The Gift

by Kim Pritekel

  Catania froze, key still in the mailbox lock as she was about to lock it back up. “Wait, you’re Mrs. Horvat’s niece?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, eyeing her. “Can you let me in? I have their gift and potica.”

  Catania’s jaw dropped with her stomach, but they were both distracted as the wail of an ambulance barreled its way down the street, lights blazing as it pulled up in front of the building. Shaking herself out of her frozen shock, she quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open as wide as she could.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to need to stand over here by me. Now!”

  She watched as a male and female paramedic jumped out of the ambulance, quickly gathering all the equipment they felt they’d need, strapping it on a collapsible gurney before hurrying through the front door and up the stairs. She noticed there was a third paramedic who had been driving. He had climbed out from behind the wheel to the back.

  “Excuse me,” she said, walking over to him and pulling out her wallet, flashing her smaller badge she kept there at him. “I’m Detective Catania d’Giovanni. Can you tell me the call you received?”

  “Ma’am, that’s confidential information—”

  “Listen, sir, I’m working on a case right now and I think this may be connected. Are you here for the occupants of apartment B?”

  “Yes, Detective.”

  Catania nodded, doing her damndest to keep her emotions under control, doing her best to keep her work face on. “What was the call?”

  “Seventy-six-year-old female, severe abdominal pain with vomiting. In and out of consciousness, non-responsive upon relation to dispatcher.”

  “Fuck.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Alright. Listen, you guys need to be looking for poison of some kind. I have strong reason to believe she ingested poisoned potica.”

  “Ma’am?” he asked, eyebrows raised in surprised confusion.

  “We had what we thought was a false alarm Christmas Eve.” She glanced over her shoulder at the building, looking up toward the windows that she knew belonged to the Horvat apartment. “Apparently not.”

  ****

  With Josef’s permission before he left with his wife in the ambulance, Catania proceeded to search their kitchen. She’d snagged a pair of latex gloves from her apartment and was now going through the trash can she’d brought from the floor to the counter. She was hoping against hope that they hadn’t thrown out the bag of trash from the night she’d torn through the roll of potica, and maybe the dessert bread remnants were still there.

  “Oh, awesome,” she breathed, recognizing the plastic bag the potica had been in, but to her horror, there were mere crumbs left of the bread. “Fuck me,” she muttered. She had the feeling that, being from the “waste not, want not” Greatest Generation, Lizbeth had eaten the rest of the potica despite its potentially dubious nature.

  “What are you doing in here, d’Giovanni?”

  She looked up, shocked to hear the sharp, deep voice. “Sergeant Price. I was given authorization from the homeowner. I’m looking for something useful for Mrs. Horvat’s doctors, as well as this attempted murder—”

  “Who gave you the authority to open this case?” the large man asked, glancing around as he walked farther into the apartment to where she stood in the kitchen. “Hmm? According to my job description, I dole out the cases.”

  “Sir, I left you a voicemail—”

  “I don’t work via voicemail!” His voice boomed as he glared down at her.

  She held her ground, even as she felt sweat beading between her breasts. “Sir,” she said, voice low and just this side of a bit too angry to be speaking to her boss. “Due to my job description working in criminal investigation, it’s my duty to check things out when there’s been a perceived crime. Sir.”

  He reached out a hand, resting it with splayed fingers on the countertop, looming over her. “Don’t use that tone with me, Detective, or I’ll have you tossed down to filing so fast your head will spin.”

  All she could do was stare, not sure what to say. She knew they were alone in that apartment, and if she tried to file a report against such a threat, it would be her word against his. She swallowed her pride but stood a bit straighter, lifting her chin almost imperceptivity in defiance. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now,” he said, both looking toward the doorway of the small apartment as two men entered. Catania recognized them as two fellow detectives, Rodney and Verne. “While these boys do their assigned job, you and I are going to your place so you can answer some questions.”

  “Alright.”

  Without another word, Catania led the way to her apartment, using her key to unlock the door and let them both in. She didn’t bother closing the door after her superior officer had entered, instead leaving it open.

  “Coffee?” she asked, walking over to the Keurig to make herself a cup. At his affirmative response, she made one for him, too. “What’s on your mind, Sergeant?” she asked, placing a mug in front of him where he’d taken a seat at the table.

  “How do you know the occupants of apartment B?” he asked, pulling out a pad of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He uncapped the pen and looked at her expectantly.

  “Josef and Lizbeth Horvat have lived in this building for more than thirty years, and I’ve known them as my neighbors since I’ve lived here.”

  “How long is that?”

  “Four years,” she said, sipping from her coffee as she watched him take notes.

  “How did you know about the potica?” he asked, glancing up at her.

  She wasn’t entirely thrilled by the tone of his voice, a bit too accusatory for simply talking to a witness, but she ignored it…for now. “I didn’t. Mr. Horvat told me about it.”

  “How did he do that? He just happened to think it was information you’d want?”

  “Sergeant, I give him and Mrs. Horvat a roll every year. I told him back before Thanksgiving that I would get them some.”

  “And, so you did, this potica in question?” He was goading her, and she did not appreciate it.

  “No. With the cases Oscar and I are dealing with right now, I haven’t had time and forgot. And, as for how and why he told me about it, he thought it was from me, that I’d left it for them on the hood of his truck on the night of December twenty-third.”

  “Where were you the night of December twenty-third?”

  She looked at him like he was crazy. He knew damn well where she was. “I was in the hospital, Sergeant Price. I spent the entire night there.”

  “Walk me through your time after your accident.”

  She wanted to bitch-slap him but kept her calm, wrapping her hands around the hot mug of coffee to help keep them to herself. “After I was nearly hit, I went straight to the hospital, that was around seven forty-five. Detective Riley, Linda Riley, and my gi—.” She stopped herself, remembering who she was talking to and his attitudes on most things. “My friend, Ally Findley, were there to verify.”

  “Ally Findley?” he asked, eyeing her. He slid his notebook across the table to her.

  She knew he wanted Ally’s contact information, so she jotted it down for him. “I was released from Parkview at around nine in the morning of the twenty-fourth,” she said, sliding the pad and pen back over to him. “Ally remained with me here until she left for her ten o’clock shift at Randy’s. After that, I was alone here and fell asleep until I was awoken by Mr. Horvat’s knock to thank me for what he perceived to be my gift of potica, which again, was not.”

  “What time was that?” Price asked absently, feverishly scribbling down all she’d told him.

  “I do not know. I was pretty out of it, on pain medication.”

  The sergeant tossed the pen down and shoved the pad aside as he sat back in the chair which creaked slightly under his large frame. “I find something interesting, d’Giovanni,” he said.

  “What’s that?” she asked, sipping casually from her coffee, wanting to get across the point that she wasn’
t worried and had nothing to hide.

  “What on earth made you think that the potica was poisoned? Right? Wasn’t that what you said in your voicemail today? Which, by the way, where were you today? How did you just so happen to be around again when drama broke out for those folks? Will we find your fingerprints on the packaging the potica was wrapped in?”

  She met his gaze and held it. “Yes, you will, and are you accusing me of something, Sergeant Price?” she asked evenly.

  “Should I be?”

  “This morning, I was at an appointment with my surgeon at seven-thirty. I left his office at nine, then arrived at Randy’s diner at nine fifteen to meet Oscar for breakfast. I arrived here at around eleven, give or take, which is when I ran into the Horvats’ niece and the ambulance arrived within seconds after that.” She rested her forearm on the table and leaned somewhat forward. “And, I knew I hadn’t left that potica for them and neither did their niece, which she confirmed when we met at the door. And, after knowing them and their routine and that of their loved ones, the placement of it on Josef’s truck didn’t feel right to me. And, it would seem the very person we’re looking for in a murder case is behind trying to kill me. I don’t believe in coincidences, Sergeant Price. I could be totally wrong and Mrs. Horvat may have had something totally unrelated happen today. But, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  Catania was startled when her pocket began to vibrate then ring. She reached inside and pulled out her phone, almost wanting to burst into tears when she saw it was Josef Horvat’s number. But, just as quickly, deep worry washed over her.

  Answering the call, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello, Mr. Horvat. How is she doing?” She listened to her neighbor and friend’s emotional explanation of what had happened. “Oh no, they did, huh?” She let out a heavy sigh. “Ethylene glycol is antifreeze, Mr. Horvat,” she said softly, glancing up at Price, who quickly looked away. “Oh, god I’m so relieved.” She let out a soft whoop. “Yes, of course. You’re most welcome. I wanted your beautiful Lizbeth to be okay, too. I’m so glad my information helped the doctors.” She smiled, tears in her eyes as they filled his voice. “Yes, yes, you tell her we’ll have some stew together.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Price demanded, large hand held out for the phone.

  “Mr. Horvat—… Yes, no, I understand. Hey, listen, Sergeant Price wants to talk to you about this case. Hang on.” She handed him the phone.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Horvat. I’m Sergeant Price and my men will be working this case to find out who did this to you and your wife. From now on, any questions or comments you have, you can simply talk to Detectives Slovodnik or Trujillo, alright? They’ll leave a business card in your apartment… Yes, sir, I understand she’s a friend. I, as her supervisor, feel she’s best utilized on other cases,” he said into the phone, dark eyes meeting hers. “Yes, sir. We’ll talk to you soon.”

  She took the phone and said a quick goodbye to her friend before ending the call and setting the phone on the table. Price pushed back from the table and gathered his notepad and pen.

  “Mind if I look around?” he asked, indicating the apartment with a wave of his hand.

  “Go ahead.”

  Staying put, Catania grabbed her cup of coffee again, sipping from the cooling liquid as she could hear her boss moving things around, closet doors opening and closing. She felt nervous, though she knew she had absolutely nothing to hide. She didn’t even own a jug of antifreeze. The irony was, she had been meaning to buy some, and like the potica for the Horvat’s, hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  She reached up and took the pendent Ally had given to her in her hand, absently playing with it as she considered everything that had happened in the last few days. Why? Why was he going after completely innocent people? She smirked at the stupidity of her train of thoughts. “Like Eric Gomez wasn’t innocent,” she muttered.

  “What’s that?” Price asked, stepping up to the table.

  “Nothing,” she said, turning in her chair to face him as she looked up at him. “Are we done?”

  “Yep,” he said, tucking the notebook and pen back into his pocket. “For now.” With that, he turned and left the apartment, leaving the door open as he left.

  ****

  Later that night Catania lay in Ally’s bed, the beautiful waitress snuggled in against her with Catania’s one good arm wrapped around her. With Ally’s early morning duty of preparing breakfast and not having a license or car to drive home from Catania’s place, they decided it was wiser for them to stay there.

  She ran her fingers absently though soft hair, reveling in the feel of Ally’s warmth pressed up against her side. They were being watched by a fair maiden holding a sword, her favorite gift she’d ever received, so claimed Ally’s squeal of delight when she’d opened it. Other than some kissing and light touching, they’d done nothing else. Catania wasn’t up to it physically nor mentally. The events of the day had rattled her.

  “I can’t believe he went through your things,” Ally said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes, it sucked, but you know in a way I’m glad he did. I have absolutely nothing to hide and I’m glad that asshole saw that I didn’t.”

  “I was thinking today,” Ally said, raising her head and looking down at her. “I find it really interesting and coincidental that the Horvats got their poisoned potica the same night you were almost hit. Seems strange, doesn’t it?”

  Catania studied her shadowed features. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

  “What if,” Ally proposed, trailing her fingertip along Catania’s jaw. “Going after you, regardless of the outcome, was simply a distraction?”

  Dark eyebrows drew. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Ally explained. “I wonder if you living or dying wasn’t the point. Either way, even if you were just hurt, which thank God was the only thing that happened, you’d still likely be out of commission and not anywhere near the Horvats’ place.”

  “As in,” Catania said, getting very interested in what she was saying. “If I were there, Mr. Horvat may have come to talk to me sooner, maybe immediately when they found it.”

  “Bingo.”

  “They probably wouldn’t have eaten it.”

  “Exactly,” Ally said, a proud grin on her face.

  “But, why?” Catania asked, wondering if her pain meds were pickling her brain because nothing was becoming clear.

  “What happened today, baby?” Ally asked softly.

  “That bastard Price all but accused me of doing it.”

  Ally’s smile grew. “Exactly. Throw some shade on you, distract from the investigation, what’s really going on. Maybe even cause some discord in the police department.”

  “Make us question each other,” Catania added, shaking her head. “Jesus.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Damn, what condition is the other guy in?”

  Catania chuckled. “Keep it up, Chuck, and you’ll find out.” She headed to her desk, freshly filled travel mug in hand.

  She was met by some folks welcoming her back, a couple stopping her to find out details as they’d managed to keep what had happened out of the media. Reaching her desk, Catania was glad to be back to work. Her arm still hurt a lot, but at least her face was getting better. The bruising was turning what she called “piss-yellow and shit-brown.” It wasn’t pretty. It made the gray color of her left eye stand out in stark relief.

  “Hey, kid,” Oscar said with a smile, standing behind his chair as he hung his overcoat on it.

  “Hey, Big O.” She set her travel mug down and peeled her own coat off her shoulders. Once the long coat was gone, it revealed the holster she wore around her waist.

  “Oh, that’s gotta be a bitch,” he said, nodding toward it as he plopped down into his chair.

  “I feel like Billy-the-fucking-Kid,” she muttered. “Just hope I don’t shoot myself in the damn foot.”

  Oscar chuckled. “Yeah, well you had to land on your left side, did
n’t you?”

  “I aim to please, my friend. I aim to please.”

  “Apparently so do I,” Oscar said with a grin, turning the framed picture of his three children that sat on his desk.

  Catania rolled her eyes. “Go look for that fourth leg, Oscar. Fetch, Fido.”

  He chuckled, grabbing his own travel mug for a sip, the black plastic cap with sliding drink hole revealed.

  “Was Linda jealous she didn’t get one of those?” Catania asked, grabbing her phone when she heard “Angel” by Sarah Brightman, which was Ally’s ringtone. She looked around before answering it to make sure nobody was listening. “Hey, baby. Wuz up?” Her smile quickly fell from her lips. “Wait, calm down. Ally, calm down, I can’t understand you. What?” The phone still to her ear, she gathered everything she’d just set down on the desk minus the travel mug and ran out of the detective’s room, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to leave.

  She sprinted across the parking lot to the sedan she and Oscar used, not even ending the call before she shoved the phone into her pocket.

  “Wait!”

  She didn’t turn around as with single-mission focus she unlocked the car. “Get in or go away.” Oscar was panting loudly as he reached the car, sweating from his unexpected run.

  Oscar had barely slammed the passenger door shut when tires squealed as Catania barreled the car backward out of the spot and then forward across the lot to the street. He glanced at her, then did a brief double take before he reached into the glove compartment, grabbed the magnetic red siren, and opened his window, reaching out to attach it to the roof.

  “Oh god,” she murmured as she roared up to the Aberdeen House, two squad cars already parked out front, lights flashing.

  “What’s going on?” Oscar asked, removing his seat belt.

  “It’s Matty,” Catania managed to say as she flung her door open and nearly launched herself out before sprinting through the wrought iron gate and across the winter-dry grass, which crunched underneath her boots.