by Howes, Ann
The Marker
Book One in the Bridge Series
Ann Howes
Contents
Title page
Credits
Dedication
1. The past revisited
2. Delightful as your ass is
3. Orange Ferraris
4. You’re dangerous
5. What’s good for the goose
6. The Russian what?
7. Vicodin dreams and phantom kisses
8. Dogs, dogs and more dogs
9. Game on
10. Lights, Camera, Action
11. Casual drive-by piece of ass
12. Damn crickets
13. Somewhere over the rainbow
14. Must still be in the mountains
15. Every rose has its thorns
16. We can bring the dog
Thank you
Coming soon
About the Author
THE MARKER
by Ann Howes
Copyright: 2018 Ann Howes
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and places are a product of the authors imagination.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design:
Taylor Sullivan at
https://www.facebook.com/ImaginationUnCOVERED/.
Editing: Gillian Holmes
https://reedsy.com/gillian-holmes
Thank you for selecting this book out of all the choices you have and for considering taking the time to read it.
I hope you enjoy.
You can find me on Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAnnHowes/
or visit my website at
www.authorannhowes.wordpress.com
and sign up for my newsletter regarding new releases.
To my children:
Without your encouragement, your great ideas and opinions on plot points this would have been much harder than it was.
Thank you for being you and for keeping it real.
I love you to the moon, the stars and the purple castles in the sky.
1
The past revisited
* * *
I should’ve known not to make eye contact.
Especially as the last thing I need right now is to be recognized by anyone from my past. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but today it is, and I did.
“Shelley De Luca?”
Perhaps I can blame my distraction on the stabbing fluorescent lights as I struggle to focus my swollen, bruised eye on cheap concealers at the drugstore. Still, it doesn’t prevent me from looking up at the sound of my name, being said in that voice.
“Shelley?” she calls again, louder. “Is that really you?”
Since in general I’m not a rude person, I suck it up and turn to face her.
“It is you,” Cherry Meloni yells, pushing a squeaky cart loaded with toilet paper and Diet Coke.
“Golly gee, what a coincidence. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Golly gee?
Who the hell says that?
“Since junior year, I think,” Cherry continues. “When you and me and Joey Cadora broke into the school’s snack shop the night before…oh.” Her head jerks forward as her gaze settles on my eye.
That’s the moment I remember my sunglasses are on top of my head, and not hiding my face like I intended.
Sigh.
“Yowzer!” she says, pointing a long, unpainted fingernail in the general area of my face. “What happened to that?”
“Um…hi Cherry,” I mumble and hope if I ignore her question, she’ll catch a clue. “It’s been a while.”
On second thoughts, it’s doubtful. If memory serves, Cherry and clues never seemed to occupy the same area code. Then her gaze drops to the concealer in my hand before popping right back up.
“Joey give you that?”
“What?”
Joey, among currently not being a part of my life, is many things (not all of them good) and did many things (not all of them legal) but he never beat the crap out of me.
“No,” I smirk. “Why would you think that?”
“Ha!” she barks and I swear relief registers in her expression as her shoulders relax. “For a second I thought you were the one who shot him. You know…like payback?”
Payback?
Shot him?
Dean, my ex, must have done more damage to my head than I thought because clearly I’m missing something.
“Oh, my golly gosh.” She claps her hands together and bounces on her toes. The sound moves through my head like a whip cracking. “I’m kidding. Didn’t really think it was you.”
Okay, wait.
“Did you say someone shot Joey?” I ask.
“You didn’t know?” Her eyes widen and then she blinks. “He’s dead. Can’t believe you didn’t know. I mean, wouldn’t you be, like, the first to know?”
My mouth drops open but no words come out.
“Got hit in the back of the head. Apparently, they made such a mess of his face, they had to identify him by his fingerprints. Pity, because he had such a pretty face.”
My synapses start reconnecting.
“Guessing there won’t be an open casket…”
“Stop.” I raise my hands, palms up, then press my fingers to my temples. “Please, Cherry, just stop.” I pull in a breath, count to three, let it out slowly. “Is this one of those bullshit moves like you pulled back in high school?”
“Uh…?”
“Like when you put rotten fish guts from your dad’s store into people’s shoes?”
“Oh shit.” Cherry takes a step back, looks down and maneuvers her cart so it’s between us. “I did that to you?”
I stare at her, stunned. What is wrong with this woman?
“I don’t remember doing that to you,” she goes on, shaking her head, causing her gold hoop earrings to jiggle. “No…in fact…”
“Cherry!”
“What?”
“Joey?”
“Oh yeah…I’m not lying, Shelley, I swear on my firstborn. Someone shot him.”
I close my eyes. This can’t be. No. I just talked to him on the phone a few days ago. “Any idea who did it?” My voice comes out a little shaky.
“Well, you know, the usual rumors, of course.”
“And that means what, exactly?”
“Uh…he’s always messed with the wrong people, Shelley. You of all people should know that.” Leaning forward she whispers, “The Cadoras aren’t the only family in this town you don’t mess with.”
She has that right.
At least, that’s how I remember it, but I’ve been gone from the Bay Area a long time. Things could’ve changed.
“I remember you and Joey had a thing back in high school,” she continues, “but God, if I had my choice of brothers it would’ve been Gianni. If he so much as looked at me, I’d go all wobbly and wet my panties.”
Ewww.
Cherry’s wet panties aside, I am unprepared to hear his name. It rumbles through me like an earthquake, the resulting tremor leaves my own legs a little wobbly.
“You and every other girl in town,” I mumble as soon as I catch my breath.
“Lordy, he was hot. I wonder what he looks like now…probably fat and bald…”
“Do you know when the funeral is?” I jump in, mostly to shut her up, but also thinking to wrap this up and get the hell away from her.
“It’s today! At three,
up at Angel of Mercy. You know, where the rest of them are buried.”
Holy crap. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s after one already.
“You’re going?” Cherry asks, shifting from foot to foot.
“Of course, aren’t you?”
Cherry shakes her head, her eyes wide again. I don’t allow myself to wonder why.
“Well, if I’m going to make it,” I say, “I’d better move.”
I glance at the concealer in my hand and determine it’ll have to do. Damned if I’m going to say nice to see you again to her, so I say, “Tell your dad hi from me, will you?” instead. He, at least, was one member of her family I liked. My parents often shopped at his store for fresh seafood back in the day and he always gave them a deal.
Before it all went to shit.
I head towards the registers, dodging another customer juggling two toddlers on a leash coming down the aisle.
“We should get together sometime,” Cherry calls after me as I round the corner. I toss her a wave over my shoulder.
How messed up is my life that after ten years of not seeing or speaking to Joey, we reconnect and he goes and gets himself killed? Who would dare? Don’t they realize who they’re screwing with?
I nibble on what is left of my thumbnail, waiting as a stooped old lady with a too-large wig counts out change and hands it, coin by coin, to the sales clerk.
Once my credit card’s swiped and the concealer shoved into my hoodie pocket, I tackle the two blocks back to my apartment, all uphill. After which I ignore the dubious and more often than not broken-down elevator, trudging up four floors to my tiny corner studio.
I can’t complain, really, since it’s all I can afford and Marshall, the building manager, took a liking to me because I’m the same age as his daughter. And for the same reason, he also took pity on me and gave me a deal while I build my clientele at the salon. I don’t care what his reason is, I’m just happy he has one.
The second-hand black leather couch that takes up half the space in my so-called living room is cool against my back while I recover my breath.
“Dammit to hell, Joey,” I call to his ghost, my voice seemingly lost in my tiny abode. “What did Cherry mean you messed with the wrong people?”
Naturally, he doesn’t answer so I drop my head into my hands and allow the tears to come. Tears of shock, more tears of guilt and finally, tears of lost explanations and opportunities.
“Pull it together, De Luca,” I admonish myself, yanking the last tissue from a box of Kleenex that was full yesterday. “You’ve got a funeral to go to.”
So I do.
Though I can’t say I’m excited to see Gianni again, or maybe I’m just lying to myself. Somehow, I’ve managed to keep his face and anything else to do with him suppressed from my memory. Haven’t even thought of him in a very long time. Cherry’s mention of his name resurrected him like a sleepy spirit, who, now awake, won’t cross over to the other side. Here to haunt and torment, and occasionally freak me the shit out.
But it would be wrong not to go. Perhaps Cherry is right. Maybe he is fat and bald with a witch of a wife and a hundred kids in tow.
One can hope.
Or maybe not, as there’s this little thing moving around my belly that feels an awful lot like jealousy.
But, on the plus side, there’ll be people I’ve not seen in a while.
Los Angeles isn’t that far from the Bay Area, but it may as well have been the moon, since I haven’t kept in touch. My mother made sure of that.
I push myself off the couch and park my nose a few inches away from the bathroom mirror. I manage to cover the bruising, but no amount of concealer can do anything about the swelling that multiple rounds of icing couldn’t reduce.
I could always wear my sunglasses. The same kick-ass pair of D&Gs I scored from a second-hand store in Beverly Hills that I should’ve been hiding behind earlier. No one would think it strange. It’s a funeral, after all.
My only black dress is appropriate enough: simple, with a low V-neck that reveals a little too much of my minuscule cleavage. I scrounge around my jewelry box—I have two vices: good wine and a life-long addiction to silver jewelry—until my hand settles on something I haven’t touched since…well, since then. A heart-shaped chunk of amber Joey gave me the day before my dad died. Then he dumped me the day after.
I never wore it, but couldn’t get rid of it. Somehow it seems right for the moment, and when my fingers wrap around the cool amber, a wisp of air kisses the back of my neck. Like a soft breath, or an affirmation. My skin erupts into goosebumps.
Weird.
Almost like he’s giving approval.
* * *
Getting out of the city is difficult and due to traffic being its usual awful self, I arrive at the church ten minutes late. The inside is softly lit, the Virgin Mary stained-glass window bathes the mourners in soft, colorful hues.
Only one seat next to a hulk remains, so I squeeze myself into it. The hulk wipes away tears with a blue handkerchief that hides most of his face. It’s only when I lay eyes on his Karl Malden nose that I recognize him. Despite the overwhelming sadness in the church, a wave of joy and tenderness sweeps over me.
He’s changed in the ten years since I last saw him. Bigger, balder, but by the looks of things, his suit fits better. Billy “the Barrel” Niccaterra has come up in the world. He was once my father’s best friend.
I touch his hand and lift my sunglasses. “Fancy meeting you here,” I whisper.
His face beams like he’s lit up with an internal light bulb, and a wide, toothy smile spreads across his face.
“Good to see you, kiddo.” We grin and through some force of their own, our hands find each other, before we turn our attention back to the ceremony.
Joey’s closed casket is at the front of the church, next to the altar, and covered in a mixed display of white lilies and red roses, their perfume mingling with the bouquets of gardenias attached to the end of each pew.
Next to it, a giant color photograph of him smiling with a San Francisco Giants cap on, takes center stage. Not one of him as the teenager I was more familiar with, but one of him as a man. The man I never got to know again.
I take in a huge breath in an effort to keep my tears in check, hold it for as long as I can before releasing it.
Such a waste.
Billy’s hand holds mine until the service is over. He was a big part of our lives, but the last time I saw him was at another funeral. My dad’s, when I was seventeen.
People stand, waiting out of respect for the last two immediate family members to pass and exit first. Mama Cadora holds her silver-gray head high as she leads the way.
Directly behind her is him.
Gianni-fucking-Cadora.
Joey’s older brother and now head of the family.
My heart seizes.
A warm flush, starting at my toes, rushes up my body, prickling my skin. When it reaches my head, I’m pretty sure I’m glowing.
Not fat, and definitely not bald. From what I can see, no little witch traipsing behind him either.
He’s matured, and done it well. A testament to the good genes and bone structure all the Cadora men are blessed with. The lines in his brow are slightly deeper, but he’s even more beautiful than I remember. The years adding an edge, a hardness that translates into dangerous.
A small scar cuts through a dark eyebrow that pulls attention to those thickly lashed, crystal-clear blue eyes. Right now, those eyes are stuck on me.
My heart restarts with such an intensity I’m convinced everyone in church can hear it pounding. They drop to the low V-neck of my dress before claiming my gaze again. Only now they’re narrow and look decidedly pissed off.
Is my cleavage that obvious?
I resist the impulse to clutch at my necklace. As he gets closer it becomes increasingly clear he’s not happy to see me. The muscles working in that stubborn jaw a dead giveaway. Only when he can no longer hold my gaze wi
thout turning his head, does he break eye contact.
I try not to think about what that look means, because no matter what our history may be, it’s ancient.
Billy’s hand tightens around mine while we wait quietly for the last mourners to pass. All too soon it’s our turn to pay our condolences to Mama Cadora and Gianni, who stand just outside the church doors.
Billy senses my reluctance and nudges me forward while I resist the urge to chomp on my nails.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” I lean forward to embrace her tiny form and accept her hug and kiss on the cheek. A sad smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, the exact color of her son’s.
“Thank you for coming, Shelley. It’s good to see you again, even under these circumstances. Despite what happened, I remember you loved him too.”
I nod, because it’s easier than speaking over the lump forming in my throat. Mama Cadora squeezes my fingers before she turns to Billy. He lifts her hand to his lips. Billy is nothing if not gallant.
This, however, leaves me with no alternative other than to face Gianni. With my heart still hammering, I take the small step closer and raise my eyes to meet his. They’re hard and glittery and scary as crap.
One thing my parents taught me though, was look ’em in the eye.
In case they shoot you.
Yah.
Easier said. Though I don’t think Gianni will shoot me, at least not in front of his mother…still.
All I have to do is get through this, then I can be on my way having done my duty like a good little mafia daughter representing my family. Or what’s left of it.
“Gianni,” I say, not knowing if I’m supposed to hug him.