All Murders Final!

by Sherry Harris

  “Hey, you must be Sarah,” he said. “Stella told me all about you.”

  I clamped my mouth closed but went down two steps, in case I needed to bolt.

  He put his hands up like he was surrendering, but I still didn’t trust him. “I take it Stella didn’t tell you I’d be staying here a few days. She said she’d send you a text.”

  I slipped my phone out of my pocket. I did have a text from Stella. Mike Titone’s moving in for a few days. I’d heard that name before. She’d sent a picture. I looked from the picture to the guy and back again. It seemed to be the same guy. I snapped my head up. Mike Titone was the name of the Mob guy Vincenzo had represented, but that guy lived in Boston. Maybe it was a common name in this area. Below the front door banged open. Two guys started carrying a couple of large suitcases up the stairs.

  “Excuse us, lady,” the one closest to me said.

  Now my only choice was to go up the stairs. I edged as far away from Mike as I could and fished in my purse for the keys to my apartment without taking my eyes off him or the movers. My hand finally landed on them, so I quickly unlocked my door and slipped in.

  “Nice ta meet cha,” Mike called as I shut the door.

  I dropped my purse on the trunk. I Googled Mike Titone, and a huge list of articles popped up. Vincenzo represented Mike “the Big Cheese” Titone when he’d been charged with racketeering. Mike got off on all counts and went back to running his cheese shop in Boston’s North End and doing whatever else he did out of said shop. What in the world was he doing here, and for just a few days? I could hear furniture being moved around through my thin walls and a bit of swearing as someone occasionally bumped something against the wall.

  I dialed Stella and paced as the phone rang.

  “You let a mobster move in next door to me,” I said when Stella answered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Mike ‘the Big Cheese’ Titone. Vincenzo got him off racketeering charges.”

  “Hmmm. I’m sure he’s fine. Vincenzo asked me to do him a favor and let Mike move in for a few days. That’s what we do here. Help each other out.”

  I was all for being a good neighbor, but this carried it a bit too far. “I Googled him. It says he killed a man with a hundred-pound provolone. That if you’re on his bad side, he leaves a slice of cheese on your doorstep as a warning.”

  “Don’t believe everything you Google. Besides, it will be nice to have someone around after what happened to you yesterday.”

  “It’s your building,” I said and hung up. I felt a bit bad, because Stella and I hadn’t had a cross word since we became friends last spring. Having someone around might be nice, but I wasn’t sure this was the someone I wanted it to be.

  A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I answered, and Mike stood there, holding a large cellophane-wrapped gift basket full of cheese and wine. Two big, burly guys stood behind him. He thrust the basket into my arms.

  “This is for any inconvenience the presence of me and my family might cause,” he said.

  I felt a little color drain from my face when he said family.

  Mike laughed. “Not that kind of family. These are my two brothers. They’ll be around a lot.”

  Then I noticed the resemblance, the full heads of dark hair; the startling blue eyes, all the same shade; the variations of the same build, broad shoulders, thick chests, and long legs. The tallest brother, who stood in the back, obviously lifted weights more than the other two, as his neck muscles bulged and his black T-shirt strained around his biceps. He had a thick dark mustache that made me think of Tom Selleck.

  “Thank you,” I finally managed to say. “It wasn’t necessary.” I wondered if accepting a basket meant I owed them something. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” Mike said. “I stuck my card in the basket with my cell phone number on the back. Call if we get too noisy. These two”—he jerked his head toward his brothers—“can be rambunctious.”

  The biggest brother winked at me as they turned almost in unison to go.

  I took the basket into the kitchen and set it on my small kitchen table. The vintage tablecloth on my table made me think of Margaret More. I unwrapped the cellophane and put the ten blocks of various cheeses in my almost empty refrigerator. I took the Brie back out and set it on the counter. The basket was full of crackers, olives, dry salami, and a couple bottles of wine. I’d have a feast tonight. I called Stella back and asked her to come up and share the feast.

  Stella showed up at seven. I heard her talking to someone in the hall and popped my head out the door. The biggest of the three brothers sat on a folding chair outside the door, working on the Boston Globe crossword. I waved and pulled Stella into the apartment.

  “What the heck is going on with them?” I asked her, jerking my head toward the other apartment.

  “I don’t even get a glass of wine first?” she asked.

  “Ugh. Sorry. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry I hung up on you.”

  “You’ve had a stressful few days.”

  “It’s no excuse.”

  Stella followed me into the kitchen. I opened a bottle of wine, and she poured while I arranged part of the contents of the basket along with plates on a tray. We carried it all out to my living room and put it on the trunk before settling on the couch. We filled our plates.

  “This Brie is amazing,” I said. “But I’m still a little surprised that the Big Cheese is my neighbor.”

  “Vincenzo called me up yesterday and asked if a friend of his could stay in my empty apartment.”

  “He didn’t say why or who?”

  “Not at first, but I wore him down. I knew he wouldn’t stash someone unsafe in our building.”

  “I sense a but somewhere in what you aren’t saying.”

  “After we talked earlier, I called Vincenzo to ask him what was up.” Stella put some Gouda on a cracker and stuffed it in her mouth.

  “Either you’re really hungry or I’m not going to like what you have to say.” I popped an olive stuffed with blue cheese in my mouth and waited for Stella to continue as I chewed.

  “Someone tried to kill Mike two days ago.”

  I almost choked on the olive. “And it’s safe for him to be here?” I asked once I’d managed to swallow.

  “They’ve taken precautions. Mike and his two brothers booked tickets to Miami. Their sister lives there. They went to the airport and then slipped back out.”

  “They could have been followed out here.”

  “They weren’t. None of them brought their normal cell phones. One of their other brothers is driving down to Miami with the phones and will turn them on once he gets down there.”

  “Living in Ellington is certainly different than I imagined.”

  Stella laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “How’d someone try to kill him?”

  “I guess Mike goes jogging at the same park every day, at the same time.”

  “That doesn’t sound smart.”

  “He didn’t have any reason to think someone had it in for him.”

  This whole conversation seemed unreal. I couldn’t believe we were sitting here, talking about a mobster who had almost been killed.

  “He runs around some heated track. There was an ultimate Frisbee game going on. He paid no attention, because they’re always out there playing.”

  “Ultimate Frisbee in February?”

  Stella shrugged. “Someone threw a disk edged with razor blades at him. But he bent to tie his shoe just then, and it embedded in a tree, right where his head would have been.”

  “Oh, good heavens. It doesn’t even sound believable. Are you sure he didn’t make the whole thing up?”

  “According to Vincenzo, Mike doesn’t like to leave the North End unless he has to.”

  “Why hasn’t it been in the papers? Trust me, I looked him up today.”

  “He didn’t report it. The disk was removed, and the pla
yers are being looked into. Although it could have been some other random person at the track. It’s a popular place.”

  We ate in silence for a while.

  “How was your date the other night?” I asked.

  Stella blushed. “He’s coming over in an hour.”

  “A second date? I thought you had a strict policy against that recently.” Stella and man troubles seemed to go hand in hand. “Are you going to tell him about your new tenant?”

  “Not if I don’t have to. Vincenzo and Mike assured me this was just for a couple of days.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said.

  We moved on to other topics as we ate and drank the wine. I walked Stella to the door. I peeked around the corner. The big brother had moved on to reading The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. He looked up and winked. I blushed and hustled back into my apartment. In the past few days I had found Margaret dead, had been attacked in my own home, and now I had mobsters hiding out next door. My life seemed like it had turned into some crazy sitcom, and I only hoped I’d be the one with the last laugh.

  Chapter 11

  After spending Wednesday morning with a potential spring garage sale client, I walked over to DiNapoli’s for a late lunch. It had warmed back into the forties, and the snow had all melted. I’d slept amazingly well, considering the guys next door, or maybe because of them. Margaret’s wake was tonight, and I wanted to hear the scuttlebutt before the big event. Rosalie stood behind the counter, which took up half the room. Behind her was the open kitchen. I could see Angelo cooking chicken on a broad grill. To my right was a mismatched assortment of tables and chairs. Most were full. All of it could be seen from the kitchen, not because Angelo wanted people to admire his skills as a chef—which were incredible—but so he could see and hear what was going on.

  Rosalie studied me with her warm brown eyes. “You need to have the special today.”

  I looked at the handwritten board but didn’t see anything listed as a special.

  “We don’t have a special,” Angelo yelled from the back without turning around. I didn’t know how he’d even heard what Rosalie said.

  “It’s Sarah, Angelo.”

  Angelo whipped around, put his fingers to his lips, and kissed them.

  Rosalie handed me a Coke. “Your special will be out in a few minutes.” I took my drink and turned.

  The woman behind me said, “I’ll have the special, too. What is it exactly?”

  “I’m sorry, but we just ran out. Maybe next time. But the Greek salad with pita is excellent or the eggplant Parm sandwich.”

  I suppressed a laugh and wondered what my special would be. But I assumed that whatever it was, it would be delicious. I sat down at the only empty table. I’d waited until 1:30 p.m. to eat because I was hoping the lunch crowd would have cleared out and Rosalie and Angelo would have time to talk. Rosalie brought over a large bowl of mussels in a garlicky broth, with a big basket of French bread for dipping. Since no one was waiting to order, she sat down with me.

  I dug a mussel from its shell and dragged it through the broth. It was tender with just a bit of tang from the garlic. “What have you heard about Margaret? Any word about who might have done this?” I asked after I swallowed.

  Rosalie shook her head, her brown hair fluffing around her face. “I haven’t heard much talk at all.”

  “Why?” I hadn’t expected to hear that.

  “We’ve been in Cambridge almost nonstop. Angelo’s uncle Stefano’s been sick. I just haven’t had time to catch up on the news.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I’d met Stefano last fall, when Carol was a murder suspect. “Who’s been keeping the restaurant open?”

  “Angelo’s doing most of the cooking in advance. Lois and Ryan have been pitching in with everything else. They’re a godsend.” Lois and Ryan were two longtime employees.

  “Are you going to the wake tonight?” I asked, dipping bread in the broth.

  “Yes. Angelo and I are closing early. Do you want to come with us?”

  “That would be wonderful. I’ll walk back over. What time?”

  “We’ll close at seven.” Someone walked in, so Rosalie patted my hand and went back to work.

  I ate the rest of my meal and chatted with Lois and Ryan. Maybe I’d find something out tonight. The wake would surely be packed with people ready to talk about Margaret and how they knew her. If small towns had saints, Margaret would be the saint of Ellington.

  * * *

  At seven I walked over to DiNapoli’s, dressed in my favorite black boots and a black, long-sleeved dress that fell just above the knee. Black tights helped keep my legs somewhat warm on my walk over, and my red coat added a splash of color. The DiNapolis were waiting inside, drinking a glass of wine. They offered me one, and we settled at one of the tables.

  “So do you think the whole town will turn out?” I asked.

  “More like half the state,” Angelo said. He ran a hand over the top of his balding head. A fringe of graying hair clung to the sides and the back. But he was still a handsome man, and I could see why Rosalie had fallen for him.

  “Really? Why?” I asked.

  “She came from a moneyed family with a compound on Nantucket,” Rosalie said.

  “I read that online. So I guess she knows lots of people,” I mused.

  “Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t good enough for the Mores,” Angelo said.

  I looked back and forth between them. I’d been to Martha’s Vineyard once, for a long weekend with CJ before the divorce. “What’s the difference?”

  Angelo leaned forward. “There’s a saying that the millionaires live on the Vineyard, but the billionaires live on Nantucket. She acted like she was of the billionaire type.”

  “She wasn’t?” I asked.

  “She had plenty of money,” Rosalie said. She patted Angelo’s arm. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “How’d the family end up out here, then?” I asked.

  “It’s more about why,” Angelo said. “Here they get to rule the roost. On Nantucket they were wealthy among the wealthy.”

  “It seems like from the price and the size of houses, there’s lots of wealth around here, too,” I said.

  Angelo opened his mouth, but Rosalie jumped in. “There’s plenty of money here. But look at the time. We need to go.”

  * * *

  Angelo managed to find a parking spot in the crowded lot of the funeral home when someone pulled out. The line for the viewing wended its way around the lobby before getting to the actual room where Margaret rested. I hoped it was a closed casket, but I could tell when we inched into the room that it wasn’t. Voices were low, as were the lights, and people shuffled by in an orderly manner. Occasionally, some dignitary or other was escorted past the line and right up front. All of them would cross themselves, then turn to the long line of family members to shake hands and commiserate.

  I recognized one senator and the mayor of Boston, but not the others. I could see some of the local town officials chafing as they had to wait with the rest of us. My heart pounded a little as we approached the casket. But Margaret looked way better than she had the last time I’d seen her in the car. Really, she looked like she could jump up at any minute and start organizing some event.

  I started down the receiving line, following Rosalie and Angelo, who knew everyone. I shook hands and murmured my condolences until one woman pulled me into a big hug. She clasped me to her and whispered in my ear, “You have your nerve showing up here.” Then she released me and turned to the next person. It happened so quickly, I wondered if I’d heard her correctly as I continued down the line.

  A guy about my age stood at the end of the line. “Join us at Gillganins. We’ll continue to celebrate Margaret’s life there.”

  Some people milled around, chatting, but Angelo was ready to leave. A few minutes later I sank into the black leather seat of the DiNapoli’s Escalade.

  “Are you okay, Sarah?” Rosalie asked
after we’d driven a couple of blocks down Great Road.

  “Something odd happened. A woman hugged me, but she said I had my nerve showing up there.”

  Angelo and Rosalie exchanged a glance so quickly, I almost missed it.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. People get emotional at these things,” Angelo said.

  I might have bought it if it hadn’t been for the glance. I wondered what they knew that I didn’t. “Are you two going to Gillganins?”

  “We have to get up early to open the restaurant. What about you?” Angelo asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The DiNapolis dropped me off at my apartment. I waved good-bye and noticed that Stella’s car was gone. Maybe she was at the wake. Even if she wasn’t, if I wanted to find out more about Margaret and who might have killed her, this was my opportunity. I also wanted to talk to the woman who had said I had my nerve showing up at the viewing. What could that have been about?

  Chapter 12

  The parking lot at Gillganins was jammed. I didn’t see Stella’s car, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. I parked off to the side, near a Dumpster. As I walked into Gillganins, my phone chimed. It was a picture of my backside. The message said, Sexy boots! I didn’t bother to turn to see who was behind me. I ran as fast as my sexy boots would take me. It was dark, and amazingly quiet out here. I trotted into the bar and ran into Kathy Brasheler, who was coming out. Her husband was retired air force, and they lived in Bedford.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. She looked over my shoulder. “Did something scare you?”

  “Fine. Just cold. How are you?” I asked. I jammed my hands into my coat pockets so she wouldn’t see them shaking.

  She said, “Good, except for a headache from the noise in there.” She pointed back toward the bar. It sounded like an Irish jig was playing. Hands clapped in time, and there was raucous laughter. “If I didn’t have to volunteer tomorrow, I’d stay.”