
"Nope. Nothing he could've fallen from. No bruises or anything, either. Just some passion scratches on his back." Her eyebrows arched. "That's what John thinks."
"There goes my helicopter idea. Eat your broccoli."
Ech,
he thought. Especially broccoli. But cauliflower was worse and he would get that tomorrow if he didn't eat up today. He was the only baby she had now.
"Matthew called," she said, and was off with the latest from their youngest, who was at UMC and costing more than some of Uncle Sam's earlier wars. His major was Criminal Science. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, he said. Cash was not sure why, did not understand, but was pleased. Most kids weren't interested in their old man's work. Especially cops' kids. They all wanted to make a new world and a million bucks. Cash wasn't against doing either. It was just that the youngsters apparently believed in witchcraft, that somewhere, maybe in Washington, there was a magic button. If you were to push it, all the bad guys would get good, all the poor people would get rich, and all the starving would be fed. But the Powers had hidden it, because for some obscure reason that was to their advantage.
Talking about Matthew inevitably led to their other son, Michael. Obliquely, Annie asked, "When are you going to have John and Carrie over again?"
John Harald and Michael had grown up together, gone to college together, and had been in the war together. Vietnam. That had been "The War" to them. To Cash it was that nearly forgotten playground squabble with the Madman of Berlin. To each generation its own, he thought.
Michael Cash had not come home from his. He was still technically MIA. It was a thing between John and Cash that sometimes made them uncomfortable with one another, though they had few differences over the war itself.
"Did you hear me, Norman?"
"Sorry. It's the case."
"I asked what block."
"Eh? Oh. Forty-two hundred. Four or five places west of where you used to live."
"Ech. Good place for it. Right behind old spooky Groloch's. Is she still there? Did you meet her?"
"Yeah. Nice old lady. Reminded me of Auntie Gertie."
"We thought she was a witch when I was little. Took a dare to get us to go past on her side of the street."
"She's been there that long?"
"Was I born in the Dark Ages? Just because little Mike thinks I polished cannonballs for George Washington…"
"You know what I mean. Nobody stays around over there. She's probably the only one on the block that was there five years ago."
"Another murder mystery at Miss Groloch's," Annie mused. "What do you want to watch tonight? There's a Tony Curtis movie on Channel Five. An original, one of those pilot things. Or 'Hawaii Five-O'?"
"Cop shows, cop shows, that's all you get on Tuesday. Let's watch the movie. What do you mean, another murder mystery?"
"Oh, a long time ago, before I was born, they tried to get Miss Groloch for murdering her… lover, I guess. Only they never found the body."
"Warm up the time machine. I'll send them mine. Then we'll all be happy."
"That's not fair. I think she was innocent. He probably ran off with her money. He was a rat."
"If you weren't even born…"
"Mom told me about him. Even if she was guilty, she should've gotten a medal. When I was a kid, people still talked about how rotten Jack O'Brien was. Most of them did think she killed him, but they were on her side. They said he was a liar, a thief, a cheat, that he never worked a day. And that the only reason he would've hung around an older woman was to use her somehow. But nobody ever figured how she could've done it. That's how come we were scared."
"How old is she, anyway?"
"I don't know. At least eighty-five. That was in nineteen
"Kaspar Hauser," she mumbled. "How about a fall?"
"Nope. Nothing he could've fallen from. No bruises or anything, either. Just some passion scratches on his back." Her eyebrows arched. "That's what John thinks."
"There goes my helicopter idea. Eat your broccoli."
Ech,
he thought. Especially broccoli. But cauliflower was worse and he would get that tomorrow if he didn't eat up today. He was the only baby she had now.
"Matthew called," she said, and was off with the latest from their youngest, who was at UMC and costing more than some of Uncle Sam's earlier wars. His major was Criminal Science. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, he said. Cash was not sure why, did not understand, but was pleased. Most kids weren't interested in their old man's work. Especially cops' kids. They all wanted to make a new world and a million bucks. Cash wasn't against doing either. It was just that the youngsters apparently believed in witchcraft, that somewhere, maybe in Washington, there was a magic button. If you were to push it, all the bad guys would get good, all the poor people would get rich, and all the starving would be fed. But the Powers had hidden it, because for some obscure reason that was to their advantage.
Talking about Matthew inevitably led to their other son, Michael. Obliquely, Annie asked, "When are you going to have John and Carrie over again?"
John Harald and Michael had grown up together, gone to college together, and had been in the war together. Vietnam. That had been "The War" to them. To Cash it was that nearly forgotten playground squabble with the Madman of Berlin. To each generation its own, he thought.
Michael Cash had not come home from his. He was still technically MIA. It was a thing between John and Cash that sometimes made them uncomfortable with one another, though they had few differences over the war itself.
"Did you hear me, Norman?"
"Sorry. It's the case."
"I asked what block."
"Eh? Oh. Forty-two hundred. Four or five places west of where you used to live."
"Ech. Good place for it. Right behind old spooky Groloch's. Is she still there? Did you meet her?"
"Yeah. Nice old lady. Reminded me of Auntie Gertie."
"We thought she was a witch when I was little. Took a dare to get us to go past on her side of the street."
"She's been there that long?"
"Was I born in the Dark Ages? Just because little Mike thinks I polished cannonballs for George Washington…"
"You know what I mean. Nobody stays around over there. She's probably the only one on the block that was there five years ago."
"Another murder mystery at Miss Groloch's," Annie mused. "What do you want to watch tonight? There's a Tony Curtis movie on Channel Five. An original, one of those pilot things. Or 'Hawaii Five-O'?"
"Cop shows, cop shows, that's all you get on Tuesday. Let's watch the movie. What do you mean, another murder mystery?"
"Oh, a long time ago, before I was born, they tried to get Miss Groloch for murdering her… lover, I guess. Only they never found the body."
"Warm up the time machine. I'll send them mine. Then we'll all be happy."
"That's not fair. I think she was innocent. He probably ran off with her money. He was a rat."
"If you weren't even born…"
"Mom told me about him. Even if she was guilty, she should've gotten a medal. When I was a kid, people still talked about how rotten Jack O'Brien was. Most of them did think she killed him, but they were on her side. They said he was a liar, a thief, a cheat, that he never worked a day. And that the only reason he would've hung around an older woman was to use her somehow. But nobody ever figured how she could've done it. That's how come we were scared."
"How old is she, anyway?"
"I don't know. At least eighty-five. That was in nineteen
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