Murder at the Waterfront: A Northwest Cozy Mystery (Northwest Cozy Mystery Series Book 7)

by Dianne Harman

  “I didn’t mean that about firing you, by the way,” he said sheepishly when Juana had cleared away the appetizer dishes and set a perfectly seared T-bone steak in front of him.

  “That’s good, señor. I’m not planning on leaving. You need me too much.”

  Angelo looked up at her with a grateful smile.

  “I put fresh flowers in Miss Lola’s room,” Juana went on. “And new candles, the scented ones you like from Barneys New York. A box of them arrived today. Will you be needing anything else, señor?”

  Angelo shook his head, his eyes following Juana as she left the room. She would spend another couple of hours at his home that evening, cleaning and preparing for the morning. Then she’d go home and return at 7:00 a.m. to make his breakfast. To his shame, Angelo knew nothing about Juana’s life or what happened when she walked out the door every evening at 9:00 p.m., only that she lived in a small apartment nearby that he paid for but had never seen. She had weekends off, but even then, she was always available if Angelo needed her.

  Staring down at a steak so big it would feed two men, Angelo realized he’d lost his appetite. His health had been failing for years, and with his lifestyle it wasn’t a huge surprise when he’d been diagnosed with ischemic heart disease a couple of years earlier. After having two open-heart surgeries, he knew he was living on borrowed time. With blood pressure so high no amount of medication could bring it down, high cholesterol that statins didn’t help, and diabetes, he knew his heart was a ticking time-bomb waiting to explode. The fact he was overweight, smoked, and both his father and mother died of cardiac arrest sealed the deal.

  It took him a few minutes for him to make his way to the room Juana referred to as Miss Lola’s, stopping several times along the way to catch his breath. He made it without having to call Juana for assistance, which he hadn’t been able to accomplish for several days.

  Maybe I should skip the steak more often, he thought to himself, pushing the door open.

  The air was filled with the floral scent from the dozens of flickering candles around the room which had cost $100 apiece, and they cast a warm glow around the cozy space. Angelo would have kept them lit 24/7, but due to a small fire a while back, the insurance company had insisted that they be extinguished at night. In contrast to the rest of his opulent home the room was simply furnished with a comfortable chair and a small bookcase filled with biographies and science books. Apart from the candles, the only other decoration was the large bouquet of red roses in a crystal vase. Juana changed the water in the flowers every day and replaced them with a fresh bouquet every Monday. There was a record player beside the chair, the old-fashioned kind that played vinyl records. Every thirty minutes or so, when the record stopped, Angelo would have to lean across and flip it over to the other side.

  This was the time of the day Angelo liked best, the few hours after dinner and before bed, when he was alone with his memories of Lola Forte. After he’d lowered himself into the chair, he sat back and looked at the large photograph of Lola’s face that filled the wall at the other end of the room. Young, beautiful, and carefree, the image showed her laughing, her long black hair blowing behind her in the breeze. Her freckled nose was red from the Chicago summer sun.

  Angelo had taken the photo the day they had visited the Navy Pier in Chicago, a day that was forever etched in his disease-ridden heart. Lola was sixteen, and she was his girl. Or at least she had been until a few days later, when she started dating Mario Carlucci. Angelo never knew why Lola had chosen Mario over him, and never got a chance to ask, because a few short years later, his beloved was dead.

  He sat alone in the room for several hours, until it was time to blow out the candles.

  *****

  A copy of the Chicago Tribune awaited Angelo every morning alongside a bowl of warm oatmeal made with whole milk and smothered in maple syrup. He half-heartedly flicked through the newspaper while enjoying his oatmeal, the sugar rush from the maple syrup giving him a spike of energy that would be short-lived until he was able to get his next burst of energy. The chopped fruit toppings Juana set out for him always remained untouched. Not for the first time, he wondered how much of his money Juana wasted on healthy food choices that ended up in the trash.

  Not that money was an issue. He had made enough in his Mob days to live life to a standard beyond the reach of most, even though he hadn’t worked in the protection rackets for years. Although she didn’t know it yet, Juana would be a very rich woman when his diseased ticker called it quits. His only other bequest was to PAWS Chicago, an animal shelter for cats and dogs.

  As was Angelo’s habit, he turned to the Announcements section, scanning the columns for news about anyone he knew. Although he no longer lived in Chicago, he liked to keep up with what was going on with its citizens. One item caught his eye, causing the oatmeal to catch in his throat.

  “Señor’s face is very red,” Juana observed when she entered the room with a pot of coffee and a basket of baked bread rolls and sugared pastries. “Is everything all right?”

  Angelo spluttered and Juana poured him a glass of water and handed it to him, patting his back until he had recovered.

  “Just some news about someone from the old days,” Angelo muttered, ripping the page and tearing the offending announcement out. “Nothing a few phone calls can’t fix.”

  Juana nodded and went back to the kitchen, leaving him to stare at the torn scrap of paper. According to the announcement, Mario Carlucci, previously from Chicago, the co-owner of the prestigious Waterfront Palace in Seattle and the person Angelo hated most in the world, had recently gotten married to a woman named Kitten Knight.

  The anger had gradually gone out of Angelo somewhere along the line after many years of mourning his loss of Lola, but suddenly it all came rushing back. Decades of repressed anger and grief needed an outlet, and there could only be one target for Angelo’s vengeance.

  Mario Carlucci, his rival since his youth, had stolen his childhood sweetheart, the only woman Angelo had ever truly loved. When Lola was shot dead in a Chicago pizzeria, a bungled Mob hit, Angelo blamed Mario for not protecting her, even though Mario had not been there. Angelo’s only consolation over the tragedy was knowing that at least Mario would know some of his pain.

  Why should he enjoy happiness with a new wife while I’m still twisted with grief, Angelo thought? He never loved Lola, not like I did. Meantime I’m dying, and he gets to enjoy his happily ever after.

  He knew the first step was to find out how he could hurt Mario, or the people close to him. It didn’t take him long to realize killing Mario or his wife would be too obvious. It needed to be someone close to the happy couple, close enough to cause enough heartbreak to make sure they were miserable for the rest of their lives.

  If I can achieve that, I’ll die a happy man, Angelo thought with a smile, reaching for a donut from the bread basket and taking a bite. He knew of the saying “Revenge is best served cold,” and decided to see if it was true. The only problem was not knowing how long he had left to live in order to see his plan through.

  For that reason, there was no time to waste. He lifted his phone and pressed a number. Angelo had a contact who could get him all the information he needed about Mario Carlucci, and then he would decide on a plan of action.

  CHAPTER 4

  Leslie Ramos stirred her gin and tonic with a plastic swizzle stick before lifting the glass and sucking the drink through a straw, in what she hoped was a seductive way. Her fiancé, Mac Jeffrey, didn’t appear to notice.

  “You seem distracted tonight, honey,” Leslie said, setting down her glass with a pout. “Is it something at work? You really should try and switch off once in a while. There’s more to life than that stuffy old law firm and those boring clients of yours.”

  Mac leaned towards her and cupped his hand up to his ear. “What’s that you’re saying, sweetheart? This bar is so loud I can hardly hear you.”

  Leslie frowned and looked around from side to si
de. “There’s no need to shout,” she hissed, under her breath. “You’re embarrassing me. Just because you’re going deaf, doesn’t mean everyone else is.”

  Mac shrugged and smiled, trying to catch the attention of a waitress serving a nearby table. “You’d know what was bothering me at work if you ever put in an appearance,” he said, turning back to Leslie. “Just because I’m your boss, doesn’t mean you can breeze in and out whenever you want to. The other partners are starting to talk, because their secretaries are having to pick up your slack.”

  Leslie jutted her chin out. She stared at Mac, in his custom-tailored suit that probably cost more than her car, and she tried to contain her irritation. “Dating the senior partner in the firm has to come with some perks,” she retorted. “Surely you don’t expect me to work there for much longer. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about giving me an allowance, instead of my measly pay check. When we’re married, I’ll be quitting work anyway.”

  The waitress arrived at their table, and Mac ordered another round of drinks. He turned back to Leslie with a look of amusement, the creases around his eyes and mouth deepening as he smiled. “What will you do? I’d hate to think of you shopping all day, racking up my credit card. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that, by the way. The latest bill came in, and your pay check won’t cover it. You’ll have to return whatever you bought.”

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and when she’d served them, Mac removed several notes from his wallet and placed the cash on her tray. “Thanks. Keep the change.”

  Leslie’s face twisted into a scowl. “You act so generous with everyone else, but when it comes to me, you’re a tightwad. That’s one of your less desirable qualities.” She stared at Mac, who had raised his beer to his mouth, his eyes dancing with mirth. That was another thing that annoyed her about him. Her rants rolled right off him.

  “If you don’t work you won’t know the value of money,” Mac said, setting his glass back down. “The waitress who just served us deserves the tip I gave her. She doesn’t expect something for nothing, unlike some people,” he said with a smirk.

  “I hope you’re not suggesting I become a waitress,” Leslie snapped, furrowing her brow. It wasn’t the first time Mac had raised the issue of how much of his money she had been spending, and inwardly she scolded herself for overdoing it. There was plenty of time for that when they were married, although after a two-year engagement they were no closer to setting a date than when Mac had gotten down on one knee and placed a modest diamond ring on her finger. It was time to try a different approach.

  “I’m sorry for overspending,” she said, tucking a strand of her dyed red hair behind her ear, and reaching for Mac’s hand. “Maybe we should skip dinner and have an early night.”

  Mac chuckled. “Give an old guy a break. We’ll go soon. I’m enjoying myself. I love this song. It’s Take a Bow, by Madonna. Remember it? Wow, she was really something.” He started singing along to the music.

  The tune wasn’t familiar to Leslie, who shook her head. She vaguely remembered some old singer who called herself Madonna, who had been a big star when Leslie was a little girl. It was a stark reminder of the generation difference between Leslie and the man she was engaged to marry.

  Although Mac looked good for his age, and Leslie had always found older men attractive, at her age of thirty-two there was over twenty years of an age gap between them, and she was only a couple of years older than Mac’s eldest daughter.

  She sensed Mac staring at her and looked back at him and noticed the light had gone out of his eyes. Instead, his face was shrouded in sadness. Alarmed, she grasped his hand tighter.

  “You’ve never heard it before, have you?” Mac pulled his hand away and let out a deep sigh. “Maureen would have known that song.” He sat staring at his beer for a long time.

  Leslie felt a sinking feeling in her gut and tried to break the tension with a forced giggle. “Let’s look up Madonna’s videos on YouTube, and you can show me what she’s like. Did they have music videos in the olden days?”

  Mac placed his head in his hands, still silent.

  “Mac? It was a joke. You’re worrying me. Let’s get out of here and get dinner.”

  Leslie started to gather her things, but Mac’s voice stopped her. His face was grave as he met her gaze. “I’m sorry Leslie, but I can’t do this. The difference in our ages is too much. I’ve kept pushing my doubts away, ignoring the fact that it’s an issue, but I don’t think it’s something we can get past.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Leslie said with a nervous laugh. “You’re so serious all the time. Who cares if we don’t like the same music? I like rap music, and you like Madonna. It’s not a big deal.”

  Leslie could care less what music Mac liked. She was only interested in his money.

  “Maybe it’s not for you, but for me, it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m not even sure what rap music is. I don’t know if I can spend the rest of our lives together interpreting people, songs, movies, and everything else to fit into your time frame.”

  Leslie grabbed her purse and coat before running out of the bar. By the time Mac came outside after her, unable to match her pace, she was standing in the street, sobbing. He put his arm around her, comforting her on the way back to the car before driving her home in silence. Glancing sideways at his stony face, Leslie’s sobs turned to howls, trying to force a retraction from Mac that never came.

  At her door, Mac cleared his throat. “It’s better if I don’t come in.” He reached over and stroked her cheek, his tender touch causing a genuine tear of sadness to roll down Leslie’s cheek. “I never meant to hurt you. It took something stupid like that song to make me realize we were so close to making a horrible mistake. You need someone much nearer to your own age. We both do.”

  “No, Mac, I…”

  Mac placed a finger on her lips to silence her, then kissed her softly one final time. “We weren’t meant to get married. You might not see it now, but one day you will thank me. Goodbye, Leslie.”

  *****

  Leslie hadn’t been able to sleep the night Mac had dumped her, nor for many nights after that one. She’d tried calling Mac on his personal phone, and at the office, but he wasn’t taking her calls. It was only when her bi-weekly pay check failed to appear in her bank account, that the dire reality of her situation sunk in.

  No work, no pay. She didn’t think Mac would cut her off like that, but he’d shown his true colors.

  Looking back, it had taken Leslie a while to get her claws into Mac, since he was still married when she became a secretary at his law firm. But Leslie was well-versed in winning men and getting them to do whatever she wanted, having been coached from a young age by her mother, Nessa. Growing up in poverty, Leslie had vowed never to end up in the same situation as her mother, marrying a poor man for love. When Leslie’s parents’ marriage broke up, Nessa was left with two children and no money. She constantly warned Leslie against making the same mistake she had made.

  May as well be a rich divorcée as a poor one, her mother had drilled into her, along with the implicit message the only way to get out of poverty was to marry for money. When Mac had divorced his wife for Leslie, the younger woman thought her financial worries were over. In the end, it had taken a fake pregnancy scare to convince Mac to propose, followed by a fake miscarriage once the ring was on her finger. Much to Leslie’s relief. Mac hadn’t brought up the issue of children again.

  Now, standing outside the ornate building that housed the law firm of Jeffrey, Woods & Wheeler, Leslie’s confidence faltered. She’d been planning on walking in unannounced and demanding to see someone from the Human Resources department.

  If they don’t give me severance pay, I’ll threaten to sue for unfair dismissal and sexual harassment, Leslie thought to herself.

  That’s when she saw them—Mac, with his arm around his ex-wife Maureen, leaving the building deep in conversation. Leslie ducked out of sight and continued to w
atch while Maureen linked an arm through Mac’s as they crossed the street and entered Slim’s Kitchen, an organic health food cafe that was a favorite with the Jeffrey, Woods & Wheeler employees.

  Thoughts of her visit to Human Resources flew out of her mind, and instead of walking up the steps of the law firm, Leslie slipped into a coffee shop across the street from Slim’s, where she watched Mac and Maureen laugh and flirt like a couple of love-struck teenagers. She didn’t need to know what they were saying to one another to get the idea. When she saw Maureen reach across the table to feed Mac a forkful of whatever was on her plate, something inside Leslie snapped.

  She remained in the coffee shop long after Mac had kissed Maureen goodbye on the cheek and disappeared back into his office. Leslie’s eyes narrowed as Maureen headed in the direction of the Seattle waterfront with a bounce in her step and a huge smile on her face.

  That was the moment when Leslie knew getting back at Maureen with some sort of action that would cause her grief or embarrassment would not be enough. It wouldn’t solve either the dilemma of Leslie’s financial situation, or send Mac running back into her arms.

  No, the only way I can do that is to get rid of the woman permanently.

  It took the rest of the afternoon, but by the time she left the coffee shop, just as they were getting ready to close the shop, Leslie had a developed a foolproof plan. She knew where Maureen lived, because when she was Mac’s secretary she’d mailed the spousal support checks Mac sent Maureen. Her blood boiled even more at the thought of the large amount of money Mac paid to Maureen every month, without so much as a second thought, while he complained about Leslie using his credit card for a few pairs of shoes here and there.

  A good friend of Leslie’s worked as a concierge at the posh Waterfront Palace condominium where Maureen lived. She was certain her friend could arrange for her to get in and out of there without anyone’s knowledge.