Dead Wrong (9 page)

Anderson rose from his chair and I stood up as well. I nodded to Bellini and we left the office, heading down the elevator to the basement. A detective's cruiser sat near the elevator doors in the parking area and we got in.

Silence lengthened as we drove the short distance to the medical examiner's office. I jumped from the car and waited for Porter to accompany me inside. My stomach flipped over a few times and my airway constricted, making breathing difficult.

Once inside the building, we strode through the corridors until we came to the gleaming stainless steel doors. Porter pushed one aside and I entered, curious to see what the room looked like. I forced myself to remain calm and detached. It was no easy task, I must say.

Gleaming cabinets faced me and an attendant stepped forward. Porter nodded and told him why we were there. The guy walked to a unit and pulled the door open. A long table slid forth on soundless rollers with a body laid out on the cold steel slab. Porter nudged me closer and waited as I brought my gaze to the body.

“It's not Crisp,” I said and abruptly stepped backward. With her pale skin, and waxy appearance, the woman's face showed no signs of violence. A bluish tinge colored her lips and eyelids. Dark marks on her neck caught my eye. So much for non-violence, I thought. Someone had choked the life out of her.

“Strangled, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah, but drowning was the cause of death. She was unconscious when she hit the water and then she drowned in Slacks Pond.” He nodded and the attendant slid the drawer closed and shut the cabinet door. “You're sure it's not Crisp?”

“I'm sure. The nose isn't long enough or the face drawn enough. Crisp looked like the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz movie. I thought I made that clear in the drawing. Sorry. This person looks a lot like her, but it isn't her. She isn't old enough and her hair isn't gray enough either.”

“It was worth a look anyway. At least we know she's still at large. Any ideas on that? Did she ever mention anything about her private life to you?” he asked as we wandered back through the silent halls.

“We didn't have that kind of relationship, Porter. She was a harridan and I was the unfortunate object of her disdain. We never, ever, spoke of anything personal or otherwise. She would hustle me into the corridor where Gristle would take over and torture the shit out of me on those machines. And it was all in the name of medical insurance fraud, you know?” I glanced at his face and saw the glimmer of a smile.

I smiled at him and we returned to the station. He dropped me at my car.

I left the city, headed for home and my date with Marcus.

Chapter 11

Soft material caressed my skin as the dress slid down over my body – the skirt slit opened on my left thigh. It was a shimmering fabric that I knew Marcus would appreciate. Two barrel-shaped buttons held it together on the side at the front, and a flat one held it secure on the inside, at my waist. The rich amber color balanced what was left of my tan.

My dark hair flowed over my shoulders in soft curling waves. I applied a little make-up and some lipstick. Soft leather heels completed the attire and I added a few pieces of antique gold jewelry.

A car pulled into the driveway and a few seconds later I heard a rap on the door. I left the bedroom and answered the knock. Marcus stood in the hallway in black dress pants, a crisp ivory shirt, and a wool sports jacket that matched the slacks. His dressy leather shoes completed the ensemble and I grinned at the change in Marcus's appearance.

Usually, he wore jeans and a sweatshirt, or the smart uniform of the Rhode Island State Police. This was a definite departure for him and for me. I invited him in and watched his gaze travel my body.

Arms wrapped around my waist, he drew me close. His lips draped kisses across my face before they found my lips. I responded in kind. Time stood still until he drew back to peer into my eyes.

“You look, smell, and feel wonderful. You did all this for me?” He smiled.

“No, I did it for the homeless bums on the city streets of Providence.” I chuckled.

A snicker met my laughter and I realized he was pleased that I'd gone to such lengths.

“Lucky bastards,” he said.

With the coat over my shoulders, we left the apartment and headed to Cranston, and The Spain Restaurant. Once we parked behind the building, we walked around to the front doors. A crowd at the bar waited for seats and patrons filled the restaurant. Marcus checked my coat and gave our name. We had reservations, but seats weren't yet available.

Heading into the bar, I slid onto a stool and waited for Marcus to join me. He surveyed the room for a second, and then he nodded at someone. A smile stole over his face as he sat on the stool beside mine.

I tried to see who he'd been staring at, but the crowd was large. I couldn't see past the immediate group at the bar.

“Who is here that you know?” I asked.

“Ima Gozinta is here tonight,” he said after he ordered drinks.

The bartender set a beer and a glass of sangria in front of us. I sipped my drink and thought about Gozinta. She couldn't be here by coincidence, could she? More like by design, I thought. Should I be worried? Hmmm.

“Does she have a date or is she here with her husband?” I asked with a curious smile.

“She's not married. I didn't see her with anyone. Maybe we should invite her to have dinner with us?”

“I think I'd like to have you all to myself – if you don't mind.” I leaned toward him and touched my lips to his cheekbone. To hell with Ima Gozinta. This man was with me, no one else. Do I share, you ask? Not ever, I answer.

A smile quivered around the edges of his chiseled lips and I could swear he was pleased by the response. I grinned as his name was called. We left the bar with our drinks and followed the waiter to our table.

Menus lay in front of us. We read the fare offered and I glanced around the restaurant. Gozinta was being seated across from us on the opposite side of the room. It wasn't all that far away, but far enough that she couldn't hear our conversation. We all need to be thankful for the little things.

I watched for a few seconds until her date arrived. He was about the same height as she, but on the thin side. No muscles, no good looks, and definitely not a cop – I'd bet. Maybe she liked the intellectual bookish type of man. On the other hand, he might be a politician or something equally horrifying. I smiled when she glanced over and then turned my attention to Marcus.

Dinner came and went with a few more drinks and some good conversation. Not once did he ask about my brother, the dead people, or anything to do with work. There truly are miracles.

Marcus slid a hand over mine as our dinner plates were cleared away. The table was secluded in a slightly recessed section of the room, allowing us some privacy. We could view everyone, but only people seated immediately across from us could see in. Gozinta kept an eye on us all evening. I could feel her stare and caught her looking our way more than once.

“You know, you've never spoken of your family. Tell me about them now,” I said.

“Well, I'm Austrian on my mother's side of the family and my father is English. Richmond is an old family name and my ancestors came over with the pilgrims. I have lineage, I guess you'd say.”

“Really? I never realized you were part of the founding fathers crew.”

“I wouldn't go that far, Vin, however, we came over on a boat, just like your family did.” He smiled and continued. “My mother lives in Ireland with her husband and my father lives here in Rhode Island with his wife.”

His smile had changed to a sad one. Marcus shook his head and told me he didn't see any of them very often.

“You're lucky that your parents have been married all those years, Vin. It's unusual in this day and age. How long has Giovanni been married?”

“He tied the knot soon after he graduated med school. I can't remember how many years it's been. Jill rarely comes to visit and this is the first time Gio has returned home in years. I guess his practice keeps him fairly busy.” I plucked at the napkin on the table and then leaned back as the waiter served dessert and coffee.

A grin accompanied the dessert as I glanced at Marcus. He was only having coffee, foregoing dessert. At least until we arrived back at my house, I was sure.

Marcus lifted his fork and helped himself to my cheesecake drizzled with chocolate sauce accompanied by red and black raspberries. I dug in and between us we finished the scrumptious dessert off in double time. I chuckled when he scraped the last of the sauce from the dish.

“If you wanted dessert, you should have ordered some,” I said.

“I'll have my dessert later.” His fingers caressed mine and my temperature hiked.

Our eyes held until I heard an ‘ahem.' I glanced up to see Gozinta standing at our table, her date lingering in the background.

“Marcus, it's good to see you. You too, Ms. Esposito,” she said. Her eyes rested on me a fraction of a second and then settled on Marcus once more.

“Yes, I'm sure,” I said with disdain. I nodded to her date and introduced myself.

A brief smile crossed his face and then it was gone. His body language said he'd rather be elsewhere.

“Funny meeting you here. I didn't realize you liked this restaurant,” she said.

“This is the first time we've ever been. Great food and wonderful atmosphere, though.” Marcus smiled and looked at me. “We're headed to a jazz club in Providence. Care to join us?”

“Sure.” She said in a breathless voice.

Her date murmured that he had other plans and the excitement left her face. Thank God this man had the smarts to realize his date would be interfering with our evening out. I smiled a thank you to him and watched Gozinta for a second.

Ima regained her composure and the two of them left the table. I, for one, was mighty relieved that I wouldn't have to put up with her on my date.

We left the restaurant and headed toward the rear parking lot. I glanced around the poorly lit area. A tall woman with sharp features and grey hair scurried toward a waiting vehicle. When the door opened and light spilled out, I realized Nurse Crisp had entered the car.

“Marcus, Marcus,” I said. Excited, I tugged at his sleeve.

“What, Vin,” he said and turned toward me as he fiddled with the car keys.

“Nurse Crisp just got into that car.” I pointed to the car at the traffic light in the street.

“Vinnie, are you sure?” he asked in disbelief. “It's dark in this parking lot so how can you be certain?”

“I'd know that beak nose and horsey face anywhere. Her austere appearance is emblazoned on my brain. Honest.”

“Well, she's gone now.” He opened the car door and waited for me to be seated.

Incensed that he'd take the sighting so lightly, I huffed into the car in a sulk.

“What's got you in a snit?” Marcus asked after he slid behind the steering wheel.

In a testy voice, I said, “It was her. I know it was.”

“Okay, but what did you expect me to do about it? A car chase perhaps?”

“Well, we could have followed her at a discreet distance.”

“Oh, I can see the newspaper article now. Off-duty State Trooper chases and harasses woman thought to be suspect in medical fraud. What if it wasn't her after all, Vin?”

“Oh, all right then. Be that way. If I had been alone, I'd have followed her though.” I whined and I knew it.

“Right, you would, and that might have brought another disaster into your already-disaster-laden life.” He chuckled and turned toward Providence and the jazz club.

I settled against the seat and tried to enjoy the rest of the night. It wasn't hard, since I have difficulty staying angry for any length of time. Besides, Marcus had plans for dessert later and we were all happy, Mr. Winky, Marcus, and me.

Chapter 12

The smell of coffee permeated the apartment as I stretched across the bed. Marcus smiled when I opened my eyes, and he held a cup of fragrant brew under my nose.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart. It's late and the day is wasting away.”

My glance roamed over his body. He stood in undershorts and nothing else. Yep, he'd slept over. This was dangerous and something I could easily get used to. Lazily, I turned toward the coffee cup and rose up in bed to take the strong beverage from him.

“How long have you been awake?”

“About an hour. I've read the paper and had two cups of coffee.” He smiled. “Do you have plans for today?”

The artwork in the garage loft slid across my mind, but I tucked that thought away. I'd also planned to see Great Aunt Lena today, but if Marcus wanted my free time, then so be it.

“Nothing urgent. What do you have in mind?” I asked.

His eyebrows waggled and I snickered. Marcus ran his knuckles across my cheek. I stared at him while his face grew serious. Uh oh, I thought. Let's not mention the “M” word. Marriage was definitely not on my horizon. I believed it wasn't on his either, but maybe I was wrong.

“I'd like you to meet my father,” he said.

I gulped and thought about the implications of being brought home to the family. Yikes.

“Today?” My stomach quivered like jell-O.

“No Vin, next month,” he joked. “Yes, today. He mentioned he'd like to meet the woman who keeps me on my toes, so I said that we might stop in.”

“Are you sure he didn't mean he'd like to meet Ima Gozinta? She seems to be keeping you on your toes lately.” I know, don't say it, it's a shameful way to act, but I was curious about Gozinta and trying to buy some time.

His narrowed eyes measured me for a moment and then Marcus smiled the wolf grin. “You're jealous.” He grinned wider and sat back, his arms folded, a pleased look on his face.

“No, I'm not,” I denied. “It's just that you had lunch together and then she showed up at the restaurant last night, that's all.”

“Sure, if you say so.” He continued to look smug and the grin stayed in place.

Unwilling to concede to his accusation, I sat up straighter against the bed pillows. “I'm no more jealous over Gozinta than you are jealous of Aaron.” The remark hit home because his eyebrows gathered in the center and he shook his head.

“Me, jealous of Aaron?” he asked.

“Yes, you. I know you find it a tad annoying that he lives in such close proximity and that we're good friends. Don't deny it Marcus. But, to answer your question, yes, I'd like to meet your father.”

“Then get out of bed and get ready. Time is wasting. By the way, I'd like to meet your brother.”

With a sharp glance, I realized he was earnest. This wasn't business – just curiosity on his part.

“Sure. I'll call and see what his schedule is today.”

I finished the coffee and bustled around the room, gathering the clothes off the floor from the night before. I tossed them on a chair and stared into the closet. Black jeans and a burgundy sweater with threads of gold running through it caught my eye. I dragged them from the hangers and headed to the bathroom. In a short time, I'd showered, slapped a bit of make-up on my face and combed my wayward locks into some semblance of order.

The bed was made, and the house straightened up when I entered the kitchen. I glanced around and found Marcus standing outside on the deck in the sun. He turned and smiled as I rounded the counter and knocked on the French door.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with the State Police logo on the upper left side over his heart, Marcus it seemed had planned ahead. His dress clothes lay neatly folded across a chair and I wondered what other surprises I was in store for today. The sliding door opened and he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes roaming my attire.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said and smiled that wolfish grin again.

“We've been there and done that – let's move on, shall we?” I chuckled, slipped my shoes on, and said I was ready to leave.

“I have to say Vin, you don't waste time, do you?”

“I'm usually running late and have to be efficient. Showered, dressed, and ready to go in fifteen minutes – better than McDonalds, huh?” I laughed as the phone rang.

I went to answer the call as he left the apartment with his clothing draped across his arm.

“Good morning, Mom,” I said after checking the caller ID.

“It's Gio, not Mom. What are you doing today?” He sounded frayed around the edges. I thought again of the artwork in the garage.

“Is something wrong? You sound agitated.”

“There is the matter of that painting in the garage. Don't you think that's enough to worry about?”

There was no way I could outright lie to my twin because he'd know right away. I refused to tell him about the other pieces or work I'd found. While I know I lied by omission, it was better than an outright lie. Right?

“I know you're worried and you have every right to be. Jill could be in serious trouble and be looking at jail time. Have you considered she just has a spending problem?”

“Not when the painting has Renoir's signature on the bottom. I don't have the art background you do, but I do know Renoir was a famous painter, Vin. We don't have that kind of income to afford his work.”

“Okay, okay. The painting was a Renoir, but maybe a copy,” I said. “I'm going out with Marcus for a while. I'll stop in to see Great Aunt Lena later, if possible – and by the way, Marcus wants to meet you.”

“Is that your trooper boyfriend?” Gio asked.

“It is. We plan to come by sometime today. What does your schedule look like?”

“No conferences. I thought I'd hang out with the folks.”

“Right. Well, we'll see you later then.” I hung up and turned to find Marcus leaning against the doorframe. With his arms crossed, and a question on his face, he waited for an explanation. Dang.

“That was Giovanni. He'll be at the house all day so we can drop in whenever.” How much had he heard, I wondered.

“What about a Renoir, and who is Jill?” His eyebrows gathered as he frowned.

“Jill is my brother's wife. She seems to have acquired a Renoir painting.” I lied. I knew it, but why spoil a good day?

He sighed and stepped closer. His strong hands rested on my hips as his lips brushed mine. He stared into my eyes and said, “I really dislike your habit of lying by omission.”

My tongue darted out. I licked his lips, then I moved in for a real kiss, but he held me away.

“No, you won't get away with it. Don't try to sidestep the accusation. Tell me right now. What is going on?”

“Nothing important,” I said, with as much nonchalance as I could gather. “Gio is having some family issues and I'm reluctant to get involved. Can we go now?”

He didn't believe me. I could see it in his face. However, he put his suspicions aside and nodded.

“This conversation will continue at another time. Let's go. My father is waiting.”

We drove to the eastern side of the state. Rhode Island is small and from one side of the state to the other takes less than two hours. Barring the ten-minute travel rule, most folks went through Barrington to Newport and Bristol quite often in summer. When the weather cooled off, the local tourists stayed close to home and traffic returned to normal.

We drove into Barrington, meandering along Stickney Point Road. It was an affluent section of Barrington, not that most of the town's areas aren't. This area was more in the way of million-dollar-plus homes and a far cry from my parents' neat little neighborhood where small houses sat in close proximity to one another.

Stately hundred-year-old trees littered wide lawns, while the few remaining leaves of fall clung to their branches. Old elms, oak trees, and maples lined the road. With interest I viewed the artistic landscaping of each home we passed. Pumpkins and Indian corn adorned porches and parchment-colored corn stalks were tied around lampposts of several driveways. I smiled and enjoyed the scenery.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked.

“Marcus, did you grow up over here?”

“I did. My father still lives in the same house, even though his new wife has made some changes.”

“His new wife, huh? You don't sound thrilled. You don't live here now though, right?” It occurred to me that I had only known Marcus for six months and had no idea where he lived.

“No, I don't live here now.” He chuckled. “Belinda's a nice woman, just not what I'd have thought my father would have chosen.”

My curiosity skyrocketed and I wondered what was in store for me. I caught Marcus's grin and smiled.

“Are you setting me up for something here?” I wanted to know.

“Nah…. Well, maybe.” He laughed.

The car slowed and we turned into the driveway of a massive Victorian home. Gingerbread trim laced the eaves of the roof and a wide porch wrapped around the front and side of the house. Enormous windows sparkled in the sunlight. Tailored flower beds lay alongside the porch and were sprinkled over various areas of the lawn. The look was elegant and screamed expensive. I thought of my minimalist flower beds with a sigh.

We left the car and strolled onto the porch, passing clusters of mums in burnished gold, deep burgundy, mustard yellow, and burnt orange. Other plants were mixed in with the mums, but I couldn't identify them.

The smell of salt water filtered through the cool breeze as we rounded the corner of the house. Stickney Point Road sits near the Atlantic Ocean. I swore I could hear the surf – but it was only my imagination.

The door swung wide. I found myself facing Ima Gozinta. She flung herself out the door onto Marcus. A wide grin covered her face before she stepped back from embracing him and faced me with a nod. Glancing back at Marcus, she smiled.

“Hi, come in. Mom and your father are waiting for you.”

Flabbergasted, I glanced at Marcus and saw a wicked smile creep across his face.

“This is so unfair,” I mumbled to him. “You will pay dearly. I promise.”

“You think so? I can hardly wait.” He chuckled under his breath as I followed him through the door.

The living room was large with a sweeping view of the lawns and street. A magnificent fireplace centered one wall with antique furniture strategically placed throughout the room. Interlaced with leather chairs and a sofa, everything was complementary and the overall look pleased my eye.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw an older gentleman enter the room. He was a grey-haired duplicate of Marcus. His stride suggested a military man. I wondered if the trooper thing was a family tradition. A genuine smile covered his face as the two men shook hands.

“Dad, I'd like you to meet Lavinia Esposito. This is my father, Bradley Richmond.” He motioned to me, and I stepped forward.

Green eyes – no hazel in them – surveyed my entire person as he shook my hand.

“I'm pleased to meet you, my dear,” he said. “My wife will be in momentarily. Please, have a seat. It seems you present my son with a challenge. It's about time someone did.” He chuckled softly and then glanced at Marcus.

I smiled, nodded and my flip-flopping stomach tied itself in a knot as I settled on the leather sofa. After answering the usual questions about what I did for a living and where I lived, I listened to the men chat while I gazed around the room. Photographs of Marcus as he'd grown up, adorned the antique desk nearby. His grin was the same, even though he was very young when he exuberantly held up a fish he'd caught. His father stood next to him with the proud-father look on his face. Another photo caught my eye. The man was taller, leaner, and in uniform. The smile was the same, but the features weren't as similar as those of Marcus and Bradley. Curious, I asked who the man was.

“That's my older brother, Austin. He's a Massachusetts State Trooper.” Marcus stared at the photo and then smiled at me. “He resembles our mother more than I do.”

I just nodded and glanced around the room again.

Footsteps on the shiny wood floors brought my gaze toward the doorway Bradley had just entered. A pretty woman, in her early forties I'd guess, entered the room carrying a tray laden with muffins and breads and a silver coffee service. My God, she's the stepmother?

Introductions rounded the room once again and I noticed Marcus become reserved. His outgoing, friendly demeanor went on hold until Gozinta entered the room. He smiled at the young woman and she beamed. Good God, I thought, she's enamored with him and he probably doesn't even know it. Men are so stupid sometimes.

When Belinda offered a tour of the house, I nodded acceptance. We started in the formal dining room and made our way around the entire place. Within half an hour, I'd seen more than I wanted to and couldn't wait to leave. Harriet Homemaker, I am not, and while I enjoyed the design of the place, I wasn't thrilled with this grand dame tour. How did I get into these situations?

It was easy to see Belinda enjoyed playing Lady of the Manor. Gozinta, her daughter, had stayed behind with the men. Or with Marcus, I should say. Not that I was jealous or anything. When we reached Ima's bedroom, I noticed her uniform suspended from the door and turned to Belinda.

“Does it bother you that Ima is a trooper?”

“Not at all. Marcus makes sure she's safe and besides, it is a family tradition. Bradley was a major, you know.”

How she could be foolish enough to believe that Marcus could keep this young woman safe, caused me to stop and think of how naïve Marcus's stepmother really was. Another brainless wonder. Arm candy. Window dressing – that's what this woman was. There had to be twenty years between her and Bradley. It answered my question about Marcus's remark concerning his father's choice in women.