Hiding in Plain Sight

by Mary Ellis

  ‘Not at all. I just needed Beth’s advice. After dinner she and Michael talked me into staying.’

  Eric labeled his packing box with the contents. ‘After hearing about the fire, I’m surprised Beth let you come back.’

  ‘She tied me to a chair, but I slipped the knots and escaped.’ Jill winked as her head emerged from the industrial-strength apron.

  ‘I can just picture that. Are you hungry? You could make a plate of food before you jump into work. The weekly buffet is up and running in the dining room.’

  ‘Today? After everything that happened to your dad?’ Jill sounded incredulous.

  ‘Nothing stands in the way of a Manfredi Sunday dinner,’ said Mike while Eric only shook his head.

  Jill reached for a crate. ‘Thanks, but I ate on the road. How ’bout if I start boxing up these—’

  Irena cut her off mid-sentence. ‘Eric, you must come quickly.’

  The look on his mother’s face chilled him to the bone. Eric and Mike pulled off their gloves and followed her out of the kitchen, with Jill close behind. As they fought their way through the crowd in the front dining room, helpful guests filled them in with details:

  The police are here, Enrique.

  They slapped the cuffs on Uncle Al and you know he has a bad right rotator cuff.

  How can the police march in here and arrest Alfonzo – on a Sunday, no less? Have they no respect?

  When Eric reached the front of the restaurant, he found his father scowling between two policemen. One officer was reading him his Miranda rights above the din of relatives and his mother’s sobs.

  ‘Officer … Billings,’ he said, reading the badge. ‘I’m Eric Manfredi. What is my father being charged with?’

  While Officer Billings led Alfonzo out the front door, the second cop whose badge read Lieutenant Schott blocked Eric’s path. ‘We’re arresting him in connection with the murder of Salvatore Borelli.’

  ‘What evidence do you have? You just questioned him yesterday at his home.’

  ‘A handgun registered to Alfonzo was found in a storm drain one block from the body. Looks to me like the same caliber as the bullet that killed Mr Borelli. What do you wanna bet the ballistics will match? Better call your dad a good lawyer.’ Lieutenant Schott backed out of the doorway.

  Eric’s fingers curled into fists just as Jill reached his side. ‘Don’t argue with him, Eric,’ she warned. ‘Let’s just worry about your father right now.’

  Eric met her eye just briefly, but it was long enough to do the trick. He walked calmly out the door. ‘I’ll get you that lawyer we talked about, Dad,’ he called. ‘Don’t answer any questions until he gets to the station.’

  Alfonzo flourished his hand, indicating he had heard. Then he was placed in the back of a squad car. While his relatives chattered like magpies, Eric silently watched the police take the Manfredi patriarch away.

  ‘Thanks, Jill.’ He spoke softly so no one else could hear. ‘My hot Italian blood was taking exception to the lieutenant’s attitude.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Now let’s go call that hot-shot lawyer.’ Jill pulled him back inside.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to find one yet. But thanks to you, my father doesn’t know that and won’t sit there worrying.’ As his aunts opened several more bottles of wine, Eric and his helpers returned to the kitchen.

  ‘What can I do to help, bro?’ Mike Conrad slicked a hand through his hair.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like you and Jill to continue packing up. That insurance adjustor will show up tomorrow whether this family is coming apart at the seams or not. I’ll make some calls from my office. Someone is bound to know a good defense attorney in Charleston.’ Jill and Mike agreed and went to work, while Eric faced his next challenge.

  ‘What did I tell you, Enrique?’ asked Nonni. ‘I knew God would condemn this shameful party and bring wrath down on the family.’

  ‘God would not condemn an innocent man, and that’s what Dad is. Please wait for me in your room. We’ll eat supper after I hire him a good lawyer.’

  Nonni wasn’t easily put off. ‘Tell that to the Roman wives and children. They were thrown into the lion’s den same as those soldiers guarding Daniel.’ She clucked her tongue as she shuffled from the room.

  Eric turned to Jill and Mike. ‘Either of you care to join us for supper? I might need backup.’

  His brother-in-law answered first. ‘Count me out. When I’m done here, I’m going home to my wife. Your grandmother scares me.’

  ‘Count me in,’ said Jill. ‘Nonni fascinates me. Look how fast she came up with the lion’s den story. That woman knows her Bible.’ Jill pulled on gloves and started counting linen napkins.

  ‘Let’s just hope her analogy doesn’t fit the Manfredis. See you later.’ Even though Eric had no idea if Jill was even remotely religious, he had just invited her to dine with a woman who believed fire and brimstone would soon rain down on his family.

  Ninety minutes later he had finally lined up a defense attorney who agreed to go to the county lockup and talk to Alfonzo. But when Eric went to share his news, the kitchen was empty except for dozens of boxes, labeled with the contents and exact count. He and his grandmother, however, found Jill in the courtyard, seated at a table set with three glasses of tea and fresh flowers.

  ‘What a lovely surprise,’ he murmured.

  ‘Hello, Nonni,’ greeted Jill. ‘I hope you don’t mind Eric inviting me along.’ To him, Jill said, ‘When we finished packing everything we could, Mike sent me out here. He’s going to serve our dinner and then head home.’

  ‘Why would I mind?’ said Nonni. ‘That Mike is always trying to butter me up.’

  ‘Let’s just hope this works.’ Mike appeared, carrying three plates on a tray. He pulled off the lids one at the time. ‘Buon appetito,’ he said to a round of applause. Mike had reheated a little of everything from the buffet but added fresh garnishes.

  ‘Thanks, bro,’ called Eric as Mike disappeared into the shadows.

  At least Eric needn’t have worried about Nonni with Jill. Nonni refused to discuss her son’s problems. Instead she asked Jill questions about her investigation and listened carefully to her answers, which wasn’t one of her usual habits.

  After Nonni had eaten half her dinner, she pushed herself away from the table. ‘I’m going to my room and I don’t need anyone’s help. You two stay and get better acquainted, because this family might need Jill’s help.’ Nonni chuckled until out of earshot.

  ‘I’m glad your grandmother maintains a sense of humor despite her son being in a jail cell.’ Jill took a bite of chicken.

  Eric wiped his mouth before answering. ‘That wasn’t Nonni making a joke. That was her reading my mind. When I got off the phone with the lawyer, I realized my father needs more than someone there during questioning and to post his bail. Lieutenant Schott said they found Dad’s gun in a drain a block from Borelli’s body. What does that sound like to you?’

  Jill put down her piece of chicken. ‘Sounds like someone wanted that gun to be found.’

  ‘Exactly. And with Dad in custody, the police won’t look too hard for other suspects or at the possibility of a frame-up. I get it that city cops are overworked, but I don’t want my father going to prison for something he didn’t do.’

  ‘Are you thinking of hiring a PI?’ Jill sipped her tea.

  ‘Yep, and I’ve already got one mind – you.’

  ‘I can’t, Eric. I’m already on a case.’

  ‘You just told Nonni you’d done all you can and now the ball is in someone else’s court.’ He tried a forkful of coleslaw.

  ‘I don’t work for myself. I go and do whatever the boss tells me.’

  ‘Then give me your boss’s number. If your current case wraps up soon, I want to make sure Mr Price doesn’t send you somewhere else. You already know the details here.’

  Jill set down her fork with a pained expression.

  ‘What is it? You don’t believe in his
innocence? Have you already made up your mind that Dad offed his arch enemy?’ As usual, Eric had trouble controlling his temper.

  ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘But working with people you’re involved with isn’t a good idea.’

  That had to be the dead-last reason Eric expected. ‘You and I are … involved? I’m surprised to hear it, but in a pleasant way.’

  Jill flushed a shade to match the pasta sauce. ‘Not romantically involved, but you’ve practically made me part of the family while I’m here. How could I be objective? That’s how I messed up my adoption case – I got myself emotionally involved, unfortunately with both sides.’

  Eric had no desire to pressure her. He liked Jill. He also knew she was still new at her chosen profession. So for once, he wisely kept quiet and waited.

  ‘OK, this is what I’ll do,’ she said after a few moments. ‘Tomorrow I’ll go talk to this Lieutenant Schott as one professional to another. No charge. We’ll see if the police have any other leads or suspects.’

  ‘Thanks, Jill. And no charge for this week’s rent. After all, this isn’t exactly the Ritz with no breakfast and the lingering smell of smoke.’

  ‘I accept your terms, but I doubt I’ll be here another week.’ Jill stood and picked up her plate.

  Eric pulled the plate from her fingers. ‘Cleanup is mine. You get some rest. Tomorrow is another day as Scarlett O’Hara loved to say.’

  When Jill left, Eric leaned back in his chair and considered his turn of fortune. If anyone could find another suspect other than dear old Dad, it was her. And he would make very sure she stayed another week – and then some.

  TWELVE

  Jill had no idea why she volunteered to help Eric and his father. What Mr Manfredi needed was a competent lawyer. And what Eric needed was a professional PI with contacts inside the Charleston Police Department. She was still fresh off the boat and knew no one in this charming old city. According to her mentor, cops don’t cotton to out-of-towners sticking their noses into local crime. After Beth’s case on Tybee Island, she ought to know.

  But Jill liked Eric, and it had been a long while since she’d found any man attractive. Not that her infatuation would go anywhere. Not that she wanted it to go anywhere. But when it was time to pack up and move on, it might be nice to take a few pleasant memories with her.

  The drive to the Charleston Police Station on Lockwood Boulevard took twenty minutes thanks to the traffic, including plenty of tourists in horse-drawn carriages. But as it turned out, Jill had to sit on a hard chair for over two hours until the busy detective could squeeze her into his schedule. Finally she was shown back to Lieutenant Schott’s cubicle.

  ‘Miss Wyatt?’ he asked, reading the name off her card. ‘Dispatch said you had information on the Borelli homicide.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Jill produced her brightest smile and took the chair beside his desk. ‘I’ve been hired by the Manfredi family to investigate a connection between Salvatore’s murder and the recent acts of violence against Alfonzo Manfredi and Bella Trattoria.’ She crossed her legs and waited.

  ‘Wow, that was a mouthful.’ Schott peered at her curiously.

  ‘It was.’ Jill studied him as well. Yesterday during the arrest, Schott appeared gruff, inpatient, and angry. Maybe he’d had a bad experience the last time he dined on Italian cuisine. Today, the homicide cop seemed professional and dignified, yet normal enough to play football with his kids after work.

  ‘I’m sorry you waited so long to see me, but I can’t discuss an ongoing murder investigation with a PI from … .’ He picked up her card again. ‘Mississippi. You’re a long way from home. What are you doing in Charleston?’

  ‘I’m here on another case, one that doesn’t involve murder. But since I rented the suite above Bella Trattoria, I’ve witnessed the sequence of events leading up to Saturday’s argument between Salvatore Borelli and Alfonzo Manfredi.’

  ‘So Manfredi doesn’t deny arguing with the victim shortly long before Borelli was shot?’

  ‘Nope, apparently the two men have a long history of animosity.’

  Schott reached for his yellow tablet and a pen. ‘I’m all ears, Miss Wyatt.’

  ‘Because they compete with each other professionally, they’ve had a long history of verbal battles which have never gone beyond name-calling, usually in Italian. Saturday’s disagreement was no different than any other over the years.’

  ‘Except that we found Manfredi’s gun a block from the crime scene.’

  ‘Didn’t it strike you oddly that his gun – if it indeed was the murder weapon – was so close to the body? With water surrounding the city on three sides, why not throw the gun off a bridge and let the tide take it out to sea?’ Jill flourished her hand above her head. ‘Plus, anyone who watches television would never pick a storm drain. Cops always look there first.’

  ‘Actually, trash dumpsters are my first choice.’ Schott leaned back in his chair. ‘Here’s a tip for you, Mississippi: People panic after they commit a crime. They do stupid things. So no, it doesn’t surprise me that Manfredi threw it in a sewer. Now, tell me about these connected acts of violence. Then I’m afraid you’ll have to let me get back to work.’ He gestured at the pile of cases on his desk.

  ‘Very well.’ Jill pulled out her notes. ‘Last week, someone turned over the large trash dumpster that sits behind the restaurant. Then one day later, Mr Manfredi was mugged on his way to the bank. The thieves bashed him in the head and put him in the hospital, besides stealing his money. Have you made any progress on those cases?’

  ‘This is the Homicide Department, ma’am. We don’t investigate cases of runaway food scraps and missing recyclables. But since you asked so nicely, I’ll see what’s in the files. When did this happen?’

  ‘It was two Saturdays ago, in the early morning hours.’

  Schott tapped his computer screen several times and squinted. ‘Let’s see. When officers on patrol responded to a neighbor’s complaint, Eric Manfredi said Bella Trattoria wasn’t interested in pressing charges against neighborhood kids. He told officers he would personally take care of the cleanup. Case closed.’ A fake British accent highlighted his words.

  ‘And the mugging?’ Jill asked. ‘Did the police take Alfonzo Manfredi’s statement at the hospital? It would’ve been late that same Saturday after the restaurant closed. Somewhere around ten o’clock.’ When Schott turned back to his computer, Jill tried to read over his shoulder.

  ‘According to the detective who took the statement, Mr Manfredi described the robbers as “young punks wearing black clothes and ski masks.” That description fits one third of the population of Charleston. Manfredi couldn’t determine their race or estimate height, weight, or age. And he refused to look at mug shots. He said it wouldn’t do any good because they snuck up from behind.’ Schott grinned as though amused. ‘So Miss PI from Mississippi, if the Manfredis hired you to solve those crimes, you have a better chance of finding the lost city of Atlantis.’

  ‘I appreciate your vote of confidence, but what about the third crime – the suspicious fire at Bella Trattoria? The family is certain it was arson since no one was in the building except for me and an elderly woman. We were both asleep.’

  ‘My, my, this plot keeps getting thicker and thicker. Maybe you’re the one behind the rash of crime at the restaurant.’

  Jill frowned. ‘I don’t own a ski mask, sir. Nor would I ever bash a man over the head with a pipe. First vandalism, next a mugging, and then arson? Don’t you see the level of violence escalating up to Mr Borelli’s murder?’

  ‘Hold on. It’s not arson until the State Fire Marshal says so, and so far he hasn’t. But there might be a connection after all, young lady. If Borelli was behind any of these initial incidents, or if Alfonzo Manfredi believes he was, I now have a good motive for murder.’ Smugly, Schott laced his fingers behind his head.

  Could I make a bigger mess out of things for Eric and his father? Jill felt her eyes fill with tears. ‘I was hoping you’d
cut me a little slack here, Lieutenant. I was just hired by the Price Agency. Obviously, this is my first official case.’ A few tears dripped on to her slacks. These weren’t crocodile tears designed to manipulate the detective with pity. Jill was crying because she was the worst private investigator on earth.

  ‘I have cut you some slack. Do you realize how few citizens get invited to my cubicle? Let alone citizens from Natchez.’ Schott spoke like she was his daughter who needed to see the error of her ways. Her embarrassment grew exponentially.

  ‘You have been very patient and for that I’m grateful.’ Jill pushed to her feet and stretched out a hand. She would shake hands as a professional, even though her behavior missed the mark by a mile.

  But instead of shaking, Schott drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘What exactly would you like from me, Miss Wyatt?’

  Astonished, Jill looked him in the eye. ‘I would love to see the report from the officer who responded to the mess in the alley. Maybe I can find something to connect that crime to the mugging or the suspicious fire.’ She dabbed her nose with a tissue.

  He cocked his head before pointing at the chair. ‘You, sit, while I take another look at the report. Don’t talk and don’t peek over my shoulder.’

  When Schott turned back to his computer, Jill did exactly as instructed. She even held her breath for good measure.

  After a few minutes, the detective uttered the first words that gave Jill hope. ‘Huh. Well, I’ll be …’

  ‘What is it, Lieutenant?’ Jill couldn’t help herself.

  Schott swiveled around. ‘Apparently, the shop next to the restaurant has a security camera focused on the alley. This is the same neighbor who complained about the mess. The shopkeeper said he would give the police the tape if they needed it. But when Junior Manfredi said he wasn’t filing a complaint, there was no need to pick up the video.’

  Jill abstained from jumping up and down. ‘May I have the name of this shopkeeper so that I can ask to view the tape?’

  ‘I’ll do you one better, Mississippi. I’ll have the patrolman pick it up, if it hasn’t already been erased, bring it to the station, and log it into evidence. Then I’ll determine if there’s any connection between the prior crimes and the murder of Salvatore Borelli.’