She widened her eyes and looked at me in disbelief. “Didn’t you just consort with him regarding Rachael’s murder? You don’t seem so repelled by him that you didn’t enter an agreement to provide desserts for this occasion, may I remind you. Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”
“What? That’s totally different. I’m not contemplating a love affair with him.”
“Honestly, you’re overreacting!” Her voice rose in pitch.
Was I? I think I was not. But she was an adult. She had to make her own mistakes. “Fine, Em. I give up. But when this guy dumps you for another pretty face, or returns to his wife, or does both, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” Or, dumped her six feet under, I thought, but refrained from sharing that. I couldn’t bear to imagine such a thing. I hoped the thing about the mafia not hurting women was true for her sake.
Emily’s anger dissolved and she clutched my hand. “I won’t. Listen, I love that you’re worried about me, but please stop it. Promise? I’m fine.”
I had no choice but to warily promise. What else was I going to do? Tie her up? Put her in jail? Put her in a convent? Lock her up in my parents’ spare bedroom until she came to her senses? That could take months. “All right. I promise.”
Emily leaned in and hugged me. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Sure.” I watched her walk away, hoping she would soon come to her senses, then went back to Kendra and Olivia. They had everything cleaned up. “Thanks for all your hard work, both of you. Sorry I deserted you for a while.”
“No problem. We all worked hard. But it was a fun night, don’t you think?” asked Olivia.
“It was. The wine was delicious,” I said.
“Are you okay to drive?” Kendra asked. “Because if you aren’t I can drive.”
“I’m fine,” I assured her, smiling at her concern. “I had two small glasses and they’ve worn off.”
“So, what’s going on with Emily?” asked Olivia.
“Nothing, unless you count she thinks Rocco is in love with her, and he wants to take her to Italy, can you believe it? I tried to make her see how wrong getting involved with him is, she won’t listen.”
“Italy? Oh my! I didn’t know it was that serious. No matter, I guess the best thing to do is let it go,” advised Olivia. “I just hope she can take care of herself with this guy. He’s not what she’s used to.”
“You can say that again,” I agreed.
“I guess we can’t do anything about it except pick up the pieces when it’s over,” said Olivia.
I nodded. “I’m already prepared to do that.”
We collected our items, loaded them back into my father’s mini-van and I dropped everyone off at their respective houses. I was seriously tired by the time I dropped the van off at my parents’ house.
“How did everything go?” asked my mother.
“You didn’t scratch the van, did you?” asked my father as I handed him the key fob.
“Fine, and no, I didn’t scratch your adored mini-van,” I replied. It was a running joke between my mother and me at how attached my father was to his mini-van. I could see if it was a high-end sports car, but a mini-van? “I’m fine, too.”
“Have a seat. I have a German chocolate cake. I just made it tonight. I’ll cut you a piece,” said my mother.
“Make sure you don’t give it all to her,” said my father. He winked at me.
I held my stomach. “At this hour? Thanks, mom, but I cannot eat anything else. How was bridge?”
“It was fun, as always. Did you see any celebrities?” she asked. “The newspaper said it was going to be a big turnout.”
“No, not that I recognized.” I thought it best not to tell her about my evening stroll with Rocco. She’d be concerned.
“What about Mafioso?” asked my father. “Lots of those?”
I yawned. “The only mafia guy I know for sure was there, is Rocco.”
“Just as well,” said my mother. “He’s probably one too many. That’s not a group you want to be seen with. They’re not exactly the Boy Scouts. I don’t know if I like this guy buying a winery here.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Sean says he owns a restaurant in Buffalo.”
“I wonder if we’ve ever eaten in it,” she mused.
“Hey, I have a joke you can tell this Rocco mafia character,” my father said, chuckling.
I just wanted to go home, scrub the makeup off, and toss the heels off, but I couldn’t turn down listening to my father’s joke. It would hurt his feelings. “I hope it’s a short one.”
My mother rolled her eyes, and made a face in my direction. “Is it the one in the cemetery? It’s not that funny.”
“It’s very funny,” argued my father. “And don’t ruin it, Annie.”
“I’ve heard funnier,” insisted my mother. “Like from Father DeCicco at St. Mary’s Catholic. He tells hilarious jokes when I go with Susan on Bingo night.”
“The man’s eighty some years old, what does he know about jokes?” He turned toward me “Don’t listen to your mother. She doesn’t understand true comedy.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” My mother wasn’t going to let this go, apparently. “What does age have to do with it? Father DeCicco was in the Readers Digest for his jokes. I don’t recall seeing your name in the Readers Digest under humor.”
“I happen to be a connoisseur of comedy, Annie,” my father retorted. “Have you ever—”
“What’s the joke? I need to get home,” I cut in. They could go on like this all night.
My father turned toward me. “Okay. Two mafia members drive by a cemetery. One of the men makes the sign of the cross. The other one looks at him and says, ‘What’re you doing that for? You put half of those people in there.’”
“That’s very funny, dad.”
He frowned. “You’re not laughing. Am I the only one in this family with a sense of humor?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“She’s not laughing because it’s not that funny,” said my mother.
I leaned in and hugged my father. “It’s funny. It really is.” I thought about Rocco making the sign of the cross earlier, only that wasn’t a joke. “I’m just very tired. I promise I’ll think of it tomorrow and laugh.”
“Okay. I love you, kiddo,” he said.
“Love you, too. Thanks for letting me use your mini-van.” I hugged my mother next. “Goodnight. Talk to you soon.”
They stood next to each other, framed in their glass storm door, and watched as I backed my car out of their driveway, my father’s arm around my mother’s shoulders. I smiled to myself. That’s what marriage was all about, I thought. Even if you didn’t think your spouse’s jokes were funny.
CHAPTER 21
* * *
I got home to a missed text from Sean. Hi babe. Hope the opening went well. Saw it on the news here a bit, and even caught you on the camera. You looked beautiful! Wish I could’ve been there with you.
I kicked off my heels, peeled off my clothes, then changed into my sleep t-shirt. I missed Beau and Noelle, but I wasn’t going to disturb their sleep, or Dottie’s sleep, to get them. I took care of my teeth brushing, makeup removal, and hopped into bed with my phone and sent a message back to Sean. It went great! So tired now. How’s everything going with you?
Pretty good. I just wanted to touch base. You’re tired out. I’ll let you get to bed. Love you, babe.
Love you back. Good luck. xoxoxox
I was so tired, I didn’t even have enough energy to grill him on what he’d come up with in New York City. I fell asleep a second after my finger hit the last x on my text to Sean, and slept like a baby for the rest of the night. I didn’t wake up until Alex’s call roused me the next morning. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Hey, Molly. The autopsy reports on Melanie and Rachael have come back. The medical examiner’s office emailed them to me this morning.”
I was fully awake now. “Can you share them wi
th me?”
The silence rang in my ear. “I’m not going to tell anyone about them, Alex.” I wondered why he’d bothered to tell me about them if he didn’t want me to see them.
“Come on in,” he finally answered. “Or do you have to be at Bread and Batter?”
“I can come in. I don’t have to be there till later.”
“The Rydells are coming in again, too. They want an update, which is good since I wanted to see them anyway. They absolutely refused to talk to anyone but Chief Carly up until now, but I think he let them know that I’m the guy they need to see.”
“Can I stick around?” Sounded like this was going to be an exciting day.
“All right. Just remember, nothing about this to anyone outside of the police department.”
“I remember.” The man had trust issues.
“See you in a bit then.”
I hung up. I couldn’t wait to see what the autopsy reports said, and hoped it would shed more light on the murders. I also was looking forward to meeting the Rydells. I showered, dressed, ate a protein bar and drank a glass of milk. I’d pick up the dogs later. They were in good hands.
Forty-five minutes later, a little after ten-thirty, I was sitting next to him, as he pulled up an email on his computer and clicked the attachment. “Are those the medical examiner’s reports? What do they say?”
“Rachael was killed by a bullet from a handgun,” he began. “That we knew. Melanie’s is a little more complicated. I won’t bore you with the minute details, the bottom line is acute intoxication of scopolamine and atropine.”
I stared at the screen. “What does that mean? Did she eat poisonous mushrooms or something?”
“In other words, Datura toxicity,” he elaborated. “It appears someone made tea with the Datura flower and she drank it.”
“Datura toxicity? What’s Datura?” That was a new one on me. I’d never heard of such a thing.
“Datura is a poisonous flowering plant that contains both scopolamine and atropine. You can apparently make tea from the leaves of the flower.” He clicked some keys on the keyboard. “Here’s a picture.” He leaned to one side so I could see his computer screen.
I admired the white flower. “Pretty, for a killer flower. So, someone made tea from this and killed her? How long does this tea take to make? Most killers don’t want to hang around after they’ve murdered someone. That seems like an awful lot of trouble just to kill someone. And if the tea killed her, that means she probably had to know who brought it or who brewed it.”
“It may have been suicide after all.”
“There’s a lot of doubt in your voice. Could it really have been a murder-suicide?” I was no expert, but that seemed a little out there. But plausible, nonetheless, I supposed.
Alex seemed lost in thought, and didn’t answer, so I continued. “The suicide thing. To me, it doesn’t make sense. Are you going to come to a benefit for your alma mater, and then commit suicide? Plus, there are better, and I bet faster, ways to kill yourself than making tea from a deadly flower.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t like it either. Something isn’t right. It’s a little too wrapped up if you know what I mean.”
I nodded. “Anyone could have killed her and planted the note. Can I see it?”
I waited while he thought. I could see the conflict playing out inside his head. I couldn’t believe he didn’t trust me one hundred percent. “I’m not going to share the contents with anyone. We’ve been over this. It’s not like you don’t know me, Alex. I’m trustworthy. Remember when we were kids, about thirteen or so, and you and a couple of your friends took your elderly neighbor’s car for a spin because you knew he kept the keys in it? I didn’t tell a soul. No one ever found out, either. That’s going with me to the grave.”
He grimaced. “Now that you probably should’ve told someone about.” He went to the same file that he’d pulled the keychain out of. He pulled out a plastic bag and laid it on his desk. He pushed it toward me. It was the suicide note Melanie had allegedly left. I read. To Whom It May Concern. After thinking over my life, I’ve decided it’s just not worth going on. I’ve come to the end. I hope that anyone who cares will forgive me. It’s been a battle that I can’t fight any longer. I know this is the easy way out, but it’s the only way out I know. Too much suffering, too much sadness. Now it’s over.
I looked up at him. “Kind of weird, isn’t it? It’s not even addressed to anyone in particular. I beg forgiveness if she truly wrote it, but it doesn’t sound legitimate. Look at the printing. Perfect block letters. Do people in the throes of a crisis, and who are about to commit suicide, write like that? I think a suicide note would more likely be hastily scrawled. Not that I’ve seen a lot of suicide notes. I did some research about her, too. Nothing I found indicates she had a reason to kill herself.” I looked at Alex. “What’s your take?”
“I cautiously agree with you. As you can see, it’s written on one of those sheets from a pad that charities love sending people in the mail. That in itself doesn’t mean anything, but before this case was turned over to me, Sean sent one of the Destiny PD officers over to the house Melanie was renting.
“The officer couldn’t find the rest of the pad anywhere. Not in Melanie’s purse, or any of the drawers in the house. She even checked the garbage, and all the wastebaskets. Nothing. And there was no pen lying around. Just a neatly folded note.”
I picked up Alex’s stress ball and toyed with it. “Like someone brought it with them, killed her, then planted the note.”
“Exactly,” Alex agreed. “Someone she knew since she appeared to have let them in. Sean was first on the scene at the house Melanie was renting. I was called in later. He noted that there seemed to have been a struggle. No evidence of a break-in, but the place was tossed like a physical altercation took place.”
“Maybe she was fighting off whoever was trying to kill her?” I suggested.
Alex looked at the computer. “Datura poisoning can cause hallucinations and delirium. Maybe she thought there was someone in the house with her and she was struggling with an unknown demon.”
I stared at Alex. “I don’t know what to say.”
He ran his hand through his short hair. “On a gut level, I’m just not buying the suicide thing. Or a murder-suicide. It looks more as if someone murdered Melanie and then tried to stage it as a suicide.”
“Does that mean there were two killers?” I asked.
Alex shook his head. “I still like one killer for both.”
I had no other theory to offer. “In other news, I talked to Rocco Mastrostefano last night at the opening of his winery, like I said I would. We had an interesting conversation.”
“Brave woman. I’m glad you’re still alive. How did it go?”
“He told me our conversation was between us, but I have a duty to share it, don’t I? I mean, if it helps with our murder investigation.”
“Definitely,” replied Alex.
I repeated our conversation.
“Was he trying to tell you this Piero guy killed Melanie and Rachael?”
“Maybe. I keep thinking that’s the reason he told me in the first place. You know, throwing me a bone without implicating anyone directly. I got as much out of him as I was going to get, that much I know.”
Alex chuckled. “You have good instincts.”
“Thanks. Where does this leave us?”
“With a growing list of suspects.”
“Now to decide who’s the killer. Or killers. If DiGiovanni killed Rachael, why kill Melanie?” I asked.
Alex leaned back in his chair. “Maybe Rocco really did do the killing for DiGiovanni and he’s trying to throw you off by hinting it was DiGiovanni. Maybe he took a bottle of wine over to Melanie and poisoned her? Maybe he made her tea and poisoned her. Just thinking out loud.”
“That’s another thing,” I added. “I’ve never heard of a mafia killing involving a poisoning.” Not that I was an expert on crime syndicate behavior. I po
inted to the phone on his desk. “Give Sean a call. Maybe he’s got something on Jardine or DiGiovanni he can quickly update us on. But you could be right. Maybe Rocco’s the killer and he’s trying to pin it on Piero.”
“They’re on the same team, aren’t they?”
“Supposedly, but does the mafia play fair? I think not.”
“You have a point.” He put the phone on speaker and hit the buttons.
“Alex. What’s up?” Sean came on a few seconds later and my heart did a little pitter-patter like it did every time I heard his voice.
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