J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder (12 page)

We lugged the tree toward the front of the grounds. Inside, I paid for my selection and grabbed a couple of wreaths to go with it. Rafael loaded the purchases into the Altima, the tree tied and suspended from the trunk. Within minutes, we were headed toward the house.

As I started the ride home, I glanced at the clock on the dashboard of the car. The day had faded. I’d need to head to Marcus’s before long. I was filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Whatever had possessed him to issue the invite left me with a renewed sense of curiosity.

Life with Marcus would be interesting, even though we were both strong people. Strong in our opinions and independence. I wasn’t ready to settle down with anyone, and I figured Marcus wasn’t either, though we never spoke of it, so I was unsure where he stood on the subject. Maybe I was afraid asking him would lead to revelations I couldn’t handle. Thoughts of a minivan, loaded with screaming children, headed to soccer practice, popped into my head. I choked on the visual, realizing my imagination was out of control again.

After Rafael unloaded the tree, I asked if he’d prop it against the garage. He stared at me for a moment and nodded.

“I have to rearrange my furniture and find the stand it goes in before the tree goes up. I think it might still be in the basement with Aunt Livvy’s things.”

“There’s always tomorrow, right?” Rafe asked with a cheery grin. “I’ll be around if you need a hand with it.”

The tree leaned haphazardly against the oversized barn that had been transformed into a garage sometime down through the years. I stood back and admired my purchase with a sense of well being. The tree talked to me. I knew it did. Not words exactly, just feelings of happiness and delight.

Once inside the house, Rafe headed to the upstairs apartment. I scooted into my own to get ready for my dinner date. Not knowing what to expect, I rustled through the clothes hanging in the closet for something sensual, but warm, as well.

Dresses and skirts littered the bed as I tried to decide what to wear. A deep burgundy, cashmere v-neck sweater, and a black, velvet, ankle-length skirt, made the final pick. In a matter of moments, I’d showered and changed into the outfit. Burgundy suede, high-heeled boots, with gold thread running through the material finished the look. I added a pair of deep red cabochon earrings and a matching necklace to the attire, and figured I was ready to go.

In a black-hooded, wool cloak, I left the house to drive to Cranston. The trip didn’t take long and before I realized it, I was outside Marcus’s house. Lights flickered across the yard. The Victorian style house held two sets of long windows, one on each side of the front entry door. The building was out of place in this particular neighborhood. All the other homes consisted of ranch styles or Cape Cod houses.

As I started up the steps, the front door opened and Marcus stood back. The lamps on either side of the double doors cast a soft glow over the exterior of the house, and flooded the hallway with light. Mailboxes sat, one on either side of the large doors. One had
Richmond
written on it and the other simply held a number with the letter
B
next to it.

I glanced at Marcus and watched his appreciative smile widen. He reached for my hand, pulling me into the foyer. A door stood open on the left side of the hallway, while another door was closed on the opposite side. We entered the open doorway, and I glanced about.

The wooden floor gleamed around the edges of a sculpted rug in deep earth-toned hues. Leather scented the room. I admired the deep chocolate leather sofa and two chairs that were studded with burnished brass tacks. Two end tables with brushed brass lamps and a coffee table nestled among the grouping.

A Christmas tree about two feet tall perched atop a table in the corner. Tiny lights blinked, and miniature ornaments clung to the branches. This passed Marcus’s muster for a holiday tree. Everyone to his own taste is my motto.

I discarded my cloak and glanced into the dining room. The elegant mahogany dining table was set for two with stemmed glassware and gleaming silver. The dishes were an excellent grade of China. My dinnerware paled by comparison. How had a macho man like this acquired such lovely things?

Marcus admired my outfit. In an instant, I realized I’d dressed correctly and was surprised by my foresight. After he stowed my cloak, he joined me in the living room. The front windows faced the street, showing brilliant lights, which decorated neighborhood homes. He stroked my arms and turned me to face him.

“I’m glad you could join me. I was worried there’d be another catastrophe in your life that would prevent you from being here.” His soft smile and luminous eyes sent a tingle to the soles of my feet.

“I managed to stay clear of everyone today. As a matter of fact, I had lunch with Rafael and then got my Christmas tree.” Lying by omission, I left out the fact that Rafael had been part of the tree selection.

He stiffened a tad, but said nothing about Rafael. Instead, he escorted me to the dining room and pulled out a chair.

“I’ve never asked you where you got this wonderful furniture.”

“My mother gave me the dining room set and a few other pieces, when she moved away. I had scant furnishings when I moved in and no time to shop for more. She thought it dreadful and remedied the situation,” Marcus answered.

“Your mother has wonderful taste,” I said and again mentally compared his belongings to mine. I had some great furnishings, but this intricately carved dining room set was to-die-for.

I kept up the conversation to waylay any chance of him questioning me about Rafe, my mother, or any other subject likely to spoil the evening. His eyes twinkled and I figured he may have caught on to my reasoning.

The meal was tasty. Fettuccini Alfredo, roast pork with slivers of garlic and rosemary, along with a salad and warm crusty bread sticks summed up the menu. I drank more wine than I should have, and giddiness took over.

When dinner was finished and I had complimented him, he ushered me into the living room.

“Does your trooper buddy still live next door?” Marcus rented out the other side of the duplex.

He nodded. “Yeah, he’s been assigned to the prison intake center, the poor bastard.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It isn’t a good job, but he was assigned it and there’s nothing he could do about it. He’ll get rotated out sooner or later.”

“I see.” I didn’t, but it didn’t matter. I’d had too much wine.

“Did you bring your pajamas?” Marcus asked with a grin.

“Why, yes, I did. Would you like to see them?” I asked with a boozy grin.

He nodded, dowsed the lights and helped me unzip my skirt. In a matter of moments the clothing was gone and I stood in boots and nothing else. The lights from the Christmas decorations across the street lit the room in a soft glow of colors. Just enough glow for us to see one another. He removed my boots, letting his hands travel the length of my legs.

Guiding me toward the bedroom, Marcus stripped his clothes off and we compared pajamas. I liked his as much as he liked mine. With laughter, we landed on the bed.

Chapter 11

It was much later when I heard the Christmas tune from my cell phone. The weak sound filtered up the stairs. I slipped from the covers, tossed on the shirt Marcus had discarded, and padded down the stairs barefoot.

The phone had fallen out of my handbag. I picked it up to check the caller’s number that scrolled across the screen when I pressed the button. My mother was looking for me.

The clock hands pointed to eleven. I wondered what the hell had happened as I dialed the number.

She answered on the first ring. Her voice was just above a whisper.

“Is that you, Lavinia?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked, worry furrowing my eyebrows.

“I just heard that Mrs. Galumpky was killed. It was on the news. Did you know that?”

I couldn’t hold back the sigh that escaped me. I rubbed my fingers across my forehead. I’d left a warm bed, and the embrace of a man, to listen to this?

“I identified her body this morning for the PPD.”

“Why did they call you?” Mom asked.

“Mom, they realized it would be too upsetting for you to go down and do it,” I lied. The fast track to hell had entered warp speed.

“Oh.” Her voice sounded doubtful.

“You haven’t been to Iva’s apartment again, have you?”

“Not really,” Mom mumbled.

“What do you mean by not really?” My voice had hiked a notch until I remembered Marcus lay upstairs asleep.

“We, Mr. Perkins and I, got to talking. He’d had another key made just in case he lost the other one. He gave you the original. We went back to the apartment and took another look around. This time we searched very carefully.”

Mom’s explanation wasn’t what I wanted, or needed, to hear at the moment. I choked my aggravation down and listened in silence. How had my mother, the Bake Sale Queen, become the Bake Sale Sleuth? I wondered as she continued to justify her actions.

“It wasn’t a big deal, Lavinia, so don’t worry about it. We found several letters that I brought home for you to look at. I have the journal I took the other day, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. I’ll keep it, so you can read that, too.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Lavinia, you sound upset.”

Exasperated, I remarked, “How should I sound? Elated that my mother not only broke and entered a dead woman’s apartment once, but she did it a second time? What were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?” I rambled on as I paced the living room. “If the police had caught you, I’d be at Bellini’s office making the deal of the century to get your butt out of lock up, Mom.” I huffed and puffed like a weary old dragon.

Silence met my final words. Mom thought the lecture over. I waited for her to come up with a good response. It didn’t take long, but I was surprised when she spoke.

“You’re right, dear, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. It was just a good opportunity to go through Iva’s things before her family shows up from New York to take them away.”

It occurred to me that she was right, but I refused to admit it.

“Tomorrow, I’ll come by and look over what you stole. Do
not
, and I mean this, go in there again, Mom.” I tried to sound tough, but I knew she could tell I wasn’t. After all, she probably realized I’d have done the same thing in her shoes.

She agreed and disconnected the call. I sat on the sofa and stared out the windows for a while, trying to calm down. My mother, the Bake Sale Queen turned burglar and Bake Sale Sleuth. Good God, what was my family coming to? Maybe I was a bad influence on my mother. I ruffled the hair at my scalp with my fingers.

When I heard a stair creak, my eyes cut to the staircase. In a flash I went to the bottom of the steps and stared upwards. Nothing was visible from where I stood. Reluctant to turn on the light in case Marcus awoke, I felt my way up the stairs and into the room.

The covers lay over his inert body as I slid between them. His breathing sounded normal and even, so I figured he was still asleep. As I lay there in the dark, I felt him reach over and stroke my bare skin.

“I could really get used to this,” he mumbled in a sleepy tone.

“Mmm, I know,” I whispered.

Sleep eluded me for some time. I lay awake considering my job, life without Aunt Livvy, my family issues, and this man, who shared those things with me to some extent. Unable to make any sense out of the present situation concerning my mother, I turned on my side and finally drifted off.

It wasn’t until the bed rocked slightly that I realized I wasn’t at home. My eyes popped open. I peered around to get my bearings. Marcus walked past me in a pair of undershorts and nothing else. He glanced at me and smiled.

He greeted me with, “Good morning, sunshine,” and tousled my snarled curls.

“Morning,” I mumbled and snuggled under the covers. I hauled the coverlet over my head and closed my eyes.

“I’m making coffee and breakfast if you’re interested,” he offered, walking from the room, clothes in hand.

The smell of perked coffee and bacon sizzling beckoned me. Tempting aromas wafted up the stairs and into my nostrils. I’d managed to slide from under the covers and slip my undies on. In the bathroom, across the hall from the bedroom, I took stock of my face and hair.

Without a toothbrush, I was lost. I washed my face. A comb sat on the shelf below the mirror. In an effort to bring the thick mass of hair floating around my face to order, I pulled the comb through it, mumbling swear words as each snag yielded sharp pains to my scalp. When I finished the chore, I headed downstairs for coffee.

I stepped off the bottom step when it hit me.
Christmas without Aunt Livvy.
Why the thought bothered me at the moment, I couldn’t say. It just did. I stared at the tiny tree Marcus had set up and thought back to my tree selection trips with Aunt Livvy. I quickly tucked the memory away and joined Marcus in the kitchen.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet of that bathroom.” Marcus pointed to a room off the kitchen.

“Thanks.” I went into the small bathroom to brush my teeth.

Steam rose from the coffee cup he offered when I returned and slid into a chair. His smile met my glance. I wondered what he was thinking.

“Did you sleep well?” Marcus wanted to know.

“Mmm,” I lied. “Did you?”

“Like a rock.”

“Good.” I glanced at the wall clock. It was early. I had the day off, so there’d be no rush to get to the university.

A plate full of crisp bacon, and another with scrumptious muffins, sat on the table. He’d bought the muffins the day before, Marcus said. I nodded and picked at a cranberry muffin, while nibbling a piece of bacon.

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” he asked. “I’m a good listener, you know.”

I sidestepped his question.

“It’s nothing, really.”

He gazed at me. “If you’re sure.”

“Christmas is sad without Livvy,” I blurted out. “She and I used to pick out a Christmas tree and decorate it together. We had a great time.” A tear slid from the corner of my eye.