Tax Cut (11 page)

Chapter 1
1

In
the wee hours of the morning, nocturnal creatures picked through garbage bags for remains of human food. Marc Coglione made his way toward the new townhouse project on foot. A chill was in the air, along with dampness from the morning dew.

“Why did you want to meet with me
, Marc?” a deep voice asked, the moisture from his warm breath creating a cloudy mist against the dark background of the predawn, morning sky.

“I’m just nervous
, is all. You guys weren’t careful at all about Mr. Craft. The police have identified him. I thought you said that no one would ever find the bodies.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I thought you were the cleaner. Looks like you’re getting sloppy and I’m not sure I want any part of this. When the police start pointing fingers…”

“
I ain’t no cleaner. You got it wrong. I’m just the moneyman. And you know what, Marc? You
are
already a part of this. The police aren’t ever going to figure out who did it. And I’d watch myself if I were you. Gino Righetti and his crew would gladly finger you in all this. You don’t think they’ve taken steps already to frame you if anything should happen? You’re in up to your eyeballs. Heed my advice. Look the other way and keep your trap shut!”

“That would be an easier pill for me to swallow if there were some
reassurances
.”

“Well
, Marc, you’re getting paid a decent amount of money and that’s all the reassurances you’re going to get right now.”

Marc
handed the man the envelopes of money that he and Winifred received the day before from Gino.

“I’ll take care of this
. Now you be on your way,” the man said.

Marc
hung his head low and turned to leave.

“And
Marc?”

Marc
twisted his neck to look back at the man holding the envelopes.

“Don’t come around again, don’t call me, and don’t be asking for any more
reassurances.”

* * *

Newspaper headlines for Friday, March seventh appeared big and bold on the grayed page. ‘
Prominent Coral Beach Resident Found Dead in Surf.’
I shuffled back into my house in my slippers and robe while reading the article. “The body found on the shores of Coral Beach on Monday was identified as local resident, Eugene Craft. Mr. Craft was found only a few feet away from his home. Mr. Craft was active in the community and was a large supporter of the Humane Society…Police have labeled the death as a homicide. If anyone has any details about the death, please call the Coral Beach Police Department…”

The lines
on the page elicited a gut-wrenching fear from deep inside my stomach. The sight of the dead body that I had discovered flashed in my head. I shivered. I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on the sadness that loomed inside me. I had to get showered, take care of my daughter, and get myself to work on time. My hectic life was a blessing in disguise. Had I actually had time to think about it, I’m sure I would have been nauseous.

When I arrived on the job,
I decided to focus my whole attention on work. If I concentrated on nothing but paperwork, the newly deceased would stay out of my mind.

“Good morning, Chelsey! How are you?” I heard Bryce call.
He had a nice smile on his face, flashing his dimples at me.

“Hey
, Bryce. It’s Friday, so I’m good!”

“Did you see the headlines?”

“I’d rather not think about it.”

We were suddenly interrupted by an awful sound coming from outside my window.
An ear-piercing voice, singing off-key, and a horrendous-sounding guitar. We went to my window and looked out. I rolled my eyes and sighed. It was Nero. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to serenade me or scare the seagulls off the roof of the municipal building. I sighed again pathetically. Bryce laughed.

I opened the window and was about to say something, when I heard another window open.

“Shut the
eff up, Zero.”

It was Bonnie.
I chuckled.

“It’s Nero,” Mike said.

“Hey, Zero. You are disturbing the peace. Go home!” Bonnie shouted.

“Mind your own business, you wench.”

“What did you call me? You freakazoid. I’ll come down there and squash you like a bug, you short little shit.”

It occurred to me that Bonnie was having some anger issues.
I didn’t blame her. It most likely had to do with that gunshot by that angry resident in Sunshine. Apparently, she wasn’t taking crap from any crazy residents in this village.

“I’d like to see you come down here and try, you cock blocker.”

“Oh, that is it!” I heard Bonnie say. She momentarily left the window, then returned with a flower vase filled with water. She threw it at him with such precision that I don’t believe any of the water landed on the ground. He was soaked.

“Ugh!” he yelled. “You got me all wet.
And it stinks!”

I imagined it did stink.
Jayce had those flowers delivered to Bonnie on her first day of work as a congratulations on her new job. Bryce and I were almost on the floor, laughing hysterically.

“I’m calling the cops,” Bonnie yelled.

Defeated, Nero sulked back to his car and drove away.

Bonnie came over to my office a few minutes later.

“That was a riot!” I said.

“You know, you need to tell him to leave you alone,” she said.

“I have. Multiple times. He won’t give up.”

“Well, be careful.
File a police report if you have to.”

“I think he’s harmless.
Just annoying and persistent.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be afraid to use your gun and shoot his
gonads off if you have to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told her.

Bryce laughed all the way back to his office, shaking his head in disbelief, then laughing some more.

Nothing like Mike Nero to get my mind off of Crazy Beach; or uh, Coral Beach, I meant. I sat back down at my desk,
to look at the new email that appeared on my screen. The village attorney asked me if I had received all the confirmation slips from the zoning mailing. I went to the drawer and pulled them all out. I compared them against the copy I had made of the mailing labels. I noticed about five people hadn’t signed for their mail. One of those people was Mr. Craft. He lived right in the middle of the future Village Pier. I shuddered at the thought that entered my head—did his death have anything to do with the Village Pier project? I shrugged it off. I thought I was being totally irrational, letting my mind wander like this. I was freaked out about seeing him dead and about Vinny’s death. I needed to forget about this.

I
diverted my attention by thinking of my impending date with Kris for tomorrow instead. A few seconds of my reminiscing about staring into his eyes was just enough to get me moving in the right direction again. I looked down and realized my fingernails were a mess. I had to stop and get a quick manicure after work.

I emailed the
village attorney with the results of my search, then picked up the pile of mail in my inbox and continued to work. I processed the mail, sent out late notices for unpaid dog licenses, and completed all the details for next week’s special meeting. I worked right through lunch, thinking I would leave a few minutes early to get to the nail salon. When four o’clock rolled around, I locked up my office, said goodnight to Bonnie and Bryce, and practically skipped out to my car. The weekend was here, I was about to get a relaxing hand massage, and the anticipation of seeing Kris had put me in a good mood.

I drove several blocks to Sylvia G’s Nail Boutique. It was in the area of the village that had
townhomes intermingled with businesses. There was an open spot on the corner, across from the newest construction of townhomes. I parked there, then paid the parking meter. I looked up and realized I was in front of Babs Todaro’s house. I was a little worried about Babs after my last phone call with her—the way she was crying and all. I remembered she hadn’t called me today. I sort of wanted to knock on her door and check on her, but I felt awkward about intruding. I didn’t exactly make house calls in my line of work, and if I were a resident, I would find it odd for the municipal clerk to be dropping by to say hello. In New Jersey, we weren’t elected to our jobs as in other states. Going door-to-door wasn’t something we did.

I continued on to the nail salon, signed my name in the book
, and chose a color from the OPI collection called “Heart Throb.” I thought it was fitting for my date tomorrow. A very stylish woman in her forties finished up her client and came over to check the book. “Chelsey Alton,” she called.

She told me to have a seat at
Table Number One, and that she’d be right with me. I watched her while she took out sterilized instruments and clean towels for my appointment. I wondered how she achieved the perfect blonde highlights in her hair. I noticed that her makeup was perfect as well. It was clear to me that this woman had passed her cosmetology classes with flying colors. She had an hourglass shape, and wore a tight black pencil skirt.

“Hiya,
sweetie. I’m Sylvia,” she said as she came back to the table and started soaking my nails. “You’re new here.”

It made sense that
since she was the owner of the shop, she was put together perfectly. “I am new here. I work a few blocks away,” I told her.

“Oh, where at?”

I gave her the basics about me and we made small chitchat as she filed my nails.

“Do you know Babs Todaro?” I asked Sylvia. “She lives a couple townhouses down from here, the end unit.”

“Oh, that poor woman,” Sylvia said. “You know, she’s had a rough life with what her family put her through.”

“Really?” I asked.
Sylvia must have liked to gossip, because she filled me in on a lot.

“
I met her daughter,” I said. “She seemed nice.”

“Oh
, yeah, her daughter is a doll. It’s her brother that’s a menace. You know he was a big mobster. Righetti.”

“Gino Righetti?”
I asked.

“No, not Gino.
Gino’s father, Rocco. He was arrested for so many things. Rumors have it that Gino took over the ‘family business’ after Rocco was murdered recently, but Gino never gets his hands dirty. If he’s doing anything, then it’s on the QT. Although he hangs around with all those other mobsters. The Iceman follows him around like a puppy dog.”

The Iceman?
I thought. It took me a minute to put two and two together.
Of course! Cal Zamboni. Iceman. Makes sense now.

“You mean that Cal Zamboni guy?” I asked
.

“Yeah, that’s him.
Everyone knows he’s the heavy hand. He’s well known in these parts.”

“I see them all the time at the
village offices. They want to build that Village Pier here in Coral Beach.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right
, we all know about that. And God help anyone who gets in their way.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Just that they have been over there, pestering all those poor people to buy their homes. I have a customer named Shirley Gibson, who said that her friend Shelly Meyers found out from Linda Davis that a few of those residents sold out to Gino after weird things happened—fires, break-ins, disappearances. Those guys will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

I’m not sure I followed
the whole train of people who were catalysts in supplying Sylvia with this sort of gossip, but I wondered if it was true. I supposed it could be like that old whispers game, where the information got lost in the translation and took on a life of its own. I thanked Sylvia and gave her a large tip. Little did she know that I was thanking her for the information as well as for the manicure.

I left the salon and drove to my parents’ house to pick up Mandy.
I felt like I was missing out by not being around her all day, every day. My parents invited me to stay for dinner, telling me they wanted to hear all about how the new job was going. I thought it would be best not to tell them how it was
really
going. The reality was that the former clerk was killed, he blamed it on his “boss”—although not named—Dingo stared at my chest all day, and Marc and Winifred were incredibly rude, to say the least. “It’s going good,” was the best lie I could come up with. That was my story and I was sticking to it for now. There was a nagging voice inside my head, though, that kept telling me to run as far away as I could from this job. Then there was my brain telling me to give it a chance—that I had a crazy imagination and it would all work out fine. After all, it had only been two weeks. I would feel bad, quitting after only two weeks. I wasn’t usually a quitter. I bargained with myself to give it two more weeks to see how things went.