Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel)

by Diane Kelly

  I listened to the Italian CD on the remaining drive back to my apartment. I’d moved on from numbers, and was now learning the four seasons. L’inverno. La primavera. L’estate. L’autunno.

  At the apartment, I changed out of my work clothes and dropped them into the stackable washing machine. I’d picked up a splattering of marinara sauce on my blouse and a smudge of creamy Alfredo on my pants. It was hard to stay clean schlepping Italian food.

  Benedetta had given me the weekend off from the restaurant. The weekends were probably the bistro’s busiest times, which meant more tips for the servers, and she’d scheduled her daughters to work those prime shifts. Who could blame her? The restaurant was the family’s bread and butter—make that garlic bread and butter.

  A lively Katy Perry tune carried up to my apartment. I turned the mini-blinds in my living room window to see a handful of the complex’s twenty-something residents gathered around the pool, beer bottles and wine coolers in hand as they celebrated the end of the workweek. It was the kind of thing Alicia and I had done when we’d worked together at Martin & McGee and shared an apartment.

  Though those times had been only a few years ago, it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. I suddenly felt old and excessively burdened, the Fabrizio case weighing on me like that overloaded barbell. For all I knew, the man planned to kill another person this weekend, to do harm to another client who’d refused to give in to his salesmen’s unreasonable demands. Other than the kisses Tino had planted on my cheeks yesterday, I’d been unable to get close to the man. I realized I was being much too impatient, that these types of complex investigations can take weeks, months, or even years to complete, but patience had never been one of my virtues. Besides, our plan of attack had been to hit Tino hard, with a large team of agents. Surely that should speed things up, right? One could hope.

  I hadn’t had the foresight to pack my bathing suit, but I did have a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops. I quickly changed into them, grabbed a towel, and retrieved the still-warm food from the fridge. I grabbed a stack of the cheap plastic plates that were in the cabinet, along with some silverware and napkins. I carried the whole shebang down to the pool area and set it on an empty table.

  “Free food!” I called. The fastest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but it was also the fastest way to make new friends.

  In seconds, a crowd had gathered around and were filling their plates with spaghetti, fettucine, tortellini, and garlic knots. A curly-haired blonde handed me a fuzzy navel-flavored wine cooler. It felt good to relax, to let go of the tension I’d been carrying around all day.

  I fixed myself a plate and slid onto a chaise lounge next to my new temporary BFF, who told me her name was Angelique.

  “I haven’t seen you before,” she noted, holding her loaded fork aloft. “Did you just move here?”

  “Yeah. A few days ago.” I tore a bite from a garlic knot and paused, thinking I should open up in the spirit of making friends like Tori would. “I’m a student at DBU. I had a job as a nanny and lived with the family, but they moved out of the country. It’s hot enough here in Texas. No way did I want to move to the Middle East with them. It’s like a million degrees over there. What about you?”

  “I’ve lived here for about three years,” she said. “I’m a physical therapist at Parkland Hospital.”

  I gestured to the buildings with my bread. “Which unit is yours?”

  Her mouth was now full, so she pointed her fork to indicate an apartment on the first floor, directly under the unit next to mine.

  I pointed up to the window from which I’d peeked out at the group. “That’s me up there.”

  She introduced me to several of the other residents. One of the guys even flirted with me a little. I flirted right back, though since I was allegedly a student at a Baptist school, I kept my comments PG-rated. No reason to break character or tempt fate.

  The crowd dwindled as residents returned to their apartments. I gathered up the dirty silverware and plates, bade Angelique good-bye, and returned to my apartment, where I stuck the dirty dishes in the machine and started it.

  I glanced at my phone. It was nearing eight o’clock now. My mother would be arriving at my town house within the hour.

  I figured it would be best to leave the Hyundai at my apartment so that it would look like I was home if any of Tino’s men came by to check up on me. Taking my purse with me, I scurried out of my apartment, circled around to the alley, and cut through a strip center to the next block. There, I called for a cab.

  I hopped into the cab, gave him my address, and took my compact out of my purse, using the mirror to ensure nobody was following the cab. Again, I was in luck. No tail. A quarter hour later, the taxi driver deposited me at my town house. My mother had already arrived, her car parked in the driveway behind Alicia’s Audi.

  “Thanks,” I said, handing the driver the fee plus a tip.

  He thanked me in return and eased away from the curb to go in search of another fare.

  I looked up at my place. God, it feels good to be home! I’d only been gone two nights, but it seemed like a much longer time. It had been a busy and exhausting couple of days.

  I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  chapter twenty

  Mommy and Me

  My mother, who was in my kitchen, clapped her hands and launched herself at me, always glad to see her only daughter. “There’s my girl!”

  My mother and I had the same small build and the same chestnut hair, though she maintained her color with the help of Miss Clairol. She was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a knit top, comfortable travel/cooking clothes.

  “It’s great to see you, Mom.” I gave her a warm hug, noting that her hair smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and ginger. No doubt she’d spent the entire day back in Nacogdoches preparing fresh-baked treats for Alicia’s bridal shower tomorrow. She wasn’t just a wonderful mother to me, she was good to my best friend, too.

  It crossed my mind that Benedetta Fabrizio and my mother had a lot in common. Both were great cooks. Both were devoted to their children. And both seemed to be generous and caring with those outside their families, too. Still, though my mother adored and doted on my father, I knew she would never tolerate him becoming involved in illegal enterprises or committing acts of violence. I had to wonder, yet again, whether Benedetta had a clue what her husband was up to behind the scenes.

  “How’s the new case going?” my mother asked.

  Alicia’s eyes met mine and we exchanged a silent ugh. I hadn’t exactly lied to my mother about my current investigation, but I’d left out the words mafia, mobster, and extortion. Also murder, Christmas lights, and nail gun. My recent involvement in the drug cartel case had been enough to nearly put the poor woman in her grave with worry. I’d left her with the impression that I was simply investigating a family-owned restaurant and that the couple who owned it might not be on the up-and-up.

  “It’s going okay,” I said.

  She tilted her head and eyed me. “I don’t see why they had to put you in an apartment. They haven’t moved you to a new place on your other cases.”

  I shrugged my left shoulder, faking nonchalance. “Just an abundance of caution.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Tara Holloway, you’re not telling the truth.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It took me years to figure it out,” she said, “but you’ve got a tell.”

  “A tell?” I looked over at Alicia. She raised her palms. Apparently she hadn’t noticed anything.

  “When you’re not being honest,” my mom said, “you raise your left shoulder.”

  Oh. I’d have to make sure not to do that again.

  She frowned. “What kind of girl lies to her own mother?”

  I sighed. “One who doesn’t want her mother to worry.”

  She tilted her head. “Should I be worried?”

  “No.” My left shoulder lifted of it
s own accord.

  Mom threw up her hands. “You’re lying again!”

  “Okay, Mom,” I said. “You want the truth? I’ll tell you. I’m going after a mobster, a mafia boss, like the guys from The Godfather and The Sopranos. He extorts money from his clients, and when they don’t pay up he robs them and destroys their businesses. He’s suspected of killing around a dozen men, many of whom have yet to be found.”

  She was quiet a moment before her eyes brimmed with fearful tears. “I think I’d rather you lied to me.”

  I stepped forward and hugged her again. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m working in the restaurant and Nick and Josh are right across the parking lot keeping an eye on things. We’ve got a whole team working along with a group from the FBI to track the mobster’s henchmen. I’ve got a weapon on me at all times.”

  That last part was a lie, but only a white lie, so I managed to keep my shoulder down. I kept my Cobra in my purse, but when I was on duty at the restaurant the gun was secured in my locker, not easily at hand.

  My mother nodded, then waved her hands in the air as if to clear it of the negative thoughts. “Let’s get to cleaning and decorating, shall we?”

  I stuck my cats in my bedroom upstairs, where they wouldn’t be able to undo all of our work. Although Mom and I told Alicia she shouldn’t clean up for her own bridal shower, she insisted on helping.

  “This might be one of the last times we three get to spend together,” she said.

  “Don’t remind me.” I spritzed Windex in her direction. Spritz-spritz.

  Alicia and I spent the rest of the evening vacuuming and dusting my living room while my mother washed her crystal punch bowl and glasses. We finally finished around eleven and fell exhausted into our beds. It was great to be back home and sleeping in my own bed, cuddling up with Anne, even if Henry didn’t like being confined to my bedroom and kept rattling the closed door with his paw, trying to escape. I wasn’t about to let him out so he could cover the living room with his fur again.

  The next morning, my alarm woke me much too early. I brewed coffee while Mom made me and Alicia a delicious breakfast of pancakes topped with sliced bananas and pecans. They weren’t quite as good a treat as Benedetta’s chocolate cannoli, but I wasn’t about to tell my mother that.

  “Can you just stay here forever, Mom?” I asked between mouthfuls.

  “I’d love to, honey,” she said, using the spatula to flip another pancake. “But your father couldn’t survive without me. He’d try to live on his chili alone.”

  Dad’s chili contained more types of peppers than a person could count and packed deadly heat. Just one swallow would nearly liquefy your insides.

  We spent the rest of the morning setting up for the shower. Mom baked a French vanilla cake with strawberry filling, topping it with a heavy glaze and fresh blueberries. She put one of her beautiful white lace tablecloths on my dining room table, and arranged framed photos of Alicia and Daniel, her fiancé, around the pretty centerpiece she’d fashioned herself from silver ribbon encircling a white orchid with a half-dozen blooms. Mom was a Southern Martha Stewart. Though I could certainly appreciate my mother’s talents, I’d inherited none of them and knew better than to even try. I could help, though. At her direction, I placed the punch bowl at the far end of the table and lined up the crystal glasses next to it. I placed bowls of those chalky, pastel-hued mints on the coffee table and end tables.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” Alicia told my mother as Mom set out trays of cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches cut into crustless triangles, stuffed cherry tomatoes, and mushrooms in flaky pastry puffs. I counted no less than three dips—one for the fresh veggies, another for the fruit, and a third for the tortilla chips no Southern party could be without. It was a mix of fancy treats and comfort foods, and my mother pulled it off beautifully.

  We showered and put on our party dresses. Alicia wore a feminine flowing strapless dress in a pale green pistachio color. Mom dressed in a bright blue shift. I wore a red dress I’d bought last year at an after-Easter sale. I’d originally purchased it with the intent of wearing it to an awards ceremony for my then-boyfriend Brett, who was a landscape architect and had been the recipient of a professional award. Work had gotten in the way and I’d been unable to attend the awards ceremony. My job required quite a few personal sacrifices. Fortunately, my new manicure went with the dress.

  Ding-dong.

  I opened the door to find Christina Marquez on my porch with an oversized gift bag in hand. Christina was a DEA agent who’d become not only my close friend but also a buddy of Alicia’s.

  “Hey, girl,” I said.

  “Hey, yourself.” She cocked her head. “You’re working a tough undercover case, aren’t you?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The new hair, for one,” she replied, gesturing at my reddish-orange locks. “But the tired, raccoon eyes are a big clue, too.”

  “Do I really look that bad?”

  She reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Only to a trained eye.”

  We embraced and I stepped back to let her inside. She placed her gift bag on the coffee table and accepted the glass of punch my mother held out to her. She looked over the spread on my dining room table. “This food looks fabulous.”

  “And it tastes even better,” I said, making my mother beam.

  Christina was quickly followed by Alicia’s mother, one of our fellow CPAs from Martin & McGee, and several others, some of whom had driven over together.

  The shower went off without a hitch. We played silly games, stuffed our faces with the delicious food and cake my mother had prepared, and watched as Alicia opened gift after gift after gift. A Le Creuset soup pot. A set of monogrammed towels. A gravy boat. A pair of crystal champagne flutes etched with Alicia’s and Daniel’s names and the date of their upcoming wedding. That last gift was from me.

  Alicia gave me a tight hug. “I love them, Tara.”

  I smiled, though inside I felt myself vying with mixed feelings. I was truly happy for my best friend. She’d be starting a new phase of her life with the man she loved. But as happy as I was for her, I was bummed for myself. Alicia would be gaining a husband, but I’d be losing a best friend. I had no illusions that our relationship would remain the same once she and Daniel tied the knot. I knew that was how it was supposed to be, that he should become her number one priority, but it still made me feel a little sad.

  When the shower was over and the guests had gone, each of them taking home a cello goody bag filled with Mom’s homemade divinity and pecan pralines, Daniel swung by to help Alicia move the unwrapped gifts to his loft apartment, where they’d be living together after the big day. He took a look at the huge pile of gifts covering my floor and coffee table and threw a fist in the air. “Score!”

  “Daniel!” Alicia scolded. “Behave.”

  He picked up the soup pot. “Does this mean you’re going to learn how to cook?”

  “Are you kidding?” Alicia said. Her kitchen skills were as pathetic as mine. “I only plan to use it for warming up soup that comes out of a jar.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe you should learn to cook, Daniel. I hear a lot of husbands do the cooking these days.”

  He set down the pot and raised his hands in surrender. “Canned soup is fine with me.”

  My mother looked from Alicia to her fiancé. “This sure was a fun day. Should we go ahead and pencil in a baby shower?”

  Daniel looked freaked out, though Alicia only looked thoughtful. “Give us a year or two.”

  “Or three,” Daniel said. “Four maybe?”

  “Wuss,” I whispered.

  The happy couple offered to help us clean up, but we shooed them off after we helped them load the gifts into Daniel’s car.

  “We’ve got it,” Mom said. “You two go find a place for all this loot.”

  When they were gone, Mom and I went back inside and picked up the stray bows, wrapping paper, and dishe
s from the living room.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I told her. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

  “Happy to help, honey. You know I love to cook, and I love to spend time with you even more.” She wadded up a ball of torn gift wrap, the paper giving off a crinkle, and gave me a knowing look. “I bet it won’t be long before Alicia is returning the favor and throwing you a bridal shower.”

  I tossed a soiled napkin into her bag. “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.”

  “You and Nick are nuts about each other,” she replied. “Those chicks are already in their eggs, pecking away.”

  Nick and I seemed to be heading in the direction of the altar. He’d even joked recently that he’d entered a not-so-secret office pool, betting he’d propose to me in September. Still, anything could happen before then. Dario could slice me up with one of his knives and boil me in one of those huge pasta pots. Benedetta could turn out to be her husband’s murderous sidekick, force a chocolate cannoli down my throat, and choke me to death with it. Tino Fabrizio could shove me headfirst into the bistro’s pizza oven, make it look as if I’d tripped and fallen.

  Sheesh. Those horrifying photographs and being watched through my Webcam had left me overly apprehensive.

  After we’d finished cleaning up, Mom changed back into comfortable clothes for her drive home.

  “I hate to have to rush off,” she said, “but I promised your brother I’d take Jesse to her horseback riding lesson tomorrow.”

  Jesse was my favorite niece. I knew I shouldn’t have a favorite, but the kid was so much like me it was hard not to feel a special connection.

  I went upstairs to spring Henry and Anne from their bedroom prison. That fortune cookie had been right—a trapped cat does become a lion. Anne, who was normally a docile cat, had gone psycho being closed in the room without me. She’d skittered back and forth across my bedspread, leaving it rumpled and askew. She’d clawed at the carpet inside the door and pulled some of the strands loose, the fibers littering the floor, the webbing that held the carpet together exposed in spots. She’d also knocked over my bedside lamp and left claw marks in the wood on my night table. I wanted to be angry at the destruction she’d caused, but the poor thing was upset. What she needed now was love.