Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder

by Camilla T. Crespi

  “Suspicions have shifted, but thanks for the tip,” she said, playing along. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll cook for the jury.” What a nice face he had. She changed her tone. “You’ve been through a lot, too.”

  He cocked his head, looking puzzled.

  “I’m sorry. I overheard Mrs. Ashe in the foyer when you came.”

  His jaw tightened. She barely knew him. She shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “Yes, Chris,” he said. “I think the ice cream is melting.”

  Lori turned to look at the blue bowl on the counter. “Oh God, I’m sorry.” The ice cream was now syrup. “That was the last of it. Would you like some veal tonnato instead?” She wasn’t making any sense. Where was Janet when she needed her?

  He didn’t crack a smile. “I’d prefer gnocchi,” he said.

  Before Lori could answer, not that she knew what to say, Jonathan stuck his head through the swinging door. “My mother is getting jealous.”

  “Of course,” Alec said with a quick bow of his head. “Sorry.” He walked to the counter and picked up the bowl of melted ice cream. “Just the way I like it,” he said and walked back into the dining room. Lori wasn’t sure, but she thought he’d winked at her.

  Jonathan waited for the door to swing shut. “Everything was fabulous. I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow night to celebrate,” he said. “Jeffrey’s.” Margot’s favorite eatery, the most expensive restaurant in Hawthorne Park.

  “I think you should ask me first before telling me.” She was wondering why Alec Winters had flustered her.

  Jonathan got on one knee. “Ms. Corvino, will you do me the honor—”

  “Stop that.” He’d made her laugh. “Yes, but not Jeffrey’s. Someplace more relaxed, less noisy.”

  “I know just the place.” Jonathan jumped up and swept his knee clean. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  In bed that night, Lori replayed the scene in the restaurant her last night in Rome. When Alec spilled the gnocchi and then the wine on her lap, he had been so apologetic, and she’d lashed out in anger. She was ashamed of that now. That’s why his presence in Jonathan’s kitchen had flustered her. She was the one who needed to apologize.

  CHAPTER 22

  * * *

  Ellie, dressed in dark red spandex slacks and an orangey red ruffled top, was on her knees, wiping clean the red plastic tulips that she kept in a metal vase at the foot of her husband’s grave. It was ten o’clock Sunday morning, and Lori and Ellie were in the Catholic section of the Hawthorne Park cemetery, under an elder tree. The sky was a thick cap of gray. The weatherman had predicted rain for the next three days. In contrast to the surrounding elaborate graves, Papa’s burial site was marked by a simple granite headstone laid flat on the ground. Ellie had originally dreamed of a small, expensive, red marble pedestal covered in carved garlands of flowers on which an angel wept, but, not knowing what the future had in store for her and Lori, her practical side had won out, and with the passing years she had grown to be proud of the grave’s simplicity. She’d decided it was elegant. The headstone read:

  ROCCO CORVINO

  August 9, 1943–May 15, 1981

  He did his best

  “It’s a waste,” Ellie said when Lori stooped down to add the vase of sunflowers she had brought. “Real flowers just rot and Papa doesn’t need dead flowers to remind him how he ended up. Plastic lasts forever. Besides, you’re not going to be here next Sunday to throw out your flowers. And he never did like yellow. Red was his color.” She heaved herself up.

  “Sunflowers are cheerful,” Lori protested, reaching out to steady her mother. Even at the funeral Ellie had not wanted real flowers. She said their fragility depressed her. Today Lori had picked sunflowers because they looked strong, and perhaps lasted longer. “I might be here next week to clean up.”

  Ellie dusted off her knees and gave Lori one of her you-wanna-bet looks.

  “I mean it, Mom. I finally figured out why I didn’t want to come.”

  “I could have told you that. You were ashamed you didn’t keep your man.”

  Lori looked at her mother in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  Ellie aimed a finger at her. “Because we raised you a Catholic even though you don’t go to church any more. Because you come from a people who believe that to be without a husband is a punishment from God.” The finger kept jabbing the space in front of Lori’s chest. “Because you’ve got pride in your genes. Because I couldn’t have faced my father dead or alive if my husband had walked out on me. You think you’re so different from me, but you’re not, you know, and that’s not such a bad thing.” The finger rested.

  “You’re right. It isn’t.” Lori pushed her mother’s hand down and gave her a kiss on the side of her head.

  Ellie scowled back. “I’ll tell you this. We’re both dumb to feel that way. Shame is for whoever killed that woman your ex married. A nasty piece of work she was, but she didn’t deserve to die. You and me,” Ellie straightened her back—she was five foot one to Lori’s five-five—and puffed out her considerable chest, “we should stand tall.”

  Lori smiled and straightened her back, too. “Done.”

  Ellie turned back to the grave and made the sign of the cross, her mouth moving silently. Lori blew her father a kiss and mentally asked his forgiveness for not visiting. In the first months after Rob left she had thought of her father a lot, trying to remember his face, his voice. His face came back to her only from photos. She thought his voice had been grainy, but she didn’t ask Ellie, not wanting to be wrong. She did remember some of the advice he gave her during his cooking lessons, mixing instructions for food preparations with those for life. “Bitterness is for broccoli rabe, not for you.” “Let the natural goodness of a food shine. No fancy sauce to muck it up. That goes for you and those you care about. Whatever they are they are. Adding ketchup isn’t going to change that.”

  Another part of her father that Lori still remembered were his hands, callused and cracked from bricklaying, the nails split, always spotlessly clean, as they chopped, folded, kneaded. If she was heading off somewhere, one hand would cup the back of her neck, scratching her. It had made her feel controlled, held back. Only after he was gone did she realize he was only trying to steer her toward the right way.

  “What do you remember of Papa?” she asked when Ellie tucked the rag she had used to clean the plastic tulips back in her satchel, a sign she was ready to leave.

  “It was a pretty good marriage. We used to fight, then make up.”

  Lori was surprised. She didn’t remember fights. “That’s it? The sum of a married life?”

  “It’s gone. I don’t want to talk about it.” Ellie started to walk back to the car park. Lori followed, disappointed. She wanted more.

  “I don’t visit like I used to,” Ellie confessed as they reached the Mercedes. “Sometimes I’m just too tired to face death.” She looked at Lori across the expanse of the car. “You think that’s terrible?”

  “No. He’s been gone a long time.”

  “He sure has. I wish I could say I still miss him, but I’d be lying. I loved him, but that was then. Now, I don’t know what I feel. I guess what I don’t like is the idea that I’m getting close to joining him. Coming here reminds me. I don’t like it one bit.”

  Ellie’s words froze Lori to the ground. “Oh, Mom, you’re going to live forever.”

  Ellie caught sight of Lori’s anguished face just before Lori disappeared into the car. Ellie lowered herself into the car seat, strapped herself in, and gave Lori a quick pat on her arm. “Come to think of it, Loretta, I just might.”

  Driving back to Mamaroneck, Ellie announced, “We’re great women, you know that?”

  “If you say so.” Lori didn’t feel very great with Valerie’s murder hanging over their heads, but her mother was looking very satisfied with herself. Maybe it was because Mrs. DeRosa, behind lace curtains not sheer enough to hide her, had watched Ellie get into Margot’s car. As
the car drove away, Ellie had leaned out of the window and waved back at those lace curtains, a wide grin on her face, as if she and Mrs. DeRosa were the best of friends. Or maybe, Lori thought, it was something else.

  “Did you invite him?”

  Ellie’s expression became a mask of seriousness. “Tonight’s the night. I got to get back and start cooking. Lots to do. The house is a mess.”

  “Men don’t usually notice,” Lori said.

  “Maybe not, but he’s a good excuse to do some long overdue cleaning.” She glanced at Lori. “How about that handsome young man who brought you flowers? Jonathan something. Have him over. Take advantage of Jessica being gone. Get the house cleaned. Last time I was over I saw a lot of dust. How is she, by the way? I got to see all of three seconds of her on Friday with your ex making a big show of being in a hurry.” It started to rain lightly. Lori turned on the windshield wipers.

  “She called this morning,” Lori said. The rain was just what she was in the mood for, an excuse to put off any gardening work for another day. “It’s raining up there, too, which she says is fine with her. She’s reading To Kill a Mockingbird for school and loving it.”

  “The movie was great. It was about injustice and Daddy love. She’s going to think of Rob.”

  “Mom, let’s not talk about that, okay?” Going to visit Papa’s grave had made her feel even more vulnerable than before. What she needed now was some food and a long talk with Beth, who was always clear-headed. Then tonight, Jonathan was going to make her laugh. She was counting on it. “I need a day off.”

  Ellie snapped her satchel open and closed a few times, her way of showing impatience. “If you want I’ll make double the meat sauce. Papa proposed to me after I fed him lasagna with that sauce.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  Ellie chuckled and put her satchel down. “It makes a good story.”

  “By the way, Mom, last night’s dinner went very well. Thanks for asking.”

  “Of course it did. Only someone who doubts asks.”

  Lori laughed. Ellie always had to have the last word. She turned into Ellie’s street, which was flanked by modest two-family houses that had small front yards filled with flowers and varied statuary: the Madonna, the seven dwarves, deer, bunnies. Lori remembered it as a cheerful street, filled with nosy but loving neighbors exchanging recipes and gossip, bringing food to the sick, raising money for a neighbor when it was needed. Mrs. DeRosa, despite what her mother thought, had always been kind, filling Lori’s pockets with candy while she waited for the school bus on the corner. “To light up the brain,” she said each time, and Lori had pictured her ideas coming out of her head in candy colors, lit up like Fourth of July sparklers.

  She hit the brakes when she saw them a few yards short of her mother’s front yard. Luckily no car was behind her.

  “Hey!” Ellie shouted as the sudden stop flung her forward, the seat belt stopping her from hitting the dashboard.

  With the screech of Lori’s brakes, Scardini and Mitchell straightened up from leaning against their unmarked car. Scardini tossed his cigarette onto the street. Mitchell shrugged his jacket on. The rain didn’t seem to bother them.

  “What got into you?” Ellie asked.

  Lori lifted her chin in the direction of Scardini and Mitchell looking like two football players dressed up for church. “Those two are the detectives on the case.”

  “That’s no reason to get me strangled.”

  Lori eased the car forward. Damn and double damn. Margot had warned her they’d be after her again. Now she had to find a parking spot, not an easy job on a Sunday. The homes didn’t have driveways. She drove slowly past the detectives. Scardini nodded. Mitchell raised his hand and called out a hello. She scanned the length of the street. There was a spot at the very end, probably in front of a hydrant, but these two were homicide, not traffic, and she was only going to give them a few minutes. Beth was waiting with quiche and wine. She stopped to let her mother off. “Tell them I’m not running away.”

  Ellie closed the car door, started to walk away, turned back, and knocked on the window. Lori pressed the window button down. “What?”

  “Maybe I should feed them something. Make nice. They look hungry.”

  Lori slapped her hands together in prayer mode. “Please, Mom. Leave it alone.” She had visions of Ellie covering veggie burgers with chopped tofu. They’d both get arrested.

  “I know what it looks like,” Lori said as she reached the detectives. She opened her umbrella, even though the rain was barely wet. It made her feel protected. “But I was home that night.”

  “Were you?” Scardini said, one eyebrow raised. Mitchell had a look of apology, like a dog who’s just gnawed on your favorite shoe.

  “Why talk in the rain?” Ellie asked, her eyes shifting back and forth from the detectives to the lace-curtained window next door, her satchel flapping against her hip. “Something to drink, maybe? A soda, a beer, a glass of ice water? I got a nice sofa to rest on. You both got a lot of weight on those feet.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” Mitchell said. Ellie gave him her best frown. “We could sit in the car,” he suggested.

  “No!” Lori didn’t care if it started pouring. The thought of being questioned in such close quarters made her shudder. “Mom, it’s okay,” she said, covering her with the umbrella. “You’ve got nice neighbors.” She turned to Scardini. Already his brown jacket was covered in wet polka dots. Mitchell’s jacket was too dark for rain to spot it. “My phone must have been out of order, that’s why Margot had to call my cell.”

  “And your daughter.”

  “That’s right. My daughter, too. What more to do you want to know?”

  Ellie pushed herself between Scardini and Lori. “How did you two find us? Did Mrs. DeRosa tell you I was with my daughter?”

  “No, ma’am.” Mitchell grinned. Maybe he knew all about rivalry between neighbors where he lived. “When we got to Ms. Corvino’s home, we saw her driving away, so we followed. When she came here, we started to get out of the car, but you two were pretty quick. We didn’t want to butt in at the cemetery.”

  “That was nice of you,” Lori said to Mitchell. “Thanks.”

  “Your phone wasn’t out of order,” Scardini said. “We checked with the phone company.”

  “Then it got unplugged somehow, but the crazy thing,” she was talking only to Mitchell, “the crazy thing is that I don’t remember plugging it back. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Ellie stuck her head out at Scardini. She reached his chest. “Now don’t go telling me the police can’t figure out where a cell phone is when a call is made or answered. Isn’t that how they got those kids that killed Michael Jordan’s father? They were dumb enough to use his cell phone? Well, isn’t it?”

  Scardini folded his arms across his chest. Ellie didn’t back off. “We can tell within a three-mile radius,” he said. “We know from the base station that you were in the area of your home. So was Mrs. Staunton, for a brief moment on her drive to her death. She was killed in a no service zone.”

  The most awful feeling of fatigue mixed with fear overcame Lori. She leaned against the unmarked police car. “So I’m not off the hook?”

  Scardini managed not to look pleased about the news. “Let’s just say, not number one, but still in the running.”

  “No, she’s not,” Ellie announced with the determined voice she used to address dogs she deemed dangerous. “I have a perfectly good explanation and it’s the truth. My daughter got home from Italy the day before. I checked in on her at seven thirty Monday night. I found her in bed, out like a light. She was jet-lagged and her husband just married to someone else. I wanted her to sleep, so I unplugged her two phones. The next day I went back and plugged the phones before Loretta found out. She doesn’t like me to interfere even if it’s for her own good. In fact, I would say especially if it’s for her own good. Do you have children?” she asked Scardini.

  He answered wi
th a lopsided smile. “Two.”

  Mitchell laughed. “I got four girls.

  “Then you know what I mean.”

  Lori lowered her umbrella to cover her face even though the rain seemed to have stopped. She was afraid her skepticism would show on her face. Ellie had given her back the keys to the house on Sunday. There was no way she could have gotten in. But she did want to hug her mother for trying.

  When she dared look up again, Scardini’s face had turned impassive. “Maybe what you say is true, ma’am, but you taking your daughter’s phone off the hook doesn’t mean she didn’t wake up sometime after you left and go for a drive with her cell phone and murder on her mind.”

  Anger clenched Lori’s chest. “I didn’t kill Valerie. I can’t even kill a spider. But if you think I did, then arrest me and let’s get this over with.”

  Ellie spun around and grabbed Lori’s arm. “Have you gone crazy? Where’s your head?” She was hissing.

  Lori hissed back. “Mom! I’m tired of this cat and mouse game!”

  Mitchell intervened. “We’re not going to arrest you. We’re not arresting anybody yet, and we didn’t come here just to talk about your phone.”

  “What, then?” Lori felt like a fool.

  Scardini leaned his too-small head to one side. “What can you tell us about Warren Dixon’s relationship to your ex-husband?”

  “Mr. Dixon was my divorce lawyer.” What did Warren have to do with anything? “When he was still married, we saw each other as couples a few times.” Rob hadn’t liked going out with the Dixons, saying that Warren was arrogant. Lori suspected he was envious of Warren’s wealth.

  “They did business together?”

  “Not that I know of, but my ex kept me in the dark about his business dealings.” Lori was getting more and more curious. “Why are you asking me about Warren Dixon all of a sudden? Have you discovered some connection between him and Valerie’s death?”