Unmarked Man

by Darlene Scalera

He pulled out into traffic. “The old lady from Grandview Estates called the station. Said she had a hot lead on the Lester case. Said the woman who tried to break in to Lester’s house just left the funeral home and she overheard you were after Lester’s money.” He had the nerve to smile.

  “I went there hoping to get some clue how Lester fit in with my mother’s and sister’s disappearances. And to pay my respects.”

  Nick shot her a skeptical look.

  “I said a prayer,” she told him.

  “For who?”

  “Lester. He could just be an innocent victim in this mess.”

  “Don’t go soft on me now, Spagnola.”

  She stared at his take-no-crap profile. He was right. One multiple orgasm and she was Mary Poppins.

  “Lester’s mom is a whack job. Senile dementia.”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, we interviewed her.”

  “She accused me of carrying Lester’s love child.”

  “Are you?”

  “You’re a laugh riot, Fiore.”

  He cracked a grin. She turned away, struck always by how beautiful he was. But now something more than animal lust took her breath. A deeper need. Scrappy Cissy. Always had to play with the big boys.

  “Lester’s mother does have a round-the-clock private duty nurse. Phil was footing the bill for years.”

  “Met her, too.”

  So far, she’d been scooped.

  “He must have made a healthy salary to support round-the-clock care for his mother.” She paused for flair. “Plus a gambling habit.”

  Nick shot her a look, surprise coming and going in a blink. “Our sources say he beat it years ago.”

  “So does his buddy from Gamblers Anonymous. But his mother claims Lester left her a rich old woman. Guess she won’t be crazy anymore. Just eccentric.”

  “Lester had a little money put away in a savings account, a few bonds, company 401K. The house is half paid for but it’s hardly enough for an upgrade from crazy to eccentric.”

  “She’s already planning to become a bingo mogul.”

  “So maybe he was lucky. Stashed some money away from his winnings. Invested it in her name. Or maybe he fell off the wagon but didn’t want to let anyone know, figured he could control it, stop before it became a problem again. Except he couldn’t stop and Stevie the Sledgehammer was brought in to correct it.”

  “Why’d they dump him in my room, then? And what about Easy Rider yesterday afternoon?”

  Nick was silent.

  “The Golden Cue sent him a big spray.”

  She’d gotten Nick’s interest. She liked it.

  “Anything else?”

  “He wore a rug. Only—”

  Nick glanced at her.

  “No one can find it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Come on, tell me that doesn’t get your detective juices flowing. The bartender at the Golden Cue said the man Jo Jo was meeting had a full head of hair. It had to be Lester.”

  Nick turned the car into the police station’s parking lot, turned off the engine.

  “What are we doing here?” She smiled big Raging Red lips. “It’s the toupee tip, isn’t it? I just broke the case.”

  Nick turned to her. It was the combination of concern and confusion that frightened her.

  “What’s going on?” She hated the plea in her tone. He reached out to take her hand. She pulled it away. “Don’t patronize me, Fiore. Tell me what’s going on?”

  “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?”

  “The bartender at the Golden Cue.”

  “Why?”

  “You were one of the last ones to see him alive.”

  Chapter Twelve

  She wished she had given him her hand.

  “He was found in the Dumpster behind the Golden Cue. One shot to the middle of the forehead. A .22. They found a coaster with your number on him.”

  She turned her head to the window, soundlessly gulping oxygen like one of Fiore’s fish. On a fish it was amusing; on a woman, pathetic. The blast of oxygen to her brain set off a buzzing. Colored dots began to mambo before her eyes.

  “There was no sign of a struggle.”

  She blinked away the dancing dots, schooled her face strong and turned, the thrum of blood hard at her temples.

  “Whoever it was, the bartender knew his murderer. Or the guy’s a good shot.”

  “Same bullet as Lester and Jo Jo’s boyfriend?” Focusing on details would keep her calm, take away the thought that a man she’d spoken to this afternoon was no more. He had probably still been wearing his arm garters.

  “Results aren’t back from the lab yet, but my money says it’s the same gun, a .22. It does the job without making a big mess.”

  “What’d you learn from Fat Eddie’s robbery report? What kind of gun did he have?”

  Nick gave her a long look. “A .22.”

  “So he’s a suspect, right?”

  “We’re watching him.”

  “Jo Jo knew all three of the victims. Now she and my mother are missing.”

  Nick said nothing, but she could read his thoughts. His cop thoughts. Or they’re dead. Time and multiple murders were against them. She was grateful to Nick for not saying it. Nick Fiore had a sensitive side. The surprises just kept coming.

  They got out of the car. Nick took her elbow in a firm hold. It could have been a gesture of support or an attempt at control. With Nick, it was a toss-up. After sleeping with the man, Cissy knew better than to speculate.

  Nick led her to a room with a long table, introduced her to two other officers. One had a notepad in front of him. The other was angled back in his chair, his hands resting on the beginnings of a belly that unchecked, could cause him trouble passing the police physical in later years. Nick introduced her and remained standing while she took the indicated seat. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, cop face on.

  The officer with the belly dropped his chair to all fours. “You went to the Golden Cue around 1:00 p.m. today, Miss Spagnola?”

  “That’s correct.” She sounded good. Lawyerly. “Call me Cissy.” She was on her best downtown behavior. The cop taking notes scribbled something on the pad.

  “Why?”

  “My sister, Jo Jo, has been missing for several days. My mother, too.”

  “We know.” The officer had been trained not to show sympathy. She was glad.

  “My sister’s last place of employment said someone saw her hanging out at the Golden Cue. I was hoping maybe someone there might be able to give me some information, something that would help me learn what happened to my sister, my mother. People don’t just drop out of sight.”

  The one cop looked up from his notepad. His bland gaze skewered her. Sure they did, it said. For a rare moment in her life, she knew what it was like to be the naive one.

  “Did you learn anything useful?” the other detective asked.

  She told them what the bartender had told her about Jo Jo and her mystery date. “He didn’t really know anything. That’s why I don’t understand why…” She looked at the wall.

  “Maybe he knew more than he told you.”

  In the cop’s tone she heard the same “Back off, baby” Nick had used when he’d told her to let him do his job.

  “Bartenders don’t usually talk,” the detective continued. “They listen.”

  “You’re right. This one wasn’t chatty,” she said, glancing up at Nick. His face stayed clean of expression. “But I was feeling generous, and he was feeling gregarious.”

  “You gave him money?”

  “I tipped him well.”

  “How well?”

  “I had a spring water with lemon. I left him sixty dollars.”

  The cop opposite her looked to the one with the notepad. “He had his wallet, right?”

  His partner flipped back several pages. “Wallet was in his back pants pocket. No money.”

  Cissy leaned forward. “He was robbed,” she
said as if she was a fellow investigator.

  The cop with the paperwork shook his head. “Still had all his credit cards, ATM cards.”

  “Too risky,” Cissy theorized. “Easily traceable.” She might have joined the force.

  The cop who had done the questioning stared at her flatly. “Thank you, Cissy, for coming in. If you think of anything else, have Detective Fiore contact us.” He pushed back from the table. The other policeman picked up the pad and pen.

  “That’s it?”

  The policeman with the middle-age midriff stood, looked down at her. “Unless you have something else you neglected to tell us?”

  Both officers stared her down. She almost smiled. She’d been winning stare-offs since parochial school. Staring down a cop was nothing compared to staring down a nun.

  “My mother has been missing for two days, and to my knowledge, no one’s seen my sister either.”

  “The report says your mother left your father.”

  “Stepfather. That’s his story. I’m not buying it.”

  “There’s no evidence to the contrary…yet.”

  “Three men are dead.”

  “All leads are being investigated.”

  “My sister dated Saint-Sault. She knew Chandler, and the man she was meeting at the Golden Cue was Lester, except he wore a toupee.” She leaned forward. “A toupee that’s missing. His mother wanted it on him for the viewing, but no one could find it.”

  “Someone killed him for his hairpiece?” the detective deadpanned. The other detective’s lips tightened as if suppressing a smile.

  Cissy ignored their amusement. “All three victims were killed by a .22. Eddie reported a .22 stolen.”

  “Ma’am, we need more than circumstantial evidence. Be assured the investigation is ongoing, and we’re working on several leads.”

  Cissy became alert. “Such as?”

  The detective’s glance at Nick said, Keep a leash on this one.

  “We’ll keep you apprised if there are any new developments.” The detectives headed toward the door.

  “Find my mother and sister. That’s the only development I need to be apprised of,” Cissy told their retreating backs. She shifted her gaze to Nick, still leaning against the wall.

  “Smooth, Spagnola.”

  She stood and strutted out of the room without waiting for him. Anger had always been her balm for anxiety and a smart-aleck attitude preferable to tears. Rationalization didn’t prevent her from slamming the car door.

  Nick opened the door, looked down at her with a calm she envied. Of course, anger management was probably a required course at the Academy for ex-hoodlums.

  “I’m not scared of you, Spagnola.”

  “Bull. You’re frightened as hell.”

  It was his soft low laugh that made her wish he’d pull her up into his arms and kiss the fear out of her. He closed the door. She sighed as he rounded the front of the vehicle, even though she knew she’d survived a close one.

  He slid into the car, started the engine.

  “I want to go pick up my rental at Lester’s.” Snotty now.

  He put the car into gear, his silence allowing her attitude. Probably figured three dead bodies and two missing were worth a snotgram or two. They drove the twenty-minute ride to Grandview Estates without talking, like an old married couple. The rental was where she’d left it on the far edge of Lester’s lawn. Nick pulled up behind it, the motor idling. They both stared at the dark house.

  “The police searched the house thoroughly, right?”

  He sent her a dry look. “Don’t get any ideas. They didn’t find anything. Neither will you.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to double check.” She pulled back the door handle. “What about the rug? It’s still missing.” She was beginning to feel better.

  “If you go near that house, I’ll have to arrest you.”

  She gauged his seriousness.

  “Tampering with the scene of a criminal investigation.”

  He was serious. She looked at the house. So was she.

  “Listen, Lester’s gambling got out of hand and he got mixed up in something he shouldn’t have,” Nick tried to persuade her.

  “Except he hadn’t gambled for two years.”

  “Put that on his gravestone.”

  Cissy stared at the house, then glanced at Nick. She had already admitted to herself she hadn’t a chance in the strange, wondrous war between them. That status wasn’t about to change. He would arrest her if she went into house.

  She pushed open the car door. “All right. I’ll meet you back at the apartment.”

  “What about dinner? Provenza’s serves until ten and it has private booths in the back. It’s quiet there.”

  She knew what he meant—safe. Dinner in an almost deserted restaurant, she, dolled-up in her best pay - your - respects - to - the - man - found - murdered- in - your - motel - room outfit. Nick under low lights that turned his Italian heritage lethal. Saltimbocca and tiramisu. Nick was wrong. Dinner at Provenza’s was far from safe.

  She shrugged. “Meet you there.” She had a death wish.

  He waited for her to pull out first. She glanced in the rearview mirror. He was right behind her. “Sheesh, sleep with the guy, and we’re joined at the bumpers.” She was fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station, when her cell phone rang. She glanced in the mirror, saw Nick on her tail. The phone kept ringing. She snatched it out of her purse, tucked it to her far ear, fluffing her hair to conceal it.

  “Spagnola.”

  “Cissy?”

  The connection wasn’t good. The voice was female and for a moment, Cissy’s heart rose. “Mama?”

  “No, it’s me, Pauline from the bar.”

  “Oh.” She heard sorrow in the syllable.

  “You gave me your card yesterday.”

  “Yes?”

  Pauline paused. Cissy’s interest spiked. “Yes?” she urged again.

  “Well, I like my job here, ya know. I mean it beats cleaning out rat cages over at the research farm. And on Thursday and Friday nights, the tips triple most weeks.”

  “Sure, I understand.” El simpatico.

  “So, when you and the cop came in yesterday—”

  Cissy glanced into the rearview mirror, saw Nick’s fatal gaze. Steering with her knees, she waggled a wave with her free hand to offset suspicion.

  “Well, I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to get in trouble, but I liked your mother. She was good to me—always let me have the heavy-tip nights, said she didn’t need the money, but, hell, you and I both know that’s a lie. Who doesn’t need money?”

  Cissy thought of the stacks of cash she’d found in the Thunderbird.

  “I didn’t want to get in any trouble. But I keep thinking about the nuns.”

  “The nuns?”

  “Shoot, I wish I’d had a camera the afternoon they come walking in. Two-for-one had just started. I got so nervous I asked them if I could get them a round of Virgin Marys.”

  “Nuns can do that to you,” Cissy agreed solemnly.

  “They were looking for your mother. She was in the back, prepping the kitchen. I got her and brought her out. The nuns start telling her that they had appreciated her generous donation so much, they just felt it wouldn’t be right if they didn’t come by and tell her in person and how much good the money will do and on and on, and all the time, your mother is shaking her head, saying, no, any pleasure it brings to you and the good work of your order can’t compare to the joy it’s given me to be able to share it with you.”

  “It must have been quite a large donation.”

  “That seemed the gist of it. No figures were thrown around—”

  No, nuns weren’t tacky.

  “—but those nuns were sure gushing over your mother.”

  Gushing nuns. Something you don’t see everyday.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they nominated your mother for sainthood. And from their conversation, I got the impression
this order wasn’t the only one your mother had donated to. They kept talking of her other ‘good works’ with other orders.”

  Where was her mother getting large amounts of cash to support nuns across America?

  “What order was this?”

  “Sisters of the Sacred Heart, on the other side of the river.”

  “What did Eddie think of this?”

  “Oh, Eddie wasn’t there, and your mother asked me to keep this between ourselves. Said Eddie wouldn’t much cotton to the idea of nuns hanging out at the bar. Customers didn’t want to be reminded of Sunday morning on a Saturday night.”

  “Sounds like Eddie might not have known about my mother’s charitable activities?”

  “I don’t know. I figure every woman deserves to have her secrets, right? Especially since Eddie had some of his own, not quite so admirable ones. That’s why I called you. I’m not one hundred percent certain but, well, I think he was having an affair.”

  Cissy cursed him righteously.

  “I overheard him bragging one day to a customer. Said the woman, whoever it was, was crazy about him.”

  “The man’s delusional.”

  “Hey, love is blind, ya know.”

  “Deaf and dumb too, obviously.” She looked in her car mirror, smiled big at Nick, turned her head slightly so he couldn’t see her moving mouth.

  “Your mother never talked about it, but I got the sense she knew something was going on. I think that’s why he bought the house a few months ago. After that he had it made. Your mother tucked away out there, his mistress in town, the business which gave him an excuse for late nights, sudden emergencies.”

  Was that why her mother had been working more hours? She’d known Eddie was fooling around and wanted to keep an eye on him?

  “When I heard your mother was missing, well, it just doesn’t seem right.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Then today…”

  “What, Pauline?”

  “Eddie was talking to a lawyer on the phone. He was asking how long it’d take for a divorce to go through when the other spouse was missing.”

  “What?” Cissy almost ran a stop sign. “Not wasting any time, is he? Do you know what lawyer he called?”

  “No.”

  “If you find out or hear anything else that could be helpful, you’ll call me, won’t you, Pauline?”