J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 06 - Death Gone Awry (9 page)

“Where are you going?” Marcus asked softly as he closed a hand around my arm.

I stared into his chilly gaze and made my decision. “Nowhere with you. I’ll find my own ride home.” Wrenching my arm from his hold, I headed out the door, my cell phone clutched tightly in hand.

“Lavinia,” he called.

I kept walking. With my back to him, I raised a hand and waved a goodbye as I charged through the theater entrance.

A quick glance over my shoulder showed Marcus hadn’t followed me. Glad, but wondering why he hadn’t, I uttered a tsking noise and figured he thought I’d reconsider and return. The street light changed to green as I reached the center line of the intersection. A car raced forward, nearly clipped my butt, and I ran to safety while I yelled at the driver to no avail.

Several doors down and two blocks later, a much-favored coffeehouse came into view. I’d first discovered it a while back when I was teaching classes at the university’s city campus a few streets away. There’d been many a lunchtime spent drinking fresh brewed coffee while absorbing the colorful characters of the shop’s inhabitants.

Awaiting my ride, I ordered a latte and sat at a wall-side table in the crowded room to watch for Lola. Shopping at the Providence Place Mall, located not far from here when I’d contacted her, Lola agreed to pick me up shortly.

Moments later, Marcus cruised past, searching the sidewalks and businesses for a glimpse of me. I know I may have acted irrationally, but another round of arguments would have left us both saying things that should never be spoken aloud, and I’d wanted to avoid an all-out battle.

A man stepped through the doorway, gazed around the room, and caught my stare when I looked away from the huge shop window. He hesitated and then crossed the room, stopping at my table to stand like a partition between me and the room. I looked upward, my brain registering the width and breadth of the man, all the while thinking, hell, I wouldn’t want to have an altercation with him.

“You the Esposito woman?” the brute asked in a deep, gravelly voice. He was huge, and towered over me at what I guessed was well in excess of six feet tall. Thick, wavy, salt and pepper hair lay combed straight back from his face, as though he’d stood in front of a high-powered fan too long. The dark, keen glare of his eyeballs peered out from beneath heavy lids, and his nose was rosy, possibly from too much alcohol consumption. He was a heavyset man who’d been around for a long time and been part of a lifestyle that I shied away from thinking about.

Fear rose in my throat and I choked it back. “Who’s asking?” I answered with false bravado.

“Frankie Tomatoes sent me to take you wherever you want to go. Get up,” he ordered dispassionately. With one hand, he motioned me to rise, while his other hand rested in his overcoat pocket and moved suspiciously. Fleetingly, I wondered if a gun might also be in there, maybe even clasped in his hand with his index finger fidgeting on the trigger. Terror now gripped me when my internal voice piped up.
Do as he says. Frankie’s kind enough to look out for you.
Yeah, right.

I leaned aside and looked past him. Lola had pulled to a stop out front and waited at the curb, motor running. “My ride has just arrived, but please offer my heartfelt thanks to Mr. Sarducci,” I said in what, even to me, sounded like a strangled voice.

I’d risen when Lola stepped up and said, “Are you ready to go?”

How she’d parked and come inside so quickly left me grateful and nodding like a bobble-head doll. I sidled past the huge, cashmere coat covered gangster. Yeah, he made me nervous, damn nervous.

We reached the sidewalk and I checked the street in both directions, worried that some other terrifying character might approach. In a rush to safety, I yanked the door open and got into the mini Cooper.

We jetted into traffic and hit the highway connector moments later. Lola glanced in the mirror every so often, as though we might have someone tailing us.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem tense.”

Wide-eyed, Lola asked, “Do you know who that guy was?”

“No idea, though I will say he scared the bejeepers out of me. I’m so glad you arrived when you did.”

“He’s one of Sarducci’s fellow henchmen.”

“And you would know this how?” I asked.

“Don’t ask.” Lola pulled into a drive-thru coffee shop not far from home, ordered through the scratchy radio receiver, and drove forward to retrieve the coffee. We hit the street once again, headed for Scituate.

I had no idea what Lola’s thoughts were, all I could think of was Marcus, and his unhappiness with me. I wondered when our relationship had taken such a radical downturn.

What had become of the man who’d accepted my doings in the past? Was I truly out of control and jeopardizing his career? Could, or should, I try to change? I shook my head, gave a shiver at the mere thought of becoming the acquiescent woman the men in my life thought I should be, and stiffened my spine. With a heavy sigh, I leaned against the headrest as Lola’s small car zipped along.

One of Lola’s nicest traits was her ability to stay silent until I talked about what was bothering me. She never pushed hard, but would gently suggest that I ’fess up, and then wait to see if I did.

I said, “Marcus is extremely unhappy with me, my life is in the crapper, and I don’t know what’ll happen next. It seems he’s suddenly become quite judgmental.” I shrugged and looked out the window as tears threatened to fall. Blinking hard to allay the tears, I murmured, “Maybe he always was, and I didn’t notice.”

“Vin, you’re a wild card, we both know it. For the most part, you fly by the seat of your pants. I envy that about you. It’s unlikely you’ll ever change. You might mellow, but I don’t believe your life would be much different, no matter how hard you tried. As Monica would say, it’s just not in your cards. Altering your inner self to please another person would be similar to wearing clothes that are too small for you. They wouldn’t fit and you’d struggle against their restraint all the time.”

At last, someone who understood and made sense of it all. I snickered at the thought of wearing Lola’s clothing, and then chuckled aloud. “You’re right, of course. I’ve been second guessing myself these past few weeks as Marcus has become more adamant over my actions interfering with his livelihood. I wouldn’t want to damage his career, not by any means, but I refuse to be molded into something I’m incapable of being. Maybe he thinks it’s time for a change and is using my actions as a means to break off our relationship.” I sighed, rubbed my forehead and gathered my bag as Lola pulled to the curb in front of my house.

After Lola dropped me at home, I changed into jeans and a sweater, donned a hoodie sweatshirt over the outfit and headed toward the cemetery to visit Aunt Livvy.

The village side streets had some streetlights, though quite distant from one another, they cast shadows along the way. I’d shoved my mini Mag flashlight into my pocket and clicked it on when I reached the slope near Livvy’s grave. After the usual greeting, I ranted, paced, and ranted some more, until the overbearing load of pressure slid from my shoulders. Relieved, I bid her goodnight, said I missed her, and left Livvy’s gravesite behind. Slowly, I wandered through the quiet streets, inhaling the scent of the last dregs of winter. Brisk, cold air fluttered the hood of my sweatshirt, and I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets.

Chapter 9

Sunday brought the usual quiet day that occurred in the village after church goers finished attending mass. For a small town, Scituate had a variety of churches that ranged from Catholic, to Episcopal, to a couple others, of which I had no idea what their denominations were, nor did I care. Each to his own, I say, which immediately brought Aunt Jo to mind.

Lolling on the sofa, I picked up the phone and dialed my mother’s number. “Mom,” I said after she answered the call, “can you come by? I’d like to discuss Aunt Josephine with you.”

“W-Why, sure, Lavinia,” she answered in an uncertain tone.

“Great, I’ll bake muffins and we’ll have coffee outside. I think it’ll be warm enough for that today.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” Mom said and hung up.

A while later, a tap at the door announced mom’s arrival. I’d swept the deck, prepared the small table and carried out a tray laden with cinnamon swirl muffins, a full carafe of coffee, and two cups. While I set the cups out and passed the milk and sugar, my mother rattled on about the elderly folks at the Senior Citizens Center, the place she hung out in her free time. Well-known as the Bake Sale Queen, my mother assisted in fundraisers for the elderly to take bus trips and attend shows at a local casino, and baked them scads of cookies.

Seated, we munched muffins and sipped the aromatic brew while mom waited for me to start the Aunt Jo conversation.

“I’ve heard Aunt Josephine is a valued member of Tim Slaggard’s congregation. Were you aware of that?” I asked around a mouthful of sweet muffin.

Studiously, Mom picked at her muffin, then gave me a curious look and said, “She mentioned that she’d become adept at raising awareness of the preacher’s beliefs and said she’d earned money to help enlarge the parish for followers. Why?”

“Tim doesn’t seem a bad fellow, Mom,” I remarked. “My point is, if involvement in the group makes Jo happy, we might consider accepting her views. Does Dad know about her change in religion?”

Mom added more coffee to her cup. “He’s all for it, actually. He even said he’d noticed how cheerful Jo’s been. Josephine was greatly saddened after her sons were imprisoned. It broke her heart.” She sipped the brew and continued. “I’m not satisfied with the idea that Josephine’s decision was the right one.” Mom tipped her head to the side and studied me. “What’s this about, Lavinia?”

As she waited, I considered my explanation, unsure of how I’d come to my conclusion, and wondered over the best way to share my thoughts. I hemmed and hawed for a moment or two and then said, “People seek change, sometimes it’s for the better, and other times it’s not. I figure if Jo isn’t being fleeced by Mr. Slaggard, she should follow her heart. I know the congregation thinks highly of her, and she’s considered an integral part of the parish. Who are we to judge?”

Her face took on a worried look that I’d seen before and her coffee mug hit the tray with a thud. “Lavinia, what’s this really about?”

“Nothing, just, well, just what I said. Aunt Jo should do as she sees fit.”

“This has nothing to do with Josephine, I can tell. Are you having difficulties, Lavinia?”

“Of course not, my life is fine. Why would you ask that?” I denied.

“I know you better than you think I do. Moms know things, Lavinia.” Mom matter-of-factly slapped the armrest of her chair.

I raised my hands, waved them about, and blurted, “Fine, fine. Are you and Dad involved in the mob?”

Her mouth hung open, and her eyes widened as Mom gaped at me. “What are you talking about?” she blustered.

Shaking my hands, I said, “Nothing, forget I asked. It was a notion I’ve considered for a while now, that’s all. I’m sorry for even thinking it.”

“You should be. Your father and I do not associate with their sort. You must know that by now, especially after the Tony Jabroni incident.”

“You’re right, Mom, I apologize.” I hung my head and worried about the fallout from my father that could result from my question. Should my mother tell him, of course.

“There’s more to this, Lavinia,” she said suspiciously.

I swallowed and said, “I was approached by Mr. and Mrs. Sarducci while having dinner with Marcus last evening. Mr. Sarducci asked after you and Dad, and then said he’d bring you tomatoes when the crop was ready this summer.”

My mother glanced away, she studied the woodland beyond the fenced off property line, and then said, “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all?”

In a slump, my mother sipped the last of her coffee, drew a deep breath and said, “Your father knows him from the old days, before Frank became a criminal. That’s the gist of what I know.”

“They went to school together at the Assumption?” During my father’s youth, the Assumption had been a Catholic school. He’d attended classes with other kids from the same neighborhood.

“For a brief period of time. The school mistress, Sister Cecelia, brooked no nonsense and tossed Frank out when he extorted money from another boy. Your father said Frank was on a dark path, even then.”

“That’s it? No hanging out on Federal Hill together, or at the Men’s Social Club?”

She shook her head. “Was Marcus upset when Frank and his wife spoke to you?”

“Oh yeah, Marcus made it clear he thought you and Dad were in cahoots with the mob. Our discussion escalated into a ruined evening, and I left him at the theater. To be fair, Marcus is under a strain at work over my associations with the mob, past calamities, and such. Now there’s the issue of Mrs. Sarducci, Aunt Josephine, and the preacher.” I didn’t mention the henchman who’d offered me a ride home, which might have ended with my dead body being found at the Rhode Island Central Landfill, or someplace equally disgusting. Mom didn’t need to know, I wasn’t about to tell her, and I’d sworn Lola to secrecy when she’d dropped me off the night before.

While my mother considered my confession, a light breeze wafted across the yard followed by Monica Heartworthy. I introduced her to my mother and watched them study one another with interest.

Upon meeting someone, Monica had a sense of what they were all about. My mother, to a much lesser degree, could also read people, though she tended to see only the good in them. My ancestors, on both sides of the family, had lived in Italy for centuries, and they too, could sum up a person with a mere glance. I think I got the short end of the deal when it came to reading people. All I had managed to inherit was uncontrollable curiosity and an inner voice that lacked a shut-up button.

Seated in the third chair I’d drawn up, Monica smiled pleasantly at my mother and nibbled a muffin. “It’s very nice to meet you. Have I interrupted you, Vinnie?”

A smile crossed my mother’s lips as I said, “Not at all, Monica.”