Don of the Dead (15 page)

Like most of the properties I had seen on my trip from the city, theScarpetti household came complete with an iron gate at the mouth of a winding drive, grounds that were landscaped to perfection, and a house that was so spectacular I cut my engine and spent a couple minutes staring out my windshield, wide-eyed, at what must have been at least twelve thousand square feet of architectural achievement.

Sharp angles and clean, modern lines. Gleaming chrome. Glass. Lots of glass. Sweeping vistas. Slate walks. Patios and balconies and just a glimpse of an Olympic-size pool.

Oh, and two goons in black suits and Ray-Bans, one stationed on either side of the front door. They had automatic weapons in their hands.

I was pretty sure they weren't the standard neighborhood welcoming committee.

It was all the reminder I needed that this was no ordinary social call, and while I gathered the leather portfolio I'd bought specifically because it made me look like an author, and my tape recorder, I gulped down the lump of panic that suddenly blocked my throat.

"What? You're notgonna let those chumps scare you away, are you?"

At the same time I let out a little squeal, I gave myself a mental kick in the pants. I should have known that Gus was along for the ride. I plunked back against my seat. "Could you announce yourself, do you think? Maybe play some spooky music or something?"

"Music was never my thing." Gus sniffed and glanced at the extravaganza his son called home. "This was never my thing, either. Too showy."

"Let me guess, you lived a simple life."

"Simpler than this. I didn't need to keep up with them Joneses. All I ever wanted was to take care of my family."

"And so maybe your family took care of you."

It was a couple seconds before Gus got my meaning. "You think Rudy… ?" He glared at me, then swiped a hand in the air, dismissing my theory as effectively as if it were nothing more than an annoying insect. I made sure I kept well out of range of his hand. I had finally warmed up after our last too-close encounter. I wasn't going to take that chance again.

Gus's growl reminded me of Rudy's voice on the phone. "First you fingered Carmella. Now you're thinking Rudy. Not a chance, sweetheart. He's my son."

"Looks like he's done pretty well for himself. Family business, do you think?"

"You think he wanted to take over my turf so he could have it all for himself? You're not funny."

"I'm not trying to be. But Gus… " I turned in my seat, the better to see my passenger. "If you really want your murder solved—"

"You must want it solved, too, or you wouldn't have called off your date with that cop."

He spit out the last word like it tasted bad.

And I refused to get sidetracked. Gus wasn't going to get me to say out loud what I'd only admitted to myself: that I was working for him now and that meant (not too often, I hoped), that I'd have to put my social life on hold. He also wasn't going to pull me into a conversation about Quinn. Quinn was my business. And my business was private. It was bad enough that I had to cancel out on Quinn. Worse, that I made up a lie to justify it and told him there was a special evening cemetery tour that night and that I had to conduct it. Way worse because—

I sighed, trying not to think about how much I wanted a second chance with Quinn. Better to concentrate on what I was doing than thinking about Quinn and that candlelit restaurant. Or what might have happened when I invited him back to my apartment after dinner.

"We have to consider all the possibilities," I told Gus at the same time I warned myself that for the rest of that evening, the possibility of all that might have happened with Quinn was something I wasn't allowed to think about. "That's got to include the possibility that Rudy was behind your murder."

"And what are you going to do, come right out and ask if he's the one who put the contract out on me?"

"I'm not that dumb," I told Gus, and before I could convince myself that just being there pretty much proved I was, I got out of the car.

I had parked where a long walk led from the driveway to the house, and I had just gotten to where one part of it continued to the front door and another section swung around to the back of the property when an old lady rounded the corner.

I'm not kidding. Old. Really old.

The woman was half my height and skinny enough to be anyfashionista's role model. She had a head of silvery hair that was pulled into a neat bun and she was dressed in an elegant pink pant-suit and wore a string of pearls every bit as flawless as her complexion. She was wearing white sneakers like the ones kids wear. The kind with Velcro instead of laces. They were the only sour note in an otherwise very-together presentation.

That, and her eyes.

"Did he come with you?" The woman plucked at my sleeve, and she didn't so much look at me as right through me. Her eyes were blank, like there was nothing going on behind them. They were also dark, like Gus's, and before I came to my senses and realized there was no way, I thought that might be who she was talking about.

"He… ?" I glanced over my shoulder in the direction she was looking but there was no one there. Not even Gus. "I didn't bring anyone. Anyone but me. I'm—"

"He told me he's coming. Today." Her hand tightened on my arm. Her voice was frazzled around the edges. "He called and said he'd be here. He promised."

I've never been very good with old people. Maybe I have issues because of my dad's practice and the fact that it was the Medicare fraud that finally did him in. But issues aside, I always find myself at a loss for words when it comes to this kind of rambling desperation. I would like to say that I'm caring and know exactly how to handle things, but I'm not. I don't.

One by one, I plucked the old lady's bony fingers from my arm and took a step back, well out of reach.

"If he said he'd be here, I'm sure he will be," I told her, mostly because I figured it was what she wanted to hear. "Maybe you just need to wait a little longer."

"I've been waiting and waiting." Her voice trailed away and I could have sworn she forgot I was there.

"He called about the tulips. And he said he'd be here. He promised."

Okay, so tell me, who was the crazy one here? The woman blabbering on and on about some no-show and tulips? Or the one who decided that heading over to thewiseguys with weapons was a better choice than standing there being uncomfortable?

Unfortunately, it was impossible for me to get up a whole head of steam. The old lady latched on to me again, and when it looked like she was never going to let go, I gave up even trying. I tried to keep up a good pace but she kept forgetting the whole process of putting one foot in front of the other. Together, we clomped our way toward the front door.

Did I mention that the house was as big as my old high school? Before we were anywhere near the imposing entrance and the guys in the sunglasses, another woman raced around from the back. She was tall and broad and middle-aged and she had a severeunderbite that was accentuated by her red lipstick.

Her hair was salt-and-pepper, her eyes were colorless, and she wore a nurse's uniform. It was white, which did little for her complexion. It was also short enough to expose a strip of skin between where her skirt ended and her white knee-high stockings began.

So not attractive.

At the spot where the two paths intersected, the nurse screeched to a stop fast enough that her thick-soled shoes squeaked. She glanced down the drive and into the woods that bordered us on every side, and the only way I can describe the look on her face is pure panic.

That is, until she spotted the old woman.

Then, the nurse's expression teetered between relief and anger. It wasn't until the anger won out and she came at the old lady, eyes flashing and teeth bared, that I stepped between them.

She hadn't noticed me until that moment, and when she did, she stopped dead in her tracks, no doubt trying to decide if I was
somebody
. Apparently, just the fact that I had made it past the front gate with its security system, video cameras, and motion detectors made it a very real possibility. She might be homely but she wasn't dumb. She wasn't about to take any chances.

She checked to make sure she hadn't attracted the attention of the two tough guys at the front door and, reassured, she slapped a smile on her face and reached out a hand to the old lady. "Marie, dear! There you are." She blinked really fast, the way people do when they're lying. "My goodness, you had me worried."

Call me a sucker, but it didn't seem fair to make pink, blubbering David face down that polyester-clad Goliath on her own. Marie ignored the nurse and clung to me like a limpet on a rock, her eyes round with terror. I guess that meant I was involved whether I wanted to be or not. "You didn't look worried," I told the nurse. "And Marie wasn't doing anything wrong. She was escorting me to the front door."

"And I just fell off a turnip truck." The nurse crossed her arms over a chest that would have done a linebacker proud. "You have no idea what it's like trying to keep an eye on her," she said, obviously building her case in the event that anyone called her on the carpet for her lapse. "All I did was go to the kitchen to get a cup of tea—"

"Tea for Marie? Or tea for yourself?"

"No one ever said I couldn't have a bit of a break." The nurse pulled back her shoulders and clutched her hands together in front of her. "I need one now and again. Four years she's been like this."

The nurse sniffed, and though she was talking about her like she wasn't there, Marie was still latched on to me. The nurse gave her a look that was nothing short of disgust. "Four years I've been putting up with her and her crazy talk. Let me guess, she said she was out here waiting for her son. She's always waiting for her son. But you know what, Marie?" The nurse leaned forward and caught Marie's eye. "You.

Don't. Have. A. Son. How many times do I have to tell you? You're just a crazy old lady and one of these days, you're going to walk away from me and you're going to get lost. Then I'm going to lose my job."

"You'll be lucky if that's all you lose." Winding my arm through Marie's, I let the nurse chew over the gruesome possibilities and took the old lady along with me to the front door.

"She's wrong, you know."

It wasn't so much Marie's words as her voice that struck me as odd. It was as even and reasonable as it had been incoherent only a minute before. When I looked at the old lady, her eyes were bright and clear.

She smiled up at me. "She's a bitch."

"You're not kidding." I decided I liked Marie. "Why do you put up with it?"

I suppose I'll never know. Because as quickly as the flash of awareness came, it was gone again.

Marie's eyes went flat. Her expression was blank. "He's bringing tulips," she said. Her empty gaze roved all around. "He said he'd be here. He promised."

The conversation pretty much stayed one-sided like that all the way to the front door. Which was a good thing, I guess, because I didn't have to keep up my end. It was especially helpful when Gus popped up next to me.

He looked to his left and shook his head. "My little sister."

"She's a little out of it right now."

"She was always a little out of it." Though his assessment was hard-edged, Gus's eyes betrayed a sadness I hadn't seen in them before. "I haven't bothered to look in on her. On any of them. All this time.

Now, to see her like this… "

"She's waiting for her son."

Gus shook his head. "Marie has daughters. Four of them. I ought to know, I paid for their weddings."

"He's coming today." Marie nodded, talking to herself. "He promised."

By that time, we were at the front door, and even though Gus stayed at my side, I refused to look his way or say another word to him. He knew better than to egg me on, too. We were passing into dangerous waters. If I needed any more proof, it came when Goon #1 stepped between me and the door.

It wasn't like I didn't expect some kind of challenge. In spite of the fact that I'd flashed my driver's license in front of the security camera at the gate and that I had an appointment, I knew these guys were paid to look after Rudy's welfare. That included making sure that not just anyone got in to see him.

I understood all that, and I actually might have gritted my teeth and endured it if Goon #2 hadn't been staring at my chest. He was a huge guy with a long, black ponytail and, at exactly the spot where his Ray-Bans ended, a scar that cut across his left cheek. It was pink and glossy. Recent. Ugly.

He slipped off his sunglasses, winked at his sidekick and handed him his weapon. "Gonnahave to pat you down." He did a slow inventory, from the tips of my pinkslingbacks , up my legs, and across my hips. Apparently, he wasn't the type who concerned himself about looks because he never got as far as my face. He stopped at boob level. "Mr.Scarpetti's orders."

"Forget it, scumbag." Marie batted his hand away. "She's with me."

It was apparent that neither of these guys was used to resistance. Especially not from little Marie, While they hemmed and hawed and wondered how to handle the boss's aunt, Marie charged past them and to the door. Since she was still clinging to me like static to a linen skirt, I got dragged along and into the house.

Did I say house?

That place was spectacular enough to send the Queer Eye guys into waves of rapture.

I took a couple seconds to check out the three-story entryway with its floor-to-ceiling window and the winding staircase directly in front of us. I had just started in on the wall (lit from behind, of course) that featured a display of art-glass sculptures when a man in a gray suit appeared in a doorway to my right.

He introduced himself asTeoConigliaro , and at the same time he gently but expertly plucked Marie's hand from my sleeve and led her away, he informed me that Mr.Scarpetti would see me now.

I was left alone outside a closed door.

Well, not precisely alone.

"You ready, kid?" Gus asked.

"I could ask you the same thing. You were surprised by how much Marie has changed. And you haven't seen your son in a long time."