by Vella Day
I can’t wait till I join you in heaven. Then we can be together forever and no one, and I mean no one, will ever hurt you or the baby again.
Forever yours,
Morton
When a guy in a torn t-shirt with more tattoos than skin strode into the Blue Moon at lunchtime, the hair on the back of Tessa’s neck stood up. Tattoo boy stepped up to the cash register next to the bar where she was counting the change. She hoped he couldn’t see the tension lacing her fingers. With the way her luck had been going this week, she half expected him to pull a gun and rob the place.
“You Tessa Redman?” His voice held a hard, defensive edge.
She closed the register and looked up at his face. “Yes.”
“I’m Mick Stukes,” he said over the noise of customer conversations and the ice clinking in glasses. “Short-order cook.”
Her relief was palpable. “Oh, you’re Walt’s friend.” She wanted to ask what had taken him so long but decided she was glad he’d arrived at all.
He shrugged. “Sure, whatever.” He fidgeted with the stud collar on his wrist. “I heard you might need a cook. I could use the job.”
His hand shook slightly as if he could use a fix too, but she tried not to judge. “Do you have any experience?”
His eyes darted around the bar as if trying to decide whether to tell the truth. “In the pen. Had to feed a couple hundred men three squares a day.”
A convict? In her place? Her brother would die.
She stopped short and amended the image. Judd, her now reformed half-brother, would have a fit. There, that sounded better.
Mick’s glance locked onto the hardwood floor as if he found the darkened grooves fascinating. Two couples piled in the nearly full restaurant, and Chelsea shuttled between two tables so fast she knocked over one of the saltshakers. Very un-Chelsea like. Roger had been his usual slow self in the kitchen not helping the dire situation.
“Why don’t we slip into my office?” Tessa certainly didn’t need the world to know she was interviewing an ex-con.
She turned away from tattoo boy and could feel him hover behind her as she walked with false confidence down the dim hallway.
“It’s not what you think,” he said with such unexpected emotion her heart clenched.
“What am I thinking?” she asked as she pushed open the door to her workspace.
When she turned to sit in the chair behind her desk, she saw a scared kid before her.
“That I’m a hardened criminal you can’t trust.”
“Go on.”
He wrung his hands. “I’m not going to tell you I’m not guilty, because I am, but I had a good reason to assault that man. He was hurting my sister.”
Her heart swelled. Tessa’s older sister’s rape in high school was never far from her mind. If only Judd hadn’t been away at school at the time of her attack, her sister wouldn’t have run away from the nightmare.
“Protecting your sister speaks well of you,” she said. “I have to know, though, are you doing any drugs? I don’t condone that kind of behavior, and I don’t want it around my restaurant.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “No, I don’t do drugs. I swear.”
She believed him. He seemed like a good kid who’d had a bad rap. She could relate. He thrust a crumpled paper at her listing his work experience. After a few more questions, she handed him an application.
“When can you start?” she said. Normally, she was a thorough person, but with the way the problems kept flying at her the last few days, Tessa decided she didn’t have the luxury of interviewing a ton of prospective cooks.
“Now, I guess.”
“Good. I’ll start you off at minimum wage. If you prove you can do the job, I’ll give you a raise. How does that sound?” She prayed she wasn’t making a stupid mistake.
His smile came out genuine. “Thanks. Walt told me you were cool.” He pumped her hand with enthusiasm.
“Let me show you to the kitchen.”
When Dom’s eyes refused to focus on the information his team had unearthed on the Wilkerson murder, he placed the reports in alphabetical order with the rest of the pending cases, and then stretched to get the kinks out of his neck and back.
It was time to visit the Blue Moon. He’d waited over a week to check up on Tessa Redman, wanting to give her time to forget him, but a week wasn’t nearly long enough for him to forget her.
Tessa had looked scared, like his little brother had when the foster home explained no one wanted both a nine year old and a six year old. It didn’t matter they were brothers. Geez. Dom had almost peed in his pants when the social workers told him the bad news.
He’d argued with them. Boy, had he. All night in fact. Enough to make his papa proud, but it hadn’t done any good. In the end, Dom stayed in Connecticut and Alex had disappeared. If he had a dime for every dollar he’d spent on P.I. fees looking for his kid brother, he’d be rich.
Life wasn’t fair sometimes.
Dom’s stomach suddenly grumbled. He’d been too focused to eat. Every time a case stymied him, he’d work non-stop, not taking the time for lunch or dinner, almost as if his sacrifice would help bring the criminal to justice that much sooner. Never worked however, but he didn’t change his habit.
Now was as good a time as ever to see what interesting tidbits he could unearth at the Blue Moon. If he got lucky, he might find a customer who’d noticed the Wilkerson woman conversing with someone. He needed a clue to help him find the bastard who’d killed her. As of seven p.m. today, his team had squat.
Dom exited the station, surprised at the unusual bite in the air. November was unusually cold this year, signaling a cool front was moving in.
Half way to the restaurant, the skies opened up, turning the evening a dark, battleship gray. The dried love bugs on his windshield smeared as he turned on the wipers. He’d been meaning to get new ones, but with the rash of recent cases, he hadn’t taken the time to shop for a pair.
Dom clocked the drive to the Blue Moon to be right around seventeen minutes. When he pulled into the hard-packed, dirt lot, it was close to seven thirty, surprised to find the place full. The restaurant must do a good dinner business or else lots of people had a bad drinking habit.
A neon blue moon lit up the front of the old wooden structure. The name flashed in white, then blue. Only tonight it read, Blue Moo. The N was out.
Seagulls squawked above the outdoor patio that overlooked the Bay. They’d be disappointed if they expected food tonight. It was too chilly for sitting outside.
Along the side of the restaurant, he spotted a sharp looking Cris Craft pulled up to the dock. What he wouldn’t give to take a spin in that beauty. Maybe in about twenty or thirty years when he retired he’d live his dream of sailing the ocean.
He shook his head at the fantasy and eased through the Blue Moon’s double doors. The contrast from dark to light wasn’t as stark as the first time he’d come. Now wall lights, in the shape of anchors, filled the restaurant with a nice glow. Rather homey, if you liked the houseboat theme.
His gaze zeroed in on the bar, hoping to spot Tessa. No luck. Instead he found Mr. Clean bartending. Shaved head, well over six-four, his muscles bulging beneath an out-of-place bowling shirt.
“Table for one, sir?”
Dom hadn’t noticed the hostess until she spoke. Pretty girl, but too skinny for his tastes. “I think I’ll sit at the bar, thanks.”
Even though his back would be to the tables, he figured he’d be able to pry information from the bartender. Only four of the ten bar stools remained open. He slid onto the stool at the end, not wanting to be sandwiched between two patrons.
Dom flagged the bartender.
“Whatllya have?” the giant asked without a hint of welcome.
“A Guinness draft.” Dom disliked the taste of ale, but ordering the brew would ensure he’d hold fast to his no drinking rule. He’d been really dumb-ass-stupid in his twenties, and the scars on his neck and chest fro
m the knife fights were a constant reminder of what could happen when one took bets after drinking all night.
The giant plunked down a tall glass of the dark beer in front of him, sloshing part of the contents down the sides. The guy didn’t offer an apology or clean up the mess. Dom grabbed a paper napkin and soaked up the spill.
“Want to run a tab?” Mr. Clean asked.
“No.” Dom fished a twenty out of his pocket and tossed it on the bar. “Is Tessa working tonight?”
If Dom hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the stiffening of the man’s back. “She’s in her office tending to the baby.”
Baby?
The image rocked him. Tessa was a mom? He never would have guessed. Her skittishness sent out a message she wasn’t comfortable around men, or was it just being around him? Hell, maybe she hated cops.
Her defensiveness hadn’t been his imagination. When her fingers brushed his hand, she’d jumped. Her eyes had visibly widened, and her jaw had slackened. Her response had been too strong to ignore. Or did she have a husband lurking in the background? A surprising surge of anger welled up, before he could squash it.
“You from around here, young man?”
Dom swiveled to his left. As if someone had pulled a magic trick, an old woman replaced the young professional in the seat next to him. Short, white curly hair capped a lined, but lively face. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence. It must be his lack of sleep that made him miss the sleight of hand.
“Yes.” He turned his shoulders to the bar and took a sip of the tart beer to avoid further conversation.
“Then you must have heard about the terrible tragedy on Bayshore last week. Such a shame. A woman gunned down like that. Tampa didn’t used to be like that when I was growing up, you know.”
His ears perked up at the topic. “I’m sure it wasn’t. Did you know the victim?” he asked with false innocence.
“Not personally, but I saw her here the night she, ah, died. Madge, that’s my friend, and I even commented on her agitated state. Poor dear. Looked like she’d lost her best friend.”
Dom’s heart sped up at his luck. “So you saw her here? Did she stay long?”
She grabbed his forearm with gnarled fingers that ended in red spikes. “Oooh, you sound like a cop.” She let go and leaned toward him as if she were imparting top-secret information. “Well, my friend and I left around ten thirty and the woman was still here. The paper said she died around midnight or so. You do the math.”
Dom had to smile at her way-too-youthful turn of phrase. “Did you see her talking to anyone?” He’d wondered if Tessa had told him the truth.
“Just Tessa. She’s running the bar now that her brother is ill.” She batted her eyelashes. The older woman searched his face then ran a gaze down his chest and stopped at his crotch.
He felt like a damn horse for sale.
“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Eleanor Stablein.”
“Dominic Rossi.” They shook hands.
“Rossi. Such a nice name. Italian?”
He sucked in a calming breath. “Yes.”
“I just love Italy. Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“You should go, you know.” Eleanor let go of his arm and glanced to the far end of the bar. “Have you met her?”
“Who?” Maybe Eleanor was senile.
“Why Tessa, of course.” She turned back to him and swatted his arm. “Pay attention. You’ll never get a woman if you don’t listen.”
Her chiding forced a chuckle. “Yes, I’ve met her. Once.”
“She’s a real doll that girl.” She cocked a brow. “Don’t you think?”
Tessa had hardly been a doll with him. “Why do you say that?”
“How many women do you know would give up her life’s dream of becoming a psychologist to help out a brother? A half-brother to boot. And to care for his baby while he waits for a liver transplant? Why the girl is practically a saint. Can you imagine doing something like that for someone?”
As a matter of fact he could. He’d be willing to give up everything for his brother—if he ever found Alex again.
Eleanor shook her head, thankfully not pressing him for an answer. “Poor, Tessa. This whole bar business has her in such a frazzled mess. Why Madge and I had to babysit Mandy just this past weekend when her sitter couldn’t make it. If only Judd’s wife hadn’t run off like she did, Tessa wouldn’t have to play mom. Of course, she’s doing a wonderful job, but the baby and the Blue Moon are hard to juggle.” She tapped a nail on his chest. “I see your finger doesn’t have any gold around it. Why, she could use a nice man to help her out. Do you work?”
“Yes, ma’am, I work.”
Great. That’s all he needed. An interfering matchmaker. However, a clearer picture of Tessa developed. Apparently, she wasn’t married and was devoted to her family. His dark mood lightened at the thought.
“And what exactly do you do for a living, Dominic?”
Before he could make up an occupation that would keep her talking, a tall, elderly woman with short, bright orange permed hair approached them.
She gave Eleanor a hug. “Why, there you are. Sorry, I’m late, but—” Her mouth turned up in a smile. “I didn’t know you’d met someone. Oh, don’t let me interfere.”
Did Eleanor have a habit of picking up younger men? Younger, as in forty some odd years younger?
Eleanor grabbed his hand. “This is my new friend—” She paused.
Had she forgotten his name already? She seemed too sharp. “Dom. Dominic Rossi,” he answered, hoping to pry information from the newcomer. “A pleasure to meet you. Can I buy you ladies a drink?”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, but we must be going,” Madge said. “I just came to pick up Eleanor. We’re going to the movies.”
Eleanor hopped off her perch with surprising agility, and then let go of his hand.
“Well, Dom, I hope we see you around. Madge and I come here all the time.” She winked. “And do check out Tessa. She’s quite the find.”
Dom smiled. He liked the old biddy, but not her suggestion to scope out Tessa. He’d had enough heartbreak in that department to last a lifetime. Being engaged, then losing Lisa to cancer, cured him of any hope for a happily ever after.
“Don’t like the ale?”
Dom spun around. The giant was standing in front of him casting a disapproving eye. “I got distracted.”
The man grunted. Figuring he had Mr. Clean’s attention, Dom reached into his pocket and removed a photo of Keri Wilkerson. “You recognize her?”
He glanced once at the photo. “Nope.”
“Mind taking a closer look?”
The giant shrugged. He leaned over, grabbed the snapshot from Dom and held it up to the light. “She don’t look so good.”
“She’s dead.”
“You a cop?”
No use lying. “Tampa Homicide. Dominic Rossi.”
He shrugged. “My old man was a cop in Ohio,” the bartender said with little affection.
“You didn’t want to follow in Dad’s footsteps?”
“Hell no. My dad was a real dick.”
Dom had no ready retort. He scooped up Keri Wilkerson’s headshot and slipped it in his breast pocket for safekeeping.
“Hey, Charley, my man,” a short, stocky patron shouted from the other end of the bar. “Can I get some service over here?”
“Be right there, Mr. Dirkman.”
Charley narrowed his eyes at Dom, as if to give a warning before rushing away. Dom bet the laconic giant rarely moved with such speed. No surprise, most people brushed him off once they found out he represented the law.
Dom took another small sip of beer for show and suppressed a groan as the cold brew slid down his throat, quenching his thirst. He missed the taste of beer sometimes, but he didn’t regret his change of lifestyle—at least most of the time.
Dom closed his eyes to soak in the mood. The place seemed noisier and the smells more int
ense. Robust conversation and easy laughter helped him relax. Eleanor’s flowery perfume lingered around him, while the aroma of fried chicken filtered out of the nearby kitchen. He liked the atmosphere here since there was something down to earth about the place.
He turned his back to the bar, wanting to get a feel for the clientele, to see why a seemingly rich housewife would come here alone.
Safety, he decided. The place had an intangible aura of comfort that permeated the place, as if Mr. Clean would rush to the rescue if anyone bothered a customer.
As he was checking out the place, Chelsea turned toward him, stopped short, and then made a beeline in his direction, swaying her hips in an exaggerated fashion. He could have told her to save her effort for a more worthy cause, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Hey, there. I see you’re back,” Chelsea purred as she crossed into his personal space. “Trying to solve more cases?” She ran a finger down his arm as her mouth formed a pout.
Dom leaned back against the bar and planted his elbows on the counter to give him some distance. “Chelsea, isn’t it?”
She beamed. “Yeah, you remembered! Can I get anything for you?” Her seductress tone turned bubble-gum cute.
His first instinct was to say, Tessa, but instead asked for a menu. “What’s your specialty?” he asked as he pursued the long list of items.
“Why Detective Rossi, whatever do you mean?”
“I was asking what food is the restaurant known for?” He wasn’t into kinky. At least not with Chelsea.
“Oh. Well, that would have to be our world famous hamburgers. They’re delish.” She straightened her shoulders in an obvious attempt to show off her ample breasts.
“I’ll have one but hold the cheese.” He didn’t bother looking over the menu. He wanted Chelsea away from him. She drew too much attention, and he wanted to remain unnoticed for as long as possible. Dom wasn’t ready yet to face the nervous Ms. Redman.