Secondhand Smoke

by Karen E. Olson

  I stepped backward, away from the door, and Vinny pointed his gun at it. His finger tickled the trigger but stopped when we saw who it was.

  “And I thought I only had the cops to worry about,” my father said as he stepped into the hall.

  Chapter 24

  You were here the whole time?” I wanted to kill him myself.

  He smiled sheepishly. “When I heard the shooting, I figured I should stay put. I knew Vinny could take care of it.”

  I snorted. He’d taken care of it all right. Before I could say anything I might regret, Dom came out of the kitchen with a tray of glasses and a bottle of wine. A man after my own heart. “I thought we could use a drink,” he said, understatement of the year.

  He poured, and I took a sip of the red liquid. It wasn’t what I was used to. It was sweeter and had an unusual but not unpleasant flavor. “What’s this?” I asked.

  Dom smiled. “My own wine. I make it in the basement.” When he caught my confused look, the smile grew into a grin. “My dear, all us old-timers make our own wine. That’s how we beat Prohibition.”

  Vinny chuckled, and Dom looked at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “New Haven never honored Prohibition. My grandmother told me that on any day after the Winchester factory let out, there were five or six bars running openly downtown. Wasn’t Connecticut one state that didn’t ratify the amendment?”

  Dom was nodding. “You know your history. Your grandmother taught you well.”

  We drank quietly for a few minutes.

  “So who was the shooter?” my father finally asked.

  Vinny shook his head. “I don’t know. We didn’t see him. My question is, though, who was he after?” He looked from Dom to me to my father. “Dom, well, we know people are after him. And someone threatened Annie anonymously. And you”—his gaze lingered on my father for a long minute—“you are a wanted man. But do you know something that we don’t?”

  My father smiled and took a long drink from his glass before answering. “I want to clear my name, and Sal’s name, and then I want to go back to the desert.”

  “Do you know what happened to Sal’s money?” I asked. “The money for the renovations that disappeared?”

  My father gave me a look, one that said, How the hell did you find out about the money?

  “I know about it, okay, so where did it go?”

  “I don’t know.” My father took another long drink from his glass, but I saw him glance at Dom for a second. They both knew something, that was for sure.

  “What about the people Sal was paying protection to?”

  My father’s eyes slid from me to Vinny, but I stayed mum. Dom shifted in his seat a little, and he and my father exchanged another glance. This time I noticed Vinny caught it, too.

  It was a few seconds before Dad spoke again. “Sal was having some financial problems.”

  That was pretty goddamn vague. Vinny was watching Dom, who was running his thumb around the rim of his glass over and over, his eyes following it. Vinny placed his empty glass on the coffee table and looked at my father. “Did Sal explain to you what his financial problem was? Did he mention the missing money?”

  Another look between my father and Dom. When Dad looked back at Vinny, his expression was apologetic. “The loan money wasn’t the only money that had gone missing lately.”

  We were as quiet as a fucking graveyard as we pondered that for a few seconds, until I had another thought, one that complicated things even more.

  “Was it the Mob’s?” I asked softly.

  No one said anything, but I saw my father and Dom exchange a look that indicated I could be right. Maybe LeeAnn took the money Sal owed them for protection, and that’s why she was killed. But if the fire was set to cover up her murder, why would the Mob want to burn down a property they were making money off of?

  “LeeAnn was some sort of courier,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “Where did you hear that?” my father demanded, his eyes flashing. I could see I’d surprised him.

  I wouldn’t look at Vinny. I didn’t want to give him up. “Heard it around,” I said as calmly as I could, even though I was certain everyone could hear my heart beating, sort of like in that Edgar Allan Poe story where the guy goes insane after he hides the body under the floorboards. Yeah, that was me. Crazy as a fucking fox.

  Dom cleared his throat, took a sip of wine, then leaned toward me. It was all I could do not to pull away. “My dear, you can’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Got it on a good source,” I said, not taking my eyes off Dom’s.

  He smiled. But he underestimated me. I always won staring contests. He could ask my dad.

  “Did she get killed because of it?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.

  He shook his head and finally looked at my father. “I don’t know.”

  And in that, he confirmed my worst fears: that LeeAnn might have been killed because of her connection to Sal’s operation and that same person may have been the one who had just blown out Dom’s window.

  “Why would someone come here and try to kill us?” I asked no one in particular.

  Vinny glanced at the shattered window, and no one said anything.

  We heard a bad muffler pull up in front of the house, and three guys in grungy jackets, jeans, and work boots clumped up the stairs.

  Dom got up. “Hi, guys. This is the window.”

  “No shit,” said one of them, eyeing the damage. “What the fuck happened here?” He saw me then and quickly said, “Sorry.”

  He had no way of knowing he was apologizing to the wrong fucking person.

  “That’s okay,” I said, not surprised at the speed of service afforded Dom. He commanded a lot of respect, and getting his shot-out window fixed certainly was a favor being returned. If it were me, I’d still be waiting two weeks from now.

  They surveyed the window frame and pulled out the glass pieces still stuck inside. Dom picked up the tray. “Let’s go into the dining room,” he said, and we followed.

  “I might be able to find the money,” Vinny said when we were out of earshot.

  “How the hell are you going to do that?” Dom asked.

  Vinny smiled. “I have my ways.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Show-off.” I grinned at Dom. “He thinks he’s some sort of computer genius.”

  Dom frowned. “Really? You can find this out on the computer? I’d like to see how you do that.”

  “I can show you sometime,” Vinny said.

  My father laughed. “Don’t encourage him. That’s all we need, Dom using a computer to break into bank accounts.”

  Vinny smiled, turning to me.

  “Annie, I’ll bring you back to your car,” Vinny said, then he turned to my father. “I guess you’ll stay here.”

  My father nodded. “Let me know what you find out.”

  He gave me a kiss, and Vinny and I went out to the Explorer. Neither of us said anything as we rode back over the bridge. But my stomach interrupted our silence. Vinny grinned. “I’m hungry, too,” he said. “Where should we stop?”

  “I don’t care. Anywhere.”

  “Indian?”

  It was perfect weather for Indian food, and Vinny steered the SUV off the Route 34 connector and down Church Street before turning left on Chapel Street toward Tandoor. Snow was falling again, lightly, dusting the windshield.

  “Do you really think you can find the money?” I asked. “You weren’t just bullshitting back there, were you?”

  Vinny eased into a parking spot right in front of the restaurant, which used to be a diner, with its stereotypical silver siding. He stared straight ahead for a few minutes, and I could see his eyelashes in the light from the streetlamp. Finally he turned to me and smiled. “Yeah, Annie, I think I can find this out. It’s my job to do this sort of stuff.”

  “Okay, I was just checking,” I said lightly, although I hoped it didn’t take him too long or we’d all end up dead. I thought a seco
nd, then added, “I think LeeAnn was ripping off the Mob. I think she may have taken some of that money she was supposed to deliver. I think that’s why she got killed.”

  “It’s a pretty good theory.” Vinny cocked his head at me. “Thanks for not telling them how you found out about LeeAnn.”

  “I told you I could keep a secret.”

  Vinny grinned as he opened the door and climbed out of the Explorer. “You know,” he said as we crossed the street, “when we were talking about New Haven’s Prohibition history?”

  I nodded.

  “What I didn’t say was that the Mob first moved into New Haven by taking control of the sugar and grapes.” He paused. “The two things those people needed to make their wine.”

  We ordered a couple of Kingfishers and way too much food, losing ourselves in rogan josh, tandoori chicken, and a shrimp birayni, swishing our naan around in the remnants on our plates. We were too hungry to talk, and when we were done, it hit us both at the same time that under different circumstances, this could’ve been a date.

  “Is Rosie going to mind you being out this long?” I asked him.

  Vinny shrugged and took another swig of his beer. “My job’s not conventional, she knows that.”

  “But she doesn’t like it, does she?”

  Vinny smiled sadly. “She hates my job. She wants me to teach. She’s got some sort of weird idea that I should get a job as a professor at Yale.”

  I couldn’t see it. Yeah, maybe when he was the dorky kid in high school, but not now. He wasn’t college professor material; he’d have to trade in that incredibly sexy leather jacket and gun for a cardigan and a piece of chalk.

  “What about going back to your research?” I could definitely see him out on a boat—it was so George Clooney and The Perfect Storm.

  Vinny smiled then, a wide grin that took over his face and spread into his eyes. “If I wasn’t doing this, I would be doing that.” He reached across the table and took my hand, which was resting next to my glass.

  The heat from his hand moved up my arm and through my body. Even Tom had never had this effect on me. I pulled my hand away. “We’d better go,” I said curtly, standing.

  We didn’t talk on the way back to Big Tony’s to pick up my car, but I could feel his eyes on me every now and then.

  “Thanks for dinner and the ride,” I said as I climbed out of the SUV. I’d argued that I should pay half the check, but he wouldn’t take it.

  I started getting into my car when I heard, “Annie, wait.”

  I paused as Vinny came up to me; he brushed his hand along my cheek, moving my hair back. My whole body felt like it was on fire, even though it was about twenty degrees outside. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said right before I closed the door and sped out of the lot.

  THE PHONE STARTED to ring the moment I put the key in the lock. I swung the door open, bounded across the living room, and picked it up.

  “Yeah?” Phone etiquette isn’t always my thing.

  “What the hell is going on with you, Annie?” Tom’s voice was angry, angrier than I’d heard it for a long time. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for two hours.”

  “What do you mean?” I took off my coat, kicked the door shut, and plopped down on the couch. “I was out having dinner.”

  “Involved in a shooting, at Dominic Gaudio’s house? Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on with you?”

  “I didn’t know we were going to get shot at. It’s not like I put an ad in the fucking paper or anything.” I needed another beer. I took the phone over to the refrigerator and pulled out a Heineken. Even though I was shivering a little, the cold liquid moved down my throat and warmed me.

  “You’re like a goddamn train wreck, you know that? Why the hell I ever got involved with you is beyond me.”

  “You were taken in by my natural charm.”

  “I was temporarily insane.”

  “For a year?”

  He was quiet for a minute. “Did you find your father?” he asked softly, but I could still hear the steel in his voice.

  “No,” I said, not wanting to hesitate and give him any more ammunition.

  “You’d better be telling me the truth.”

  “I am, I am,” I insisted.

  How could I explain to him that my father, while possibly dangerous, was one of the most gentle people I’d ever known? That I missed him so much when he was gone that even though all this shit was happening, he at least was here and I could see him. I couldn’t tell him that. It was way too corny. And he knew I certainly wasn’t corny.

  Horny, well, now, that was another story. But the way things were going, it was going to be like that for a while and I’d have to get used to it.

  I hated it when things didn’t go my way.

  “I heard none of you even saw the guy,” Tom said, and I heard the words he didn’t say: so we can’t catch him. He was still out there somewhere, and I was sitting on my couch, drinking a beer as if I didn’t have a fucking care in the world.

  It was Sunday night and The Sopranos were due. I hung up with Tom after promising to keep him informed if anything else happened, and I turned on the TV. Cable TV is my luxury item; even if I was broke, I’d still find a way to get it. The show wasn’t on yet, so I went into the bedroom, put on my flannel pajamas, washed my face, and settled in front of the TV.

  Maybe I did watch too much TV, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? I had books I kept meaning to read, but after a long day chasing after cop cars and fire trucks and seeing way too much death and destruction, I needed to veg out, to let someone else do the thinking for me.

  And I was doing just that when the buzzer startled me.

  Dick Whitfield stood on my stoop.

  I could pretend I wasn’t home. But he must have seen my lights and me moving around. This wasn’t good.

  I buzzed him in, and I held open the door as he came up the stairs.

  “Hey,” he said as he walked into my living room. I didn’t like having him here.

  “Make it quick,” I said. The Sopranos was starting, and I didn’t want to miss anything. I hadn’t set up the VCR, so I needed to catch it now. Who knew if I’d be around when they replayed it during the week.

  His eye caught the TV. “The Sopranos?” It looked like he was going to get comfortable, and I moved between him and the TV, still standing so he wouldn’t get any idiotic ideas, like that he was welcome and could sit down.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I was just over across the square,” he started.

  “Are you crazy? Mac’ll file a restraining order against you. Do you really want that?”

  He shook his head. “No, no, she wasn’t home.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  He sniffed and bit his lip, looking down at the floor.

  “Dick,” I said, “what the hell’s going on?” I realized I was standing there in my flannel pajamas that had little blue clouds and stars on them. It really wasn’t a good thing that Dick Whitfield saw me in my jammies.

  He sighed and looked back up at me. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Just tell me,” I said sternly, knocking him out of his trance.

  He blinked a couple of times before speaking. “I saw something over there.” He paused.

  “Spit it out.”

  “You know they’re looking for your father, right?”

  I nodded, wishing he’d just get to the point.

  “Well, I just saw him over there, and he had a gun in his hand.”

  “How do you know it was my father? I don’t remember you two meeting,” I said skeptically.

  Dick rolled his eyes at me. “He was at the restaurant, you know, after you found Sal. I saw him there with you. The detective pointed him out to me.”

  Okay, so he probably had seen my father. I just knew that no formal introductions had been made.

  “So where was this person with the gun, exactly?”

&nbs
p; Dick leaned a little to look out my window. “Over near the Amatos’ house, along the side.”

  “What the hell were you doing over there?”

  “Nothing.” But his blush gave him away. I had to give him credit for not backing down, but it was still stupid of him to be over there.

  “Why would my father sneak around with a gun out?” I asked, more of myself than of Dick.

  “There wasn’t anyone home,” Dick repeated.

  I left Dick standing in my living room as I went into the bedroom and pulled off my pajama bottoms and put on my jeans. Tony Soprano was going to have to wait.

  “You’re still wearing your pajamas,” Dick said as I came back out, threw a scarf around my neck, and put on my boots. The puffy coat was going back outside, a little less puffy, but it would still keep me warm.

  “Just the top,” I growled. “You better be wrong about this.”

  Chapter 25

  It was still snowing, harder now than when I’d gotten home, and I could feel my hair getting wet. Next it would start freezing, and I’d have icicles hanging from my head.

  I really hoped he was wrong. I hoped whoever it was just maybe looked like my father in a certain light but certainly was not my father. It wasn’t too long ago I’d left him at Dom’s, and it hadn’t seemed like he was planning to go out anywhere.

  We crossed the street and hopped over the small fence at the square. I looked up at the statue of Christopher Columbus. I never really paid much attention to it, it was just there, like a piece of furniture that you always walk around but sometimes you bump into and notice every now and then.

  I just walked around it; Dick was trying to keep up.

  “So how’s Cindy?” I asked, trying to act as though I didn’t care what we were doing.

  “She’s great,” Dick panted from behind. “We’re going skiing in Vermont next weekend.”

  Skiing? Dick didn’t strike me as the athletic type, but then I never thought he’d have a girlfriend, either.

  We were getting close to the house. I started walking a little slower, and Dick caught up. The shadows were playing games with my eyes, and the snow wasn’t helping much. We were next to the house, which was dark.