Wondering who had called the sharks with the camera and microphones, I slipped along the outer rim of the crowd. I spied Mr. Perkins. He leaned against the piano in the corner of the room. His eyes swept the curiosity seekers, snack buyers, and news mongers. Mr. Perkins shook his head back and forth slowly, until he saw me. A smile spread across his wise old face and with twinkling eyes, he greeted me.
“Mornin’, missy.” Mr. Perkins chuckled and said, “Lots of things goin’ on here today from the looks of it, eh?”
“Who called the news morons, anyway?” I murmured to him as I drew closer to the old fellow.
“Some idiot thought it might be good for the center to have positive publicity, so the higher-ups called in Channel 10.” He chuckled while his boney shoulders shook with mirth. “Since your mother was interviewed before, they figured there’d be no problem calling the news bags for this.”
“Great,” I uttered with a sigh. My eyes rested on Mr. Perkins for a few seconds before I peered at the crowd.
“Is Dona Desmaris here today?”
His scruffy eyebrows hiked in surprise. Mr. Perkins surveyed me before he answered. His look sent my curiosity racing.
“She’s sittin’ over there, in the corner.” He pointed to a petite woman about Nonni’s age. “Sweet old lady.”
Dona’s black dress covered most of her body, draping nearly to the floor. She reminded me of old family photographs where my great, great, grandmother stood stiff as a board in a high-necked, miserable dress that probably choked the breath out of her. A gnarled hand curled around a black cane with a gilded gold handle.
Features, once lovely, were now wrinkled and drawn. Even from here, I could see the crow’s feet around her eyes and deep grooves from nose to chin around her mouth. Age hadn’t been kind to Dona, but then, life with Gino had probably been no picnic, either.
The room quieted as the interview started. I moved in stealth mode across the floor toward the side door of the refreshment center. My mother stood in front of the counter facing the camera. The interviewer stood off to the side, out of camera view. She asked my mother a few questions about the bake sale, what and whom it would benefit.
My breath stuck in my throat while I waited to see if I’d have to rescue my mother, should the questions come around to the murders. The interview was brief. The camera panned the baked goods and the crowd before ending. I heaved a relieved sigh and placed the cake on the rear counter.
Buyers stepped forward as the sale started. Skirting the crowd once more, I slipped out the side door. In a matter of seconds, I’d raced across the parking area and into the apartment complex. I caught sight of Lola scurrying up the walk.
“Where do you think you’re going without me?” Lola whispered. “I’ve been waiting inside the center for you. I saw you leave and thought I’d better follow you.”
“I didn’t see you in there, sorry.” I wasn’t lying. Lola was so short that she’d been hidden in the crowd.
In the elevator, we stopped at the second floor. I hoped the corridor would be empty. It’s nice to be right once in a while. The residents had all gone to the bake sale. They enjoyed a little excitement and change in their mundane routine.
As we moved down the carpeted hallway, I turned to find Lola skulking on tiptoe, like a thief in a museum. There were no alarms here, except fire alarms, and her actions gave me cause to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You are,” I said with a grin. “You’re acting like a cat burglar instead of a visitor. Act innocent, and people will think you are.”
“Oh, so that’s how you manage to get into so much trouble, huh?” Lola chuckled softly.
I stared at her for a second, knowing she might be right. Taking the key from my pocket, I slid it into the lock and turned it. The apartment door swung inward with a soft whoosh. We entered the rooms and glanced around. Somebody had recently torn the place to shreds.
Stuffing hung out of the sofa and chair. The dated television lay upside down on the floor. Ripped magazine pages littered the room. I headed into the bedroom and found an identical scene spread out before me.
“What the hell happened here, Vin?” Lola stared around the apartment in wide-eyed wonder.
“It looks like someone searched for the same things we’re looking for. I bet they beat us to whatever was left, that wasn’t found the last time my mother was here.” It occurred to me to search the bathroom.
I stepped around Lola, who continued to stare, her mouth agape. In silence, she followed me.
Tissues and trash from the bathroom basket lay strewn around the handicap accessible room. Pill bottles splayed across the floor, and the medicine cabinet door hung askew. Lola stepped to the thin closet where toiletries, paper goods, and towels were stored. The door stood ajar, rolls of toilet paper tumbled forth, jumbled towels, and washcloths, cluttered the shelves.
As Lola looked the mess over, she glanced upward. The top shelf was far above her head. Motioning to me, I stepped beside her and reached up to run my hand across the dusty surface. At first, I thought the area was empty until my fingertips touched a packet of something. On tiptoes, I reached farther back on the shelf, withdrawing a stuffed manila envelope.
We stared at the packet, and then glanced at one another. The once white envelope was now yellowed, crinkled, and dusty. It bulged with bundles of some sort. I pried the sealed edge open. Bundles of cash filled my hands and overflowed onto the floor.
Cash, cold hard cash, bunches of it. Some strapped with money straps, the paper felt new and looked it, as well. I flicked a glance toward Lola as she picked the remaining packets of cash off the floor.
“Damn,” she said in awe. “These are hundred dollar bills, Vin.” Her eyes like saucers, Lola thumbed the money packs and then stared at me.
“Right.” Was all I could get out. My mind flew over the possible places the cash had come from. None of the thoughts made any sense to me.
I started to speak as the apartment door opened. Startled, Lola shoved the money into my hands, wiping hers on the wool gabardine slacks she wore. She glanced around the room for a place to hide. I shuffled the jumbles of cash in my hands, juggling them while some of the packs slid into the crooks of my folded arms.
“What are we going to do, Vin?” Agitated, Lola whispered as footsteps sounded on the kitchen tile floor.
“In the shower, quick,” I whispered and dragged her into the handicapped, walk-in shower stall.
I slid the shower curtain soundlessly across the overhead bar. Behind the heavy plastic material, covered with a row of cats in various poses, we flattened ourselves against the wall, at the end of the enclosure. I held my breath, and was sure Lola did the same, when the footsteps paused at the bathroom door. Then the interloper entered the room.
Dirty towels lay piled up in one end of the shower stall. A hand gripped the shower curtain and drew it back in one fell swoop, exposing Lola and me. Lola drew in a deep breath and cringed as we both recognized Rafe. He stared at us, and then gawked at the money clutched to my chest.
A slight chuckle entered his musical voice as he asked what we thought we were doing in the shower.
“Laundering that money, ladies?” he asked with a devilish grin.
Blustering, I stepped out of the unit and picked the empty envelope off the floor. Lola held it open while I returned the wrapped packets of cash back to their rightful place.
“No, but we happened to find it in the closet,” I snapped. “You scared the bejeepers out of us, Rafe. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to buy pastry in a show of support for your mother.” His smile lingered around the sweet curve of his mouth. “When Mr. Perkins said you were likely up here, I thought I’d make sure you were all right.”
“I’ll have to thank him for sharing with you,” I said in a dry voice.
“Do that,” Rafe answered with an arched brow.
The apartment door opened again. Another
set of footsteps sounded on the tile floor of the entry. The three of us bustled into the shower stall, drawing the curtain to hide us, once again. It was a good thing the stall was wheelchair accessible. Otherwise, there might not have been enough room for all three of us.
Soft, slow footfalls filtered through the small apartment, first in the kitchen, then the living room, stopping at the bathroom doorway. The three of us froze in place, waiting for the curtain to swing wide.
The footsteps moved away from the bathroom door and on into the bedroom. In the little time it had taken the intruder to wander through the first two rooms, the person stood silent in the bedroom for some time. Murmured epithets accompanied the sound of feet padding back toward the apartment entry and out the door. It closed with a snap.
I waited, listening for signs that the intruder had indeed gone. When my glance passed over Rafe, I assumed he was doing the same. Lola trembled. Her thick, curly red locks bristled and shuddered as her body tensed.
“That was close,” she murmured.
“I wonder who it was,” I whispered.
Raising her shoulders in answer, Lola tugged the curtain open. I stepped forward, bundled money in my hands, and pressed tight against my chest. Lola and Rafe followed me through the rooms.
“What do you suppose that person was in search of?” Rafe asked.
“I don’t know, but let’s get the hell out of here before we get caught.”
“Are you taking that with you?” he asked pointing to the bundle I clutched against my chest. His dark eyebrows hiked over the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
“You bet I am,” I answered tucking the bulky envelope inside my winter jacket.
We left the apartment and headed down the fire stairs instead of riding the elevator. At the bottom of the stairwell, Rafe peered through the narrow glass window in the door before he motioned for us to enter the foyer of the building.
Chapter 15
Outside, a cold wind gusted across the lot. Cars left the parking area in a steady flow. Crisp air filled my lungs and tossed my hair into a frenzy of wild curls. Lola held her kinky mass in place and tucked it into the collar of her coat.
“That was too damned close, Vin,” she remarked while we strode across the grounds toward people leaving the senior center.
I answered her, “Right. We were gone longer than I thought.” I checked my watch. “My mother must be wondering where we went. Don’t offer an explanation. Let me handle it, okay?”
With a roll of Lola’s eyes and a chuckle from Rafe, I went into the building first.
The crowd had thinned, piano music played, and senior citizens lingered with snacks and beverages, tapping their feet to the melody. I could see Mr. Perkins, his foot keeping time to the beat. He glanced at me and winked. What that meant, I hadn’t a clue.
Wiping her hands on a towel, my mother scurried over to us. A worried frown furrowed her unibrow.
“Where have you been?” she demanded in a soft, but stern voice.
“We took a walk around the block. With the crowd in here, we couldn’t get to the counter. I saw the reporter interview you, though. Great job, Mom.” I gave her shoulder a light squeeze.
“Do you think so?” She smiled and preened, pleased over the compliment.
“We all thought you did very well, and handled the whole affair like a pro.” I smiled. “Just like any TV personality is known by their slogan, you’re now known as the Bake Sale Queen. The reporter even called you that.”
“I hope your father recorded it, so I can send a copy to your brother.” Mom grinned with pleasure. “Would you like something to eat?”
Since Iva had been poisoned here, and we didn’t know who the apartment intruder was I glanced at the others. We shook our heads reminding her we’d wait for dinner with my father. Rafe left, with Lola in tow, to meet us at my parents’ house. I watched them leave.
While my mother stowed leftover goodies in the refrigerator, I strolled toward Mr. Perkins who sat with Dona Desmaris. With a smile, I slipped into the chair opposite Dona.
Mr. Perkins performed the introductions as Dona eyeballed me, her eyes dark as night. She nodded when he explained who I was.
“Your nonni was here today. She’s a very good woman,” Dona stated in a matter-of-fact manner.
This was a great compliment. I nodded and smiled.
“Did you know Mrs. Lindon very well?” I asked.
Her back stiffened, followed by a hearty sniff. Her white knuckled grip on the sturdy cane gave me the answer.
“It’s a shame she died so suddenly,” I probed.
“Many people have no choice of how they die, and then some ask for a bad end,” Dona said with another sniff.
“Mmm.”
“You know, missy,” Mr. Perkins said to me, “Iva made lots of enemies by not minding her own affairs.”
“What do you mean by that exactly, Mr. Perkins?”
My dark-eyed stare glued itself to Mr. Perkins’s features as a flush rose up over his face. He had stepped out on a branch and knew he had no safety net to catch him. He shook his head at me and mumbled something about minding his own business.
“That’s always a good idea, Mr. Perkins, but I’m sure you must have seen more of what Mrs. Lindon was up to than most folks did.”
“Why would I?” he blustered.
“I’m not sure,” I resisted the temptation to remind him of his illicit activities with my mother and aunt. “If I’m out of line, please excuse me,” I apologized and glanced at Dona Desmaris. Her face a mask of composure, she turned her keen gaze toward me.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Dona said. “You have bad luck, like the evil eye was put on you.” Her index finger and baby finger formed horns as she tucked the other digits under her thumb.
Chills scooted up my spine. Goose bumps covered my arms. I could feel the hairs stand up along the surface of my skin. This Italian curse is where bad luck or worse follows you, waiting to snatch you into oblivion.
With a forced smile, I said, “Nonni knows I have a tendency to get into improbable situations due to an overabundance of curiosity. It isn’t as though I try to get into trouble, but maybe you’re right.” I laughed, but Dona didn’t crack a smile.
She warned, “Don’t temp the fates. It isn’t healthy.”
As the doom and gloom statement settled over me, I took a deep breath and stood up. There’d be no information from Dona. She knew how to keep her mouth shut. It must have been a lifelong lesson she’d learned from Gino. I did have her journal, though, and that spoke volumes of how she’d managed to survive as the wife of a Mafia Don.
Across the room, my mother buttoned up her coat. She hurried toward me, and we left the crowd of elderly people. Cold winds ruffled my hair, filtering into any tiny space it could find in my clothing as I clutched the bundle of money tightly under my arm, inside the jacket. I gulped deep breaths into my lungs. Relax, just relax.
Close behind my mother’s car, I drove along the street and parked at the curb near the edge of her driveway. Lola and Rafe were parked farther up the street. My mother left her car in front of the garage.
When I reached the steps to the deck leading into the kitchen, I noticed Mom waited outside. An alarm went off in my head. Was I about to be sworn to secrecy over something, or did my mother want to scold me, because she knew we hadn’t walked around the block as I’d said?
“Why are you out here freezing in the cold?” I asked in a low voice.
“What did you find in Mrs. Lindon’s apartment, Lavinia?”
Her narrowed eyes fixed on my face. I knew better than to tell her a bare-faced lie, so I opted for honesty. It was an unusual occurrence for me, but there you have it.
“Okay, we didn’t walk around the block. Lola and I found Mrs. Lindon’s apartment a wreck. While we were checking it out, someone came in.” At the look on her face, I realized I’d just scared her.
“It was only Rafe. He came to the bake sale in suppo
rt of you, but Mr. Perkins blabbed that I might be found searching Mrs. Lindon’s apartment. There was nothing left, since whoever had trashed the place must have found what they wanted.”
A nod of her head told me that my near to total honesty had been accepted. I breathed an inward sigh of relief.
“How did Lola get caught up in this business?”
“She came to help you out, but she followed me into the apartment complex instead, when she saw me sneak across the parking lot. I’m sorry we weren’t there to help you, Mom. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.”
“The other ladies from the group took care of things. It isn’t important,” she assured me. Rubbing her forehead, my mother insisted, “Don’t tell your father. He’ll be upset to think you broke into the apartment.”
With a slight smile, I realized my mother knew way more about my nefarious activities than I thought. It seemed as though she even approved of my avid curiosity, which often led to problems. It would be all too easy to take her into my confidence, but the less said about what I’d smuggled from the apartment, the better. I had bundled the money in an old towel, and tucked it under the front seat of the car before locking the car doors.
Together, my mother and I went inside out of the cold. I inhaled the heavenly smell of chicken pot pie. My mouth watered. I wiped my chin in the event drool had spilled out. Rafe grinned at me. Lola stood at the stove in deep conversation with my father over spices and recipes.
The table was set for five. I rubbed my hands together. A salad the size of Long Island sat on the table, along with crusty rolls. That food alone was enticing to be sure. I grabbed a roll and spread it with rich, creamy butter. Sinking my teeth into a luscious roll, I moaned. This was better than sex. Well, okay, almost better than sex.
My father turned from the stove with a disapproving grimace as I chomped down the last of the roll. He brought the chicken pie to the table where he set it on a hot mat. A large oval spoon protruded from the center, and steam escaped from the creation. Dad settled at the table and nodded for us to begin.
J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder Page 13