by K. J. Larsen
“The cops interviewed Felix a few times,” Robert said. “Read your goddamn police report. The experience was painful enough without rehashing the same questions all these years later.”
“I apologize, sir,” I said. “Can you tell me Felix’s last name?”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Proust. Felix Proust.”
“An address?”
Robert snorted. “My father could tell you. I can’t. Dad drove Felix home sometimes, especially in the winter when the weather was bad. Used to close the shop and take him to ballgames.”
“Your dad was a good man.”
Robert shrugged. “He missed almost every game of mine. Had to work those days.”
“What did you play?”
Robert shot me a look. It was none of my business but he answered anyway. “Baseball and soccer.”
“Rocco played soccer. He coaches his girls’ teams.”
The jeweler couldn’t have been less interested.
“Did Felix have a car?” Rocco asked.
“Of course he didn’t have a car. If you find him, you’ll know why. Are you finished here? Because I am.”
“Thanks for your time,” Rocco said.
He turned and started for the door. I reached in my pocket and palmed the stolen jewelry the woman with the green scarf dropped on Captain Bob’s floor.
“What’s this?” I said. I knelt down and surfaced with the dazzling piece dangling between my fingers.
“My God,” Robert breathed.
He seized the diamond-and-sapphire teardrop necklace from my hand.
“I thought I lost this. More accurately, I suspected an innocent, and very beautiful woman of ripping me off. Where did you find it?”
I smiled sweetly. “On the floor, of all places. Mr. Baumgarten, it’s beyond me how you manage to stay in business.”
Chapter Twelve
I was on my way home when Mama called.
“Caterina, we’ve been robbed.”
“Oh, my God, Mama. Are you and Papa okay?”
She gave a satisfied grunt. “Ask me if the thief is okay. I chased her out of my house with an eggbeater.”
DeLuca women are vicious with kitchen utensils.
“Did she take anything?”
“She didn’t have the chance. She was after my silver.”
“Really?”
“Some ladies would kill for it.”
“What ladies?”
“Church ladies. And if you’re so snooty about my silver, I’ll leave it all to Sophie when I die. Very soon.”
“Did you call the police?”
“I did not. Your Papa told me not to. Can you believe it?”
Actually, I could.
“Did Papa say why?”
“He said I should trust him. Last time I trusted your Papa he promised I wouldn’t get pregnant. That’s why we have the twins.”
“Too much info.”
“Talk to your Papa. He’s acting stupido!”
I made a U-ey at the next corner. “Inga and I are on our way, Mama. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I pulled the Silver Bullet in front of Mama’s house. Inga and I bypassed the front door and scooted around to the back. Papa was where I’d guessed he’d be: hovering over his fancy Viking barbecue grill, burning chicken. When Papa cooks, he likes to kill an animal all over again. Papa always cooks when he’s stressed.
When he saw me, his eyeballs swam. He opened his arms wide and hugged me fiercely. I couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t exactly the response I was expecting. The last time I talked to Papa, he hung up on me.
“Caterina, can you forgive me?”
“Uh, sure. What for?”
“If I’d spoken to you when you called yesterday, you wouldn’t have gone to Bob’s. You could have been killed. That insane woman knocked you senseless.”
I didn’t say the crazy head-whacker was my switched-at-birth sister.
“I’m fine, Papa. If I hadn’t gone there, we wouldn’t know why Sammy was taken.”
He scoffed. “Medallion!”
I smiled. “And I wouldn’t have impressed my sister. Sophie is training to be a detective.”
“Porca vacca!” It takes a lot for Papa to swear in Italian.
“Do you have any idea what this ‘medallion’ is? This intruder’s dad claims you and Bob lifted it from Baumgarten’s body.”
He shrugged and took a long swig of his beer. He opened the ice chest at his feet and handed me a Peroni.
He said, “Daniel Baumgarten wasn’t dead on the street. He died the following day in the hospital.”
“Where were you guys when you got the call?”
“We didn’t. We were at the bakery across the street when the accident happened. There was a commotion outside. Some window-seat diners yelled, and Bob and I hit the floor running. We didn’t miss a helluva lot. Two, three minutes tops.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“It was a pretty straightforward incident. We interviewed witnesses. They said Daniel Baumgarten ran into the street without looking. The driver probably couldn’t avoid the hit. If he’d hung around, he wouldn’t have been charged.”
It’s human nature. Sometimes a flight response kicks in and a driver panics. But a person who’s all grown up will eventually suck it up and turn himself in. Only this person hadn’t.
Papa waved the smoke away and stabbed at the chicken. Apparently it wasn’t black enough yet.
He shook his head. “Who are these asses who took Sam? And if they thought we jacked Baumgarten over a trinket on the street, why wait all this time before coming after it?”
“We’ll know the answer when we bring Sammy home.”
Mama emerged through the back door waving a wooden spoon. Inga ran joyfully to her Nonna, and Mama cooed and fed her a sausage. She coddled her grand-dog up a moment before standing again and shaking the spoon at Papa. He winced. A protecting hand shot to his battle scar and his eyes darted back and forth. Papa was moments away from being banished to the guest room. He tried desperately to think of something to save himself but he just doesn’t think that fast.
“Did your papa tell you why I shouldn’t report the silver thief?” Mama demanded.
I crossed my fingers behind my back. “He knew you were upset. He didn’t want to stress you more.”
“You’re a foolish old man, Antonio.”
“Papa made the police report for you.”
“He did?”
“He went to the top of the food chain. Captain Bob’s taking care of it.”
Papa’s astonished eyes popped. He dropped his brows when Mama looked at him. Her eyes were soft.
“L’amore fa fare cose sciocche alle persone.”
He moved to her and whispered something in her ear. I guessed it was his “trust me” line. She giggled and her cheeks flushed. It seemed to be working.
“Get a room,” I said and called Inga. She followed me to the car.
***
The aroma of burnt chicken followed me to the Silver Bullet, where the hunky buns of a Nordic god kissed my Honda’s lucky hood. His ripped arms folded across his chest and he rocked his blue jeans in all the right places. His skin was tanned to brown sugar and for two—okay, five—delicious seconds I wanted to lick him all over.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m over-the-moon-crazy about Chance Savino. He’s attentive and thoughtful and he brings me breakfast in bed. He helps with the dishes, for God’s sake, and takes out the garbage without being asked. I was married to a man who didn’t know where our garbage can was, much less what day I dragged it to the curb for pickup. Savino knows all these things. I don’t know what other women call these household tasks. But I call them foreplay.
I looked at Max and felt m
y cheeks flush. My vision is twenty/twenty and Max is built like a Nordic god.
I’m not dead yet.
My mouth felt dry.
“Papa’s barbecuing in back,” I said.
“I can almost see the flames.”
“Hungry?”
“Always. But I’ve had your papa’s black chicken. It’s carcinogenic.”
I laughed. “Then we should get outta here before the fire department arrives. Wanna meet at Tino’s?”
“Definitely. We’ll take my car.” He whistled for Inga.
Nordic gods are bossy.
“Where’s your Hummer?”
“At home.”
He had his hand at my back, guiding me across the street to a black Jaguar F-Type convertible with temporary plates.
“I’m showing off my new toy.”
“OMG,” I breathed.
Okay, I’m shallow enough to be tantalized by a hot car.
Chance Savino rocks my world. He’s sizzling hot, eye candy, and utterly delicious. There’s nothing I would change about him. Except maybe his car. Chance drives a boat.
When I first met him, he drove a Porsche Boxster. I thought he was super rich and smokin’ hot. It turns out I was half right. Savino was working undercover when we met and the Boxster was a tease. At least he’s still hot. And the cobalt blues make up for a decided lack of green.
Savino recently bought a new Prius for work but when we go out, he drives his Cadillac Eldorado with the fluffy black-and-white dice dangling from the mirror. He’s as goofy and proud as a new father. He spent a year restoring the Eldorado it to its original, shiny hugeness. I suspect when he’s behind the wheel, he has a James Dean alter-ego thing going. I get Ozzie and Harriet.
Max opened the Jaguar’s passenger door. Inga jumped in and over the backseat. I hung my head inside and breathed in the new car smell.
“OMG,” I said again and he laughed.
“Can I drive?” I said.
“Not a chance. You abandoned me with your sister.”
“I—”
“Don’t deny it. I caught your eyes in the rearview mirror.”
“In all fairness, that woman is a stranger to me. She was switched at birth.”
“That’s what she said about you.”
I sputtered. “Seriously? She’s a foot shorter than the other kids.”
He grinned. “She towers over Nonna DeLuca.”
“But you told her I was the sane one, didn’t you?”
“Sane? That’s a bit of a stretch. Insanity runs rampant in your family.”
I sputtered and he laughed.
“Actually, Sophie was amazing. She’s got spunk. And courage. And an exceptional capacity to work through pain.”
Of course she does. She’s a baby machine.
“What she’s got is a crush on you,” I said.
“She’s married. That’s a line I don’t cross. She’s gorgeous, no doubt. But I keep a picture of dead puppies in my head.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“It works. She’s your sister.”
I smiled.
“And your mama scares me.”
Mama scares everyone.
I climbed in the passenger seat. He closed the door behind me, scooted around the car and behind the wheel.
“How did you know I was here?” I said.
“I called Tino. He has a tracker on your car.”
I made a sputtering sound but no intelligent syllables came out.
“Tino put a tracker on your Honda one of the many times someone was shooting at you. Don’t get all huffy. It’s to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what? Papa’s burnt chicken?”
“Get over it, Kitten. You piss people off.”
“Et tu, Max?”
He laughed. “Since you’re already mad, I may as well tell you I’m here because I saw the 1999 file on your computer.”
“You were snooping in my office?”
“I’m a spy. But in my defense, I didn’t snoop until you ran away and left us in the dust.”
“Okay. I deserve that.”
“I got curious. I wondered where you went in an all-fired hurry. I saw the file on the hit-and-run and I called Tino. He remembers the case well. I think we can help.”
“Impossible. In 1999 Tino was probably in some exotic country doing some top secret spy stuff.”
“You’ve watch far too many James Bond movies.”
“And you?” I did the math. “I’m guessing you were in school. Or maybe Special Forces Boot Camp.”
“Tino was here the end of ’98 and the first half of ’99. It was the year his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. He left Eastern Europe and came home to take care of her. He hired a nurse. And at the end, Hospice came to the house. It’s still painful for Tino to talk about.”
I felt small. Sometimes I have a big mouth.
“I didn’t know about his mama,” I said.
“Tino made us dinner and there’s a new wine he wants to try. And don’t say you’re not hungry. When your blood sugar gets low, your green eyes flash like a large, wild cat.”
“Are you calling me cranky?”
“I was goin’ with bitchy.”
I punched him.
He laughed. “Let’s say I know when to feed and water you. Sometimes I think you could eat me alive.”
I dragged my eyes away from his hard muscled legs and stared out the window. I was thinking about dead kittens.
Chapter Thirteen
I was on my best behavior at Tino’s. I didn’t rant about Mama coercing him to pass off her pozione d’amore as his own. Tino is a romantic and he believes spreading some love is good for the soul.
And I didn’t say anything about the tracker he put on the Silver Bullet. Tino saved my sorry bum more than once. I decided to be thankful. And to have my mechanic remove the tracker the next time he services my car.
Tino served up some delicious pumpkin tortellini in a fresh sage mascarpone cheese sauce and a warm tomato and spinach salad.
When we were finished with our plates, Max whisked them away and tidied up the kitchen.
Tino took out one of Uncle Joe’s Cuban cigars and a long, fancy cedar match and began the ritual of cutting, toasting, and lighting his cigar. He took his time, slowly spinning the cigar to get an even burn and when he was satisfied, he sighed deeply before turning to me with a curious expression on his face.
“Why are you investigating Danny’s death?”
My mouth dropped. “You knew him.”
“I met Danny when I bought a set of wedding rings from him. Gold bands and more diamonds than I could afford.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We became friends. His wife had died and I was here taking care of Mama. I’d cook dinner and we’d knock off a few bottles of wine and talk into the night.”
Wedding rings? Had Tino been married? My head reeled but I held my tongue. I thought I should give him a chance to cough up the scoop before I choked it out of him.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” I said.
“Danny had integrity. It’s a rare commodity in a ball-breaking business. “
A thought came to me. “Do you remember a guy who did some manual work for Daniel? His name was Felix Proust.”
“Felix. Yes. He was a good guy. Danny liked him. He could listen to him play the piano for hours.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
Tino shook his head. “I’ll ask around. He had some physical and mental challenges. A crooked spine, I think. Danny said he was good company.”
“Rocco and I were at Baumgarten’s today.”
“You met Robert then. He tells me business is good.”
It’s the first time I’d been in the shop in forever. Peggy Ma
xfield took Ellie and me there when we were in school. Once she bought a watch for Bob’s birthday. Another time she bought a deep purple butterfly. Wings were spread like it was flying. I forgot about it until last night. I saw it on her windowsill.”
Tino flicked the ash from his cigar. “Danny and Robert had some conflict over the business. Robert was just out of school. He was young and ambitious and he wanted to maximize profits. They were both good guys. They had different visions for the business.”
I took another sip of wine and pulled a leg up under me. “Okay, Tino. Spill it. Were you married or not?”
He smiled. “I was teaching English in the Russian city of Ryazan when my mama got sick.”
“Drop the cover story, 007. I know you were a spy.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Such an imagination, Caterina.”
“Right.” I winked. “We’ll play it cool.”
He returned the wink. “Mama called and I came home. I was seeing a woman named Liliya but the State Department denied her Visa. She had been married a short time. Her husband was killed by the police. The police claimed he was an FSB agent and he planted a bomb.” Tino gave a palms-up shrug. “The government was corrupt. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. But Liliya wasn’t political. She wasn’t a threat.”
“I came home alone and petitioned the State Department to alter their decision. I called them every day for three months. The day her Visa came through, I flew back to Ryazan with the rings Danny made for us.”
“I got there too late. Liliya was gone. A few days earlier, a suicide bomber drove a truck with a bomb into a crowd at the market. Nine people died. Mostly women and children. I turned around and came home again. I’ve never been back.”
I moved around the table and hung my arms around him. He smelled of wine and garlic and cigars. I held him a long moment. When I let him go, the chocolate eyes were steady.
“I lost everything that year. My mother. My lover. My best friend.”
“I’m sorry, Tino.” The words sounded empty.
Tino spat. “I want you to find the bastardo who ran Danny down on the street. Egli morirà!”
A death sentence sounds scarier in Italian.