Finders Keepers Losers Die (5 page)

We sat on the couch and bent our heads
together. It took an hour and two more cappuccinos before we knew
everything we ever wanted to know about cameras, listening and
recording devices, night-vision equipment and other paraphernalia
PIs couldn't do without. We then moved to the computer and found an
internet chat room on everything detective related. We asked a
couple of weirdos a couple of questions. They had to be weirdos—who
else would get online and chat about that stuff for
Christsakes?

When we logged off, she turned to me and
said, "You're working on a case, aren't you?"

Uh-oh, the jig was up. "Will said I could
help—"

"I doubt it. Tell me the truth, Cat." Boy,
could she look scary when she glared like that. The Spanish
Inquisition could learn a few things from her.

"Okay. I'll tell you. But you have to
promise not to tell Will."

She lifted one shoulder. "We don't keep in
touch, so I suppose that won't be a problem."

"Okay. This woman, Roberta Scarletti, came
into the office today. Will wasn't there so I spoke to her." I told
her about Roberta's jewelry, the ex-husband and how I needed to bug
his house. "If I can overhear Lou talking to—"

"Lou Scarletti?" Mom dropped the book. "Did
you say
Lou
Scarletti? Oh my God."

CHAPTER 3

I picked the book up and handed it to Mom.
"Yes. Do you know him? Because the name sounds familiar."

She nodded. "I know the name too." She
rubbed her jaw and I had to prompt her to continue. "Your father
put him away just before he left the police force."

"Dad? Really? For the bank robbery?"

"Yes. But the case bothered him and for a
while, before he quit and started the agency. He couldn't let it
go."

"Do you remember why?"

She frowned. "No, it was all so long ago.
Maybe he thought Lou was innocent."

After meeting Lou I was pretty sure he was
guilty of
something
. "I doubt that's it."

"Maybe there were others involved but they
were never caught." She shrugged. "Whatever it was, it bothered
your father. But then he started the agency and I suppose he got
too busy to worry about criminals from his old life. He
concentrated more on white collar crime. Like Will does now, I
believe."

"Yeah. He does."

I gave Mom a hug and promised to come round
for dinner that night.

"Cat? I hope you find the jewels. But be
careful. If at any time you think you're in danger, I want you to
go to Will or Carl."

I think that was her way of saying she
approved of me going behind Will's back to help Roberta.

On the drive to Lou's apartment, I thought
about what she had said. At least she'd solved the mystery of where
I'd heard Lou Scarletti's name before. I doubt Dad had ever
mentioned the case to me. I was the last person he'd have a
conversation about work with. Make that
any
kind of
conversation. I must have overheard him and Mom talking and
something he'd said back then penetrated my sixteen-year-old brain
because the Scarletti name had stuck.

Twenty minutes later I was sitting around
the corner from that same man's apartment in my Civic, warring with
myself. The adventurous spirit in me wanted to go inside and get
the job done. The chicken shit in me just wanted to sink down into
the seat and drive back to Mom's and her cozy living room.

Finally, after weighing up the pros and
cons, I decided I had to do it. Giving in just wasn't my style.
Besides, Lou was out for the day so I'd be fine. Roberta told me he
always drove to his mother's on Wednesdays to do odd jobs around
the house and bum a decent meal.

With a loud exhalation of breath, I checked
that I had everything I needed and headed to his apartment.

I tried convincing myself along the way that
I had to do this, for Roberta as well as myself, but the little
devil on my shoulder sniggered and sang, "You're gonna get caught,
nya nya nya nya nya nya."

I had a sickening feeling it was right.

***

Breaking into homes can be messy. Especially
second-floor apartments. The boxy, boring brick building where Lou
Scarletti lived housed four apartments, two on the bottom and two
on the top. Lou lived in number four.

Considering cops take a dim view of breaking
and entering, I decided to get inside another way. Only I had no
idea how.

I buzzed and, as expected, no one answered.
I tried the building's front door but it was locked so I sat on a
bench seat in the small courtyard at the front and waited for
someone to go in or come out. I felt a little exposed, and if Lou
suddenly came home, I'd have to duck behind a shrub. Makeup and a
change of clothes wouldn't be enough now. He knew me. A wig would
have been better. Live and learn.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman parked her
car in one of the residents' spaces at the side of the building.
She hauled out six shopping bags from the trunk, dropping her keys
as she tried to close it with her elbow.

I trotted over. "Let me help." I took the
two heaviest bags.

"Oh, how nice of you. Thanks," she said with
a smile. She was fifty-something and wore blue-framed glasses, a
knee-length navy skirt and a white blouse. Her short gray hair
curled haphazardly over her forehead and ears and her makeup was
non-existent. She had an open, friendly face. I like friendly.
After The Grotto it was nice to deal with someone who didn't look
like they wanted to kill me.

I followed her to the front door and watched
her unlock it, barely breathing.

"Are you visiting someone?" she asked.

"Lou, but he's not home. I called him on his
cell and he told me to wait till he gets here." I took a gamble
that the neighbor didn't know Lou visited his mother on Wednesdays.
Since he hadn't lived there long and he didn't seem like the
sociable sort, especially when the neighbors weren't poker-playing
ex-cons, she probably wasn't familiar with his routine.

"In that case you might as well come in."
She pushed the door open and I followed her into the narrow
carpeted foyer. "Are you a friend? Because you're not his
girlfriend. I met her." She wrinkled her nose. "I have to say, I
don't particularly like her. She's rude. Never says hello, always
in a rush to leave." She stopped abruptly and chewed her lip.
"Sorry. You probably know her."

"It's okay. We don't like her either. We
preferred his wife, Roberta, but hey, you can't tell family what to
do with their love life."

"Oh, you're related?"

"Cousin."

She peered over her glasses at me. "You
don't look like Lou."

"I'm only half-Italian. I take after my
father's side, fair-skinned, blue-eyed Irish Catholics." It wasn't
a complete lie. My father had been blond before he lost all his
hair.

She brightened. "Well, since you're family,
I suppose I could let you into his apartment." She started up the
stairs. "You might as well wait inside. I'm sure he wouldn't
mind."

I couldn't believe my dumb luck. "You have a
key?"

She nodded. "I didn't want to say anything
in case you were going to rob him, but you don't look like a
thief."

Some people are too gullible to be trusted.
I made a mental note to take back my spare key from old Mrs.
Krenski next door.

"I'm Sylvia, by the way," I said.

She introduced herself as Angela. I carried
the bags into her kitchen and started to unpack them. Angela
removed a single key hanging from one of the hooks lined up beside
the microwave and handed it to me.

I thanked her and she made me promise to
tell Lou he was welcome to drop in any time, especially if he
brought more of his "nice family" around.

Moments later, I closed Lou's front door
behind me. I leaned against it and blew out a huge sigh.
Butterflies flapped around in my stomach like they used to in my
acting days. But I'd never acted in front of the camera as
brilliantly as I did just now. Move over Nicole Kidman, the Oscar
goes to Cat Sinclair for her starring role in
I can't believe I
just lied my way into someone's home
. Dad would have another
stroke if he was watching me. Cops (even ex ones) take a dim view
of that sort of thing.

I slipped the key into my jeans pocket and
tiptoed around the apartment. It was a similar floor plan to my
place—one bedroom, tiny bathroom, living room, kitchenette with
breakfast bar. No space for a dining table, just a coffee table, TV
and a lumpy brown velour couch. Brown velour pretty much summed up
Lou's décor. Very masculine and
blech
. Not a hint of
Valerie, his girlfriend. Not for the first time, I wondered why
they didn't live together. It would be logical since he spent a lot
of his time at her place and he didn't have much money after being
locked up for over a decade.

I taped the bugging device to the underside
of the coffee table because it was the most central place, and
started searching for the jewelry box. From what Roberta had told
me, I was looking for a rectangular, dark wood box with
mother-of-pearl inlaid in a geometric pattern on the lid.

Lucky for me, there aren't many hiding
places in an apartment the size of a shoebox. I checked the
cupboards and drawers, under the bed, in the freezer, and the
toilet cistern. Nothing. No jewelry box, no jewelry. Just a
collection of dust bunnies, a laptop computer bag and a gun.

I gave the dust and the gun a wide berth and
lifted the bag out of the closet. Maybe the computer had some
information stored on the hard drive I could use, like the number
to a safety deposit box. I started to unzip the bag when I heard a
noise at the front door.

My heart lurched. Lou was back early!
FUCK.

I returned the bag and stepped into the dark
closet and closed the door. I hid among the clothes, mostly black
shirts and pants, and tried not to breathe in Lou's distinctive
body odor. Not so hard considering I could only manage shallow
gasps in my fear.

I screwed up my eyes and prayed to all the
gods I could think of that he'd leave straight away and didn't want
to change clothes.

My heart thumped so loudly in my chest I
almost didn't hear the footsteps outside the closet until the door
slid open. A flashlight beam scanned the closet floor. I sank into
the corner.

What the…? Why was Lou using a flashlight in
his own closet? Sure, the back was so dark you'd think it was
night, but if it were my closet, I could be blindfolded and still
put my finger on anything. Or I'd use the light switch.

Clear thoughts gave way to a fresh rise of
panic as the beam inched closer to my hiding place. I wanted to
swipe away the beads of sweat across my top lip but I didn't dare
move a muscle. Movement might draw the robber's attention—I was
pretty sure it wasn't Lou now—to the pair of women's sneakers among
the men's loafers.

The beam settled on the toe of my sneaker
and stopped. So did my heart.

But my brain didn't. Instead of freezing
with fear, it hurtled so far ahead, I'd already imagined my
funeral. Forcing myself to focus, I tried to think of ways to get
out of the closet and Lou's apartment with my health intact. The
most feasible was to kick the flashlight out of the robber's hand
and make a run for it while he was distracted.

On second thought, that wasn't very fool
proof. I was five foot three for Christ sakes! What if he wasn't
knocked off balance? What if he tackled me, held me down and…?
Gulp
.

The flashlight inched along my shoe and up
my leg. Okay, I had no other option. I screwed up my fists and
prepared to get physical.

A knock at the front door saved the robber
from the humiliation of being defeated in combat by a pint-sized
female. The flashlight went out. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then there was another knock and I heard the front door open. I'd
forgotten to lock it. No wonder every Tom, Dick and robber was
letting themselves in.

"Yoohoo, Sylvia!" Angela. Jeez, didn't she
have anything better to do?

Maybe if I stayed hidden she'd go away.

But she must know I hadn't left the
apartment since the door was unlocked. Besides, the robber knew
where I was hiding. He'd seen my shoes. If Angela left, I'd be at
his mercy.

I was considering my options when the robber
leapt into the closet next to me. We were separated by a black
dinner jacket and a sports coat. I couldn't see his face but from
his boots, it was definitely a man. With big feet.

"I won't tell if you won't," he
whispered.

My breath caught. Oh, Christ. As I saw it, I
had only one avenue of escape. Past him.

I let out my breath slowly. "If you let me
go, I'll get us both out of this," I said.

A hand pushed the jackets to the side and I
could just make out a scar over one eye in the dim light.

Scarface.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out in
my relief.

"I could ask you the same question."

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Lou asked
me round for a…you know."

"Nice try, Sweetheart, but you're not a
hooker or a stripper or his girlfriend."

Humph
. I could look like a hooker if
I wanted to. "How do you know?"

"I just do."

"Sylvia? Are you in here?" Angela's voice
sounded closer, just outside the bedroom.

I swore softly and pushed past the jackets
and Scarface. My rear brushed against him and I paused mid-step as
heat shot through me, warming places that hadn't been warmed in a
while.

He caught my arm. "Do we have a deal?" he
whispered. He was so close his breath brushed my forehead.

"Deal."

He let go and I stepped into the bedroom. I
headed for the living room, yawned and stretched. "Oh hi, I was
sound asleep."

"Oh, I'm sorry to wake you," Angela said, "I
was just wondering if you wanted to wait at my place. I've just put
a pot of coffee on."