J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder (7 page)

Hmm, I wasn’t sure this was a good conversation to have with Marcus. He didn’t approve of Rafe. I knew there was something behind the disapproval. In an effort to change the subject, I coughed and cleared my throat.

“He’s a photographer of sorts, I guess. Anyway, he said he has an exhibit at a local gallery right now,” I said while ignoring the
oddball
remark. “By the way, my father has retained an attorney for my mother and me. I don’t know who it is yet, but we meet this afternoon.” I glanced at my watch.

“Are you in a hurry?” Marcus said with a gleam in his eye.

Unable to tell why he had the gleam, I wondered if it was because he realized I’d avoided the Rafael conversation.

“I have to meet my father and the attorney in a while. I still have time before I need to leave. Why?”

“Why don’t you want to discuss Rafe?” he asked as he swept crumbs from the tablecloth. Finished with the chore, he leaned his elbows on the table and stared at me.

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve told you that before. Are you jealous of him, or are you looking for a way to end our relationship?” I asked the question without thinking, and stopped short before I uttered another word.

He leaned back and teetered on the legs of the chair. They came down with a light thump as they hit the floor. He reached across the table and took my hand in his.

“I’m not interested in ending our relationship. Don’t get any ideas about that. I may not like him upstairs from you, sharing coffee and meals with you, hanging around after I leave or whatever, but I’m not jealous. I just don’t trust him.” He smiled and the warmth in his eyes sent a twitter along my nerves.

He glanced at the clock above my head and sighed.

“This has been nice, but I have to get to the courthouse. I’ll stop by later if you’ll be around.” Marcus smiled as he escorted me from the café to my car.

“I haven’t any plans after six tonight, so I’ll see you then. Bring your pajamas if you like.” I laughed.

“Mmm, pajamas.” He chuckled. “No, no pajamas. Who needs pajamas when we can make all the body heat we need?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.” I kissed him lightly and watched as he swaggered back toward his cruiser.

My car was parked in front of his. I waited until he’d pulled away before I swung into traffic.

Chapter 6

The senior citizen center sat on my left as I drove up the street heading toward my parents’ neighborhood. The buildings were just across the city line into Providence, while my parents lived in the City of Cranston.

Glancing at the cars parked side by side, I noticed my mother had tucked her car among a few of the newer models. Making a U-turn in the wide street, I swung in and squeezed into the only available space at the end of the parking lot by the shrubs. My curiosity was piqued. Why would my mother dare come here? This should be the last place she’d go.

After locking the car, I strode toward the building when I heard my name called in a hoarse whisper.

“Lavinia, come here,” the whisperer said.

I glanced toward the shrubs. A seemingly disembodied hand, extended through the prickly shrubs, beckoned me toward the residential complex attached to the center. The dome of my mother’s head popped up above the greenery, and then her forehead appeared, followed by the bridge of her nose. She peered at me. Rushing forward, I wondered why she was being so secretive. As I approached, another head popped into view.

Aunt Muffy leaned shoulder-to-shoulder beside my mother. I stopped short, staring at the two of them.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded in just above a murmur.

“Shh, we’re on a mission to check into Iva’s affairs. We have access to her apartment,” my mother whispered.

Hand on my hip, I drew closer.

“How did that happen?” I wanted to know.

A chuckle from behind brought me around to face Mr. Perkins. My heart sank at the sight of his excitement. This could only mean that Mr. Perkins was involved up to his frail shoulders and skinny chicken neck.
Oh my God
, my inner voice yelled,
we’re all going to jail
. Unfortunately, there was no shut-off button to control the voice. I simply braced myself for the worst.

“Mr. Perkins, what have you been up to?” I asked him with what I hoped was a stern look.

He chuckled again and said, “Ain’t nothin’ like a great mystery. The girls needed to get inside Iva’s, and I happened to find the key she left outside her apartment, you know, in case she locked herself out.” He chortled. “She did that a lot, ya know.” His shoulders shook with mirth.

Muffy and my mother hurried indoors as Perkins followed not far behind.
Reluctantly, I went with them. My brain in overdrive, I wondered if my mother knew what she was doing was totally illegal.

Visions of the four of us in handcuffs, and ankle chains, skittered through my head. Detective Bellini, Marcus, and my father swept across my consciousness. Their reaction would be profound if we were caught in this illicit act. My curiosity factor still held first place, front and center, as we crowded into the elevator and rode to the second floor.

Mr. Perkins held the doors at bay while we rushed forward. I followed Aunt Muffy and my mother along the corridor. A wreath of tattered silk flowers, covered with a thick layer of dust, clung to Iva’s front door. A potted plant of crumbling, chalky, dried flowers leaned against the wall on the waist-high narrow wood ledge that ran the length of the corridor above the handrail. Lined up domino style in front of the door, we waited, still and silent in mannequin mode.

Pointing to the pot, Mr. Perkins whispered that the key had been taped to the bottom of it. I nodded and glanced up and down the hallway. Closed apartment doors lined both sides and stretched out on either side of the elevator. A stairwell stood at each end of the corridor. I unlocked and turned the door knob to Iva’s apartment.

We entered the three-room residence. I gently closed the door behind us. The others tiptoed through the rooms while I watched. The lock in the door handle turned under my fingertips, and satisfied we were safe, I moved forward. No sense in being interrupted, right?

The galley kitchen smelled from the dirty dishes piled in the sink filled with gray water. The floor, covered with a grimy film, hadn’t been cleaned in ages. I opened the fridge, put my hand over my nose, and stepped back, gagging on the disgusting odor of rotten food. Dishes of prior meals lay exposed with slick green goo covering them. Yuck. I quickly closed the door.

My mother rummaged through the antique desk against the wall in hope of finding what? I didn’t have any idea, and figured she didn’t, either. Aunt Muffy rifled through the bedroom closet while Mr. Perkins tossed the contents of the dresser drawers. Every now and then, he chuckled. I wasn’t sure if it was at the sight of gigantic underwear, or if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His humor brought a smile to my lips.

Within moments, I’d checked the French-style hutch in the living room. I glanced over my shoulder, as my mother flipped through letters from the desk. I watched her pick up what appeared to be a personal journal.

“What are we looking for, Mom?” I asked as I stared at the journal in her hands.

“We’re in search of anything that will lead us to Iva’s killer. She had secrets on everyone. She should have realized they might get her in trouble someday. Having dirt on people and holding it over them is an unhealthy habit, don’t you think?”

“Was she that bad?”

“If I have the stories straight, yes, she was. I’d heard a few things here and there, but I never paid much attention to them. She’d always been nice to me, you see. The problem with senior citizens is that some of them aren’t always correct in their assumptions concerning each other. That’s why I didn’t heed the gossip.”

Curious, I asked, “What was said about her?”

“There was an incident when one of the older ladies whacked Iva with her cane while yelling profanities at her. There were center workers in attendance at that time and they brought the assault to an end.” Mom tossed the mail onto the desk and continued. “Mrs. Culligan, a woman who helps me out, said Iva had taunted the old lady more than once. Iva insinuated that she had a secret, and would tell the woman’s daughter. That kind of thing is extremely upsetting to the elderly.”

I nodded. Unable to find anything of worth in the cabinet, I turned to the magazine rack on the floor. Iva owned lovely antiques even if they were grimy and fingerprint-smeared.

We all met back in the tiny entryway and whispered our findings to one another. It was as though we’d entered a 1940s film noir, where there was a mystery with no foundation to it.

A smile teetered on the edge of my lips until I broke out into a full grin. The comedic scene we presented tickled my sense of humor. Mom glanced at me with narrowed eyes. I checked my grin with the same suddenness as it had appeared.

“If we have to, we’ll come back again and toss the place real good,” I announced, and watched my mother stuff the journal inside her handbag as we left Iva’s apartment. Hmm …

In the corridor, the elevator started to open. We scrambled toward the stairs. The elevator dinged and another resident from an apartment hobbled out. I glanced back and caught the stairway door as it swung closed, in case it clanged in place.

“Whew, that was close.” Mr. Perkins leaned against the wall and wiped his brow.

“It sure was,” I agreed. “Please don’t go into that apartment again,” I pleaded to everyone standing on the stairs.

“Would you like the key?” Mr. Perkins asked me, his eyes lit like a Christmas tree.

Another smile covered his face, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the engaging old fellow. My hand extended flat, palm up toward him, he laid the key in the center and winked at me.

“You’ll let me know if I can be of service again, eh, missy?” he asked.

“I sure will, Mr. Perkins. Thank you for your help.”

“You can call me Gabe,” he said with a smile.

“That’s a fine name, and thank you, Gabe.” I shook his withered hand in a conspiratorial manner.

The three of them left the stairwell heading out the side door as the front door opened. Standing still, I glanced through the narrow window of the interior door. I watched Mrs. Galumpky urgently punch the elevator button several times. She must have just missed Muffy, my mother, and Gabe as they left the building. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The four of us scrambled down the outside steps of the apartment complex. How we didn’t topple over one another, I couldn’t say. Mr. Perkins nearly lost his balance. I grabbed his arm, and brought him upright. He breathed hard from the exertion of racing. Muffy and Mom fled to the car park. I turned to Gabe and thanked him again before I left.

Mom pulled out of the lot and hit the street at a reckless speed. Everyone wondered where I got my driving habits. I smiled as I watched her take off. Muffy drove off in the opposite direction. Shaking my head, I started my car and drove toward my parents’ street.

This neighborhood was an old one. I’d grown up around the aged Victorian homes along Cranston Street, and in an area where smaller homes filled tiny lots. The Victorian homes now held doctors’ and attorneys’ offices. I glanced at them as I passed by, wondering if one of those attorneys now represented my mother and me.

As I crossed into Cranston, I swung into familiar surroundings and rolled toward my mother’s house. The two cars parked in the driveway belonged to my parents. I pulled up just behind them. Another vehicle sat at the curb. I wondered whose it was.

As always, I entered through the kitchen door. Three pairs of eyes gawked at me. My mother and father turned back to the stranger. Dad introduced the man as the attorney on retainer. I nodded when the man stood to shake my hand.

“Muffy won’t be here, huh?” I asked my mother after the introduction was complete.

“She went home,” Mom said with a silent plea in her eyes.

Apparently, my mother didn’t want my father to know what she’d been up to. Far be it from me to squeal. I nodded and took a seat at the table.

Attorney Aldo Casali’s dark, beady eyes wandered over my height and breadth, stopping at my breasts, and moving on down my legs, toward my feet. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn he licked his lips, when his tongue darted from his mouth, and he swallowed. How gross was that? I wondered.

With a raised brow, I glanced at my father. He grimaced, and motioned to an empty chair. In a few seconds, I’d settled at the table, as far from the lawyer as possible. Skeptical, my gaze swept the three faces.

“Ms. Esposito, I’ve been hired to represent you and your mother. My experience in murder trials is extensive. Please rest assured I’ll do my utmost to see that you both get a fair trial.”

“Fair trial, my ass,” I snapped with a snort. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions, Mr. Casali. There won’t be a trial, so if that’s where you think this is headed, then you’re quite mistaken. So far, there’s no hard evidence to link either of us to the death of this woman.” I turned to my father. “You didn’t give this idiot any money, did you?”

“The evidence is circumstantial, I admit,” Casali remarked, as his sleazy eyes roamed my upper torso once again. “We do need to be prepared for the worst, though.”

“Yeah, right,” I snarked.

My father stared at me for a moment. The signs of a head butting session covered his face. In a second or two, we would enter the ring, and only God knew who the victor would be.

“Dad, you can’t think for one moment that we’ll end up in court?”

My father swore in Italian and then said in English, “I’ve engaged Mr. Casali as a precaution, Lavinia. I know you’re about to begin your own investigation. You’ll undoubtedly prove you and your mother’s innocence. There’s no question in my mind.” He heaved an exasperated sigh, his hands waving as he spoke.

“
Poi dare la porta a questo scatto, Dad
,” I retorted in Italian. “
Spreca il suo temp, lei non puo` dire?
” It made sense to me to tell my father to get rid of the jerk and realize he was wasting our time.