From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) (12 page)

“How is Mooch?”

“Dr. Casterinni could only say that he’s been poisoned.” She lifted her free hand to her throat. Poor Mooch.

“Is he expected to make it?”

“Uh, I think so.” Distracted, she watched as Captain McIntyre nodded to the officers with him. One reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like...no it couldn’t be.

She could hear Angelo’s voice faintly in the background.
“Listen, it’s late and you should be home. There’s nothing you can do there tonight, so I’m coming to pick you up. Meet me downstairs in front of the hospital in ten minutes.”

Sophia didn’t answer. Her eyes were riveted on the scene unfolding at the other end of the hallway. Handcuffs. At least that’s what it appeared as if the young police officer was handing to Captain McIntyre.

“Soph? Hey, are you still there?”

She struggled to focus on what her brother was saying. “What? Oh, yes. I’m here.”

“Ten minutes, and I’ll be out front, okay?”

“Oh my God, Angelo, you’re not going to believe this.” She hardly could believe it herself. “They’ve just arrested Frankie Vidoni.”

***

Sophia spent a restless night tossing and turning, unable to sleep for thinking about the attack on Mooch and Frankie’s subsequent arrest.

The worst part, she decided the next morning while dressing, was not knowing any of the details. Her grandfather had refused to drive her to the police station last night, and to her extreme annoyance, Angelo hadn’t gone to bat for her.

“You’re not Frankie’s lawyer, sis,” he’d argued with her on the drive home from St. Joseph’s. “You’d be in the way.”

True, but she’d also have been in the know.

On her way downstairs she gave Angelo’s door a thump, hoping it was loud enough to wake him. Immature? Possibly. Satisfying? Absolutely.

“He’s not in there,” Grandpa called from the bottom of the stairs. “He’s gone out.”

“Out where?” He wouldn’t have dared go to the police station without her. No, of course he wouldn’t. She reached the bottom of the stairs. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

Her grandfather glanced into the mirror over the hall table. “No.” He straightened his bow tie and turned side to side to examine his reflection. “How do I look, picolina?”

“Dashing. Which lucky woman are you off to impress so early in the day?”

“That would be the Widow Gambetti.” His smile was charming, his manner debonair.

Sophia shook her head. “What are you going to do when one of them catches you someday, Grandpa?”

“Worry not, cara. I may be an old man but I can out-run them all.” He took his hat off the hook and settled it on his head. “Luciano is upstairs getting dressed. Mrs. Andretti and her sons will be here soon to walk him to school. I don’t know where your brother is, but never you mind.” He shook his finger at her. “I don’t want to hear tell of you running wild around the police station.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “I won’t be running wild anywhere, for heaven sakes, Grandpa. But I’ve got a job to do.”

“You have a job to do here.” He reached over and pinched her cheek. “You belong at home. Let Angelo take care of business, and you take care of the family.”

“I’d rather work than be stuck here at home.”

He frowned. “The war confused you girls, but that’s over now. It’s time to stop talk of working. This is all Mussolini’s fault, you know.”

When Grandpa started in on the many sins of Il Duce it was time to either move him along, or get moving herself.

“Give my best to Signora Gambetti,” she said as she held the door open for him.

“I will. In fact, I’ll make you a deal. You get rid of that cat today, and I’ll ask her if she knows of any nice Italian boys you might like to meet.” He grinned and lifted his hat. “I’ll find you a nice young man, fear not.”

The word fear didn’t even begin to describe the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of an arranged marriage.

***

“I don’t feel good, Zia.” Luciano sat at the kitchen table, an uncharacteristic frown marring his usual sweet face. “My tummy hurts.”

Sophia blew a wisp of hair off of her face. Her hands were covered in borax and could do nothing to help tame the escaped curl. She furiously scrubbed the kitchen tile in front of the oven. Just what had happened in the kitchen last night while she’d been at the hospital?

“Was your father trying to cook again, Luciano?”

The boy nodded. “It didn’t work out.”

“It never does.” And that was putting it mildly.

“Why were you in the hospital last night, Zia? Are you sick too?”

She leaned back and sat on her heels. “No, silly. I wasn’t actually in the hospital. I was just there visiting someone.”

She wished she could know for sure if her nephew really wasn’t feeling well, or if he just wanted to play hooky. Most likely the latter. She’d just have to take her chances and send him to school. She needed to get to the police station and talk to Frankie.

“Hurry with your breakfast, love. Mrs. Andretti will be here soon and it’s not polite to make her wait for you.” Sophia dumped the bucket of water into the kitchen sink and lathered her hands with soap. The floor could wait.

“What did you eat last night?”

Luciano shrugged. “This and that.”

“You don’t know what it was?”

“I don’t think Papa even knew what it was, so he couldn’t tell me, could he?”

Sophia decided to ignore his impertinence. The poor child had had to eat her brother’s cooking. That was punishment enough.

“I really don’t feel good, Zia.”

“I am sorry to hear that. But you still need to go wash up and get your shoes on. Now march.”

The telephone rang and she lunged at the receiver, hoping against hope it was her brother calling with news.

It wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Andretti. I had no idea that Angelo told you we’d pick up your boys today.” She rubbed her temple with her free hand. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

She hung up, whipped off her apron and looked around frantically for her shoes. She had one on and one in hand when the front door bell rang.

“Hurry up, Luciano,” she called up the stairs as she hobbled to the front door. “We’re late.”

“I can’t go to school. I’m sick,” he called down.

Why this morning?

“You’re not sick. Now get down here.”

She yanked the front door open just as the sounds of Luciano proving her wrong reached her ears.

Mrs. Featherstone, the court appointed social worker, stood on the stoop.

Sophia leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes. Her morning was now complete.

***

It was midday before Sophia finally managed to arrive at the police station. She pushed open the double glass doors and surveyed the waiting room. With any luck, her brother was here.

“Hi, Sophia.” A former high school classmate waved from the reception desk. It was Tim O’Halloran, one of the few Irish-American students who’d attended St. Catherine’s School with them.

She smiled as she approached the counter, but her smile wavered as she drew nearer. She hadn’t seen Tim since he’d come home from the service, and she was unprepared for the scar that started at his left temple and ended just below his jaw.

He waved his hand near his face and smiled to put her at ease. “Ignore my German souvenir.”

“I’m just glad you got home at all.” She settled her pocketbook on the counter. “How are you?”

“Life’s good. There’s nothing like visiting hell to make home seem like heaven.” He grinned. “I’m getting married, too. Do you remember meeting Annie Dickson at our graduation?”

Sophia nodded. “I do, and I think Annie is a lovely girl. Congratulations. When’s the big day?”

“Next month. We don’t want to wait any longer. We’ll be living with her folks for a while.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on the counter, his chin resting in the palm of his hand, just like he’d always done in school. It used to drive Sister Adelaide crazy. It was nice that some things hadn’t changed.

“So what about you? Still engaged to that Cuccio fellow?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard that something happened to Tony--”

“No, he’s fine, Tim. He’s actually still in Europe and has a French wife.” She hated the look she saw in other people’s eyes when they first heard that Tony had ended their engagement. It was even worse when they learned he’d done it through V-mail. The pity she could live without. Tony she could live without too.

“Listen, Tim, I could use your help.”

“Are you looking for someone, or are you here to report something?” Tim asked.

“Angelo hasn’t been in this morning by any chance?”

He looked surprised. “No, haven’t seen him. Hey, does this mean he’s rejoining the force?”

She shook her head. “Not yet, but I know he’d love to one day. He’s opened a private detective agency.” She glanced up at the clock. It was already noon. She wondered how Frankie was holding up.

“Tim, what are the chances I can see someone who was arrested last night?”

“You’re asking about Frankie Vidoni?”

It was her turn to look surprised. “How did you know?”

He grinned. “The Captain laid a bet you’d be here before lunch time to see Vidoni.” He turned to check the time. “Looks like he was right.”

The gambling habits of the Irish were beyond her scope of interest at the moment.

“May I please see Frankie?”

“Sure thing.” He grabbed a set of keys from the desk behind him, lifted the countertop and ushered her through to the inner office. “Follow me. Captain said you could have ten minutes. Do you want me to cuff Vidoni?”

“No, he’s not dangerous.”

“Don’t know about that. He managed to get himself arrested for murder.”

“Don’t you mean attempted murder?”

“Nothing attempted about it. Moretti’s as dead you can get.”

She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She’d assumed that they’d arrested Frankie for poisoning Mooch, not Vincenzo’s murder.

Tim stopped and unlocked first one door, and then another before they came to a cramped visiting room. “Be right back with Vidoni.”

Sophia sat in one of the two chairs to await their return. Other than the waiting room, she’d never actually been in the jail before. The dampness chilled and unnerved her. She wished Angelo was with her. They should be talking to Frankie together.

Never mind Frankie, her brother should have been at home this morning to hear Mrs. Featherstone’s little bombshell. She desperately needed to talk to him. She’d have to find a pay phone after she left the station. With any luck, she could track down her wayward sibling before she ran out of nickels.

She jumped to her feet when the door opened, but sat right back down when she took in Frankie’s disheveled appearance. He looked like hell.

“Sit down across from Miss Mancini and be sure you keep your hands on the table where I can see them.” Tim pointed to the chair opposite Sophia. “Ten minutes, and speak in English or we’re done here.”

Hands spread flat out on the table, Frankie leaned forward. “You gotta help me, Sophia.”

“Have you seen your attorney yet?”

Frankie nodded. “Yeah, they’ve been here. They’re supposed to be checking on bail.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“You have to go see someone for me.” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse. He barely resembled the same powerful man who commanded instant attention with his very presence. His white shirt was grungy and he looked out of place in shirtsleeves.

“Do you want me to see if they’ve secured bail for you?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No, never mind those clowns. I need you to go and give my wife a message.”

So in a time of crisis he was thinking of his wife and not his mistress. So like a man.

“What exactly do you want me to tell her?”

“I need you to convince Lily I didn’t do this.”

“How much convincing do you think she’ll need?” It seemed a perfectly fair question.

His eyes moistened. “You don’t know my Lily. It won’t take much. She’s always believed in me. But you’ve got to go see her today. She’s ill and I don’t know how much time she has left.”

His devotion was almost touching. Almost. The image of Frankie and Maria Acino standing together at Vincenzo’s, looking for all the world a happy couple, flashed through her mind.

“I’ll do it.” She didn’t like the idea of acting as Frankie’s personal messenger but if his wife was as ill as he said, it seemed the only decent thing to do.

“Thank you, Sophia. Tell her I’m innocent and I’ll be home as soon as I can. And tell her they’ve got the wrong man.” He bit his lip. “She’s my world. I’d do anything to protect her, Sophia. Anything.”

Did Frankie’s definition of anything include murder?

“Isn’t she used to this sort of thing happening?” Sophia waved her hand around the cell. “Surely she knows what to expect after you’ve been arrested.”

Frankie sat back and frowned. His haughty and reproachful expression made him look more like the Frankie she was used to.

“I’ve never been arrested before.”

That startled her. A man with his reputation managing to avoid arrest for this long? Impressive. In its own way.

“How do you know she’ll agree to see me?”

Frankie’s smile was sad. “Take her a red carnation. She always picks out a flower for my lapel. She’ll know I sent you.”

“Okay, I’ll go.”

“Bless you, Sophia.” Frankie reached a hand out to her.

“Hands on the table, Vidoni.” Tim stepped forward and tapped Sophia on the shoulder. “Time’s up.”

“Wait, what evidence do they have to believe you killed Vincenzo?”

“It’s nothing.” Frankie shrugged. “It’s all a mix-up.”

“If you want my help then you need to tell me what the police think they have on you.”

He shrugged. “There’s talk they found a suit jacket that resembles mine with blood stains on it.” He held out his hands, palms up. “I’ve never hurt anyone with these hands. Never. I swear I didn’t do it.”

Tim came around and motioned for Frankie to stand and put his hands behind his back. He snapped the cuffs around Frankie’s wrists and motioned for him to move forward.