For Love of Livvy
Authors: J. M. Griffin
Lachesis Publishing
www.lachesispublishing.com
Copyright ©2009 by J.M. Griffin
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All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing, is an infringement of the copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The front door knocker rapped twice after the door bell rang. I hustled from the rear deck of the gargantuan house to answer the summons. Someone seemed impatient, and I was curious as to who it was. My watch read just after eight o’ clock. I swung the heavy door open to find my prospective visitor absent.
It was so quiet, the town ghostly in its seemingly deserted state. Sundays were always lazy days in Scituate, once church was over. With a glance up and down the street of the small historic Rhode Island village, neat colonial homes stretched along the sides of the road in both directions. No one came into view.
On the doorstep, a package addressed to my recently deceased Aunt Livvy sat wrapped in brown paper. Again, I gawked up and down the street, but only empty sidewalks and barren roadway appeared in the waning light. The idea of a jaunt along the main drag entered my mind. I figured it would be senseless since the street was visible for about two hundred yards in either direction. Whoever had left the package was gone, long gone.
An eternity passed, or so it seemed, while my gaze locked onto the square, little box. Reluctant to touch it, I decided to call the local fire company to come take a gander. Call me paranoid, but as a criminal justice instructor, a recent audit of a class on bomb components remained fresh in my mind.
I quickly stepped to the living room and grabbed the phone. I dialed the private number of the fire station up the street. A grunt came across the phone line that could only be Bill MacNert.
"Hey Nerd, its Vinnie,” I said. “A package was just left on my doorstep, could you come down and check it out for me?"
"Sure, you got a secret admirer or somethin'?” He cackled, as only senior men can.
"Not likely, but you never know. This package is addressed to Lavinia Ciano, not Lavinia Esposito and is wrapped in brown paper. Nobody's here to accompany this little surprise either."
"I'll be right down, Vinnie, don't touch it.” He warned.
"Okay."
Anxious, I paced back and forth across gleaming hard wood floors in the spacious living room of my newly acquired colonial. My fingernails tapped the enamel on my teeth as I wandered to and fro. As irrational as it seemed, I finally leaned against the door jamb inside the entry to wait for MacNert to arrive.
It wasn't long before the limber old guy came into view as he hot footed down the street with a stethoscope in his hand. This particular piece of equipment wasn't quite what I'd expected, but then he wasn't a bomb expert either.
When he arrived on the doorstep slightly out of breath, he glanced at the parcel, and then turned toward me.
"This was just delivered, you say?” MacNert squinted toward me with wizened brown eyes that twinkled all the time. It was as though there was a private joke going on inside his head.
"Yeah, someone knocked on the door, and when I got here to answer, there was nobody around. It didn't seem prudent to mess with it, so I called you."
"You just finished that bomb class, eh?” He chuckled and then sobered quickly. Since 9/11, everyone took stuff like this with a serious attitude. While he chuckled, I knew MacNert was no different.
The stethoscope ends plugged into his ears, Bill laid its diaphragm on top of the package. Removing it, he gingerly set it against the sides and listened again. I didn't make a sound as he stood and glanced up.
"There's no tickin’ but that doesn't mean it's not an explosive. You should probably call the state police barracks up the road. Have them send their bomb guys down for a lookie see, just to be on the safe side."
"Geez, I hate to do that. I'll feel stupid if it's a joke,” I whined.
"It's up to you, but if you were nervous enough to call me, then you should call them. It's just my opinion, Vin.” He stepped over the box and wandered into the entryway. “Got anythin’ to eat? Wifey's out of town visitin’ her sister and I'm starved."
Bill didn't seem over concerned, but then again, he hadn't recently taken a bomb class either. My eyes never left the box as I answered him. “There's food in the fridge, help yourself."
I'd known the homely man and his family for years and respected his opinion. Tapping my fingers against my lips, I called after him, “You're right. I'll ring the state police now, but stick around okay?"
Unwilling to be nailed as over-dramatic by the staties, I reluctantly punched in the numbers. It was bad enough that the local cops had bugged the shit out of me for the first month after Aunt Livvy's death. They still stopped by now and then, annoying me even more with stupid questions. Questions to which I had no answers.
After the trooper covering the desk answered, I explained what I'd found on the doorstep. He seemed unconcerned until I mentioned my name and address, and then he stated someone would be down momentarily. The swift change in his manner piqued my curiosity. I wondered why he'd suddenly capitulated when his initial response had been of disinterest.
In the living room, I paced while awaiting the arrival of the state police. Within minutes a sleek, grey Crown Victoria pulled up to the curb out front and a tall, lean trooper got out. Broad shouldered and well built, he walked with assurance and a certain amount of swagger. I stepped into the open door entry and watched him saunter through the front gate onto the walkway. He stared at the package and then at me.
"Did you call about this box, ma'am?” Keen hazel green eyes traveled over my face and down my body.
Craggy features, sculpted from granite, faced me and I felt my blood run hot as the breath caught in my throat.
What was this about?
I gazed at him admiring the neat package wrapped in the trim uniform.
"I did. Bill MacNert from the fire station thought it would be a good idea since it was mysteriously left on the doorstep. He checked to see if it was ticking, but it isn't."
"Are you Lavinia Ciano?” The trooper's glance strayed from the name on the wrapper to me as his eyes showed a glint of humor and his mouth twitched.
Could that humor be over the name? I wondered, as I said, “No, my name is Esposito. Livvy was my aunt.” Our eyes held and my heart pounded. I licked my parched lips and then glanced away.
An oversized van idled up behind the patrol car and the trooper glanced back. Two men stepped from the vehicle dressed in heavy gear and acknowledged him. He turned to the lead man, mumbled a few words and then stared at me again. If this was an action film, I would have expected Bruce Willis to jump out of the truck announcing he was about to kick someone's ass. This wasn't an action film, but a real life situation instead.
The two guys angled through the front gate and hitched their gear as they hauled a peculiar looking lidded barrel toward the front door. By this time, a few neighbors had taken notice of the activities. Several people straggled along the sidewalk across the street to watch.
You'd think it was a freakin’ sideshow
. I smiled and waved. Nobody responded, they just continued to gawk. A little excitement for them on an otherwise dull Sunday, I guessed. The trooper stood aside and watched the crowd, but said nothing.
The overdressed bomb guys corralled the box between them. With delicate finesse they lifted and stowed it into the metal container, loaded it into the truck and drove off. I stared in disbelief. Hell, I wanted to know what was in the package. I had a right to know, didn't I?
The trooper turned to leave and I stepped forward.
"Uh, I'd like to know what's in the box, if it's not too much to ask.” My hand snuck up to my hip as my cocky Italian attitude slid into place.
Tall and Curious stiffened at my tone and turned to stare at me. It seemed he wasn't used to being spoken to in this manner, which wasn't any big surprise. Women tend to respond differently to men in uniform, especially a man such as this luscious creature. Well, not this chick. I teach guys like him all year long and the “I'm so wonderful” thing gets old fast.
"I'll be sure to let you know, Miss Esposito. If we have any questions, you'll hear from us right away."
I gawked a moment and my eyes narrowed. His opened wide in contrast and he waited, his body tense. Maybe he thought I'd pitch myself off the steps onto his perfectly toned frame and pummel the daylights out of him or something. It was a thought, but I really wanted to know what was in the package. Besides, his muscles were bigger than mine.
In an effort to change tactics rather than be handcuffed and dragged off to jail, I smiled and spoke in as nice a manner as I could muster.
"I'd appreciate any information you could give me officer, since the package was left in such an alarming way. Should I call headquarters tomorrow?"
His look narrowed. I suspected he was unsure of where this was headed. There was a moment's hesitation before he answered the question.
"Sure, that would be a good idea.” He gave a nod of the stiff brimmed campaign hat that covered cropped brown hair.
"All right then. I'll call the colonel first thing.” My voice remained light and sweet, and the smile was charming, at least I hoped it was.
The colonel runs a strict police force and is a tough disciplinarian with an intense dislike for any impropriety, implied or otherwise. I'd gleaned that much from the cops in my criminal justice classes.
