Cold Moon Dead (6 page)

Larry slowed the van in front of an ornate house. A brick wall with gargoyle-topped posts caged the front yard and driveway. A scrolled, wrought-iron fence lay open so we could drive up to the house. Larry pulled up to the door to unload.

“We’ll put the supplies outside the door and I’ll park in the street. That way whoever needs to get out can do so.”

I heaved ladders and paint buckets from the back of the van. There was a mound of stuff on the edge of the driveway when we finished. Larry huffed and puffed from the exertion. He really needed to lose some weight. I waited while he pulled the van onto the street and parked near the gated entrance.

We stood outside in the cold while the doorbell chimed. It seemed to take forever, but it was probably only a minute, before the lady of the manor answered the summons. Pink curlers adorned the unnatural henna hair of an extremely mature woman who beckoned us inside. A lit cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth. She had more wrinkles than I’d ever seen on a woman’s face and the upper lip hair was out of control. With a little moustache wax, she could have passed for Snidely Whiplash, a cartoon character from back in the day.

A pink chenille robe and fluffy matching slippers coordinated with her curlers. Blood-red, claw-like fingernails ruined the effect. For an instant, I wondered if she had a broom idling in the garage. I managed to keep a straight face and glanced around the gigantic house. The woman looked my way, her narrowed eyes held a glint of malice that took me aback. I was sure we hadn’t ever met, yet wondered why she seemed familiar. I shook my head a bit when she turned away, figuring my imagination was once again on overdrive.

My two-story colonial, is a large building with spacious rooms. This house was way more than that. I wondered if a gaggle of kids lived here with this woman, but she seemed too old. Grandchildren, maybe.

She mumbled something to Larry before scooting off to another section of the house.

We carried the supplies and equipment into the house. Larry ushered me downstairs to the family room that had short windows like the ones in the lower level of a raised ranch. The far wall held a gorgeous set of French doors, leading to the backyard. These doors made the ones in my house look shabby. Larry explained what his client had requested and gave me a piece of poster board with the design painted on it before he headed upstairs. I nodded and got to work with a chalk pencil, sketching leaves and flowers around the outer edge of the French door casings.

An hour had passed when I heard voices and the front door close. Larry strolled down the stairs to tell me the Mrs. had gone out to her bridge game and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon. I nodded and kept working until Larry brought down fresh coffee and delectable pastries.

“Hilda left these for us.” He smiled and nibbled at the flaky pastry. He had difficulty swallowing and left most of the scrumptious fare on the plate. “She is such a nice lady. Her husband is something else, though,” he whispered as he glanced around the room. He leaned back on the soft, comfy sofa and eyeballed the flat screen TV that took up most of the wall.

I glanced at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s rumored that he has connections, if ya know what I mean?” His brows waggled up and down.

“Really? What kind of connections? The murderous kind, the betting kind, or maybe the stock market kind?” I asked, considering the possibilities, my mind leapt forward.

He was about to answer when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and told me it was important that he take the call. He didn’t just walk a few feet away, he hurried up the stairs. Nodding, I went back to work until Larry returned several minutes later to ask if I minded if we left early.

“Is everything all right?”

Larry’s skin was still bright red. His short neck appeared more swollen than when he’d picked me up earlier in the day. His health status worried me and I didn’t want to catch whatever it was he had.

“I don’t feel so great. My throat is killing me. It must be strep throat or something. That was my doctor on the phone. He said to come right in, if I could,” he said in a raspy voice. To convince me further, Larry wiped moisture from his face with a chubby hand.

“Sure, no problem. Just make sure you get checked out, all right?” I had to see Freedom at the station anyway, so this early end to the day worked out to my benefit.

We cleaned up and packed the supplies in an out-of-the-way corner. Larry scribbled a note to Hilda that said he would call her later. While I waited for him, I gawked around the first floor rooms that were bursting with flamboyant furniture, heavy brocade drapes, and sparkling trinkets. Gaudy was the term I would use since I couldn’t think of another description right off hand. This was certainly a switch from the lower level with its tasteful furnishings and accoutrements.

Within half-an-hour, Lanky Larry had dropped me off at home and headed to his doctor appointment. I waved as he left then went inside to change before my drive to the community police station in Providence. Lola had flown away to her cruise ship destination, but her car sat in the driveway with the keys under the front seat.

Clean and ready to face Freedom’s taciturn attitude, I left for Providence. With any luck, I wouldn’t get robbed on the way.

The cell phone jingled as I headed uphill toward the station. Freedom was on the line wondering how close I was.

“I’m almost there. Can you meet me, or are you on a call?”

“I’m on a call. Jake Milligan will take the report. Just give him the basics and he’ll take it from there. I’ll see you if I get done here before you finish up.” She chuckled a second and then said, “Don’t give Jake a hard time, okay? He’s a rookie and you’ll probably scare the crap out of him.”

“Right. I got it,” I said. If anyone did the scaring, it would be Freedom.

A few minutes later I swung into the lot across the street from the station. A cruiser idled outside the building. I entered and called out Milligan’s name. A tall man with a lean frame ambled down the corridor toward me as I peered around the doorway. Light brown cropped hair covered his head. Jake Milligan had to be about my height and maybe even my weight. He was thin and somber in appearance.

His pale blue eyes didn’t miss a thing. He nodded at me and asked who I was.

“Lavinia Esposito,” I answered.

“Banger just called and said you’d be in to give a report of shots fired. How come this wasn’t done earlier?”

This guy had the personality of a prune. Where was Lola when I needed her? She’d have smiled at this guy and he would have eaten from the palm of her hand. Huh. What the hell, I may as well just give him the facts. No smile, no charm, nothing.

“It’s a bit complicated, so I will tell you what I know. You can take the report and do with it what you will.” I sat down and shared my story, leaving out the man’s name and a few other details I considered important to my survival.

We had just finished the report when the door opened. I heard Free mumble into the radio that was permanently attached to her shoulder. She strode down the hallway and nodded to me but her glance rested on the newbie.

“Did you get the report?” she asked.

“Yes, I did. I have it here for you.” He pulled the pages from the printer and handed them to Freedom. His expression reminded me of a puppy looking for adoration from its master.

I stifled a grin.

Her eyes scanned the sheets and then rested on me.

“This is it? That’s all that happened?” She asked this with a doubt-riddled expression.

If I hadn’t known cops so well, I probably would have been nervous. Instead, I held my ground and remembered that what I had said to the rookie was to be taken as fact.

“Free, that’s all that happened. I left nothing out. Do you know this guy or did anyone see anything that I didn’t?”

Her head wagged back and forth as she read the report once again. She handed it back to Milligan and told him to take it down to headquarters. He nodded and left us alone. I couldn’t help but smile over the way Jake acted around Freedom. She intimidated the hell out of him, but then she did that to some of the cops she’d worked alongside for years. Freedom was a legend in her own right, whether the colonel liked her or not. It took a stupid fool to mess with her.

“You up for lunch or what?” I asked.

“Yeah, but take your own car in case I get a call and have to leave. We don’t usually get a break unless we call out for the time. Today no one can replace us because Today we’re short one cop in the district.”

With a nod, I followed her from the station to the nearest pizza joint down the street. We went inside and ordered calzones and pizza strips. The smell of Italian sandwiches was almost more than I could stand. The air was so aromatic, I could practically taste the food before it arrived.

We ate in silence for a bit and watched the traffic flow past on the dreary winter street. No wind today—just damp cold. That’s how the weather is in Rhode Island during the winter. Damp, cold, and more damp. I chewed the pizza, extracting every morsel of flavor I could from the sauce. Geez, it was good. Freedom finished up before I did and leaned back in her chair, waiting. For what, I didn’t know, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

“So, why don’t you tell me why you held back the information?” Freedom asked the question quietly so the nearby patrons couldn’t hear what she said.

“I was rattled, that’s all. It’s not every day I see a gunshot victim,” I whispered. “He wasn’t hurt real bad, by the way. At least that’s what he said.”

“Huh.” She snorted. “If anything like that ever happens again, speak up. You got it?”

“Yes, yes, okay,” I said. “Sorry I held out on you.” I tried to look sorry, but it didn’t work because she burst out laughing.

“You are such an actress, honest to God.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not buying your act, so cut the crap. You have your own reasons for not telling me what happened. I get it, don’t worry. Just remember that next time things might get difficult if you hold out. I might not be the person you have to deal with.”

“You’re right.” I conceded, ate the rest of my Calzone, and drank the coffee I’d ordered.

“Did Marcus know about the shots fired?” Free stared at me when I didn’t answer, then gave me a lopsided grin. “No shit, you didn’t tell him?”

Normal people would be appalled by this whole scene, but with cops it’s different. They look at things from an entirely different perspective than other human beings. What we find reprehensible or appalling, they often find humorous. Who knows why? Not me, that’s for sure.

“I didn’t tell anyone except Lola and all she did was yell at me. Then Marcus came into the house and yelled at me because I was robbed. Finally, Aaron came downstairs last night and yelled at me as well. I was on overload by then – I can tell you that.”

I smirked as the scenes ran through my head like an old newsreel. They hadn’t been funny at the time, but in retrospect, I could understand why everyone was up in arms. It’s not healthy to mess with someone who’s been shot, shot at, or is connected.

The police radio went berserk and Freedom rose from the table. She said she’d catch me later and left in a whirlwind of lights and sirens. I leaned back in the chair and sipped the remainder of my coffee.

The rest of the day lay wide open. I was so close to the Providence Place Mall, which sits near city hall in the middle of Metro Providence, that it seemed prudent to take advantage of that. I left the restaurant and drove to the mall’s parking garage where I left Lola’s car secured and alarmed.

Shop windows boasted sales of up to fifty percent off all goods. Who could resist that? Today my checkbook was nestled in my pocket. I thanked God because I hardly ever carried it with me. I charged through as many stores as I could until my arms became heavy with purchases. Sweaters, jeans, shoes, underwear, and more were stuffed into shopping bags. I glanced at my wristwatch and realized how late in the day it was.

Outside, the daylight had grown dim. Lights illuminated the parking garage. I scurried toward the car with the expectation I’d find it where I had left it. The Cooper sat under the compact car parking sign where I’d left it—no damage, and no problems. I heaved a sigh of relief as I unlocked the car door.

Once the bags were bundled into the back seat, I slid in and backed out of the parking spot. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I left the city for Cranston where I hoped to cadge a meal from my parents. It grew darker as I made my way through traffic. The road forked. I turned and glanced to the right and then the left. I turned back to the right and in that fraction of a second, I realized the woman walking along the sidewalk was none other than the old hag who had robbed me the day before.

I slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. I swung the steering wheel hard. Traffic slid to a stop, horns blew, and hand gestures prevailed while I turned around. The Cooper was a great car for tight turns. As I neared the spot I’d seen her, I saw that the pedestrian was gone.

At a snail’s pace, I cruised the streets, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. I drove up one street and down another. She’d disappeared. I flicked my cell phone open and hit speed dial. Freedom answered on the first ring. I told her what had happened and where I’d seen the woman. She said she would keep an eye out in the future and thanked me for the call.

Within minutes I’d arrived at the compact Cape Cod style house where I’d grown up with my twin brother, Giovanni. We’d raised hell in the neighborhood during our childhood years. The local stadium, several blocks down the street, had hosted many games where my brother had played. Baseball games where my mother had yelled at the umpire and embarrassed the entire family with her colorful language. I smiled at the memory and parked in the yard.

Marcus owned a Victorian-style house, remodeled into a townhouse type of duplex. It sat a couple blocks away from my family’s home, but was not visible from it. The neighborhood was an old one with working people who went to bed early and rose early. Hard-working folks who’d raised their kids, watched them go to college, and get married. Now retired, these folks awaited slews of grandchildren.