J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 06 - Death Gone Awry (2 page)

We arrived at the house and the patrolman escorted me inside. I’d opened the front entry door just as Aaron was pulling into the driveway. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved it wasn’t Marcus, but it was a safe bet that Aaron would knock on my backdoor within seconds. Sometimes it’s good to be right. Aaron is a calmer sort of guy than Marcus, especially when it comes to the mishaps that constantly occur in my life.

The officer and I heard a rap on the kitchen door as we made our way into the room. I swung the door open. Aaron stood in the hallway with a look of concern on his handsome face. Stepping aside to let him in, I left the two men together while I went in search of dry clothing. I could hear their muffled voices and wondered what they were discussing.

I peeled off my sopping wet clothes and left them to puddle on the floor while I donned a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt over fresh undies. I tossed the mess into the washer on my way back to the kitchen.

Aaron gazed at me in surprise. “You saved a man who had drowned?”

I glanced at the cop and then nodded.

The cop stepped forward, his handy notepad at the ready.

“So you didn’t see what happened?” he asked again.

“No, I didn’t. I thought we covered that ground before.” I pulled my long, wild and curly hair back and applied a clip to hold it away from my face.

“And you’re sure no one was around?” the officer asked.

“I didn’t look.”

“Why not? It’s reasonable to think you would at least glance around.”

What the hell? Why was I being grilled like a suspect? My Italian attitude settled in place as I said with a slanted look, “Well, I didn’t. I heard the splash and went toward the water. I saw the floater and felt it was more important to haul his ass to shore.”

With a cool stare and a nod, the patrolman scribbled notes. I watched and wondered what he jotted down. He’d never tell me, so it was useless to ask.

“What were you doing there? You never said.”

“Visiting my aunt.”

His brows hiked a tad, his eyes widened, and an odd look crossed his face. He waited for me to enlarge upon the statement.

I didn’t explain since it was none of his business what went on between me and Aunt Livvy. I waited, too. For what? I don’t know.

“You visit your dead aunt?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” My hand landed on my hip. This man had started to fray my nerves.

Aaron, silent until now, glanced between me and the patrolman, and cleared his throat.

“Vinnie often goes to visit her aunt’s grave to clear debris from it. It’s a matter of respect, I’m sure you understand.” His pearly whites shined as he smiled with sincerity at the patrolman. Aaron was a hard act to follow so I remained silent.

“Of course. I didn’t mean, well, uh, okay, that about wraps it up.” The officer stammered while his face flushed scarlet. “If I have any other questions, I’ll be sure to contact you. Should you remember anything else, call me at this number.” He handed me a business card.

I glanced at the name. Harvard Bernard. Geesh, and I thought Lavinia was bad. Yikes. Did his friends call him Harvey or Bernie or Harvey Bernie? Ridiculous and immature, I know, but a smile started to tickle the corners of my mouth. Before I got into trouble over the name, I offered as sweet a smile as I could muster and thanked Officer Bernard for the ride.

I swung the door open when he’d followed me toward the front entry. Lola Trapezi, my best friend, stood on the doorstep, her hand raised to knock. She flew into the room like a whirlwind. I smiled when she stopped short. She grinned in return and then turned her famous Julia Roberts smile toward Officer Bernard.

Now, I’ve never seen a man who could resist that smile, not in all the years I had known Lola. Men melted like butter, and became downright foolish idiots when she offered up that smile. God knows why, but they did. This man was no different than the rest. He softened like putty in her hands, it was clear as day.

Officer Bernard stood in the doorway of my living room as though frozen in place, mesmerized by the petite, auburn haired creature with a smile the size of New York City. Dark, nearly black, eyes and lots of freckles accompanied her smile, and a pert nose completed the whole affair. Lola was adorable, no doubt about it, and single.

She winked at me and asked Bernard, “And you are?”

“Patrolman Harvard Bernard, ma’am,” he said in awe.

With her hand extended, Lola chuckled and introduced herself. She invited him to stop by the Salt & Pepper Deli for a sandwich sometime. He merely nodded, unable to utter a coherent sentence.

After Harvey shook her hand, he sidled toward the door. I turned away and grinned after he’d gone. The man had no clue what had just hit him, the poor sot, and he’d caught Lola’s interest.

“Why was he here?” Lola demanded when the outer door closed and we’d entered the kitchen.

“It’s quite a story.” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Did you bring any scrumptious morsels from the deli? I needed sustenance before repeating my tale, yet again.”

Lola chuckled. “I brought goodies, but they’re in the car. I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”

She turned to scoot out the door, but Aaron waved her off and said he’d get them. Grinning, we watched him walk away.

“Okay, fess up. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I went to visit Aunt Livvy and straighten up her gravesite plants when I heard a splash, so I went to see what happened. This guy was floating face down in the water, and his head was bloody, too. Quite a gash, though I tried not to look. You know how blood affects me.” I shivered slightly.

Sliding onto the tall counter chair, Lola nodded   while I made fresh coffee. Aaron came in with the bag. Fragrant aromas of Italian cold cuts slathered with pickled hot peppers hit me when he set the sandwiches on plates. My mouth watered in anticipation.

“So, tell me what happened then,” Lola insisted.

I repeated the beginning of the story so Aaron wouldn’t ask a million questions. While we ate, I explained the rest of my stone-cold water adventure. We’d reached the pastry stage by the time I finished answering their questions. It hadn’t taken long, since I had no real information.

“Didn’t it seem weird that this guy happened to fall into the reservoir with a gash on his head? Nobody is allowed in the reservoir, it’s for drinking water,” Lola said.

The Scituate Reservoir is made up of several bodies of water, separated by roads, and other pieces of land in the northwestern region of Rhode Island. These ponds and lakes feed into one another within Scituate and surrounding areas. The City of Providence protects the land and water from being used for activities of any sort.

The area near the cemetery is lake-like. Gorgeous at any time of the year, the land is posted for no trespassing, no hunting or fishing—you get the idea. It’s a serene place that Aunt Livvy had always loved. The cemetery bordered part of the reservoir perimeter, not far from my house. After Livvy’s death, I was told she owned the last plot available with a water view.

“I agree, Vin,” Aaron said. “Are you sure you didn’t see or hear anyone?”

“I heard the splash and some branches snap.” I stopped and thought for a second. “The branches should have snapped first, right?”

“Should have, but didn’t,” Aaron agreed. “I think your victim had company.”

A chill skittered along my spine, followed by a shiver. If the person who inflicted the head wound on the floater had seen me, then my life was likely to take a turn for the worse any time now. Dang, it sucks when that happens.

“You may be right. My concern was to get the man out of the water and onto dry land,” I said thoughtfully. The implications of what had taken place brought on a round of questions that concerned the why, who, and other stuff.

“Wait until Marcus hears this one.” Lola’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she sipped her glass of soda.

“I can hardly wait,” I answered with a sense of dread. Marcus Richmond, a Rhode Island State Trooper, is my paramour. He’s a man who thinks I’m way too nosy for my own good, a man who loses his temper with me from time to time, but a man who cares for me all the same. Though, of late, he’d begun to complain over my lifestyle and antics.

Within the past few months, Marcus had become less patient with my nosiness and the problems that plagued me like a bad dream. While I’d brushed off his comments, I hadn’t appreciated them. After all, I had to put up with my father’s remarks, and that was no picnic either. I figured this might be one of Marcus’s temper-losing times. Hmmm.

Chapter 2

After Lola and Aaron left, the rear entry door banged open, followed by a knock on the kitchen door. I glanced at the clock and found it was later than I’d thought. The day had sped by. The knocking persisted until I answered the summons.

“Have I not taught you anything about asking ‘who is there?’” Marcus reprimanded me and brushed my cheek with a kiss.

“I know I should ask, but I don’t always think of it. Besides, I expected you to come by.”

His brows hiked a bit, he glanced at me. “You did? Why?”

Crap, he hadn’t heard of my afternoon excitement.

“I thought you would have heard by now.”

“Heard what?” His expression grew serious. He leaned on the counter waiting. From the look on his chiseled features and the way his hazel green eyes had narrowed, he probably thought it would be bad news.

As with most law enforcement officers, Marcus could wait with the best of them. He could out-wait me any day of the week. I got it over with and told him the story. Hell, he’d find out sooner or later anyhow.

“You say you revived this guy? He had a head injury?”

“Mmm, I did, and he does. I don’t think he got hurt from the fall into the water, though.”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“For the hundredth time, no, I didn’t see anyone other than the floater.” I chewed my lip a second and then asked, “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

Marcus shrugged and muttered something that sounded like, “Here we go again,” when the doorbell rang. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I went to see who it was.

What is this anyway, Grand Central Station?

With a sweet grin, Bill MacNert stood on the step. I moved aside to let him in. He hustled into the kitchen, rocking side to side like a listing ship, on bunion-laden feet.

“Got a report back on the fella that took a dip in the reservoir today. Thought you might like to know your CPR effort wasn’t wasted. He’s gonna be just fine and owes it all to you.”

“How is his injury?” I asked Bill.

“Took about ten stitches to close that wound. He’s gonna have one helluva headache, that’s for sure.” He snickered.

“Who is this guy, and where did he come from? Did he say how he ended up in the water?” I settled onto the stool after I’d poured fresh coffee for both men.

Bill sipped the brew, smacked his lips together, and said, “He’s from the City.”

That meant Providence. If you were from Cranston or Johnston, or any other Rhode Island town, it would be named, but if you were from Providence, it was referred to as the City. It’s purely a Rhode Island thing.

“Name of Tim Slaggard. He’s a preacher man from one of them there new-age church communities. You know them guys who need money to drive a Mercedes and live high off the hog while some little old lady is eating cat food after she’s given him her last damned dime?”

This seemed a sore subject for Bill. I wondered what caused his snippiness concerning the preacher. Let me say that I am a Roman Catholic, born and raised. A non-practicing Roman Catholic, but I’m still one all the same. My parents are Italian and are also Roman Catholic. My entire family is of the Roman Catholic faith, all but one aunt who strayed from Catholicism into the Episcopal Church. I didn’t consider it too far a stretch, but the family thought she had committed an almighty sin. I guess it’s all in how you perceive religion.

Believing is enough for me. Plain and simple as it seems, I try to stay away from discussions of faith, politics, other people’s money, and their kids.
Each to his own,
is my motto and I try to stick to it. Not so easy a task all the time, but I try nonetheless.

“How did you find out about his preacher status?” I asked Bill.

“He gave his information to the EMT on the rescue once he became coherent. I remembered his name from a newspaper article a while back. He’s no better’n them sinners he spouts off about.” With that, Bill harrumphed. He nestled back into the chair at the kitchen counter and held up his cup for more coffee.

Bill is a decent guy. His personality has a few wrinkles, but I figured he’d earned them over the years. I poured a fresh cup of coffee for him, and offered him the next to last pastry from Lola’s cache. Bill took one and Marcus ate the last one before asking for a coffee refill.

Curious about the man, I asked, “What was Tim Slaggard doing at the reservoir? Did he say?”

“Well, that’s the strange thing, he just said he slipped and fell into the water.” Bill shook his head slowly. “Don’t ya wonder if he really did? Nobody in their right mind would be out on the reservoir, especially not in this cold weather.”

A shrewd gleam entered Marcus’s eyes.

“You think he lied?” Marcus asked the elder man.

“It does seem odd that he’d be out there at this time of year. Folks come to take lots of photographs, especially them School of Design kids, but when the EMT asked if he was doing the photography thing, he said no.” Bill took a deep swallow of his coffee and clunked the cup onto the counter. “Vin, did you see anyone at all?”

Was no one listening? I had answered that question over and over until I wanted to scream. With a deep breath, I said, “No, just him in the water, with a bloody halo.”

“Strange, huh?” Bill wondered aloud.

“Indeed.” In an effort to quell the gossip that would run through town faster than wildfire in a wicked wind, I refrained from my theory of another person at the scene. If Bill thought there was a would-be murderer handy, he’d be the first one to tell all and scare residents out of their wits. A good man, our Bill, but an avid gossip monger, too.