J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 06 - Death Gone Awry (8 page)

Two glasses of wine later, I’d processed the last paper written by a cop in my class. He’d done an excellent job of explaining his theory and received an ‘A’ for his work. The newbie would make a great detective.

I leaned back in the office chair and gazed out the side window. It was strange to have Aaron gone. Would he have taken the same tack as Marcus had where my continual misadventures were concerned? Would he have sided with Marcus by saying a person’s career could only tolerate so much drama and publicity?

As far as I knew, Marcus hadn’t been in the news where my actions were concerned, but his connection to me hadn’t been unnoticed by those above him or by those on a political level. Even I had been subjected to remarks by other troopers when they’d stopped me for speeding, but I never paid much attention to them.

Had I overreacted? Self-doubt crawled over me, stretching along my nerves and chilling my heart.

You could have avoided this confrontation
. My internal voice nagged.
Marcus can only do so much when you take on issues that shouldn’t concern you.

“Oh, do shut up,” I mumbled and shut down the computer. Dishes needed to be washed, laundry sorted, and scads of other neglected chores awaited my attention.

The laundry washed, the dryer dried, I vacuumed, swept, and polished until the house sparkled. Yeah, I’d let things go these past few days, but did that make me bad? Not at all, just the keeper of a disorderly residence. I kept working until a light tap on the door was followed by Lola’s voice. “Vinnie, we need to talk.”

“Not tonight,” I said.

“It’s important, and I don’t want to talk through the door, open up.”

With a roll of my eyes and a sigh, I uttered, “Fine.” Lola came in and closed the door behind her.

“Tim Slaggard came by a while ago,” Lola said and tossed her jacket onto the back of a chair.

I said nothing.

Her gaze took in my bedraggled appearance and she asked, “What the hell is going on? You’re a wreck.”

“Gee, thanks.” I said with a smile. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all. Come into the living room, I’ll pour the wine.”

“S-sure.” Lola followed me and nestled comfortably into her favorite wing-back chair.

“Red or white?” I asked.

“Red.”

In the kitchen, I pulled two bottles of wine from the fridge and grabbed two wine glasses on my way back to the living room.

The fireplace warmed the room, and Lola awaited libation.

She sipped the burgundy wine and smiled in appreciation of its bouquet. “Yummy, did you get this from Verde Vineyards?”

I nodded and slouched onto the sofa.

“Fess up, c’mon,” Lola urged.

“Nothing to tell really, other than a former student who’s an undercover cop approached me with a warning to stay away from Sarducci, the students were out of control during class, and Marcus cussed me out. Other than that, my life has been rosy.”

Drawing to the edge of her seat, Lola remarked, “I guess you’ve had a tough day. Care to enlighten me?”

“Not really. I’m all set with the first two issues, but the Marcus thing is going to take some thought, and distance from him. Unfortunately, we’re going to see
La Familia
this weekend.”

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

I nodded. “What did Slaggard want?”

Lola looked thoughtful for a moment. “It was odd, really. He said he ran into you at the market and was concerned. Now you’ve told me how your day went, I understand. What I can’t figure out is why he came to me.”

“Maybe he realizes how close we are. If nothing else, it’s become clear that others know a whole lot more, or think they do, about me and my life. They make judgments without knowing the whole story, and don’t even ask for clarification, they simply judge. Figure that one out.”

“I take it that Marcus raved like a madman about your lifestyle, then?”

On a sigh, I said, “That about covers it. I put his career in jeopardy over my antics.”

“He said that? Holy shit.”

“I wanted to toss his ass into the Providence River, but instead, I told him the conversation was over and walked away.”

“You never walk away.” Lola stared at me. “What he said really hurt you, Vin.” Lola reached for her wine and said, “Men can be real jerks.”

Her remark made me smile, which brought on one of her Julia smiles. I glanced at her near-empty glass and asked, “Refill?”

“Sure, why not.”

I poured, she drank, but I didn’t. There’d be no teaching class with a hangover, and I’d already had too much to drink. I stretched out on the sofa, hauled an afghan from the back of it onto my lap and plucked at an errant string of yarn.

I gave Lola a quick glance and said, “I’m aware that my curiosity takes over at the worst of times. I have a need to know what’s going on when life runs amuck, and that’s not conducive to a calm lifestyle. Changing the way I live isn’t on my agenda, either. I don’t think I’d be happy if I did so, anyway. All cops have type-A personalities, where they think they’re the boss, and I don’t fit that mold, Lola, and I’ll be damned if I try.”

“Did Marcus say he wanted you to change?”

“Not directly, he implied it by commenting on my actions, which has become the subject he mentions every time we see each other. A sense of dread comes over me and that’s no way to have a relationship.”

“My brother is divorced because his wife couldn’t take the pressure of living with a cop. Cynthia’s a good person, but she’s independent, just as you are. Bobby thought he could change her, but it didn’t work out that way.”

“Maybe we can settle our differences, if he’d take my thoughts into consideration. I’m sure he and I will have this discussion again, or one similar. He really pissed me off, I can tell you that.”

Her laughter bubbled over as she said, “I can only imagine.”

Chapter 8

A visit to my parents, a chat with Nonni, my Italian grandmother, and a stop at the market for a container of coffee, rounded out my Saturday. I’d gotten home in time to change for my evening out with Marcus, and was finishing my make-up just as he pulled into the driveway.

A wrap slung across my shoulders, I met Marcus at the door as Monica glided, or seemed to, down the rear staircase. She glanced at Marcus and smiled, then looked at me and said, “The workmen are nearly finished at my place. You won’t mind if I stay a while longer, will you?”

Surprised at the workmen’s efficiency, I said, “That’s fine. I had thought you’d be here longer than just a week.”

“Great, thanks, Vinnie.” Monica smiled, nodded at Marcus and went back up the stairs.

“She’s an interesting sort,” Marcus remarked with raised brows.

I agreed. Monica dressed in clothing that most folks would call eclectic. Some would say her attire was downright weird, but I thought she had style. Tonight she wore a shimmering ruby red turban on her head like a crown, long locks of her hair sprouted out from underneath it, giving her hair a broomstick appearance. Chunky, silver-laden jewelry adorned her neck and wrists, and her vibrant, flashy layered dress sparkled with tiny stones embedded in the material. Satin slippers glimmered with the same delightful stones set in waves of color.

“Are you referring to her attire or her manner?” I said as I slid into the front seat of his car.

“Both, I think. Did you see the way she came down the stairs? She didn’t seem to touch the steps, but floated instead.” He gave a slight shiver and said, “Creepy.”

“Monica is a warm, friendly, and kind person, who has her own sense of being. I applaud her for that.”

“You would,” he mumbled.

I snapped a quick glance in his direction and then turned away.

“I stopped by my mother’s this morning. Nonni was there, and she sends her regards,” I offered, figuring I was on neutral ground. All I got in return was a raised eyebrow. His attitude did not signal a fun-filled evening.

We’d reached Coachman’s Restaurant on the outskirts of Providence and were shown to a table. I happened to glance at the diners in close proximity to us. At a table not too distant, I noticed Frankie Tomatoes and his wife chatting with another couple.

“Do you plan to sit down any time soon, Vin?” Marcus asked as his gaze followed mine.

I pulled my stare away from the foursome, slid into my seat, and opened the menu. More like a book, than a menu, I browsed the offerings. Over the top edge of it, I caught sight of Marcus’s glare. Oh, boy.

“The salmon looks delicious, don’t you think?” I asked in avoidance of what could easily grow into a full-blown disagreement over nothing.

“Mmm,” Marcus said and perused the menu more thoroughly.

The waiter brought drinks before taking our orders. It was then that I leaned back and stared at my date, whose face had stiffened, except for the muscle pulsing along his jaw.

My breath caught in my throat when I turned slightly to follow his gaze. Mrs. Sarducci was weaving her way through the maze of tables, followed by her husband, and appeared to be on her way to speak with us. I hoped not, but when she waggled her fingertips in my direction and smiled, my hopes were dashed to hell.

“Oh, Lavinia, I saw you arrive and wanted to tell you how much I adore your Aunt Josephine. She’s such an asset to our growing parish.” The woman fawned effusively over her association with Aunt Jo and the preacher. What the hell else could go wrong tonight? It wasn’t long before I found out.

Frankie edged past his wife with a cursory nod in our direction. “You look well after your experience saving the preacher. Good of you to rescue him, Ms. Esposito.” Frankie’s words said one thing, his eyes said another. Yikes. “How are Gino and Theresa doing these days? I haven’t seen them in ages.”

It was my turn to stiffen, especially when I caught a scorching glare from Marcus.

“I wasn’t aware you knew my parents. They’re fine, thanks for asking.”

“Good, good, glad to hear it. You tell ’em I send my best. In the summer, I’ll bring them some tomatoes.” With a nod, he placed his hand on his wife’s waist, urged her away from us and out the door. The other couple went along with them.

I waited for the major blowout that would descend any second. When I opened my mouth to speak, Marcus said, “Don’t.”

Okay, then. The argument would take place later. Our meal arrived and we ate in silence. We left for the play without a word to one another.

No sooner had we entered traffic, Marcus turned and remarked, “I realized long ago that your parents were involved with the mob. No matter how hard you tried to cover up for them, Lavinia, I figured they were hip-deep in that world.” He shook his head, clamped his lips tight, and drove as if hellhounds were closing in on the back bumper.

My mouth hung open, guppy-like I gasped for air and defensively argued, “My parents are not involved with the mob. They never were, and will never be part of that lifestyle. Don’t start that conversation with me, Marcus.”

Marcus snorted. “It’s really sad that you can’t be truthful. But then, it’s all about you protecting family, isn’t it?”

I said nothing, adjusted my wrap and tucked my purse under my arm. I realized how tired I was of his attitude, allegations, and snarky comments. Geez, Louise.

Marcus parked a block from the theater, which was as close as he could get, and slammed the door when he left the car. In a snit, I followed suit, eliminating his having to open it and wait for me to step onto the sidewalk.

Angrily, we strode toward the theater and waited underneath the billboard’s flashing lights that announced the play, behind a crowd who also planned to watch the well-reviewed musical. A step ahead of Marcus, I entered the foyer and saw the Sarduccis. Shit, just what I needed to fuel an already explosive situation.

We found the row of seats we’d been assigned, when I heard, “Oh, Lavinia, I didn’t realize you and your date were attending this play, how wonderful. We’ll all get a drink together at intermission.”

Horrified, I turned to my left and gaped at the Sarduccis. I nodded and smiled, while wanting to throw up over what would certainly be a war with Marcus, and took my seat. Marcus glanced past me, noticed the mafia couple, and grimaced. His icy attitude was enough for me to tighten my wrap closer around me and hope for the best.

From across the aisle, someone hailed Marcus. At the same time we looked over, one of his trooper buddies waved and pointed to the Sarduccis with a headshake. Marcus turned away, faced the stage, and murmured, “This evening keeps getting better and better.”

My nerves stretched taught as a fine-tuned violin string would and I said nothing as the curtains drew back.

Music played, performers acted, sang, and danced, and intermission arrived. Worried over what Frankie had said concerning my parents and the mob, the fun of what should have been a wonderful evening was gone. I couldn’t have recalled the onstage vista before me. The Sarduccis, a few seats away in the row behind us, joined the queue of people wanting to reach the bar. Mrs. Sarducci called to me over her shoulder, “We’ll meet you at the bar.”

A smile forced its way to my lips and I dipped my head a tad as if I agreed with her. No way in a light-year of Sundays would that happen. The crowd ahead moved snail-like along the aisles, converged on the exit doors, and flowed like lava into the foyer. Marcus and I had no view of the Sarduccis and I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe we wouldn’t have to make nice with them. If we did, it would fuel the fire already burning in Marcus.

My thoughts turned to whether my parents were involved with the mob. I’d always wondered about my father, but I’d never give credence to my mother’s involvement. She detested the likes of the Sarduccis, and their kind. I’d found that to be true after mobster Tony Jabroni showed up at my parent’s home on a cold moon dead night last winter.

Idly we made our way down the steps into the lobby, where the bar had been set up for drinks. “Would you care to find your friends, Lavinia?” Marcus asked coldly.

“Not especially, though I’ve had enough of your attitude tonight, Marcus,” I answered in as cold a voice as his, and turned toward the exit without reminding him the Sarduccis weren’t my friends. He wouldn’t have believed me anyway.