Lethal Play

by Loretta Giacoletto

  Minutes later Ria turned her head to the right, then to the left. Ever so gently she touched one forefinger to the tiny studs in each ear, and smiled her approval. “Perfect. Thank you.” She slid off the stool and put her good arm around Francesca’s waist. “Thanks, Mom. You really are super.”

  After leaving Forever, they strolled down the Mall’s main thoroughfare where Francesca heard her name called out. “Keep walking and don’t turn around,” she told Ria.

  “I bet we could outrun her.”

  Too late, Sunny Meredith caught up with them.

  “Imagine meeting you here,” Sunny said. “You too, uh …”

  “Ria … and if we don’t hurry, my mom’s going to be late for her makeover.”

  “Marvelous!” Sunny peered into Francesca’s face, pursed her lips into an exaggerated pout. “And if I do say so, as your sister in widowhood, not one moment too soon. Will this be the full monty or what?”

  “Uh … the usual, I’m kind of rushed for time.”

  “Then I won’t keep you. But wait just one sec, did you hear the latest? The police are questioning some of the Pegasi players, which ones I’m not privy to as yet but I intend to call those detectives and demand their names. Honestly, you just never know how soccer affects some people. Do you think Ted Logan is involved? After all, he did try to kill himself. Who knows, it could’ve been a cry for help or worse yet, a guilty conscience. What do you think?”

  Don’t make me think, not now. “Gosh, Sunny, I don’t—”

  “Mo-m, your makeover.”

  “Go, Francesca, go. Don’t worry about me.” Sunny held an imaginary thumb and pinky phone to her ear. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Hurry, Mom, or you’ll be late.”

  Sunny turned on her heel and waved from over her shoulder. Francesca had almost forgotten the impending afternoon, damn.

  “We’re still on my time, Mom, and you definitely need a new look.”

  “Don’t tell me there really is a makeover?”

  “Just your face, that’s all Perri could get on such short notice. She made the appointment yesterday.”

  *****

  The posh salon known as It’s All About You found Francesca wrapped in a vinyl cap, all cozy in a cushiony swivel chair while Ria hovered nearby. Soft jazz filtering through the walls invited Francesca to release her thoughts to a heavenly void. Ben, are you out there? Maybe so because she heard Ria cough and then crack the knuckles on her good hand, one at a time and almost as grating as Detective Reardan drumming his fingers.

  “What next,” Francesca said, “a one-handed cartwheel.”

  “I wish. Just wait ‘til this plaster comes off.”

  “Are you telling me you miss gymnastics.”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” Ria checked out the autographs covering her cast. “We were five minutes late. I hope they didn’t give your appointment to someone else.”

  “Not a problem,” said a voice from the doorway. “I am the artiste known as JaMe. That’s capital J-a-capital M-e, Jay-me, with an accent on both syllables.”

  JaMe the artiste presented a picture perfect in black—skin-tight t-shirt, pencil-slim pants, and high-top designer shoes no jock would ever consider wearing. His exotic features must have been derived from a mix of multiple races, his questionable gender adding to the confusion. He had the body of a fourteen-year-old boy, the face of an eighteen-year-old girl, and eyebrows as perfect as Angelina Jolie’s. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, almost like a cap awaiting its wig. When he extended his artistic hand to Francesca, she couldn’t help but notice his nails—oval-shaped and buffed to a high sheen.

  “You must be Mrs. Canelli, so pleased to meet you. And Ria, darling girl—sit, sit.” He motioned to a sculptured chair. “I’ve heard nothing but good. How’s the arm?”

  “Better, maybe you could sign my cast.”

  “Later, darling, first we take care of business.”

  He stepped back, palm cupping his chin while he scrutinized Francesca’s face. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” he said, “serious but not mission impossible. I’ll be right back with my hammer and chisel—that’s a joke, by the way.”

  As soon as he left, Ria giggled. “Did you see, Mom, he’s wearing lipstick and mascara.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Whose idea was this?”

  “Perri’s at first, but I suggested we do it today, in case you or Matt go to jail.”

  “Trust me, Sweetie, we’re not going anywhere.”

  JaMe returned with a tray, also black, of cosmetic secrets, which he arranged in a specific order on the side table. After positioning an overhead lamp to shine on Francesca’s face, he tilted her chin to one side and then the other. Using a magnifying glass, he inspected every pore, every crease, and every wrinkle, all the while shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk … so much to do, so little time.”

  “I could come back,” Francesca said.

  “Absolutely not, Perri Rivola would kill me.”

  “You know Perri?”

  “Doesn’t everyone? What a super duper amazing lady. So which of you is older? Never mind, with sisters it’s such a loaded question. Now, let’s get started. Of course, a deep cleansing would be ideal but I understand you have a pressing engagement this afternoon so we’ll have to settle for a temporary fix. It’s just as well you didn’t attempt any cosmetic enhancements this morning.”

  “But I did. It just doesn’t show.”

  “Sh-h, quiet please and leave the jokes to me.”

  She opened her eyes to behold his unblemished skin and perfect pores. His breath exuded a trace of parsley when he spoke.

  “Working on a clean slate is an absolute imperative. Fortunately for you, I’m licensed to perform miracles on unwanted facial hair.”

  Francesca touched a finger to her watch. “I have to be out of here in forty-five minutes.”

  “And I’ve already heated the wax. Relax, please.”

  The depilatory procedure was nothing new to Francesca, but she wasn’t prepared for JaMe’s two-handed technique that showed no mercy. Wax, press, and strip—both sides at the same time. No time to breath, no time to regroup. First the eyebrows. “A-a-a-a-h!” Then her upper lip. “Sweet Jesus, I’m going to throw up. A-a-a-a-h!”

  “Not so loud, Mom. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Hang on, Mrs. C. The worst is over. Oops, not before the briar patch on your chin, or my name’s not JaMe.”

  “A-a-a-a-h!”

  “Better?” He handed her a tissue. “You do look a little pale. Can I get you something, a thimble of spirits, smelling salts?”

  Spirits, did he say spirits? Francesca almost said yes, but then remembered her precinct appointment. She circled a finger gesture for him to continue.

  After a quick pat of coconut balm, JaMe cleaned her face, applied a light base, followed up with shadowing and tint. “A little rouge on the cheekbones works wonders,” he said, applying gentle strokes. “Actually, if it weren’t for those droopy lids, your eyes wouldn’t be half-bad.”

  By now she’d recovered enough to speak. “As for eye shadow, I prefer dark brown.”

  “Humor me, I think green.”

  Francesca pointed to her watch. “One minute, that’s all.”

  “I’ll do my best but please remember: a miracle worker, I’m not.”

  On went the eye shadow—his green—followed by the mascara. “Oops,” he said. “I do believe I missed a few stray eyebrows. Not a problem, the wax is still hot than you know what.”

  “Enough, I am so out of here.” Francesca sat up, tore off the vinyl cape. “Let’s go, Ria.”

  “Not before I get my cast signed. Okay, JaMe?”

  “You bet, darling. Tell your Auntie Perri hello for me. I just love that lady.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Meanwhile at the Logan residence Guy Winchester tried to locate his comfort zone on a sofa designed for people of average height, which probably accounted for Sam Reardan’s relax
ed posture. Quinella had selected a regal chair which gave her the appearance of being in charge, a position Winchester had difficulty accepting, as did his partner. The living room décor smacked of Modern Ted, a shrine dedicated to achievements more appropriate for the family room or den. Other than the rope burn decorating Ted’s neck, he didn’t appear to be suffering any physical aftereffects although his emotional state would soon be heading for the tank again. Ted Logan didn’t know it, but he’d been elevated from attempted suicide to person of interest and possible prime suspect. After Quinella apprised him of his rights, she issued her usual keep-your-mouth-shut warning to the sleep-deprived John and Stella Logan.

  “Which doesn’t apply to me,” the pompous Clark Baxter said. “I’m here to advise my client.”

  “But, of course,” Quinella said with a straight face. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Excuse me,” Ted said, holding up his forefinger. “I just want to say how sorry I am about well … you know, the other day.”

  “Oh, Ted, that’s so sweet,” his mother said as if she wanted to believe him but wasn’t sure. “Dad and I are sorry too, for the grief we put you through, for whatever led to your subsequent actions.”

  “I was just testing a theory, Mom.”

  “All right,” Quinella said. “Now that we’ve established how sorry everyone is, let’s get started.”

  “One more thing,” Stella said. “Would anyone like coffee?”

  Winchester felt the nudge of Reardan’s elbow, acknowledged the raised brow with a nod, pro-caffeine gestures Quinella chose to ignore and for good reason. No point in getting too chummy with people they were on the verge of pissing off.

  “Negative for the detectives and me,” she said, to which Reardan heaved a sigh. “So, Ted, tell me about Coach Meredith again.”

  “Like I said before, he coached me for five years.”

  She checked her notes. “You were a forward, right?”

  “Yeah, after Coach switched me from midfield. I usually start, and play most of the game.”

  “He must’ve had a great deal of confidence in you.”

  “I guess, but all the guys are good. Otherwise they wouldn’t be playing on Pegasi.”

  “What about Oliver Billings and Zach Stilworth, they didn’t return this season.”

  “I guess they got burned out. Hey, it happens.”

  “But not to you.”

  “Not exactly but I’ve seen it often enough to know the feeling.”

  “So, when did you last see them, Oliver and Zach?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know.”

  “What about White Castle, the day Parker Eliot incurred a broken nose.”

  “Yeah, I remember now. Bills and Zach were there. Park ticked off Bills and Bills punched him.”

  Winchester leaned into Reardan’s ear and whispered. “Something tells me the gang’s been hanging out in their chat room.”

  “More like texting each other.”

  “Oliver punched Parker,” Quinella said. “My, oh my, whatever prompted such a violent outburst?”

  “You already know, Ms. Armstrong. I don’t have to tell you.”

  “Judging from the demeanor of your parents, I suspect they do too.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Logan have been apprised of the allegations against the late Rex Meredith.”

  “Why thank you, Mr. Baxter. It saves me from traveling down a most unpleasant road.” She turned her head, muffled a cough. “Now, Ted, we’re about to enter a sensitive area so please bear with me. To reiterate what I’ve been told: some of your teammates, past and present, suspect there may have been certain improprieties between the deceased and a few select boys. Is that correct?”

  Ted looked at Clark Baxter; Baxter nodded.

  “Yes, ma’m.”

  “Well, let’s take it one step further. What about the improprieties between the deceased and your mother?”

  “Bitch,” the cheerleader in Stella shouted.

  “Shut up, Mom.”

  Father Nerd answering for her, “Watch your mouth, son.”

  “I’m sorry, Ted, but I have to ask,” Quinella said. “About your teammates, did they know?”

  “Bills did, Zach too.”

  “And were you with them the night Coach died?”

  “We didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “But were you with Oliver and Zach after the game?”

  “Sort of … yeah, for a while.” He looked at his father. “You weren’t home.”

  “I took your mom out for a bite to eat. With some of the other parents, it’s how we unwind.”

  “I needed to unwind too, so I took the Durango for a short drive. It was back in the garage before you came home.”

  “Look at me, Ted, not your dad. Who did you pick up that night?”

  “First Nelli, I mean Matt Canelli, later, Bills and Zach.” Ted opened his mouth into a wide yawn. “Can we stop now? These pills I have to take are making me sleepy.”

  “By all means take a nap. We’ll resume our discussion this afternoon.” She checked her notes. “Two o’clock at the Fourth Precinct works for me.”

  A Pegasi showdown back at the precinct, Winchester’s home away from home, he wasn’t surprised. He preferred the ambiance of concrete and institutional furniture to the comfort of his own apartment. As for the Logan residence, no one from either camp was smiling when he exited it with Sam and Quinella.

  *****

  Reardan took the wheel again, a position well-suited to the controlling nature he couldn’t exercise at home. Riding shotgun allowed Winchester time to play with the Pegasi puzzle pieces, arranging them to fit nice and snug. He extended his legs beneath the dashboard as their non-SUV headed east onto the interstate. From the back seat came the grating sound of an oversized emery board, Quinella smoothing out the rough edges of her claws.

  “You could’ve pushed a little harder,” Winchester said without turning around.

  “Are you referring to my interview with Ted?” Her question prompted a snicker from Reardan. “Patience is an underrated virtue, Detective Winchester. First we must crawl; then we walk—proud in the knowledge we will succeed.”

  Winchester changed the game to his. He pivoted, passed the ball. “About Matt Canelli, I am surprised.”

  Reardan clenched his hands to the wheel and kept his eyes on traffic bogged down with Saturday shoppers heading to the shopping malls. “You can’t have it both ways, Guy. Either the boy or his mama is somehow involved in Rex M’s death. What’s more, one could be covering for the other.”

  “Not necessarily. It could be a case of bad timing and wouldn’t be the first we’ve encountered.”

  “As in an unfortunate coincidence,” Quinella said. “Do I deduct a soft spot for this Mama Canelli?”

  “Not by a long shot,” Winchester said. “I don’t get attached to persons of interest.”

  “Well put, for she is most definitely not your type. Need I say more?”

  His type, get real. Q didn’t hold a monopoly on him. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll be picking on Mrs. Canelli’s son.”

  “How dare you. Those words are sheer blasphemy, Detective Winchester, an attack on my integrity which I will not tolerate.” She leaned forward, lifted her middle finger to his face. “You take them back right now, do you hear me?”

  Reardan slammed his hand on the wheel. “Children, please. Don’t make me stop this car because I will if you don’t shut up. That goes for both of you.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Another trip to the Fourth Precinct, shit. On the drive there Matt kept his mouth shut. So did his Mom, although she probably had plenty to say, none of which he wanted to hear. His head hurt from too much going on inside it, none of which he wanted to rethink at this moment or any other. He copped a glimpse at her profile; the morning makeover had shaved off a few years. All things considered she didn’t look half bad, more like her old self before the accident. Not that he expected
life would ever be the same, not without his dad. And now this shit, this damn fucking shit; it wouldn’t let up and kept getting worse. Clutch butt, he had it from his belly to his asshole and whatever else in-between. Who-a, hang on, Nelli, he just got a break. As if by the magic power of adrenaline, his stomach called a timeout as soon as they pulled into the precinct’s parking area.

  Near the entrance stood Fred Montgomery, sucking on his cigar like a baby sucking its binky. Sure, gramps was older than dirt but he knew his lawyer stuff. He had balls too, and wasn’t afraid to show them. Especially to the Strongarm Queen who hadn’t done so bad herself. Shit, too bad she wasn’t on his side, wherever that was. Freddie didn’t stay put by the door but met them halfway down the sidewalk. He stuck out his hand and shook Matt’s but with his mom he sucked on her made-up cheek as if they were long-time friends instead of attorney and client. Cool it, gramps. She’s young enough to be your daughter and doesn’t need one more thing complicating our lives.

  “You’re early, which is good,” Freddie said. “I’ve already spoken to Detective Reardan and Matt’s up first.”

  “First?” his mom asked. “Who else is coming?”

  Matt could’ve given her the rundown but that’s what Vince was paying the old fart to do. Besides, Freddie had already fingered the short list of names on his yellow tablet.

  “Oliver Billings, Zach Stilworth, and Ted Logan,” Freddie said to him instead of his mom. “Hell-o, Matt, before we go in, anything else I should know?”

  Matt twisted his mouth until it felt rubbery. “Nothing I can think of.”

  “And you, Francesca. Remember, I’m here for both of you.”

  She gave him the doe-eyed look from her makeover and said she had nothing to hide. About that, Matt wasn’t so sure but, what the hell, she could speak for herself. As for Freddie, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her, as if he was trying to figure out what she’d done to herself since yesterday. Matt checked out the Freddie’s left hand, no ring. The old fart probably figured her an easy target after Coach. Damn, with that bastard of all people, how could she after a class act like Dad.