Cold Moon Dead (7 page)

My father was no different. My mother, on the other hand, had not been ready to retire. She worked for me at a gift shop in Providence, the one I’d inherited from Aunt Livvy. Mom did the accounts and helped the sales girls when things got busy. Warm, welcoming lights glowed through the kitchen windows as I sauntered up the steps to their miniscule deck behind the house. The property was the size of a postage stamp. The deck took up the better part of the backyard and the garage ate up most of the rest. There was only a smidgen of grass and flowers to be seen in the summertime. Right now, the yard looked forlorn with no snow to give it a pristine appearance. Brown, crusty grass and weeds lingered.

My mother opened the door as I crossed the deck. Though Theresa Esposito was shorter than me and a bit round in the middle, the resemblance between us was there for all to see. The genes on Mom’s side of the family were strong, even though I had inherited her sister Livvy’s particular looks and height.

“Oh, Lavinia, I’m glad to see you. I wondered if you’d be by for supper. I told your father to make that chicken soup you like so much.” Mom smiled and bustled around the kitchen.

A kettle simmered on the stove, I raised the lid and inhaled with appreciation. The chicken soup, officially named Wedding Soup, was served at traditional Italian weddings in Rhode Island. It was also a staple on holidays like Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. The soup came first at holiday feasts, followed by pasta with meatballs, then the regular meal, then the antipasto salad. Aaron and Marcus were astounded at the amount of food consumed by those of us who enjoyed this ritual. By most accounts, people that aren’t Italian don’t have huge meals such as these. I was sad for them, because they surely missed out.

A loaf of Italian bread sat on the counter. My mother took a serrated knife from a drawer and sliced the bread. She piled thick chunks high on a plate, retrieved earthenware bowls from the cupboard and set the table. My father strolled into the kitchen.

“Hi, Dad. The soup smells delicious.” I kissed his cheek as he grunted his greeting.

“Your brother called today,” my mother said.

“What’s going on with him?” I asked.

“He and his wife are off on a cruise tomorrow. He wanted to let us know in case we called and couldn’t reach him.” She looked up for a second, glanced at my father, and then asked, “He wondered if you’d heard anything about some stolen art that was recovered by the FBI?” She shrugged. “I told him that you didn’t have any connections with the FBI, so how would you know?”

“Right, I wouldn’t know,” I said as my father’s eyes flicked toward me from where he stood at the stove.

Mom smiled. “Well, that’s what I said. Giovanni seemed fine with that answer.”

My brother had been here, in Little Rhody, just before Thanksgiving. He’d managed to become embroiled in a stolen art ring that my deceased uncle, the cat burglar, had been involved with. It had taken some work, but I had straightened it out and sent Gio back to the cornfields of Nebraska to his wife and their mundane life there. What this latest query was about was beyond my comprehension. Regardless, it was the last thing I wanted to deal with, if I could help it. Thank goodness Gio and the wife were heading out to sea.

We had just settled at the table when there was a knock on the door. My mother started to rise, but I stopped her and answered the summons instead. Marcus stood outside, bundled in his winter State Police uniform and heavy outer jacket.

“I saw Lola’s car and thought I’d stop in.” He looked beyond me to what was on the table. A smile crept over his face as my mother jumped up from her chair, got a bowl, and set a place for him at the table. “Is everything okay?” he asked and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“All is well,” I answered.

“Did you get the car thing straightened out?” he murmured as my mother ladled soup into Marcus’s bowl and passed the bread to him.

“What car thing, Lavinia?” Mom wondered aloud as she added more soup to my father’s bowl.

A withering glance landed on Marcus before I answered my mother. He shrugged and started to eat.

“My car was stolen yesterday.”

“Then what are you driving, dear?” Mom asked.

“Lola’s car. She’s on a cruise.”

“How nice that she lent it to you. Where was your car that it would get stolen?”

“In Olneyville,” I said. “Could I have more bread?”

“Olneyville? What were you doing there?”

Good grief, my mother was on a roll. There would be no way to shift her now. She was like a pit bull once she sank her teeth into a topic.

“I had to drop someone off there. My car was stolen. I called the police to make a report.” It wasn’t a complete lie. My soup had grown cool and I sipped the broth from the bowl as if from a cup.

When I put the bowl down, I caught sight of my father’s glare as he mentioned I shouldn’t hang out with the city cops because of their bad manners. I grinned, asked for more soup, and started eating again.

Dinner ended with blueberry pie covered in whipped topping. I ate two pieces of pie, and drank more coffee than I should have. I was certain my jeans had stretched to full capacity.

Marcus leaned back in the chair and had a few words with my father about the weather, the food, and how much he had enjoyed the soup. My father chatted with him and then turned toward me.

“You haven’t been to the Hill, have you?” he asked.

Marcus raised an eyebrow and stared at me. I should have known I couldn’t get through a meal without an interrogation of some sort. I really hate when that happens.

“No, I haven’t been to the Hill. I did go to the mall today and shopped for clothes, though. Wanna see them?” I inquired with a grin.

“No thanks.” Dad mumbled something else. “Just stay off the Hill.”

“Why is he telling you to stay off the Hill, Lavinia?” my mother wanted to know, her voice filled with her usual innocence.

It was a sure bet this conversational tidbit was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Marcus. With an inward sigh, I considered ways around the topic. Nothing good came to mind. I toyed with the pie crust left on my plate.

A wiseass grin sneaked over Marcus’s face as he watched me. He realized I was on the hot seat and was clearly waiting to see how I would extricate myself from the pit of burning hell that my father had managed to toss me into.

“There was an incident yesterday at the district police station, and shots were fired. It seems that someone heard the shots and the person involved was from Federal Hill. Dad asked that I stay away from the Hill until the episode is sorted out.” Not bad for sitting on my ass while I lied.

Marcus leaned closer and whispered, “What shots fired?”

“I don’t know, just shots fired. That’s all.”

“Uh huh, I see.” His eyes said he didn’t believe me and that he knew there was more to the story. My mother remained unaware of anything gone awry. We all have to be grateful for the little things in life.

“There’s no reason why you should become involved in that. I’m sure you don’t know anything about it,” Mom said.

In an effort to waylay any further questions about the matter, I turned the conversation to the gift shop. My mother fell for the gambit. I listened as she rambled on. I glanced at Marcus and then at my father. Neither man uttered a sound.

“The books are ready for the accountant, your taxes are up to date, and I think you and the girls need to re-order the spring line of goods.”

“Sounds great to me. Tell them I’ll come by this week.” I usually agreed to order whatever they thought would sell since the two women knew the business better than I did. The shop catered to high-end clientele and the wares surpassed even my expectations.

“I will, dear.” Mom’s eyes rested on Marcus for a moment. “Would you care for more pie, Marcus?”

“No, thank you. I have to get back on the road.” He turned to me and said, “Walk me out, will you?” Hazel eyes sparked as he spoke.
Yikes.

Here we go. My nerves jangled. I wondered how much I would have to confess. It was clear that Marcus had honed in on the shots fired thing and realized there was more to it.

Outside on the deck, Marcus turned toward me and moved close into my personal space. I waited to see what he would do, but he laid his lips against mine and embraced me tightly. Enjoying the moment, I melted against him. After a few kisses I stepped back to stare into his warm eyes.

“Marcus, is there some point to this or do you plan to leave me all hot and bothered?”

He stared into my eyes and answered, “It’s an effort to soften you up enough to tell me why the hell your father would want you to stay away from the Hill.”

“Just for safety’s sake?”

“That explanation doesn’t work, so try again. Did you have anything to do with the shots fired incident?” Narrowed eyes stared into mine while he waited for an answer.

With a sigh, I explained. “This guy came into the station while I was waiting for Freedom to return from a call. He’d been shot and made me call his friend to come get him.”

A hard look settled on his face. “And?”

“Well, my dad said he was from the Hill.”

“You’ll make sense any minute, I just know it. Fess up, come on.” He rocked back and forth on his heels and waited.

In an effort to clarify my position, I quickly explained the man and his injury.

“Did your father say who he thought this man was?”

“Tony Jabroni,” I whispered.

He leaned forward, his eyes angry. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

“Tony Jabroni,” I murmured.

“That’s what I thought you said.” Marcus stepped back and paced a bit before he stood in front of me once again. “Listen to your father this time. I mean it.”

“Okay, okay.” It was plain to me, and everyone else, that Jabroni was a bad, bad, bad man.

With a nod, Marcus left me on the deck, watching him walk away. He had purpose to his step. I wondered if he’d be in touch with Aaron to compare notes.

Within moments, I had said my goodbyes to both parents. I gratefully accepted the food Mom gave me to take home. This meant I didn’t need to shop or cook until tomorrow or the next day, always a good thing.

Though it was completely dark, it was still early. Lola’s driveway loomed ahead and I parked the Cooper in front of her garage. The flight of wooden stairs built over the boulders led to the house with twists and turns at various intervals. The sweet, snug home sat on a rocky bluff above the road. Automatic exterior lights glowed as I stepped in range of the motion sensors.

The front door swung inward when I unlocked it. I entered the cozy house and turned on the kitchen lights. The place looked great other than a soiled frying pan and fork in the sink. It was unusual for Lola to leave dirty dishes undone, but I figured she might have been in a hurry to get to the airport.

The house was warm. I checked the thermostat and found it set for sixty-eight degrees. Unwilling to mess with the heat, I wandered through the rest of the house before I left. Everything was in its place, so I shrugged off the impression that something was different. It had been a long day and I wanted to go home.

The outside lights went off as I stepped from the last stair and entered the car.

When I arrived home, I tucked the Cooper inside the garage and closed the overhead door with the press of a button. Lights from Aaron’s apartment cast shadows over the yard. I left the bag of food on the floor in front of my apartment and trudged up the stairs to the second floor. I knocked, leaned against the wall, and waited.

Aaron swung the door open and stood aside so I could enter the apartment. His face held a quizzical expression, but he didn’t utter a word.

After I’d settled at the kitchen counter, Aaron poured and slid a glass of wine toward me. He leaned back to wait for me to speak. Why was he silent? Maybe Marcus had spoken to him and he expected me to confess something.

“I want you to know that I have been banished from the Hill by you, Marcus, and my dad. It seems that everyone has an issue with Jabroni, so . . .”

His voice soft, Aaron said, “Glad to hear it. What else is on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“You obviously have something else you want to tell me about. Anticipation is practically sparking off your skin.”

“The car that sped away from the shooting incident . . . I know the license plate number. He, Jabroni, told me to forget everything, but I can’t. He made me kinda nervous, you know?”

“Tell me.”

“You won’t yell, will you?”

“No.” Aaron smiled in a kind way. “Just tell me, Vin.”

I uttered the license plate number. He wrote it down on a slip of paper and tucked it into the pocket of his trousers. He leaned against the counter as I sipped the wine.

“Why did you hold out?”

“It seemed prudent. I realized he was a bad guy when he started to talk to me at the station. He was bossy, arrogant, and thug-like.” I shrugged and emptied the glass.

A soft chuckle met my glance. He shook his head and poured more wine into the glass.

“I have to admit, Vin, this confession is a weak moment on your part. But thug-like? That’s quite a term.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I know, but for lack of another, it fits him well. He looked like he’d seen one fight too many in his time. I’ve met enforcers who looked better than Jabroni.”

“Hmm, I’m sure.” A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Did you check on Lola’s house tonight?”

“I just came from there. Everything seems fine.”

“Seems fine?” he asked, with a raised brow.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but something felt off. Maybe it was because she wasn’t there. The house was empty, but different somehow.”

When Aaron didn’t say anything, but just waited for me to go on, I suddenly remembered the old woman who had robbed me. “Oh, today I saw the old hag who robbed me.”

“Where?”

“On the sidewalk outside a store in Olneyville, after I left the mall. I stopped and tried to find her, but she sort of evaporated before I could get the car turned around.”

“Don’t tell me you would have chased her? What were you thinking?” Aaron shook his head. “Did you tell Marcus?”