Perfect Crime (16 page)

Tessa just raised her eyebrows. The silence grew uncomfortable.

Finally, Marcy said, “Romanoski worked the case before he retired. And I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t had time to do much since it landed on my desk along with everything else about two months ago.”

Scott blinked, “What do you mean, Marcy?”

“The murder of a hit-man is not exactly the crime of the century. Kill one, another takes his place.” the detective said. “It looks like typical Mob stuff.”

“Hit-man—sounds like the man didn’t have a name,” Tessa said to herself, though clearly loud enough for the table to hear.

Scott tried to take back control of the conversation, “So are you saying there’s no evidence to try and find the killer?”

“Not exactly.” Marcy looked at Tessa for a long moment, then turned back to Scott. “One, he was shot at point blank range, if that matters one way or another, but to me it suggests the victim knew his assailant. And a suspicious matchbook was found. The pros say because of the angle of the strike marks, it was used by a lefty. The reports from forensics also say, the victim was not a smoker. Any chance he was a hit-man slash arsonist?”

Not surprisingly, Rhen was a lefty, as were all the Morgano children. And Tessa was not surprised to hear that the results of the autopsy said that he was a non-smoker; for all his faults, he was a health freak. But something about the matchbook nudged hard, as if it was pointing a finger directly at her brother’s killer.

The sound of Scott asking another question pulled her back to the present. “Any suspects at all?”

“They did bring two guys in for questioning. Local thugs. But having no witnesses makes things that much more difficult.”

Scott seemed pleased to add, “Something else we’ve been looking into is, three missing women. We had a suspicion they might be going for four.”

Tessa bristled. “They’re dead, Scott. Darla is dead. This is no longer a story about missing women,” her tone almost mocking his naivety. She cast her eyes down, and playing with the two-pronged shrimp fork, physically clenching her jaw shut, not to say more.

“Okay,” Scott’s sarcasm matched hers, the earlier warmth in his voice long gone with his patience, “then no more pussy-footing around-what do you know about Anthony Aiello? Know anything about his comings and goings these days, Marcy?”

Color flooded Tessa’s cheeks. “Sometimes it’s better to keep the waters murky,” she hissed. Lessons learned, were not so easily forgotten. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought that Scott may have raised his voice as he dropped the mobster’s name. Years of experience caused Tessa to then scan the room, looking for subtle clues: a furtive look, a raised glass, anything to indicate that they were not alone in waiting for Marcy’s answer.

She straightened in her chair. Was there something, along the wall, nearer to the kitchen. Tessa craned to see two dark-haired men huddled together, one with his back to her, the other head down, neither recognizable from that angle.

Marcy said, “You think Aiello has something to do with the murders last year, or these women….or both?”

“No comment.”

Tessa snapped her attention back to Scott and Marcy. “You shouldn’t be talking like this in public.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Scottie’s a big believer in the power of the press. Considering that he still has all his body parts, I suspect he may be right.”

Scott said, “All paths seem to return to New York.”

Marcy looked at Tessa. “When you said Darla—did you mean Darla Perelli?”

“Yes,” Tessa said, voice low.

“Man, why didn’t I see it before?” The policewoman waggled a finger and shook her head. “The fire earlier today, where you just happened to be wandering around, there was another body found….” She leaned forward towards Scott. “you got a name you want to share?”

“You got a cause of death?” he countered.

“So all things must balance, is that it?”

“Maybe.”

“Aiello doesn’t work this town anymore,” Marcy insisted, “He has…”

“Good evening,” a woman’s voice interrupted.

Icy blue eyes glanced up to see a beautiful blond, dressed to kill. Marlayna Reed, for it couldn’t be anyone else. Tessa raised an eyebrow; the red low-cut designer number would have cost at least a month’s salary.

“Ms. Morgano…”

The salutation hung between the dining companions for but a moment. Tessa didn’t acknowledge the woman; it was all she could do not to become physically ill. The flush that filled her cheeks a moment earlier, returned, this time accompanied with a fierce pounding in her chest and a twist in her stomach.

But Marlayna kept talking. Her red painted lips were moving, even though the words took an extra moment to register for Tessa. “When Scott told me he’d brought Contessa Morgano with him from Chicago, I couldn’t resist facilitating a family reunion.”

Still convinced that she needed to worry that Cy might be lurking somewhere and possibly had them in his sights, she suddenly felt like Bambi in the headlights. But the truth was worse. Tessa swallowed, as she followed everyone’s expectant gaze to the man who emerged from the foyer and into the dining room. No one dared to take his photo. Dressed in a tuxedo, he looked half his sixty years as he walked towards their table.

Marlayna’s lips curved, and her arm extended. The gentleman took her hand and kissed it. “I’ll assume Don Morgano needs no introduction,” she said.

Everyone stood. Everyone but Tessa. Scott said, “Good evening.”

“Mr. Crawford,” Donatello Morgano replied, and nodded in greeting. “Contessa è bello vedere che si. Sono stato sorpreso di sentire che si erano in città.”

Tessa questioned his happiness to see her and didn’t believe for a second that there was any real surprise in her arrival to town…the man had eyes everywhere. In turn, she was surprised that her father was alone. Typically, he traveled with an entourage, but maybe Marlayna didn’t like competition. Why her mind gravitated to that small fact, she couldn’t say. She tried hard to gather her breath. “I’m not staying,” she said. Whether it was an explanation for her lack of a phone call to announce her presence, or plans to flee the restaurant, only time would tell.

Scott appeared the most relaxed but immediately picked up on the atmosphere. “I’m afraid that we were just leaving,” he said. The genuine smile never faltered as Scott continued, “Would you consent to an interview tomorrow at a time and place of your choosing? I would like to ask you a few questions before my story goes to press.”

You could have heard a pin drop, or worse yet, Tessa’s fork. The silverware slipped from her fingers and landed noisily on the tile floor, her mouth agape. There was no way to hide the alarm she instantly felt. What was he doing?

Bending, Scott lifted the utensil from the floor and returned it to the linen tablecloth.

“Il vostro giovanotto è abbastanza brioso,” Donatello said. Tessa didn’t respond to her father’s comment. He’d referred to Scott as spirited but at that very moment, that wasn’t the adjective that came to mind. And then his face went sober. “You will not dine with us? I don’t like to be refused and you know it doesn’t happen often.”

Tessa tightened her hand around Scott’s, afraid that he would let go and she would feel more singled out than she already did, but that was the purpose of this, wasn’t it. To highlight that she was one of them, privy to a private conversation even if it was in full view of everyone.

Marlayna studied Scott’s casual expression, their linked hands. “What are you up to?”

One corner of Donatello’s mouth curved. “He acts like he has something to talk about.”

Moving a half step closer to Scott, Tessa bluffed, “He does, but it will have to wait. Excuse me, I mean no disrespect. This is not a refusal, simply a deferral till tomorrow.”

The silence that passed between the two family members was deafening. After carefully choosing her words, the petite female spoke, this time holding the elder’s gaze. “You told me once that you were a strong believer in ‘a man is only as good as his word,’ and for that reason, a person cannot go back on a promise made.”

Dark eyes watched Tessa, remembering all too well the conversation she spoke of. A day that felt like a lifetime ago, when she had come to the ‘family’ leader and asked for her brother Dante’s release from obligation, and he had explained this firm rule. Her father replied, “I still am a strong believer in that.”

Gray areas were put on this earth to be used, and Tessa knew all too well this practice. Without hesitation, she stepped into that ambiguous zone. “Scott promised me a nighttime view of the city from the Statue of Liberty, and since we are leaving tomorrow…” her voice trailed off.

The excuse was weak at best, and all included knew it. Her father sighed, “Bella, your eyes sparkle like your mother’s.” He then turned to acknowledge Scott. “And this is hardly the place for business. My daughter is right. A man must honor his promises.” He did not smile. “Go and enjoy the sights. We will speak tomorrow. Marlayna knows how to contact you.”

The dining room seemed to be released from its hypnotic spell with a single snap of his fingers. Tessa once again heard the sounds of patrons speaking even as the two men she’d noticed earlier near the kitchen jumped at their master’s bidding.

“And to make your night more enjoyable,” Donatello continued, “please accept a car and one of my drivers,” motioning to one of the men who stood sentry. “He’ll take you safely wherever you want to go.”

Honesty, honor, bullheadedness, any one of these traits of Scott’s could rear its head, and her tale of little white lies would be exposed for what it was. Feeling a lot like a home viewer of a game show, urging a contestant on with a prime choice, Tessa silently prayed that Scott would do the right thing.

Take the car…take the car…take the car

“Why, thank you, Sir,” he said. If Scott was feeling anything other than confidence, it didn’t show.

Tessa bid her father a goodnight, and the handsome blond steered her towards the front door, with an escort of her father’s in tow.

Looking over her shoulder, she could see the others sitting down at the table, as though the vacant seats did not exist. For only Scott to hear she murmured, “Trust them, do you?”

The pressure on the small of her back increased, as Scott moved them towards the door and the dark sedan parked at the curb. Maybe she should have suggested the Brooklyn Bridge instead of the Statue of Liberty. Then she could just jump.

Tessa figured it was about time to say something to their driver about taking them back to the hotel instead, but before she had the chance, the bruiser spoke up first. “How are you doin’, Tessy?” placing an intimate twist to her name.

She blinked as she recognized him. “Ric, how are you? Ric Morgano, meet Scott Crawford.”

A burly hand shot out to shake Scott’s. “Nephew to the big man,” tipping his head towards the restaurant, “just so there’s no confusion.”

He opened the car door. “So, where do you two kids want to go?” he dared tease his two-year senior cousin, but then the casual smile fell away, “Relax, nobody’s going to touch the two of you while I’m around…understand?”

With a resigned sigh, Tessa stepped past them and slid into the backseat, going no further than the middle. The night air was cool and the leather seat did not offer any warmth to the slightly clad woman. Drained by the emotional roller coaster of the last fifteen minutes, she thought it might be nice to sit close to something warm.

Ric patiently waited for Scott to get in, then tossed the door shut and took his place behind the wheel. “Bet you’re hungry; let’s find you something to eat first,” he said, glancing back in the rearview mirror and then pulling into traffic. “She still eat her weight at every sitting?” he asked with a grin, directing the question to Scott as if Tessa wasn’t sitting right there. “I hope you like hot dogs, ‘cause that’s what you’re going to get…New York style.”

Scott knew he should have felt comforted by the assurance that they were perfectly safe, but it bothered him that anyone would think they wouldn’t be. To have the bruiser take the job of protector only confirmed Scott’s suspicions that the underground knew what was going on.

Thankful for the darkness of the backseat, Tessa stole glances at her riding companion, noticing the touch as her leg fell casually next to his. She understood there was a lot for him to process. “Let’s play a game,” she said, echoing a phrase used for fun already twice on this trip, only this time her voice was solemn.

“No more games,” he said.

It wasn’t her fault that Marlayna had a twisted sense of humor. He should have seen it coming, but he hadn’t. That bothered him, and overall ticked him off. For a moment, Scott glanced around, wondering if there was a Plexiglas divider he could use to shut the other man out, or at least gain a moment’s privacy, but he found no button or lever that would make his wish a reality.

Taking a deep breath, Scott decided to keep the atmosphere light. He focused on the driver, responding to Ric’s comments about Tessa’s eating habits, “Actually, she’s rather shy with me. Only picks at her food.”

“Should have let her order the squirrel,” the other man said, pulling the car off to the side of the road. “But this is the best hot dog vendor in town. Why don’t you two go grab something?”

Scott wanted a moment alone with Tessa, so the offer to get out of the car was readily accepted. “Great. But you’ll get a ticket if you stay here at the red curb. Pull around the block and pick us up in five.”

Ric looked over his shoulder and growled, “Remember. You’re with me tonight. So ya better be here when I get back or heads will roll.”

Before Scott could answer, Tessa took the lead. “Of course we’ll be here.” Reaching across Scott, she opened the door. With a jerk of her head, she motioned that they should get out.

They were barely on the pavement when Tessa laid into him. “Why did you say what you did to my father?”

“You mean about going to press? I was serious.” The hot dogs smelled great and he ordered two with the works, offering the man with the steel cart a ten-dollar bill.