by Joan Rylen
Lucy turned toward her. “You think so?”
“I do. I had one of my dreams.”
Lucy and Vivian looked at one another and grinned.
Kate continued. “I was standing on the steps of a courthouse. Al was there and he introduced me to Slinky Sal. It freaked me out,” she said with a shiver. “As I was standing there my dad walked up the steps. He asked me who Al was, and I told him I didn’t know. Then he looked me in the eyes and said ‘you should’.”
Kate was occasionally visited by dead relatives in her sleep. Didn’t happen very often, so when it did she took it very seriously.
“So where do we start with that?” Lucy asked.
“Where else? The internet,” Vivian said.
“But we need to make sure no one knows about it but us,” Lucy said.
“Let’s go down and get breakfast, then we can come back up to the room and Google Al on Wendy’s laptop,” Kate said.
Wendy shuffled out to the balcony and grunted her greeting. “The smell of coffee and ocean air woke me up, but at least the police aren’t banging down our door.”
Wendy was not a morning person and could be a little grouchy when she first got up.
Sensing an undercurrent of tension, Wendy asked, “What’s going on out here? Is everyone all right?”
“We are now,” Vivian said. “We had a good cry and now we’re ready to kick butt and take names. Since we’re all up we might as well get to it.”
“Need coffee first,” Wendy muttered. “Smell it, don’t see it.”
Kate took a long sip of her cuppa joe. “Mmmmm.”
Wendy watched her longingly.
Vivian stood up. “Let’s grab breakfast and then Google Al and see what we come up with.”
“Google Al?” Wendy asked.
“Yep. Kate had a dream,” Lucy said.
“Well, by all means then, if Kate had a dream,” Wendy said sarcastically, but then smiled.
Kate smiled, handed Wendy her half cup of coffee and they went in to get ready for a new day.
CHAPTER 36
VIVIAN AND the girls stepped into the hotel restaurant for breakfast and the few early morning diners stopped all action - forks piled with eggs, frozen in delivery, lips poised on coffee cups, interrupting a caffeine fix, page of the morning paper mid-turn, flipping to the rest of the riveting front page story - and stared at them, but primarily at her.
Vivian caught a glimpse of the headline “American Woman Questioned in Murder Case” along with a picture of their hotel’s sign beneath it, prominently displayed above the fold on the front page.
Just what I need.
The diners refocused on their breakfast as the girls followed the hostess to a table on the far side of the dining room.
Vivian purposefully took a seat facing away from the restaurant and shook her head. She wanted to turn around and yell, “I didn’t do it!”
Service was quick so they were out of there in no time, much to Vivian’s delight. “My migas were fan-tab,” she said of her Mexican-style eggs as she got up from the table.
Lucy had a traditional breakfast with scrambled eggs, bacon and even pancakes, which she boasted were also fantastic. Wendy and Kate both had huevos rancheros and cleaned their plates.
“Quick and delicious,” Wendy said. “My kind of breakfast.”
Vivian swiped a discarded newspaper on the way out. She threw it onto the bed as soon as they entered their room. “Look at this shit! I’m the headline of today’s paper.” She flopped down beside it.
Lucy, after completing a room sweep for bugs, just in case, sat down next to Vivian and read the article.
Kate wanted to prevent Vivian from having another meltdown. “Viv, like I said earlier, you are going to be okay. The true murderer will be caught and you’ll be cleared of this nonsense.”
“I don’t know,” Vivian moaned. “I’m not sure how much confidence I have in Detective Vega.”
“That’s where we come in,” Wendy piped up, also trying to keep Vivian’s spirits up. “We’re going to look at all the angles and find out what we can about our suspects, just like we talked about.”
Lucy, who had been quiet for most of breakfast, said, “Actually, Vivian, this article doesn’t mention your name. Evidently the cops haven’t released it to the press yet.”
She thumped the paper. “All it says is an American woman is suspected of being involved in Jon’s death. That she is staying in the same hotel. It doesn’t go into a lot of detail on the murder. The article talks mainly about Jon’s fame in Canada.”
“See, that’s not so bad,” Kate sat down on the other side of Vivian and slapped her knee. “No one at home will have heard anything about this.”
Vivian took the time to read the full article and felt a little better, but only a little. Jon was dead, after all.
“You’re right, the article isn’t as bad as I thought,” she said and tossed the paper into the trash.
Needing to refocus, she walked to the desk and turned the computer on. Once online, she went to Google and typed in “Al Russo, Chicago.” Several hits came up.
The first was a review of his restaurant, CinCin. Voted Chicago’s best cannoli three years in a row. Adrienne wasn’t kidding. The article referred to Al Russo III and showed his picture holding the award. Yep, that’s Al.
Next was an article from the Chicago Tribune. Al and Adrienne donated $10,000 to the area food bank and served an Italian-style Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless last year. The article included a picture of them dishing out the food.
The next few articles detailed good deeds Al and Adrienne had done in the Chicago area.
“Looks like they’re very philanthropic,” Vivian said and gave the girls a summary. “Animal shelters, firefighters, kid’s charities like the Ronald McDonald House.”
Kate hovered over Vivian’s shoulder. “So if they’re such nice people, why is Al calling Shorty? I mean, I realize we’ve got nothing on Shorty, but something seems off there.”
“It is a bit suspicious.” Wendy peered at the computer screen.
Lucy joined them at the desk. “It can’t be good.”
They watched as Vivian pulled up a few more articles about the restaurant, but nothing of any significance. She was about to call it quits when they saw a blurb saying “Al Russo, Jr. suspected in disappearance of Franco Gaspare in July, 1972.”
“I knew it!” Lucy pointed to the screen. “I knew Al was in the mob!”
Vivian clicked on the link and read the article out loud.
Local restaurateur Al Russo, Jr. was arrested yesterday in connection with the disappearance of Franco Gaspare. Gaspare was last seen Friday evening leaving Russo’s restaurant with Tony Mancuso, who was recently released from prison after serving three years for racketeering.
Mancuso has refused to cooperate with police and would not return calls for comment. However, an anonymous source tells the Tribune that an argument took place behind the restaurant and that Mancuso left hurriedly.
“It said Al Junior, Lucy” Wendy turned away from the computer and sat on the bed. “The Al Russo we know is the III. The article must be about his dad.”
“Racketeering,” Lucy said. “That seriously implies the mob.”
“Ugh, I know,” Wendy admitted. “But maybe we’re on to something here. Let’s see what else we can find on Al’s father and grandfather.”
Vivian continued scrolling through the headlines but with no luck. There was no follow-up on the story they had read, and they couldn’t find anything else about Al Junior. “I guess Al Sr. lived too long ago to make it to the Internet,” she said.
“I think we’ve seen enough to confirm that Al’s father must be, or was, semi-shady,” Wendy said, getting up and pacing the room. “I don’t really care if the Al we know is a little shady, but I don’t want to get caught up in any of it. To his credit though, he has been nothing but nice to us and he has tried to help Viv.”
“Just in ca
se, maybe we should keep our distance from them.” Kate said. “You know the old saying about ‘the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Al III is probably involved in the same kinds of stuff his dad was. Especially since he now runs the restaurant.”
“I don’t think we should affiliate with any mobsters,” Lucy agreed. “But Adrienne said her brother is a cop, so maybe they’re not totally bad.”
“Uh…a cop in New Orleans,” Wendy said. “The mob is big-time there.”
“Really?” Lucy asked. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yep,” Wendy said, nodding her head. “Started there, in fact. Sicilian immigrants.”
Vivian closed the laptop and turned toward them. “I want to trust Al, but it makes me nervous that everything about him sounds suspicious.”
Wendy stopped pacing. “We haven’t heard from Pierre this morning. Why don’t we go see if he’s in his room? We need to tell him about seeing Detective Vega with Ponytail, and see if he will go to Shorty’s party with us.”
“We should also tell him what we know about Al, and how he called Shorty,” Kate said.
“Oh, and don’t forget we need to search his room for bugs before we start talking to him,” Lucy added.
Vivian stood up from the desk. “Good god. I can’t live like this.”
CHAPTER 37
VIVIAN KNOCKED on Pierre’s door and waited for him to answer. No sounds came from the room.
“Try again, knock louder,” Wendy said, “just in case.”
Vivian rapped again, hoping to wake him if he was in there.
A thud sounded through the door. “Did he just fall out of bed?” Vivian asked.
“Was that a groan?” Kate said. They look at each other anxiously.
The girls heard footsteps. A shadow moved in front of the peep hole and there was a definite groan.
“Hey Pierre,” Vivian gave a little wave and tried to smile.
The chain slid back and the deadbolt clicked open. Pierre answered the door looking pretty rough, and wearing nothing but wrinkled shorts.
Must have drunk himself into oblivion last night, Vivian thought.
“What’s up?” he grumbled.
Vivian put her finger to her mouth and the four of them walked in, uninvited, and started searching his room.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Quit going through my stuff!”
He did not look happy that Vivian just went through his suitcase and rifled his boxers.
“I found it!” Lucy turned away from a lamp similar to the one in their room and held the bug out for Pierre to see. “You want to smash it or should I?”
Pierre looked in a quandary at the tiny device in Lucy’s hand. Since he didn’t reply, Lucy put the bug on the floor and stomped it as if it were a giant, flying Pasadena cockroach.
Kate picked up the pieces and flushed them down the toilet. “I almost feel like we should have a ceremony, say a few words.”
“It’s not a pet goldfish, Kate,” Wendy said.
“What the hell?” Pierre said.
“It was a bug you know, spy stuff. We had one in our room, too,” Lucy explained.
They caught Pierre up on everything that had happened since he left them at the pool the day before. He didn’t say a word during the entire spiel.
Wrapping things up, Vivian said, “When we were leaving Julio’s boat, he invited us to his party Friday night at his house. Want to go with us?”
Between the information overload and his obvious hangover, Pierre looked sick.
“Are you okay?” Lucy called after him as he rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
The sound of water running started a few seconds later. They decided he needed more privacy and went out to the balcony.
About ten minutes later he emerged freshly showered and wearing a robe. He looked better but unshaven and still a little glassy eyed.
He slid the door closed to the balcony and leaned against the railing, facing the four of them. “Okay, let me make sure I have this straight. You went to the marina to talk to Julio, whom you also call Shorty, but he wasn’t there. As you leave, the guy with the Ponytail chases you through town. Kate loses him so you come back to the hotel to talk with Al. Al tells you to steer clear of Ponytail, but he doesn’t actually know who Ponytail is. Al’s contact was able to trace the blog to the hotel and then you find Stella’s hair, presumably, in a bush. You tell Detective Vega all of this. Then you go back to the marina, talk with Julio, and while you’re there, you think Al calls Julio. You go to leave and see Detective Vega and Ponytail talking and shake hands. Is that about right?”
“Yes,” Vivian answered. “It’s like everyone is somehow connected. Al has tried to help me but I’m not sure I can trust him one hundred percent. I think it is best not to talk to him about Shorty though.”
“Don’t forget about the party,” Lucy interjected. “We want you to go with us.”
“Okay, yes. I will go with you but, wow,” Pierre said. “What do we do from here?”
Everyone mulled this over for a minute.
“We need to search for Stella some more,” Wendy said. “I don’t want to get near Ponytail, Detective Vega or Shorty at the moment. We had enough run-ins with them yesterday.”
“That lady is like water vapor. She’s around but we can’t see her,” Pierre said. “Where should we look?”
“There’s Quinta Avenida in central Playa,” Kate said. “I crossed it yesterday as Ponytail was chasing us.”
“I’m surprised you were able to see anything but blurs on that chase,” Vivian said.
“I looked down that street as an avenue for escape but saw the shops and restaurants and knew it would be too dangerous,” Kate said. “It did look like a good area to buy souvenirs and I want to get something for Shaun.”
“We have seen Stella at touristy nightspots, so Quinta Avenida is worth a shot,” Vivian said. “Anyone have any other ideas?”
Shrugs and head shakes all around. Nope.
“Well, then, meet me in the lobby in five minutes,” Pierre said. “I need to get dressed.”
From the lobby, the girls saw that the number of reporters outside seemed to have quadrupled.
“Great,” Vivian muttered.
Lupe Mendoza saw them looking out the windows and shouted to her photographer. Whatever she said got everyone’s attention, and the media frenzy suddenly rushed inside.
The front desk clerk flapped around trying to shoo the journalists out of the lobby to no avail. They descended on Vivian, shouting questions. She couldn’t hear or even understand all of them thanks to the language barrier, but what she could make out appalled her.
“How did you do it?” “Why did you kill Jon Tournay?” “Was he a good lover?”
“Pull a Michael Jackson!” Lucy shouted at Vivian.
She gave Lucy a bewildered look. “What?”
“Cover your face!”
She heeded Lucy’s advice and ducked her head. Pierre showed up moments later and took control, shoving reporters and photographers aside, making room through the crowd. Kate, Lucy and Wendy grabbed on and propelled Vivian out the door and to the parking lot.
They jumped in the rent car and slammed and locked the doors. Pierre took the hump seat in back.
Lucy about ran over half a dozen journalists in her haste to get out of there.
“Good grief,” Wendy said. “What a fiasco.”
“Al was right,” Kate said with a sigh. “There are definitely a lot more reporters here than last night.”
“I don’t think I can take this crap every time we come and go from the hotel,” Vivian said. “We need a secret entrance.”
Pierre shook his head. “Jon was just getting popular in Canada, but I never expected this kind of turnout. This is insane.”
“You need to buy a hat and a scarf at the market, Viv,” Lucy said.
“I certainly don’t want my picture plastered all over the newspapers and on TV down here, but it wil
l become a real problem if this news gets to the states,” Vivian said, stifling a cry.
Pierre turned and glanced behind them. “I think one of the reporters is following us.”
Kate turned to look. “Yep, it’s that Lupe woman from last night and her photographer. What news media are they with again?”
“Escándalos,” Wendy replied with disdain. “I think it’s the Mexican equivalent of National Enquirer.”
Lucy parked close to the ferry and they piled out onto Quinta Avenida. Lupe and the photographer parked close by, got out of their car and leaned against the bug-splattered front.
Vultures. Vivian shot them the bird.
CHAPTER 38
SHOPS AND restaurants, bars and hotels lined Quinta Avenida, stretching for more than thirty blocks and ended at the ferry dock to Cozumel. Most of the shops had completely open store fronts, in an attempt to invite tourists inside. Carts full of knick-knacks and racks of clothing littered the sidewalks up and down the street.
The girls and Pierre walked into the first shop they came to.
Kate stepped back onto the sidewalk and peeked around a rack of dresses toward Lupe and the photographer. “They’re not following us.”
“For now.” Wendy swatted at a piñata hanging from the ceiling.
“Screw those assholes,” Vivian said from the back of the store. “I’m diggin’ this hammock. I’ve got two great trees in the backyard this would be perfect for.”
“This is like the Sam’s Club of Mexican touristy goods,” Lucy remarked. “They’ve got just about everything in here. And in bulk.” She held up a ten pack of spray-on sunscreen. “If it wouldn’t put me over the baggage weight limit I’d be all over this!”
“It is way too crowded in here,” Pierre said. “There’s definitely nowhere for Stella to hide. Let’s move on.”
They crossed the street and went into another store selling mostly clothing. Dresses, lace tops that looked like doilies, colorful ponchos, Guayaberas.