by Fiona Grace
“No bother, like I said. Are you sure I can’t offer you a drink?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No. Really. Thanks,” she said, backing away. She backed herself into a column, and nearly tripped over the low stone edging around the garden, and almost walked herself right into the same wall she’d fallen from, earlier. But no way was she going to turn her back on them.
She’d seen what happened to Pietro.
She managed to fumble with the gate and slipped through, still smiling, though her insides were rioting. They watched her the entire way, not speaking. The moment she was free of them, she broke into a run, Nick at her heels, climbed the staircase in record-time, and didn’t stop until she was back at the clinic.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Breathing hard, Audrey leaned over, trying to get the blood to rush to her head. Nick stood close by, looking at her in that same dubious way.
“Sorry. I’m not a runner. I’ll never be a runner,” she huffed out, still feeling like she was dying.
The door to the clinic was locked, now. Finally, Concetta had given up and gone home. Audrey fished for her keys in her purse, unlocked the door, and went straight inside to the water cooler in the break room, where she sucked down an entire glass of water.
She fanned her face, still feeling like she was dying. Of course, it was probably better than two bullets in the back.
And that was what she’d been dancing with. She felt sure of it. Sure, Rafael had been nice and congenial, but maybe he didn’t call the shots. Maybe that old guy, Giuseppe, wanted her dead. Maybe they’d come after her, in the dead of night . . .
Calm yourself, Audrey reminded herself as she paced, still trying to catch her breath. This isn’t Goodfellas. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re likely fine.
Even so, when she went back into the darkened hall, she did so cautiously, half-expecting to see a man in a dark suit, standing at the end of it, gun drawn.
Of course, there was no one there. Stop being silly and go check on the animals. Everything’s fine.
She went toward the kennel, but stopped in the hallway, close to the reception area. Then she rushed forward and twisted the lock on the door. Just in case.
Feeling better, she walked back to the kennel to check on the animals. The dogs yipped and the other animals stirred excitedly in their cages as she approached and turned on the light. Concetta must’ve gone through, cleaning their cages, prior to leaving, because there was very little to do.
She took a kitten out of its cage and gathered it in her arms, slowly stroking its fur. She did it more for herself than for the animal, since petting a warm-and-fluffy always seemed to calm her down. The kitten purred contently, making Audrey feel more relaxed.
Was Rafael really a murderer? Was his “family” mafia? She went over the many things she’d overheard, shuddering as she replayed them in her mind. They could’ve killed her. She had no idea how close she’d come to dying.
And who had called her, pretending to be Rafael, asking her to come down to the villa? That was very odd. Someone seemed to want to get her in trouble.
But who? And why? To take suspicion off of someone else?
Maybe Rafael had called her. Maybe he was denying it just because he knew that her snooping around the place would make her an excellent suspect.
Her mind whirred with the possibilities as she stood there, alone. She felt like she needed someone to talk to. But Concetta had gone above and beyond. And G? Mason?
No. Just no. Doing that would only give her more problems.
What I should do is call Detective Dinardo. Leave it in his hands and be done with it. That’s what any normal person would do.
She set the kitten down in its cage, closed the door, and walked to the front reception area. She picked up the phone from its cradle and hesitated.
But what if Dinardo is working with them? And he tells Rafael you were the one who reported their suspicious activity? Then you will REALLY be done for.
She set the phone down, pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and called the only person she could think of. Luckily, she answered right away. “Aud, are you really calling me at an actual, normal time, and not in the middle of the night?”
“What time is it there?”
“Three PM. I just put Byron down for his nap.”
“Aw. How is Byron? The twins?”
“Fine. They miss you. But I’m sure you didn’t call at such a normal hour to ask me about them.”
Audrey smiled at her sister and tried to keep her voice as even as possible. “Don’t worry, Brina. I won’t make it a habit. Tomorrow, I’ll call you at three A.M.”
Of course, her big sister saw right through her brave façade. “That’s better. Is everything okay?”
“Well—”
“Let me guess. You’re having to choose between Signore Hotness and Mr. Dreamy Abs, and you can’t decide.”
She gritted her teeth. If only that was the biggest problem on her mind. “Actually, no, it has nothing to do with Mason and G.”
“Oh? Bleh. I really was looking forward to helping you weigh the pros and cons of them.”
“We’ve already done that, about a thousand times,” she muttered. “And it hasn’t helped much. But I’m actually calling about a situation that’s even more confusing.”
“More confusing? All right. I’m intrigued. Lay it on me.”
“All right, well. . . I was down in an orange grove yesterday, and I met a man named Rafael, who owned the villa there. And he was very nice. We had lunch together and—”
“Stop it. Stop it. Are you saying you don’t have a love triangle? It’s more like a love square?” She squealed. “I love it! You go! He even has a sexy name. Rafael. So he owns an orange grove? So that means he’s rich. Is he as hot as the others?”
“No . . . no . . . no, wait. You don’t get it.”
“I do get it! I know men! And he asked you to lunch! Sounds like a love connection to me.”
That was true, Brina did know men, very well. And yes, she had been asked to lunch. But after that was where the Greatest Love Story Ever Told went completely off the rails. “Hold on, Brina. Let me tell you everything before you go telling me where I need to go to get the wedding invitations.”
“Fine. Go ahead.” Audrey heard her sister breathing out forcefully through her nostrils. She was probably biting her tongue to keep from blurting more questions.
“Okay, so. On the way home from lunch, I was walking, and I found a dead body in the grove,” she said, rather nonchalantly, probably too nonchalantly for what it was, but at this point, she’d had enough time to process it and, really, the dead man wasn’t the point. The point was the fact that she was, once again, a suspect for a crime she didn’t commit. That kind of thing was getting old, fast. She’d freaked out enough; she didn’t have any more time for hysterics.
“Uh . . .” There was a pause. “What did you say?”
“A dead body.”
“Again? Really, Aud? You keep wanting me to visit you there . . . why again? It sounds like a war zone. I’d probably end up a casualty. Isn’t this like, the fifth dead body you’ve found?”
“I know, I know. Really, Mussomeli is very safe. But listen. It was lying in the grove. The man had been shot.”
“Oh, my God . . .”
“Yes. And so the police came, and looked into it, and well . . . certain things have happened, and well . . . I think Rafael might be . . .” She leaned in and cupped her hand around the phone. Silly, really, because there was no one there. But what if they’d bugged her phones? Criminal types did that, didn’t they? “Mafia.”
“What?”
She realized that if they had bugged her phone, they’d be able to hear her, regardless of how loudly she spoke. She said, a little louder, “Mafia.”
“You are not serious.”
“I am.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Well, I was sort of, hanging out around the grov
e today, and he was meeting with a bunch of suits he called ‘family.’ And I’m pretty sure they had guns. Plus, they were saying something about a war, and an Italian problem, and I don’t know Italian really well, but I think they had something to do with the murder.”
“Oh. My. God. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” Another pause, within which Audrey wondered why she’d told Brina about this. Brina may have been a wizard when it came to men and the dating scene, but she wasn’t exactly big on all things crime related. Now, she’d probably just worry. “What are you doing, on the phone with me? You need to call the police!”
“I know. I was going to, but then it hit me. You know these small-town cops. What if the mafia bought them? What if the police are in their back pocket? If I call to tell them what I witnessed, they might—”
“Oh, come on Audrey. That only happens in movies. They can’t possibly have the police in on it with them,” she said surely. “You need to call them. They don’t think you did it, do they?”
“Well, I did find the three other bodies here, so—”
“Yeah, but you don’t even have a gun! Do you even know how to fire a gun? You probably have never even touched one before.”
“Right. But they don’t know that. And they’re always suspicious of me. So I guess you could say I’m reluctant.”
“Well, I wouldn’t hesitate to go there and tell them what you know. Right now. Go! Do it. And call me to let me know how things went. All right?”
She smiled. “Okay. I will.”
“Audrey. Be careful. I love you.”
“Love you too, sis,” she said, ending the call. She set her phone down, trying to summon the courage to march herself down to city hall and the police station.
But it turned out, she didn’t have to. When she looked up, she saw a body, hovering in the doorway. It was Detective Dinardo, and he didn’t look happy at all.
*
When she looked up to see Dinardo, he was just raising his knuckles to rap on the door.
She jumped up and scurried around the reception desk to answer. When she opened it, she got the look from the grave expression on his face that whatever he was about to tell her was not good.
“Hello, Detective,” she said as she opened the door wide, allowing him to pass through. As he did, Nick slipped in as well, then climbed onto one of the chairs in the reception area and made himself at home, licking his paws. That meant, Dinnertime, human. Or did you forget?
“Hello. Burning the midnight oil, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I was just finishing some things up, but I was on my way home.” She motioned to a chair next to Nick and sat down herself, across from him. “Can I help you with something?”
He nodded. “It’s about the body you found.”
She swallowed. She assumed that much. And now was the time for her to tell him everything she’d seen today, especially the little bit about Rafael and his “family”. Instead of speaking, though, she swallowed again. She would tell him. After he told her what he had to say. “What about it?”
“Well, we’ve discovered more about the identity of the victim, Pietro Grinnelli,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket of his blazer and pulling out his pad. “It appears that the man was from the mainland, Italy, and that he had ties to the mafia there.”
“Mafia, really?” Audrey said in surprise, as her mind went back to the men in suits, quietly discussing. They’d said there was an “Italian Problem.”
Was Pietro the Italian Problem?
And what did that mean? Had they had him killed? Threads of ideas fired through her mind, but she couldn’t grasp a single one.
“Yes, do you happen to know anything about that?” he asked, watching her closely.
“No . . . why would I?” She frowned. “I’m an American. What would I know about the mafia?”
“You did have lunch with the man who owned the estate, did you not? This Rafael Piccolo?”
She nodded.
“Did you find anything out? Where he came from, what his business is, what he’s doing here?”
From that line of questioning, it certainly didn’t sound like Dinardo was in cahoots with the mafia. She shook her head. “Wouldn’t you be better off asking him that?”
“Perhaps, but I thought . . .”
“We just chatted, mostly, about inconsequential things. He didn’t tell me anything, really, about himself. He spent most of the time talking about his estate. I guess it’s been in his family for years. So that’s why I’m a little confused—Mussomeli is a small town where everyone knows each other. You didn’t know the Piccolo clan?”
“Of course I knew them. Everyone knew them. They were run out of the town in the early eighties, when the police caught wind of some illegal business they were doing. Back then, yes, there was rumor that they were mafia. But then they disappeared, went underground, I don’t know where. All the Piccolos left. And now they’re back. All I have on them is this past history, and a dead body,” he said, sighing. “Nothing else to tie him to the murder. But if what happened in the eighties is any indication, I get the feeling that it might be the first dead man, but it won’t be the last.”
Audrey shuddered. “What happened?”
“All kinds of shady things. My father was on the police force at the time. He was constantly going over there, because of something or another.” He leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’ve been over there so often. They are bad news, Dottore Smart. Very bad news.”
“So . . . often?” She repeated the words as something dawned on her. She hadn’t noticed anything or anyone else, because she’d come from the path behind the house. But was it possible that there were officers watching that she hadn’t noticed? “Are you surveilling the house?”
He didn’t answer but stared at her a beat too long so that she knew the answer was yes.
“So you think Rafael did it?” she asked. “He murdered that man? Why?”
He nodded. “He’s in the old family business. And in my experience, people get murdered by the mob for one of two reasons—one, because they betrayed the family, or two, to keep them from betraying the family.”
She shuddered. Probably climbing over a fence and spying on them was a bit of a betrayal. It was a miracle she wasn’t sleeping with the fishes, now, but it all made sense. Pietro Grinnelli had seen too much. Maybe he was going to squawk to the police. But then . . . Rafael caught wind of it, thought their extensive network of informants, and . . . lights out.
She was about to say, I think you may be right, and tell the detective what she’d seen, but then he added, “And I think he had help.”
She pressed her lips together. Yes, his “family” certainly seemed close. If he’d had help, it was likely from one of them. They seemed angry, and more than willing to help Rafael when needed. Family was important above all else. They looked out for each other. Did it matter which one? She supposed it did. As she sat there, frowning, trying to decide whether it was Rocco or the other one, whose name escaped her, who likely pulled the trigger, she caught sight of Detective Dinardo, staring meaningfully at her.
And then she understood. She patted her chest. “You think I helped him?”
He shrugged. “It’s possible. You were right on scene. Didn’t hear the gunshots. There are about a dozen holes that I could tear in your story. It just doesn’t make sense.”
She let out a gasp of exasperation. “What part? I told you, I don’t have a gun. If he wanted help, he could’ve asked his family.”
“Family?”
“Yeah. His cousins, Rocco and Blocko, or something. I can’t remember. They’re probably better at this than I am, being career criminals, and all.”
He nodded. “But they didn’t arrive here until this afternoon.”
She stared at him. “Well, don’t you know everything about them? It’s a wonder you didn’t already solve the case.” She shook her head. “I know nothing. I did nothing. I promise
.”
“Did you ever think it was engineered that way? That Rafael did it and made you come to lunch with him, because he knew you’d at least say that you were together?”
“Is that aiding and abetting?”
He said, “No . . . because you’ve been there too many times, Dr. Smart. Which makes me think that you know far more than you’re letting on. I think you two knew very well that this murder was about to happen, and you did nothing to stop it. In fact, you encouraged it.”
“But what motive did I have?” she asked, once she’d picked her jaw up off the floor.
“It’s simple. You two are both newcomers. Perhaps you were acquainted before. In a relationship? And you’re covering for one another. Your stories don’t add up.”
This would be the part where she would tell him what she’d overheard, at the Tivoli Estate, earlier. But the detective was off his rocker. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Covering for one another? Do you happen to remember how Rafael was practically accusing me?”
“Maybe. But then he has since changed his story to say that he thinks you were nowhere near the body when it was found.”
“He has?” Well, that was nice. But he was just trying to backpedal because she’d yelled at him for placing suspicion on her, instead of telling the truth. If everyone would just tell the darn truth, this wouldn’t be a problem. Now, she felt like she was stuck in a web, where the more she tried to free herself, to more hopelessly entangled she became.
“I do find it very unbelievable that you were out there and never heard the gunshots. I think you know exactly where the weapon is.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. And I promise you, I didn’t know the man until I went to his estate yesterday.”
“Right. When you received an anonymous call.” He sounded doubtful, so there was no way she was going to tell him about the second anonymous call that brought her to the estate, earlier that day.
“It’s true. It happened. And I know the Piccolo clan even less than you do. You’re grasping at straws, Detective.”
Instead of arguing her, which she was sure he would, he said, “Hmm. Yes. Well. It does appear that Rafael has an alibi. According to his housekeeper, she spoke to him right before she heard the gunshots, so there was no way he could’ve gotten that far. And even though he has the family background . . . his record is very clean. Squeaky clean.”