Northwest Cozy Mysteries #1

by Dianne Harman

  DeeDee’s face turned white, and her mouth fell open in disbelief. She didn’t trust herself to speak, because she suspected there was not a thing she could say to Roz right now that would not offend her sister. The last thing she wanted was for the two of them to argue before the wedding. Roz was staring at her, waiting for her to say something.

  “Um, I’m really surprised, that’s all,” DeeDee said after a long pause. “Clark seems like the epitome of an Ivy League gentleman, not someone whose family is involved in…” It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t get the last part out. Organized crime. “How did his family get mixed up in that sort of…stuff?”

  Roz took a deep breath. “First of all, this has got nothing to do with Clark, so please don’t hold it against him, okay?”

  DeeDee nodded. “Fine.”

  “Vinny grew up in the Cabrini-Green area in Chicago, with his parents and two older siblings, a brother and a sister. His parents were respectable people, but the family fell on hard times when his father was injured in an industrial accident and was unable to work.”

  “Go on,” DeeDee said. She’d heard about Cabrini-Green, which was a notorious example of a public housing project gone horribly wrong.

  “Vinny’s mother took sewing and cleaning jobs to make ends meet, so she was never home. Valentina looked after their sick father, while the eldest brother, Fonzie, went to community college and worked night shifts in a warehouse. Vinny was fifteen when Fonzie was killed in a fight. He was trying to drag his friend away from a group of thugs who were taunting them. Fonzie was fatally stabbed in the scuffle that broke out.”

  DeeDee’s insides were churning, and a chill ran through her bones. It was easy to make judgments about people, without knowing their story.

  Roz continued. “After Fonzie died, Vinny asked a local bar owner for a job. That man was Fingers Gambino, the Don of one of the most powerful Mafia families in Chicago. Eventually, Vinny became a made man. There was finally enough money for his mom to stay home and look after their father and they were able to move out of the projects.”

  Roz leaned back in her chair. DeeDee knew her sister was watching her intently for some sort of reaction, but DeeDee’s face remained impassive.

  “Valentina married a Scotsman, and they moved to New York,” Roz continued. “Clark’s father disapproved of Vinny’s type of work, but he understood why he did it. He wanted to be far enough away from Vinny so that Clark would never be exposed to any wrongdoing. Even so, Vinny and Valentina remained close, and Clark grew up thinking the world of Vinny.”

  “I see,” DeeDee said. “Wow. I guess that explains a lot, but how did Clark end up getting transplanted to Seattle from New York?”

  “After Clark finished his engineering degree at Yale, paid for by Vinny, a job came up at an engineering firm in Seattle that Vinny had connections with. Vinny arranged for Clark to interview for the position, and the rest, as they say, is history. Clark’s been in Seattle ever since. After his father died, his mother moved from New York to Seattle to be closer to Clark. Then when Valentina died, Vinny moved to Seattle from Chicago.”

  “I have to ask,” DeeDee said, “what’s Vinny like? Is he scary?”

  Roz laughed. “Not at all. You’ll like him a lot, I promise. We’re all going to dinner on Wednesday night before the wedding, so you and Jake can meet him then.”

  DeeDee hesitated. “Jake’s going to be away with work for a few days, so I don’t think he’ll be able to make it.” She thought that was just as well, as she wasn’t sure how she was going to break the news to him that her sister was about to marry into the Mob.

  DeeDee mustered what she hoped was a reassuring smile for Roz. “But I’d love to go and meet him. In fact, I’m looking forward to it already.”

  Even though DeeDee was lying through her teeth, the look of relief on Roz’s face was worth it.

  CHAPTER 3

  John Denton’s chair creaked as he stretched and stifled a yawn. He caught a whiff of his own stale sweat before reaching down to clear a space on the messy desk in front of him, which was strewn with dog-eared files and half-empty Styrofoam cups.

  “You want more coffee?” Mike Morelli, John’s partner in the Seattle Police Department for the past eleven years, asked as he stood up from his desk opposite John’s. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  John watched Mike through the dirty glass window of their office as he walked towards the kitchen area. Mike chatted with several people, but lingered at the desk of one of the female police dispatchers. Despite the fact that Mike was married with three children, it occurred to John that his partner seemed to have more than coffee in mind, judging by the way he was flirting with Eileen.

  The midnight shift at the West Precinct was quieter now that the seasonal DUIs had been booked. The period before the holidays always saw a new wave of offenders who considered themselves to be above the law. They were mostly professionals who’d imbibed a few too many drinks at the annual Christmas office party and decided to drive home. He was regularly offered bribes to let them off, but John wasn’t interested in the money. The only rich police officers he knew were dirty cops.

  He’d joined the Department as a baby-faced rookie, the same as his father and his grandfather before him, and considered himself privileged to serve. In four more years, he’d have twenty years of service in, and he’d be eligible for his police officer pension, but John felt like he had more to give. He still hadn’t made his mark on the force. He’d made hundreds of arrests, but less than half of those were for felonies, and the rest were for misdemeanors. There were no Distinguished Service medals coming his way any time soon.

  Rubbing his unshaven chin, John stared at the piece of paper he’d been doodling on for the past twenty minutes. The name Vinny Santora was the only thing written on it. He scored through the name with three heavy swipes of his pen, then smashed the paper into a ball. He raised his right arm, closed one eye, and aimed at the waste basket in the corner. He let out a loud sigh as he watched it fly across the room before landing on the torn linoleum along with a pile of other paper scraps.

  “You need some target practice, my friend,” Mike said, entering the office with two cups of coffee. He set one down on John’s desk. “Three sugars, just how you like it. How about we hit up the firing range after this?”

  John looked up. “Might not be a bad idea. I could do with letting off some steam. Got a lot on my mind right now.”

  Mike gave him a quizzical look. “What’s got you so bothered these days? Oh man, I hope you’re not still thinking about Vinny Santora.” Mike sauntered over to his desk, shaking his head. “I told you to forget about that guy. We’ve been over the file a hundred times. There shouldn’t even be a file. We’ve got nothing on him. I’m telling you, John, he’s not worth spending your time on.”

  John opened his mouth to speak, but Mike raised a finger. “Your dad already put the Colonnas to bed. Every possible connection between Santora and the Colonnas is a dead-end. Case closed.” Mike wiped his hands in the air.

  “I’m not buying it,” John said, pulling a well-worn file out of his top drawer. “After the Colonnas were indicted, the prostitution rings stopped for a while. It’s just too suspicious that they started up again around the same time as our friend Vinny arrived in Seattle.”

  John opened the mini-dossier they’d assembled on Vinny Santora and started leafing through its contents. He looked at the photo on the top of the pile. It was Vinny Santora dressed in a cashmere coat and smoking a cigar and had been taken at the Seattle Opera at McCaw Hall, where Vinny was a patron. A slim and tanned silver-haired Vinny was smiling at the camera, his arm around an elderly woman with white hair.

  “He’s a good-looking guy, you have to give him that,” John said, lifting the photo up to Mike. “He probably robbed that little old lady on the way home. Look at that steely glint in those beady eyes of his. I’m telling you, the guy’s dirty, t
hrough and through. If we can’t pin the rackets on him, there’s always the murder of Robbie Rivlin.”

  Mike sniffed and took a loud slurp of his coffee. His gaze followed Eileen the dispatcher, who was walking past the window of the office, before he turned back to John. “That Rivlin guy died in a traffic accident in Chicago thirty years ago. It’s a cold case, and anyway, as you well know, it’s not in our jurisdiction.”

  “Yeah, but Rivlin was the man that killed Fonzie Santora in a fight. He went down for manslaughter and was paroled within a few years for good behavior. After that he lived a nice quiet life as a delivery truck driver. Have you ever thought about who might have arranged for the brakes on his truck to fail?”

  “This is getting old,” Mike said. “From what I understand, it was an icy night, and the brake fluid was leaky.” Mike shrugged. “It was probably just one of those things.”

  John was getting riled. Mike had no skin in the game, but John did. John’s father had been the police detective responsible for bringing down the Colonna family in Seattle and getting them put behind bars for multiple life sentences. He wasn’t about to let Santora make a mockery of that good work. His father was elderly now and suffering with dementia, but he was still regarded as a hero in the Seattle Police Department. There was even a framed photograph of old Joe Denton hanging on the wall in the lobby of the Seattle Police Department headquarters. John glared at Mike, who rolled his eyes.

  “Fine,” Mike said. “I’ll give you five minutes to run it past me again, or I’m following Eileen into the photocopy room.”

  John gave a half-smile. “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ve been around to the topless bars, making inquiries. They’re all run by non-Italians, no Mob connections, and none of them has a police record. The bar managers have never met Vinny Santora, just his right-hand man, Al De Duco. “

  “Right,” Mike said, looking bored. “So what’s Vinny’s front?”

  “He’s been investing in legitimate businesses in the Seattle area for quite some time, is a patron of various charities, and moves in high circles.”

  “I wonder if he’d like to support the Police Officer’s Ball,” Mike joked.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” John said. “He’s probably greasing a lot of palms. There’s no wife, children, or other living family members apart from two male relatives. He has a nephew and a cousin.”

  Mike drained the last of his coffee from his cup. “Is that it? Let’s lock him up already.”

  “I’m telling you, Mike, the bars are money-laundering operations for illegal proceeds from prostitution. Vinny Santora thinks he’s above the law, but I wonder why he’s making regular trips to the Cayman Islands every few months?”

  “Working on his tan?”

  John slammed his fist on the desk. “You’re not taking me seriously, Mike, are you?”

  Mike stood up. “No, John, and neither will any other law enforcement officer in the United States. Talk to me when you’re thinking straight. But I’m telling you,” he said, making the shape of a gun with his fingers and firing them at John. “Don’t go messing with Santora and expect me to back you up. I’m out.”

  John watched Mike leave the office and stalk across the room to Eileen’s desk.

  It’s not Mike’s fault, John thought to himself. He doesn’t have the calling.

  John narrowed his eyes and squinted at the picture on his desk of Vinny. He couldn’t explain it to Mike without sounding crazy, but he knew he’d been chosen as the person to bring Vinny Santora down. It had first come to him in a dream he had over a year ago. His father may have started the work with the Colonnas, but it was up to John to finish it with Santora. The scourge of prostitution in Seattle had to be stamped out once and for all. His dream had been very clear about that.

  It had come to him not once, but several times. It was always the same voice and the same vision, and it was always bathed in light. Prostitution was an evil sin of the flesh, he knew that. When he wasn’t at work, John could be found at church, praying for the poor souls who had lost their way or been led astray. Whatever the reason for their predicament, John was ready to save them by closing down the prostitution rings operated by people like Santora, and bringing the sinners back to the light.

  He knew what he had to do. There was only one possible solution. From his online research, he’d been able to access the social media profiles of Theresa Larkin, the wife of Cecil, Vinny’s cousin. John had learned that Vinny’s nephew, Clark Blackstock, was getting married locally in a week, and Theresa had very kindly put the venue of the reception on her Facebook page. John had no doubt Vinny would be in attendance.

  John smiled, and stuffed Vinny’s photo in his pocket, so he could use it for target practice later.

  CHAPTER 4

  “I think I'm going to cry,” DeeDee said as she choked back an emotional gasp when her sister, Roz, stepped out of the dressing room in the exclusive downtown Seattle bridal salon of Luly Yang.

  They were attending the final dress fitting for the bridal party. Along with Roz, DeeDee and her daughter Tink were also trying on their dresses, so the seamstress could make any needed final alterations.

  DeeDee watched Roz glide towards the large full-length Louis XIV style mirror as if she were walking on air. Her sister's dress was breathtaking in its simple elegance. Made from oyster-colored satin, the heavy winter-weight fabric glowed with a pearlescent sheen. A strapless, fitted bodice fell straight across the décolletage, encrusted with pearls and shimmering Swarovski crystals down to the fitted waist. The skirt hugged and accentuated Roz’s curves in all the right places, skimming her hips and flaring out toward the bottom. At the back of the dress, the train was several feet long and adorned with the same delicate pearl and crystal hand–sewn jewels as the bodice. A short, open front bolero with cap sleeves in the same fabric, suitable for travel to and from a winter wedding and the church ceremony, completed the outfit.

  “You look stunning,” DeeDee said wiping a tear from her eye.

  Roz screwed up her face as she hoisted the front of the dress up under her shoulders, turned sideways and checked her silhouette in the mirror. Raising her arms horizontal, she started flapping them from side to side. I look like I have bat wings, don’t I?” she moaned. “Maybe the sleeves should be a little longer?”

  Tink let out a snort, and DeeDee gave her daughter a stern look.

  “What?” Tink exclaimed. “Roz, I promise you do not have bat wings. I would be the first to tell you if you did. Mom’s just tearing up with happiness. You look so gorgeous, I’d marry you myself. The dress is simply divine. If my dress wasn't so beautiful, I’d be jealous.”

  Tink shimmied across the room over to Roz, her own dress a blush-colored full-length bias-cut silk slip with shoestring straps. Just as Roz’s dress accentuated her voluptuous figure, Tink's complemented her petite frame. Tink lifted a handful of Roz’s auburn tresses, which were skimming her shoulders, and bunched them up high above her head.

  “Are you having an updo, or wearing your hair down?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Roz said, turning back to face her reflection in the mirror. “What do you think, DeeDee?”

  “Up, definitely,” DeeDee said with certainty. “With dangly earrings. Are you wearing anything on the neckline?”

  “There are plenty of statement necklaces here to choose from,” Tink said, her gaze wandering around the room.

  The Luly Yang bridal salon was sumptuously decorated with a cream colored carpet and crystal chandeliers. It had the feel of an intimate boudoir, but on the scale of a very grand five-star hotel suite. Around the walls of the room were glass cases showcasing shoes, jewelry, and narrow drawers spilling out delicate underwear fit for a princess.

  DeeDee stepped up next to Roz to help arrange her hair, while Tink wandered over to one of the glass cases. “There aren’t any price tags,” Tink whispered.

  DeeDee grinned at her. “That’s because if you have to ask, you
can’t afford it. There’s a good reason why this place is the destination of choice for international A-listers and celebrities. Mere mortals can only dream of owning something from here.”

  DeeDee’s ex-husband Lyle had once bought her a beaded evening bag from Luly Yang’s ready-to-wear collection, but that was as far as her Luly experience went. Until today, standing in her made-to-order Matron of Honor outfit, when it seemed like DeeDee’s mere mortal dream had come true.

  Her reverse silk, sleeveless form-fitting shift dress, in the same shade of blush as Tink’s, fell just above the knee, with a coordinating fitted jacket with three-quarter sleeves and one large button in the center under the bust. The two-piece outfit showcased DeeDee’s willowy figure to perfection. DeeDee thought she’d never owned anything quite so beautiful, including her own wedding dress. There was no danger of either her or Tink upstaging the showstopper of a bride, but in other circumstances both she and her daughter would easily be in a class of their own at any upscale event.

  The ringtone of DeeDee’s phone buzzed from somewhere inside the spaciously draped dressing room. She scrambled to find it in her purse, and smiled when she saw Jake’s name on the screen.

  “Hi,” she said, nodding as Jake chatted. The soft lilt of his voice drifted over her, and she lost herself for a moment thinking about weddings, Jake, and what Roz had said earlier that day in Starbucks about DeeDee getting married again. DeeDee had spoken the truth when she said she had never considered it. She would not have allowed herself to believe she would meet anyone who could capture her heart the way Jake had, certainly not after a long marriage and subsequent divorce. But now…

  “DeeDee, are you okay?” Jake’s voice sounded worried, and DeeDee came to her senses. There must be something about trying on bridal wear that was giving her strange ideas. She didn’t want Jake to think she had any thoughts about getting him down the aisle.