Chicken Caccia-Killer (A Jordan McAllister Mystery) (19 page)

She grinned. “That’s what my brothers thought before I kicked their butts all over the field. And thanks for noticing that I’m a girl.”

He was now eyeing her suspiciously. “You played flag football?” When she nodded, he said, “Wanna show us how to do it?”

This time she laughed out loud as she glanced down at her feet. “Not in these shoes, but I’ll watch from the sidelines and give you pointers.”

“I have an extra pair in my bag and a clean pair of socks,” he responded as he pointed to his own feet. “It looks like they might fit you.”

She contemplated the offer. One of the biggest things she missed about not living closer to her brothers was not being able to play football with them. What would it hurt to hang out with these adolescent boys and have some fun? Her reason for being at the fairgrounds in the first place was officially a bust anyway, with no Frankie O’Brien anywhere to be found.

She threw her arms in the air. “What the heck. Go get the shoes,” she said before adding, “I’m Jordan, by the way.”

“Gio,” the young boy said over his shoulder as he ran to the sidelines and retrieved the extra pair of tennis shoes from his gym bag.

“And I’m Vince,” the shorter one said.

“Glad to meet you both.” She pulled off her flats and tried on Gio’s shoes. “You were right. They’re a perfect fit.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “Told you.” Then he turned to his friends on the other team and announced, “Jordan is our new quarterback.”

“No fair,” a pimply faced boy from the other team complained. “You have three and we only have two.”

Gio turned to Vince. “Go on their team.” After Vince had trotted over to the other side, Gio looked up at Jordan. “You want me to run down the sideline and cut toward the middle, right?”

“Yes, leave the defender in your dust and be ready to make that catch.”

“You’d better be as good as you say you are,” he said as they broke the huddle and lined up.

On the first play, Gio dropped the football, and on the second, Jordan mistimed it and the pigskin sailed over his head. But on third down and long, they connected on a perfectly executed play, and Gio scrambled for the touchdown.

For the next thirty minutes, Jordan forgot she was old—and a girl—and somehow managed to keep up with the twelve-year olds and all their adolescent energy. When she and Gio were up four touchdowns to one, she decided it was time to call it quits before she got a blister from wearing the shoes. Plus she hadn’t eaten yet, and all that moving around had her stomach growling in protest—not to mention her muscles, which were beginning to scream at her as well.

“Wanna come back tomorrow and play again?” Gio asked as she handed him his shoes.

“As much as I’d love to say yes, I can’t, Gio, but thanks for making me feel young again. This has been so...”

“Who’s your new friend, Gio?”

Both the boy and Jordan turned to face the man who’d appeared out of nowhere and was now standing in the center of the field with them.

“Oh hi, Dad. Did you see us play? We killed them.”

“Indeed,” the man said with a hint of an accent. “And I was thoroughly impressed with both of you.” He held out his hand. “Now, son, introduce me to the woman who threw those great touchdown passes.”

“Her name is Jordan. That’s all I know.”

Jordan reached for his outstretched hand. “Jordan McAllister. I’m a reporter with the
Ranchero Globe
.”

The newcomer’s eyes showed his surprise, and he quickly smiled. “A girl reporter who throws better than most men. Now, I really am impressed.” He shook her hand. “I’m Bernardo Petrone, but my friends call me Nardo.”

Jordan nearly swallowed her tongue. “Marco’s brother?” she asked when she’d recovered enough to speak.

His eyes squinted in question. “You knew him?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I only met him the night he...” She stopped short, watching for some sign of sadness in Bernardo’s eyes. There was none. “The night of the party,” she finally said. “From what I saw, he was a good man.”

Subconsciously, she touched her nose to make sure it wasn’t growing. She’d thought a lot of things about Marco Petrone when she’d first met him, and “a good man” was not on that list. But what else could she say to his grieving brother, although a quick glance up at Bernardo gave her the impression that he didn’t appear to be taking his brother’s death all that hard.

“I appreciate that,” he said, turning to Gio. “Gather up your stuff and go with Vince to his father’s booth for a few minutes. I’d like to talk to Ms. McAllister.”

When the two boys were out of earshot, Bernardo leaned in. “After working so hard in this heat, I’ll bet you could use a cold beer. Unfortunately, all I can offer is a glass of lemonade from one of the stands.”

“Lemonade sounds perfect,” she said, mentally sizing him up.

About four inches shorter than Marco, Bernardo Petrone had neither the looks nor the body that would even compare to his brother. Dressed in a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt that said PETRONE DISTRIBUTORS on the front, he seemed way too tame to have such a flamboyant sibling, making her wonder if they really were kin.

“Marco and I were half-brothers,” he said as if he’d just read her mind. “My mother died in childbirth, and my father married Marco’s mother a few years later.”

“I’m sorry for the loss,” she said when she could think of nothing else to say.

“Thanks. His body will be shipped back to New Jersey after the coroner releases it, and there’ll be a memorial service then. In the meantime, I need to stay in Texas to see that the festival goes off without another hitch.”

“Another hitch?”

Bernardo swiped at the perspiration spreading across his brow as he handed her a glass of lemonade from the vendor. “Somehow, the liquor shipment got screwed up and hasn’t arrived yet. My people back in New Jersey tell me it was loaded on the trucks and on its way when Marco delayed it for some reason. Now they’re not sure exactly where it is. The festival unofficially starts tomorrow night with the picnic for all the participants, and now we’re scrambling to find out what happened and why Marco told them to hold off on the delivery in the first place.”

“Why do you think he did that?” She took a sip of the cold drink, hoping he wouldn’t think she was being too nosy.

“Who knows? It was his job to get it here on time, and since he isn’t around to answer to Calabrese, I’m taking the heat for it not being here.” He sighed and took a drink of his own lemonade.

Jordan detected a slightly bitter tone in Bernardo’s voice when he spoke about his brother. She decided to go with her instincts and try to get some info out of him. Maybe there was a chance the long drive all the way out to the fairgrounds wouldn’t be a total bust after all.

“Were you and your brother close?”

He tsked. “If you call him always putting me down in front of everyone close, then yes, we were. He always acted like I was hired help when I am—and always have been—an equal partner in the company.”

She nearly spewed her lemonade. If Marco and his brother were at odds over control of the company, it was yet another reason for a jury to believe there was reasonable doubt that Kate was Marco’s killer.

Determined to find out more, she leaned in. “With him gone now, will you and your father run the company yourselves?”

“My father is eighty-five years old and gave up the reins to the winery in Palermo five years ago after a mild stoke. He decided life was too short to spend working eighteen-hour days.” He smirked. “That and the fact that he had a brand new thirty-year old wife who kept him happy in the bedroom.”

Any normal self-respecting girl would have at least blushed a little after that remark, but Jordan was too busy trying to figure out how this all related to the murder. “What about the distribution company? Did your father turn that over to you both as well.”

“My father has nothing to do with that. Marco and I started that up before he ventured off into other things with...” He stopped short as if he realized he was telling her things he shouldn’t have. “With another businessman,” he said instead.

“Frankie O’Brien?” She held her breath, hoping he didn’t tell her it was none of her damn business.

He eyed her suspiciously. “My brother did have something going on with Frankie, but he pulled back when he got chummy with Calabrese.”

“Do you think his future father-in-law forced him to?”

“Hell no,” he shouted. “Emilio had no idea what Marco was doing on the side. All he cared about was marrying off his daughter to my brother so he could get a piece of the cash cow himself.”

“I thought Emilio was a rich man in his own right.”

“That’s true, but after he found out about...” He stopped abruptly and took another drink of the lemonade. “I’ve talked about me too long. What about you? Since only the festival vendors and workers are allowed on the grounds until opening day, I assume you’re here on official business. I hope everything we’ve talked about is off the record.”

She shrugged. “Absolutely. You need to know that I write the culinary column. None of my readers would be interested in what you or your brother did or didn’t do behind the scenes unless, of course, it involves a juicy recipe that I can print.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Good to know. I suppose you’re a great cook?”

This time she threw back her head and laughed out loud. “Depends on what you call cooking. I make a mean fried bologna sandwich.”

He laughed with her. “I like you, Jordan McAllister. If I wasn’t already in a relationship, I might even ask you out to dinner one night before I go back to New Jersey.”

“Not sure your wife would approve,” she fired back, thinking that Rosie would be proud of the way she was flirting, before she realized this wasn’t what her friend would consider flirting in any stretch of the imagination. More like pumping him for information.

He lowered his eyes. “Gio’s mother and I were high school sweethearts and never married. When she got pregnant, we decided a happily ever after was probably not in our cards, since she had already fallen in love with a rich, older man who wanted to show her the world. Gio was the best thing that ever came out of that relationship, and I got full custody when the old guy wanted no part of a newborn baby messing up his lifestyle.”

“I must have misunderstood you. I thought you said you were in a relationship.”

“I did,” he responded. “And it looks like that’s gonna work out just fine now that Marco...” He sucked in a gush of air before he lifted his paper cup and drained the rest of his lemonade. After he threw the cup into the trash can, he looked down the fairway where Gio and Vince were kicking a can around in the dirt. “As much as I would enjoy talking with you a while longer, I have to get Gio back to the hotel and into bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow before the picnic. I hope I’ll see you there.”

With that, he turned and drove down the fairway, leaving her wondering what he’d meant by that last remark. She’d bet money he’d been about to say his relationship would work out now that his brother was out of the way.

Oh my God! What if Bernardo Petrone was the man Ginny had seen going up to Marco’s suite with Tina Calabrese? Ginny had commented that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Little things were beginning to make sense now. Like Emilio letting it slip that his daughter had not been happy that he’d tried to make her go through with the marriage to Marco, even after the man had been caught cheating. Could it be that she and Bernardo were having a secret affair? That perhaps she was in love with him instead of his brother?

Jordan clapped her hands in delight. Wanting Marco out of the picture permanently made for one helluva motive for either Bernardo or Tina—or both.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

After stopping at the Burger Hut for a quick dinner, Jordan finally made it home a little after nine. No sooner had she walked into her apartment and settled in on the couch than she heard a knock at the door.

“Hurry up,” Victor said, knocking impatiently once again. “I have something to tell you.”

When she opened the door, he breezed past her and walked straight into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He held it out to her. “Want one?”

She shook her head. Beer always made her sleepy, and she had a few things to do before she could crawl into bed. Knowing the best time to talk to Carlita Bruno was in the early morning hours, she’d decided on the way home from the fairgrounds to swing by her hotel before work—assuming she was able to find out exactly where they were staying. She’d already prepared an excuse for being late if Egan gave her any grief about it. She’d simply say she was on assignment, which was partially true.

She walked past Victor into the living room and sat back down on the couch. “So what’s so important that you rushed over here at this time of night to tell me?”

He took a quick swig of the cold beer and slumped down beside her. “Guess who came by the shop today and paid full price for that bedroom set I snagged at the estate sale last weekend?”

“No way! Mrs. Cheapskate talked hubby into giving you the asking price?” She high-fived him. “I couldn’t believe you let them walk away without caving and reducing the price the other day. I guess this shows you were right. I wish I’d known you were about to come into some money before I stopped and inhaled a burger, though. You, my boy, would have been paying for my dinner at some fancy restaurant.”