I nodded. “Things will be spotless by the time you return. Thanks so much for inviting me and for this fantastic dinner.”
She winked. “Save it. It was either that or being forced to stay in longer and deal with my charming son who is a pain in the ass. Enjoy yourselves, children. Bootsie, you have my permission to slap him silly if he gets out of line.”
She whirled around. Within thirty seconds we heard the front door slam.
Sebastian produced a sigh of sheer relaxation. “I have faced gang shoot-out gun battles. I have wrestled three-hundred-pound gun-toting killers high on crack and handcuffed them once they were on the ground. My rank is detective. Yet within four minutes or less of entering that woman’s house this fifty-year old twice decorated police officer is reduced to feeling very much like a toddler sitting in a corner enduring a time-out for making mud pies and presenting them to the family.”
I howled. “Did you do that?”
“I did. Believe me, it was the least of my many sins.”
We spent a nice hour discussing our childhood misbehaviors and tucking away obscene amounts of St. Patrick’s Day cuisine. I don’t know how good a bricklayer Mrs. Lorelei Laramie was but she could have gotten a job any time, any day, at any pub in Manhattan or Brooklyn.
We deliberately avoided the topic of murder and cover-ups and suspects and exes. I easily located the amazing bread pudding and the whiskey-laden hard sauce in the fridge and presented the dessert to Sebastian, along with Irish coffee.
Only when we were stuffed and had no desire to even look at food for a week, did the topic return to the big questions of the week. Of the month. Of the year.
Who had taken a shot at Sebastian? And who had taken the opportunity to set up Sweet Cream Ladies, Limited to commit three murders and so far, get away with them?
Chapter 35
“In my opinion, we need to call Babs and Joey in on this,” I stated.
“Better minds?” Sebastian asked.
“Not necessarily. Simply more minds and more angles to theorize the who, where, what, why and how.”
Sebastian nodded. “Much as I hate to lose the opportunity to be alone with you, this is probably not the time or the place to make a romantic move and you’re right. They’ve been involved in this mess since day one and might have some insight. I have to also admit that my brains seem linked to pain a bit more than they it did back when I was thirty so I’m not ready to trust my instincts completely when it comes to nailing a serial killer.”
“Serial killer?” I must have sounded shocked even as I punched speed dial number one on my cell to try to reach Babs. She and Joey were supposedly going to be having dinner with some friend of his who also lived in Brooklyn but hadn’t been generous about inviting single Bootsie. Which was fine with me. The minute I’d gotten the invite from Lorelei I’d accepted.
Sebastian spoke softly. “I know. Serial killer. Conjures up some lunatic who leaves blue ribbons or smears notes in blood at crime scenes. Or a Son of Sam or Bundy or Dahlmer or someone. But literally, we’re dealing with a serial killer. Someone who has killed three people and wounded two.”
“Then you believe it’s all connected?”
“Yep. Well, actually I’m not sure about Clayton’s death. It’s off somehow.”
I held up my hand. “Two rings.”
“Yo! Bootsie! Whatcha’ll doin’?”
“We have just finished a huge wonderful home-cooked meal and we’re about to dive into coffee and play Clue.”
“Ah. And you want us over there? Is that what you’re saying?”
“It would be nice.”
Pause. “Am I too assume that the game is not the one on the board with the mythical lead pipes and ropes and colorful cast of characters but that you and Sebastian are trying to figure out who really done dunnit?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Save some coffee and dessert.”
“How’d you know there’d be dessert?"
I could almost hear the grin.
“Because Lorelei Laramie called me up three days ago to ask what you’d like and I told her that bread pudding soaked with whiskey-soaked raisins is your favorite when you’re saluting the green island, Mary Katherine Donovan Kittredge.”
“Should have known. People are in collusion here.”
Babs snickered. “Damn straight. Okay. Hold off on too much dessert and coffee and don’t start surmising until we get there. Take a nap instead. Preferably together.”
“Go away, Babs.”
“I am. See ya in a few.”
I hit the ‘end talk’ button; glad I hadn’t put Babs on speakerphone. Nap. Yeah. Exactly what I needed. Twenty minutes of lying next to Sebastian Laramie in his mother’s house while he avoided injuring his arm. So much for introducing sex to the relationship. Heck, if we ever were to get to that stage I was determined it would not be a quickie while both of us listened for the sound of a doorbell and the lilting tones of my best friend, her boyfriend or the entire Laramie brood back from drinks at O’Susannah’s or whatever.
I was even happier I hadn’t suggested a quickie when the doorbell rang ten minutes later. Apparently the streets of Brooklyn were empty today and the folks Babs and Joey had been visiting had a fast car.
“So! Faith and Begorrah and top a' the mornin’ to ya!” was Bab’s greeting. I could hear Sebastian sigh from two rooms away, followed by a “Shit. What am I getting myself into?” from the brave officer.
“Babs. How many ‘top a the mornin’s’ have you had?” I inquired.
“Not many. Two beers. Really. That’s it.”
“Well, come in and have some coffee and clear your brain now that’s it top 'a the afternoon.”
We hugged each other then I turned to Joey. “How are you doing today? I heard your dad was back home?”
Quick hugs, then he answered. “I’m okay. And yes. Giuseppe Carmosina is back lording over his mansion and ticked as a an old hound dog in weeds that his bail was as high as it was.”
I led Joey and Babs back to the living room. Sebastian waved his good hand at the duo. “I’m truly surprised it was that high. Either Vertigo was off his game or the judge was in a foul mood that day. I read the charges and figured your father would be issued a citation. Much as most of the Staten Island department would have liked to have seen him cooling his heels longer, everyone I spoke with felt like the D.A. of Richmond County had a pretty weak case.”
Joey sank down into a comfortable armchair that screamed 1950s. “Maybe dear ol’ Dad is right then. He claims he’s being framed. Oh by the way, he’s also convinced that whoever shot you on the steps of the courthouse was aiming for him.”
Sebastian quietly stated, “I think he’s right.”
Silence from everyone. Finally I stood up. “Uh. Coffee?”
Nods. I bobbed my head toward Babs. “Wanna help?”
“Oh. Sure.”
I led the way to the kitchen. “I had this weird feeling that Sebastian wanted some alone time with Joey.”
“Yeah. I had the same feeling.”
“Bootsie. What the hell is going on?”
“I’m not sure but I think Sebastian has decided it’s time someone pays for three murders as well as his arm. Plus he’s decided to quit blaming everything on us.”
“So who’s he blaming?”
“I don’t know. But it sounds like he thought Mr. C was up for next victim of the year rather than killer so maybe all this has to do with a Carmosina business takeover?”
Babs plopped several mugs onto a tray then added a cream pitcher and a sugar bowl. I picked up the tray that held the coffee pot and the Irish whiskey. “Have they had enough alone time?”
She grinned. “I don’t care. I’m ready to play sleuth. And this smells wonderful so I’m ready to get my caffeine and booze fix all in one. Where’s the dessert?”
“Next trip.”
We marched back into the living room and deposited t
rays and mugs on the coffee table. I nearly ran back into the kitchen to grab the dessert and haul it to join the others so I wouldn’t miss an instant of any theorizing that might be about to take place.
“It’s okay, Bootsie,” Sebastian chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare start any discussion on murder without the co-founder of Sweet Cream Ladies rarin’ and ready to take part in said discussion.”
“Limited,” I answered absently.
“Limited.” Sebastian took a sip of coffee then sternly took long looks at Babs, Joey and me. “Which started this whole thing. In my opinion.”
Babs shook her index finger at him. “Not true. We were musing; we were being creative. We didn’t hurt a soul.”
“I’m not sure I’d agree with that statement considering the damage to Todd Kittredge’s reputation which may have been somewhat dented when his photo was splashed all over Manhattan and nearby counties while he was in the Rocky Horror skivvies,” Sebastian noted.
Joey, Babs and I all gazed with innocent expressions up at the Laramie ceiling and tried to maintain some decorum. Sebastian snorted. “It’s fine. I’m not sure whether dressing a doped out sonovabitch is on the books as a crime in Manhattan, so I believe all of you are safe from jail time. Besides, I can’t prove anything.”
Our guilty trio returned to the coffee and the bread pudding. “Okay. Sebastian.” I took a bite, chewed then continued. “You believe we’re innocent of murder and most of the mayhem but that our brilliant idea to become hitwomen set off a chain of events, yes?”
“Yes.”
Babs frowned at me. “Who the hell did we tell, though?”
I nearly spat my coffee onto Mrs. Laramie’s lovely embroidered pillows. “Seriously? Who didn’t we tell? Everyone within earshot at Maria’s knew about Monica Travers and the wasps. Then you made that announcement to everyone who wasn’t in earshot that we were the Sweet Cream Ladies and to contact us if anyone was in need of a contract killing.”
“Limited,” Babs responded.
“Right. Anyway, then I go and send you an email and lay out every nasty plan we’d hatched or I’d hatched while you were either auditioning or getting your teeth taken care. I can’t even remember. Shoot. The only other thing we could have done to advertise our services would have been to get one of those giant neon banner thingees up at Times Square with invitations to bump off whomever was in need of bumping.” I glared at Sebastian. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
He smiled. “You are. And sadly, that’s made this whole thing pretty damned impossible to figure out. You’ve got too many people knowing about your—organization and too many people who aren’t really connected as to motive except through you and the Sweet Cream Ladies.”
“Limited.” Babs, Joey and I responded.
Sebastian groaned. “I wish you’d find a new name. Or just say SCL Ltd. It would save so much time and effort.”
Babs winked at him. “Doesn’t sound as cool though.”
“Shush,” I said. “Okay, crew. Who has motive for Monica, Minerva and Clay?”
Babs smiled. “We do.”
“Not helping,” I barked at my best friend. “And not true either. Sure, you could have been pissed at Minerva because she interfered so much in my relationship with Todd. I could have been pissed at Clay because he was an ass who was rotten to you. But Monica? From the very beginning I’ve said that one makes absolutely no sense. If people bumped off every bad actress in Manhattan there’d be a lot of theatres going dark more than just on Mondays.”
Joey had been following my logic—or possible lack thereof—without saying a word. When I finished he held up his hand for silence from all. “Bootsie, you and Babs are forgetting the instances that didn’t end in murder. One is Todd being shot in the ass. The other is Sebastian being shot in the arm. One clearly meant to frame the Ladies for murder or assault depending upon how good a shot the shooter was. The other?”
He and Sebastian glanced at each other. Sebastian took over. “The other meant to wound or kill Giuseppe Carmosina. Not me. That bullet matched the bullet we took out of Todd Kittredge’s bottom. Same shooter. Who had no reason to take aim at me especially since anyone clever enough to set all this up in the first place is smart enough to know you don’t shoot a Manhattan cop because other Manhattan cops do not take kindly to that and they do not hesitate to use extreme force to get that kind of shooter off the streets and either buried in a cell for seventy years at Bootsie’s favorite Sing Sing or buried for a much lengthier time at Cypress Hills in Queens.”
“Where’s that? Sounds like a spa.” I asked. “Never heard of a prison in Queens other than Rykers.”
Joey bit his lip. “Not a jail, Bootsie. Cypress Hills Cemetery.”
“Oh.” I grabbed my coffee and took a large swig.
Joey placed his own mug very carefully back on the tray. “Enough. Let’s get to the heart of this. Detective Laramie believes—and so do I—that this all somehow goes back to my father. Well, maybe not the Monica murder. Anyway, either someone wanted to frame me once Babs and I were dating and therefore hurt my father or someone wanted to kill him and wanted to frame me for the killing or frame Babs and Bootsie and me or I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Babs leaned over and patted his hand. “Give us another three months together and you’ll completely understand everything you just said.”
“Guys. Focus. Who wants to frame Joey or kill his father?”
Joey muttered, “Half of Staten Island. Most of whom he’s probably taken contracts out on.”
Sebastian smiled at him. “Not necessarily true. Believe it or not, your father has doubtless been involved in some —unsavory activities over the years but I’ve been studying old case files. I can’t find an instance where he either set up or actually engaged in anything that even resembles putting a hit out on anyone else.”
Joey stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’m finding some major flirting with fun things like gambling and passing out bribes to various inspectors like candy bars to get in bids for work. Amazingly, nothing violent or nasty, like drugs or prostitution or even money laundering for others involved in those activities. Giuseppe Carmosina is no choirboy but he’s no Lucky Luciano or John Gotti either.”
“So you don’t think this is a revenge killing?” I asked.
“I have no idea what the motive is. But I don’t think it’s revenge. At least not in terms of ‘you shot my brother, you shameless bastard, so now you’ll pay.’ Could be a different revenge kind of thing. One of those ‘you married my first cousin whom I was going to marry off to my second cousin and I’m not happy about it.’ Or, ‘you have more money than God you lousy fink and I want some.’”
Babs had been nodding throughout Sebastian’s comments. “Or ‘I want to take over your business and if I have to kill to do it I will.’”
I set my mug down so fast it nearly cracked. “Oh please don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone is so sick as to kill three people so far and shoot two others just imagine what they’d do if they took over as head of the Carmosina family. Forget gambling and bribes for jobs.”
Babs inhaled. “Hello, East River.”
Chapter 3 6
The four of us had discussed the ‘who’ until our brains hurt. (Not the old rock group from the Sixties but the perpetrator of three murders and two shootings, although Sebastian and I had sung through a few choruses of “Pinball Wizard,” “Tommy Can You Hear Me?” and “Behind Blue Eyes” a couple of times when we were feeling tense about people killing other people. We’d stopped when Babs told us we were making her crazy but she was simply jealous because she couldn’t sing.) We’d then listed every hired hand in the Carmosina household from Lionel on down to the Vinnys and the Vitos and the Tonys and the Carmines.
After I’d drunk so much coffee I could feel my tummy swooshing with liquid and devoured three helpings of bread pudding that weren’t going to do my figure a
ny good, I’d managed to take a stand. “That’s it. This has been fun and enlightening and entertaining and doubtless if we continued until Easter we could come up with another twenty suspects but I have to work tomorrow at the museum. Babs has a voice-over for some kind of laxative cereal at ten a.m. and I don’t know what you gentlemen are doing but I’m tired and I’m ready to go home and I’ve washed dishes and the kitchen is perfect for the Laramies no matter what time they get home and hope that no one gets shot before someone brilliant puts all this together and figures out whodunit. I didn’t do it. Babs didn’t do it. Joey didn’t do it. Sebastian didn’t do it. Maybe Todd did it. Or Tammy. Or the squirrel. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m going home.”
“Who’s Tammy?” Joey asked.
“Don't you remember? Clay’s last bimbo,” Babs answered. “Who provided us with much merriment watching chasing her hat across headstones on a sunny day in late December, which is when and where the squirrel enters the picture. She is apparently one of Vertigo Valentine's mistresses. Remember? At your dad’s New Year’s party although she came with Howard Krempowsky who told us he wasn't interested and neither was she. She likes older men with money.”
Joey blinked. “I think I’m sorry I asked although I do recall seeing her now. And Bootsie’s right. Time to go. Sebastian thanks for the hospitality and the theories. If I come up with anything exciting at three a.m., I will not call. I will go back to sleep because it will probably be the end result of too much Irish whiskey for one Italian-Swedish boy.”
He and Babs headed for the door. Sebastian graciously handed me my giant purse and a giant doggie bag full of goodies to share with Babs over the next few days. He then bestowed a very sweet, chaste, boring kiss on my forehead.
“What? That’s all I get? What am I? Your mother? Your aunt? The dog?” I queried.
Sweet Cream Ladies, Ltd. Page 23