"At this hour of the night? No."
"I'm sorry about that. I can't help it."
The woman wrapped her robe closer around her slim body. "My baby Dennell don't know this homeless man you're talkin' about. Dennell never said nothin' about somebody named Eb. Or Heb."
"I think Dennell did know him. He told us he did. Dennell plays outside a lot, doesn't he? He must have talked to Eb while you were at work."
"Dennell don't know him. He don't know people hangin' on the street. He don't talk to those people."
"How do you know that? You work at the store during the day."
The mother pursed her lips. "Look, I do what I can. I work, I don't take no handouts. Rasheed, he watches the baby when I'm away, or the neighbor lady. What do you know about it anyway? You don't know nothin' about it."
Judy reddened. "I'm just telling you what Dennell told me and Mary."
"Like I tol' you, Rasheed watches Dennell good. I told him not to let the baby talk to no strangers."
"Heb wouldn't be a stranger. Some of the neighbors knew him."
"I didn't. Not me."
"Dennell said Heb was rich."
The mother's brow knitted. "He said that? To you?"
"Yes, he told me Eb gave him money."
"Dennell don't have money."
"Isn't it possible that Heb gave Dennell money?"
"No. I never saw a dime of it."
"But Dennell told me about street money. Did you know about that?"
"Street money?" the mother scoffed. "You don't know if Dennell was for real or not."
"Does Dennell lie?"
The mother didn't reply.
"I didn't think so," Judy said, and the mother looked at her hard.
* * *
The window in the children's crowded bedroom was insulated with Saran Wrap and Scotch tape, and Dennell's skinny bed sat underneath the peeling windowsill. The little boy squinted sleepily against the sudden brightness from a ceiling fixture of old, frosted glass. "Momma?" the boy murmured without opening his eyes.
"Dennell, wake up and talk to me a minute, baby." The mother stroked his head as he lay against a pillow covered with Star Wars characters. "There's a lady here to ask you some questions."
"I'm the lady with the skis," Judy said softly, sitting at the foot of the bed. "Remember me, Dennell?"
The boy's eyes remained closed, and his mother shook him gently by the shoulder. He wore a thick Sesame Street sweatshirt; the bedroom was cold despite a space heater whose two squiggly coils glowed orange in the far corner, near a bookshelf cluttered with battered board games, paperback books, and cassette tapes. The two older sons shared a double bed and one son was wide awake as the other slept. It was the oldest one who was awake, and Judy judged him to be about fifteen. He wore a bright red T-shirt that said CHICAGO BULLS. "Whas' up, Ma?" he asked.
"None of your business, Rasheed. Go back to sleep."
Rasheed quieted but stayed propped up in bed next to his somnolent brother, watching the odd scene. His face was long and handsome with strong features and dark, smallish eyes. Tacked on the wall above the bed were posters of Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and Dennis Rodman's hair.
"Dennell," said the mother, shaking the boy only reluctantly. Dennell dozed on.
Judy considered giving up, but it was too important. Somebody had tried to kill Mary and she had to get to the bottom of it. She had a rapport with this boy, and the police wouldn't. Something was telling her it had to be done tonight. Now. "Dennell," Judy called. "Remember we played with the skis?"
The child cracked an eye. "The skis?"
Judy inched up on the bed beside Dennell's mother. "I slid the ski to you. We played, remember?"
Both large eyes flew suddenly open. "You said it's not a toy!" he said in the loud voice Judy recalled.
"Well, it isn't."
"I fink it is!"
Rasheed snorted. " 'Think.' You got to say 'think.' "
"Fink!" Dennell repeated.
Rasheed shook his smooth head. "He can't say 'th.' "
"Shhh," said their mother, waving Rasheed off and turning back to Dennell. "Baby, you know a man named Eb Darning?"
Dennell nodded. His round eyes rolled from his mother to Judy and back again. He had eyelashes so long they curled up at the end, like a baby camel's.
"He give you money?"
Dennell nodded again, and his mother groaned. "What you do with this money, boy?"
"Did I do bad?"
Rasheed propped himself up higher on his elbows, his expression as intent as Michael Jordan's. "Don't lie, D."
"I ain't lyin'!" Dennell shouted, and his mother patted his leg.
"Settle down now," she said. "Don't be shoutin'. How much money?"
"I don't know. Two. Ten." Dennell shrugged, his tiny shoulders lost in the sweatshirt. "Ten."
"Ten dollars?"
"Yes. Ten."
"Where's this money now?"
Dennell blinked but said nothing.
"He ain't got no money," Rasheed said, and Judy glanced over. Rasheed looked uneasy. You didn't have to be a mother to know what was going on, and the mother turned from her youngest to her oldest.
"Rasheed. You know something 'bout this money?" Rasheed shook his head, and his mother stood up and put her hands on her hips. "Young man, you look me right in the eye and tell me you don't know what this baby's talkin' about."
"Ma—"
"You heard me. You look at me and lie to me. Don't be a sneak."
Rasheed flopped backward on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling. "I ain't a sneak."
"Nothin' I hate worse than a sneak. A sneak's not goin' anywhere in this world. No how. No way. Now you tell me."
Rasheed sighed. "The man give him money and shit."
"Watch your language. Now, what money?"
"Dollar bills."
"How many? Ten?"
"More," Rasheed said to the ceiling.
The mother folded her arms. "Where's this money now?"
"I got it."
"Get it, boy."
Rasheed sighed theatrically, tore off the covers, and swung his large feet out of bed. He started explaining as soon as he hit the thin rug. "It's my money, straight up. Dennell give it to me."
"Get it," his mother said.
"He can have it, Momma," Dennell said helpfully, but was ignored.
Rasheed strode to his closet in his oversized T-shirt and Champion sweatshorts. He was tall and thin, with wiry calf muscles knotted in long legs. He slid the closet door aside on a broken runner and reached in the messy closet to the top shelf. "I was saving it."
"You were keepin' a secret."
"I was savin'. You're always sayin', 'Save, save, save.' " Rasheed shoved a shoe box aside, revealing another tucked way back. It said ADIDAS on the hidden box. "I was savin' in case I didn't get those sneakers for my birthday. The Air Jordans."
His mother looked pained and her body sagged with resignation. "You know I can't get you those sneakers, Rasheed. They're a hundred dollars. I don't have that kind of money, boy."
"I know it, that's why I'm savin'. To get 'em myself."
"You can't get 'em yourself!"
"Yes, I can. You're always sayin', 'Try, try, try.' 'Save, save, save.' Now I'm doin' both and you're rip-shit."
"Rasheed, that's enough. Why didn't you tell me about the money?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
Judy watched in silence. She felt like an intruder, but was thrilled that her search was leading somewhere. She held her breath as Rasheed grabbed the shoe box from the shelf, plopped it on the bed, and lited off the lid. Dennell sat up and tried to peek in the shoe box, and his mother peered inside. "God help me," she said in a hushed tone, and Judy looked in the box.
A thick roll of money nestled in the corner of the shoe box, coiled like a snake. There was a twenty-dollar bill on the outside, but Judy had no way of knowing how much was on the inside. Where had all that come from? Underneath the money was a bright white notebook, and it caught Judy's eye. She was dying to know what it was. "Rasheed," Judy asked, "is the white notebook yours or did that come from Darning, too?"
"He gave it to ME!" Dennell chirped up, sitting cross-legged on his bed. "He tol' me to keep it. So it don't get stole."