Carlo appeared out of nowhere. “Hey kid, you’re wanted upstairs.”
Tony jumped, nearly dropping the rag. “Me?”
“Yeah. Ditch the rag and go up to the conference room. We’re having a meeting.”
“OK, be right there.” His pulse picked up. He was finally being invited to a meeting about the business. He dumped the rag with the others to be laundered, slipped out of his apron and hoped he didn’t smell like spaghetti sauce. Although, the whole place smelled like sauce, so he guessed it wouldn’t matter.
He took the broad stairs two at a time and went down the hall to the conference room. Everyone was there. He took a seat next to Jimmy, about halfway down the long table. Dad slipped in and sat at the end, avoiding eye contact. It was obvious he didn’t want to be here. Probably too busy running the place to waste time in a meeting. Tony stared at him, hoping he’d glance up.
Carlo strutted in. There was no other word for it--strutted. As if he had rap music playing in his head. He took the empty chair at the opposite end as Tony’s dad. Tony studied him. He wasn’t tall, five-six or so, about Tony’s height. But he wore arrogance like a suit.
Dad planted his elbows on the table, bracing himself. “You can’t do this, Carlo.”
Carlo smirked. “Do what, Dominic?”
Jimmy cleared his throat.
Dad’s eyes traveled down the table and found his. “Tony, what are you doing here, son? Doesn’t your mother need you downstairs?”
Uncle Sal snickered.
Tony felt his face grow warm. Everyone’s eyes were on him. He opened his mouth to defend his right to be here.
“I asked him to come.” Carlo rescued him. “If he’s going to be taking more responsibility, he should understand the business better. Right, boy?”
“Right, sir.” Ugh. Why had he called him that?
Dad sat back in his chair, seemingly tongue-tied.
“So let’s call this meeting to order,” Carlo said. “We’re here to discuss oregano.”
Dad’s face went slack. “Oregano?”
“Yeah. The problem we’re having getting our shipments of oregano. Our vendor is having a hard time getting us what we need. Apparently, the distribution channel is blocked.”
Tony’s mother used a lot of spices in her sauces, and oregano was one of her favorites. She probably used a lot of it. He wondered why they couldn’t get through? Tony wanted to ask, but knew he shouldn’t speak in the meeting. Maybe he could ask Jimmy later.
“Carlo.” Dad used the same warning voice he used when Tony was in trouble. He stared down the table with a strange expression on his face.
Carlo continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The question is, what can we do about it?”
“What about Oscar?” Titus asked. “We’ll dress him up like a nurse.”
Everyone laughed, but Carlo eyed Oscar up and down. “You know, it might work. How tall are you, Oscar, five-foot six or seven?”
“Five eight,” Oscar mumbled, straightening a little.
“OK, so he’s a little beefy for a girl, but I think it might work.”
They all laughed again. What were they talking about? Why a nurse? It must be some kind of joke.
Tony smiled. Jimmy was definitely going to have to clue him in.
Oscar glowered, obviously unhappy. “You’ve got to be kidding. How would I do it?” He twirled the pen in his hand. “I can’t exactly walk right in there and…ah…” he paused, flicking a glance at Tony, “demand oregano.”
“Why not?”
Oscar placed the pen on the table, lining it up with the edge. “Don’t you think it’ll seem a little strange? Besides I have other responsibilities.”
“I’ll take care of them. In fact, I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is go and remove the impediment to our distribution.”
Dad tried one more time, looking around the room. “Come on, guys. We can’t do this. It could seriously hurt our business going forward.”
No one spoke.
“Oscar,” he said. “You don’t want to do it, do you?”
Oscar cleaned his nails and said nothing. No support for his dad coming from there.
Carlo glowered at Dad. “It’s a calculated risk,” Carlo purred. “We’ll just have to finesse the supplier.”
Dad jumped to his feet and pounded the table with his fist. Everyone jumped, including Tony. He’d never seen his father so mad. “Don’t you understand? It will never work. We can’t win this one.”
Carlo’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You’d better hope it works, Dominic.” Menace laced his soft voice. “Because you have the most to lose. I would think you of all people would want to make sure it’s flawless.”
Dad slid back into his chair. “I understand.”
Carlo nodded and turned away.
The meeting ended with Oscar planning to see the supplier, and everyone stood and left the room.
Tony followed, his head spinning. Why did Dad let Carlo talk to him like that? He should fire him.
And why didn’t they just go to the store and buy some oregano until their supplier could get through? It was probably a lot more expensive, but it would work. No, it must be more than that. Maybe they needed way too much. He’d ask Dad later.
10
Peter left for Boulder the next morning. His appointment with Nora Lane, Cindy’s best friend, was for eight o’clock before her first class. He arrived at the University of Colorado campus and, following her directions, found the coffee shop where they’d planned to meet.
The steamy aroma of espresso greeted him as he opened the glass doors and moved to the counter. Being early, he bought a cup of his favorite brew and stood back.
The place bustled with college students, some studying alone, some in groups, and many absorbed in their phones, waiting for service. Baristas behind the counter flew through the orders.
He stood in the crowded space, sipping his coffee until a table vacated and then pounced before anyone else could claim it.
A thin, brown-haired young woman, matching Nora’s description, walked in right on time. She glanced his way, and he waved. After getting her coffee, she came over, introduced herself, and sat across from him. Swollen skin surrounded her dry, bloodshot eyes. “You got some ID?”
He flipped it out and showed her.
She nodded, and he put it back. He got right to the point. “You’re aware Cindy was killed in a warehouse in Pinon Creek?”
She nodded again.
“I’m trying to find out why she was there.” She didn’t speak, so he went on. “Did she say anything to you?”
“No.”
OK, that was short. “Her mom said she was at a charity event. Did she tell you about it?”
“A charity event?”
“Yes. Do you know what charity it was? Was she into any causes?”
“You mean besides the one that killed her?”
Peter folded his forearms on the table. “Do you know who killed her?”
Nora’s brown-eyed gaze bored into him. “You killed her.”
He jerked back, and his hands fell into his lap. “Pardon?”
Nora leaned forward. “The only thing she did for the past year was the DARE program you all sponsor. She was so involved she didn’t have time for her friends.” Her words spewed like lava, and tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn’t brush them away.
“I never saw her anymore, and she skipped so many classes she was probably failing. What do you guys want, anyway?” She brought both hands up, wiping her tears and then pushing the bangs off her face. She held them for a moment and exhaled before letting them fall. “If you’re after another convert to your cause, you can forget it. I told her she was nuts getting involved, but she wouldn’t listen. Look where it got her—dead!” She cried harder, gulping in air.
He handed her a napkin and waited. He tried to make his voice gentle. “What do you mean it got her dead? How did the DARE program get her killed?”
&n
bsp; “You…you policemen,” she spat it out like she meant to say something derogatory. “You ask too much! She was a college student, and she shouldn’t have been following dangerous criminals.”
He sat upright, his heartbeat quickening. “What dangerous criminals? Who was she following?”
She glared straight into his eyes. “Don’t play innocent with me. Are you expecting me to believe you guys weren’t in on it? Like you didn’t know what she was doing?”
How could he know what she was doing? He needed to ignore the frustration. “Listen, Ms. Lane, I have no idea what you’re talking about. The DARE program is about prevention. It stands for Drug Abuse Resistance Education, and its primary mission is to provide kids with the information and skills they need to live drug-and-violence free lives.” He was almost quoting their website, but he couldn’t explain it better.
“That might be what the literature says, but it’s not what you guys do. You ask people to do dangerous things—things they aren’t trained to do.”
What was she talking about? He placed both hands on the table and leaned in, skewering her with his gaze. “Not only would we not expect her to do anything dangerous, it would be illegal for her to involve herself in a police matter. So if she was following someone, we didn’t know about or condone it. Now tell me, who was she following?”
Her eyes grew larger, and her jaw dropped at the force of his reaction. “I don’t know.” Some of the heat went out of her voice. “Cindy wouldn’t tell me his name. She started acting stranger than usual and going to elementary schools to tell her story wasn’t enough anymore. She hung around and followed people she thought looked suspicious. When I asked her about it, she told me she was”—she raised both hands and gestured air quotes—“working with the police”—she lowered her hands—“I tried to get her to give me a name, but she refused. I thought you guys told her not to tell me.”
Peter remained silent.
“Remember when she helped get the dealer who supplied her brother before he died?” Nora asked.
He nodded.
“She got excited about it and decided to do more. She wanted to go higher up. She said they should know bringing drugs into Pinon Creek was a mistake, and it was too hot there to be worth it. So that’s why she ended up in an abandoned warehouse. That’s the only reason I can think of. She followed someone there, and they caught her.” Nora stood. “I’ve got a class.” She picked up her coffee and walked away.
Peter left the coffee shop and headed back to his car. First, what was Cindy doing following drug dealers? Second, how did she know they were dealers? And where did Mark fit in? Did he know what she was up to? He doubted it. Mark would never endanger a civilian.
Would he?
11
Robin woke with a terrible headache. Noting Mark was unchanged, she called a cab to take her home. Maggie couldn’t complain about that. At least she wasn’t alone.
“Any change?” Ed stood in the hall.
She shook her head and winced.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” Silvia called from the kitchen.
Robin and Ed moved into the kitchen, and she dropped into a chair, quickly regretting it as her head pounded. “Some, but not much I’m afraid.”
“You look tired. Why don’t you let us stay with Mark while you lie down? I’m worried about you.”
Robin started to say no, but the day stretched out in front of her, long and exhausting, having to be upbeat when she felt lousy. She clamped her lips shut. She wasn’t up to it. Besides, Mark’s parents would call if there was any news. “I think I’ll take you up on that. A good nap in my own bed sounds heavenly.”
After eating some toast and eggs, she went upstairs, showered, and put on sweats. In the bedroom, she reached for the blinds.
An old blue sedan pulled up in front of the house, followed by two police cars. A tall man in a suit and a uniformed officer exited the sedan and marched up the walk before the police cars even came to a complete stop.
Robin hurried downstairs, went to the front door and opened it.
The tall man was about her father’s age, his dark hair sprinkled with gray. There were crinkles next to his soft brown eyes, but he didn’t smile. “Mrs. Clayton, my name is Isaiah Thompson. I’m with the Internal Affairs Division of the Colorado State Police.” He handed her his badge. When she gave it back, he passed her a sheet of paper. “We have a warrant to search these premises.”
She stared at the signature. Judge Lawson. Mark spoke of her with respect. The words blurred until she couldn’t take them in.
He stepped forward, and she backed up to let him and a team of five men and two women enter.
“What’s going on?” Ed came from the kitchen, a dishtowel in his hand.
“They have a search warrant.”
“A warrant? What for? What is this about?”
Silvia followed her husband, and Ed’s voice started to rise.
No one answered. They split up and moved through the house.
Robin knew most of them, some better than others, but she’d seen and said hello to all of them at some point. They either averted their gazes or watched her with sympathy as they slipped past, moving two by two, giving her a brief vision of Noah’s Ark.
One stayed behind with Thompson, who faced her. “We’re investigating the shooting your husband was involved in, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Involved in. Somehow, he made it sound as if Mark had done the shooting instead of being shot.
“Of course.” Robin gestured to the room behind her. “Come into the living room. Please sit. Can I get you anything?” How could her voice be so calm and polite when she was shaking inside? What did these people hope to find?
Thompson declined anything to drink and sat in one of the armchairs.
Silvia perched next to her husband on the couch.
Robin wished Mark were here.
The young officer brought out a notebook and pen and sat in a chair a little removed from the group, as if he wanted them to forget his presence.
When everyone settled, Thompson began, “As I’m sure you’re aware, your husband was found in an abandoned warehouse the day before yesterday. Did he mention any business he may have had there at that time of the morning?”
Any ideas she’d had that he would be kind vanished. “No, he didn’t.” Where was this going?
“Do you know a woman named Cindy Carroll?”
“Yes, she’s part of the DARE program.” His silence made her want to continue. “Cindy had a personal tragedy involving drugs and wanted to help. She was killed in the warehouse, wasn’t she?” The search resounded around her.
He slid some notes out of a leather folder. Two men went from the dining room into the kitchen and rattled through the cabinets. Two more men and two women climbed the stairs.
Was everything clean up there? In her rush to get down here, did she leave her underwear on the floor? She shook her head. What a dumb thing to worry about. Better concentrate.
“How well did your husband know her?”
“Reasonably well. They were all—”
“Were they having an affair? Is that how she ended up dead in an abandoned warehouse with your husband?”
Robin’s mouth fell open. Shock kept her silent.
Not so her mother-in-law. “Now you wait a minute!” Silvia’s face flared bright red as she sprang to her feet. “My son wouldn’t do that to Robin.”
Ed grabbed his wife’s hand and tugged her down again, looking over to Robin. “Detective Thompson, we’re finished answering questions without a lawyer present.”
Robin shot him a grateful glance.
The officer folded his notebook and put it away. The detective opened and then closed his mouth as if he wanted to say more but knew from the note-taker’s expression he wouldn’t have support. It must be someone who liked Mark.
“Very well.” Thompson stood. “When you’re ready to answer questions about your husband
’s activities, give me a call. Until then I’ll have to investigate on my own.”
Before they could speak, an officer stuck his head in the doorway and cleared his throat. “Um, detective? We found something up here.”
They followed the young officer and the detective up the stairs and into her bedroom. A briefcase lay open on the bed, money stacked inside. A lot of money. The bundles had hundreds on top.
Robin’s hands grew slippery with sweat. “Where did you get that? It’s not mine.”
The detective scowled at her with a cross between scorn and pity. She must have imagined the pity, because if it did exist it disappeared fast. Hard distrust tightened his features. “Mrs. Clayton, do you recognize this case? It was found on the top shelf of your closet.” He stepped back, revealing an old-fashioned black case with pushdown clasps.
She opened her mouth, but no words came. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No. I’ve never seen this before. I don’t know how it got there.”
A gloved officer closed the case, touching as little of it as possible, and clicked the latches with a pen. He picked it up by the sides and stowed it in a plastic bag.
Thompson gestured for her to precede him downstairs, and the search continued. The officers didn’t seem to find anything else of interest.
When they finished, Thompson turned to her. “Mrs. Clayton, I would like to question you downtown regarding your husband’s activities. I suggest you call your lawyer.”
Robin changed into jeans and searched for the number of Susan Legrae, a legal secretary who went to her church. Susan promised to have someone meet her at the station. She went in the blue car with the note-taker and Thompson, her in-laws promising to follow in her car. They were silent the entire trip, allowing her to process what just happened. How long had the briefcase been in there? Being short, she didn’t use the high shelf often, but it couldn’t have been there long. Had Mark put it there? If so, why didn’t he tell her? A sick feeling swirled in the pit of her stomach.
When they arrived at the station, she walked past the desk clerk without speaking. She’d been to the station often and always bantered with whoever was on desk duty.
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