Murder and Marinara (17 page)

I
had just pulled my car door shut and was about to leave the marina when my phone rang. “You never called me back.”

“Sorry, Sofe.” I clipped my seat belt and cradled the phone against my chin. “That video freaked me out, and I thought it was time to break out the big guns.”

“You went to see Danny.”

“Are you stalking me?” I glanced out my car window, half expecting to see a trench-coated Sofia lounging in a nearby alley with a pair of binoculars.

“Nope. I just got off the phone with him.” She dropped her voice in an approximation of Danny's gruff baritone. “
Interfering in police investigation
blah blah,
risking your safety
et cetera, et cetera,
sticking your nose in places you shouldn't
, blah blah blah. God, he pisses me off.”

“I'd say you have that effect on each other. But cool down long enough for me to tell you what he said, okay?” After I was finished, there was only silence on Sofia's end of the phone. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, I'm here. I'm busy crossing off names. You know who we're down to, don't you, Vic? I mean, leaving out you and Lori—”

“It's Tim, Cal, and Mr. B who had access to Parisi's lunch,” I said with a sigh. “I know.”

“Unless—” Sofia paused.

“Unless what?”

“Unless we're missing something.”

“We must be,” I said.

“Remember I said we needed to look at other people who might have wanted Parisi dead? I'm gonna follow up on Mikey G's dad.”

“Gemelli?”

“He and that little turd of a son were holding out for more money. And it's rumored that Daddy has some unsavory connections.”

“People always say that about Italians with money.”

“And sometimes it's true, SIL. You said yourself he struck you as the type who might hire somebody to do the dirty work.”

“Maybe. But could somebody have gotten into the restaurant that day without us noticing?”

“That's what we have to find out, isn't it? I'm gonna do some digging. Speaking of digging, I can't seem to find a thing on Mr. Down on the Bayou.”

That would have been the moment to tell Sofia about my date with Cal, but I wasn't in the mood for a lecture on getting involved with suspects. “Um, I'm working on that one. I'll let you know what I find out.” I shifted the phone to the other side of my chin. “By the way, he has a nickname for you, too: Miss Firecracker.”

“Ha. It's fitting. I'll say that.”

“Why?” I asked. “Because you're hot, colorful, and dangerous in close proximity?”

“That works,” she said.

“Listen, Sofe. It's getting warm in this car, and I need to get out of here. So you're gonna work on Gemelli Senior?”

“Yeah. I'll let you know what I find out. What about you?”

“Me?” An idea was forming as Sofie asked me the question. “I'm planning to have a one-Martini lunch.”

•   •   •

“Thank you for meeting me,” I said as I sat down across from Anjelica Parisi in a quiet corner of the Cupping Room. The café was in nearby Belmont Beach; I didn't think Angie wanted to be seen in Oceanside, and I didn't want to be seen with
her
.

She looked up from the menu, her face a bored blank. “I don't have much time, and honestly, I have no idea why you want to talk to me.”

I leaned across the table and looked steadily into the widow's blue-violet eyes. “You know what I've noticed? That when people say ‘honestly,' they're usually anything but.”

She frowned, and I noticed a telltale lack of lines between her brows; her forehead was smooth as well. Then she wrinkled her nose as though an offensive odor had just wafted past her. “Just tell me what this is about, please. Do I need to remind you that I lost my husband a week ago?”

“Oh, no, indeed, Angie. I don't need any reminding on that score. I saw your little video on the EC! Web site.”

She shook out her napkin and placed it across her lap. “I'd like to know what happened to my husband,” she said without looking up.

“So let the police force do its job.”

She arched her fine brows until they disappeared under her side-swept bangs. “I could say the same to you, couldn't I? I hear someone's been going around asking questions.” She shook her finger at me. “Naughty, naughty.”

“That restaurant is my family's livelihood,” I said through my teeth. “I have a right to know what happened there.”

A waitress appeared at Angie's elbow. She closed the menu and trained a bright smile on the girl. “I'll have a nonfat decaf iced latte, hon. And some herbal sweetener, please.”

“Any biscotti or pastries?” the girl asked.

“Not for me, sweetie.” She nodded in my direction. “It's my friend there with the sweet tooth,” she whispered, sending our waitress into a fit of giggles.

“Just a double espresso, thanks.” I waited until the girl walked away and turned my attention back on Angie. “As I was saying—”

“You were saying you want to find out what happened to my husband. So do I. And if the police can't help me, I'll go to somebody who can.”

And then bring a lawsuit against us
. “Look, Angie—”

“My name is Anjelica,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Got it. As I was saying,
Angie
, the Casa Lido is very important to my family.”

“So that's why you're playing detective. Because you've written a few books, you think you can jump in and save the day.” Her voice dropped, and she suddenly sounded like the Jersey girl she was. “Life doesn't work that way, sweetheart,” she snarled.

At that auspicious moment, our waitress returned with our drinks, and I took a deep sniff of my coffee. The rush gave me all the courage I needed, and I looked at Angie over my cup. “So where
were
you the day he died?”

“Ha!” Her throaty laugh rang out across the coffee shop. “Barely five minutes,” she said, tapping the gold watch on her wrist. “I didn't think you could hold out that long.” She pressed her fingertips against her lips and yawned. “God, this is getting
so
predictable.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I don't have to, do I? I've already told the police where I was. But I'll play along, Nancy Drew.” She leaned across the table, her voice conspiratorial. “At the time in question, I was in Ocean Grove, New Jersey. I attended a yoga class, followed by a stop for one of these. They're yummy.” She held up her latte and sucked deeply on the straw. With her pale face and dark red lips, she looked positively vampiric.

Her story would be easy enough to check. Ocean Grove was a small community; how many yoga classes could they offer? And there were only a couple of coffee shops in town.

“So that leaves me out, doesn't it?” she was saying.

“Possibly.”

“Sorry, Victoria. I know you'd like it to be me, but no can do.” She patted my hand, and I recoiled from her icy touch. “After all,” she continued, “I loved my husband.”

To the tune of millions
. “Of course,” I said, smiling. “So you would have no motive, correct?”

She took another sip of her drink and nodded. “Correct.” She motioned to me with her cup. “You should be looking for someone
with
a motive. Say, someone who didn't want
The
Jersey Side
filming in town. Or someone who had a grudge against my husband.”

“Can you think of anyone?”

Her lips formed a menacing red curve. “You mean besides people in
your
family? The person who was sending him letters, obviously. But I have no idea who that might be.”

“Right,” I said.

In the silence that followed, she played with the straw in her coffee and then looked up at me. “Poor Tim,” she said with a sigh.

My shoulders tensed, and I leaned forward in my chair. “What does Tim have to do with this?” I desperately wanted to believe that “nothing”—not “everything”—was the answer to that question.

“He's just so gal-LANT,” she said with a French pronunciation, and I resisted the urge to groan. She tilted her head and blinked her thick lashes in a practiced way. “There isn't anything he wouldn't do for me.”

I froze with the coffee cup halfway to my mouth. “Leave Tim out of this.”

“I'm not sure I can, sweetie.” She shook her head in an approximation of regret. “You see, he's very protective of me. And he knew Gio and I were, well, having some troubles. As all marriages do,” she added.

It was time to play my trump card. “You mean Emily Haverford.”

At the mention of Emily's name, Angie's pale face went even whiter. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, and in that moment, I thought,
This is a dangerous woman
. “How dare you even mention her name to me?”

I lifted one shoulder and took a sip of my coffee. “She came to see me.”

Angie gripped the edge of the table, giving me a full view of her new manicure—a deep red the color of blood. “Why would she do that?”

“She has questions, too. She also wants to know how your husband died.”

“She has no right to know anything about Gio.”

I shrugged. “Well, to hear her tell it, she does. Apparently, they were together for a number of years.” I stared into her cold eyes. “Until you came along.”

She curled her lip into a sneer. “He married
me
. I have no use for women who poach on another woman's territory.”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “That's hilarious, coming from you.” I downed the rest of the espresso and held my cup to her in a toast. “And the hunting metaphor is fitting, by the way. Well done.”

She raised her thin black brows. “Isn't it funny,” she began, “how some people just can't let go?”

“If you're talking about me, don't flatter yourself, Angie. I got over what you did a long time ago.”
Sure I did, which is why I'd like to reach across this table and strangle you where you sit.

She laughed. “I wasn't talking about you, sweetie.” She scrounged in her purse and brought out a mirror and lip gloss. After carefully applying another coat of Bride of Dracula Red, she snapped the mirror closed and shot me a feral smile. “I meant Tim.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” The words tumbled from my mouth. “He hadn't even seen you until the week before your husband died.”

She pressed her lips together and then blotted them on a napkin. I raised my eyes from that bright red imprint up to her face, which held an expression that was a toxic combination of sympathetic and sly.

“Oh, hon,” she said. She shook her head slowly from side to side. “Is that what he told you?”

•   •   •

Less than an hour later, I arrived at Sofia's studio, tapping my foot in her office until she finished her last class. The espresso with a Martini chaser had left me jittery, and the implication that Tim had lied about when he'd last seen Angie left me pissed. I needed to take action.

“What's up?” Sofia came in a little breathless, mopping her face with a towel. “Aren't you supposed to be at the restaurant?”

“I took the day off. Listen, you up for a road trip, SIL?” I pulled a sheet from the office printer, a black-and-white image of the EC! screen shot of Anjelica, and tucked it into my purse.

“Where? Can I shower first?”

“Ocean Grove, and yes. But hurry up. And bring the red folder!” I called after her.

We took her car, as her air-conditioning was less temperamental than that in my Honda. Summer was still a month away, but the Jersey heat was already upon us as we headed north on the Garden State Parkway.

“So I did some research on Gemelli Senior,” Sofia said as she zipped into the left lane, heedless of the Range Rover barreling up behind us.

“Hey, take it easy.” I automatically pressed my right foot down on the floor. “I'd like to get there in one piece.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “he definitely has some sketchy connections.”

“What does he do?”

“Mostly he manages Mikey's career, such as it is. But he owned a construction firm for a long time; that's how he made his money.”

“And that's where the sketchy stuff comes in?”

Sofia nodded. “I dug up some old newspaper articles online about possible kickbacks on bids, but nothing was ever proven. I don't think he was even investigated.”

“Is that it?”

“Not quite.” She made a sudden lane change, and I gripped the armrest. “He's built houses up in north Jersey for the Rossini family.”

“The Rossini family or the Rossini
family
?”

“Both.”

“Okay, just because he has some connected clients doesn't mean—”

Sofia held up her hand. “Is this where I get a lecture about Italian-American stereotypes?”

“Keep both hands on the wheel, please. I just meant that building houses for an alleged mobster isn't a crime.”

“You're right,” Sofia said. “It's not. But it puts him in close contact with people who kill for money.”

“And people who could slip in and out of places without being seen and who wouldn't think twice about coming back to retrieve evidence.” I shuddered at the thought of a Rossini henchman sneaking around the restaurant at night and locking us in the pantry.

“And Gemelli had a motive, don't forget. With Parisi out of the picture, those kids on
Jersey Side
will probably get the money they're asking for.”

I nodded.
“Cui bono.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's Latin for ‘to whose benefit?' It's a question you ask when greed's a motive.”

“So Gemelli Junior and Senior both benefit when Mikey G gets his raise,” Sofia said.