He eyes me, not sure if I’m being serious which is a real hoot.
Then, his eyes narrow and a slow, sly smile spreads across his face. “Tell me, how’s your new living accommodations?”
“The monthly nut is a hell of a lot easier to swallow.” I wasn’t too keen on him increasing Sam’s rent every time she refused to go out on one of his pre-arranged dates.
He chuckles. “I don’t see a ring on her finger, yet, son. Best marry her before someone who can treat her right snatches her up.”
The jab hits home but I don’t let him see it. Instead I give him my good ol’ southern charm. “Y’all have a nice day, Uncle Vinny.”
I wait in the doorway as he wanders across the black and white parquet and sits down next to Sam. She kisses both his cheeks, and gives him a half-hearted smile.
Sure, he’s family, but he’s also a venomous snake.
She glances up and waves me off with a shake of her blond locks. Former FBI, she can handle her uncle but he’s up to something.
I know it.
Chapter 4
Samantha
“Hey, Uncle Vinny.” I motion to the seat vacated by Suds as my mother’s brother gives the doorway one final dirty look.
Done irritating my fiancé, he kisses me on both cheeks and sits. “Sammy. How ya doin’? Did the bum break your heart yet?”
“Nope, but feel free to keep asking.” My finely-honed sarcasm translates to fuck-off and leave me be.
He ignores my tone and grins. “And how’s the new living arrangements?”
Suspicious, I lift my eyes and study his face. “Fine, why?”
He shrugs and opens his large hands in the air. “Niente, nothing. I thought I heard the church next door was comin’ down, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. They’re building condos. They’re going to be brimming with millennials. Soon, Suds and Sam Detective Agency will have more work than we know what to do with.”
Nodding, he stands. “Let me know if youz guyz need my help.”
“With what?”
“Nice chattin’ with youz.”
“You, too.” Now, what was that all about?
The pizza in my stomach churns. He’s up to something. Whenever he helps, insert air quotes here, I pay a price of his choosing, usually in the form of blind dates.
Brushing off my worries, I get back to work. He’s my mom’s brother and although a mob boss, he’s still family. No one, not even the FBI, has any idea of the extent of his connections. Good thing, or I never would’ve been hired.
Distractions at an end, I spoof a caller ID, enter the digits, and press send. The alleged dead man’s phone rings twice before a woman picks up.
“Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“This is Doctor Pranayama’s office. I need to speak with a Mr. Gallo.” Trying to sound authentic, I lace my voice with equal parts irritation, urgency, and rudeness.
“I’m his wife.”
“Just a minute.” I count off twenty seconds while tapping the table, pretending it’s a keyboard. “He hasn’t authorized you. Do you have any way to contact him? I don’t mean to scare you, but this is quite urgent.”
“Ah, yes.” She rattles off nine digits. “That’s his cell phone. You should be able to reach him there. If not, call me back.”
“Thank you. Good bye.” Quite impressed with my lie, I dial again, and a man picks up.
“Yeah?”
“This is Dr. Pranayama’s office. You missed an appointment. I’m afraid we’ll need to charge you for it.”
“Huh? Shit. Listen. I’m sorry. My personal assistant fucked up. Can you reschedule?” He’s so upset I almost feel bad.
“We have a slot open tomorrow, are you available?”
“Not unless you can fly him to the Bahamas. I’m on vacation.”
“Oh, well then, have a nice time. We’ll see you when you get back.”
Thus ends the case of the dead neighbor.
I send the recorded call to Mrs. Rossini and a few minutes later she calls me back. “I never said the murdered man was her husband. It was pure conjecture on my part. If it wasn’t him, you need to find out whom.”
Besides English teachers, who says whom? “Unless you come up with more evidence, I don’t feel right about taking your money. I’m real sor-”
“Please. I’ll bring another check by tomorrow.” Her desperation moves me but I can’t, in good conscience, continue to work for her.
I doubt she saw anything and even if she did, how in the world would I find some random dead guy in a city of millions.
“There’s really nothing more I can do.” Tapping the red icon, I hang up and open my computer.
I’d go home but my house has no water and is noisy as shit. That’s why I continue working at Petey’s until the dinner crowd comes in. Knowing he’ll need the table, I stand and wave as he pulls a lasagna out of the oven.
“Bye, Pete. Thanks.”
“See youz Sam. Tell Suds I hope he finds a decent plumber.” How could he possibly know we’re tearing up our bathroom?
I swear to God, when it comes to gossip, Bensonhurst resembles a small town and at times like this, I miss the anonymity of living in DC.
As the sun sinks, the brownstones long shadows block the fading light from hitting the street. A few snowflakes swirl around in the wind and I zipper my jacket as high as it will go. With my chin down, I adjust my heavy shoulder strap and hustle home.
In front of the church, the workmen whistle. “Hey chicka-chicka.”
I flip them the bird, enter my building, and after checking my mailbox, I peer into the downstairs window. I’ve never seen anyone inside the tailor’s shop they probably won’t care about the noise next door.
I trudge up the plank stairs, unlock the outside door, and cross the waiting area with three small folding chairs. From there, I enter my living area. Floor to ceiling windows overlook the shopping area as well as the D train platform where a few poor souls shiver and wait.
Switching on the light, I stroll past our multi-purpose table and call up the spiral staircase. “Suds? You home?”
“In here.” His voice resonates from the bathroom to my left.
The door opens and I gasp at the room, gutted down to the bricks. Holy shit. Only the toilet and a few new pieces of plywood remain intact.
“Yikes.”
He grins. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Maybe. But how do you expect to wash off the grime?” I cup his cheeks in my palms and brush my lips across his, tasting chalky dust.
“Unlike you, I am used to getting by with a hose.”
“Huh. You hungry?” I hold up a bag with Petey’s logo. “Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Will you marry me?” His eyes sparkle and I laugh.
“Sure, tough guy but only if you fix our bathroom.”
A few minutes later, he strips off his shirt, showing off his muscled form by flexing his biceps in a personal Mr. Universe contest.
Thinking about all the women who might own binoculars like Mrs. Rossini, I twist the blinds closed. Good thing, because he drops his jeans and his underwear. Then he strides to the sink, the one meant for making coffee, not bathing.
Sticking his head under the faucet, he rubs liquid soap over it, then rinses off while I nod and clap slowly.
“Impressive.”
He grins. “We Navy SEALS have many talents. Didn’t the FBI teach you any survival skills?” He grabs a washcloth, wets it, lathers, and bathes his whole body.
Swallowing hard, my breasts get tight and my lower lips twinge. “I’m afraid I may have missed that class.” Walking over to him, I raise my arms so he can remove my shirt.
Dinner is cold by the time we finish fooling around. After, we watch some Netflix and as we circle the staircase for bed, I remember the phone call. “Oh by the way? I found Mrs. Gallo’s husband.”
“Alive?”
“And well. He’s vacationing in the Bahamas.”
“Sorry, honey. I know how much you wanted him dead.” He lowers onto the futon and pulls me down with him.
“Yeah. Them’s the breaks. Maybe next time we’ll have a real murder.” I spoon next to his warm body and he tugs me closer.
“Goodnight, sugar. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I snuggle under the comforter as the subway across the street rumbles me to sleep.
Sometime later, his PTSD alarm screams in the dark. Quickly, I skootch off the mattress, a safe distance away while he thrashes, jumps out of bed and squats with his hands open.
Poised to kill and sleepwalking, he doesn’t see me, so I stay put until he blinks a few times.
“You there?” I hold my Taser behind my back, praying the killer has fallen back into his subconscious mind.
He shakes his head, rubs a hand across his face, then holds his arms open. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“Not even close. The alarm went off but I was ready.”
I show him the weapon. “See?”
“Atta girl.” He hugs me into his warm chest, my ear at his thumping heart.
The clock reads five in the morning and he yawns. “You go back to sleep. Okay? I’m going downstairs.”
Catrina peeks her head into the loft and curls around his legs, purring.
“Yeah, breakfast. I get it.” Suds dresses in a pair of sweats and a hoodie.
Meanwhile, her paws sound on the iron staircase and land on the floor below. Me? I think of catching a few more Z’s until the construction noise starts up again next door.
“Oh my F’N God! What the fuck?” Moaning, I put the pillow over my head but it’s no good. Jackhammers beat feathers any day of the week.
“That’s it! I’m going to find out who owns that company and shut them down.”
“What did you say, Sam? Can’t hear you.”
“Argh! It’s fucking five AM. On hands and knees, I crawl to the banister and shout down to Suds. “Coffee!”
His brows raise as he throws a pod into the machine. “Coming right up.”
At that, I throw on some yoga pants and one of his oversized sweat shirts before clomping down the stairs. When I reach for the light switch, all I get is a handful of wires.
“Huh?” Remembering the state of my bathroom, I maneuver over the rocking floorboards, locate the toilet, and pee.
No sink, I make my way to the kitchen countertop and wash my hands. Maybe living above our office space wasn’t such a great idea, after all. Sharing an apartment with cousins is sounding better and better.
Catrina, sensing my mood, jumps to the countertop next to the toaster, meeting me eye to eye. “Meow?”
The jackhammers start up and again, she yowls and digs her claws into my shoulder as she does a flying leap into the living room and under the couch.
“Damn. The cat drew blood.” Pulling at the shirt’s collar, I inspect the damage.
I want to share a few words about our fucked up morning but Suds looks so miserable I can’t. After sipping down some much needed coffee, I walk across the room to where he stares out the window.
Mug in one hand, I stand behind him and dig my chin into his back. “Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Haunted eyes tell me he hasn’t fully recovered from his nightmare.
“The doctor says-”
“Sam, I said no. Okay? Some shit’s too damn dark.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be fine in a bit.”
“Eggs?”
“Sure. But not hard-boiled.” He raises his brows, no doubt remembering how I lost track of time, the water boiled away, and the white shells turned black.
“Ha ha ha. Very funny.”
After we eat, he starts work in the bathroom. With a few hours to kill, I research Mr. and Mrs. Gallo a little more. According to what I can find online, they run a small import/export business. However, the amount of shell companies triggers a red flag. Anytime someone wants to hide their identity in layers of paperwork, there’s usually a reason, most often illegal.
Huh. I was hired to see who was killed in the apartment across from Mrs. Rossini but my internal FBI agent senses there’s more.
Suds pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Honey? Don’t you have to go to work?”
“Oh shit.” I fly up the steps, bump my head on the ceiling, and curse while I dress.
No place to put on makeup, I grab it all, stuff it in my purse, and kiss Suds.
“Bye.” I button my coat on the way down the stairs, flip off the obnoxious workers, and run to the salon.
“Hi Aunt Marion.” Frowning, my employer points to Mrs. Costa, sitting at my sink and as I rush to the back, Rose and Mia raise their brows.
Surely, I’m going to catch hell as soon as there’s no customers in sight.
Dropping my coat into an empty chair, I smile at one of our most regular patrons. “I’m sorry. Have you been waiting long?”
“No, no. Take your time and breathe, dearie. I’m in no hurry. Retired. You know how it is.”
Actually, I don’t and if I don’t get my shit together, I never will. I picture myself shuffling along with my holster hanging off my walker. I’ll be in the Guinness book for oldest private eye.
Amused at my own joke, I squat down, grab a towel, and start the water warming for Mrs. Costa.
“I was wondering. Have you ever met Mrs. Rossini?” I gently lower her chair back so her neck rests on the sink.
“Of course. She heads up the neighborhood watch. That’s why there’s no crime in our area.”
“Oh.” I don’t argue but the real reason is no one in their right mind would think of pissing in my uncle Vinny’s backyard.
However, if spying on people gives lovely old women something to do, who am I to disagree?
Mrs. Costa closes her eyes under my spray. “But it’s all very hush-hush. Don’t tell anyone.”
I glance up at Mia and Rose, listening intently, along with the other ladies getting a cut. No doubt, everyone in the parish will know everything before you can say bingo.
After the first hour, the salon fills quickly. No one else can tell me much about Mrs. Gallo except she doesn’t go to our church and is probably a Greek pretending to be an Italian. This, apparently, is as low as you can go.
At noon, my replacement arrives. Silently, while my boss is busy, I retrieve my coat, pad to the door, and throw my cousins a kiss.
However, as I grab the glass handle, Aunt Marion turns and glares. “A moment please, Samantha, we need to talk.”
Shit. “I’m sorry I was late. They’ve started construction next door and the noise is unbelievable.”
She stares over her reading glasses perched on the bottom of her strong Roman nose. “It’s not about your tardiness. I want you to continue to do your detective nonsense for Mrs. Rossini.”
Ever hear the phrase, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather?
I do a double take as I zip up my coat and approach the cash register. “But Mrs. Gallo didn’t kill her husband. I made a few calls and verified he’s staying at some villa in the Bahamas.”
“Samantha, as a personal favor, I’m asking you. Stay with it for a while longer.” Left unsaid is how my detective business would fair much worse without her patronage.
Giving in, I shoot her a big, fake, smile. “Sure thing. I’ll call her back and tell her I’ll do some more digging.”
Rose raises her hand from where she eats her lunch at the small table in the waiting area. “Mom. What about Martha’s daughter? She’s going to blow a gasket.”
“Mrs. Rossini can spend her money how she sees fit. It’s none of her daughter’s business.” Aunt Marion wipes her hands in the air, closing the subject.
“But Momma. She’s crazy. What if she kills Sam?” Crossing herself, Mia rolls her eyes to heaven, and mouths a prayer.
Rose, the less dramatic of the two, wipes her mouth and swallows the last of her sandwich. “Mia is right. You need to be careful. The only thing Marth
a’s daughter wants is her mother’s inheritance.
“Good to know. Thanks. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Glad I got away without a long lecture about being late, I glance up at the blue sky and unzip my coat. It’s almost sixty, unusually warm for January.
Enjoying the thaw, I take my time walking home and ping Suds.
Me: Slice from Petey’s?
Suds: Sushi?
I give him a thumbs up, stop at the Asian market, and stroll home, smiling at all the people who’ve come out of hibernation.
As I near the construction site, I recall the few choice words I memorized but the obnoxious men are all gone, no doubt taking a long lunch break.
Downstairs, a small light is on in the tailor’s shop as I stare in the dirty window. A little dust has been disturbed and man-sized sneaker prints meander about the room.
Huh, I wonder who was here. No one ever visits the place. A niggling feeling hits the back of my neck and shoots down my spine, the way it does when something is not right.
Halfway up the stairs, the jackhammer starts up and by the time I get to the top, my nerves are shot.
Two, next-day delivery packages sit on the kitchen table, one already open. Finding the scissors, I cut the cardboard and retrieve our new noise-cancelling headphones.
Catrina jumps on the table and places four paws in the small box, the only part of her that fits.
I place the larger outer box on the floor. “Here you go.”
“Merph.” She hops out of the container and starts biting like a gerbil, shredding cardboard into tiny pieces that fly all over the place.
Shaking my head at her weirdness, I cover my ears with my new amazing electronics and text Suds in the blessed silence.
Me: I’m home
Suds: Find the pkg?
Me: OMFG. TY!
Suds: B right out.
Suds, in a tank top covered in sawdust, smiles. My clit jumps to attention and my tits go hard. Holy fuck. How did I ever snag the sexiest man alive? He brushes off his jeans, grabs my hand, and leads me into the bathroom.
The subfloor is installed along with a new modern toilet and vanity. When his mouth moves, I strain to hear but shake my head and point to his phone.
The Dead Gigolo Caper (Suds and Sam Book 4) Page 3