Secondhand Smoke

by Karen E. Olson

  Marty finally stopped the show. “Dick,” he called over from his desk, “I’ve got some questions for you.”

  Dick’s face was still flushed as Cindy sashayed her way back across the newsroom to her little corner, where her cameraman was waiting, looking pretty pissed.

  I grabbed my coat and stood up, Vinny on my heels, chuckling. I didn’t say anything as we walked out of the newsroom. For the first time ever, I was completely speechless.

  Chapter 17

  As I climbed back into Vinny’s Explorer, my cell phone chirped. I dug it out of my purse as Vinny started the engine. I felt a blast of cold air but knew it would warm up soon. I turned my attention to the phone.

  “Hey, Annie, how are you doing?” I could hear the worry in Dad’s voice.

  “I’m okay. I’m at the paper, well, just leaving.” I had to wipe the vision of Dick Whitfield and his main squeeze out of my head or it would be swirling around there all day. But then again, it kept me from thinking about Sal. “How are you doing?”

  A pause. “I’m all right. Can you meet me?”

  I glanced at Vinny. “I’m with Vinny.”

  “Not right now. Dinner? Seven o’clock?”

  I looked at my watch. It was just 1:00 P.M. “Sure. Where?”

  “Consiglio’s?”

  A restaurant similar to Prego, with mouthwatering fried calamari and marinara sauce. Since it was after lunchtime and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, my stomach growled. “Sounds great,” I said, ending the call.

  “What’s up?”

  “Dad wants to have dinner at Consiglio’s later.” I thought a minute. “I should probably give my mom a call and tell her what’s going on.”

  He nodded absently; I could tell his mind was elsewhere.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Vinny sighed, and his eyes found mine. “You’ll probably find out anyway, so I might as well tell you. Sal hired your mother three weeks ago because the feds were coming down on him.”

  Oh, Christ. I should’ve known. My mother’s law firm—Hoffman, Giametti and Cohen—had a reputation for representing our city’s residents who happened to have a vowel at the end of their names and happened to be involved in questionable business practices. I knew it was because they were all Jewish. For some reason, the Italians in the neighborhood trusted that—and trusted my mother because of my father.

  So even my mother was on the inside. Everyone knew everything, and I was the last one to know. Great fucking reporter I was. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Sorry. Your mother hired me to look into some things pertaining to the case, and I couldn’t say anything. But now that Sal’s dead, well, I guess it won’t matter if you know that.” He paused a second, biting his lip.

  “What sort of things were you looking into?” I prompted.

  Vinny shook his head. “That I can’t tell you.”

  “So what exactly do you do for my mother’s firm?” I asked.

  “I check out alibis, backgrounds, witnesses.” He paused. “I was working for your mother when I had the gun on me that time at Malone’s. She was representing someone who had trouble telling her the truth about things.”

  I realized that I’d been too self-centered two months ago when we met to really find out what his day-to-day life was like. “So what else do you do, besides working for my mother’s law firm? I mean, I know about that, and finding missing people, but is there anything else?”

  “Why, Annie, I never knew you cared,” Vinny teased.

  I waited.

  “Okay, if you really want to know, I do a lot of divorce cases. You’d be surprised how many people are cheating on their spouses out there. I take pictures, take notes, follow people around, like I did with LeeAnn for Mickey.”

  “You like it, don’t you. Even though you didn’t start out doing that.”

  Vinny sighed. “Yeah, well, when I was at Cornell—”

  “You went to Cornell?” I interrupted, frowning. Now this was a tidbit of information I hadn’t known.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s no big deal.”

  But it was a big deal to me. I hadn’t strayed too far from home, studying journalism at Southern Connecticut State University right here in New Haven, although I had lived on campus. My grades weren’t always the most important thing. I spent a lot of time working on the school newspaper. “I didn’t know you were that smart.”

  Vinny’s mouth twitched, but I couldn’t tell if it was with annoyance or that he wanted to smile. “I got my undergrad in biology and my graduate degree in marine science at Northeastern. I was working toward my PhD at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution on the Cape just before I came home.” He stared at me for a long minute.

  I was still reeling from “Cornell,” “Northeastern,” and “PhD.” Christ, Vinny was fucking smart.

  “You know, Annie, it’s not a huge stretch between my research and this. Lots of analyzing data, looking at the minutiae. Trying to see what’s really going on.” He pulled out of the lot. “So where to?”

  A phone call to my mother wouldn’t be enough now. I had to see her and ask her about Sal directly. But I didn’t want Vinny tagging along. “Can you bring me home? I’m beat. I just want to take a nap.”

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I’m not sure he believed me, so I faked a yawn. “I’m sure you’ve got stuff you need to do,” I added.

  “Okay,” he said simply, and it was too easy. But I couldn’t call him on it.

  Vinny brought me back to my brownstone and walked me up to the apartment, making sure I locked the door when I got inside. I watched him from the window—he looked up and waved—and saw the SUV go down the block and out of sight. I was suspicious that he knew I wasn’t going to stay home but figured I’d take my chances. If he followed me, at least he wouldn’t be with me when I talked to my mother, the way he would if I’d invited him along. But if someone else tried to assault me, he would be close by.

  I didn’t think that was a bad plan.

  I ran down the steps and got into my car, slipping in the Rolling Stones tape and turning up the volume as I pressed on the gas.

  My stomach growled as I drove up Chapel Street. I glanced in the rearview mirror, didn’t see the Explorer, and thought that a late lunch might be a good idea. I could also postpone the most likely unpleasant encounter with my mother. Miraculously, a car was pulling out of a spot on Chapel as I went through the light at Temple. I eased the car against the curb and found myself standing in line and reading the blackboard menu at Claire’s. It was a vegetarian place, and while I definitely like meat and wasn’t into a big salad or alfalfa sprouts, the cheese-and-bean enchiladas were always good. I took my lemonade to a table, staring out the window, until a tall, skinny girl wearing a white apron called my name and I waved her over. The plate of food smelled fantastic and tasted even better with sour cream slathered all over it.

  One of the best things about not dating anyone was eating anything I wanted, with no regard for calories. Fortunately, while I certainly wasn’t skinny like the girl who gave me my food, my metabolism hadn’t slowed enough yet so I would have to do something drastic, like buying into the latest diet fad. I couldn’t see myself resigned to a life of constipation, eating only bacon and cheese.

  I suppose I could’ve been considered callous, enjoying my meal after finding Sal dead, but I don’t argue with my stomach, and dealing with my mother would be much easier if I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out from hunger.

  MY MOTHER OPENED the back door for me when I pulled into the driveway. “Your father called me,” she said, holding me close. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, and although I’d had enough distractions what with Vinny and lunch that I didn’t spend much time thinking about it, in just those few words my mother had brought the morning’s events back full force in my head.

  I tried to shake them aside, reminding myself what I was here for. Answers.

  But what
I didn’t count on was her stonewalling me. As she sat across from me at the kitchen table, sipping ever so daintily from her coffee cup, her eyes were like steel.

  “I can’t comment on a client,” she said.

  “Even though he’s dead?”

  She took a long drink and put the mug down in front of her, folding her hands behind it. “It’s now a murder investigation, Annie. I’ve already spoken to the police, and I expect I will again.”

  I stretched my hands around my cup, warming them. It was chilly in this big, drafty, expensive kitchen. “Listen, could you just tell me on the record what the federal charges were against Sal?” I heard the hard, cold reporter voice, and I knew that wouldn’t get me anything. I switched gears, sighing, appearing as desperate as I was. “I really need this, Mom.”

  “Illegal gambling, tax fraud, and money laundering.” She paused. “Some things may emerge from this that you won’t like hearing about, Annie.”

  “It’s Dad, isn’t it.”

  She sighed. “Your father is a good man, deep down. I always knew that. But I also knew that his, well, business interests were sometimes questionable.”

  I sank back into the chair. “They’re not going to arrest Dad, are they?”

  She laughed. Really laughed. “Oh, goodness no, Annie. He’s too damn smart, you know that. But there will be some who will try to get him in trouble, to keep the spotlight off them. Some of what they say will be lies. But some . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  I like stories that are cut-and-dried. Stories that involve strangers. Stories I can make gruesome sick jokes about with my colleagues because it’s the only way we can tolerate the horrible things we hear and see. I didn’t like this story, because I knew all the players and I was back in my childhood world again, when I hadn’t become hardened by the world and my job. I never wanted to write a story in which I had to connect my father with a crime.

  “Did Dad have anything to do with Sal’s operation?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Anne. I’ve never known too much and never wanted to know. But he showed up here unexpectedly, and I’m not sure he’s the only one.”

  I shook my head. “Me neither. I know about the Mob connection to the chickens.”

  Her eyebrows rose, and she opened her mouth, but I spoke before she could ask anything.

  “Confidential source,” I said, not wanting to let anyone, not even my mother, know Vinny had told.

  “How much do you know?”

  I briefly told her what Vinny had said. She smiled. “You have a good source.”

  “So were you really going to defend Sal?” I asked. “Even though you knew he was guilty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my job. And everyone deserves representation and a fair trial.” She picked up her mug and brought it to her lips, then put it down again. “I believe in the judicial system.”

  It sounded hokey, but I knew she meant it. And I was proud of her for that. Because I understood it. I felt as hokey about journalism as she did about the law, even though I was cynical and getting burned out. It didn’t mean I didn’t believe in it anymore.

  I could see a few more wrinkles that hadn’t been there a couple of months ago.

  “You look tired,” I said.

  She smiled wearily at me. “I am tired.”

  I glanced around at the white-tiled counters, the stainless-steel appliances, the spotless cherry cabinets. “Where’s Bill Bennett? He didn’t show last night?”

  “He’s spending time with his daughter. I told you that.” Her voice grew tight, and I knew not to push.

  “Do you think Mickey Hayward is innocent?”

  She looked a little startled at the change of subject, but then she smiled again. “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  She chuckled. “Annie, there are some innocent people who are charged falsely.”

  While I was tossing this around in my head, another question popped in. “Why did Mac call you?”

  “When?”

  “To represent Mickey? Why did you leave the party for that?”

  She got up, brought her mug to the sink, and started washing it out. “It’s my job, Annie. Mac knew I was trying to help Sal and thought I could help Mickey. And I left the party because the police were questioning him and he needed to be represented right away. That’s the way it works.”

  “Vinny said he was working for you on Sal’s case,” I said.

  She smiled. “That’s right.” The way she said it, I knew I wouldn’t get a fucking thing out of her about what he was doing on it.

  “Did he come up with anything that could’ve helped?” I couldn’t give up.

  “I’ve always been confident in his abilities. As you should be.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you?”

  The smooth change of subject caused my face to grow hot. “He’s engaged.”

  “I know. But I also see the way he looks at you.”

  “What about Dad?” I asked, hoping to turn the tables on her this time.

  She frowned. “What about him?” She got up. “Want more coffee?”

  I nodded, and she brought over the coffeepot and poured me another cup.

  “Are you ever sorry?”

  “Sorry about what, dear?” She sat back down again.

  “Sorry about the divorce.”

  She smiled. “Still hoping we’ll get back together?”

  I could tell by her tone that it wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t have to keep talking. But she did, and I nearly spat my coffee all over her fancy tablecloth.

  “Bill and I are talking about moving in together.”

  Bill? Bill Bennett? And my mother? Cohabitating? I must have heard it wrong. But like a moron, I said, “Oh, really?” Like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big fucking deal.

  She knew that. She saw it in my face and the way my hands clutched the mug in front of me.

  “But we’re just talking about it right now.”

  “So it’s that serious?” I tried to keep my voice light, but it had an edge, kind of like stainless steel against your teeth, that I couldn’t keep at bay.

  “Yes.”

  For some reason, all I could think of was how good it was that my mother was too old to have more kids, so I wouldn’t be saddled with baby siblings that looked like Bill Bennett.

  Too much stuff was going on right now. I might have to get some sort of antianxiety drug to keep myself going. And the more I entertained that idea, the more appealing it was.

  I stared at my mother’s smooth cheeks and deep green eyes. A thin streak of gray ran down near her ear, but the rest of her hair was still a bright chestnut. She looked happy despite her fatigue, and I vowed to try to be happy for her, even if I didn’t approve of her choice of companion.

  At least she hadn’t divorced my father and sworn off men like a lot of women.

  As I pulled it on, I saw that my puffy coat had dried nicely since the day before.

  “Are you going to be okay?” my mother asked again at the door.

  “Sure.” But my voice sounded a lot more confident than I felt.

  “You should do something fun.” I don’t know how many times I’d heard that from her. Our definitions of “fun” were very different.

  “Yeah, right,” I mumbled as I stepped out into the frigid air. It had gotten colder, and more clouds were moving in. Oh, shit. More snow. Just what I needed.

  “You should wear a hat,” was the last thing I heard my mother say as I got into my car.

  I should do a lot of things.

  Chapter 18

  Just as I climbed into my car, a sleek black Cadillac crept past. I watched it as it braked at the stop sign farther up, then turned right, out of sight.

  I thought about the car I’d seen at Dominic Gaudio’s when I’d followed Vinny there. That one had New York plates. But I hadn’t thought to look when this one went by.

  No, it couldn’t be the same one. It had to be
paranoia after finding Sal dead and all those Mob stories Vinny told me.

  Speaking of Vinny, I glanced around but didn’t see him. Maybe he did think I’d meant to stay home after all. I thought of the fake yawn, and I yawned for real. Suddenly my whole body felt like a wet dishrag. Maybe a nap wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It could rejuvenate me.

  Unfortunately, with Tom now most definitely out of the picture and Rosie still in it, I had no one to be rejuvenated with.

  I yawned again, heading my car across town toward my brownstone. I only hit every light on the way.

  I was figuring just how much time I had before I had to meet my father for dinner when I spotted Dick Whitfield talking to Mac and Mrs. DeLucia in front of Mac’s house. I couldn’t hear what they were saying—they were too far away—but I could read Mac’s body language, which was telling Dick to go fuck himself. It was plain as day. Uncle Louie was standing back a little on the porch, keeping an eye on Dick.

  Around them, it was the same scene as two days ago. Women were bringing covered dishes across the square and into the house. This time there was most definitely a death in the family. I could almost smell the food from where I was. I found myself wondering if anyone had remembered LeeAnn this way. Did anyone put out a spread for Dominic Gaudio and his daughter?

  Mac was trying to go back into the house, but Dick wouldn’t let her. He stepped between her and the door. Not a good move. I saw Uncle Louie move forward and a lot of head shaking and finger pointing going on.

  I wasn’t on this story anymore, it was a weekend, and I was not inclined to help Dick out. But when a battered pickup pulled into the driveway and Pete got out, ran up the stairs, and grabbed Dick by the back of the collar, I figured I’d have to do something.

  I jogged down the sidewalk, now close enough to hear Pete shouting, “Get off our property!”

  Dick, in response, was whimpering.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Pete yelled at me when I came into his line of sight.

  “Come on, Pete. Let him go.”

  To my surprise, he did, and Dick slumped onto the slushy sidewalk.