From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery)

by Mickelson, Caroline

  He hesitated for a long moment, but finally scribbled something. He held up the pad. ‘Blackmail.’

  “Mr. Vidoni tried to blackmail Vincenzo?”

  Mooch shook his head vigorously. He gestured to indicate she had it backwards.

  “Vincenzo was blackmailing Frankie?”

  ‘Tried,’ Mooch wrote.

  Sophia looked at the word on the pad and wondered what exactly Mooch meant by ‘tried.’ Did Frankie want Vincenzo dead because he had attempted to blackmail him? That couldn’t be. If Frankie was responsible for Vincenzo’s death, then why would he hire them to find the killer? It didn’t make sense. She needed more information, and she had precious little time left.

  “What information did Vincenzo have on Frankie?”

  Mooch shrugged. Obviously he didn’t know. Or wouldn’t say.

  “How much did Vincenzo want for his silence?”

  ‘Twenty five g’s’, he wrote.

  “Twenty five thousand dollars?” Sophia was stunned. That was a fortune. No wonder Frankie had balked at paying.

  “Tell me about the book. What was it? Frankie had to have told you something.”

  Mooch shook his head solemnly. Even if he didn’t know what was in the book, he should know where it was now.

  She asked him.

  He hesitated before writing his answer. ‘Hidden in my apartment.’

  “Where exactly?”

  He eyed her thoughtfully. Finally he shook his head.

  He wasn’t going to tell her. Fine. She’d go back and look more carefully. He was in no position to stop her.

  “Did you see Vincenzo when you were at the ristorante?”

  Mooch nodded and began to write. He held up the pad for her to see.

  ‘He didn’t see me. He was arguing with someone.’

  This didn’t surprise her. Arguing was how Vincenzo appeared to have spent his waking hours.

  “Who was he arguing with?” Sophia prompted him.

  For the first time Mooch looked downright uncomfortable.“It’s important you help me, Mooch. Someone tried to kill you. Don’t you want to know who it was?”

  He nodded and then wrote. ‘Eugene.’

  Eugene Gallo? Interesting.

  Sophia glanced at her watch. She didn’t have much time left.

  “What were they arguing about?” she persisted.

  ‘Don’t know. I got out of there.’

  Sophia nodded. So, assuming Mooch was telling the truth, Vincenzo had argued with Eugene just before his death. And with Maria Acino the day before at the restaurant. But what about? That she’d dearly love to know.

  “One more question. What did you eat that made you sick?”

  Mooch scribbled furiously. ‘Spaghetti Bolognese. A neighbor’s boy brought it up.’

  “So you don’t know who sent it up with him?”

  He shook his head.

  Sophia nodded. “I understand. You just thought a neighbor was sharing. Who was the little boy? I want to ask him a few questions.”

  ‘Jimmy Iacobelli on the ground floor. Be nice to him.’

  “I will. I promise.” She was pleased at least that a picture of what had happened, albeit murky, was beginning to emerge. Someone had most likely convinced little Jimmy to take a plate of food up to Mooch’s apartment. Then they had waited until they thought Mooch was dead to sneak into his apartment and look for the book.

  What in heaven’s name was in it? It had to do with the blackmail. Frankie obviously wanted it badly enough to send Mooch for it. But who else knew about it and wanted it badly enough to poison Mooch to get their hands on it? Someone who was also being blackmailed was her guess. But who?

  She glanced at her watch again. Sergeant O’Brian had been more than generous. She should leave before his leniency with her got him in hot water.

  “Thank you, Mooch. I appreciate your help. Make sure you follow the doctor’s orders so you can get out of here soon. Is there anyone you would like me to call, friends or family?”

  He dropped his eyes.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked. No friends and no family? The idea made her heart ache.

  He shook his head. She turned toward the door but the sound of snapping fingers caused her to turn around again. Mooch was holding up a message. She quickly read his question.

  “Your kitten is safe with my cousin,” she assured him. “We’ll take good care of it for you until you can go home.” Sophia acknowledged his toothy smile of gratitude with a smile of her own. “What is the kitten’s name?”

  ‘Precious.’ And then he wrote a little more and held the pad up. ‘You gotta help Frankie. He didn’t do nothing wrong.”

  “I’ll try, Mooch,” she said, touched by the genuine concern evident in his expression. “I promise.”

  ***

  Quadrelli & Son’s Funeral Home was next on her order of business, partially because it was not too far from the police station, and also because she was dreading paying a visit to Mrs. Vidoni.

  Sophia was relieved to see that Quadrelli’s looked semi-deserted. Thankfully, she hadn’t arrived in the middle of a wake or rosary. She stepped into the dimly lit front entryway and waited for someone to come out and greet her. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Sophia, welcome,” Primo Quadrelli called to her as he came out of his office. He spread his arms wide and embraced her warmly. “It does my heart good to see you.”

  His lined face and the sadness in his eyes told her how he was without her having to ask. His only son, Carmello, had been killed in the war when a fleet of Japanese kamikaze planes hit and sunk the destroyer he’d served on. Carmello and Angelo had been good friends while growing up. She still couldn’t believe Carmello wasn’t going to come home. His father’s grief had aged him greatly.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Quadrelli.”

  “Nonsense. I’m always delighted to see you.” He ushered her into his office, and she gratefully sank into a wingchair in front of his desk. “Share some tea with me?”

  “No, thank you. I can’t stay long--”

  “You must. I won’t hear of you leaving without something to drink. Now, what will it be? Coffee or tea?”

  “Tea, please.”

  Sophia smiled as she watched him pour two steaming cups of tea. She didn’t know why she ever bothered to refuse such an offer when visiting anyone in Little Italy. No matter what she said, or how much she protested, she knew she wouldn’t leave without eating or drinking something. She took the steaming cup he offered and thanked him.

  Signor Quadrelli settled himself on the opposite side of the desk. “To what do I owe this visit?” he asked, hastening to add, “Not that you need a reason to stop by. You’re always welcome, but tell me this isn’t a professional visit. Everyone in your family is well?”

  “They are. Thank you for asking. And thank you for not minding an unannounced visitor.”

  “I am always happy to have the company. It is too quiet here since Carmello went away.” His gaze settled on a framed photo of his son in uniform.

  “May I?” Sophia asked, pointing to the photo.

  “Of course.” He handed it to her.

  Sophia looked down into the face of a childhood friend, now gone forever. Carmello’s smile was bright and there was laughter in his eyes. Her own eyes filled with tears. She handed the photo back.

  “That’s how I’ll remember him,” she told his father. “With a smile that no one could resist. He was a good friend. A good man.”

  “He was a good son,” Mr. Quadrelli said as he settled the frame back in its place of honor on his desk. “Now, tell me what brings you here, Sophia.”

  “I’ve come at Frankie Vidoni’s request.”

  Primo smiled. “That makes you the second person today to do so.”

  That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. Who else had Frankie sent?

  “Mr. Vidoni asked me to see how the arrangements were coming along.”

 
; “Well, cara, I can tell you the same thing I told his cousin. Everything he has requested has been taken care of, down to the last letter.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “He’s welcome to come back here and we can speak in person again.”

  So, obviously he hadn’t heard that Frankie had been arrested. It was only a matter of time before word reached him, so she might as well be the one to fill him in. She did so.

  “I’m on my way to speak with Mrs. Vidoni now, but Frankie was most insistent that I see you as well.” Sophia couldn’t help but notice that Primo seemed more perplexed than aghast at the news of Frankie’s arrest. She asked him why.

  He cocked his head sideways and thought for a long moment before answering her. “I’ve known Frankie Vidoni since we were boys. He is many things, and perhaps not all of them good, but I cannot believe he’d murder a man in a fit of rage in the middle of a party.” He shook his head. “No, that’s not like Frankie at all.”

  “Perhaps he snapped,” Sophia offered. “Vincenzo had that effect on people.”

  “That he did. Still, something isn’t right about this. I think--” The front door opened and a voice called out for Primo. “In my office, Marco.” Primo went around his desk and ushered his guest in.

  A quick glance at the visitor’s uniform told Sophia that Marco was a letter carrier. But not the regular one who delivered mail to Little Italy.

  Primo introduced them. Sophia smiled, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Lato.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss Mancini. I apologize for interrupting,” Marco said. “I’ve actually come to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye? Where are you going?” Primo sounded surprised.

  “I’m engaged to be married, and my new bride and I will be moving to California next week.”

  Primo shook the letter carrier’s hand, enthusiastic in his congratulations. “Wonderful, wonderful. Now that lad of yours will have a proper mother.”

  Marco beamed. “Yes, my boy is thrilled. Well then, I won’t keep you, my friend. I’ll send a postcard when we see palm trees and the ocean.” Wherever he was going, and whoever he was going with, Marco sounded delighted about it.

  When Primo returned from seeing Marco out, he apologized for the interruption. “Finally, my friend has a chance at happiness. He’s going to marry a nice young widow and have a whole new life. I’m happy for him.” He waved his hand around his office. “So much sadness, so many tears in this business. It’s nice to hear happy news too. Now, tell me what else I can help you with.”

  “May I ask about the person who came earlier to ask questions on Frankie’s behalf?”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t recognize her, Sophia. Apparently she’s an elderly cousin visiting from out of state, come to stay with Lily until the end.”

  “And she wanted to know how the funeral arrangements were coming along?”

  Primo hesitated. “Yes, she was full of questions. Odd woman, actually. She seemed more curious about Frankie’s choices than anything.” He shrugged. “Grief does strange things to a person, though. We see people handle their sadness in many different ways.”

  “Mr. Quadrelli, you said you’ve known Frankie Vidoni for years. Can I ask you something about him?”

  “Absolutely. Ask me anything.”

  “How is his marriage, I mean, his relationship with his wife? Are they a loving couple?”

  Primo smiled. “Yes, most definitely, they are. Which only makes watching him prepare for her passing all the more poignant. There’s no question in my mind that Frankie Vidoni is utterly devoted to his wife and would do anything for her.”

  There was that phrase again--the same Frankie had used. He’d do anything for his wife. Did the anything he was willing to do have to do with Vincenzo’s blackmail attempt? She felt like she was in a maze, and every time she rounded a corner, there was another wall.

  She stood. “You’ve been kind to answer my questions. Thank you. I’ll tell Mr. Vidoni that he has nothing to worry about. Well, I mean, of course he’s worried but--”

  “I know what you mean, dear. No, as far as the arrangements for his wife, everything is as he asked.” He walked with her to the entryway. “Please visit whenever you wish. I’m always happy to see you. Give my best to Angelo and bring little Luciano to see me sometime.”

  He kissed her cheek and opened the front door for her. “And, Sophia, be careful, eh cara? Death is a natural part of life and not to be feared. But murder is deadly serious business.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two bus transfers and two dimes later, Sophia was back in Mooch’s neighborhood. She strolled down the tree-lined street, taking in everything around her in a way she hadn’t done before.

  The last time she’d visited Mooch’s apartment, she’d gone charging up the stairs completely unaware of her surroundings. For all she knew, she might have walked right past the person who poisoned Mooch. On the night Vincenzo was killed, she’d been in the restaurant with a murderer and she’d been totally ignorant of the fact. No, she was never going to learn anything if she didn’t slow down and observe what was going on around her. She needed to develop a sixth sense. And fast.

  She stopped in front of Mooch’s apartment building and leaned nonchalantly against a brick pillar. No one seemed to take any notice of her. An old woman on the other side of the street swept the sidewalk, singing quietly to herself. Three little boys on bicycles raced past, incurring good-natured threats from a group of older boys playing ball in the street.

  Sophia cocked her head to the side and observed the scene in front of her for a moment longer. Everything seemed perfectly normal. There was nothing untoward here that she could sense.

  She climbed the stairs to Mooch’s apartment and tried the door. Locked, just as she’d expected. With a quick glance around to make sure she was alone, she reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a skeleton key she’d wheedled from her brother. It slipped easily into the lock and the door swung open.

  “Hello, is anyone here?” she called, knowing only the silence would answer. She glanced down at the floor where yesterday she’d found Mooch. She shivered.

  A quick glance, Sophia, she told herself. Take a quick look around and get out. She shouldn’t even be here. But Mooch wanted her to help Frankie, didn’t he? Perhaps there was something here she could find to help take the heat off of his boss.

  The apartment couldn’t have been more orderly if the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary lived here. The furnishings were modest, clean, and ordinary in every sense of the word.

  She had an unsettling feeling that one of Vincenzo’s blackmail victims had beaten her here, and already found the book she so badly wanted to see. But who? That was the twenty-five thousand dollar question.

  But in the unlikely event it was still here she needed to keep searching. The only place left to look was Mooch’s room. She hesitated for only a moment.

  Once inside the cramped bedroom, she opened the wardrobe. A row of white shirts hung neatly on the left. Below them was a drawer filled with socks and neckties. Three pairs of shoes were lined up on the bottom shelf. To the right of the shirts, two pairs of navy slacks and two navy jackets hung together. A pair of gray pants hung alone on the other side.

  Sophia frowned. Where was the gray jacket? She closed her eyes and tried to remember what color Frankie had worn the night of the murder. Gray. He’d worn a gray suit. And the police had found a gray, bloodstained jacket--apparently the reason they were holding Frankie at the police station.

  But what if the jacket the police had found didn’t belong to Frankie? What if it belonged to Mooch?

  No, no, no. She didn’t want to even think it. Despite his perpetual frown and uncommunicative manner, she liked Mooch. He just couldn’t have killed Vincenzo Moretti.

  But Mooch was a big man, a little voice inside her head reminded her. Much bigger than Frankie. Mooch was more than a physical match for Vincenzo. It was easy to believe that he had the brute strength to drive a knif
e into the chef’s back.

  She closed the wardrobe door, turned around, and let out a startled cry.

  “Found something, have you, Miss Mancini?”

  “Goodness, you startled me.” How had she not heard the police captain enter the apartment? So much for her budding sixth sense. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” He reached around her and opened the wardrobe door. “Anything interesting in here?”

  Sophia went to sit on the window sill. There wasn’t a chair in the room, and she felt funny about sitting on Mooch’s bed. Her legs, however, begged for support.

  She watched while Tiernan glanced ever so briefly through the wardrobe before closing it.

  “That’s an awfully cursory search, Captain.”

  “I’m not here to conduct a search. We’ve already done that. I’m here for another reason altogether.”

  “Which is?” She couldn’t help herself. Truly, her curiosity knew no bounds.

  “I was downstairs speaking to the first-floor tenants when one of the residents came to tell me she saw a young lady let herself into Mr. DiMuccio’s apartment. Imagine my surprise to discover you were the intruder.”

  His sarcasm was almost as bad as her curiosity.

  “Let’s go.” He stood back and gestured to the door. “My patrol car is around the corner. I’ll take you home.”

  “Kind of you, Captain, but I’m not going straight home. I’m going to visit Mrs. Vidoni.”

  “Ah, interesting. At your client’s request I presume?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll give you a lift there then.”

  “It’s not necessary, thank you, Captain.”

  “I think it is.” He held open the front door and turned the lock after she passed through. “It will give you a chance to tell me what you’ve learned about the case thus far.”

  “Funny, I was just going to say the same thing.”

  ***

  When the police car swung around the front drive of the Vidoni home, Sophia couldn’t help but wonder at the lack of cars in the drive, or other signs of life. Something was wrong.