“He emailed me.”
I want to laugh at that, but I also want to remain respectful of her feelings. Paulie’s not much of a computer person.
“Hey, ladies, what’s up?” Andy stands before us out of breath.
What exactly was he doing down there? I’m also impressed he remembered us.
“Last Saturday, as we were arriving, there was a guy dressed in a plaid shirt and a Yankees’ cap who was leaving. Do you remember him?”
He takes Izzie’s glass and refills it. “Yeah, it was so slow I remember everyone from that night. He ran out after that clown did.” He gives Izzie a hard stare. He must recognize her but doesn’t say so. Good man.
“Do you know who he is, or did he pay by credit card?” Izzie asks.
Andy shakes his head. “Nah, sorry. I’ve never seen him before.”
The lady in blue shouts for him. Gosh, she’s getting annoying.
He’s about to run off when I say, “Hey, did the cops ask you about him?”
He shakes his head again. “Nah, they didn’t talk to me at all.” Then he hurries off.
I narrow my gaze and look to my sister. “They didn’t even investigate her entire night. Once they found that hair, they didn’t care about the truth anymore.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After we finish our drinks we leave, and I drop Izzie off at the house. I’m still buzzing with this new information when I unlock my apartment door and flip the switch for the living room lamps. I’m about to shut the door when I hear a thundering sound growing closer. Suddenly the door jerks farther open, I stagger back against the wall, and Kevin makes his way inside.
Fungule!
“Get out,” I shout, but Kevin ignores me and staggers into the living room.
His footing is uneven, and I bet if I make him take a breathalyzer, he’ll fail miserably. Great, exactly what I need, a drunk cop who hates me.
Panic flashes inside me. I know I shouldn’t feel as invincible as I do. He is taller than me, leaner, and has more muscles. And he’s licensed to carry a gun. My hate for him, however, makes me cocky. I want to take this jackass down so badly I can taste it. It’s spicy with a hint of cardamom.
“What do you want?” I snap.
He whirls around and almost topples onto my coffee table. He points a finger in my face. “You are a bitch.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” I can’t resist smart-mouthing to him. Not only does he make it easy, but it’s also loads of fun.
He grabs my forearms and squeezes tightly. Then he backs us into the wall by the TV.
My head hits it pretty hard, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from crying out. Maybe I’ve pushed too far this time though.
He doesn’t let go but instead digs his fingers into my flesh tighter and deeper.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and I’m not sure how long I can last before the pain makes me give him the emotional response he’s dying for.
He presses his body against mine, and his booze-infested breath is enough to make me pass out. Unfortunately, I stay wide-awake.
“You’re a filthy liar,” he says. “You can’t see ghosts. You said that to get attention. Admit it.”
Billy and Emma appear at my side.
“Okay, I admit it,” I say. “Now, you admit you placed that hair on my sister’s clothes.”
He smirks, and I know that’s as good of a confession I’m going to get. Too bad my roommates can’t testify in court.
“He’s hurting her,” Emma shrieks. “We have to do something.”
Billy disappears, and suddenly the lights start flickering on and off.
Kevin glances to the lamps.
Emma steps right next to him and slides her arm into Kevin’s stomach. She looks at me with her glorious eat-shit grin.
Kevin’s grip on me loosens, and he starts to turn green. “What’s going on?”
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, pretending I know nothing. “If you puke on me, I’m suing.”
Emma giggles and withdraws her arm. “That’s fun.”
The lights stop flickering, and Billy reappears, but only long enough to jump into the television. The set turns itself on.
Kevin flinches and looks to me as if I’m going to give him moral support. “What are you doing?”
What, now I’m telekinetic too? I frown and think back to the drama class I took in college. I don’t think the lessons on diction and costume will help, but I’m betting acting natural and improvisation will come in handy now. “What are you talking about? I’m standing here, being harassed by your ugliness.”
He finally lets me go and takes one-step back, staring at the TV.
I decide this is too good to miss and stay in my spot. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask because I want to prove I really am a bitch.
Emma giggles.
Billy makes the channels jump from one to another. Snippets of the news, a late night talk show, a commercial about TP and another about Cheerios filters through the room. But I pretend I don’t hear a sound.
Kevin points to it. “Something’s wrong with your television.”
“Why?”
He stares at me. “You don’t see this?”
“See what? You need a doctor. Like a shrink.”
He gets back up in my face. Oh great. Joke about his mental health, and he gets testy.
The TV turns static, and my first thought is Carol Anne from the Poltergeist. It causes Kevin to blink and forget what he’s going to say.
“Get out,” whispers Billy from inside the TV. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he makes Emma laugh and Kevin’s eyes bug out.
I draw blood from biting my bottom lip. Damn, I wish I could get this on film. I’d sell tickets and make a killing.
Emma’s laughing so hard, she clutches her belly and floats back. She falls into one of the stools, and it rocks back and forth, finally crashing onto its side on the floor.
Whoa. She and I stare at one another in surprise. I thought they could only manipulate electronics.
“What was that?” Kevin whispers, not sure if he should be looking at the moving furniture or the possessed television.
“What was what?” I whisper back.
“Get out!” Billy shouts so loud even I flinch.
Kevin doesn’t notice though. He gives out a girlish scream, flies out my front door, and something thuds before I hear the downstairs door slam against the wall. He probably missed a step at the speed he’s traveling.
Billy pops out of the TV with a big smile on his face. “How’d I do?”
I finally laugh. “You’re my hero. You both are. Emma, how’d you make the stool move?”
She shrugs, still sitting on the floor. “I have no idea, but I feel drained now. It used a lot more energy than I expected.”
* * *
When someone pounds on my door, I bolt up and look around the room. What’s going on? I’m disoriented for a sec. My arms throb, and Rachel Weisz and Brendan Fraser are kissing. Oh damn, I dozed off on the sofa while watching The Mummy.
The knocking continues. My roommates aren’t here. Oh crap. What if it’s Kevin again?
I toss the blanket off my legs and walk to the door. There’s no light on the other side, so looking through the peephole gives me nothing but blackness.
Another knock. “Gianna, it’s me.”
Julian.
I twist the lock and unfasten the chain. I’m going to talk to Pop tomorrow about getting a lock on the downstairs door. I open this one and glare. “Where the hell have you been?”
I walk into the kitchen, parched from sleeping, and let him enter behind me.
“I’ve been on a case all day. I only got your messages just now. What’s going on?”
When I turn with a glass of water, his eyes bulge, and he grabs my elbow. He’s staring at the bruises on each of my arms. They’re obviously fingerprints. “What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s nothing.”
/> “Bullshit. Someone did this to you, and I want to know who.”
I experience a moment of delight. He wants to protect me, and I would pop popcorn for a Julian-slash-Kevin fight. But I don’t believe in violence. Verbal sparring is fine, but skin on skin ain’t my thing, so I won’t initiate it.
“So you can kill him?” I ask.
He blinks then frowns. “What?”
I pull out of his grip and walk around him to the sofa. I grab my phone out of my bag and scroll to the video. When it pops up, I press play and shove the phone in his face. “This.”
He stares at it for two seconds then tries to take the phone from my hand, but I’m expecting that, so I’m faster than him.
“Nope. You aren’t going to delete it. It’s my proof that you killed Emma. How could you let Izzie take the fall?”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “Do you really think I murdered that woman?”
I sigh. “No, but you’re obviously involved somehow. Did Wesley kill her, and you helped him out? Maybe you two are friends. His dad lives in Connecticut, your home state. Maybe he’s the real reason you took this new job and moved to Long Island.”
“You don’t understand,” he says.
I sit on the couch, a bit dizzy from the entire night. “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand how you can let Izzie take the fall for something you know she didn’t do.”
He doesn’t respond, but his face tells me I’m right about that at least.
Damn. I suck in a breath. I don’t want to be right. I want him to tell me I’m mistaken, or I’m seeing things, the video has been doctored, or he has a twin brother—anything else. Anger, hurt, betrayal swirl inside me until it’s one big muddled emotion that makes me want to scream, cry, and punch something, or someone, at the same time.
He sits beside me. “I won’t let that happen.”
I breathe for a few seconds, needing to calm myself. “What do you mean? It already has.”
“I mean, I won’t let her go to jail. If I have to quit my job to save her, I will.”
I’m surprised again. He’d do that for me? Wait, what? “Your job? What the hell does your work have to do with this?”
He rubs his eyes and lets out a loud breath. “I’m not supposed to say.”
Not supposed to? Did he really just utter those stupid words?
The ugly comes out in me. I twist my body, so I’m sitting sideways, facing him, and tuck my feet beneath my legs. “Oh, but you will. See, this is about my family, whom you know means the world to me. And I already told you my secret. The one that has cost me so much in the past. The one I was ready to lose you over to keep hidden.”
His brow creases.
“And I gave you sex. That means you are going to spill. Now.”
He runs his hands through his hair and looks like he may barf. Please don’t do it on the couch. “This can’t go anywhere. No one can know. Not your sister or your parents, or, especially, your brother.”
What does Enzo have to do with this?
“And my boss cannot know I told you.”
My stomach sinks. This is more serious than I thought. I nod. “I won’t tell a soul.” Well, a soul may learn if they’re listening, but I won’t be doing the squealing.
“I’m more than a simple investigator. I’m a fixer.”
“What’s that?”
“I fix problems for Hamilton’s clients.”
Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad. “What kind of problems?”
“Anything that may tarnish their reputations or get them into trouble with the law.”
Fear slithers down my spine. “Anything?”
He nods. “Most anything. I haven’t killed anyone.”
Why do I get the distinct impression that he wants to add yet to that sentence? “And this is what happened with Emma? How?”
“All I know is that Mr. Vaughn, Wesley’s father, is Mr. Hamilton’s client. He called my boss to help his son with a situation. Hamilton called me. When I got to Wesley’s, Emma was dead.”
I knew it. “Wesley killed her.”
“I don’t think so. He was distraught, almost inconsolable. He said he went to sleep, woke up to use the bathroom, and he found Emma, in the spare room, beaten to death.”
“With the baseball bat?”
“It was on the floor near the bed.”
“And he didn’t do it? You believe that?”
“Yes. His back door was slightly open. It looks like someone broke in and killed her.”
I stand up and start pacing. “Doesn’t he have an alarm system?”
“He forgot to set it.”
I give him a look that says, I don’t believe that.
“Emma came by drunk, or so he thought she was drunk. She was crying about how screwed up her life was. They talked for a bit, and he told her she could crash in the spare room. I guess that was common for them. He went to bed and didn’t think about the alarm.”
“That sounds too convenient.”
“I thought so, too, but I watched him carefully the next few nights. He drank too much and cried himself to sleep, often forgetting the alarm.”
“So you put her body and the bat on the beach? You ruined the crime scene.”
He gets up and takes my hands in his. “It’s what I do. Mr. Vaughn is running for governor of Connecticut. A murder tied to his son could make him lose the election.”
I stare at him with disbelief. “And letting a woman’s killer go free because the cops don’t know all the details is okay? Letting my sister get arrested and causing stress and anguish in her life, as well as her daughter’s and family’s, are okay? And let’s not forget the ten grand my folks had to fork over. You can’t really believe that.”
“I told you I won’t let her go to prison. I’ve been trying to figure out who really did it on the side. If I can’t, I’ll do something to get her free.”
“Do something? You mean, you’ll fabricate some lie? You won’t tell the truth?”
“I can’t.”
Is he serious? I pull myself out of his grip. “Of course you can.”
“This is my job. This is my career. Not only will they sue me for breach of confidentiality, but I’ll never get another job like this again.”
“This is wrong. Can’t you see that?” I’m astonished I even have to say this.
“It’s gray.”
“What?”
“You believe the world is black and white, right and wrong, but it’s more than that. There’s a whole swirl of gray smack dab in the middle that you never look at.”
So this is now about me?
“You’ve been helping this ghost find out who killed her. From the information you know, you’ve probably been talking about it with your brother, which means he’s getting help from a ghost, too. That’s all gray.”
I turn my back on him. I don’t want to hear him justify his actions. Covering up a murder is wrong. That’s all.
“You need to leave.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“How are you doing?” I ask Alice as I sit on the edge of her bed. I just arrived for Sunday dinner, and the house is unusually quiet. Pop’s reading the newspaper—TV off. Ma’s in the basement singing “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” while the water for pasta simmers on the stove, not quite at a boil. Sunday definitely signifies a new week in her repertoire. If she comes upstairs singing “Greased Lightnin’,” God help us. And Izzie is in the bathroom. From the sounds of it morning sickness has arrived.
Which leaves Alice.
She pulls the ear buds out of her ears and clicks off her iPod. “Everything sucks,” she whispers with a glance to her doorway. “The kids at school keep saying I’m going to be an orphan.”
I take a deep breath and only come up with three ways to strangle a bunch of eighth graders in the time it takes me to exhale. “Kids suck. First of all, your mom’s not going to jail, and you’d never be an orphan. You got me.”
She frowns and grins at th
e same time. Not an easy feat “I can live with you?”
“Duh. Although if you did, I’d probably have to go from cool aunt to strict mom-like-person.”
“That’s fine,” she says way too enthusiastically.
“You know, the real bit of reassurance in this conversation is that your mom isn’t going to jail. I promise.” And I mean that. If it means turning in Julian, I will. There’s no way the district attorney will agree to try this case if he learns the police screwed up the evidence.
I push a lock of light brown hair behind her ear. “What else are the idiot kids saying?”
“That Mom did it because Paulie had a whore.”
I don’t know how to answer that. “And what do you think?”
“Mom wouldn’t kill anyone. She can barely punish me.”
I laugh, and soon Alice joins me. I get up and kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m not. It’s all going to work out. And when you come down for dinner, leave your phone up here.”
She looks horrified for a second but then smiles and nods.
I go down as Enzo’s walking in the front door.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.
“What do you mean?” I take a quick peek outside to see if Julian is around. No black truck.
“It’s so quiet in here,” Enzo says.
I snort. “Pop’s reading. So whatcha got?”
“Who says I have anything?”
“The way you’re still here talking to me and not in the kitchen attacking the meatballs.”
He smirks. “I ran the background checks on your co-clowns.”
I look him over for papers or a folder.
He reads my mind and pulls out several folded sheets from his inside jacket pocket. He unfolds them, and the top sheet has a photo of Wesley’s driver’s license.
We stay huddled by the front door so Pop doesn’t see us from the kitchen.
“Wesley’s clean. He’s never even had a speeding ticket. Timothy has a couple of DUIs from over five years ago. He started Jolly Time after a stint in rehab.”
I guess becoming a clown is one way to stay sober.
Enzo flips to a page with Danielle’s license picture. “I had trouble finding information on Danielle. There’s no trace of her before the age of twenty-two when she first got her license and moved here.”
Jennifer Fischetto - Dead by the Numbers 01 - One Garish Ghost & Blueberry Peach Jam Page 18