He Sees You When You're Sleeping Read online

  “It’s time for me to go now, Marissa.”

  “Christmas Eve-you promised!” she said.

  Charlie and Marge always piled the presents under the tree a few days before Christmas. Their three children all lived nearby on Long Island, a blessing for which Marge gave daily thanks.

  “How many people’s kids are scattered to the ends of the earth?” she would ask rhetorically from under the dryer. “We’re so lucky.”

  Their six grandchildren were a source of joy, from the seventeen-year-old about to start college to the six-year-old in the first grade. “All good kids. Not a lemon in the lot,” Marge often boasted.

  But tonight, after she and Charlie had arranged the gifts, they did not feel their usual sense of satisfaction and anticipation. Dread of the inevitable outcome of Charlie going to the FBI had settled over them, and at 8:30 they were sitting quietly side by side in the living room, Charlie aimlessly flipping the channels on the television.

  Marge stared at the Christmas tree, a sight that usually brought her great comfort and joy. Tonight it didn’t have that effect on her. Not even the homemade ornaments her grandchildren had made over the years could bring a smile to her face.

  Then, as she watched, one of the ornaments slid to the carpet, the paper-mâché angel with one wing shorter than the other, and wearing a hat instead of a halo. She got up to retrieve the angel, but before she could reach it, the ornament started to glow.

  Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. For once, not a word came from her lips. In ten seconds the angel had been transformed into a pleasant-faced man, neatly dressed in a dark blue chesterfield coat and wearing a homburg, which he promptly removed.

  “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH,” Marge screamed.

  Charlie had started to doze on the couch. He jumped up, saw Sterling, and cried, “Junior sent you, I know he did.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Marge cried prayerfully. “The Badgetts didn’t send him, Charlie. He’s a ghost.”

  “Please don’t be alarmed. I’m here to help solve your problems with the Badgetts,” Sterling said calmly. “Do sit down.”

  They looked at each other and then obeyed. Marge blessed herself.

  Sterling smiled. For a moment he said nothing, wanting them to get used to him and lose any lingering fear that he might do them harm.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

  Marge’s eyes were still like saucers. “Please do, and help yourself to the Christmas cookies,” she said, pointing to the dish on the coffee table.

  “No, thank you.” He smiled. “I don’t eat anymore.”

  “I wish I had that problem,” Charlie said, staring at Sterling, the remote control still in his hand.

  “Turn off the TV, Charlie,” Marge ordered.

  Click. Sterling was amused, remembering the queen’s remark that in this house, Marge ruled the roost. He could see them both begin to relax. They understand that I’m not here to harm them, he thought. It’s time to explain myself to them.

  “You know Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell, Charlie,” he began. “And you know they are in the Witness Protection Program.”

  Charlie nodded.

  “I was sent here to help Billy’s little girl, Marissa, who longs to be with her father and grandmother. In order to accomplish that, it is necessary to remove the threat that hovers over them.”

  “Junior and Eddie,” Charlie said flatly.

  “Those two!” Marge said contemptuously.

  “As I began investigating the best way to ensure Nor and Billy’s safety, I realized that you are in grave danger from the Badgetts as well.”

  Marge reached for Charlie’s hand.

  “Understanding all the circumstances, I have come to the conclusion that the best and most effective way to solve the problem is to get the Badgetts to go back to Wallonia, where they will be incarcerated for the remainder of their lives.”

  “And I hope they throw away the key,” Marge pronounced. “Those two are bad, bad, bad.”

  Ever the lawyer, Charlie said, “I assure you, there is no way that those two will ever willingly set a foot on Wallonian soil.”

  “Even for Mama Heddy-Anna?” Sterling asked.

  “They’ve been crying in their beer for nearly fifteen years about not seeing her, but they still haven’t paid her a visit,” Charlie said.

  “I have a plan that just might take them back to their mother’s side,” Sterling explained.

  Their expressions suddenly hopeful, Charlie and Marge listened raptly.

  The next morning, FBI agent Rich Meyers, accompanied by his top assistant, agent Hank Schell, arrived at the home of Charlie and Marge Santoli. Dressed as repairmen, they carried in tool kits that held recording equipment.

  They sat at the kitchen table with the Santolis while Schell set up and tested the microphone.

  When Charlie had phoned Meyers the previous night, Meyers warned him that he might want to have legal counsel before going on the record with potentially self-incriminating disclosures.

  Charlie had dismissed the suggestion. I’ve got something far better than a lawyer, he thought. I’ve got Sterling in my corner.

  “Ready, Mr. Santoli?” Meyers asked.

  “Yes, I am. For the record, my name is Charles Santoli…”

  For the next hour, Charlie described his connection with the Badgetts, starting with their legitimate enterprises, then detailing his growing knowledge of their criminal activities. He concluded by saying that in his opinion the government would never be able to convict Junior and Eddie Badgett of arson in the Kramer warehouse fire, and that Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell would always be in grave danger, whether or not they were in protective custody.

  Meyers listened impassively.

  Charlie took a deep breath. “With what I’m going to suggest to you, you may decide I need medication, not legal help, but at least hear me out.”

  Sterling made a face at Charlie and winked.

  With a slight smile, Charlie calmly laid out the plan Sterling had outlined to him the night before. Every once in a while he glanced over at Sterling for approval and was rewarded with an encouraging nod.

  Meyers’ first reaction-“You want to do what?”-gradually changed to a grudging “It’s not impossible,” to an eventual “We’ve spent thousands of hours trying to get these guys and haven’t been able to make anything stick. But if they’re in prison for good, in Wallonia, their whole rotten operation will fall apart.”

  “That’s my point,” Charlie said eagerly. “It may take years to get a conviction here, and even in prison, they’d still be dangerous. But put them in prison halfway around the world, and those dopey goons of theirs would just disappear.”

  When the recorder was turned off, the two agents stood up, and Meyers said, “Obviously I’ve got to talk to the big guys at the office about this. I’ll get back to you in a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll be here,” Charlie said. “My office is closed through Christmas.”

  When Meyers and Schell left, Marge commented, “Waiting is always the hardest part, isn’t it?”

  Sterling thought of his forty-six years in the celestial waiting room. “I absolutely agree,” he said. “Hopefully the waiting will be over very soon for all of us.”

  At one o’clock, Rich Meyers phoned back. “It’s a go. If you can do your part, we’ll take care of the rest.”

  “The stores are always so busy at Christmastime,” Jewel sighed as the limo pulled through the gates of the Badgett estate at three o’clock. “But doesn’t it get you into the spirit, going to the mall and seeing everybody rushing around, doing their last-minute shopping?”

  “It gets on my nerves,” Junior said sourly. “I don’t know how you talked me into going.”

  “Me too,” Eddie echoed. “I’m not the type to eat lunch in the food court. That place was so noisy, I couldn’t hear myself think.”

  “You never think anyway,” Junior muttered.

  “Very funny,” Eddie gro
wled. “Everybody says I take after you.”

  “But we got some good stuff,” Jewel said brightly. “Those ski sweaters I treated you to look so nice. The trouble is we never go away, and there’s not much skiing on Long Island.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well. What’re you gonna do?”

  Inside the house, Jewel went straight to the salon to plug in the Christmas tree. “I can’t say I’m crazy about all these purple lights,” she murmured as she squatted, cord in hand, fishing for the outlet.

  Junior was at the window. “You invite one of your ditzy friends over here, Jewel? There’s a car down at the gate.”

  “My friends aren’t ditzy, and no, they’re all out shopping.”

  The intercom rang. Eddie went to the security panel on the wall and pushed the button. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Charlie, and I have my wife with me. Mind if we come up for a few minutes?”

  Eddie rolled his eyes. “Sure, I guess it’s okay.”

  “What the heck is Charlie bringing Marge over here for?” Junior asked irritably.

  “It’s the holidays,” Jewel reminded them. “People drop in and visit each other. No big deal. Just nice and friendly. And caring.”

  “The holidays stink,” Eddie said. “They make me feel bad.”

  “That’s a very natural reaction,” Jewel told him earnestly. “I was just reading an article written by a very smart psychologist. According to him, people get depressed because-”

  “Because people like you drive them crazy,” Eddie interrupted.

  “Watch it, Eddie. Jewel is only trying to cheer us up.”

  “Oh, lambie pie, you’re so right. That’s all I want to do.”

  Eddie went to the door to admit the Santolis.

  As the handle turned, Sterling whispered, “Don’t be nervous, Marge.”

  Eddie’s lame greeting, “Hi yah, come on in,” made both Santolis know exactly how welcome they really were.

  Marge braced herself and followed Eddie into the salon, trailed by Charlie and the ever-present Sterling.

  “Welcome,” Jewel trilled. “Happy holidays. What a nice surprise. We were thrilled to see your car drive in.”

  Oh my God, look at that tree, Marge thought. The few times she’d been in this house around Christmas, the trees had been reasonably traditional. Not this year.

  She was holding a tin of cookies and handed it to Jewel. “I make these for all my friends every Christmas,” she said.

  “A sign of love,” Jewel cooed.

  “Sit down for a minute,” Junior said. “We were on our way out.”

  “Sit, sit, sit,” Jewel encouraged.

  “We won’t stay,” Charlie promised as he and Marge sat together on a couch. “It’s just that Marge had a dream last night that was so powerful, she felt she had to alert you.”

  “Alert us about what?” Junior asked, his tone measured.

  “I had the most disturbing dream last night-about your mother,” Marge began.

  “MAMA!” Eddie bellowed. “Did something happen to her?”

  Marge shook her head. “No, but does she suffer from dizzy spells?”

  “Yeah,” Junior’s eyes bored into Marge’s face.

  “Pains around the heart?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gas?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She can’t taste her food?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Never closes an eye?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Throws up occasionally?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Swollen gums?”

  “I can’t take it no more,” Eddie shouted, his face crumbling into tears. “I gotta call her.”

  He ran to the phone.

  Mama Heddy-Anna’s annual Christmas party was in full swing. The wine and grappa were flowing. Everybody had brought a favorite dish, and the table was groaning with food. An old phonograph was scratching out Christmas carols, and a sing-along was in full swing.

  When the phone rang, the person nearest to the phonograph yanked the needle from the record and screamed, “Pipe down, everybody!”

  A few additions to Mama’s list of ailments had been added by a couple of the partygoers, and someone obligingly pointed them out, as after waiting for the fifth ring, Mama Heddy-Anna picked up the phone.

  “Ha… Ha… lllo.”

  “Mama, how are you? Someone had a dream you weren’t feeling so good…”

  “They dreamed right.” Heddy-Anna winked at her friends and motioned for her eyeglasses as she squinted at the new writing on the board.

  “Mama, talk louder, I can’t hear you. You sound so sick…”

  Heddy-Anna read from the blackboard. “I think this is my last Christmas.” She sighed, then improvised: “Did the person with the dream warn you that I’m a dying woman?”

  “Mama, don’t say that. It’s not true. Grandmama lived to be one hundred and three, remember.”

  “She was a strong woman… not like me.”

  Junior picked up the extension. “Mama, is something worse?”

  “I threw up this morning… because my gums are so swollen… dizzy, you should know how dizzy I am… can’t see straight… wait a minute… I got the heart pain again… somedays it won’t stop…”

  Heddy-Anna’s friends, impatient to resume partying, began to signal her to hang up the phone.

  She nodded. “I can’t talk anymore,” she whined, “I’m short of breath. I need my rest. I can’t believe you’re calling so late. But what do I expect from sons who never come to see their mama?”

  “Mama, you know how much we love you,” Eddie sobbed.

  A click in his ear was her response.

  Jewel handed Eddie a fresh handkerchief. Junior blew his nose vigorously.

  Marge and Charlie looked appropriately grave. Marge stood up. “I’m so sorry I said anything. I just thought it might be better to let you know, in case you wanted to go spend the holidays with her.”

  Charlie looked embarrassed. “Marge, would you wait in the car please? There’s a little business I have to discuss with Junior and Eddie.”

  “Of course.” Marge grabbed Junior’s hand and pressed it. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed.

  As she passed Eddie, she kissed him comfortingly on the cheek.

  “Walk Marge to the car, Jewel, and then give us a few minutes,” Junior ordered.

  Jewel linked her arm with Marge. “Come on, honey. You were just trying to help.”

  When they were out of earshot, Charlie said hesitantly, “Of course, you understand that Marge is under the impression that you’ve visited Mama Heddy-Anna regularly over the years.”

  “It’s a good thing she understands that,” Junior snapped.

  Charlie let it pass. “I felt so upset when Marge told me about her dream. Knowing the circumstances, something occurred to me. It may be a wild idea, but…” He paused and shrugged. “Well, at least I want you to know about it. It’s a way that just might make it possible for you to safely visit your mother on Christmas Eve.”

  “What are you talking about?” Junior demanded.

  “What does the St. Stephen of the Mountains monastery mean to you?”

  “St. Stephen of the Mountains monastery? That was in the next town from us, just over the border. We used to ski there all the time when we were kids. It’s been shut down since before we left.”

  “I thought you might have heard about it. They’re reopening the monastery as a hotel on New Year’s Day.”

  “No kidding.” Eddie blinked. “Nobody was ever allowed in there. But what about it anyhow?”

  “My cousin, who is a nun, usually joins us for Christmas dinner. She won’t be with us this year because she’s going on a pilgrimage. Sixty nuns and brothers and priests from all over the country will be staying at St. Stephen’s during Christmas week, before it opens to the public.”

  They’re getting the message, Charlie thought, as he saw the brothers exchange thoughtful glances. “They’ve c
hartered a plane that is leaving tomorrow evening from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. They’ll land at the new airstrip near the hotel, which, of course, is just over the border from your mother’s home.”

  Charlie hesitated, wishing he could mop his brow, but he didn’t want to seem nervous.

  “I asked my cousin if there were any seats left on the charter, and as of this morning there still were four or five.”

  Junior and Eddie looked at each other. “We could ski from the monastery to Mama’s house in no time at all,” Eddie said.

  Charlie swallowed, aware he either was about to hit a home run, or strike out. “I was thinking that if you two dressed as monks who had taken the vow of silence, there’d be no danger of anyone finding out who you are. I imagine you could easily arrange for the proper documentation.”

  “No problem,” Junior said brusquely. There was a pause. He looked at his brother. “It always seemed too risky to go back home, but this could work.”

  “I’m going back,” Eddie said, determination in his voice. “I’d never close an eye if anything happened to Mama before I got to see her again.”

  Charlie frowned. “We’re going to have to act fast. The seats may already be gone.”

  “They better not be.” Junior glowered. “When you heard about them, you shudda told us right away.”

  Charlie took out his cell phone.

  “No, call from our phone. Put it on the speaker,” Junior ordered.

  “Of course.”

  “St. Mary’s Convent,” a woman’s voice answered softly. “Sister Joseph speaking.”

  “Sister Joseph, this is Charles Santoli, Sister Margaret’s cousin.”

  “Yes, how are you Mr. Santoli?”

  “I’m well. Is Sister Margaret there?”

  “No, I’m sorry, she’s doing some last-minute shopping for her trip. We were advised to bring extra sweaters or wraps.”

  The brothers looked at Charlie. “Ask her,” Junior said impatiently.

  “Sister, do you happen to know if the flight to St. Stephen’s is full?”

  “I think it is, but let me take a look.”