From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) (2 page)

“I understand you were injured in Europe,” the judge asked.

Angelo nodded.

“Can you please give me a brief understanding of the extent of your injuries?”

“Physically, I have recovered well, Your Honor,” Angelo said, his voice strong and even. “However, due to a head injury I suffered when my plane was shot down, I have sustained a short-term memory loss. Because the Nazis occupied most of Scandinavia, we had to find a way back to England before we were able to receive medical help.”

“A harrowing experience, doubtless.” Judge Hellerman folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Continue please.”

“Unfortunately, due to a broken arm, I was unable to be reassigned for active flight duty. My commanding officer assigned me to a support position.”

“He did this in spite of your head injuries?” Judge Hellerman raised his eyebrows.

“We were so short of men that there were plenty of things I could do even with an arm in a cast. Also, at the time, Your Honor, we weren’t fully aware of the extent of my head injury. You see, I have no cognitive processing difficulties,” Angelo explained, “but I do have difficulties with retaining details. About fifty percent of what I’m told doesn’t stay with me the first time I hear it.”

“You have no violent episodes?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“You are able to remember your late wife well?”

“Every moment we spent together, Your Honor.” Angelo’s voice was thick with emotion.

Tears pricked the back of Sophia’s eyes.

“You are able to operate a vehicle, and conduct yourself in a safe manner that endangers no one, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Hellerman took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.

Hope stirred within Sophia’s heart. Please, please, please, she prayed, please let this man make the right decision. It wasn’t a prayer that the nuns at St. Catherine’s would have approved of, but it was the most heartfelt prayer that Sophia had ever offered.

Silence filled the courtroom. Sophia struggled to sit still. She longed to look over and see how Luciano’s maternal grandparents were handling the judge’s thoughtful consideration, but she forced herself to stare straight ahead.

Her brother stood calmly and waited for the judge’s next question. She admired his composed exterior. Doubtless, the ability to keep control over his emotions was part of his police training, maybe his military training, but she knew he was as nervous as she was.

How much longer could his honor sit and sift through case notes? When he cleared his throat, Sophia practically jumped out of her skin.

“Clear the courtroom,” he instructed the bailiff. “Mr. Mancini, kindly have a seat. I would like to ask you more questions about the business plan you submitted.”

Charles Burkwaite, Sophia was pleased to notice, was turning purple. “Your Honor, I want to hear more about Mr. Mancini’s proposed venture,” he said.

“You are not the one who needs to be satisfied with Mr. Mancini’s plans. Wait in the hallway until I recall you.”

Sophia stood and scooped her pocketbook and gloves up from the seat beside her.

“Miss Mancini, be kind enough to join your brother at the table.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

From the corner of her eye, Sophia watched as the Burkwaites followed the bailiff out of the courtroom.

Luciano’s maternal grandfather had power, wealth and untold influence in Harrison Heights, true. But he didn’t have the deep and abiding loyalty of friends and family in Little Italy, all the poorer he. Perhaps he didn’t realize the loving, nurturing environment and rich heritage that his grandson would lose if he succeeded in taking Luciano from their home.

But, then again, perhaps he did--which was exactly why she’d not let them win.

***

Twenty long minutes and twenty hard questions later, Judge Hellerman requested the Burkwaites return to the courtroom. He waited until they were in their seats before he addressed them.

“I’ve made a preliminary decision regarding the custody of Luciano Mancini.”

Sophia reached over and squeezed Angelo’s hand. Her heart raced. She took a deep breath.

“I will confess that on paper, it appears without question that the Burkwaites are in a position to give Luciano the best upbringing possible.”

On paper. That sounded promising. She exhaled.

“This morning, prior to actually meeting the parties involved in this case, I was leaning toward ...“

Was, was, was. Was leaning. Hope filled Sophia’s heart.

“... granting custody to the maternal grandparents. However, after meeting Mr. Mancini, I cannot question his very real devotion to his son’s best interests. While I do continue to have questions and concerns about Mr. Mancini’s medical condition, I believe that all of our returning servicemen should be given ample opportunity to readjust to civilian life. Their service to their country, and any resulting injuries, must not be held against them.”

The judge took a long moment to study each of those assembled. His gaze lingered on Charles Burkwaite who, Sophia noted wryly, didn’t even have the good grace to look civil. She took that as a positive sign.

“Therefore, for a conditional period of thirty days, I am going to recommend that Luciano remain in his home with his father under the following conditions.”

Conditions. Sophia darted a sideways glance at Angelo but she couldn’t read his expression.

“My first condition is that Miss Mancini remains in the household and equally assists her brother in all parenting duties.” He looked directly at Sophia. “Are you willing to accept this responsibility, Miss Mancini?”

“Wholeheartedly, Your Honor.”

“Condition number two is that a court appointed social worker, a Miss Featherstone,” he motioned to a woman sitting in the back of the courtroom, “shall visit at a time suitable to her schedule to check in on the lad. Her reports will keep me apprised of Luciano’s welfare. Is that clear?”

Angelo quickly agreed that it was.

“My third condition is that Mr. Mancini continues to visit his physician every other day for psychological testing. I will want to have those test results submitted before we reconvene next. Do you agree to that condition, Mr. Mancini?”

Angelo nodded again. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Fine. My last condition is that when we meet again in thirty days, Mr. Mancini, you and your sister need to provide tangible evidence that your business venture is well underway. Specifically, I want to see a daily log of activity, client list, and a set of your books, with one hundred dollars in billable hours a week.”

Sophia’s heart dropped. They needed to earn a c-note a week? They only had thirty days to launch a private investigation agency? To build a client list? To solve a case? She bit her lip.

“At that time I will better be able to determine your potential to earn a sustainable income.” He looked down at the sister and brother for a long moment. “You have the burden on your shoulders to prove that you can provide for Luciano. If I am not satisfied at that time, no matter how much I might feel for your personal heartache, I will need to order custody transferred to the Burkewaites. Are you completely clear on what I am saying?”

Angelo said that he was. Sophia nodded.

Thirty days. It wasn’t enough time.

Except that it had to be.

The crime rate in Little Italy soared as word got out that the Mancini Detective Agency was open for business. First, Mrs. DiEsprio’s favorite pink crystal rosary was stolen from her bureau drawer. Sophia’s offer to come the next day to help Mrs. DiEsprio clean out her drawers apparently did the trick. Several hours after their client left the brownstone with a typed receipt for the consultation, she phoned Sophia to say that her rosary had miraculously reappeared. A miracle indeed.

Their first case was an open and shut one, but hardly the challenge Sophia had hoped for.

Following several more such transparent cases was a visit by Giuliana Conti. Mrs. Conti wanted to have her husband tailed on the suspicion that he was cheating on her.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” she sniffed into her perfumed handkerchief. “All these years of marriage ... I’ve given that man six children and devoted my life to him, and now this. Can you help me, Angelo?” Her dry eyes went from brother to sister. “Sophia, what can you suggest?”

Sophia glanced at her brother to get his take on the situation but she could see he would be no help. His eyes twinkled and he struggled to keep a smile off of his face.

“Mrs. Conti, isn’t your husband still using his wheelchair to get around?” Sophia waited for the answer she already knew she’d hear. She wasn’t even going to pretend to take notes on this one.

“Well, yes dear, he is. He is ninety-three after all.”

“And how much time do you two spend together?”

“Day and night.” Mrs. Conti lowered her handkerchief and leaned closer to Sophia, her voice conspiratorial. “You know how husbands are. I wait on that man, cook him three meals a day and it seems I don’t have a moment alone. He’s always right there! Why I was telling my daughter–-” She stopped speaking, eyes wide. A sheepish expression flashed across her face. She unsnapped her pocketbook, took out a crisp five dollar bill, and laid it on the table.

Sophia picked it up and held it out to Mrs. Conti. “No, this is too much. While we appreciate you wanting to support our new business, we couldn’t possibly take your money. Could we, Angelo?”

He cleared his throat and managed to contain his laughter. “No, of course not, Mrs. Conti, but thank you for stopping by to wish us well.”

The older woman reached for her cane, struggled to her feet, and spoke as if she hadn’t heard them. “On second thought, perhaps it would be better if I were to spend a few weeks keeping a little diary of when he comes and goes, you know? Yes, that will give you more to go on.” She waved away the cash Sophia held out. “No dear, keep that as a retainer. You can mail a receipt.”

Sophia waited impatiently for Angelo to return from helping Mrs. Conti down the brownstone steps. She was grateful for the outpouring of support from their neighbors, even if it came in the guise of bogus cases. But when the charade ended, as it had to, she and Angelo needed a legitimate business with real clients, not well-meaning friends with empowered imaginations.

“So where exactly are we, sis?” Angelo asked as he sat on the edge of the desk they’d hauled down from the attic early that morning.

“Eight clients and thirty-seven dollars.”

“Not too shabby for our first day.”

“Twenty-nine days, Angelo, that’s the real number to focus on here.” Sophia threw down her pen and paced the length of the living room, or office. Whatever they called it, it was starting to feel like a cage. “You remembered to invite Mrs. Conti to our grand opening tomorrow?”

He nodded. “She said they’d love to come.”

Sophia raised one eyebrow. “They? She’s going to bring her cheating husband?”

“Much easier to keep an eye on him that way, I’m sure.”

Sophia couldn’t help but laugh. If nothing else, the day had proven how many friends and how much support they had. And Angelo had smiled several times and laughed too. That was worth gold.

Now all they needed was a crime. Or a criminal. Both, preferably.

“Sophia, am I supposed to be somewhere right now?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, and I’ve written it down for you. You’re supposed to meet Grandpa at the bocce court in a half an hour.” She handed him a piece of paper with the details written down. “You promised to take Luciano to the pond so he could feed the ducks.”

Angelo looked down at the paper for a long moment before he raised his worried eyes and met her gaze.

“If I can’t remember to pick up my son or where I promised to take him, how in God’s name are we going to solve a crime? Do you really believe we can pull this off?”

“I absolutely do,” Sophia lied without hesitation or guilt. “Now go so Grandpa and Luciano don’t worry about you.”

Angelo brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re the best, sis.”

“I know.” She grinned.

Angelo paused in the doorway. “Do you want to come with us?”

“No. You go and enjoy your time with Luciano.” She waved him out of the room good-naturedly. “I have plans.”

Which was true. She did. Growing up, their grandfather had told them many times that if they went looking for trouble it was sure to find them. Trouble was what she needed now, and she couldn’t wait for it to find her. She was going looking for it.

***

Three blocks from home, she literally ran into someone who looked as much like trouble as anyone had the right to.

“Excuse me,” Sophia apologized and waited for the man in front of her to step aside.

He didn’t. Instead, he stood, blocking out the sun, and scowling down at her.

“Are you Sophia Mancini?” His voice was deep and thick.

“I am.” Who on earth was this? “Do I know you?” She was sure she didn’t. If she’d met a man this angry-looking before, she’d certainly have remembered it.

“You and your brother are detectives?”

It took a few seconds for it to register that they were indeed. She needed to get used to that. Looking surprised at the question wasn’t going to be good for business.

“We are. How can I help you?” He certainly didn’t appear to be a man in distress.

“I’ve got a message for you.”

“What do you wish to speak to us about, Mr.—ouch! Let go, that hurts!” In a flash, the stranger had one beefy hand wrapped around her elbow, and was moving her across the sidewalk, toward a waiting car. She hadn’t noticed the Buick parked next to the curb.

“Ouch! Let go of me, or I’m going to scream murder.” Sophia struggled to free herself, but it was no use. His grip was tighter than tight. She tried to dig her heels into the ground but the cement was unyielding. What the hell was going on? “I mean it. I’ll start screaming and I won’t stop–-”

“Fai silenzio,” he growled.

Fear and anger battled within Sophia’s mind, but she heeded his command and stayed quiet. She looked up and down the street, but it was deserted. Her heart sank. Where was everyone?