Cold Moon Dead (13 page)

Rita set her teacup on the table and looked over at her husband who gave a slight nod. “Both our boys are off to college. Their rooms are waiting for them, but we have a spare room Eric can use until his father is released. It would be a shame for that poor boy to end up in a foster home. We can make some arrangements for board, too. You say he’s working part time?”

“Would it be all right if he comes over to meet with you and you could invite him to stay?” I asked. “I wouldn’t want him to think he’s being shuffled around without his input. You know how independent kids can be at that age.”

“Why don’t you bring him by in the next day or so and we’ll have dinner here. That way we’ll have a chance to chat,” Rita said with a cheerful smile. Edwin nodded his agreement.

How had I become the guardian here? I’ll never know, but relief washed over me in waves that these two people would take the kid under their wing. I agreed to call them and left the house in high spirits.

As I pulled into the driveway, Aaron’s Yukon slid in beside mine. My heart thumped and anxiety tightened already taut nerves.
Please, don’t let us have another angry outburst.

God must have taken pity on me, because Aaron smiled and greeted me as I rounded the front of the huge beast of a truck. I greeted him in return as he stepped from the vehicle.

“I heard you might have found your car. Did you?” he asked.

“No, the cars at the chop shop were on their way out of the country, but mine wasn’t among them. I think it’s in Olneyville somewhere.”

Aaron opened the hallway door and we entered. I could hear rock music from my apartment and realized that Eric had found some entertainment. Aaron’s brows rose and he stepped in front of me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You have a visitor from the sound of it.”

“Yes, I do. It’s Eric Strom. Remember him from last summer?”

Aaron stared at me in surprise. “What is he doing in your apartment?”

“It’s a long story. Why don’t you come in?”

With a nod, he stepped aside and I opened the door into the kitchen. Aaron followed behind. Eric stood behind the counter, dusted in flour, cooking up a storm. I grinned and wondered who would clean the mess when Chef Strom was finished cooking.

“Hey, Vinnie, I thought I’d whip up some chicken cutlets for supper. I didn’t know you’d have company, but I think we got enough to go around.” His grin was sheepish and brought a smile to my face.

After introductions were made again, I explained that Eric had agreed to work at the deli, go to school, and stay here until we could figure out a solution to his homelessness. I managed to explain his situation by saying he had no relatives to go to while Mr. Strom was a guest of the state.

Eric nodded agreement. I left out the fact that he’d been hiding at Lola’s. Even Aaron wouldn’t overlook that transgression. Some things are better left unsaid.

Chef Strom continued his dinner plans while Aaron and I sat in the living room chatting. It was a surprise to me that there hadn’t been any questions over Eric’s issues. Aaron had liked Eric when he had done some light work for me in the past, so maybe I wasn’t about to be interrogated.

While we ate the cutlets, mashed potatoes, and green beans almandine, I shared the invitation from the Makepeaces with Eric. He agreed to go and have dinner with them, and I left it at that with no mention of the possible move into the spare room in Edwin and Rita’s home. How Aaron realized I hadn’t told Eric the rest of it was beyond me. Somehow he knew, though. When we’d finished dinner, he asked to see me upstairs for a moment.

Filled with trepidation, I agreed. I was leery of an altercation and hoped this wouldn’t be one. Aaron preceded me up the steps into the apartment. He glanced around, tossed the keys on the counter and reached around me to close the door. With a gesture, he ushered me into the next room and whispered his question.

“What are you holding back from this kid?”

“The Makepeaces want him to move in with them until his father gets out of jail. I just don’t want him to feel as though he’s being forced into a situation he doesn’t want. He’ll stay with me until we can make better arrangements for him, but he can’t stay forever. It just isn’t a good idea, especially with me being single and him being a minor. It doesn’t take much for people to talk, and they already do enough of that about me—don’t you think?”

A soft chuckle met my statement and he nodded. “You are so soft-hearted. You just had to take him in, didn’t you? He should go to a foster home, Vin. You know that, right?”

“He refuses to go. I don’t want him homeless and on the mean streets. It isn’t fair. He’s a good kid.”

“Someday you’ll make a great mother, you know that?” He smiled and leaned his shoulder against the wall.

“Yeah, right. Rug rats and all.” I chuckled and headed downstairs.

Lola returned home to find the furnace in great shape. I arranged for a rental car so Lola could have her Cooper back. The loaner car wasn’t bad, just a small affair with the basics.

The deli was still busy. Thankfully, Lola approved of the new employee. Much to my relief, she even supported my decision to hang onto Eric until we could get him moved into the Makepeace home.

We sipped latte while she shared the excitement of her cruise. When she was halfway through the story, she stopped and the Julia grin spread across her face. The room brightened as if megawatt lights had been switched on, and I grinned in response.

“What’s on your mind?”

“When you found Eric, he was homeless, right?”

“He was. Why?”

“He can’t stay at your place much longer. It isn’t a good idea. There is a two-room space upstairs in this building. Let’s take a look at it and see what it needs. I was using it for storage a while back, but now it’s just empty.”

“The Makepeaces have offered their home to him. Don’t you think he would like it there?”

“Have you asked him?” she asked with eyes wide. “Eric might not want to live with them, but you can ask anyway. In the meantime, come on, let’s look at the space.”

Lola scampered up the back stairs of the deli kitchen and I followed.

The space was fairly decent and had a small, yet serviceable bathroom attached to it. No cooking conveniences, but a long closet sat at one end of the larger room. When I opened the door, I noticed there were shelves in place. The other room was small—maybe just right for a twin bed and a dresser. I leaned against the door casing and stared at Lola.

“What makes you think Eric won’t want to live with the Makepeaces?”

“He doesn’t know them, does he, other than as landlords?” Lola asked in a soft voice.

“No, but he’s too young to be on his own. He hasn’t had a great life since his mother passed away and his father started to drink heavily. The kid needs some stability and I don’t think this is going to give it to him. The Makepeaces felt terrible when they found out Eric was homeless.” I shook my head. “He needs to feel cared about and they may be the answer to that problem. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t been in serious trouble. His father certainly hasn’t been a good influence on him lately and his mother is gone, so there’s no one to care about him.”

“Don’t look now, Vinnie, but you sound like a mother.”

“Spare me.” I laughed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.

“Maybe you’re right. We should let Eric meet the Makepeaces and get to know them.” She grinned and led the way back downstairs.

Chef Strom was on his way in from school when I left the deli. He mentioned he would be home early since he had a load of schoolwork, and then he got busy. Eric had settled into the job as though he’d worked there forever.

I was wandering up the sidewalk toward the house when my cell phone rang. I surfaced from my thoughts of Eric Strom and answered the call.

“Vinnie speaking.”

“Did you see who killed Louie?” the gruff voice asked.

Tony Jabroni was asking me? How the hell would I know who killed the doctor for the mob?

I stopped in my tracks. “I didn’t. Do you have any ideas?”

“You were still there in the house, right?” he asked in an accusing tone.

“Uh, yeah. I heard the shot, ran like hell, and got away before the gunman could shoot me, too.”

“Meet me at Coffee & Donuts in half an hour.”

The cell phone went dead as I started to make excuses why I couldn’t meet him. I shook the small instrument, but he was gone. In a fit of temper, I stamped my foot and then glanced around to make sure nobody was watching me.

Instead of heading straight to Coffee & Donuts, I drove my rental car to the cemetery to speak with Aunt Livvy before I met Jabroni. I parked the car and left it idling at the crest of the hill above my aunt’s grave.

Dead leaves littered the site. I straightened the lopsided basket of artificial plants that lay in front of the headstone. All the while I mumbled on about my problem with Jabroni and added an explanation of the argument I’d had with Aaron over the shooting.

After clearing up the gravesite, I stepped back and asked Livvy what she thought. Aware she couldn’t answer me, I rambled on a bit more about Jabroni’s demand to meet him. I paced to and fro, rambled on and on, and waved my hands as expressive Italians do. When I looked at my watch, I bid Livvy a hasty farewell. It seemed I’d made the decision to go meet the thug after all.

As I drove toward the donut shop, my inner voice nagged me. Honestly, where is that shut-up button when you need it most?

Don’t get involved with Jabroni. He’s too dangerous for you. You know you can’t handle him.

“Shut up,” I murmured.

If your father finds out, there will be hell to pay. You know that—right? And, how about if Aaron hears of this meeting—what then?

“Shut the hell up, already,” I said. I took a deep breath, turned up the music, and tried to sing to an old Credence Clearwater Revival tune. The peace of mind lasted about two minutes before I arrived at the donut shop.

I sighed and shut the car motor off, locked the doors, and entered the shop. It was empty of patrons other than a wizened old man reading a rumpled newspaper . . . and Jabroni, who was seated with his back to the wall and facing the windows. He straddled the chair, his meat-cleaver hands rested on the table top. The rugged man was relaxed, at least it appeared that way to me, but his eyes bore into me like laser beams. I started to sweat underneath my jacket and heavy sweater. Was I nuts for being here, or what?

“You want coffee?” asked Jabroni and cast a glance toward the girl behind the counter.

“No thanks, I just had some,” I lied as I took the seat to his right. I didn’t want to have my back to the door either, so I pushed the chair sideways so I could see the windows and the exit, too. Just call me paranoid.

He sipped the coffee in front of him and stared at me for a second.

“Tell me what happened.”

It took a few minutes to explain what I’d heard and seen. I told him about the car and driver. I left out the FBI and hoped he wouldn’t ask. Luck was with me, because he didn’t question me about them, just about the car and driver.

When I had exhausted every memory I had of what the car and driver looked like, he leaned back and nodded.

“You did good, kid,”

“Mmm.”

“This guy, did you hear his voice?”

“No, just a muffled argument. Nothing clear.”

His piercing eyes never left my face as he murmured, “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I would tell you if I heard anything clearly.”

Jabroni nodded and sipped more coffee. “It ain’t good to hold out information. You must know that though, being smart and all.”

“I do realize it is in my best interest to be honest with you, Mr. Jabroni, and I have been. Honest, that is,” I stammered, and had the urge to run like hell. But where would I go? This is Rhode Island, the smallest state in the nation. Everyone knows someone, who knows someone else, and the circle goes round, and there you are at the beginning again. No place to run, no place to hide, and no reason to do so anyway.

His eyes never missed a beat. He didn’t blink or glance away. He simply nodded and sipped coffee.

Curious, I had some questions of my own. “How long did you know Doctor Lug?”

Jabroni smirked and said he’d known Louie-the-Lug for over thirty years. He said they played golf together, shared pasta on Sundays, and even had kids that graduated from the same universities.

“You must miss him, then.”

This met with a grunt. I sat in silence, counting the seconds until I could leave.

The coffee cup was empty. I watched Jabroni rise. He straightened his coat and scarf, either of which likely cost as much as my car. Who says there’s no money in crime? He placed a soft brimmed hat on his head and said he’d be in touch. I murmured that it wasn’t necessary, but with the glance he shot me, I clammed up.

We walked outside and I headed toward my rental car.

“This is what you drive? I thought you drove one of those small sporty cars.”

“This is a rental. My car was stolen a few days ago, and I have to drive this until I can find another car.”

“Stolen?” he asked. His raspy voice grated on my nerves.

“An old woman forced me to drive her to Olneyville and left me in the middle of the street in a neighborhood nobody should live in.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Why would you drive her to Olneyville?”

“Maybe it was because she held a gun on me and I was reluctant to get shot.” The incident still smarted as I retold it. I watched Jabroni’s face when I mentioned the gun.

“You do seem to have bad luck, Lavinia,” he murmured, and left me standing alone in front of the donut shop wondering how he knew so much about me.

Nothing had been accomplished by our meeting—at least that was how I saw things. I’m not sure why I felt that way, but I did. I hadn’t known what to expect, but I came away feeling let down. Leaving the parking lot, I considered Jabroni, his Queen Bee, and Louie-the-Lug. What a trio.

As I maneuvered through traffic, I checked out the car lots. I couldn’t bring myself to drive into one of them and look at the cars. I still had hopes of finding mine. With that thought, I kept going and arrived home in no time at all.