For Love of Livvy (2 page)

A tight lipped smile crossed his face. I figured he couldn't decide whether I really knew the colonel or if this was a ploy. To be truthful, I lied by omission. I hadn't said I knew the colonel, I just said I'd give him a call.

"That won't be necessary ma'am. As soon as there's any information, I'll get in touch with you.” With a nod of his head, he turned and left.

Don't you hate that
ma'am
thing? It makes me feel old. I know I'm thirty-something, but really.

Bill MacNert stood near the doorway sucking down a sandwich filled with sausage and peppers. My mother had sent the food home with me the day before. The smell of rich tomato sauce and fragrant sausage tantalized my taste buds.

"Guess it wasn't that serious then?” Slurp noises preceded a sauce blob that dripped down his uniform shirt.

I glanced at Bill's shirt, snagged a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at the drip.

"I won't know until tomorrow, but if I'm the town laughing stock you're in for it and don't forget it. By the way, did you leave me any food?” I chuckled at his expression.

Bill's guilt ridden grin assured me that he hadn't, but he swore that he had. He handed me the empty plate before he headed toward the fire station. I watched the stethoscope bob up and down from the back pocket of his pants. He trotted up the street, and I felt sure the story would make the rounds since Bill was an avid gossip.

The crowd had dispersed, and I was alone again. Livvy would have had a fit over the whole affair had she been alive, but I figured there was no sense in being stupid. I act that way often enough, thank you.

Mystery still surrounded Livvy's non-violent death. While the police weren't forthcoming with information, the state troopers’ attitude on the phone caused me to reconsider the promise to my father to not investigate on my own. I wandered through the house deep in thought over the situation.

Darkness had descended as I headed toward the bedroom. Changing into a t-shirt and boxer briefs, I climbed into bed with a notebook. The troopers’ attitude niggled at me. I leaned back against the pillows scribbling notes about the package delivery. Words ran across the page as the scene and the trooper came to mind. The trooper's name wasn't on his badge, but I remembered the badge number.

The pad propped against my knees, my mind drifted over the parcel and the officer's attitude. Warm hazel green eyes along with the trooper's cool manner had drawn my interest. It wasn't really just his bearing that caught my attention either and it was a struggle to stay focused.

Intense eyes sat above a strong, chiseled nose and firm jaw. I sketched the features onto the pad of paper.
His lips weren't thin, not too wide, but just right for kissing
. Wondering what it would be like to taste those lips, I gave myself a mental head slap.
A cop is the last thing you want or need,
my inner voice echoed. This voice always echoed dire warnings through my head. It had a bad habit of doing so at the worst possible moment.
Just stay focused on Livvy
, I lectured myself.

Snuggled under the lightweight blanket, thoughts about Livvy and our life played in my mind. Muscles relaxed, and I realized I needed to talk to her tomorrow. The graveyard was about two blocks away from the house. I often went to her grave for a conversation when I'd become involved in one issue or another. That's what my life consisted of, one issue or another. Most of the time the issues were huge, never mundane, not ever.

I sighed, sniffed the sweet summer scents that wafted through the open window and wondered how this summer in Rhode Island would be. The pillow slipped lower and so did I as my mind wandered over life, the package and my aunt.

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Found dead in her car outside the house by a local police patrolman, there remained lots of unanswered questions about Livvy. Now the box would bring up a new group of suspicions. No one in law enforcement had shared their thoughts, but it was obvious some existed.

I considered ways in which I could acquire those cop theories, but nothing came to mind. It might take some intense thought mingled with some sweet talk to get the knowledge I desired.

I thought about the trooper's smirk at the name Lavinia and the shortened version of it. With a name like Vinnie, you'd fiddle with the possibility of my being a guy, wouldn't ya? I have my twin brother, Giovanni, to thank for that. My Italian parents, mainly my dad, have this old world thing going on and thought I should be named after my Italian aunt, Lavinia. What a hanger!

As I went through school it always seemed the teachers would hit an operatic high note when they got to the end of it. Maybe it was because, unlike my saintly acting brother, I was in constant trouble. Anyway, he nicknamed me Vinnie and it stuck.

I'd lived in Cranston most of my life, but my Aunt Lavinia resided in North Scituate, pronounced sit-chew-it, a quaint village on the western side of Rhode Island. Most towns are close to the city of Providence so it's easy to live in the countryside without losing touch. Anyhow, North Scituate is more than ten minutes from anyone in the family, so nobody but my parents ever went to visit.

On Sunday afternoons, we'd take a ride to the country. Not so far away from home, but an eternity to the rest of the family. Although, the typical Rhode Island mentality is that if you live more than ten minutes away from someone, you may as well be on Jupiter. Go figure! I refer to this as the
ten minute rule.

As I lay in bed with thoughts of Aunt Livvy and life without her, the phone rang. My brother, Giovanni, was on the line. I made no mention of the package, but being my twin, he heard something in my voice.

"How are you, Vin?"

"I'm trying to move forward, but it's tough. I've settled into the downstairs apartment. I have plans to redecorate some of the rooms on the second floor tomorrow. It feels like Livvy's still here though, you know?"

Aunt Lavinia, a spinster who'd done okay for herself, had been a tall, lean woman with a thick dark mane. She was endowed with a unibrow, not to mention the thin layer of upper lip hair so well known amongst the women in our family. A strikingly handsome woman, Lavinia stood just a few inches short of six feet tall and had a knockout figure. I took after her in most respects except the upper lip facial hair. We all need to be thankful for something, I guess.

She'd owned and bequeathed this monstrous Colonial home to me. I'd lived here for several months prior to her death in the second floor apartment, and missed her friendship.

She was well educated and successful. My grandparents hadn't liked the fact that she had gone to college, but allowed it. After all, how much education did you need to be a mother in those days? Now it takes a masters degree and multi-tasking is at an all time high.

"I figured you'd be feeling that way. Maybe you changed apartments too soon. I worry about you."

"Don't worry, Gio. The school year has just ended and June in Rhode Island is wonderful. How are things in Nebraska?” I asked.

"Great, we're well and my practice is busy. Let's talk about Livvy. Mom and Dad aren't doing so well with her death, especially Mom. You're not investigating this, are you?"

The apprehension in his voice was apparent. I knew I'd get the age old lecture if there was mention of wanting to stick my nose where it didn't belong.

"No, I promised Dad I'd stay out of it. The cops still come around with questions, but so far nobody has shared their theories. It's quite annoying."

A snort came over the phone, and I smiled as I pictured Gio having to hold back the laughter I knew was there. He realized how difficult it was for me to remain uninvolved.

"I bet it is.” He chuckled.

We reminisced about how Livvy had started her own enterprise that took off after attending college. Before long, she'd become involved in an industry which grew beyond her wildest dreams. Which business that was, I never really knew for sure and wondered now whether it was the stock exchange or the gift shops.

Livvy had encouraged me to follow my dreams, just as she'd done. She'd been a good listener, rarely gave unwanted advice and for that very reason, she often got every detail of my sorry ass life out of me. My Aunt Livvy had always used a spare the rod attitude where I was concerned.

"Livvy played the stock market, but the three gift shops she owned have done very well,” I said.

"Mom sent me some news clippings when each shop opened. They cater to high end clientele, right?"

"Mmm, the tourists love the handmade jewelry and offbeat clothing. She left me the shop in Providence, but to be truthful, I haven't had much interest in it."

"Give yourself some time, Vin. You'll feel better about it. Well, I have to go make my rounds at the hospital, I just wanted to check on you. Talk to you soon, okay? And, uh, stay out of the investigation, please?"

"Sure. Give Jill my love, Gio.” I disconnected the call and sat back, considering my choices in life.

In school, teachers thought my twin was a saint. He was always behind the pranks that got me in so much trouble. Gio had a knack for being in the right place at the right time while I, on the other hand, was just the opposite. It was then that I christened him Saint Giovanni. It seemed he could do no wrong and while I didn't resent that, I sure did have to put up with it.

My career choice of criminal justice at a local university was viewed with chagrin by my father while Gio's choice of medicine was, well, you can imagine. Livvy thought my choice was a great idea and had supported me when push came to shove with Dad. My mother sided with Livvy until Dad gave in. Both women had said, “It's your life and you have to live it, Vinnie, nobody else, just you."

I considered all this while slumped against the pillows. My chest tightened at the thought of her dying alone in the dark with no one to save her. The State Medical Examiner's office hadn't notified us of a determination on how she had died, making closure difficult. However, Aunt Livvy would want all of us to move on with life, I was certain of that.

Tossing the writing pad aside, I turned out the bedside light. In the dark, I wondered how to accomplish the feat of moving on. Life without Aunt Livvy was more difficult than I or my family ever imagined.

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Aunt Lavinia's elephantine historic house sported two apartments, mine on the first floor while the second sat empty. I'd moved downstairs with a plan to spruce up the other unit and rent it out. Two of the six rooms needed paint and light fixtures, but little else.

My procrastination level was out of control. I wasn't sure if Livvy's sudden departure was the issue or not. I hadn't made any effort to rent out the apartment. As a property owner, it was something that needed addressing. Thank God for Lanky Larry.

Larry, a gay friend from Providence, studied art with me when I took electives in college. He was five foot three, round as a soup bowl and bald as a melon. Where the name came from was anybody's guess.

We'd been classmates, but drifted apart after college. I nearly ran him down one night after a hockey game in downtown Providence and we'd resumed our friendship. His bright personality was uplifting, and I enjoyed his friendship.

When Livvy's death notice hit the newspaper, Larry called to offer help with whatever was needed. It wasn't long after that when he'd insisted on helping paint the two front rooms upstairs. I'd mentioned the fact the rooms needed work and he'd jumped at the chance to help me out. For that decision, I was grateful.

It didn't become apparent until mid morning that my renovation notion was the worst idea I'd had yet. Luck was a rare factor in my life, though I'm a tenacious sort. I wondered how lucky I'd be with a tenant.

I stared out the front window waiting for Larry. When the van rolled up and parked in front of the house, I swung the door open and skipped down the steps. Larry had ordered the paint, supplies and even offered ladders. You gotta love that man!

He scurried up the path to the front door and strode behind me into the apartment like a miniature comics superhero. A funny little guy with a heart the size of Colorado, he was between faux finishing jobs. He'd wanted to glamorize the two rooms that faced the street, but I'd resisted until Lanky had talked me into one designer room.

His bald dome popped around the kitchen door, and he sidled onto the stool at the counter. With a coffee mug in one hand he poured stale brew into half the cup, added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and filled the rest with milk. Yuk, but hey, I didn't have to drink it.

"I brought the tools. They're in the back of my van with the paint. We got great colors. Let's design both rooms, what do you say, Vin?” Larry's enthusiasm abounded.

"I agreed to one room and that's it. The place is to be rented out and what if we do all that work and someone doesn't like it or it gets ruined?” How's that for logic? I really disliked refurbishing.

"All right, then.” He shrugged good-naturedly while coffee slopped down his shirt. “Let's get started."

At five foot nine, my stride was long and Larry double stepped to keep up. We headed out the door and started unloading the gallons of paint and supplies. I leaned ladders against the van doors as he grabbed the paint cans and trays. He waddled toward the front door and I followed behind lugging the box of brushes and rollers.

As with many colonial style homes, the staircase was centrally located inside the front foyer and the stairs faced the entry door as it opened. In this house, a small landing sat about five steps up from the first floor. It then angled left up another string of steps into the second floor apartment.

The two front rooms needed color in the worst way. I'd never complained to Aunt Livvy, but her prior tenants had poor taste. I'd always meant to paint the walls, but hadn't gotten around to it. The remaining four rooms were in good shape and if I could bring myself to do so, the place could be rented out once the work was finished.

We stacked gallons of color inside the front entry and I went back for ladders and water buckets. The outer door stood open and I returned to the foyer entry as Lanky started up the stairs. He juggled two paint gallons in each hand along with keys for the apartment while I handled the ladder.