J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder (2 page)

“It could be her heart, I suppose, but she was choking on that cake, so maybe it went down the wrong way, eh?” He patted my mother on the arm and gimped away, rocking back and forth on bunion laden feet.

“Mr. Perkins still hasn’t had his bunions taken care of, huh?” I asked my mother as I stared at the elder man as he walked away.

“No, I guess not,” Mom murmured softly.

I smiled.

“He calls you Terri?”

“They all do. It means something special to them to become familiar with those of us who show up on a regular schedule and share part of their day. I don’t mind that they call me Terri.” Her smile trembled.

Fearful she’d start to cry, I led her into the kitchen.

“What pastry did you bring today? These people look like they could use a snack right now.”

“The brownies over there.” She pointed and then whipped huge paper grocery bags of cookies from under the counter. “These cookies, too.”

Unfurling the folded top of the bag, I peered inside and then chuckled. “There’s enough in here to feed the entire Marine Corps.”

“I know, it’s just that the residents like to take some back to their apartments for a snack later on. So, I always make extra.”

I considered
extra
to be a dozen, my mother considered it a truckload. Sliding the plastic-bagged cookies from the bag, I noticed she’d labeled them. Peanut butter, chocolate chip, snicker doodles, oatmeal, sugar cookies, and chocolate mint drops. The bulging gallon-sized plastic bags lay splayed out on the counter as my mother slid plates forward for loading. The other pastries were moved from the serving table out of reach and covered with plastic wrap.

Stepping to the counter, I motioned to Mr. Perkins and watched him amble on over. He stood eyeing the cookie trays, a wide smile spreading across his sweet face. He glanced at me and my mother and winked.

“Home-baked cookies, huh, Terri? I’ll have one of each and a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”

The other residents watched as we served Mr. Perkins. I laid his snacks and tea on the nearest round table for him. I knew he’d manage to spill everything as he rocked back and forth when he walked.

He smacked his lips as he enjoyed one cookie after another. Dipped in tea, they softened so he could eat them faster. His dentures clacked, but his eyes twinkled when he hit the fourth cookie. Mr. Perkins raised his arm beckoning the others to join him.

After everyone chose their refreshments and settled down to listen to the music, my mother leaned toward me and asked why I’d stopped by the senior center today. This wasn’t my usual way to spend an afternoon.

Before I could utter a word, the kitchen door swung open. Mrs. Galumpky, a tall broad-beamed woman with stiff gray hair and the ramrod straight back of a drill sergeant, sailed across the kitchen floor toward us. She had the unmistakable look of a woman on a mission. What mission? I was uncertain.

My annoying inner voice started to rant as the battleaxe approached.
She’s going to kick someone’s ass, and don’t let it be yours. Just mind your own business, and you’ll be fine.
Why did I have to mind my business? I hadn’t a clue as to what this woman wanted, though I was beyond curious.

“May I see you a moment, Theresa?” Mrs. Galumpky asked with a no nonsense attitude.

“Sure,” Mom said and asked if I’d refresh everyone’s tea if needed.

I nodded, wanting to accompany the two women as they left the kitchen. My bet was that Mrs. Galumpky was about to impart bad news to my mother. A sense of protectiveness rose to the surface, vying for space with my inevitably increased curiosity.

More tea was poured and additional cookies served while I considered Mrs. Galumpky. What if she accused my mother of something? Who would protect her? Even though she’s Italian by birth, my mother was inept when it came time to match someone with Mrs. Galumpky’s attitude.

Nosiness is a huge part of my life. It manages to keep me embroiled in situations that others would avoid like the plague. I, on the other hand, can’t help myself when there is a secret or a mystery. I have to know what’s behind it and all the essential information that goes with it.

My twin brother, Giovanni, hadn’t been given such a significant dose of curiosity. He’d managed to keep me in trouble with his hair-brained schemes during our youth, though. Now he’s a doctor. He resides in Nebraska with his registered nurse wife. I fear they have a mundane life. I’m often sorry for them because it must be boring to exist in such a way. When visiting Rhode Island a while back, Giovanni had gotten a good taste of what my life entails. I do believe he was glad to return to his mundane lifestyle.

My brother, who’d managed to keep me armpit deep in shit during our childhood, had become so saintly in his new life that I now jokingly called him Saint Doctor Giovanni. Sometimes he laughs, and sometimes he doesn’t. In an Italian family like ours, we don’t get offended by a whole lot of stuff, and we don’t stay angry for long, either. I adore my twin, and he feels the same way about me, most of the time, anyway.

Previously, Giovanni’s wife had harbored stolen artwork for my now deceased, professional cat burglar uncle. Uncle Nate, the top of the line in his business, had the FBI hot on his trail when he’d died in bed with his mistress. The man, in his seventies, managed to leave this world with a smile on his face, much to my aunt’s dismay.

The elderly folks cheered, sang, and danced to the piano music while I slipped from the kitchen and sidled down the hallway. Office doors held brass plates depicting the names and titles of those who worked in each room. Voices, from the office farthest away, caught my attention.

When I neared the open door, I flattened my body against the corridor wall and listened. It didn’t bother me a bit to eavesdrop. In fact, half of my life was spent involved in things that were none of my business.

Mom mumbled a few words as a deeper, masculine voice of authority pressed her for a better answer. The man’s voice sounded familiar. I realized he might be a cop I knew from the neighborhood. Mrs. Galumpky broke into the conversation with threatening words toward my mother. That alone was enough for me to step into the room.

With a glance, I took in my mother’s flushed cheeks, the nasty glare of Mrs. Galumpky, and the police officer’s serious demeanor.

“Good afternoon, Pirelli. How’s my mother holding up?” I smiled and extended my hand to shake his.

Recognition sparked in his eyes and he smiled in greeting. “This is your mother?” he asked.

“Yes, one and the same.” I turned to my mother. “Are you all right, Mom?”

She nodded and the flush in her face started to ease.

“I was explaining to the officer that I have no idea what happened to Iva. She just ate the cake and then fell on the floor.”

“So there you have it, Pirelli,” I said.

“Mrs. Lindon has died. This is now an official investigation, Vinnie.”

“Is my mother a suspect?”

Pirelli hedged and then said, “Well, she was serving the food.”

“Then in that case, she has nothing more to say to you.” I grasped my mother’s arm, turning her toward the corridor. “If you need to speak with her in the future, her attorney must be notified and present,” I stated.

My mother’s hands fluttered up and down, but she remained silent when I turned a meaningful glare toward her. I gave her a nudge to get her to move along. I glanced over my shoulder and hesitated when I saw Galumpky step forward. In a poor attempt at intimidation, her face was menacing, and her eyes narrowed to slits. It was a wasted effort on her part. In a second, I turned back into the room and stood toe-to-toe with the harridan.

“This matter must be cleared up now, Ms. Esposito. If your mother caused Iva Lindon’s death, then she must own up to it.”

I entered Mrs. Galumpky’s personal space and stared at her eye to eye. “My mother wouldn’t hurt a fly. You have been here all day, have you not? My mother arrived here a short time ago.” I turned to Pirelli and asked, “Are we talking a poisoning of sorts? Because if we are, you might look closer at the employees before you accuse my mother, Pirelli.”

Pirelli’s thick eyebrows hiked a good inch as he listened to me. With a glance at both of us, and my mother hovering in the background, Pirelli may have been unsure who he should interrogate. I’d given him food for thought, anyhow.

“Vinnie, there’s no need to get upset about this,” Pirelli said. “I didn’t accuse your mother of anything. I merely asked a few routine questions due to the fact that Mrs. Lindon expired.”

“Are you sure she died from the cake?” I asked him.

“The hospital notified us that she died. That’s all. I assumed it was from the cake since she collapsed after eating it,” he answered.

“Let the medical examiner’s office and the lab people make the determination as to the cause of death, okay?” I turned toward my mother. “Go get your coat. It’s time to leave.”

Mom nodded. At a complete loss for words, she hurried along the corridor. She had glanced at me before going, her eyes filled with fear, but I promised I’d join her shortly.

When I was sure she was out of earshot, I turned toward the battleaxe before me. A hand on my hip, my Italian attitude took hold.

“You had better not spread rumors that my mother is to blame for this unfortunate incident. She adores the residents that live here and looks forward to sharing her days with them. If you say one word, I’ll have you up on slander charges, got it?”

Pirelli stepped forward to intervene when Mrs. Galumpky’s face took on an ominous glare. Before she could utter a sound, he raised his hands and asked us to relax.

Relax? He wanted me to relax? This miserable bitch of a woman wanted my mother hauled off to jail for a death she had nothing to do with, and I was supposed to relax? Not today.

“I’ll be in touch, Pirelli. Be sure of it,” I said.

As I left the room, I heard him sigh and mumble, “I’m sure.”

*    *    *

Already in her car, my mother waited for me before pulling out of the parking lot. I stood outside her car door until she lowered the window.

“Go home. I’ll follow you. Don’t talk to anyone about this until we’ve consulted a lawyer, please.”

“If you say so, Lavinia.” Her lower lip trembled. A tear trailed down her cheek.

“Mom, everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it,” I assured her.

She nodded and backed from the parking space. I stared after the car for a moment before entering my own about three spaces down. My cell phone lay in the bottom of my handbag. I felt around for it and flipped the cover open. Scrolling the numbers in the menu, I hit send and listened as the call went through.

“Manera here,” his deep voice rumbled.

“Jack, its Lavinia Esposito. Do you have a pile of fruitcake sitting on your table in the lab?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. It was just delivered from the hospital. I’m checking it for poison. Why, do you want some?” Manera chuckled.

His offbeat sense of humor, which often matched mine, usually won a laugh from me, but not today.

“No, but the woman who died had eaten some of it at the senior center where my mother is a volunteer. Jack, could you let me know right away if the cake is laced with poison?”

“Now, Vinnie, you know I’m not supposed to do that, especially if this turns out to be a murder investigation.”

“I know, but my mother is under suspicion, Jack.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. Detective Bellini is sending his newest recruit to your classes in January. The kid is my nephew. Give him as much help as you can, and I’ll see what I can do.”

This is Rhode Island. It isn’t unusual for favors such as these to be extracted in return for other favors. With this in mind, I sighed.

“Look, I won’t pass him if he doesn’t deserve it, but if he needs grading on a curve, then fine.” How big a curve was another matter altogether since Bellini and I have a love/hate relationship laced with a lot of respect. He often sent newbie’s to my classes. If they had difficulties, Bellini would ask that they be graded on a curve. It was a bone of contention, but when I needed a favor, like this one for instance, I would concede by offering a passing grade.

Laughter met the promise, and I smirked. Jack knew I’d do what I could to help any of my students, as long as they showed a willingness to work hard.

I hung up and drove from the parking area toward my parents’ house.

Chapter 2

I wondered how Mom would deal with this dilemma, and how my father, Gino Esposito, would handle it. He often had a bleak outlook on my lifestyle, which was filled with curiosity driven activities. Now that my mother was involved in what was sure to turn into a murder investigation, I would bear the brunt of his wrath, once again. It was a given.

Mom parked her Toyota in the driveway. I pulled my Altima in behind it. I watched as she got out. She waited for me to join her before entering the house.

“I was so relieved that you showed up when you did. Mrs. Galumpky is a horrible bully. She demanded that I admit to having caused Iva’s death. Why would I do such a thing? Iva was a lovely woman.”

“Don’t speak to anyone without an attorney present, Mom. No one, understand? Not Marcus, not anyone, got it?”

“But why would I not speak to him about it?”

“Because I asked you not to, that’s why. Please, just comply with the request, Mom. Please?”

It was evident she was confused, but she nodded in agreement and we entered the house. The smell of spaghetti sauce, referred to in my family as gravy, pervaded the room as it simmered on the stove. It smelled heavenly, the savory smells of garlic and spices brought on hunger pangs.

With the lid of the sauce-pan in my hand, I inhaled the mouth-watering aroma. Mmm, my mother was wrong. My father was cooking tonight. I knew there would be crusty Italian bread, and salad to go with it. Those were comfort foods. I set the lid in place and settled at the table as my mother poured wine. Assorted cookies lay on the dish in front of me. I nibbled a peanut butter crisscross while Mom busied herself.