The Dead Caller from Chicago Read Online Free Page B

past her wood storm door.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI seen you enough since you were a kid to know you’re Leo’s friend. Get shoveling.”
    â€œI just stopped by.”
    â€œLeo’s got to be more careful with his arrangements. We got three more inches.”
    â€œNo one’s home. Did he take his mother someplace?” I was worried he’d rushed her to the hospital. Nothing else would explain snow sitting for so long.
    â€œThat’s no excuse for not taking care of things so others won’t fall. I use that sidewalk to get to the grocery. Now I have to walk clear around—”
    I cut her off. “Is Mrs. Brumsky all ri—?”
    Now it was her turn to cut me off. “They’re away, but that’s still no excuse. It always snows in Chicago in March, for pity’s sake. Somebody needs to clear it off.”
    â€œAway? Both of them?” I could only think there’d been a sudden emergency, though Leo had never spoken of a relative out of town.
    â€œVacation, for pity’s sake.”
    My mouth went dry. “Leo told you they went on vacation?”
    â€œFort Lauderdale, I think. Or maybe Miami Beach. Florida, for sure. Or maybe it was…” She scratched her head, confusion descending like a veil.
    â€œYou’re sure: Leo took his mother on vacation?” I asked again, damning myself for not returning Leo’s call when I was in Iowa.
    â€œOf course I’m sure. They left right before all that snow came down. You going to shovel, or what?”
    Something was wrong. Ma Brumsky’s idea of a vacation was to cruise a shopping cart at Walmart. Even before she’d become tethered to her front room by the wonders of big-screen television, I’d never known her to want to travel. Leo, of course, took vacations, but only with Endora. They went to exotic spots like Gstaad or St. Barts. Leo was an obedient, loving son, but he’d never expressed any tolerance for vacationing with Ma Brumsky.
    Then there was the uncleared snow. Leo was a meticulous planner. His removal service would have come around while he was away.
    Unless he’d not thought to tell them they would be away.
    I had my cell phone out before the neighbor slammed her door. Leo’s voice answered, telling me to leave a message. I did. “This is Dek. Snow has accumulated all over your sidewalk. I’m going to shovel, but Lester Lance Leamington is advising me to embrace greed, not menial labor. I expect payment of at least a thousand dollars, along with a phone call explaining what’s gotten into Ma, abandoning television to take off on vacation.”
    I clicked off. Cracking wise hadn’t made me feel any better.
    A snow shovel leaned against the back porch. As I pushed the snow through the gangway to the front, I paused to look up and smile winningly at the neighbor’s window. The curtain fluttered.
    I cleaned the sidewalk and the front steps and returned the shovel to the back of the house. Even with the exercise, even wearing two coats, I’d begun to shiver. Something was wrong.
    I started the Jeep, turned the heater on high, and called Endora’s cell phone. I got routed to voice mail. I called her office at the Newberry and got her machine. Finally, I tried the library’s main number. The operator said Endora wasn’t in. She wouldn’t tell me anything else.
    I drove back to the turret, drank coffee, and tried trimming out a window. After ruining five pieces of wood, I gave it up and left three more messages on Leo’s cell phone and two on Endora’s. By now it was well past dinnertime. I microwaved something pictured on its box as looking beige. It came out green. I took it to my electric blue La-Z-Boy and switched on my tiny television with its dangling converter. Though it was just past ten, Lester Lance Leamington appeared, untroubled, optimistic, and chock full of the same crap he’d been spewing late-night and