Ma picks up one of those square, silver lighters with the lids and hands it to me. It’s in a baggie. Everything is. Ma wants to preserve the items.
“Please don’t tell me this was a weapon used in burning someone,” I say.
“No,” Ma says. “It did belong to a man accused of killing his neighbor in Portland.”
I flip it over, see the initials JHP carved into it, and hand it to her. “What did the neighbor do?”
She places it back on the shelf. “He played his music too loud night after night.”
“Gosh, some people are so testy. Did this JHP guy ever think of calling the cops instead of murder?”
Ma laughs lightly. “I thought the same thing. They discovered the murderer is schizophrenic and his hallucinations told him to kill.”
“That’s sad,” I say.
We head back upstairs.
“For the murderer or the victim?” Ma asks and turns off the light.
“Both.”
Pop is in the kitchen, putting two slices of rye bread into the toaster. He gives me a hug and a kiss and nods to the table for Ma. Her purse sits beside mine. “Why is your purse so urgent when you still have to go up to finish your hair?”
“I feel naked without my lipstick.” She rummages through it and pulls out a tube.
Pop shakes his head. He never understands us girls.
Footsteps sound on the stairs. As Izzie rounds the corner, I wonder if I should tell her about Cupcake in front of our parents. What if she doesn’t want them to…?
Oh my goodness. My jaw drops at the sight of her hair. This morning, it was waist length, and now it’s just below her chin and very uneven.
“What’d you do?” I ask.
Ma and Pop stare, mouths open, too.
Izzie self-consciously runs her hand down the back. “Is it that bad?”
Actually, it’s super cute and accentuates her face. I tell her so. She doesn’t seem too happy though. Not unexpected. I doubt a compliment will stop her feeling like her world has caved in.
“I thought a change was in order.” She reaches for the coffee.
I go over to her, crowd her at the counter, and whisper, “How are you?”
She waves her hand and takes a sip. I don’t know how she drinks the stuff black. “I don’t want to talk about me. Why are you here so early? I figured you’d be sleeping.”
“I wish, but I’ve had a very eventful morning. An uninvited guest showed up.”
She wiggles her brows. “Julian? How does he know where you live?”
“No. It wasn’t Douche…er…him. It was the clown.”
Color floods her cheeks. She sets her mug down with a bang. Somehow it doesn’t crack.
Ma gasps. Pop, who’s in the fridge, turns around. “What’s wrong?”
We ignore them.
Izzie clenches her fists, but before her head explodes, I quickly add, “She’s a ghost.”
This takes the scream out of her sail. “What?”
“She’s dead, Izzie. I called Enzo. They found her body this morning.”
“Who’s dead?” Ma’s eyes gleam with joy. Yes, we’re all a bit warped.
Izzie glances their way and says, “Last night, we caught Paulie with another woman.”
Ma gasps. Pop slams the fridge door. A stack of aluminum plans on top rattles. “I’ll kill him.”
Ma groans. “Oh don’t be so dramatic, Lorenzo.”
Yep, Ma’s the pot and Pop’s the kettle.
“This is our baby girl, Rosa. No one hurts our baby.” Pop’s usually a laid-back, quiet guy, so hearing this makes my heart swell.
Ma scoffs. “I know that. I’m just saying it may not be that bad.”
Now it’s mine and Izzie’s turn to scoff. Is she serious?
Ma opens her mouth again. “I just mean…”
But before she ends up digging herself deeper, Izzie storms past them.
I follow, stopping her by the front door.
“Wait. There’s more. They found her on the beach, only a few blocks from where we were last night. She was bludgeoned, and they found a bloody baseball bat.”
Izzie wobbles and leans against the wall. Since she’s already shaky, I may as well go in for the kill.
“And since the bat is missing from the back of Paulie’s truck—I checked—I’m assuming it’s the same one with our fingerprints all over it.”
She blinks twice. “You went to Paulie’s?”
Did she hear me?
I nod. “Yes, and he looks like shit.” That should make her happy.
One corner of her mouth lifts. I know her so well. “Good. I hope he killed her. Then he can spend the rest of his pathetic life in jail.” She runs upstairs.
I go back into the kitchen for my purse and remember the thing in it. I hand Ma the clown nose. Who knew, when I picked it up last night, it would become a part of our lives? Maybe I should turn it over to the cops, but it’s not like I found it on the beach near the crime scene. And it would give a lot of pleasure to the woman who raised me and who loves me. Seems like a clear-cut decision.
She stares at the red blob. “What’s this?”
“It belonged to Emma Tinsdale. The woman Paulie was with. The one who was murdered last night.”
Ma squeals, kisses my cheek, and rushes down to her shrine.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When I pull up to Ma and Pop’s for the third time today, I immediately spot D.N.‘s black SUV parked across the narrow street. You’ve got to be kidding me. I consider leaving and going back to the apartment, but Ma will kill me if I miss a Sunday dinner. They’re practically holy—up there with baptisms and 50% off sales at Macy’s. And since I’ve already been here today, I can’t feign malaria.
After leaving earlier I went back to a quiet apartment, put together my bed, and crashed for a couple of hours. When I woke up, Billy and Cupcake were still gone. I seriously need to invent a supernatural pager.
As soon as I open my door, D.N. does the same. I can’t get away now even if I want to. He’d probably follow me.
“This has to stop,” I say, slamming my door harder than necessary.
He’s by my side in three long strides, and my breath catches in my chest. One of the things I love about him is the confident way he moves, which of course leads me to think of his bedroom moves and the way he uses his tongue to…
“We didn’t get a chance to talk last night,” he says.
I look away so he won’t see the lust in my eyes. “That’s because I don’t want to talk to you. What part of that do you not understand?”
Just because I want to tear his clothes off doesn’t mean we have anything to say to one another.
The front door opens, and Ma looks out. Darn. There’s no way she’s going to let me push him away. She has a compulsion to feed people. I think it’s an Italian thing. They can be complete strangers, and it doesn’t matter. She wants to feed the world. I guess that’s why she and Pop opened the deli.
She hurries down the steps and over to my car. “Julian, is that you? You’ve been sitting out here for almost an hour. Why didn’t you knock, hon?”
Hon? Seriously? She’s only met him twice—once when I first moved in with him and then for my birthday last spring. She and Pop drove up to Connecticut to make sure I wasn’t shacking up with a serial killer. Little did I know he’d slay my heart.
“Hello, Mrs. Mancini. I’ve been waiting for Gianna. I didn’t want to intrude.” He kisses her cheek.
She swats the air. “Nonsense, dear. You’re always welcome. Now come in and join us for dinner.”
I toss a glare her way. She puts up her mother-knows-best face, and my glare bounces off her. She’s like a superhero with special maternal powers.
I brush past both of them. “And one day when I’m married and have kids, you’ll still be inviting him inside.” It’s a stupid comment, but I’m annoyed and a tad hurt that she doesn’t ask me first. Don’t my feelings count? She birthed me, not him.
/>
I head through the living room, stopping only long enough to kiss Pop on the top of his head. The TV blares, so he doesn’t hear my hello. He’s too busy watching Jaws eat someone. I find Izzie in the kitchen pouring a huge glass of red wine. She’s dressed in yoga pants and an oversized, stained tee she wore when pregnant with Alice. She still owns that thing?
She glances at me. “Want some?”
Ma and Julian enter the house.
I nod. “Oh yes. And why doesn’t the dress code apply to you?” I glance down at my blue wrap dress and the black suede, pointy flats that pinch my toes. If they weren’t on sale and so cute, I wouldn’t have bought them. The designer is just plain cruel.
She grabs another goblet and pours me half a glass. “Because my husband is a no good, cheating bastard. Do you have one of those around?”
Pop greets Julian with sheer jubilation in his voice.
“I have a bastard. Does that count?”
Izzie shrugs and slurps her wine.
* * *
The seven of us are seated in the formal dining room, stuffing ourselves. Well, Pop and Enzo are stuffing. Enzo acts as if he only eats once a week—Sunday feast—but he used to stop here for dinner nightly, and I doubt that’s changed. Izzie’s having a liquid lunch, Ma’s talking nonstop with D.N., and Alice is pushing her food around on her plate. She’s texting beneath the tablecloth and trying to go unnoticed.
My niece looks up, and I give her a quick smile. She and I used to be close. I was her age when she was born. Izzie got pregnant on Valentine’s Day, on some cheesy date Joey planned—McDonalds and wine coolers in the back of his father’s van. Izzie still winces when it’s mentioned. I wince for her. Not that we mention it often. Alice has no idea the circumstances around her conception, and if it’s up to Izzie, she never will. After graduation Joey moved away to college and never came back. Alice was born a week before Thanksgiving. I helped Izzie look after her and on occasion pretended she was mine. She was cute. All pink and squishy.
Now, she’s still cute but ornery. She inherited it from me. She’s all kinds of awesome.
I’m sandwiched in between D.N. and Izzie, staring at Paulie’s empty seat across from me. Every time D.N. raises his fork or reaches for his glass, his arm brushes against mine. Why couldn’t my dress have long sleeves?
“How’s school, Alice?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation to something that’s not personal. At least not for me.
Alice shrugs and shoves a wedge of lettuce in her mouth, probably so she won’t have to talk. I should be ashamed to put the kid in the spotlight.
An awkward silence rides over us, and I want to go home, but I need to wait if I want furniture. Ma and Pop have a garage full of old pieces from the past, purchased from garage sales but never used, given to them by dead or dying relatives. It’s not my first choice. I prefer new things that don’t have other people’s juju, but I can’t be picky right now. My job at the deli is part-time and doesn’t pay much. I’m glad Ma and Pop aren’t charging me full rent.
“The manicotti is delicious, Mrs. Mancini,” D.N. says.
If she tells him to call her Ma, I’ll stab myself in the eye with my fork.
“Thank you. So how is it that you were offered a job here in town so soon after Gianna returned?” Ma asks.
Yes, I’d like to hear that answer.
He glances my way before answering. “I applied for the job months ago.”
He did?
Ma stares at me with that goofy grin on her face. When I told her, on the phone, we had broken up, she was almost as upset as I was. I don’t know why she likes him so much. Or why she almost defended Paulie earlier. She does the same thing with Enzo—gives him a free pass on stupid stuff like breaking up with his last girlfriend via text message. The man is twenty-eight years old. He knows better.
D.N. keeps his attention on me. “I wanted to keep it a secret until I knew I had the job. Then my grandmother died, and everything…well, it got crazy.”
He means we started arguing. A lot.
His grandmother’s ghost appeared in his apartment shortly after her death. I was just coming out of the shower, and she got full frontal nudity. I knew exactly who she was. We’d met before, and she adored me. And after I screamed and slipped into one of D.N.‘s shirts, he raced into the room, much like with Billy in my apartment yesterday, and I had to pretend I didn’t know his beloved grandmother was dead.
She didn’t want to pass over that day or the next week. Not until she spent more time with her grandson and made me promise to give him a message. She then moved on and the arguing over her letter began.
Before D.N. can finish his story, which I’m suddenly very curious about, there’s a knock on the door. Pop gets up to answer it, and Kevin, also known as the jerk with a badge, and his partner walk in.
Crap.
I quirk an eyebrow at Izzie, who stiffens and tells Alice to go upstairs if she’s done. The teen doesn’t have to be told twice. She charges up mid-text. I’m totally impressed she doesn’t smack into a wall.
Enzo rises and greets his co-workers. “How can we help you?”
“So sorry to interrupt your meal,” says Kevin’s partner. “I am Detective Sanchez, and this is my partner, Detective Burton. We need to speak with Gianna Mancini and Isabella Donato.”
Ma looks at us, worried. I see her feelings and raise her a freaking out.
Pop asks, “What’s this about?”
“It’s about last night, sir. It’s just routine questions.”
I highly doubt that.
“About what though?” He knows full well why they’re here. But he won’t let them talk to us until they state their reasons. He, unlike Ma, always takes our side. Maybe it’s an opposite sex thing. Pop sides with us girls while Ma sides with the boys. I vow to not do that with my kids.
“A murdered woman was found on the beach,” Kevin blurts out.
I’m glad Alice isn’t in the room.
Pop stands his ground. “And what does this have to do with my daughters?”
“They were with the deceased last night,” says Kevin. “Sources say she and Paulie were screwing around.”
His partner gives him a disgusted look. I bet he hates Kevin as much as the rest of us. “Like I said, it’s just routine.”
D.N. catches my eye and gets up. “Excuse me,” he says and walks into the kitchen.
Detective Sanchez takes a step ahead of Kevin. “We’d like to talk to you individually. Mrs. Donato, perhaps you and I can speak in the living room?”
Izzie softly whimpers.
She sets her wine glass down and is about to stand when I shake my head.
“I’m not talking to him,” I say and jut my chin toward Kevin.
Sanchez looks from me to his partner then back. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” Kevin says. “It’s fine.” He rubs his right arm, and I notice the wedding band on his finger. Who in their right mind married this jerk?
“Bullshit,” I say and jump to my feet. “We have history, and I will not speak to him.”
Kevin’s neck turns pink, and soon the color rises up into his face. He narrows his eyes.
I don’t care how pissed off I make him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of questioning me.
“If Mrs. Donato doesn’t mind, my partner can talk to her, and I can sit with you, Miss Mancini.”
I can’t very well argue against that, but I try anyway. “No, that won’t work either. He’s not welcome in this house.”
“Gianna,” Mom whispers.
“Not after assaulting me.” I don’t know why I blurt that out. The idea of him questioning Izzie or me about another death, this time an actual murder, I can’t deal with. Not after how he treated me when Craig died. I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that, especially since he spent so much time in this house as a teen. I never considered him family, but the betrayal feels as deep.
Everyone stares from me to him.
> I catch movement from the corner of my eye.
D.N. stands in the doorway. How much of that did he hear?
Sanchez clears his throat. “If you have an accusation, Miss Mancini…”
I shake my head. “It was a long time ago. He’s just not welcome in this house.”
Kevin’s lips are pressed firmly together. The blush is gone, and in its place is a paleness that makes me think he may snap. But he just stands there not looking at any of us directly.
Sanchez rubs his chin. “I guess you and your sister will have to come down to the precinct.”
Great. Now I made it worse. I don’t exactly want to spend my Sunday afternoon at the police station.
D.N. holds up his phone. “Actually, I spoke with my boss, Mr. Hamilton at Carter, Hamilton & Levine. He doesn’t want either of you talking to the police without him.”
A lawyer?
Izzie and I look at one another.
Sanchez scratches his head. “There’s no reason to involve…”
Kevin steps forward, knocking into Sanchez’s arm. “Do they have something to hide?”
Sanchez visibly scowls at his partner. I’d love to be the fly on the windshield in their car on the way back to the station.
Izzie starts to protest, but D.N. cuts her off. “They’ll meet you at the precinct tomorrow at noon.”
“Fine,” Kevin says. “But they need to bring in the clothes they wore last night.”
My stomach twists, and I glance at D.N.
He looks at me, and I’m suddenly not so upset he’s here.
* * *
After we choke down cheesecake, Pop, Enzo, and D.N. follow me to my apartment with several carloads of old furniture and stuff Ma was only too eager to get rid of. It looks like a garage sale vomited in my living room. At least I have a couch, but now D.N. knows where I live. I guess the upside is he won’t be stalking Ma’s anymore, and she won’t be inviting him to look at baby pictures and plot an evil plan to get us back together.
For some reason, D.N. doesn’t try to hang around when Pop and Enzo leave. In fact, he gives a curt goodbye and walks down with Enzo, discussing baseball. So now I have him living in my town and getting close to Ma and my brother. Maybe I should move back to Connecticut.
Jennifer Fischetto - Dead by the Numbers 01 - One Garish Ghost & Blueberry Peach Jam Page 6