“He loved my lasagna,” she said proudly as her mother rolled her eyes. “He said my sauce was better than his mother’s. Sweeter.”
“The man doesn’t want to hear about your gravy, Noreen. Move along.”
It was obviously a heart attack. The marriage was solid. The kids were running the funeral home. It would stay in the family. When I asked Noreen whether she had noticed any changes in her husband’s habits or demeanor, she didn’t take offense.
“Mario always worked hard. It is a stressful business. He didn’t keep regular hours. He was often called away at night.”
Her mother just stared at me. I decided to press my luck.
“Was he away at night more often in the months leading up to his death?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “What do you think, Ma? Do you remember Mario working harder before he died?”
“I think this guy has wasted enough of our time. I’ll walk him to the door. You go rest.”
Noreen gave me an apologetic smile, shook my hand, and then did as she was told. Moira Regan followed me out the front door and shut it behind the both of us.
“What are you really after, buster? And don’t give me any more of that environmental bullshit. Why do you really want to know about my idiot son-in-law?”
I decided to take a chance. This was a tough Irish woman who apparently wasn’t too fond of Mario Spinelli. Maybe she knew something.
“I didn’t want to upset your daughter, Mrs. Regan, but I’m looking into the possibility that Mario’s death might not have been natural. Was the marriage as solid as your daughter claimed?”
She took a step toward me.
“You think my daughter killed him? Are you crazy? Noreen is a ditz, but she has a heart of gold. She really loved the bastard. Get lost.”
“Back off, lady. I don’t think your daughter did anything. I think someone else might be responsible, and not just for his death. But I’m running into a stone wall. Can you tell me anything?”
She crossed her arms on her massive bosom and smiled.
“You got balls, I’ll give you that. Noreen shouldn’t have married that guinea bastard. He’s been cheating on her for years. He had a goomah when he died. No funeral director makes that many night calls. You’d of thought the Island was hit with the bubonic plague or something the way he was always out at night.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve lived here since my husband died in 2004. Got my own apartment in the basement. It’s finished. Italians are big on finished basements, you ever notice that. Even has a kitchen.” She laughed. “To make the gravy.”
“Do you know who his girlfriend was?”
“No. You’re the detective. You find out.”
With that she lumbered back into the house and slammed the door. Having a battleaxe mother-in-law like Moira Regan living in the basement might be one reason Mario Spinelli rarely came home, but I was betting on her instincts. Father Zapo had said the dead men “weren’t saints” and I was now becoming convinced all three had affairs before they died. That didn’t mean they were murdered. But it didn’t mean they weren’t.
CHAPTER 11 – PARTY TIME
I grabbed a quick burger at Duffy’s on Forest Avenue and then went back to my office, where Abby and I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to figure out the new Windows operating system she’d installed on my laptop. The phone rang. After a moment she passed it to me with a disapproving look.
“It’s the plant lady.”
“I need a date for tomorrow night,” Nancy Robart said without preamble, “and I heard that you are now available.”
“Good Lord, Nance. Alice has only been gone a day. Besides, you’re engaged. It’s you who shouldn’t be available.”
Last I’d heard, Nancy, who ran the Snug Harbor Cultural Center, was working on husband No. 4, Clyde somebody. We’d been friends forever, occasionally “with benefits” whenever we were respectively between serious relationships. “Benefits” with Nancy were not for the faint of heart. She was one of the most sexually charged women I’d ever met, and a free thinker, except when she had her sights on a potential spouse. For a variety of reasons Nancy didn’t think I was marriage material. At one point she said I was perfect for keeping her “engine tuned.”
“I’m not available, you turkey,” she said now. “There will be no sex involved, before, during or after. My honey is away on business and I have to go to this goddamn Tiffany party.”
My sigh of relief was mixed with a tinge of regret. But just a tinge.
“What the hell is a Tiffany party?”
“It’s like a Tupperware party, except they sell Tiffany stuff. Some sort of new corporate outreach. The wife of one of the pricks on my board is hosting one and I have to go. Hell, it won’t be that bad. There will be plenty of booze and eats. You can hobnob with the swells. They’ll be a shitload of judges and lawyers there. Maybe you can ambulance chase some business.”
“Are you trying to set me up with one of your girlfriends?”
“I don’t have women friends, just rivals. I never spread my previous boy toys around. One never knows when they will come in handy again.”
“Boy toys?”
“Just kidding, kiddo. You know I love you like a brother. Incestuously, of course. Come on, keep me company. Maybe you can pick up a nice bauble for your new squeeze.”
“It’s really not my scene, Nance.”
“Pretty please. I’m feeling lonely myself. We can be bereft together.”
“I’m not bereft.”
“Yet. Pick me up at 7:30. If you don’t, I’ll think you only like me for my vagina.”
After I hung up I looked at Abby, who was glaring at me.
“What?”
“She didn’t waste any time, did she?”
“You heard what I said. Her next husband is out of town and she wants an escort.”
“That woman is a walking Venus Flytrap. Be careful. What’s this about a Tiffany party?”
I told her. She hooted.
“You’re kidding, right. You know those things are scams, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The stuff they sell at those things is hotter than your date.”
“They may be knock-offs, but I seriously doubt they’re stolen. Nancy says the place will be crawling with judges.”
“I don’t care if the Cardinal is there buying a new ring for you to kiss. Stuff is stolen.”
“How would you know?”
“My brother told me. Not that I just said that.”
“Your brother at the cable company?”
Having a brother who works for the cable company was one of many reasons that Abby was valuable to me, and everyone else in the building. Our service was the envy of Staten Island.
“Not him. My half-brother, Leon, in Bayonne. The gangbanger. Says he’s been tryin’ to get in on the party action for years but the Hispanics have it sewn up. They have someone in a Tiffany factory lifting stuff. Then they show up in a van at rich folks’ homes and make a fortune.”
Now I was interested.
“Why doesn’t Tiffany put a stop to it.”
“I don’t think they even know about it.”
Now that was really interesting.
“Maybe they’d like to.”
Abby smiled. She got it.
“I bet they would. And I bet they’d pay to find out. Not bad, boss. Nice to see you with your game face on again.”
CHAPTER 12 - UNDERCOVER
The party was on Longfellow Avenue on Emerson Hill, a dead-end street famous locally for being the site of the filming of a major portion of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather.
“Why people who have more money than God want jewelry bargains is beyond me,” Nancy said as I pulled into the street.
“It’s why they have so much money. Who’s throwing this shindig?”
“Norma D’Elicio. Husband owns D’Elicio Construction. A real piece
of work, Ed is. You better grab the first spot you see. Their house is near the top of the street but there won’t be anything there.”
She was right. All the parking near the D’Elicio house, a massive Tudor, was taken, including those in front of fire hydrants. There were several cars in the driveway, as well as a black van from which two rough-looking men were unloading fold-up tables and large felt-covered boards. There was no wording on the side or back of the van. But it had a license plate, which I committed to memory. The men didn’t look like anyone who worked for Tiffany. In fact, they looked like lawn guys. I immediately regretted my facile and politically incorrect assumption, even though Abby had mentioned the scam had Hispanic players. Just because they weren’t wearing suits didn’t mean they weren’t corporate employees of some sort.
“Do those men look like they work for Tiffany?” I asked Nancy as we followed the men up the walk into the house.
“No, they look like lawn workers. Funny, I would have expected the van to be blue.”
“Why blue?”
“The blue box, silly. It’s a Tiffany trademark.”
“I’m a Cracker Jack man myself.”
We followed the workers into the house. They peeled off and headed toward the dining room, where I could see some displays already set up on a table. I looked around for the bar. It turned out there were two of them, one in the living room and one in an enclosed sun porch. And you couldn’t turn around without bumping into a waiter or waitress holding a tray of canapés. The evening did have some possibilities after all. Nancy was soon enveloped in conversations with a variety of people. I nodded, smiled and bounced between the bars. I was talking to a Supreme Court judge I knew when I heard Norma D’Elcio shout for everyone’s attention.
“We’re going to start the jewelry sale. Please come into the dining room.”
We gathered around a very attractive Hispanic woman who was standing in front of the dining room table, on which were trays of jewelry. Behind the trays were several of the felt-covered display boards with more jewelry.
“My name is Rosa,” the woman said. “If you have any questions, please ask me or Carmel.” She pointed at another woman standing at the other end of the table. “All the jewelry is clearly marked, and severely discounted, but perhaps I can do better on certain items, or for multiple items.”
A woman asked, “Are they knockoffs?”
“No, no,” Rosa said vehemently. “This is all original Tiffany, and new, not resale. You can see the markings.”
Norma chimed in, “It’s part of a new Tiffany promotion to generate business at the stores, right, Rosa?”
“That’s right. None of this jewelry is really high-end. Tiffany wants people to know that they have something for everyone, in all price ranges. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you will be getting much of this jewelry near cost. Tiffany is not looking to make money with this program, only generate future business and customer loyalty.”
She was really good.
Everyone started picking through the jewelry. It was mostly silver, and priced between $25 and $500. The most expensive items were some pearl necklaces. I knew something about Tiffany prices, and I estimated that everything was at least 70% discounted. Not surprisingly, the women hit the table like bluefish hitting a school of menhaden. Even the men went a little nuts. I saw the Civil Court judge flip a coin with a Criminal Court counterpart over a flask they both spotted at the same time.
Nancy bought some hoop earrings. I bought a keychain for $25, one of those horseshoe things with a ball at one end that unscrewed. I wouldn’t use it, having never found anything better to hold a set of keys than the little plastic crampons they sell at novelty stores. I spotted a silver compact that I thought Alice might like. I didn’t have enough cash on me, but that didn’t matter. Checks were readily accepted and Rosa and her helper also had hand-held credit card readers.
There was a lot of “oohing and ahhing,” and in a half hour most of the merchandise was gone. I met Nancy back at the sun porch bar.
“Do me a small favor,” I said. “Go over to that Rosa woman and ask her how you can contact her. Tell her you’d like to host a party like this.”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“I could just ask Norma.”
“Maybe we’ll have to. But I’d like to see what Rosa says.”
She looked at me.
“And for some reason you don’t want to ask her yourself. Because it would make her suspicious. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you later. I’ve just deputized you. So mosey on over there. I have to check something outside.”
“Mosey?”
“Isn’t that what Wyatt Earp would say?”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
I wandered out the front door and walked to the van. The two workmen were leaning against it, smoking.
“How you guys doing? Can I bring you out something to eat, or some coffee?”
“No, thank you,” one of them said. He had a gold earring. I wondered if it was from Tiffany.
“It’s a madhouse in there,” I said. “I got between some broad and some necklace and almost got knocked over.”
They both laughed.
“Tell us about it,” the guy with the earring said. “Sometime they don’t even wait for us to unpack the shit.”
To further break the ice, I grubbed a cigarette from them. I don’t smoke. Or at least I don’t buy. As I took a drag I recalled my last experience with cigarettes. Nando Carlucci was blowing smoke in my face and putting them out on my chest. Better than the other way around, I guess.
“Well, it’s going to be an early night for you guys. It’s almost over.”
“Shit, man,” the other guy said, “we got two more parties tonight.”
When I got back inside, Nancy wrinkled her nose at me.
“Did you have a cigarette? Yuck.”
Considering what I’d seen her smoke, I thought she was being a little hypocritical. Maybe Clyde had her turning over a new leaf.
“It was business.”
“So you didn’t enjoy it.”
“I didn’t say that.” We were standing by the bar. A waiter with a tray of appetizers walked into my kill zone and I popped a crab miniature in my mouth. “Is that better?”
“Oh, yes. Now you have crustacean breath. Charming”
Rosa and her crew broke down their displays in remarkable time and not 10 minutes later Norma D’Elcio and the wait staff set out a splendid buffet on the dining room table.
***
“Why did you want me to get that information from the woman running the sale?”
I was driving Nancy home. She had just handed me the business card she had gotten from “Rosa Casablanca, Senior Jewelry Consultant.” I told her what I suspected.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to get the lay of the land first.”
“The lay of the land was your date tonight, big boy. Not that you will ever find out again. I can’t believe you just let me commit a crime.”
“If the stuff is hot, I was the only one at the party who committed a crime by knowingly buying stolen goods.”
“Jesus Christ, Alton. There were judges and assistant D.A.’s in there. A couple of state senators. Most of my board.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nobody you know gets hurt. An iconic company like Tiffany wants to get the bad guys, not to embarrass innocent people.”
We drove in silence the rest of the way. When I got to Nancy’s house near Snug Harbor I noticed she was smiling. I had seen that smile.
“I can almost hear the wheels turning in that conniving brain of yours, Nancy.”
“It just occurred to me that Ed D’Elicio wants to be the next chairman of my board.” I could see where this was going. She didn’t disappoint me. “And he just hosted a party where some of Staten Island’s finest bought stolen property. And I didn’t see anyone being charg
ed tax, did you?”
The tenure of executives running charitable or artistic institutions in the borough depends on two things: the ability to fundraise, and political or personal leverage. Nancy could wheedle a contribution out of a homeless person and had enough dirt on the people who mattered to run things at Snug Harbor the way she wanted. I had supplied some of the dirt when some of her board members, who wanted unfettered access to the Harbor’s bank account, tried to oust her when she wouldn’t bed them. It wasn’t my finest hour, but Nancy and I go way back. For all her faults, she is an extremely talented and honest C.E.O. and I wasn’t going to let a bunch of men, including a pederast and a couple of thieving contractors, run her out of the job she loved. Now, I had apparently just put another arrow in her blackmail quiver.
“I told you that no one else but me committed a crime, Nance.”
“Ed is dumber than a sponge. He wouldn’t know that.”
I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.
“Hey, you know what, Alton?”
“What?”
“This is the first time I went undercover for you without going under the covers.”
CHAPTER 13 – SLEEPY HOLLOW
On Monday, I filled Abby in on the jewelry party and gave her Rosa Casablanca’s business card. I told her what I wanted her to do.
“It’s not a local area code,” she said.
“Probably a cell. She’d be careful. Do you think you can act like a rich white woman?”
“Be easier if I started out as a rich black woman. How about a raise?”
“Do your best.” I thought of something. “If Rosa is cautious, we should be, too. Can you get your hands on a throwaway with a non-Staten Island area code, preferably New Jersey. I don’t want her knowing we called from here.”
She looked at me like I had two heads.
“Gee. Remember my brother, Leon the gangbanger? He might have a few hundred of those.” She picked up her phone and punched some numbers. “Leon. It’s Abby. I need one of your Jersey throwaways. None of your damn business. Where are you? Great.” She listened for a moment. “I didn’t mean great like that. I mean it’s convenient you’re close by. How’s it look for you? Well, that’s good, isn’t it? They gonna break for lunch? OK. I’m buying. Where do you want to go? I’ll meet you there. Thanks. Love you.”
SIREN'S TEARS (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 3) Page 8