When I arrived on the job, I decided to focus my whole attention on work. If I concentrated on nothing but paperwork, the newly deceased would stay out of my mind.
“Good morning, Chelsey! How are you?” I heard Bryce call. He had a nice smile on his face, flashing his dimples at me.
“Hey, Bryce. It’s Friday, so I’m good!”
“Did you see the headlines?”
“I’d rather not think about it.”
We were suddenly interrupted by an awful sound coming from outside my window. An ear-piercing voice, singing off-key, and a horrendous-sounding guitar. We went to my window and looked out. I rolled my eyes and sighed. It was Nero. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to serenade me or scare the seagulls off the roof of the municipal building. I sighed again pathetically. Bryce laughed.
I opened the window and was about to say something, when I heard another window open.
“Shut the eff up, Zero.”
It was Bonnie. I chuckled.
“It’s Nero,” Mike said.
“Hey, Zero. You are disturbing the peace. Go home!” Bonnie shouted.
“Mind your own business, you wench.”
“What did you call me? You freakazoid. I’ll come down there and squash you like a bug, you short little shit.”
It occurred to me that Bonnie was having some anger issues. I didn’t blame her. It most likely had to do with that gunshot by that angry resident in Sunshine. Apparently, she wasn’t taking crap from any crazy residents in this village.
“I’d like to see you come down here and try, you cock blocker.”
“Oh, that is it!” I heard Bonnie say. She momentarily left the window, then returned with a flower vase filled with water. She threw it at him with such precision that I don’t believe any of the water landed on the ground. He was soaked.
“Ugh!” he yelled. “You got me all wet. And it stinks!”
I imagined it did stink. Jayce had those flowers delivered to Bonnie on her first day of work as a congratulations on her new job. Bryce and I were almost on the floor, laughing hysterically.
“I’m calling the cops,” Bonnie yelled.
Defeated, Nero sulked back to his car and drove away.
Bonnie came over to my office a few minutes later.
“That was a riot!” I said.
“You know, you need to tell him to leave you alone,” she said.
“I have. Multiple times. He won’t give up.”
“Well, be careful. File a police report if you have to.”
“I think he’s harmless. Just annoying and persistent.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be afraid to use your gun and shoot his gonads off if you have to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told her.
Bryce laughed all the way back to his office, shaking his head in disbelief, then laughing some more.
Nothing like Mike Nero to get my mind off of Crazy Beach; or uh, Coral Beach, I meant. I sat back down at my desk, to look at the new email that appeared on my screen. The village attorney asked me if I had received all the confirmation slips from the zoning mailing. I went to the drawer and pulled them all out. I compared them against the copy I had made of the mailing labels. I noticed about five people hadn’t signed for their mail. One of those people was Mr. Craft. He lived right in the middle of the future Village Pier. I shuddered at the thought that entered my head—did his death have anything to do with the Village Pier project? I shrugged it off. I thought I was being totally irrational, letting my mind wander like this. I was freaked out about seeing him dead and about Vinny’s death. I needed to forget about this.
I diverted my attention by thinking of my impending date with Kris for tomorrow instead. A few seconds of my reminiscing about staring into his eyes was just enough to get me moving in the right direction again. I looked down and realized my fingernails were a mess. I had to stop and get a quick manicure after work.
I emailed the village attorney with the results of my search, then picked up the pile of mail in my inbox and continued to work. I processed the mail, sent out late notices for unpaid dog licenses, and completed all the details for next week’s special meeting. I worked right through lunch, thinking I would leave a few minutes early to get to the nail salon. When four o’clock rolled around, I locked up my office, said goodnight to Bonnie and Bryce, and practically skipped out to my car. The weekend was here, I was about to get a relaxing hand massage, and the anticipation of seeing Kris had put me in a good mood.
I drove several blocks to Sylvia G’s Nail Boutique. It was in the area of the village that had townhomes intermingled with businesses. There was an open spot on the corner, across from the newest construction of townhomes. I parked there, then paid the parking meter. I looked up and realized I was in front of Babs Todaro’s house. I was a little worried about Babs after my last phone call with her—the way she was crying and all. I remembered she hadn’t called me today. I sort of wanted to knock on her door and check on her, but I felt awkward about intruding. I didn’t exactly make house calls in my line of work, and if I were a resident, I would find it odd for the municipal clerk to be dropping by to say hello. In New Jersey, we weren’t elected to our jobs as in other states. Going door-to-door wasn’t something we did.
I continued on to the nail salon, signed my name in the book, and chose a color from the OPI collection called “Heart Throb.” I thought it was fitting for my date tomorrow. A very stylish woman in her forties finished up her client and came over to check the book. “Chelsey Alton,” she called.
She told me to have a seat at Table Number One, and that she’d be right with me. I watched her while she took out sterilized instruments and clean towels for my appointment. I wondered how she achieved the perfect blonde highlights in her hair. I noticed that her makeup was perfect as well. It was clear to me that this woman had passed her cosmetology classes with flying colors. She had an hourglass shape, and wore a tight black pencil skirt.
“Hiya, sweetie. I’m Sylvia,” she said as she came back to the table and started soaking my nails. “You’re new here.”
It made sense that since she was the owner of the shop, she was put together perfectly. “I am new here. I work a few blocks away,” I told her.
“Oh, where at?”
I gave her the basics about me and we made small chitchat as she filed my nails.
“Do you know Babs Todaro?” I asked Sylvia. “She lives a couple townhouses down from here, the end unit.”
“Oh, that poor woman,” Sylvia said. “You know, she’s had a rough life with what her family put her through.”
“Really?” I asked. Sylvia must have liked to gossip, because she filled me in on a lot.
“I met her daughter,” I said. “She seemed nice.”
“Oh, yeah, her daughter is a doll. It’s her brother that’s a menace. You know he was a big mobster. Righetti.”
“Gino Righetti?” I asked.
“No, not Gino. Gino’s father, Rocco. He was arrested for so many things. Rumors have it that Gino took over the ‘family business’ after Rocco was murdered recently, but Gino never gets his hands dirty. If he’s doing anything, then it’s on the QT. Although he hangs around with all those other mobsters. The Iceman follows him around like a puppy dog.”
The Iceman? I thought. It took me a minute to put two and two together. Of course! Cal Zamboni. Iceman. Makes sense now.
“You mean that Cal Zamboni guy?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s him. Everyone knows he’s the heavy hand. He’s well known in these parts.”
“I see them all the time at the village offices. They want to build that Village Pier here in Coral Beach.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right, we all know about that. And God help anyone who gets in their way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Just that they have been over there, pestering all those poor people to buy their homes. I have a customer named Shirley Gibson, who said that her friend Shelly Meyers
found out from Linda Davis that a few of those residents sold out to Gino after weird things happened—fires, break-ins, disappearances. Those guys will stop at nothing to get what they want.”
I’m not sure I followed the whole train of people who were catalysts in supplying Sylvia with this sort of gossip, but I wondered if it was true. I supposed it could be like that old whispers game, where the information got lost in the translation and took on a life of its own. I thanked Sylvia and gave her a large tip. Little did she know that I was thanking her for the information as well as for the manicure.
I left the salon and drove to my parents’ house to pick up Mandy. I felt like I was missing out by not being around her all day, every day. My parents invited me to stay for dinner, telling me they wanted to hear all about how the new job was going. I thought it would be best not to tell them how it was really going. The reality was that the former clerk was killed, he blamed it on his “boss”—although not named—Dingo stared at my chest all day, and Marc and Winifred were incredibly rude, to say the least. “It’s going good,” was the best lie I could come up with. That was my story and I was sticking to it for now. There was a nagging voice inside my head, though, that kept telling me to run as far away as I could from this job. Then there was my brain telling me to give it a chance—that I had a crazy imagination and it would all work out fine. After all, it had only been two weeks. I would feel bad, quitting after only two weeks. I wasn’t usually a quitter. I bargained with myself to give it two more weeks to see how things went.
My dad went back to the kitchen and started chopping onions and garlic, preparing a tomato sauce. My mother went to the laundry room to finish washing clothes. My father and I were deep in conversation when my mother waddled out of the laundry room, wearing a housedress and holding a brown object in the palm of her hand. She extended her palm toward my father and said, “Is this poop?” She brought the object up to her nose and smelled it. “It doesn’t smell like poop.” I thought that my mother was surely losing it. She continued to talk. “This was in my white clothes. I don’t understand where this came from. This is because your father put this load of laundry in the washer.”
“Yeah, it’s my fault,” my father said.
My mother smelled the object again. “It doesn’t smell like poop,” she reiterated.
“If it was poop, it would be white,” my dad said.
“What do you mean, white?” my mother asked.
“You said it was in with the white clothes, so it would have been bleached. It would be white.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
“It’s just like when dog poop is out in the sun. The sun bleaches it; it turns white.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
At this point, I couldn’t control my laughter. I was laughing at them, not with them. This was a serious conversation to them. My mother smelled it again. “I don’t understand how this got into my white clothes.”
“What I don’t understand is why you are still holding it in your bare hand if you think it’s poop,” I said.
My mother walked over to the garbage can, flipped her palm upside down, and the unknown object landed in the garbage can with a clunk.
“If it were poop, it probably wouldn’t be so hard and heavy after going through the spin cycle,” I said, trying to tone down my amusement. My mother was not amused. My father, however, was.
“And you, Father. Stop putting loads in the load,” I told him.
My mother walked back into the laundry room. My father smirked.
“What I want to know is…where did the poop come from? You or my daughter?” I let out a giggle. My father laughed as well.
While they weren’t trying to be funny, my parents were a hoot. A good laugh was what I had needed to de-stress and start my weekend off by focusing on normal family life instead of murdering mobsters.
Chapter 12
I was thrilled to be going out on a second date with Kris. It had been three weeks since our first date. I dropped Mandy off at my parents’ house so I could get ready without interruption and so that Kris could pick me up like a normal person. I didn’t want to feel like a teenager being picked up with my parents grilling my date and telling me to be home at a certain time. It was turning out to be a beautiful spring day, so I chose to wear a mint green sundress with a white sweater and white strappy sandals.
Kris picked me up at noontime. I admired how attractive he was as he walked up the driveway. My hands shook as I opened the door, and he leaned in. I thought he was going to kiss me, so I leaned in, and he turned his head away and hugged me instead. I felt like a moron about the hug/kiss misconnection and hoped he didn’t notice the awkwardness or my nervousness.
After some quick pleasantries, he led me out to the car and opened the door for me. He is a true gentleman, I thought. My ex, Randy, never opened a car door for me. Randy was the last person I dated. He was Mandy’s father and we broke up immediately after she was born. I wasn’t sure if you could count my disastrous encounter with Kris as a first date, so I thought this was technically my first real date in two years. That thought only contributed to my nerves. I hoped everything would go smoothly this time.
I hopped in his car, a charcoal gray Passat, and he drove out to Belmar for the annual St. Patty’s day parade. Afterwards, we went to a local restaurant with a beautiful ocean view. There wasn’t much to tell—we talked, we laughed, we had a great time. On the drive home, he asked me out again for next Saturday and I happily agreed. He walked me to my door and then apologized for not having more time to spend with me. He had to pick up his son. Being a single parent myself, I understood and was anxious to get back to Mandy also. Kris picked up my hand and looked deep into my eyes. Then, to my surprise and chagrin, he shook my hand, said he had a nice time, turned around, and left.
I was confused, to say the least. I thought we had had such a great time. I chalked it up to nerves or the fact that he was trying to be a gentleman, then I went inside to call my parents and see if I should come pick up Mandy or if they were planning on dropping her off to me.
* * *
I woke up the next morning still feeling disappointed about the ending of my date with Kris. Very badly, I wanted to feel his soft lips against mine. My phone rang at seven o’clock, which was more like six a.m., because we had to change the clocks ahead an hour for daylight savings time at midnight.
“What are you doing up so early?” I asked Bonnie, after seeing her name pop up on the caller ID.
“I’m feeling lucky!” Bonnie said.
“Umm…do I dare ask?”
“Oh, puh-lease. I said I’m feeling lucking, not getting lucky.”
“That wasn’t what I had meant.”
“Feel like going to A. C.?”
“Atlantic City?”
“Well, what other A. C. is there?”
“Not a clue. I’ll have to see if my parents can take Mandy.”
“No need. My nanny is working today; she’ll watch Mandy for you. I thought we could go for a few hours. Get lunch, do a little gambling, then head back home.”
“All right. What time shall I be ready?”
We disconnected and I jumped in the shower. I thought about how nice it would be to have so much money that a person could afford their own personal nanny. Bonnie had two daughters, ages eight and ten, and she had the same nanny all those years. I was single since the moment Mandy was born. Sure, my parents were there to help, but it’s not the same as having a registered nurse helping you out so that you can get a good night’s sleep. My parents weren’t doing too many sleepovers and, even with my daughter being two years old, I still wasn’t getting enough sleep. I finished getting myself ready for the day, then I got Mandy ready to go. I buckled Mandy into the car and we set off for Ocean Avenue in Sunshine, to Bonnie’s house.
I arrived slightly after eight and, soon after, we headed out in Bonnie’s mint-condition Mercedes for the two-hour drive to A. C. I filled
Bonnie in on my date with Kris. This might have been a mistake on my part.
“What do you mean, he didn’t kiss you?” she asked.
“I don’t know; he walked me to my door, shook my hand, and left.”
“Maybe he’s afraid of your dog!”
“He’s not afraid of the dog.”
“Were you giving off the wrong vibe?”
“And what vibe would that be? We had a great time. The only vibe I was giving was ‘please kiss me.’”
“See, that’s why I keep telling you to grow some hair down there.”
“Bonnie!”
“I think you give off that vibe like you’re a little girl. A grown up woman wouldn’t have been thinking ‘please kiss me.’ You have to stop being a mouse and turn into a kitten.”
“What?”
“Yeah, a sex kitten. Take me, for example. If this was the first guy I had dated in over two years, I would have been thinking, ‘Take me now, big boy,’ not ‘Please kiss me.’”
“I’m sorry I told you.”
“Don’t be. I can help you—give you some pointers.”
“No thanks!”
“You’ve been out of the game for years now.”
“Um, excuse me, but you’ve technically been out of the game yourself—the dating game, at least. You’ve been married to Jayce forever.”
“Fine, you don’t want my advice? Then you don’t have to listen. Let me ask you one thing…where were your hands?”
“What?”
“Where were your hands?”
“When he walked me to the door?”
“When you were standing at the door, waiting for him to kiss you.”
“I don’t know. At my sides, maybe?”
“Well, next time, pay attention to your hands. You might be sending signals—insecurity, don’t touch me, something. Put your hands on his hip, but in front, and a little lower than the hip.”
“Oh, hell no! That sounds like you are telling me to put my hands on his parts.”
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