Don of the Dead (18 page)

"Pepper!" Quinn's voice cut me off. It was quiet, and it packed an emotional punch that hit me somewhere between my stomach and my heart. "Maybe you haven't been listening to me but I told you I'd like to see you again. That means I'd like to see you alive."

"But I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter. Not to these people. RudyScarpetti likes to put on a show. More than anything, he'd like a little respectability, a good image and a reputation like Mother Teresa's. He'd love to find some hack—no offense intended—to help perpetuate the myth. My guess is that's why he agreed to see you.

He heard book. He thought publicity. And he figured he could convince you to make sure it was good publicity. Don't let the shiny exterior fool you. And don't think that contact with him can be casual or without consequences. Rudy's a criminal. His father was a criminal. And that big house was bought and paid for with blood money."

I knew Quinn was right. But that didn't relieve me from my obligation to Gus, did it?

"I promise not to do anything stupid." I held up two fingers, Boy-Scout style. "But there's more I need to know. Can you find out who killed GusScarpetti ?"

"It happened thirty years ago. What difference does it make?"

"But my book—"

"Find someone else to write about."

It was as simple as that. At least to Quinn. Of course, he didn't know about the nine thousand dollars.

Or about the dead don who was down but certainly not out. At least not out of my life.

He also didn't know that once I'd made up my mind about something, I wasn't easily talked down. I thought back to something Rudy had mentioned the night before and gave Quinn the little pout that used to drive Joel wild. Call me egotistical but I could tell it still worked its magic. Quinn's pupils widened and he took a step closer to me.

"I'm almost done with my research," I told him. "I've only got one more thing to check out. A retirement home. Rudy runs it for the guys who used to work for Gus."

"Not a chance."

So much for the magic of my pout.

"Oh, come on!" I might be down but I wasn't out, either. I moved close enough to finger Quinn's lapels.

"All I need is a name and an address and something tells me you're just the guy who can get it for me."

"No."

"Quinn… " The front of my yellowcami grazed his white shirt. "What could it hurt? They're a bunch of old bad guys. And they're retired, which means that technically, they're not even bad guys anymore. All I want to do is ask them a couple questions about the old days."

"And you think you can turn on the charm and I'll give up the name of the place."

"You think this is charm?" One step closer and my breasts pressed against Quinn's chest. "Youain't seen nothing yet!"

"Then God help me!" Quinn laughed and fitted his hands around my waist. "Tell you what, if I hear anything that I think might help with your book—"

"No, thanks." Ibackstepped out of his reach. "I don't need you to decide what's right for my book and what isn't. Besides, what could you possibly hear? You said it yourself, it all happened thirty years ago."

Another thought struck. "Unless you're investigating something now that has something to do with the Scarpettis ."

"Brains and beauty." Quinn might have been handing out the praise but he didn't look happy about it. He dropped his hands and stepped back. "That's exactly what I've been trying to get through to you. They were dangerous people back in GusScarpetti's day and they're dangerous people now. Every single one of them. As a matter of fact, last night atScarpetti's , you might have seen a certain business associate of Rudy's. AlbertVigniolli . Guy with a long, dark ponytail and a scar on his left cheek."

"Doesn't sound familiar." I lied because it was easier than admitting that just giving a name to Goon #2

made me break out in a cold sweat. I didn't ask what Quinn's interest was in the guy. Quinn was with Homicide. That pretty much told me all I needed to know.

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"That's how you knew where I was last night." I pointed a finger at him in an
aha
sort of way. "You're working a case."

Quinn didn't confirm or deny my suspicion. "Had a meeting with the FBI this morning," he said. "About a matter of mutual interest. They keep tabs on theScarpetti place. And they keep track of who comes and goes."

"Then they're the ones who… "

"Followed you?" Quinn nodded, confirming something to himself. "I told them you were smart enough to pick up on it."

I swear, right then and there, I almost cried with relief. So they weren't exactly the Prize Patrol! Thinking that I'd been tailed by the feds was a lot more comforting than considering the alternative.

Even if I was inclined (which I wasn't) to tell Quinn that I'd imagined it was Goon #1 or Goon #2 behind the wheel of that black sedan, I didn't get the chance. His cell phone rang. He took the call, flipped the phone closed, and headed for the door.

"Got to go." He stepped out in the hallway and stopped. "By the way," he said. "You've got three unpaid traffic tickets you should take care of."

"Have you been checking me out?"

Quinn grinned. "Gonnado that. Later. I promise." As quickly as it came, his grin melted and his lips hardened into a thin line of determination. "You were listening, weren't you, Pepper? You were paying attention to everything I said?"

"Cross my heart." I did, and watching the way my finger skimmed across my breast, Quinn's eyes darkened.

"I'll call you," he promised. "And you'll stay out of trouble."

It wasn't a question so I didn't answer it. I watched him leave. No sooner was he past Ella's office than she was out in the hallway and headed my way.

"Oh my gosh!" She fanned her face with one hand. "You don't have to bepremenopausal to enjoy that.

Tell me all about him."

"After you tell me about Dan." No way had I missed him, but I leaned into my office and looked around again. "You said two guys. What happened to the other one?"

"You didn't give me a chance to explain. There were two. First the other one. Then that one." She peered down the hallway the way Quinn had gone. "When are you going to tell me—"

"The other one. Dan. He must have stopped by to talk about his study. Did he leave a message or anything?"

"Dan? Was that his name? I don't think he said."

"Cute guy. My height. Shaggy hair. Glasses."

Her face puckered with confusion. "The hair, maybe. But no, no glasses. And cute… ?" She wrinkled her nose. "I wouldn't call him cute at all. Not that I'm criticizing or anything. I mean, we can't judge other people by their looks. That's what I always tell the girls. But he does have that awful scar on his cheek."

Ella might have kept on talking. I'm not exactly sure. Whatever she said didn't penetrate the buzzing inside my head.

AlbertVigniolli ? Goon #2? He'd been there?

I grabbed for Ella's arm and held on tight.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"Him? You mean… not this one." She looked after Quinn again. "You mean the other one?"

"Yeah. The big guy with the ponytail. Did he leave me a message?"

"He did. Only… well, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Let's see if I can get this right… " She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking. "Oh, that's it!" She opened her eyes and smiled. "He said just to tell you that he'd stopped in and that even though he knows where you live, he didn't want to bother you at home. He said to tell you that he's been thinking about you. And that he'll see you very soon. He said when he does, he's bringing a big surprise."

Something told me it wasn't going to be the Prize Patrol.

As it turned out, I didn't need Quinn's help after
all.

I had my own personal Deep Throat.

Gus had hung around theScarpetti compound long after I left, listening and (no doubt) reliving the old glory days. When he finally popped back to the cemetery the afternoon of the day both Quinn and Albert Vigniolli paid me a visit, I asked him about the project Rudy had mentioned in passing, the one Quinn refused to discuss. Lucky for me, Gus was ready, willing, and able to share.

Three days later we stood side by side on the walk in front of The Family Place, a retirement home with an exclusive list of residents and a strict policy of not accepting new applicants.

If anybody knew about Gus's death, it would be the men who lived there. Except for a couple who were dead, a couple more in prison, one who had retired to Florida, and another who was a permanent resident in the psych ward of a local hospital, the men inside that house were all that was left of what used to be Gus's inner circle. His crew. The made guys who made sure that the hits just kept oncomin '.

I shook the thought aside and looked where Gus was looking, at the white three-story house. It was newly built but in Victorian style, a rambling structure complete with green shutters, a wraparound porch, and window boxes chock-full of purple and yellow pansies that bobbed in a stiff breeze.

All-American respectability in a good neighborhood. The house was situated on a bluff that overlookedLake Erie . To one side of it, there was a park. On the other, a sweep of lawn and beyond that, an Art Deco mansion in the midst of a major revamping. There was a team of workers installing new windows. And a vaguely familiar-looking dark-colored car in the driveway.

"Igotta tell you, I'm real proud of Rudy." Gus's eyes sparkled. "Sure, he collects art glass. And he did make a pass at you. For that, I cannot forgive him. But I raised him right. He understands the value of family. Imagine him taking care of the guys like this."

"Unless the guys took care of you."

"Are you starting with that again?" Gus's top lip curled but he hardly spared me a look. He was still studying the house. It was an overcast day and a cold mist hung at the roofline and in the branches of the two huge oaks that framed the front porch. Beyond the house, I could see the lake. Whitecaps rolled in fromCanada .

I was huddled in a chartreusepeacoat that I should have been able to put away weeks before. But, hey, it wasCleveland and only the end of April. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering partly from the temperature and mostly because I'd been shivering since I'd heard about Goon #2's promise to pay me a visit.

So far, so good. No sign of Albert. And believe me, I'd been looking.

Over my shoulder any time I went out.

Under my bed and in the closets every time I stayed in.

I wasn't taking any chances.

Even in broad daylight, I glanced around. The sidewalk in both directions was empty. There wasn't much traffic on the street, either. Looked like Gus and I were the only ones dumb enough to be out on a day that raw.

"So what are you waiting for?" he asked me. "I want you to meet thefellas ."

They werefellas , all right.

Goodfellas. Retired or not.

I told myself not to forget it.

Once we were inside the spacious entryway with its hardwood floors and thick Oriental carpets, I shrugged out of my coat. I handed it to the young man who introduced himself as Joe and said he looked after the needs of the residents of The Family Place. Joe pointed me down a long, airy hallway and toward the open double doors that led into the great room. I paused on the threshold, getting my bearings.