Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4) (10 page)

I shook my head. “I can’t wait.” I directed my next comment toward the baby. “Would you do something already—mommy’s getting antsy.”

Gus got out of the car from the passenger side. He was still sore from his slip-and-fall. He hobbled over to us and hugged Toni.

“What happened to you?” Toni asked.

“It’s all the sex—I can’t keep up with her,” he said.

Toni rolled her eyes. “Yeah, go on. No seriously, what happened?”

“Gus fell down and broke his butt—it was job related. How’s the boss?”

Toni’s head swayed back and forth. Her lips curled downward and her shoulders rose. “We’re coming down the home stretch.” She was quiet for a moment. “He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“What’s been happening?” Gus asked.

Toni’s eyes turned lifeless. “He’s been fighting cancer for almost a year now, but . . . the treatments aren’t helping anymore. We were up in Maine. He was fishing and I . . . okay, I was completely bored. All that fresh air seemed to be doing him good, and I was happy to knit and clean fish. You understand . . . but he’s having trouble breathing, and the doctors don’t know what else to do for him. We decided to come home, so that he could be around family and friends.”

My throat tightened and then my arms were around Toni again. We both began to cry. “Get it out of your system before you go inside,” she said. “The tears are tougher for him to swallow than the cancer.”

I understood her completely. I had seen Sonellio deteriorate before my eyes, but he never complained and he never spoke about it. Sonellio had always been a rock. Men like him didn’t respond to pity. Gus and I both knew what to expect—we had decided in advance to keep things upbeat. The grim reaper may have been close by, but there would be no talk of death today. Today, as always, Nick Sonellio was The Boss.

Toni and I dried our eyes. She inspected my face. “Waterproof makeup? You were always so smart.” Gus looked like hell. The gravity of the situation was so intense that he seemed unable to lift his head. Toni lifted Gus’ chin with her hand. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Gus,” Toni said. “Can you put on a happy face?” He nodded. It was sort of a hem-and-haw nod. I don’t think he was convinced he could pull it off. Gus wore his emotions on his sleeve. “Gus, are we good?” Toni asked with concern.

He took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

Toni put her arms around our waists and walked us into the house.

“Are they here?” I saw Sonellio at the top of the stairs. He smiled boldly and raced down the stairs in a manner which was meant to convey the impression that he was robust and healthy, but all the showmanship did not impress me. He looked like a sick man laboring to appear healthy. I tried, I really did, but a few tears escaped before I was able to sure up my armor.

“Tears? What’s this?”

“I’m just so happy to see you.”

“What the hell? I’m off the job six months and everyone falls apart? Pull yourself together, for God’s sake.” Sonellio gave me a kiss on the forehead just like my father used to. I don’t know how I kept from going to pieces, but somehow I managed to hold myself together. Sonellio turned to Gus and noticed that he was limping as he walked toward him. “What the hell happened to you? You used to be a young buck.”

“I took a bad fall,” Gus said as he embraced Sonellio.

“Jesus, you look like hell, Gus. Isn’t Stephanie taking care of you?”

“Trust me, she takes good care of me.”

“Well then hell, let’s eat breakfast.” Sonellio clasped and wrung his hands. “I’m starving.”

We began to walk toward the kitchen. I saw Toni prodding Sonellio with her elbow. “Oh yeah,” Sonellio said. “Let me get a good look at you.” I turned sideways so that the profile of my belly was noticeable. “You’re pregnant? When did this happen . . . yesterday? You’re as thin as a rail. Are you sure you’re pregnant?”

“Yes, boss, I’m plenty pregnant.”

“You’d better start eating. You want to give birth to a noodle or something?” Sonellio chuckled, and it brought some color to his cheeks. “Toni’s been preparing all morning—we’ll fatten you up.”

We had picked up a small gift for the boss. I handed it to him in one of those fancy bags that everyone uses nowadays because we’re all too busy or too lazy to use wrapping paper.

“The hell is this?” Sonellio protested.

“Just a little welcome-home present,” Gus said.

“For Christ’s sake, you gave me a watch for my retirement, the one without the numbers on it.”

“The Movado?”

“Yeah, the Movado. I got it locked up in the safe deposit box.”

“Why don’t you use it?”

“A fancy watch like that? To go fishing?” He gave me a playful slap on the cheek.
“
Sciocchezza.”
It was the Italian word for silly. “What’s in the bag, a polo mallet?”

“Something more practical,” Gus said. “Take a look.”

Sonellio reached into the bag and pulled out a bundled stack of DVDs. “
Star Trek
?”

“Every movie ever made,” I said proudly.

“
Wrath of Kahn
?” Sonellio asked.

“It’s in there,” Gus said.

“He loves that movie,” Toni said.

“I know. He used to walk around the precinct imitating Kahn, ‘From hell’s heart I stab at thee.’”

“How do you know I wasn’t reciting
Moby Dick
?”

“
Moby Dick
? For real? You sounded just like Ricardo Montalban.”

Sonellio cackled. “Christ, you really are a good detective. I’ll put these to good use. Thanks. Goddamn it, let’s eat!”

The house was filled with the aroma of sizzling bacon. Toni had set the table with a pretty tablecloth and matching linen napkins.

“Bacon, eggs,
and
muffins? You really know how to treat a girl.”

“Your mother would kick my ass if she heard that I didn’t serve her daughter a good hot meal,” Toni said. “Sit.”

We took off our jackets and settled around the table. Gus was still squirming and trying to get comfortable. “You look like you’ve got ants in your pants, Gus,” Sonellio said. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“No. I took a hot bath last night, and Stephanie got me loaded up on painkillers.”

“You’re walking like a duck,” Sonellio said. “How about a shot of Sambuca?”

“At eight o’clock?”

“Sure, it’ll take the edge off,” Sonellio replied.

Gus was silent for a moment. It looked as if he were weighing his options. “Okay, what the hell,” he replied. “The
pregmeister’s
driving.”

I was a little surprised that Sonellio had offered Gus a drink, and even more surprised that Gus accepted. Gus was obviously in a lot of pain. The fact that the offer had come from the boss made it okay. Sonellio was a highly moral person and a by-the-book cop. If he didn’t have a problem with it . . .

Sonellio retrieved a bottle of Sambuca from the kitchen counter and poured a shot into Gus’ juice glass. Sonellio partially covered his mouth and in an exaggerated loud voice said, “How long has he been twitching like this? If the hooch doesn’t calm him down, I may have to shoot him.”

Gus laughed and then winced. “What do you want from me? It hurts.”

I stroked Gus’ cheek. “You know what’s good for that?”

“What?”

“Kegels.”

Toni laughed so hard that coffee sprayed out of her mouth. She recovered a moment later. “Same old Chalice,” she said. She dished out the food, and we all got busy eating breakfast.

Gus winced as he reached for a biscuit on the other side of the table. I grabbed one for him and picked up a butter knife. “Easy there, big fella.” I turned to Toni. “Men, they just love to butter the muffin.” I winked at her, and she lost another ounce of coffee.

“Jesus, Stephanie, would you cut it out before I choke?” She turned to Gus. “You’re a lucky man.”

“I know,” he said. “
Everyone
tells me. So, boss, how was the fishing?”

“Unbelievable, Gus. I caught bass the size of compact cars. You’d love it.”

“He’s not kidding,” Toni said. She looked at me. “Stephanie, pray Gus doesn’t become a fisherman. Do you have any idea what it’s like to clean a twenty-pound fish? Do you know how stinky and smelly a job that is? Forget about getting the smell off your hands,
Madonna.
Pray, Stephanie, pray. Tell him you’ll withhold sex—whatever it takes.”

“So what’s it going to be, Gus, bouillabaisse or me?” I gave him a smart-aleck grin.

“I can clean my own fish, thank you very much.” Gus’ expression said,
take that!

Sonellio reached over and slapped Gus on the shoulder. “Atta boy,” he said. “Show her you’ve got some stones.” He laughed. “God I miss you guys.”

We went into Sonellio’s yard after breakfast. “Take a look over here,” Sonellio said. “I want to show you something.”

We followed him over to a storage shed in the corner of the yard. The two sliding doors had been sealed with paper-packaging tape, but the tape had been torn. It looked like it had been sprayed purple. Now, a layperson may not have known what that meant, but any cop worth his salt would pick up on that in a second. “You fingerprinted your shed?”

“I taped the doors before I left for Maine, knowing I’d be away for a while. I didn’t want mice getting in and eating my lounge cushions.

“I don’t know of any mice with fingerprints in the national database. Do you, Steph?” Gus chided.

“Smart ass,” Sonellio barked. “Someone’s been hanging around in my yard. I found torn denim on one of the fence caps and a pair of binoculars in the shed.”

“Binoculars?”

Sonellio opened the shed. He handed me a large Ziploc bag with binoculars enclosed. He also handed me a small Ziploc containing a purple section of the tape, which had presumably been used to seal the shed doors. “Someone’s been using my yard to spy on the neighbors. They obviously know that I’ve been away.”

“So you want us to run the prints?” I asked.

“Would you, please? The whole thing is kind of creepy, and I don’t want to bother the local police. I’m a former Chief of Detectives, for Christ’s sake—I don’t want to feel like I’m some kind of nuisance.”

I looked at Gus and took the Ziplocs from Sonellio. I doubted that the local, second-story man had a set of prints in the IAFIS database, but humoring my old boss was the very least I could do. He had certainly done plenty for me. “No problem, boss.”

“It’s probably a local junkie looking to score some quick money for dope,” Gus said.

“Could be,” Sonellio replied. “But my house has been empty for months, and no one has tried to get in.”

“I can’t believe you lifted the prints off the tape yourself. You still own a fingerprint kit?”

Sonellio laughed and then held his chest. My mind wandered to the small tank of oxygen I had seen sitting on the kitchen floor. “Not in thirty years. I bought a one-ounce bottle of gentian violet at Walmart for $2.99. I diluted it and used one of those travel-size spray bottles. I got some partials. I don’t know if there’s enough there for a match.”

“You’ve still got it, boss,” I said.

“And now you’ve got it, Stephanie. Find out who’s been sneaking around my yard.”

I raised my hand and spread my second and third fingers to form a Vulcan Salute. I didn’t know how much time Sonellio had left, but I wanted to bestow my best wishes, “Live long and prosper.”

Anya
Kozakova shuddered when she heard loud rapping on her apartment door, even though she was expecting a visitor. It sounded as if the door was being struck with a sledgehammer and would be knocked off the frame. She looked through the peephole and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. The courtyard window was exactly opposite her door, and the hallway was usually bright and well illuminated during daylight hours. Now, however, the massive individual standing outside her door prevented most of the sunlight from reaching the peephole.

“Tillerman?” she asked in her heavy Russian accent.

“Yes.”

She opened the door. Michael Tillerman held up a thick, white envelope. “Can I come in?”

Kozakova nodded apprehensively and then stepped aside so that her massive visitor could enter. She closed the door behind him. She reached for the deadbolt, eyed her visitor once again, and then moved away from the door without engaging it.
Just in case,
she thought,
I may have to run.

Tillerman handed her the envelope. “Here, count it,” he said, “Two thousand dollars, all twenties.”

She pointed to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” she said, trying to sound as strong and confident as possible. Her life in Soviet Georgia had not been easy. She had learned to project a stoic and impersonal demeanor in the face of a potential threat in order to appear fearless. It was a defense mechanism that had proven invaluable to her many times in the past. Tillerman took off his jacket and sat down. She sat down opposite him and began to count the cash. She made ten stacks of bills: two hundred dollars in each pile. She finished counting the money and stuffed it back into the envelope.