Cement Stilettos

by Diane Vallere

  She glanced at the box and her mouth turned down on both sides. Her expression told me everything I’d feared. She didn’t take the lasagna, but now that she’d noticed it, there was no avoiding my gaffe.

  “This is for you,” I said. “I’m—I’m not the best cook.”

  She took the box. “How did you know Angela?”

  “I knew her from her job with Nick Taylor. I’m his—” I paused. I was still getting used to the word. “I’m his fiancé.”

  Connie’s expression changed so quickly that for a moment I wondered if someone had pulled a string behind her head. “You’re Nicky’s girl? Come meet the ladies!”

  She walked away from me toward the yummy scent. That’s odd, I thought. Last night Nick acted like he didn’t know Angela’s family. Curiosity forced me to follow her.

  We reached the kitchen. Two women in varying shades of animal prints sat around a round wooden table. A card game was in play. A very short older woman stood by the stove behind them moving a silver ladle back and forth between several large pots. If I’d been expecting a quiet group of mourners, I would have been disappointed. Not having much experience in paying respects to families of the recently deceased, I hadn’t expected anything.

  Connie tossed my frozen lasagna onto the counter. “Look who came by. Nicky’s girl!”

  The women dropped their cards and introduced themselves. “I’m Debbi Blum,” said the platinum blonde wearing a bright pink leopard printed sweatshirt.

  “I’m Katie Caprero,” said the redheaded woman in the green tiger stripe.

  All three women started talking. “Take off your coat! Sit down! Can I get you something? Glass of Lambrusco?” Their voices overlapped and I had a hard time keeping up with who said what.

  I held my hands up. “No thank you. I just came by to—” I glanced at the lasagna quickly and then looked back at Connie. “I wanted to say how sorry I am for what happened to Angela. It has to be hard losing a family member.”

  “It is,” Connie said. The women at the table exchanged looks amongst themselves but didn’t speak. Connie lowered her gaze and stared off at something inconsequential. The room fell silent for a moment.

  “Basta!” exclaimed the small woman by the stove. “Angela was never part of this family.” She threw the sauce-covered ladle onto the white counter, splattering marinara on the surrounding surfaces. She untied her apron, threw it onto the floor, and stormed out of the room, leaving the rest of us stunned into silence.

  7

  Tuesday evening

  “Mama!” Debbi, the woman in pink leopard print, called out. She jumped up and chased after the little woman and left me alone in the kitchen with the other animal prints.

  “Don’t mind her none,” said Connie. “That’s Mama Blum. She’s Debbi’s mom, my aunt. When Angela’s mother died, Mama Blum and Debbi raised her. Angela was always a wild child. Mama said Debbi had to learn to control her before something bad would happen.”

  Katie spoke up. “Yeah, it’s a tragedy, but it’s not a surprise. We all thought Nicky was a doll for giving her a job.”

  “How do you all know Nick?” I asked.

  Katie smiled. “When Nicky hired Angela, he became part of the family. Now he’s getting married. I can’t believe Angela didn’t say anything. Another one bites the dust, ladies,” she said to Connie, who chuckled.

  “It’s not—it wasn’t her fault. It just happened over Christmas. I don’t even know if Nick had a chance to tell her.”

  “Don’t you worry, honey, we’ll make sure you feel like part of the family too. As soon as this thing with Angela dies down.”

  They weren’t exactly heartbroken over Angela’s murder. Was this just another way people grieved? I was here to pay my respects, but the longer I stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, the more I felt like they weren’t treating her death as a tragedy. They were treating it like a matter of fact—no more consideration than a burnt pizza crust.

  Chimes from the grandfather clock in the hallway rang out. What was that—seven? The last time Nick and I had spoken, I’d told him to expect me for dinner. Even if I went straight to his apartment, I wouldn’t arrive until close to seven thirty.

  “Come have a seat and tell us all about yourself,” Katie said.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I didn’t realize how late it was, and I really just wanted to come by and drop off the lasagna.” The women looked at my empty hands, which I quickly moved into my coat pockets. “It was lovely meeting you all. I’ll let myself out.”

  Thanks to a combination of green lights and daredevil driving, I pulled into Nick’s parking garage fourteen minutes later. I hung my visitor pass on the rearview mirror and ran into the building. Nick answered my knock on the door almost immediately.

  He kissed me hello. “When are you going to learn you don’t have to knock?”

  “I think it’s best that I knock. I don’t need to walk in on you and your dad sitting around in your underwear watching football.”

  He crossed his arms. A moment later, he held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Nick Taylor. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  I swatted his hand out of the way. “You know what I mean. Give me a chance to discover your annoying habits over time.”

  “My life is an open book, Kidd. You should know that better than anybody.”

  I had always thought so, but after today I wasn’t so sure. I followed him into the living room trying to figure out a way to ask him about the animal print brigade. Despite the heat, the outside chill had left me shivering. I left my coat on and sat on the corner of the sofa.

  Nick Senior sat in his recliner. He was a seventy-year-old bald man recovering from a hip injury. His brown eyes held the same sparkle that he’d passed down to Nick. “You’re late,” he said.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I went to Angela di Sotto’s house after work to pay my respects to her family. I thought it would be nice to drop off some food.”

  “You took food to the di Sotto house,” Nick said. It was more of a statement than a question.

  “That’s what people do, right? I’m trying to be normal. Samantha 2.0.” Whoops, Nick didn’t know about the new and improved Samantha 2.0. He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, it was the right thing. I knew her through you, and it was a gesture.”

  “What’d you take them, a pizza?” Nick’s dad asked. Ever since moving in with Nick, his dad had gotten to know me all too well.

  “No, I didn’t take them a pizza,” I said like I was insulted by the thought. The two men waited for me to continue. “I took them a lasagna.”

  Nick Senior laughed out loud. “You were wearing that coat? They must have thought you were a relief worker.” He got up and walked into the kitchen for a beer.

  “Samantha 2.0?” Nick asked.

  “Forget about that. Something’s been bothering me and I need to ask you about it.” I pulled my pashmina scarf from around my neck and shrugged out of my coat. Nick took the garments and tossed them onto a chair by the dining room table. “Why aren’t people grieving over Angela’s murder?”

  “People grieve in different ways.”

  “Yes, but her family was sitting around the kitchen playing cards and drinking Lambrusco. Your dad is cracking jokes about my lasagna. Even you—”

  He put his finger up to my lips. “I sent flowers this morning and made a donation in Angela’s name to St. Catherine of Siena Sisters of Mercy. I spent my morning at the police station telling Loncar everything I knew about her in the hopes that he can find who did this.”

  “But are you upset? Did you cry or eat ice cream? Do you want to get a cat? They help.”

  “Kidd, I’m not like you. You want me to talk about it but that’s not me.”

  “But you’re dealing with her loss in your own way? You’re not talking, you’re not freaking out, you’re not stress eating. It doesn’t seem normal. We’re supposed to be planning a life together so I should know how you deal with tragedy. I just need to k
now you’re not a machine.”

  He reached his hand out and stroked the side of my face with the back of his knuckles. “I have a tendency to bottle things up. I probably learned it from watching my dad try to be strong after my mom died. I’m not used to having someone call me on it.”

  Nick Senior dad came back to the living room. “You took her a lasagna. It was frozen, wasn’t it? Tell me it was frozen.” I didn’t say anything. “This is priceless. Junior, this one’s a keeper. Life won’t get boring with her.” He sat down and picked up the remote.

  “Dad, Samantha and I need a minute.”

  “You can talk in the kitchen. That’s the room that doesn’t have a TV.”

  Nick took my hand and led me to the kitchen. He poured two glasses of red wine and handed me one. “I don’t know how to process what happened to Angela except to talk to the police and hope they find the person who did this. Kidd, I know how you are, and I think it was very sweet of you to take something to Angela’s house today, but I want that to be it, okay? I want you to stay out of Loncar’s investigation.”

  “What if you’re in trouble?”

  He looked away from me. Again, the mask of control slipped into place and hid his emotions.

  I put my hands on his arms and stepped closer to him. “Don’t shut me out. Please. If you are in some kind of trouble, tell me. I can help you.”

  Before he had a chance to answer, his dad came back into the kitchen. “You don’t see me, you don’t hear me. I’m not here. Just need some towels to mop up the spilled beer.”

  Nick ignored his dad and continued. “This whole thing scares me, Kidd. I don’t want you to get involved. There are plenty of factories around Ribbon. If Vito wants to negotiate, he can talk to me. I won’t let him use you to manipulate my decision.”

  Nick Senior stopped. “Vito? Vito Cantone? Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Why are you talking to him?”

  “He wants Nick to rent out a factory in Ribbon. I was going to use the factory myself but Nick doesn’t want me to.”

  Nick Senior’s expression lost its sparkle and he looked back and forth between me and Nick. “You two better figure this thing out. Lots of potential for conflicts of interest.” He grabbed the roll of paper towels from the counter and left us alone again.

  We stood in the kitchen facing each other. Pam’s suggestion that I ask Nick about the shoes for the photo shoot popped into my head, but that wasn’t keeping our work and personal lives separate, that was weaving them together like threads on a loom. I thought again about how Nancie was leaving the company she started to go work with her fiancé in New Mexico, and if that was the only option that would work: either Nick or I choosing a career and the other one stepping into the role of supportive spouse.

  The wall-mounted phone rang. I was so startled by the unexpected sound that I jumped.

  Nick answered. “This is Nick Taylor,” he said. “No, I’ve been working from home ever since I left you. Why?” He turned his back to me, listened for a moment, and then said, “I’ll be right there.” He slammed the plastic phone back onto the wall mount. The base cracked with the impact. “Get your coat. We’re going to my showroom.”

  “Why?”

  “You want to be in the loop, right?”

  “Um, right. I think so. What happened? Who was that?”

  “That was Detective Loncar. He said somebody threw a slab of cement into my showroom window.”

  8

  Tuesday, 8:30-ish

  We arrived at the showroom quickly. The entire front glass window had been smashed, and a large, round chunk of cement sat inside. Two of the pedestals that displayed shoe samples had been knocked over and now lay broken and bent on the floor. A team of men dressed in jeans and black hooded sweatshirts stood with Loncar. Thick suede work gloves and dusty work boots completed their look.

  “Mr. Taylor,” Loncar said. “I didn’t expect you to bring Ms. Kidd.”

  “I was with him when you called,” I said by way of explaining my presence. “What happened here?”

  Loncar looked at me for a few seconds, and then turned to Nick. “We got a call from the sandwich shop two doors down. Said he saw a white van drive past the store, and then a few seconds later he heard a crash. By the time he got out to the sidewalk, the van was too far away for him to get the plates. He saw the broken glass and called us.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Appears to be the base of one of the streetlamps.” Loncar looked out into the parking lot and Nick and I followed his gaze. He was right. The lamps that had been spaced throughout the parking lot were cemented into place in large, round concrete bases.

  “How much does something like that weight?” I asked.

  “More than you’d think.”

  I looked at Nick. He was angry and I didn’t blame him. If this had been a prank, it was far from funny. The problem was, I was pretty sure it hadn’t been a prank. “Detective, was the store still sealed?”

  Loncar nodded. “We don’t know if the cement through the glass was the crime, or if it was the means to commit a different crime inside. At this point, the interior has been compromised. I need you to take a look around and tell me if anything looks out of place. Can you do that?”

  “Sure.” Nick pulled his keys out of his pocket and went to the door.

  “Um, Nick?” I pointed to the broken window.

  “I pay good money to have a door and a lock and a key. I’m using them.”

  Loncar pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket and pierced the tape that sealed the entrance. He slid it around the perimeter of the door and then stood back and nodded at Nick. Nick unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  “You wait out here with me,” Loncar said to me.

  “Fine.”

  We stood on the sidewalk while Nick walked around the showroom. He glanced at Angela’s desk, fanned a couple of folders across the surface, and then left them and disappeared into the back by his office. I hopped from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. Loncar kept his hands shoved in the pocket of his coat.

  “Things good with you two?” Loncar asked.

  “We got engaged over Christmas.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “How are things with your wife?” I asked.

  “We’re talking.” He stared ahead at the showroom even though Nick was nowhere to be seen. “I met my granddaughter for the first time last night.”

  “That’s great!” The officers on the sidewalk turned toward us. I lowered my voice. “That’s great,” I said again, this time much quieter.

  “Man, she’s cute. That little baby. She’s got these little fists. She just balls ’em up and wipes her face with them.”

  “Logan does that when he’s cleaning himself.” The detective glanced at me. “I don’t have a lot of experience with actual babies. Cats are more my speed.”

  “You two ever talk about that? Whether you want kids?”

  “Who, me and Nick?”

  “You getting married to anybody else?”

  “No. Um, no. I figure one step at a time.”

  “Don’t wait too long. Deal breakers like that should be out in the open up front.”

  I let Loncar’s comment go unanswered and turned my attention back toward the store. Random passersby were trying to angle for a view of the action. The officers present kept busy by ushering them farther down the parking lot. I imagined the businesses at both ends of the strip mall would see a boost in business tonight. A little too late for the video store that had posted a Going Out of Business sign the day after Christmas but good for the grocery store where I’d bought the frozen lasagna.

  I pointed at the chunk of cement inside Nick’s store. “Where do you get something like that?” I asked.

  “Dump site, concrete factory, landfill, who knows. Could be it was stolen from a public area.”

  “But a chunk of cement that big—what would that weigh?”

  “Four, five hundred pounds.”r />
  “So a van drives into a populated strip mall during regular hours, some guys throw a five-hundred-pound block of cement through Nick’s showroom window, and drive off. Nobody saw anything. How does that happen? There are always people around here. It’s one of the reasons Nick rented space in this particular strip mall. There’s plenty of parking, it’s not far from the buying offices of Tradava. That other big department store was supposed to move in and he would have had proximity to them too.”

  “Ms. Kidd, I know you’re a smart lady so I’m going to be frank with you. I’m not telling you anything that won’t show up in tomorrow’s paper. This does not appear to be a random act of vandalism. On the heels of a murder at this very same location, after we sealed off the store so the evidence would not be contaminated, this is a message. If there were witnesses, they don’t want to come forward. But somebody with the means to pull off both of those acts has taken an interest in Mr. Taylor’s business.”

  “Nick’s going to die, isn’t he?” My eyes widened to stave off impending tears. “They’re going to come after him next. There has to be something I can do.”

  “This is a police matter.”

  “Don’t tell me to stay out of it,” I told Loncar. “I’m not going to let him try to handle this on his own.”

  “What am I, chopped liver?”

  Loncar’s possible attempt to lighten the mood was interrupted by Nick coming out of the showroom. Once again, he ignored the exit provided by the broken glass and left through the door.

  “I think I know what this was about,” Nick said. He looked back and forth between our faces, probably anticipating Loncar’s request that I go stand by myself in a corner somewhere while they talked. I think we were both surprised when that instruction never came.

  “What’d you find?” Loncar asked.

  “Somebody went through my file cabinets where I keep the personnel records. Most are in there on the floor. The only one missing was Angela’s.”

  9

  Tuesday night