J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder (17 page)

The footsteps moved away from the bathroom door and on into the bedroom. In the little time it had taken the intruder to wander through the first two rooms, the person stood silent in the bedroom for some time. Murmured epithets accompanied the sound of feet padding back toward the apartment entry and out the door. It closed with a snap.

I waited, listening for signs that the intruder had indeed gone. When my glance passed over Rafe, I assumed he was doing the same. Lola trembled. Her thick, curly red locks bristled and shuddered as her body tensed.

“That was close,” she murmured.

“I wonder who it was,” I whispered.

Raising her shoulders in answer, Lola tugged the curtain open. I stepped forward, bundled money in my hands, and pressed tight against my chest. Lola and Rafe followed me through the rooms.

“What do you suppose that person was in search of?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, but let’s get the hell out of here before we get caught.”

“Are you taking that with you?” he asked pointing to the bundle I clutched against my chest. His dark eyebrows hiked over the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

“You bet I am,” I answered tucking the bulky envelope inside my winter jacket.

We left the apartment and headed down the fire stairs instead of riding the elevator. At the bottom of the stairwell, Rafe peered through the narrow glass window in the door before he motioned for us to enter the foyer of the building.

Chapter 15

Outside, a cold wind gusted across the lot. Cars left the parking area in a steady flow. Crisp air filled my lungs and tossed my hair into a frenzy of wild curls. Lola held her kinky mass in place and tucked it into the collar of her coat.

“That was too damned close, Vin,” she remarked while we strode across the grounds toward people leaving the senior center.

I answered her, “Right. We were gone longer than I thought.” I checked my watch. “My mother must be wondering where we went. Don’t offer an explanation. Let me handle it, okay?”

With a roll of Lola’s eyes and a chuckle from Rafe, I went into the building first.

The crowd had thinned, piano music played, and senior citizens lingered with snacks and beverages, tapping their feet to the melody. I could see Mr. Perkins, his foot keeping time to the beat. He glanced at me and winked. What that meant, I hadn’t a clue.

Wiping her hands on a towel, my mother scurried over to us. A worried frown furrowed her unibrow.

“Where have you been?” she demanded in a soft, but stern voice.

“We took a walk around the block. With the crowd in here, we couldn’t get to the counter. I saw the reporter interview you, though. Great job, Mom.” I gave her shoulder a light squeeze.

“Do you think so?” She smiled and preened, pleased over the compliment.

“We all thought you did very well, and handled the whole affair like a pro.” I smiled. “Just like any TV personality is known by their slogan, you’re now known as the Bake Sale Queen. The reporter even called you that.”

“I hope your father recorded it, so I can send a copy to your brother.” Mom grinned with pleasure. “Would you like something to eat?”

Since Iva had been poisoned here, and we didn’t know who the apartment intruder was I glanced at the others. We shook our heads reminding her we’d wait for dinner with my father. Rafe left, with Lola in tow, to meet us at my parents’ house. I watched them leave.

While my mother stowed leftover goodies in the refrigerator, I strolled toward Mr. Perkins who sat with Dona Desmaris. With a smile, I slipped into the chair opposite Dona.

Mr. Perkins performed the introductions as Dona eyeballed me, her eyes dark as night. She nodded when he explained who I was.

“Your nonni was here today. She’s a very good woman,” Dona stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

This was a great compliment. I nodded and smiled.

“Did you know Mrs. Lindon very well?” I asked.

Her back stiffened, followed by a hearty sniff. Her white knuckled grip on the sturdy cane gave me the answer.

“It’s a shame she died so suddenly,” I probed.

“Many people have no choice of how they die, and then some ask for a bad end,” Dona said with another sniff.

“Mmm.”

“You know, missy,” Mr. Perkins said to me, “Iva made lots of enemies by not minding her own affairs.”

“What do you mean by that exactly, Mr. Perkins?”

My dark-eyed stare glued itself to Mr. Perkins’s features as a flush rose up over his face. He had stepped out on a branch and knew he had no safety net to catch him. He shook his head at me and mumbled something about minding his own business.

“That’s always a good idea, Mr. Perkins, but I’m sure you must have seen more of what Mrs. Lindon was up to than most folks did.”

“Why would I?” he blustered.

“I’m not sure,” I resisted the temptation to remind him of his illicit activities with my mother and aunt. “If I’m out of line, please excuse me,” I apologized and glanced at Dona Desmaris. Her face a mask of composure, she turned her keen gaze toward me.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Dona said. “You have bad luck, like the evil eye was put on you.” Her index finger and baby finger formed horns as she tucked the other digits under her thumb.

Chills scooted up my spine. Goose bumps covered my arms. I could feel the hairs stand up along the surface of my skin. This Italian curse is where bad luck or worse follows you, waiting to snatch you into oblivion.

With a forced smile, I said, “Nonni knows I have a tendency to get into improbable situations due to an overabundance of curiosity. It isn’t as though I try to get into trouble, but maybe you’re right.” I laughed, but Dona didn’t crack a smile.

She warned, “Don’t temp the fates. It isn’t healthy.”

As the doom and gloom statement settled over me, I took a deep breath and stood up. There’d be no information from Dona. She knew how to keep her mouth shut. It must have been a lifelong lesson she’d learned from Gino. I did have her journal, though, and that spoke volumes of how she’d managed to survive as the wife of a Mafia Don.

Across the room, my mother buttoned up her coat.
She hurried toward me, and we left the crowd of elderly people. Cold winds ruffled my hair, filtering into any tiny space it could find in my clothing as I clutched the bundle of money tightly under my arm, inside the jacket. I gulped deep breaths into my lungs.
Relax,
just relax.

Close behind my mother’s car, I drove along the street and parked at the curb near the edge of her driveway. Lola and Rafe were parked farther up the street. My mother left her car in front of the garage.

When I reached the steps to the deck leading into the kitchen, I noticed Mom waited outside. An alarm went off in my head. Was I about to be sworn to secrecy over something, or did my mother want to scold me, because she knew we hadn’t walked around the block as I’d said?

“Why are you out here freezing in the cold?” I asked in a low voice.

“What did you find in Mrs. Lindon’s apartment, Lavinia?”

Her narrowed eyes fixed on my face. I knew better than to tell her a bare-faced lie, so I opted for honesty. It was an unusual occurrence for me, but there you have it.

“Okay, we didn’t walk around the block. Lola and I found Mrs. Lindon’s apartment a wreck. While we were checking it out, someone came in.” At the look on her face, I realized I’d just scared her.

“It was only Rafe. He came to the bake sale in support of you, but Mr. Perkins blabbed that I might be found searching Mrs. Lindon’s apartment. There was nothing left, since whoever had trashed the place must have found what they wanted.”

A nod of her head told me that my near to total honesty had been accepted. I breathed an inward sigh of relief.

“How did Lola get caught up in this business?”

“She came to help you out, but she followed me into the apartment complex instead, when she saw me sneak across the parking lot. I’m sorry we weren’t there to help you, Mom. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“The other ladies from the group took care of things. It isn’t important,” she assured me. Rubbing her forehead, my mother insisted, “Don’t tell your father. He’ll be upset to think you broke into the apartment.”

With a slight smile, I realized my mother knew way more about my nefarious activities than I thought. It seemed as though she even approved of my avid curiosity, which often led to problems. It would be all too easy to take her into my confidence, but the less said about what I’d smuggled from the apartment, the better. I had bundled the money in an old towel, and tucked it under the front seat of the car before locking the car doors.

Together, my mother and I went inside out of the cold. I inhaled the heavenly smell of chicken pot pie. My mouth watered. I wiped my chin in the event drool had spilled out. Rafe grinned at me. Lola stood at the stove in deep conversation with my father over spices and recipes.

The table was set for five. I rubbed my hands together. A salad the size of Long Island sat on the table, along with crusty rolls. That food alone was enticing to be sure. I grabbed a roll and spread it with rich, creamy butter. Sinking my teeth into a luscious roll, I moaned. This was better than sex. Well, okay, almost better than sex.

My father turned from the stove with a disapproving grimace as I chomped down the last of the roll. He brought the chicken pie to the table where he set it on a hot mat. A large oval spoon protruded from the center, and steam escaped from the creation. Dad settled at the table and nodded for us to begin.

“How was the bake sale, Lavinia?” he asked watching Lola and Rafe fill their plates.

My mother rung her hands once, and then grasped a warm roll. Her nerves were stretched. I wondered what lay behind it. What had happened to make her jumpy all of a sudden? Unless it was my afternoon activities that had her nerves strung taut.

“It went well. Mom sold most of the goodies and the media were kind to her. You should have come down and given us a hand,” I spoke with confidence.

A skeptical look covered his face. His eyes bore into my soul. Could he tell I was lying? I kept up the farce. To be deemed innocent, one must act innocent. I had learned that from my cop friends.

“Hmm,” was the only sound he made.

Salad filled half my plate and pot pie filled the other half. I slurped Chablis and enjoyed the hearty meal. Everyone chewed, added more food to their plates, and remained silent. When we’d finished eating, I leaned back in the chair with a satisfied grunt.

To move the likelihood of questioning away from the senior center and Iva, I asked my mother, “You scoped out my shop, huh? Tell me, do you think you’ll like working there?” I took a sip of wine, and waited.

Mom’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. She said, “Those two girls are so gracious. I think I’ll be fine. They work very hard, Lavinia. It’s too bad you can’t pay them more. They’re really wonderful.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “If you need anything at all, just ask for it. I’m sure Angela will give you whatever you want.”

“Some of your police friends came to shop for their wives while I was there. They recognized me as the Bake Sale Queen. It was quite nice. They’re good people, Lavinia.”

My father stared at each one of us in turn. Tension began to build. I couldn’t figure out why. Rafe leaned forward and my father’s gaze rested on him for a second.

“So what is it you do for a living, Raphael?” Dad asked.

“I’m a photo journalist. I freelance and work for a company here in the city at the moment,” he answered with a wide grin. “The views, in and around Providence, are so different in every neighborhood. There’s Mount Pleasant and Olneyville, areas that have seen better days, and then right near that is Smith Hill, a beautiful section of Providence. Benefit Street and the East Side are exquisite with all the historic homes and churches. I hadn’t realized Providence was like this.”

A smirk touched my father’s lips as he listened.

“The city has changed much since I was a kid. It was nicer then, but that’s only my opinion.” Dad shrugged.

Twirling his wine glass, Rafe asked, “Where did you live as a kid?”

“We grew up in the Thornton section of Cranston on the Johnston town line. It was a decent place. Many young families now live in the old neighborhood, but it isn’t the same.”

“Does your mother live there, Mrs. Esposito?” Rafe asked my mother.

“Nonni? No, she lives closer to us. Why do you ask?” She wrung her hands again, and then tucked them into her lap.

Curiosity had taken over. I was about to request a private word when my father asked about Aaron Grant.

“Will Aaron return soon?” His dark brown eyes slid from me to Rafe and back.

“He’s scheduled back at the end of the month, I think. I haven’t heard from him for a while, though,” I answered with a shrug.

“Where does that leave you when he returns?” My father turned to Rafe.

“Oh, I’ll be gone soon. I have a job in the Caribbean that starts within the next week or two.”

“Hmm, does that mean the apartment will be empty, and you won’t have anyone in the house with you, Lavinia?”

“Probably for a while, why?” As if I didn’t know. My father thought I shouldn’t live alone in the huge colonial apartment building, but not live
with
anyone unless I was married.

“Who’s gonna watch over you?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“Dad, I don’t need anyone to watch over me. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Just like when your car flew off the highway, right? And how about the time you got pushed into the reservoir, and then there was the fire in your duplex that was started by that nutball, how about that, huh? Now, there’s the death of these two women at the senior center that you’ve managed to become involved in,” Dad grumbled. He’d thoughtfully left out the Tony Jabroni adventure. I figured it was only due to his involvement that he’d done so.

“What is all this about, Dad?”

“I just wonder why you can’t stay out of trouble and mind your own business. It’s like you’re a walking catastrophe.”