“To what end?” asked the detective. “So Cara Mia Delgatto kept her mouth shut. So what? She probably wants to put the whole episode behind her. Who could blame her? St. Louis Police Chief Robbie Holmes told me the whole story. Cara Mia Delgatto was a sheltered seventeen-year-old girl at the time.”
“Ah, young love.” Showalter snickered.
“Huh,” said Lou. “Love had nothing to do with it. At least not from Petrocelli's end. Police Chief Holmes says that Petrocelli is a natural born, smooth-talking con artist. That creep and his girlfriend Alicia set up the whole thing, hoping to get control of the Delgatto family restaurant. Ms. Delgatto was too naive to see it coming.”
“Ms. Delgatto might have been her daddy's little princess,” said Showalter, “but she was no shrinking violet. She hit Petrocelli over the head with a frying pan. That blow sent him to the hospital. He could have died.”
“Could have, but who wouldn’t have done the same in her shoes? Besides, she didn't kill him. There’s conjecture that the girlfriend lied about Cara hitting him repeatedly. Experts witnesses testified that was a lie,” said Lou, as he adjusted his seatbelt. Time to head back to the station. He hesitated before keying the ignition because a variety of thoughts swirled in his head.
“I'm curious to see whether Ms. Delgatto comes clean to Skye and MJ Austin,” said Lou. “It's not that I don't take Police Chief Holmes at his word, but if she does spill the beans, that would be another point in her favor.”
“It would be pretty hard for her to keep her mouth shut now,” said Showalter. “You made it all but impossible for her to keep her history secret from her new hires.”
“I acted like that on purpose,” said Lou. “I want to hear what Ms. Delgatto tells Skye. Maybe there's more to the story. After all, her records were sealed because she was a minor at the time. Ollie didn't think to look in the newspaper when nothing turned up in the police records.”
“How will you know what she tells them?” asked Showalter.
“I'll find out from Skye, sooner or later.”
“Doubtful,” said Showalter. “She's been pretty close-mouthed about her new friend. She didn't tell you she was thinking of moving to that upstairs apartment. You can't fault Skye for being loyal.”
“That's true,” said Lou. “As for Ms. Delgatto's actions, I've hit creeps with my nightstick hard enough to knock them out. That's all she did. He did more damage to his skull when he hit the floor and all that junk fell on him. If he hadn't found a slick lawyer, nothing would have come of it. As it was, he took the Delgatto family for a bundle. Offered to drop charges in exchange for a lot of money. Who could blame the parents for wanting to get rid of him? Your daughter marries a jerk who hits her, gets her pregnant and cheats on her, and this is your chance to make him go away. All you have to do is write him a big check. So what if it nearly bankrupts you? I'd do it in a heartbeat if that were my little girl, wouldn't you?”
Showalter nodded. “But they should have realized it wouldn't end there. That Petrocelli would keep wanting more.”
“If Dom Petrocelli hadn't told some reporter such a bleeding-heart story, the matter wouldn’t have blown up like it did. He and his accomplice milked the situation for all it was worth,” said Lou, as he straightened a seam on his slacks. He ironed them himself, and he was incredibly particular about them. Oddly enough, he'd given up on keeping his shirts looking tidy. Each day he pulled a fresh one out of the closet but by the time he was ready for bed, his shirt was as wrinkled as a dirty tissue.
Showalter huffed, a sound of derision. “What a piece of work. That wife-beater Petrocelli walks away from the Delgatto family with a cash settlement and payments over ten years. He even tried to get custody of the recipes that had been in the Delgatto family for generations!”
“Right,” said Lou, while absentmindedly scratching his chin. “The Delgattos would have been sunk if their attorney hadn't added a non-compete clause to their hiring forms. Otherwise, Petrocelli could have opened up right across the street and taken all their customers. Instead, he mounted a smear campaign in the media and opened his own restaurant right across the river in Illinois. Darn near put the Delgattos into bankruptcy. Of course, all that happened after Cara Mia Delgatto was hauled into jail, big belly and all. Didn’t help that somebody leaked photos of the whole mess to the media. Especially because she was covered in blood. Holmes told me that she went into labor early after she was charged with attempted murder.”
“So while Mama and Papa Delgatto were trying to keep their only child out of jail and their new grandbaby alive, Petrocelli was whining to the media. His complaints laid the groundwork for his new business.” Showalter shook his head in disgust.
“No one would have ever expected things to go so wrong,” sighed Lou. “Thomas Delgatto hires a promising culinary student. Gives the young man a chance to launch his career. Watches his seventeen-year-old daughter fall in love and get married. Sees his daughter being mistreated by that creep. Then spends the rest of his life trying to dig the family out of a hole when his son-in-law sues him. Here Cara is, two decades later, stumbling over the body of a man who was also hit in the head.”
“That's one heck of a co-inky-dink,” muttered Showalter. “You keep saying she didn't do it, but your boss is right: You ain't got one iota of proof she didn't. She could have bonked Humberger over the head before you saw her at Pumpernickel's. Better find out who did Humberger in. And fast.”
“Motive, that's the key. I know the means. I know plenty of folks who had opportunity. But only one person out there must have had a compelling reason to do Humberger in. I just need to find him. Or her. So far, I can't see Cara Mia Delgatto as being that one person. Why kill a guy she'd just met?”
“Because he tricked her into buying that dump.” Showalter jerked his thumb toward the building.
“She doesn't act like she was tricked,” Lou said. “Looks like she's settling in for keeps. She’s got big plans for that place. Even got herself a renter. Might even make a decent go of it.”
A movement at The Treasure Chest caught his eye. Skye stepped out of the front door, followed by MJ and Cara Mia. Lou could see Skye's hands moving happily as she pantomimed positioning something near the front door.
What a study in contrasts that trio of women were! MJ's brassy yellow hair was tied up with a scarf in a poofy ponytail, Skye's blond-streaked tendrils were escaping from a knot on the top of her head, and Cara Mia had pulled her dark curls into a loose braid. Skye talked with her hands, MJ kept hers crossed over her chest, and Cara Mia punctuated each phrase with a vigorous nod of the head.
After the three came to some agreement, Cara paced off the front of the building, as if taking rough measurements. She'd taken five steps when a tan Chevy truck came racing down the street past the store.
The driver gunned his engine and squealed his tires. The vehicle was mud-splattered. Lou instinctively looked at the license plate, but it was totally obscured with dirt.
Something white went flying out of the driver's side window. A tiny form windmilled through the air and hit the pavement with a sickening thud.
It was a Chihuahua.
CHAPTER 45
I was talking to Skye and MJ when a scream of pain pierced the air. I turned in time to see a dog hit the pavement. Rolling to its belly, the pup tried to stand but fell down in the middle of the street, right in front of Pumper-nickel's. As the dog struggled, oncoming cars veered to the left and right to avoid hitting him.
“Get help!” I yelled to my friends. Without thinking, I darted through the traffic and raced toward the animal. Once I made it to the middle of the street, I stood there shielding the dog with my body, gesturing for cars to go around us. The light turned yellow and then red, and traffic slowed to a stop.
Woop-woop-woop!
With siren blaring and red lights flashing, a police car pulled out from a space along the side of Pumpernickel's. Detective Murray was driving it. He took after the tan truck. Both
cars raced away from us.
Good. I hoped Detective Murray would throw the book at the creep who tossed this dog out of his truck.
MJ joined me as I stood there in the middle of the pavement. She unwrapped the scarf from around her ponytail and played traffic cop, diverting cars around me. I bent over the dog. The tiny white Chihuahua was lying on its side and shivering, panting in pain. I knew better than to touch him. He was hurt and I was a stranger. He had every reason to bite me.
“Is he still alive?” MJ called to me.
“Yes! But he needs help.”
His left hind leg was bent at an odd angle. It must have taken the brunt of his weight when the dog hit the street. Moving the pup would cause pain, but I had to get him out of the street before all three of us got hit.
MJ glanced down where I was crouching over the small white bundle. “I locked the store. Skye ran over to Pumpernickel's to get a cardboard box. She's thinking you could slide it under him. Then we could lift it and get him into my car.”
The dog was panting but otherwise not moving. He was such a funny little thing with tufts of fur sticking out of bat wing ears. Feathers of fur trailed from his tail and legs. He looked at me, sidewise, as if to ask, “Are you going to hurt me, too?”
“If he has internal injuries, he might not make it,” MJ warned me. “Best not to get too attached.”
I couldn't help it. My heart already ached for this poor creature. When Skye reappeared, she brought a corrugated cardboard box. One side had been cut away. She also carried a pair of thick gloves, the kind for doing heavy yard work. These I slipped over my hands, just in case the dog tried to bite me. While MJ ran to get her car, Skye took over directing traffic to flow around us.
“I'm going to move you, buddy,” I said to the dog. “We need to get you to a vet. I know it will hurt, and so please bear with me. I'll be as careful as I can, but these are not optimal circumstances.”
He wagged his tail as if he understood.
While Skye played traffic cop, MJ waited her turn in the line of cars coming down the street. That pink Cadillac of hers was unmistakable. She drove very slowly, timing her arrival at the intersection to the light turning red. Her flashing hazard lights warned other drivers to give her a wide berth.
Her arrival gave us a brief opportunity for moving the dog. Kneeling on the concrete, I slid the box under his body. When the white Chihuahua was nestled inside, I struggled to my feet with the makeshift stretcher. Skye helped me stand up. Then she threw open the rear door of MJ's car. After I was safely inside with my precious cargo, Skye closed my car door and hopped into the front passenger seat.
“Hit it,” she said. MJ accelerated slowly and we were off.
I worried that every breath would be the dog's last. Since coming to Stuart, all I'd encountered was one tragedy after another. Maybe I needed to take Skye up on her offer of using the smudge stick. Or go visit a church and light a candle. Or two or three. Something. I definitely needed a change of luck.
CHAPTER 46
Two hours crept by while we waited in the vet's office. The only relief was an occasional visit from a new client, and Skye’s phone calls to Lou. He’d chased the truck through town and tried to get details on the owner, but his efforts had been complicated because the license plate had been covered with mud. Two of the digits were totally unreadable.
Our combined outrage about the abuse of the dog turned the three of us from acquaintances into instant best friends. We talked about this and that, and eventually discussed marital misadventures.
“I think of all my marriages so far as practice runs,” said MJ, as she massaged hand lotion into her fingers, hands, and arms.
“Practice runs?” Skye asked, as she accepted a glob of lotion. “How many have you had?”
“Five so far. Six, if you count marrying the same man twice.”
“Oh,” I heard myself say as I smeared some of the cream on my hands. “Isn't that tiresome?”
“No. I got some fantastic gifts along the way. Even a couple of nice break-up presents, like this ring, see?” She extended her hand to show off a one-carat diamond in a white gold setting.
Skye and I both stared at the sparkler. I bet that she and I were thinking the same thing: Really? Neither of us said anything. I certainly had no room to talk.
“How about you, Skye?” I asked. “Were you ever married?”
She immediately ducked her head and turned away. “Yes,” she said quietly.
Clearly this was not a topic she wanted to explore. That was fine by me. Just thinking about Dom and all the heartache, hassle, and hurt he had caused made me angry and sick by turns.
“At least I got a wonderful son out of it,” I said, more to myself than to them.
“Amen to that. You're lucky. I never had kids. Wanted them. Might have stayed married if I had them, but it didn't happen.” MJ leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
“How many times have you been properly in love?” Skye asked.
“Ah, the old Piers Morgan question,” mumbled MJ. She appeared to be half-asleep. “Ten times. I counted them up.”
“Once,” I said sadly. They might both think I was talking about Dom, but I wasn't.
Skye said nothing until MJ prompted her, “You started it. You have to 'fess up.”
She was saved from answering because the vet tech walked out to say, “The doctor has finished with your pup.”
My pup? I glanced at my friends. Who was she talking about?
The tech continued, “He has a broken leg, but otherwise no injuries.”
“Looks like you've got yourself a dog,” said Skye, smiling at me. “What are you planning to name him?”
I shook my head and said, “Me? A dog? That dog? Oh, no. I'm strictly a big dog person anyway. No way would I ever own a Chihuahua.”
“Right,” said MJ. “Explain that to the poor suffering creature in there!”
The vet tech handed the receptionist a billing form and disappeared. After tapping on a keyboard, the receptionist presented me with a bill so large it caused my head to spin. MJ leaned over my shoulder to take a peek.
“Tell Pete to come out here,” she demanded of the receptionist.
In short order, a tall thin man with a bald spot joined us. His glance took us all in, but his eyes widened as he noticed MJ.
“Hey, MJ. I didn't realize you were out here. That your dog?”
“No, but this is my new boss, Pete, and I brought her here. I just got a good look at that bill, Pete. Now come on. Give her the friends and family discount, won't you? For me?”
If it is possible to smolder with sexuality while dinging someone over price, MJ proved herself a deft hand. The look she gave the vet was so X-rated, I found myself averting my eyes in embarrassment.
Skye's jaw nearly hit the floor.
The receptionist turned bright pink and began riffling noisily through the file cabinet.
“Go to the Elks with me this Saturday?” His voice sounded young, husky, and hopeful.
“Busy this Saturday. Working to get the store up and running. But if you knock fifty percent off, I'll cancel my plans for next Saturday.”
“All right, all right,” and he took the bill out of my hand. As I watched, he reduced it by half. “I take Visa and MasterCard. Thank you for your business.”
The receptionist rang up the sale. “We'll phone you tomorrow to check on your dog.”
Almost as though I was coming out of a trance, I put up a hand as a stop sign. “Wait! I don't want a dog. I don't know what's going to happen with—”
“Your store?” Skye raised her eyebrows. “Come on, Cara Mia. You're committed. You can't walk away from The Treasure Chest. Not now.”
“Your life?” MJ smirked. “I don't think you should leave town until they track down Hal Humberger's murderer. Girlfriend, you're stuck here.”
Shaking my head, I was speechless looking at my new friends.
The vet tech walked into the wait
ing area. She was carrying the dog in a new box, one with all four sides. Before I could protest, she shoved the container into my hands. “What a sweet guy. He barely whimpered during the procedure. How'd it happen? Did you step on him?”
The Chihuahua trembled up at me with huge chocolate eyes. On his left leg, he wore a U-shaped metal brace, reminiscent of a paperclip.
“Someone threw this little guy out of a moving truck,” said Skye. “We were standing on the curb when the dog went sailing past. Can you believe that?”
“Some people need a good whack up the side of the head.” The tech shook her head as she scratched the pup under his chin.
Skye stifled a giggle, while MJ smirked.
“You've got that right,” I said, as I stared down at my new pet. “I think I'm going to name you Jack.”
“Jack?” MJ's expressive eyebrows questioned me.
“It rhymes with whack.”
CHAPTER 47
“Why the glum look?” Skye asked me, as MJ drove us back to the store. “The dog is going to survive. He’s had good care. We lost a little time, but we're making progress on the store. You've got a plan of action, and a new pet.”
“Look,” I hesitated, but I couldn't keep silent any longer. “I don't mean to cry poor mouth, but I've got to come up with some income. Between the dog and the property, my little nest egg is dwindling at an alarming rate.”
“I don't think we want to open our doors until we get the place fixed up,” said MJ, “and that said, I'll call Jimmy and ask him to bump us to the head of his list.”
“I can take time off from Pumpernickel's,” said Skye. “While MJ works on selling antiques, you and I can start prepping and taping for painting, Cara.”
“That leaves one big redecorating problem,” I said. “Lighting.”
“Angel runner, angel runner,” intoned Skye. “We need fixtures.”
“Excuse me?” I stopped petting Jack to listen.
“Whenever you need help, you call upon an angel runner. Celestial beings will come to your aid,” explained Skye. “That's what I did when I needed a new place to live, and you walked into my life.”
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