The Goddaughter (7 page)

“And look where that got us!” Pete sounded a tad upset.

“You might say it got us into bed.”

Pete didn't seem to see the humor.

I put my coffee cup down on the kitchen table. “It's okay, really. I've got a plan.”

He stared at me and started shaking his head. “Oh no. Not another one of your ‘plans.'”

“No, really! It's a very cunning plan.” And it was.

I picked up the phone and punched numbers.

“Sammy, did Tony have his passport on him?”

Once I had the info, I spilled the details to Pete.

When I was done, he shook his head. “I must be nuts.”

“It'll work!” I insisted. “We just have to act fast.”

We were at the hospital by 5:00 am. Hospitals never sleep, but morgues do. So do their occupants. Angelo was there to meet us, and he hustled us in.

“I got him good and cold,” Angelo said. He swung open the compartment door and showed us the body.

“Thank God you dressed it! Angelo, you're a prince.” A frozen wiener was the last thing I wanted to see. Especially a dead one.

“Here's a gurney,” Angelo said. “I figure, we put him on the gurney, and then I help you get him to the car.”

Pete looked skeptical. “Not that I want to throw water on this very clever plan, but what if he melts?”

“You drive like a bat out of hell to the border, and we got people waiting just over the bridge. One hour, tops. Use your air conditioning. He'll hold till then.”

I certainly hoped so.

We got him to my car. Pete and Angelo worked to get the package formerly known as Tony into the backseat.

“Just lay him down on those pillows back there. And cover him with the blanket.”

“He's frozen, Gina! His knees won't bend well,” Pete said.

“We'll have to prop up his torso on the far side of the car to get his legs to fit in over here. Pile the pillows under him, and maybe when he melts a bit, he'll lean over onto them.” Angelo was trying to be helpful.

They struggled to fit the “package” in the back. I started to have doubts about this plan.

But they managed it. Pete stood back and peered down at the body.

“Looks a bit gray,” he said.

“He looks ghastly,” I countered, “but then he would, after an all-night bachelor party at the Polecat Strip Club in Niagara Falls.”

Pete groaned. “And who am I in all this deception?”

“You're my boyfriend.”

“And who are you?”

“I'm his cousin.”

“I thought you really were his cousin.”

“I am. Well, I almost am,” I said, thinking back to our whole cousin-in-law-through-marriage conversation. “That's why this plan is so good.”

It wasn't really, but you have to celebrate the small things.

“I gotta be getting back to the morgue. Good luck,” said Angelo. He practically ran back to the building.

“Okay, let's move it,” I said to Pete.

“Why am I driving your car, again?” Pete started her up and shifted into drive.

“Because your car only has two seats.”

Pete glanced over. “I meant, why aren't you driving?”

“Ah!” I said. “Well, that's the clever part of the plan.” And I told him what I had in mind.

Pete sighed. “Tell me again why I'm doing this.”

“Because you're crazy about me, and because the sex is amazing.”

Now he laughed. “Maybe I'm just crazy. But I'm glad you think it's amazing.”

Pete seemed pretty comfortable driving my car. We whipped through the streets of Steeltown and headed straight for the freeway. Next stop, Buffalo.

It would have been a good plan. I'm pretty sure it would have worked.

We almost got to Niagara Falls before the car broke down.

“Son of a bitch!” yelled Pete, pulling off to the shoulder.

Smoke billowed from under the hood.

I reached for my cell phone.

“Sammy, we got a problem.” I explained the situation.

“Um, Gina? I think we should probably get out of the car.”

I looked up. Flames were coming out of the hood now.

“Holy crap!” I pushed open the door and pitched myself out. “Yikes!”

The shoulder gave way to a steep ditch. I rolled into a mass of bulrushes.

Pete whacked the top of the hood with his jacket, trying to put out flames.

I crawled up the side of the bank on my hands and knees. Pete was still yelling and cursing. The flames shot three feet in the air.

“Well, at least they'll be able to find us easily,” I said. This day was not going according to plan.

I found my cell phone at the side of the road. Sammy was still yelling out of it. I sat down and reassured him that we would live.

“But we have another problem,” I said. “The package is melting.”

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

W
hen the ice-cream truck pulled up, I wasn't surprised to see Sammy get out. Another car pulled up behind it. A nice new red one with spiffy wheels and no flames shooting out from under the hood. My cousin Luca got out of it.

“Nice save,” said Pete, admiring the freezer compartment of the truck.

I made introductions. “Sammy, Pete. Pete, Sammy.”

Sammy moved forward to shake hands.

“Sorry we got you into this,” Sammy said. Darn, I was proud of him. It was a nice sentiment. It might mean they weren't going to kill him.

Pete nodded. “Gina kinda dragged me into it.”

“She can drag with the best of them.”

I rolled my eyes. “And this is my cousin Luca,” I said.

Luca was not tall, but he was built like a boxer, light on his feet and heavy with muscle. He was wearing all black, as usual. His long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail.

Not surprisingly, he managed a gym.

Luca glared at Pete. Didn't hold out his hand.

Pete took his cue from Luca's folded arms. He bobbed his head. “Howdy.”

Luca nodded, then turned to me. “This the guy with the newspaper?”

“It's okay. He's been warned.”

“Warn him again.”

“No need,” said Pete. “I'm sports beat, not crime. And I'm not stupid.”

Luca looked Pete up and down, like a breeder looking over a stud horse. Then he stood back and nodded.

“You played for the Vikings. Quarterback. I saw the game they carried you off the field.”

Pete nodded. He was clearly chuffed.

I was also impressed. Had someone been doing their homework? Or was Pete a more famous guy in the sports world than I had ever realized?

“Your first year in the pros.”

Pete shrugged. “Wrecked my knee. That game finished my career.”

Sammy nodded. “Gotta be tough to be a quarterback. Nerves of steel. They come at you from all directions.”

Pete said nothing.

“You box?” Luca asked.

“Used to. College,” Pete said. Well, there was another thing I didn't know.

Luca squinted. “Two twenty?”

“Thereabouts.”

Luca turned to me then.

“Bring him down to the club sometime, Gina. We'll fit him up.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “But in the meantime, can you do something about this popsicle melting back here?”

“I got this, Gina,” said Sammy. “You drive Luca's car back to Hamilton. We'll take it from here.”

Relief ! I felt relief. “Umm…what are you going to do?”

Sammy looked at me quizzically. “You really want to know?”

“No!” I yelped, hitting my forehead with a palm. “Nope. Don't tell me. I'm outta here. Say hi to Aunt Miriam.”

“See you at dinner tomorrow. Bring the boyfriend.”

“Sure,” I tossed back. To Pete, I whispered, “Get in the car. And don't look back.”

Pete jumped into the car. It was a sporty Japanese thing. The keys were in the ignition. He revved her up and booted it.

“Sure glad that's over.” He sighed. “I'll turn around at the next exit.”

“Umm…nope. Can't do that. We still have to go to Buffalo.”

“What?”

My turn to suck in air. “It's about the stones.”

Pete glared at me. “What about the stones?”

“Well…you may have been wondering what became of them.”

Silence.

“I thought Joey got them when those goons attacked us in Phoenix. Weren't they in your shoes?”

“Em…” I hesitated. “Not exactly. Don't you remember? I was wearing flats.”

Pete heaved a huge sigh. “Okay. What did you do with them?”

I told him.

“You WHAT?”

“It seemed a sensible thing! I was desperate. And you said nobody was living there right now.”

Pete hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

“I honestly didn't think you'd mind,” I said. Okay, so that was a lie.

He pulled into the fast lane and stomped on the gas.

“I don't know why I'm doing this,” he grumbled. “Why am I doing this again?”

It seemed a good idea to remind him. “Last night was amazing, remember? And then again at three am.”

“That is really low, bringing sex into it,” he said.

I smiled sweetly. “Not to mention, you're sort of in this up to your neck. Not that I'd tell the cops on you or anything.”

“Oh yeah.” He snorted. “Thanks for that.”

“Sorry. But you see, if you hadn't followed me to the bank machine—”

“I wasn't following you!”

“—then we never would have gone to Buffalo!”

“Or Phoenix. Or Toronto,” he finished.

“And just think of everything you would have missed.” I tried to pout, but I'm not really the pouting type.

“Remind me to call you Mata Hari.”

“It's been done,” I said mysteriously.

We got through the border with no problem at all. Of course, it's much easier to get through borders without a semi-frozen dead body pretending to be asleep in the backseat.

Half an hour later we pulled up in front of a stunning century-old home in Amherst. It had a wraparound porch, double front doors and beautiful gables. The thing had to be at least four stories high.

The flagstone sidewalk led up to the front steps. A well-tended flower garden lined it on both sides. The sort that's maintained by gardeners, if you know what I mean.

Pete switched off the engine.

“Honey, we're home,” he quipped.

“Wow,” I said. “Holy Toledo. Are your parents rich or something?”

Pete shrugged. “Dad is a cardiac surgeon. He's semi-retired now—uh—Gina, I think we have company.”

I snapped my head around. A white panel van had pulled up behind us. Two thugs got out of the front seat and came running up alongside our car. I'd seen them before.

“Yikes!” I yelped. “Run!” I shoved open the door, vaulted out and thunked into a human wall.

“Oh, hi, Joey,” I said. He looked pretty much the same as in Phoenix. Which is to say, big as a barn.

And pissed at me.

“Gina. How's things?”

“Same ol' same ol',” I said casually. “You?”

“Gimme the shoes, Gina.”

“I don't have the shoes.” This was true. I find it a relief to tell the truth every now and then.

“Of course you do.”

“I don't, already! The postman has them.”

“The what?”

“Don't believe her,” said the second thug. “She's scamming you again.”

I didn't like this goon. He was creepier than a zombie at Halloween and his hair was greasy.

“Shut up, Bertoni!” I yelled. “What do you know about classy shoes anyway? Your mother wears army boots!” Okay, so this was deteriorating somewhat.

“You mouthy bitch!”

I kicked him in the shins. He yelped.

Pete hauled me back out of reach.

“It's simple,” he said calmly. “The shoes have been mailed back to Buffalo, by courier. They should arrive today. Any minute now. That's what we're waiting for.”

“I wasn't planning to keep the rocks,” I said to Joey. “I'm not crazy. I just wanted to get them off my hands before going back through customs. That's why I sent them here instead of Hamilton.”

Joey shook his head. “You are a real screwup, you know.”

“It's not my fault,” I insisted. “The big blond from the hotel room stole my shoes when we were in the Galleria. We tracked her halfway across the States until you caught up with us in Phoenix.”

“How could you lose a pair of shoes in a shopping mall? It was the whole reason you were going there!” Joey was clearly exasperated.

I didn't like his tone of voice. “I had a plan! It was a good plan too, and it would have worked if you and the goons hadn't barged into the hotel room. I would have given them to you right there, if you hadn't vamoosed outta the place. So it's
your
fault.”

I was on a roll. “And besides”—I poked my finger into Joey's chest—“if you hadn't gone awol with that bar tart in Cheektowaga—”

“North Tonawanda.”

“It can be frigging Timbuktu for all I care! The point is,
you
messed up the drop. And I'm called in to clean up, as usual.” I stamped my foot like a five-year-old.

“So this is what you call cleaning up a mess? What we've been through?” Pete laughed.

There was dead silence.

I threw Pete a withering glance. Whose side was he on? That was it. I was outta here. They could all play together in the sandbox. They could beat each other silly, for all I cared. I held my head up high and made the announcement.

“I'm going home.” I turned to Pete. “You can stay with these bozos and sign for the package.”

“Wait a minute!” Pete said. “It's your package—you and the cousins, or whoever they are.”

“Too bad,” I shot back over my shoulder. “It's your business now. Your name is on the parcel. And this is your house.” Well, not exactly—but it sure wasn't mine.