by J. D. Griffo
“What’s wrong?” Freddy asked.
“It’s Scarface, he’s struck again,” Jinx replied.
She held up one of the photos Wyck sent her, and Freddy immediately understood. It was a photo of a woman, lying face down on the ground, with a butcher knife sticking out of her back.
“Omicidio, omicidio ovunque,” Freddy said.
The shocks kept coming. “Are you speaking Italian?” Jinx asked.
Nodding, Freddy replied, “If I plan on making you my long-term girlfriend, I thought it would be a necessary asset.”
“What does it mean?”
“Murder, murder everywhere,” he replied.
“You sound like Wyck, only more poetic,” Jinx said.
“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Freddy said. “And because I’m the best boyfriend ever in the history of boyfriends, what do you say we finish this date at the morgue?”
“As creepy as that sounds, it’s music to my ears.”
Incredibly, things got even creepier for the couple on the drive to the morgue. About two blocks from St. Clare’s Hospital, Jinx’s cell phone rang. She looked down at her phone expecting to see Wyck’s name, knowing how anxious he could get whenever they received a juicy tip, but the caller was listed as unknown.
“Hello,” Jinx said.
“My sister’s been killed.”
Jinx didn’t recognize the female voice on the other end of the phone, but she understood instinctively that the caller was related to the dead body currently lying on a metal slab in the morgue.
“Who is this?” Jinx asked.
“Gabi Rosales,” the woman replied. “You gave me your card when you were looking for my sister Inez. She got herself killed.”
A mental picture of the woman staring at her through the crack in the front door flashed through her mind. She also remembered Arturo, the young boy who had answered the door, and a wave of sadness took hold of Jinx as she realized Inez Rosales’s son was now without a mother. She silently prayed for the boy and thanked God that she still had a firm hold on her own humanity.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Gabi,” Jinx said.
“I told Inez not to get mixed up with those people,” Gabi replied.
Her voice was alternating between emotions, so her words were tinged with both sadness and anger. Gabi had more to tell, and Jinx needed to make her talk. The best way to do that was to throw Gabi’s words back at her.
“What people, Gabi?” Jinx asked. “How did your sister get herself killed?”
“Because she would never listen to me, she always wanted to take the easy way, and the easy way got her killed!” Gabi cried.
In her short journalistic career, Jinx had already interviewed a wide range of people, from gardening enthusiasts to murder suspects, but they all had one thing in common: They all needed an objective voice to steer the conversation.
“Gabi, how did Inez get herself killed?” Jinx asked.
“She was going to be deported by ICE,” Gabi replied.
The full force of a light bulb turned on in her brain. ICE stood for Immigrant and Customs Enforcement, but to a frightened young boy a more relevant way to comprehend the incomprehensible was to call it the Snowman. Which is the person Inez’s son told them took her away.
“Was Inez killed in some kind of altercation with ICE?” Jinx asked.
Like most concerned citizens, Jinx knew the immigration situation in the country was heated, and for many like Inez it was frightening. But she also knew that most of the men and women of ICE were doing their job and doing it well.
“No, Inez got mixed up with some other people. I don’t know who they were, but it got her killed,” Gabi explained. “I saw it happen.”
“You saw your sister get killed?” Jinx exclaimed.
“Jinx, who are you talking to?” Freddy asked, one eye on the road and one eye on his girlfriend.
Jinx grabbed Freddy’s hand, and with her eyes asked him to be quiet and give her a few more minutes to figure things out. True to his claim of being the best boyfriend ever, Freddy did just that.
“She was stabbed in the back by a man with a scar on his face, the whole right side,” Gabi said, now sobbing. “I thought he was going to kill me too, so I ran and he ran after me! I don’t know why, maybe because God wouldn’t let Arturo be alone without someone to take care of him, but the man with the scar stopped chasing me. I went back later to my sister, but her body was gone.”
“I think I might know where she is,” Jinx said. “Could you text me a photo of Inez so I can be sure?”
Ten minutes later, as she and Freddy stood over the newest unlucky resident of the morgue at St. Clare’s Hospital, Jinx compared the face of the corpse to the photo of Inez Rosales on her cell phone. She wasn’t at all surprised to find that the two were a match.
CHAPTER 16
Una bomba a orologeria.
The inside of Alberta’s kitchen was almost as cramped as the inside of Inez’s cold chamber. A corpse, quite possibly, had more room to stretch its legs. If it could.
As was typical on a Sunday afternoon, the table was filled with plates of food. Alberta’s homemade lasagna, made by following her grandma Marie’s time-honored family recipe, was in the center of the table surrounded by a bowl of fried meatballs, another bowl overflowing with sausage, braciole, and some more meatballs smothered in tomato sauce, an oversized plate of rigatoni—almost al dente, which was Sloan’s preferred way to cook pasta—and two mismatched gravy boats filled to the brim with Alberta’s gravy.
Two snack trays had been propped up against the wall to house the many small bowls and trays of cold cuts, olives, peppers, chunks of provolone cheese, three huge hunks of mozzarella, pickles, and slices of buffalo tomatoes sprinkled with parsley and oregano. There was even a plate of burrata, an Italian cheese that looked like a ball of mozzarella, but was softer and creamier in texture and had more of a buttery taste. Alberta wasn’t a fan and thought it was too milky, but it was Freddy’s new favorite, so she made sure she included it in the gastronomically enticing display.
There were also two pitchers of Red Herrings, various other bottles of soft drinks, and bottles of red and white wine placed wherever there was space on the table or the kitchen counter. Looking around the room, Alberta had no idea where she was going to put the four trays of dessert that were chilling in the refrigerator, but she knew, like every Italian woman has known since she cooked her first meal, she would find room. Food, in an Italian kitchen, would always find a place.
But the kitchen wasn’t only overflowing with mouth-watering dishes; it was jammed with people too.
Alberta, Helen, Joyce, and Jinx were joined by Sloan, Freddie, Vinny, Tambra, and even Father Sal, whom Helen had invited to join them after he presided over morning mass. And, of course, Lola, never one to miss out on a chance to socialize, roamed throughout the kitchen, and between courses was passed around from lap to lap.
It was a joyous, relaxed, and, as expected, loud afternoon filled with laughter and reminiscing and not one mention of murder or dead bodies. Until Vinny and Tambra had to leave to question a possible suspect in the case of an illegal import and export business they helped break. The warehouse was located in Newton, but the driver of one of the vans was caught speeding in Tranquility, which was how the local police force got involved.
Armed with two plastic bags filled with cannolis, anisette cookies, and Helen’s famous Sicilian cassata cake, Vinny and Tambra thanked Alberta for the delicious meal and said their good-byes before leaving.
“Thank God they’re gone,” Jinx exclaimed.
“Jinx! That’s a terrible thing to say,” Alberta admonished.
“It isn’t them, Mrs. Scaglione,” Freddy said. “It’s about the dead body we met last night.”
After the gasps, the shrieks, and the chatter in response to this shocking news subsided, Jinx was able to elaborate on Freddy’s opening statement.
“I got a call from Wyck last night and he tipped me o
ff that an unidentified woman was found stabbed in Tranquility Cemetery,” Jinx explained. “The woman turned out to be Inez Rosales.”
Another round of gasps and shrieks filled the room. The ruckus was too much for Lola, as she felt, once again, that the novelty of being in the company of humans had worn off. Head held high, she sauntered out of the kitchen in search of a quieter section of the house to take a nap. Alberta, on the other hand, felt like she needed to take a sedative.
“A third murder?” she said in disbelief. “That makes three dead bodies.”
“We can count, Berta,” Helen said.
“All found with knives sticking out of their backs,” Alberta added.
“Also too, we’ve made that connection,” Joyce said.
“Teri Jo and Dominic’s murders are definitely linked to Inez’s killing,” Freddy declared.
“Which means we have a bona fide serial killer on the loose,” Sloan announced.
“You people have the most delightful dinner conversation,” Father Sal said, raising his glass of pinot grigio. “Will we be discussing the autopsies over brandy?”
For a moment, Alberta pondered Sal’s comment and couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. Ever since she and the rest of her family embarked on their career as amateur detectives, their small talk did often navigate toward the macabre and deadly, but they did, after all, have a job to do and it wasn’t going to get done by talking about the weather and celebrity gossip. No, they needed to discuss details of the murders, no matter how grisly, as well as the new and curious clues that sometimes fell into their laps. Or in this instance were given to them from one of the corpses themselves.
“This all leads back to the clock,” Alberta announced.
“The clock Teri Jo gave us to deliver to Inez?” Joyce asked.
“No, the clock in my bedroom with the lazy second hand,” Helen quipped. “Berta, go get it so we can do some further investigation.”
While Alberta left the room to retrieve the item in question, the rest of the group cleared the table of most of the remaining dessert dishes and plates. Jinx refilled everyone’s glass with what was left of the Red Herring, and once again Father Sal marveled at the post-dinner ritual.
“It’s like I’m back on the set of Law and Order,” he said.
“You were on TV?” Sloan asked.
“No,” Sal replied, “I was a consultant for an episode involving the murder of a young priest.”
“Can you remember what it was like to be a young priest?” Helen asked.
“I was asked to participate because of my expertise in Catholic ceremonial rights and Christian music,” Sal replied. “The young man’s body was found inside a church organ, and every time the organist played a B-flat there was this squooshy sound, and let me tell you, there are lots of B-flats in our hymns.”
“You got paid for this?” Freddy questioned.
“Handsomely,” Sal replied. “Bought myself the most comfortable Italian leather loafers. In chestnut. With tassels.”
“Maybe when they do an episode about the murder of an old priest they can base it on your life,” Helen cracked. “Berta, hurry up!”
Perfectly on cue following Helen’s plea, Alberta entered the kitchen holding the clock, with Lola in tow. She placed the clock in the center of the table and for a few moments everyone stared at it, expecting it to do something other than just sit there.
“You know what this is?” Freddy asked.
“What?” Jinx replied.
“Una bomba a orologeria,” he said proudly.
“Listen to him,” Sloan said. “Sounds like someone’s been brushing up on his Italian too.”
“I have,” Freddy announced. “Ever since I met Jinx and the rest of you, I’ve realized I haven’t truly embraced my Italian heritage, so I started taking some online classes to learn Italian.”
“And one of the first phrases you learned was how to say ‘ticking time bomb’? Jinx questioned.
Blushing slightly, Freddy replied, “Dude, I’m on level three.”
“We’re very proud of you, Freddy,” Alberta said. “But if this clock really is a ticking time bomb, we better figure out what secret it holds before it explodes.”
They refocused their gaze on the clock and stared at it as if they were willing the clock to somehow acquire supernatural powers and suddenly speak to them in an otherworldly voice to explain the connection between the Rizzoli twins and Inez Rosales. What reason could there be that resulted in their deadly bond? What was the common denominator among the deceased that linked them together? The clue had to be contained within the clock, but no matter how long they examined it, nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at them. Until Lola jumped onto the table.
Like the rest of the group, the cat wanted to get a closer look at the clock, not to discover an unseen clue, but to play with it. Intrigued by its shape and the way the others in the room were gazing at it, Lola pounded across the table until she was right next to the clock. Purring, she walked counterclockwise around it, rubbing her body against the clock as if it was Alberta’s leg and it was an hour past dinner.
“Dio mio! Scendere dal tavolo!” Alberta cried.
Lola followed orders and started to jump off the table. At the last second, however, she turned around to avoid landing at Alberta’s feet and jumped off the other side of the table, closer to the sink. The quick, spontaneous movement caused Lola’s body to teeter and slam into the clock, so when Lola landed on the linoleum she had to scurry out of the way to avoid being hit by the clock, which crashed onto the floor seconds after Lola ran into the safety of the living room.
“Gina Lollobrigida!” Alberta screamed. “You are in so much trouble!”
“Hold on, Gram,” Jinx said. “Lola may have just saved the day.”
Lying on the floor among the pieces of the broken clock was a small manila envelope. A clue within a clue. Teri Jo may have asked them to deliver the clock to Inez, but the real prize was hidden inside of it.
“Do you have any latex gloves in your pocketbook, Aunt Helen?” Jinx asked.
“I don’t leave home without them anymore,” she replied, pulling a pair from her purse to prove her point.
When Jinx finished putting on the gloves, she picked up the envelope and placed it on the table. The envelope wasn’t sealed, so she simply had to undo the clasp and pour the contents onto the table. What came pouring out were common items found in almost every adult’s possession. A social security card, a driver’s license, and a passport. Nothing strange about that. Until Jinx read the name on the social security card. It wasn’t Inez Rosales, Teri Jo Linbruck, or even Theresa Rizzoli. It was Danielle Ferguson.
“Who in the world is Danielle Ferguson?” Alberta asked.
“I don’t know, Gram,” Jinx replied. “But she looks exactly like Inez Rosales.”
Jinx held up the driver’s license and the passport, and the photos on each document were of the same woman. She then took out her phone and showed them the photo Gabi Rosales had texted to her. All three photos were of the same woman, who was currently dead and housed in a cold compartment at St. Clare’s morgue.
“Teri Jo was delivering fake documents to Inez because she was an undocumented immigrant,” Joyce surmised. “Which is why the Snowman or ICE picked her up.”
“What does the clock have to do with any of this?” Freddy asked.
“Because the Tranqclockery is some kind of smuggling ring for the sale of illegal documents,” Alberta explained.
“Owen O’Hara’s Tranqclockery?” Freddy asked.
“Are there two clock shops in town with the same stupid name?” Helen responded.
“Berta, I follow your logic, but I find it hard to believe that Owen has anything to do with something like this,” Joyce said. “I realize you don’t know him very well, but you have met him.”
“You must have figured out that he’s a hypochondriac, nervous, and just a bit eccentric,” Sloan added.
“Agree
d, he’s all of those things,” Alberta said.
“I don’t think the man has any friends,” Sloan said. “How can he be the head of a corrupt operation?”
“The evidence is right here in front of us,” Alberta replied. “The documents were well hidden within the clock that Teri Jo was going to deliver to Inez. Teri Jo worked less than fifty feet from the clock shop, so that connects Owen.”
“You’re right, Alberta,” Sloan said. “If Teri Jo was working alone she would’ve hidden the documents in something she found at the diner, not the shop next door.”
“Even if the clock came from the Tranqclockery, there is the possibility Owen knew nothing about it,” Jinx mused. “Just because he met with Scarface doesn’t mean he was working with him or knew Scarface was using his shop illegally. He could have been an unwitting pawn in this whole operation.”
“That makes a lot more sense,” Joyce said.
“It doesn’t rule him out completely,” Alberta argued.
“Not just yet,” Jinx said. “But I think I know a way to prove Owen’s innocence. Or lack thereof.”
* * *
The next morning Alberta and Helen went to the Tranqclockery to see if Jinx’s plan yielded any results. It did, but not the kind they were expecting.
The women had planned to go to the clock shop and continue the discussion Alberta began with Owen about her phony search to find a clock for Helen’s birthday. The ruse would be that Helen found out about Alberta’s quest and was so thrilled at the idea of recapturing a piece of her past that she wanted to check out the inventory at the Tranqclockery to see if there was a clock that reminded her of the one that she remembered from so long ago. The real reason they wanted to go was to find out if Owen read Jinx’s online article that was posted on The Herald’s website late last night.
If Owen didn’t mention reading the article, Joyce was going to text Alberta while she was presumably in Owen’s presence, to say that she just had to read her granddaughter’s latest journalistic masterpiece. The problem was, the Tranqclockery was closed and Owen was nowhere to be found. Veronica, however, was in full view, and she did not look happy.