by Fiona Grace
“Really? Wild.” He shook his head, poured himself another glass of wine. It was only when he caught her pouting at his full glass like a stray puppy outside a meat shop that he poured her one. “What makes them think it wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t know. There were signs of a struggle, I guess.” She left out the part about her being caught with the dead man’s boot in her hand.
“Yeah? That’s too much.”
She waited for him to give her some words of encouragement, or at least list all the reasons why there was no way she could’ve committed the crime. But he just scratched his jaw and motioned to his overflowing trash can.
“You happen to figure out when the trash pick-up is around here? Sometimes the guys come on Tuesday. Sometimes on Wednesday. I can’t keep it straight.”
She stared at him, hoping he wasn’t serious. But he stared back at her, expectant, waiting for the answer.
Really? Her life was in the balance. Did she give two flying figs about trash pick-up?
She stood up. “You know what. I think I’ll just go …”
Her stomach roiled. Like she wanted to go back to the scene of the crime. Well, close enough. He didn’t stop her. He simply said, “See you, Boston. Or if I don’t, guess I’ll assume you’re in the pen.”
Audrey sighed. “Thanks for the pep talk. I appreciate it.”
“Hey,” he said as she headed out the door, hands in the pockets of her jacket, head down. Back to her home, back to reality, back to the place where a man had just lost his life.
She looked up.
He motioned her forward. “Give me your phone.”
She handed it to him without question. He took it and started to work his thumbs over the display. Only after a few seconds of this did she think to question what he was doing. “What are you …”
“Giving you my number.”
“So you can be my one phone call?”
He handed it back to her. “No. Just in case you need me. For anything.”
Well … that was kind of sweet.
“You didn’t do it, right? So what do you have to worry about? You’re going to be fine.”
She nodded and let out the breath she’d been holding. If only she could feel that confident.
On the way home, though, again, it felt like everyone was staring at her. Before, she felt like an outsider. Now, she felt like a criminal.
And if she didn’t want to spend her life in that Italian prison, she couldn’t just sit around, waiting for them to clear her name. She needed to do something to clear it herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Audrey tried to ignore the yellow crime scene tape across the street as she walked up the street to her house. There was one police car parked outside, but there was nobody else on the street to give her the stink-eye or call her an assassina.
She couldn’t help feeling like she was being followed.
After a few steps, she stopped and stood, frozen, when she heard the unmistakable sound of feet, sweeping on the stone street.
Whirling, she looked. Nothing.
She sighed. This was all the work of her friendly neighbor. Now, she was paranoid.
Really, Nessa was a piece of work. If there had ever been any hope of them becoming the kind of neighbors who shared gossip at their front stoops and passed casseroles to one another, that was gone now. The sooner Nessa could flip her house to real neighbors, caring neighbors who didn’t accuse her of crimes she didn’t commit, the better.
The sound came again. Someone was definitely following her. Her arms prickled with goosebumps.
She took a deep breath and whirled fast, catching a spot of red in her peripheral vision as it zoomed behind a potted plant on someone’s stoop.
Nick.
“Come on out,” she said, crossing her arms. As if understanding her perfectly, it poked its head around the pot and then carefully made its way to her. She let out a tsk. “Didn’t I lock you up in the house? How did you get out?”
In reply, he slipped between her legs, wrapping his bush tail around her calf, like a cat wanting to be petted. Audrey looked up and down the street. The last thing she needed was the police seeing her harboring a wild animal. Then she scooped it into her arms and took it quickly to her front door.
A sick feeling settled over Audrey as she entered her little home, set Nick free to roam around her kitchen, and looked around. Sure, it wasn’t much. But it had to be better than prison.
She wasn’t in the mood to tackle the next thing on her renovation list. Instead, her mind kept wandering to Ernesto. Who could’ve done that? Did he have any enemies? Likely. It wasn’t nice to speak ill of the dead but the guy had been a jerk to her. He probably had loads of enemies. Maybe he’d been involved in shady dealings with someone. Maybe he’d gotten on someone’s bad side.
Her thoughts spiraled out to a few days ago, when she’d caught one of the crewmen yelling at him and flipping him off.
Of course!
She grabbed her kettle and put it on the burner. When it whistled, she poured herself a cup of tea, fetched her notepad out of her purse, and sat down, thinking.
Just because she and Nessa hadn’t seen anyone else there didn’t mean anything. The killer could’ve gone into the backyard and pushed Ernesto in mere seconds. Whoever had killed Ernesto was likely expecting him to be there alone. He probably didn’t know that Nessa had moved in. Or maybe he knew she took a morning run and wouldn’t be there.
And a murder like that could’ve been unplanned. He and whoever the killer was could’ve argued and struggled, or maybe it was an accident. He fell, and the person who did it got scared and ran off.
But if they had argued, wouldn’t Audrey or Nessa have heard something? Wouldn’t she have heard him shout? Audrey had been listening, too, because she’d been surprised not to hear much noise coming from over there. Her house was like Swiss cheese, so even the smallest sounds seemed to travel to her windows.
So Audrey was convinced that whatever had happened, it hadn’t been a regular row, like the one she’d had with him earlier, where they’d accumulated an audience. Maybe everything happened so fast, and the real killer was at home, now, feeling guiltier and guiltier by the second. Maybe it was only a matter of time before he turned himself in.
That didn’t help Audrey feel any better. She finished her tea and scribbled some more notes.
She scribbled the word CREWMEN down on the pad and circled it thickly. Yes, she’d have to talk to them, one by one, narrowing them down. Just like a regular Sherlock.
Just then, there was a knock on her door.
She nudged Nick into the bathroom and cracked the door to find a tall police officer standing there, with a mop of dark hair that made the rest of his skinny body look like the handle. He had to have been fresh out of his teens, with the acne on his cheeks to prove it. “Signorina Smart?”
She opened the door a little wider, but not too wide. “Yes?”
He started to speak in Italian, and she held up her hands.
“Hold on. I’m sorry. I’m Italian 101. I don’t understand.”
He smiled big, bearing perfectly straight white teeth, a contrast to his tanned skin. “Ah, scuzi.” He pointed to the shiny gold nameplate on his broad chest. “I’m Officer Ricci. Detective DiNardo? He want me to come. To see … to check on you. From time to time. Si?”
Audrey smiled at him, because he seemed adorably eager to impress his boss. He couldn’t have been on the force more than a year. For a moment, she wondered if she should invite him in for tea, for his trouble, but then she remembered Nick. “Oh, that’s very nice of him, but you really don’t have to …”
She stopped. This wasn’t a check on her welfare, to make sure her heart was still ticking after the shock of seeing a dead body. It was to check to make sure she hadn’t fled the country. The city.
Because she was, without a doubt, their number one suspect.
Her smile fell. “I’m here,” she muttered
. “Thanks.”
She slammed the door and threw her weight against it. Nick came out and whimpered at her as she stared up at the water-stained ceiling that was badly in need of a new paint job. A paint job that would have to wait, especially with the police hanging around her door.
If she wanted to continue the renovations on the house, it was clear she’d have to prove her innocence first.
And she knew just where to start.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The following morning, the second she heard the power saw going, she rocketed out of the house, excited to start her investigations. Audrey thought it a stroke of luck that any of the workers had shown up, especially since the police had put a moratorium on any renovation work at the scene.
Grabbing her trusty notepad, she rushed for the door, only to see Nick gazing hopefully at her from the foyer.
She held up a finger. “One second! Stay here. I promise I’ll get you breakfast in a jiffy.”
Opening the door just wide enough to squeeze through, she slipped out, nearly coming nose-to-chest with the officer from the day before. She would’ve forgotten his name if she hadn’t nearly inhaled his nameplate.
“Officer Ricci, hi,” she muttered. “You’re up early.”
Or maybe he’d slept under her window all night? That was a definite possibility, from the bleary look in his eyes. He flattened down a cowlick and stepped aside. “Signorina. Buongiorno.”
She looked to Nessa’s house, where the saw was still trilling somewhere inside. But there were no vehicles around that looked as if they belonged to one of the crewmen. She looked at the officer. “I thought you guys ordered that no renovations were supposed to take place there until the investigation was over?”
His eyes went to the house. He cleared his throat, hesitating. “Si.” He lifted his radio and motioned to it. “I should see …”
Audrey had taken one step closer to Piazza Due, but stopped when Nessa’s unmistakable voice rang out over the racket. “For the love of all that’s good and holy! How do you turn this thing off?”
The door swung open, and Nessa appeared in her running garb, decidedly more red-faced than she’d been yesterday. Her eyes narrowed at Audrey, and she opened her mouth, about to spit fire, when she caught sight of the young officer.
Her face softened. “Officer,” she said in her sweetest voice, searching his nameplate. “Ricci?”
She proceeded to say something in Italian that had his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a yo-yo. He nodded and followed her like a puppy on a leash. “Si. Nessun problema.”
He followed her into the front door of her house. Audrey followed, too, just because she was curious as to the results of this massive renovation process, but Nessa blocked the way. “Sorry. I don’t really like murderers in my houses. Do you know what you did to the resale value on this place? They find out there’s been a murder here and I bet I never sell it. Even if it is a Nessa Goodroe property. I’ll have to eat it.”
Audrey gritted her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret later. Calmly, she said, “I didn’t murder a—”
At that moment, the sound of the saw cut off. Nessa clapped her hands together. “Oh, you’ve managed it! You’re a dear! I couldn’t tell which plug was which. They have like, twelve things in that strip.”
While Nessa’s back was turned, Audrey peered inside. The place was all pastels and wicker inside. Even with plastic drop-cloths on the ground, it looked more Golden Girls condo than crumbly nineteenth-century hovel.
Audrey quickly averted her eyes when Nessa turned back to her. Nessa raised her upper lip in a snarl of distaste, and shooed her with her hand like an insect. Be off, peasant!
Officer Ricci appeared, bowing humbly to her and blushing. Even though Audrey couldn’t understand a word he said, she somehow knew he was babbling. He stepped outside just as a work truck with a ladder in the back pulled up.
Nessa groaned. “Oh, great. I called the construction company to come over and fix that blasted thing before Office Ricci stepped in.” She focused her shooing hand on the truck and shouted, “I don’t need you anymore! Go on your way!”
The man at the steering wheel didn’t listen. He cut the engine and stepped out. He was a small, slight man, with shaggy dark hair and a bushy moustache. Audrey had the feeling she’d seen him before, at the worksite, a few days ago, but she was pretty certain he wasn’t the guy that Ernesto had gotten into an argument with. That guy had been bigger, almost as beefy as Biceps himself.
One thing Audrey was sure of? This little guy never would’ve been able to push a big man like Ernesto to his death.
Nessa fisted her hands on her hips as he pointed to the door and said something in Italian. “Now?” She shook her head and said to Audrey, “He has to pick up tools for another job. Another job, can you believe that? While my renovation is at a standstill, thanks to you.”
The construction worker went inside to gather up the tools.
Nessa frowned. “Great. I just spent the night Cloroxing the place to get rid of all traces of sweaty Sicilian. Guess I’ll have to do it again.” She started to go inside and looked over at the officer. Her voice went saccharine. “Could I interest you in a cup of espresso, Officer Ricci?”
“Grazie, si,” he said, following her inside.
Well, didn’t she know how to butter up the local law enforcement. Now, they all thought Nessa was a veritable saint, and the girl across the street from her, a devil. She sighed as the crewman came outside, one arm looped around a ladder, the other holding a folded workbench.
As he proceeded to drop them into the back of the truck, muttering something under his breath, Audrey approached him. “Excuse me. Sir? My name is Audrey and I live across the street. Do you speak English?”
He nodded warily.
“Do you think I can ask you a few—”
He was already backing away, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. “Oh, no. No no no. No more Americans. I’ve had enough, with that diavola in there. No more.”
At least someone else saw through Nessa’s shenanigans.
“I’m sorry. I understand. But I’m just looking into what happened to the foreman on the job. I feel terrible that he’s dead,” she said.
The man’s eyes misted over. “Ernesto.” He hung his head. “Yes. A better man never lived.”
“Oh, so you were friends?”
He nodded. “We were the best. Grew up together. Had some good times.” He clasped his heart. “I had to tell his poor Mariana about his passing.”
Audrey raised an eyebrow, surprised. So Biceps actually had people who liked him? Interesting. “He had a wife?”
“Ex-wife. Oh, going on ten years. She lives in Chaos.”
“Excuse me?”
“Scuzi. Cavusu. Chaos. Near Agrigento. On the shore.”
He seemed pretty torn up, like a shell of the man who’d lugged the heavy equipment outside. Audrey didn’t put it past him to collapse, weeping, right there in the street. She tugged on his sleeve. “Hey. Come in. I’m right here. I’ll make you some tea. Like I said, I’m Audrey.”
“Berto.” He allowed her to drag him across the street, to her home. When they were in there, he sat down in one of the plastic chairs as she brewed the tea. Nick came over and sniffed at his work boots. “Oh, who’s this?” he asked.
Audrey bit her tongue, hoping he wouldn’t be a jerk and threaten to turn her in, like Ernesto had. “That’s Nick. He was injured in someone’s garden. I’m a v—”
“Ooh,” he said, as Nick licked his palm. “What a cute thing.”
Audrey relaxed. “Yes. I’m just nursing him back to health, and then I’ll let him—”
“What’s his name?”
She hesitated. “Nick.”
“Ah.” The animal jumped up onto the man’s lap, and he let out a laugh of great surprise. Nick made himself comfortable as the man petted him, rolling on his side, purring like a kitten. “Very sweet.”
Au
drey brought over the teacups. “So … about Ernesto. I’m sure it must’ve been a shock to find out he died?”
He nodded. The second he lost interest in Nick and started to pour milk into his tea, Nick jumped from his lap and went off to the little nest of rags in the corner that Audrey had made for him. “Yes. Very shocking.”
“You know the police think it could be murder.”
He lifted the cup to his lips but did not respond.
“I’ve only been living here a couple weeks, but it seems like such a nice place. Who do you think could’ve done something like that?”
He shook his head. “None.”
“You think he had any enemies? Like, someone else on his crew?”
“Ernesto? Nah.”
Audrey sat down beside him and poured her own milk. She was hoping he’d mention the guy she’d seen fighting with Ernest, earlier. “Are you sure? Because a couple days ago, I thought he and someone on his crew got into a fight. The guy seemed really angry. Skull cap? Beard? He was wearing a T-shirt with a kind of dark flannel over it?”
Berto laughed. “You mean Peppe?” Audrey shrugged. “No. They’re cousins. That’s the thing with his crew. Grew up with most of them.”
“But a couple days ago, I’m pretty sure I heard—”
“Nah. I know the fight you mean. Peppe’s wife Carmen makes him sfogliatelle as a treat for lunch. Ernesto’s fond of swiping them, as a joke, and eating them before Peppe can get his hands on them. We fight like cats and dogs, but it’s all good and the end of the day. Murder? It’d never happen. Not with his people.”
That wasn’t helpful. Instead of getting a list of people who could’ve murdered Ernesto, now she had a list of people who couldn’t have done it. “You’re sure? I mean, humans do have an infinite ability to surprise. And I don’t think the police think it was planned. Maybe he got into a fight, spur of the moment, and—”