Killer Summer

by Lynda Curnyn

  I was feeling even more exuberant when, two hours later, I managed to make some headway on the budget. So much so that I even treated myself to a double-mocha-cino, delivered right to my office from the coffee shop downstairs.

  And just as I was settling into my chair to drink it, the intercom rang.

  “Yes, Yaz?”

  “Hey, Sage, did Vince say where he was going this afternoon? I have a woman on the phone from the tanneries who’s trying to get in touch with him.”

  I frowned.“I know he had a few appointments, but I’m not sure with whom. Why don’t you put her through to me. Maybe I can help her.”

  “Sure,” Yaz said, clicking off.

  A few moments later, a woman’s voice came over the line.“Hello, I’m looking for Vince Trifelli,” she said in a husky Italian accent.

  “Hi, this is Sage Daniels. I’m the sales manager for Edge. Vince isn’t in the office just now. Maybe I can help you?”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Well, if you see Vince again, just tell him to meet me at the hotel at six.”

  Meet him at the hotel? “Who shall I say is calling,” I said, trying to keep the sudden tension I felt out of my voice.

  “Just tell him it’s Gianna. He’ll know,” she said.“Thank you. Ciao.”

  I’ll give her ciao, I thought, dropping the receiver into the cradle. Who the fuck was she?

  I dialed “O” for Yaz.

  “Yeah, Sage?”

  “The woman that just called—did she say which tannery she worked for?”

  “Ummm, let’s see, what did she say her name was… Oh, Lorenzo. Yeah, that’s it. She said her name was Gianna Lorenzo. I’d assume she’s from the Lorenzo tannery in Italy.”

  “Thanks, Yaz,” I said, hanging up.

  What was Gianna Lorenzo doing in New York?

  And a better question was, why the hell was Vince meeting her at her hotel?

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Zoe

  Dating is murder. On the nerves, if nothing else.

  As I stood before my closet, trying to decide between two equally unappealing shirts to wear to dinner tonight, I realized I was still just as clueless about dating as I’d ever been.

  And when Jeff called me to confirm our plans for tonight, I discovered he was just as clueless about “da city,” as he and his Long Island henchmen referred to Manhattan. On top of my current wardrobe dilemma, I even had to pick out the restaurant we were going to tonight. The whole thing was becoming pretty stressful.

  It wasn’t that I had never dated before. I just never went on dates. With Myles, it seemed we went right from our mythical meeting at a peace rally in Union Square to renting videos and eating takeout together at his place or mine. And before Myles, I always seemed to date someone from whatever film I was working on, but those were more like friendly drinks-after-work-turned-romantic sort of outings.

  This, however, was starting to feel like an honest-to-God date.

  And I knew I should probably try and think of it as a date, despite my attempts to see these plans as simply part of my big plan to get more info on Maggie’s death. Though the idea of being with anyone other than Myles still pained me, I knew I had to move on. Myles clearly had.

  I almost called Sage, then remembered that she was none too pleased with me these days. I guess I couldn’t blame her. It had been a bit insensitive of me to raise the specter of Maggie during Sage’s big celebration. I guess I just had Maggie on the brain. And sitting at that dinner table, with everyone who knew and allegedly loved her, watching Tom chow down his meal like he didn’t have a care in the world, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

  Of course, it wasn’t. Which was why I had gone out and bought Sage a coffee mug that said “The Boss” in big gold letters. I wanted her to know I was happy for her, because I was happy for her. Just a little more unhappy for Maggie.

  Sighing, I finally pulled a yellow tank top out of the closet and yanked it over my head. It was one of the few shirts I owned that didn’t have some incendiary message on it. Besides, Myles always said I looked good in yellow.

  Of course, I wasn’t going out with Myles.

  Now, as I stood before the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, I realized I looked decent enough, if not desirable.

  At the sound of my door buzzer, I took a deep breath. “Ready or not.”

  The first thing I noticed when I caught sight of Jeff’s tall, lean form through the glass of my front door was that even when dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, he still looked like a cop. Maybe it was the fresh-from-the-dry-cleaners look of his crisp button-down, or maybe it was the way he stood, broad shoulders thrown back, head erect, eyes alert.

  “Hi,” I said, stepping through the door.

  “Hi,” he replied, beaming a smile at me that went right to his pretty blue eyes.

  I looked up at his square jaw, the dimple in his chin. I had forgotten how cute he was. My palms began to sweat.

  “So where are we off to?” he said.

  “Nice little restaurant,” I replied, trying to surreptitiously wipe my palms on my jeans. I gave up, waving him along rather than taking his hand. “C’mon. It’s just a few blocks west of here.”

  I had decided on Westville, a local haunt Sage and I had gone to once, mostly because it was in the neighborhood and because they served enough variety to accommodate vegetarians and carnivores alike. I was pretty sure Jeff fell into the latter category. Most men did. Besides, the restaurant was kinda sweet. Casual, intimate without being over-the-top romantic or anything.

  Now, as we walked down the tree-lined streets in silence, I found myself glancing at Jeff as he looked with interest at the storefronts and pretty little brownstones we passed. Even felt his discomfort when we came across two men holding hands. “Bet you don’t see that on Long Island every day,” I said, hoping to dispel the tension he clearly felt. Or maybe I was trying to keep him from making some homophobic comment. I had dated guys from the burbs before. I knew homophobia sometimes ran rampant in towns where everyone looked and acted the same.

  “Yeah, well, to each his own,” he said, chuckling nervously.

  Whew. One disaster averted. Next obstacle to tackle: conversation. While I had plenty on my mind to talk about, I didn’t want Jeff to think I was only after one thing. So to speak.

  “How was your meeting with your friend?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was fine,” he replied. “Actually, he just got a place in the city and he needed a hand hanging up some shelving.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said. Mental note:Jeff knows how to hang shelves. This could come in handy in a boyfriend. Not that I was looking for a boyfriend, I reminded myself. Well, not really.

  “Yeah, he’s an old friend. We went to high school together, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling. I remembered now what it was that I loved about Long Islanders. That strong sense of community. And though sometimes that meant difficulty letting outsiders in, once you were in, you were a lifer. If you needed a favor—an old fridge moved out to the garbage for special pickup or some shelves hung—there was always some friend a phone call away to lend a hand. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that.

  Maybe because I thought I had it with Sage and Nick. But I guess I let those ties languish when I was with Myles, believing he was the only backup I needed. That had been a mistake, I thought, feeling keenly the distance between me and Sage, especially in light of last weekend.

  “This is it,” I said once we stood before the tiny restaurant, then waited as JefF held the door open for me. That was the other thing about Long Island guys—they didn’t mind being the guy.

  And, I realized, as I smiled up at him on my way through the door, I didn’t mind either.

  I waited until we got through our appetizer salads before I brought up the beach. Or more specifically, the most rece
nt crisis at the beach. I figured it was an innocuous place to start.

  “So I guess you heard about the near-drowning last weekend at Kismet?”

  Jeff looked up from the cherry tomato he had been pushing around his plate.“Oh, yeah. That was crazy. I wasn’t on that night, but my buddy Carl was. He told me about it. What was that guy doing out there, anyway?”

  I shrugged, putting my fork down on my plate. “Attempting to drown his sorrows, I think.”

  “Really? Was it a suicide attempt? I hadn’t heard that.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what it was. All I know is it was a good thing Tom Landon was there.” I looked at Jeff.“Kinda ironic, don’t you think, that just a few weeks earlier, Tom’s own wife was in the same situation, and despite all his lifeguarding skills, he wasn’t there to save her.”

  JefF met my gaze. “I guess there are no guarantees in life. I mean, just because I’m a cop, doesn’t mean my wife or my child would never be a victim of crime. You can’t always be there for your loved ones.”

  I dropped my gaze. Maybe it was the earnestness in his eyes when he spoke about having a wife and child. Or maybe it was the searing truth behind his simple statement. You couldn’t protect those closest to you all the time, no matter how much you loved them.

  But you could keep them from further injustice, I thought, remembering the issue that was burning at the back of my mind. “I know you don’t like talking about the case, but I guess the way Maggie died still kinda bothers me, you know? I just can’t imagine why any sane woman would go into the ocean alone, at night, after drinking.“ I withheld what I knew about the Valium as I was sure it would bother him that I’d been unofficially nosing in the official files. Not to mention who I had used to snoop for me.

  “Let me ask you something.” I smiled.“Just a general question?”

  He smiled back. Maybe it was the beer he was drinking, but he seemed a little looser. “Go ahead,” he said.

  “How do the police rule out suicide in a drowning case?”

  He shrugged, then leaned back to let the waiter clear away our salad plates and put down our entrees. JefF, of course, had steak and mashed potatoes. What else would a red-blooded American boy like him eat? I thought, studying the way his blue eyes lit up at the sight of his meal.

  I, myself, went with the only vegetarian entree that appealed: the grilled veggie burger, which I noticed JefF glanced at with something resembling distaste.

  “Well,” he began, returning his gaze to me. “There needs to be evidence to support it.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Like what, a note?”

  “Yeah, for one thing. Also, we interview family members and close friends to get a sense of the victim’s state of mind.”

  I tried to keep from rolling my eyes at that.“That’s it?” I pressed. Though I didn’t think it was suicide myself-—this based on my gut more than anything else—it didn’t seem to me Officer JefF and his pals were using much more than I was.

  “Well, there’s also the fact that she was naked.”

  I tried to stifle my surprise when JefF went from the general to the specific. Maybe I should order him another round.

  “That is,” he continued, “it’s not usual, that a person disrobes completely in a suicide.”

  “Is that right?” I replied, leaning back in my chair to consider this. I suppose it made sense. If I were navigating my own death, I would prefer to be found with my clothes on, though I might kick off the shoes before diving in, just to retain some sense of normalcy. I remembered how Les had been wearing his denim shorts. Maybe he had been trying to commit suicide. Or maybe he didn’t know that denim was pretty uncomfortable as far as swimwear goes.

  “So let me see if I have this straight,” I continued, as Jeff cut into his steak. “The fact that she wasn’t dressed and had not previously shown any suicidal tendencies allowed the police to rule out suicide?”

  Jeff considered this carefully. Or maybe he was just waiting to swallow his steak. Probably the latter, because when he finally spoke, his tone was somewhat defensive. “There were other things, too. I mean, the stories of the witnesses we interviewed checked out—”

  “What witnesses? Didn’t you tell me there were no witnesses?”

  “Well, not to the actual event, no. But you told us about her state of mind. Her intentions. As did her husband. And your stories checked out with the evidence we found. The dress we found on the beach, for example. She even folded it, like she wanted to keep it nice for when she got out—”

  “Wait a second,” I said, putting my fork down once more. “Did you say Maggie was wearing a dress?”

  He blinked at me, and I could see a flush beginning in his face. Still, he answered, “Yeah, it was a dress.”

  I wondered at that. Maybe because I didn’t imagine Maggie in a dress. Especially since she was cooking all night. And supposedly hiking all the way to Fair Harbor for coriander. “What kind of dress?”

  His eyes widened. “What does that matter?”

  I shrugged. “I’m a chick. We’re interested in these things.”

  He shook his head, but I noticed he was smiling.“I don’t know, some kind of pink girly thing.”

  Not very descriptive. “And what happened to the dress?”

  “What do you mean, what happened to it? Nothing happened to it.”

  “I mean after the police were done with it. What do the police do with evidence? That is, once it’s no longer considered evidence.”

  “We return it, of course,” he replied. “To the next of kin. Probably her husband.”

  I looked at Jeff, who was staring at me as if he was fearful of the next words that might come out of my mouth, which I decided to keep shut on this little point. Mostly because that dress had me wondering if Maggie had dolled herself up that night to see someone. Someone other than Tom.

  Of course, I wasn’t about to slifare my latest insight with Jeff. Because if the police hadn’t cared enough to wonder a little bit more about Maggie’s motivations that night, then I was clearly going to have to follow up on this one on my own.

  Besides, if that frown on his face was any indication, it was looking like I was in danger of not even getting a good-night kiss.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  Sage

  Men and other curiosities

  “So I’m not understanding this,” I said, once Zoe and I found seats on the upper deck of the ferry. “You liked Jeff or you didn’t like him?”

  “I do,” Zoe replied, dropping her knapsack on to the floor in front of her.“I mean, I did, I guess. Until that kiss.” She looked at me, her features flushed in the late afternoon sunlight that flooded the deck as the ferry pulled away from the dock.“I just wasn’t feeling it, you know?”

  “Well, he seems like your type.”

  “How would you know?”

  I looked at her. “I answered a few questions for him the night Maggie died, too, you know.”

  “You remember him?” she asked, her expression incredulous. “I barely recognized him when I first saw him on the beach.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, I remember him. He was cute. In a boyish kind of way.”

  “Boyish is my type? I thought boyish was your type,” she said, squinting at me.

  I slipped on my sunglasses, just in time to hide my eyes rolling back in my head.

  Zoe began to fish around in the oversized tote bag she’d placed on the seat between us. “I’m not sure what my type is anymore,” she said, once she retrieved her sunglasses and slid them on to her face.

  “I always thought you had a thing for guys in uniform. Look at Myles.”

  “Myles doesn’t wear a uniform. He’s a lawyer. Or at least he’s going to be.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s got that cop attitude going on. Like his dad. And he’s going to work for the D.A.”

  “Apparently not,” Zoe clarified.“He’s interviewing at some corporate firms. Suddenly he
’s hell-bent on making a fortune. Do you know he’s even considering buying a house on Fire Island?”

  “Really?” I turned to look at her. “Wait a second—I thought you weren’t going to talk to Myles anymore.”

  “I can’t not talk to Myles, Sage. That’s like not breathing.”

  I frowned. “You just make things harder on yourself. It’s no wonder you can’t get into this new guy.”

  Zoe sighed. “Look, can we talk about something else? How’s life at the office now that you’re the big boss?”

  I leaned back in my seat, smiling when I remembered the mug Zoe had given me today.“It’s going great so far. Of course, there’ve been some challenges, but nothing I can’t handle.” I turned my face toward the sun. “What more is there to tell?”

  “Are you nervous? I mean, about stepping into Maggie’s shoes?”

  A familiar anger stirred in me. “Why should I be? I was already doing the job before she stepped in. I didn’t have the title, but I was the one working with the designer to develop the new styles. And it was me who did the merchandising, the selling in—”

  “Okay, okay,” Zoe said. “Sorry I asked.”

  Now I was sighing. “I’m sorry. I guess to me it feels like this promotion has been a long time coming, despite the fact that everyone seems to think I was born yesterday.”

  “I didn’t say that. Who said that?”

  I shook my head. “No one, I guess.” Except me, I thought, remembering how I had nearly mastered the budget, only to realize I didn’t understand how Maggie handled the shipping-and-receiving invoices. “But I do have some good news,” I said, remembering my one triumph this week, though it was starting to feel like only a semi-victory. “Vince is taking me out to dinner tonight.”

  “He is?”

  I nodded, though I was glad I had my sunglasses on. Zoe could read me like a book, and I didn’t want her to see the uncertainty that still swirled through me. Yes, I was glad Vince was interested, but that Gianna Lorenzo thing had thrown me. Not completely, however. I could handle competition, if that was, in fact, what Gianna was. Especially competition that was usually an eight-hour plane ride away. I wasn’t sure how she fit into the picture. But I planned to find out tonight.