Bye, Bye Love

by K. J. Larsen

  “There you go, bud,” Max said and nudged the glass over to Doug. “I bought you a beer.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Max dropped me at the park and zoomed off in his Hummer to wherever hunky, ex-Special Forces guys go. Max is secretive about his professional life. I’m pretty sure he does covert, blue-cape ops for some secret government agency.

  Max tends to disappear for unexplained periods of time, often returning with a tan. Last month he showed up with African trypanosomiasis, or sleeping sickness found only in the African Congo area. He swore he got the funk from a banana he bought at Whole Foods. Mama believed him. But I’m no fool. I surf the Internet.

  Mama wrapped the sick guy in a blanket and brought him home with her. She flushed out his fever with chicken soup and shameless helpings of pastas. To an untrained eye, her actions appeared to be selfless acts of a good Catholic woman. But Mama doesn’t fool me. The chicken soup and pasta were meant to supercharge his sperm count and purge some of the Danish from his blood. It’s all part of her backup plan for future grandchildren.

  Mama adores Max. If things don’t work out between Chance and me, she fully intends to ambush him and drag us both to the altar. If she succeeds, I can promise you, one of us will be wearing Nonna DeLuca’s wedding gown.

  It was mid-afternoon and the Bridgeport park teemed with energy. The sky was blue and the autumn air crisp and clean. Two old men fed the squirrels. Young mothers pushed strollers and toddlers scampered around the playground.

  I made my way over to the bench where the young lovers had been kissing Sunday night. I sat and gazed over to the grove of maples where Inga identified Bernie’s kill scene. Only a scattering of yellow and red leaves hung to the branches. It had been a rainy, stormy night the night Bernie was killed but it was a straight shot from my park bench. The young lovers would have had a perfect, unobstructed view of Bernie losing his face and Toby Smoak dragging his body into the bushes. If, that is, they came up for air.

  I closed my eyes and sat there a while. I let the cool breeze nip my face and tried to not think about Rolex Man thawing out in the morgue. When I was ready, I walked across the park and placed Doug’s flowers beneath the maples. I crossed myself and said a prayer.

  “Rest in peace, Bernie Love.”

  ***

  I showered and scrubbed myself silly with Dr. Bonner’s Peppermint Soap as soon as I got home. This was beginning to become a bad habit. I watched the dead guy germs wash down the drain. My body tingled all over when I stepped from the shower.

  I searched my closet for my soft fuzzy oversize peach sweater and charcoal jeans and sauntered to the kitchen to brew a cup of herbal tea when something caught my eye. It was the kitchen queen. The second drawer was slightly ajar. With a feeling of dread, I opened each drawer, and a chill went through me. An intruder had rummaged through my house when I was gone. I ran back to my room, grabbed my Glock, and slipped it behind my back. I looked through each room. The search had been invasive and thorough. Drawers and closets were slightly askew. Couch cushions and pillows not quite right.

  A half-assed effort had been made to conceal the invasion. But when you live alone, you know how things are. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I was shaken, for three good reasons.

  First, my house alarm was on. My premium platinum alarm system may not discourage an outrageous, interfering family but it’s as sound as Fort Knox against strangers.

  Second. The one person I believed to be targeting me was laid out on a slab in the morgue. Unfortunately, Toby’s club wasn’t as exclusive as I thought. This hadn’t been a burglary. The intruder bypassed jewelry, money, and a few very sweet bearer bonds from Uncle Joey. (I knew better than to ask where they came from.) He was after something specific and I was certain he hadn’t found it. I was pretty sure he’d be back.

  And third. This wasn’t the work of Provenza’s soldiers. I’d witnessed their MO firsthand. Those guys made holes in the walls. And they sure as hell don’t even try to reset the throw pillows.

  I poured more tea and was stirring in extra honey when the turn of a key in the lock made my blood run cold. The front door opened. I scooted behind the kitchen door, gun in hand. I couldn’t breathe. I released the safety. I was armed and ready to shoot some dirtbag in the leg. Or arm. Or somewhere not fatal. Maybe I’m a freaking pacifist like Chance’s Birkenstock parents. Or maybe I just hate going to Confession. Either way, I fully intended to beat the crap out of the guy with a rolling pin.

  Before I could go all Rambo, Inga bounded down the hall and into the kitchen with Beau on her heels. She jumped on me, howling with joy.

  “I stopped by your mama’s with a panna cotta al mango,” Cleo called, trailing behind the kids. “Mama said you were gonna pick up Inga. I thought I’d save you a trip.”

  She stepped into the kitchen. “Cat?”

  Then she looked behind the door. I tried to tuck the gun back in my pants but it was stuck in my sweaty hands.

  “My god, Cat. Are you OK?”

  “No.”

  And that’s when my emotions came crashing down. Flashes of Toby Smoak stuffed in the freezer like so much hamburger. The image of his terrified face crushing down on me had messed with my head all day. I didn’t feel bad that Smoak couldn’t shoot any more bullets at me. Or hurt anyone else. I guess I was bummed because his life was a wasted piece of crap. And all his chances were used up. And somebody out there probably loved him anyway.

  Cleo took the gun from my hand, reset the safety, and placed it on the kitchen table. She’d been busy the last few days wrapping up a few cases for the Agency. Cleo didn’t exactly fool me. I knew she was siding with Provenza’s cook. I figured she was also working to prove Provenza didn’t do it.

  Cleo slapped two mango panna cottas on the table. Then she confiscated my teacup and poured a snifter of Brandy. She waited for me to drink it.

  “Now,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

  And I did.

  That’s when I remembered where I’d seen the other cigar. It was in Corey’s condo, when I was gathering up Dixie’s dog food and earthly possessions. There had been a half-smoked cigar in an ashtray. The label on the cigar-band promoted some Las Vegas casino. It looked a lot like the one I snatched at Toby’s. But were they identical? There was only one way to find out.

  Cleo opted to remain at the house to finish off the intruder should he return. The beagle and Tibetan terrier played backup. They could effectively take him with slobber.

  “The bungler’s coming back,” she said, her eyes glazing over. “I’m ready for him.”

  “You do understand that firing at someone is the last option.”

  A laugh exploded from her mouth.

  “Seriously, Cleo. When I was behind the kitchen door, my plan was to shoot his leg.”

  I thought her sides would split.

  “It was a good plan,” I said.

  She composed herself and winked. “Yeah, right.”

  ***

  My second romp in Corey’s condo took less than ten minutes. I let myself in and walked straight to a small cherry table I remembered by the fateful window where Corey did his swan dive. I opened my purse and dragged out the small, plastic baggie with the cigar from Toby Smoak’s house. I compared it to the half-smoked one in the ashtray.

  The Palazzo Hotel and Casino. Vegas.

  Bingo. I had a match.

  A big toothy grin spread over my face. I scooted off to the kitchen for another baggie, crossing my fingers and hoping that Savino would get some DNA results for me. The odds of identical, somewhat unusual cigars in two homes where people died within days of each other were notable. But two cigars having been smoked by the same person could be evidence.

  I found a nice little zip-lock and had turned back toward the living room when I felt an irritating itch nag the back of my mind. Something wasn’t
right. I walked back and looked around the kitchen. Nothing. I held my hand out and turned a slow circle. My outstretched finger moved like a radar beam. When it pointed to the refrigerator, it stopped.

  The note Corey had slapped on the fridge with Bernie’s’ name and number was gone. Vanished. Kaput! I made a quick check of the rest of the house. That short, scribbled page seemed to be the only thing taken. Everything else was just as I found it yesterday morning.

  My radar finger also picked up a blood red lady slipper orchid in the window. It looked thirsty. I gave it a few ice-cubes and carried it to the condo across the hall. I knocked and a frail woman with snow white hair and baby blues answered the door.

  “Ah, Corey’s orchid,” she exclaimed with a sad smile.

  “I’m Cat DeLuca…”

  “Eh?”

  The woman was nearly deaf. We stood in the hallway and shouted at each other.

  “My name is Cat. I wondered if you’d like to have something from Corey.”

  “How thoughtful. Thank-you very much.” She took the plant and smelled the flower. “I know orchids have no scent but they look so fragrant. I can’t help trying to coax one out.”

  I laughed. “I do the same thing.”

  “I don’t care what that policeman says. Corey didn’t fall from that window. He was pushed.”

  “What?” I choked. “You think he was murdered?”

  “You’re not deaf. You heard me. That boy didn’t fall to his death trying to adjust a damn satellite dish. His TV was working fine that morning.”

  “I heard he’d been having trouble with it for a while.”

  “Poppycock. Besides, Corey was scared to death of heights. You couldn’t get him to ride an elevator. I can tell you this. If Corey had a problem with his satellite dish, the cable guy would be hanging out his window. Sure as good heavens, it wouldn’t be Corey.”

  “Did you tell the police.”

  “Of course I told them. One of their young men was here. When you’re ninety-three years old, people pay you no mind. They think you’re nuts.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Corey would never lock Dixie in the bathroom. He loved that dog.”

  “Are you saying Dixie was in the bathroom when Corey died?”

  “That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it? She was locked in the bathroom like a—like a caged animal. Throwing herself against the door and howling to beat the band.”

  I was stunned.

  “Mark my words, young lady. If you want to know who killed Corey, you ask Dixie.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I picked up two hamburgers, a couple orders of fries, two chocolate shakes, and drove to the park.

  A big yellow moon hung over the city. The two lovers who’d been here the night Bernie died were back. They were goo-goo eyed over each other.

  I saw they were younger than I first thought as I approached them. Maybe thirteen. Fourteen. I wondered where their parents were. Or if they were raised by wolves.

  I was only a few feet away when they looked up startled. They pulled away from each other. It was the same look I saw in Cookie’s eyes in the mirror over the bed at the LaGrande Hotel.

  “Nice flowers,” I said. The girl hugged Doug’s bouquet to her chest and giggled softly. The boy had found the flowers where I’d left them under the smattering of maple trees. She had to think he was terribly romantic. He seemed enormously pleased with himself as well. I expected Bernie would be pleased too.

  “I brought you kids a burger,” I said.

  The boy hesitated, greedily eyeing the bag. “We ain’t hungry,” he said.

  “Maybe later.” I dropped it on the bench with an easy smile. “I saw you kids here Sunday night.”

  The boys eyes flashed fear. “We ain’t seen nothin’.”

  “This is between you and me and the burgers in that bag. No cops. No names. I just want to know what you saw. Tell me and we’ll never speak of it again.”

  “I told you no, lady. Are you deaf or something?”

  The girl touched his leg, telling him not to be stupid. He sat back all sulky and she brought the bouquet up to her face, breathing the fragrance deeply.

  “There was two of them,” she said.

  “Two?”

  “Yeah.”

  That meant Toby had a partner besides Bernie’s boss. We knew Provenza wasn’t in the park that night. Dozens of guests support his alibi.

  “The two dudes was following this guy with gangster shoes,” the girl said.

  I mentally slapped myself. I’m an idiot. I forgot about Bernie’s black and white shoes.

  “Maybe the dudes say somethin’ cuz the guy turns around. And pop!”

  The boy gave an involuntary shudder. “They iced him. Like that. We got the hell outta there.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the two guys you saw?” I said.

  “They was white guys,” the boy said. “One skinny. One…” he searched for a word, “round.”

  “The round guy pulled the trigger,” she said. “Dude never seen it coming.”

  I decided there was some mercy in that.

  “We booked. We come back, the body is gone.”

  I didn’t say the body had been moved to the bushes, no longer an easy view from their bench.

  “Thanks, guys.”

  I pulled out two Grants and gave them each one.

  “One more thing. The guy they whacked. You ever see him before?”

  The money in their hands gave them giddy grins on their faces. There were a lot of teeth involved.

  “It could’ve been the guy that feeds the birds,” the boy said. “He’s got a long black coat like that. And he ain’t been around since that night.”

  She nodded sadly. “Snow’s comin’. Who’s gonna take care of the birds then?”

  ***

  I was a block from home when I received a text from Uncle Joey. With three pics.

  First, Joey handcuffing Nick Provenza. One of them had a goofy grin. Second pic: Uncle Joey executing a search warrant of the Provenza home. And third, Nick in the backseat of a squad car.

  The text read: Gun with Toby Smoak’s prints found in Provenza’s restaurant. Likely used to kill Bernie Love.

  So, it was over. Nick Provenza had his bookkeeper killed after all. And he brought flowers to Bernie’s dad’s grave to say, what? Oops? Sorry?

  Perhaps I should’ve felt better about the arrest but the DA would need some cold, hard evidence. There was no body. And Provenza was certain to lawyer up. Unless we found the lowlife friend who was with Toby in the park, Nick Provenza could get away with murder.

  Mrs. Pickins’ curtain moved when I pulled into the driveway. I waved and she ducked back from the window. The neighborhood snoop never sleeps.

  I decided I wouldn’t tell my assistant about Provenza’s arrest tonight. Cleo believed Provenza was innocent. In her screwball mind, the flowers and candy on Bernie’s dad’s grave proved it. I figured Cleo Jones would find out soon enough.

  And when she did, it wouldn’t be pretty.

  ***

  I sat at my desk with the contents from Bernie’s box around me. There were a number of ledgers and envelopes I didn’t sort through. Bernie Love’s passport and birth certificate, and a few other identifying papers were bundled together with a rubber band. What was glaringly missing was a second bundle of documents that established Bernie’s new identity. That’s the passport Bernie was taking to Costa Rica with him.

  The ink on Bernie’s will was still fresh; he’d revised it a week ago. A tidy list of assets included two life insurance policies for his sister in California. His monetary savings and stocks would go to the Rainsong Wildlife Sanctuary in Cost Rica. Bernie’s Bridgeport house and a cabin on Lake Develen was willed to Uncle Joey.


  I opened the drawer for a slip of paper and pen and I saw the picture of the missing Bridgeport man that Mama’s church-bingo friend gave me. I took it out and studied it. His name was Charlie and the black and white dog he called Spatz was with him. I remembered Charlie loved old gangster movies. His neighbor said he went to Hollywood to make a few of his own.

  Inga warmed my feet under the desk and I felt her soulful brown eyes on me. It was some time before I returned the photo to the drawer.

  I looked at her and smiled. “I’m an idiot,” I said.

  I packed up the box that was Bernie’s life and returned the contents to the secret space behind my pantry wall. Then I called Uncle Joey. He answered immediately, sounding cheered with alcohol. He was on speaker.

  “Caterina! We’re in the man-cave toasting Provenza’s arrest.”

  “Atth-hole killed Barney!” Doug slurred in the background.

  “Hey Cat. It’s me!” a familiar voice said.

  I laughed. “Congrats, Tommy. Uncle Joey gave you a coveted seat at his poker table.”

  “He earned it,” Joey said. “Tommy put his career on the line when we broke into Bernie’s the other night.”

  “Oh yes. Crime is a tight bond.”

  I heard Tino’s deep chortle. “Hi, Tino,” I said. “Is Max with you?”

  “No. He’s got a date with a woman he met at the gym. She teaches a belly dancing class.”

  Doug whooped like an adolescent boy.

  “Come over,” Uncle Joey said. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Another time, for sure,” I said. “I was calling to say I’m kidnapping you. I’m going for a drive tomorrow and I’ll be by to pick you up.”

  “Sorry, dear. I can’t make it. I’m on the docket.”

  “You can. Captain Bob told you to take a few days off,” I reminded him.

  “He did, didn’t he?” Joey is easily cheered by a few drinks.

  “I need you to come because I found something that’ll blow this case wide open.”

  “No blowing allowed. This case is closed. I arrested Provenza. I told him he bought me a four hundred grand car. If he didn’t do it, I’m a dead man.”