Dirty Rotten Tendrils (10 page)

“Did I hear the reporter say your name a moment ago?” Marco asked.

“She’s on TV now,” Gert told him as she passed our table.

Marco twisted to see the TV, where Connor was saying, “Knight, Attorney David Hammond’s former law clerk, stated that Hammond had visited his mother, a patient at Whispering Willows Retirement Village, after his meeting with Lipinski. Yet my investigation turned up no record of Hammond’s visit, nor was he seen entering or leaving the building.” Connor gazed into the camera, his eyes narrowing. “So where was Attorney Hammond? Connor McKay reporting for WNCN news.”

Marco swiveled toward me, a look of disbelief on his face.

I still couldn’t believe it myself. Hadn’t I said to Lottie,
I’m wise to him. He’ll never get anything useful from me again?
When I’m wrong, I’m really, really wrong.

“In other news,” the anchor said, “Cody Verse will be holding a short memorial service at seven o’clock this evening on the courthouse lawn in honor of his former attorney.”

“Oh, sure. Now Cody’s calling it a memorial
service
,” I said lamely, trying not to look at Marco.

“Abby, you told me you didn’t give McKay any important information.”

“I know, Marco. I goofed, and I’m sorrier than you can imagine. I didn’t think Dave’s visit would be an issue because I figured lots of people saw him there and that the facility would keep a log, too. But they don’t. I stopped by this afternoon and talked to the receptionist who was on duty yesterday evening. She didn’t remember Dave stopping by, but she didn’t even notice when
I
walked in. I went all the way to the back of the building and came out again and had to practically get in her face before she saw me. I’m sure that’s what happened to Dave.”

Marco stared at me as though he didn’t know what to say.

“Look, Marco, someone at the home must have seen Dave. I’ll go over there as soon as visiting hours start tomorrow and find witnesses.”

“That would be wise. The sooner we can clear up any questions about Dave’s movements after his meeting with Lipinski, the better.” Marco took out his cell phone and flipped it open. “I’d better let Dave know what happened—if he hasn’t already heard.”

“Really, Marco, how big a deal can this be? Who watches the local cable news when we can get all the Chicago stations? I never do. I’ve never seen you have it on here at the bar, either.”

“We don’t usually, but the staff wants it on so they can keep up with Cody happenings.” Marco dialed Dave’s number and listened, then shut his phone. “It went to voice mail.”

My cell phone vibrated. I checked the screen and saw Grace’s name. “Sorry to bother you, dear,” she said, “but I thought you should know that you were on the telly just now.”

Grace watched the local channel, too? “I saw it. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

At that moment the front door opened, bringing in a gust of chill air and the heavy scent of a sweet, flowery perfume. The same kind of perfume that Marco’s mother wore.

“Ah! There you are!” a melodious voice called. “My bambinos. Hiding in the back.”

Just what I needed to top off my day—Mama Salvare. I whispered into the phone, “Marco’s mom is here, Grace. I have to go.”

“
Bon chance
, love,” Grace said, and hung up.

As I slipped my phone into my purse, Francesca Salvare swept up to our booth with a dramatic flourish, leaned over to give me a fierce hug, then scooted in beside Marco. She was dressed in a black silk blouse with a yellow, white, and black silk scarf at her neck, black slacks, and black flats, and she carried a black wool coat over her arm.

Francesca reminded me of a fifty-year-old Sophia Loren, all curves and gorgeous dark hair, big dark eyes and olive skin, a generous mouth and a wide smile. Her laugh was also generous, as were her gestures. She gave Marco a loud kiss on the cheek, then reached across to take both of my hands and give them gentle squeezes as she smiled at me. “
Bella
, Abby. It’s always good to see you. Such lovely skin and clear eyes. Should you have little ones one day, they will be beautiful, eh, Marco? Even if they do inherit the red hair.”

“What’s up,
Mama
?” Marco said, putting an Italian accent on her moniker.

She patted his cheek. “Can’t I drop in to see my favorite son?”

Marco regarded her steadily without saying a word. Her happy facade dissolved into a miserable sigh. “Your brother wants me to meet Cinnamon’s parents.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Marco asked.

“At dinner.”

“You love to cook for people,” he said.

“At Cinnamon’s parents’ house,” Francesca said, as though that explained it all.

“That’s even better,” I said. “You won’t have to lift a finger.”

Francesca tried to smile. “You’re right, of course.”

She was humoring me.

“You’ll do fine, Mom,” Marco said, taking a sip of beer. “It’s just one evening.”

“It’s tomorrow evening, and you’re invited, too, Marco.” She said it as though it was just punishment for him not agreeing with her.

I was about to snicker when his mom said, “You, too, Abby.”

“Why are you balking at their invitation?” Marco asked his mom. “It’s your chance to get to know Rafe’s future in-laws.”

Francesca shrugged dramatically and glanced away.

“Don’t you want to meet them before the wedding?” Marco asked.

She muttered something under her breath that sounded very Italian. Marco, apparently, understood her.

“Then you need to tell Rafe your concerns about his decision to marry,” he said.

“Marco, you know he doesn’t listen to me. He’s head-strong, just like his papa was. If he listened, would he be here now? No. He’d have gotten a degree back in Ohio and gone into business with your uncle Benny. All I can do now is hope Raphael comes to his senses before he puts a ring on that child’s finger . . . unless you want to talk to your brother?”

“Leave me out of this,” Marco said. “I’ve tried talking to Rafe about other matters, like his career, but he doesn’t listen to me, either.”

Francesca threw up her hands. “See? That’s what I mean. Raphael never listens to anyone.”

I noticed Marco trying to catch my eye. He nodded toward his mom and gave me a look that said,
Here’s your chance to offer your help
.

I shook my head. Not now! I hadn’t prepared how to explain my position to her. But Marco raised his eyebrows in a challenge:
Just do it. I dare you.

Damn it! He knew I was unable to resist a challenge.

I took a deep breath, then plunged in. “Mrs. Salvare, perhaps I can talk to Rafe—”

I
nstead of waiting for me to finish, Marco’s mom clapped her hands together as though she were about to pray. “Oh, yes,
cara mia
! Bless you! My Raphael thinks the world of you. I know he will listen when you say he shouldn’t marry Cinnamon.”

“Um, I’m not sure I can go that far, but perhaps I can suggest he get to know Cinnamon before he takes such a big step.” And then, hopefully, Rafe would decide on his own that he wasn’t ready for marriage.

Francesca’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What do you mean by ‘get to know her’?”

“Not in the biblical sense of the word,” I assured her. “I mean get to know her by dating her for a while to see if they are compatible. My grandma used to say you have to summer and winter with someone to get to know them.”

Francesca thought it over, then nodded. “Your
grand-mama
was a very wise woman. I think this is a smart plan.” She caught my hands again. “Thank you,
bella
, for doing this for me.”

Actually, it was more for me, but if it earned me points with my future mom-in-law, all the better. “No problem.”

Gazing at me with gratitude, Francesca said, “Marco, you have chosen well.”

Although I felt a bit like a puppy at the animal shelter, I knew this was high praise coming from her. I smiled at her and squeezed her hands. “Thank you, Mrs. Salvare.”

I glanced at Marco. With a grin playing at one corner of his mouth, he lifted his bottle of beer in salute to me.

“So you will talk to Raphael before the dinner tomorrow night?” his mom asked.

One day to convince Rafe to drop Cinnamon like a sticky bun? “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“
Bella
, Abby. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” She fanned her face with her hand. “I feel so much better now. I should go back to Gina’s and make a big plate of cannoli to take to the dinner tomorrow. Everyone loves my cannoli.” Smiling, she slid out of the booth, blew kisses at us, and swept through the bar like a movie star.

Marco took a swallow of beer, watching me. “What are you going to say to Rafe?”

“I have no idea.”

“Here you go, kids,” Gert said moments later, setting plates of food in front of us.

Before I could reach for my sandwich, my cell phone vibrated again. I checked the screen, saw Jillian’s name, and switched it to mute. Let voice mail deal with her. I was ravenous. I took a bite of burger and a glob of mustard squeezed out the other end, dripping onto the fingers of my left hand. I put down the sandwich to wipe my fingers—and that reminded me.

“This may not be the best time to mention it, but I thought we were going to celebrate something.” I held my hand up and wiggled my fingers.

Marco swallowed a bite. “Not tonight. So is Tara twittering from Bloomers again?”

That was clearly a diversionary tactic. “Yes, she is, and it’s called tweeting. Listen, Marco, I’m really sorry about spilling that information to McKay. I hope you’re not angry about it. I promise I won’t talk to him again.”

“I’m not angry. More like shell-shocked, but I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

“Great.” I smiled, hoping he’d offer up a reason for not giving me the ring, but he merely smiled back, then took a bite of his chili.

Hmm. What was the problem? “Did something happen to my ring?”

“No. It’s fine,” he said a tad too vigorously. “It’s just not available yet.”

“I don’t understand. Yesterday, the jeweler told me it was ready.”

“I know, but . . . tomorrow.”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

“Tomorrow. I promise.”

 

 

Because we’d be attending Rafe’s dinner the next night, Marco left right after our meal so he could put in extra hours on his PI case. He’d reached Dave and explained about my run-in with McKay, then said afterward that Dave hadn’t sounded too concerned. He didn’t think his alibi would be a problem. I was more determined than ever to make sure it wasn’t.

I stayed to finish my beer, then checked my cell phone and saw I had four voice mail messages—one from my mom, one from Lottie, one from my roommate, Nikki, and one from Jillian—all asking if I’d seen myself on the news.

I wasn’t in the mood to explain my blunder four times, so I sent one group text message that said,
Saw the news. Will fix. No worries.
I hit SEND, then noticed I had one missed call.
Number blocked,
it said. A salesman, no doubt. Anyone else would have left a message.

When I headed back to Bloomers at seven thirty, a tremendous number of people had gathered on the courthouse lawn in front of a wooden stage that had been erected within the last hour and a half. The television news crews were back, hanging out in their vans while workers set up loudspeakers and tall, powerful lights to illuminate the stage. A group of teenagers lined the curb, acting as lookouts for the limo bringing their fave pop star. Many had on navy sweatshirts with Cody’s face stenciled in glow-in-the-dark white, with letters beneath that said:
Code Blue
. I wasn’t sure what that signified. I made a mental note to ask Tara.

Speaking of Tara, I could see her face in the window on Bloomers’ coffee parlor side, so I waved. Tara ducked down. Obviously waving wasn’t cool. My sister-in-law Kathy motioned for me to come in. She met me at the door and opened it so I could step inside.

“Did you know you were on cable news?” Kathy asked.

“Does everyone in town watch that channel?”

“Someone from Whispering Willows must watch, because a woman called here just a few minutes ago asking for you.”

“Did you get her name?”

Kathy shook her head. “She wouldn’t leave it, but I checked caller ID afterward and the number listed was for Whispering Willows. I asked if she’d like to leave a message and she said no. Just for me to let you know that Dave was telling the truth.”

“About visiting his mom?”

Kathy shrugged. “She hung up before I could ask. Maybe she’ll call back in the morning.”

I hoped so. That could be just the witness we were looking for. “How is our tweeter?”

“She’s been tweeting nonstop. I don’t know why her thumbs aren’t numb.”