“Prince Charming better get his ass in gear. Evelyn and Papa Joe are the last people who need to be raising kids.”
“Tell that to the judge.”
My phone lit with another call from a blocked number. I answered and listened for half a heartbeat before I hung up. I really didn’t need to know all the body parts the person wanted to cut off me.
Shanna touched my hand. “You okay?”
Not even a little okay. “I’m fine. Wrong number.”
“I hate to add to your shitty morning.” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “You need to take a look at this before you go any further with the article or into court.”
“Is it that bad?”
Shanna shrugged. “That’s your call.”
I opened the thick file and began skimming through personal and business records of the Marchionni family. My eyes bugged out at the size of the dollar figures. I knew they had money, but holy smokes. “You got the police report, too?”
“Sure did. There are several clipped together.”
Barely paying attention, I flipped through the pages until a familiar name caught my eye.
I glanced at Shanna, then back at the police report. “Rebecca…”
“Don’t read anything into it, the authorities ruled the crash an accident,” Shanna said.
“I know.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and closed the folder. Bad news piled upon more bad news. “I’ll read it later. What’s your gut saying? Is the family as bad as the rumors say?”
Shanna took a sip of coffee. “Ask me again after you’ve had time to go through it all.”
“You think they’re part of some organized crime syndicate?”
Her usual carefree expression melted into a frown. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Whatever they are, people they do business with don’t seem happy afterwards.”
“How so?” I eyed the file with a sinking feeling.
“Several reports have been filed against the corporation, and more against Papa Joe, accusing them of sabotaging businesses in order to force owners to sell.”
“Shit.”
“With that many enemies, it’s not surprising he insisted someone caused Joe and Rebecca’s crash.”
I refused to consider what something like that could mean for Gabe, or me and the kids if we were married. This has to be a mistake. She’s exaggerating. “I’ll be judicious with the information I include in the article. Besides, maybe I can dig up enough dirt to stop the custody battle? I mean, if the engagement thing doesn’t work out.”
“Maybe.” Shanna didn’t seem convinced. She sat back in her chair. “What’s really up with you and Gabe?”
I raised my menu again.
Shanna snatched it from me and tossed it on an empty table. “You slept with him?”
My face heated. “I wouldn’t say we slept.”
“I can’t believe you let him talk you into sex…again. It’s bad enough he has you rooked into an engagement of convenience.” Shanna looked as if she’d chugged a half-gallon of soured milk.
“He’s changed.” At least, I thought he’d changed until Chantal had called my house.
“Oh, I bet he has. Have you forgotten the part where he dug your heart out with a spoon and pissed on it?” Shanna waved the waiter away, leaning closer to me again. “You cried for months.”
“Weeks.” I lied. In reality, I’d cried off and on over Gabe until he’d walked back into my life. “I haven’t forgotten. We’re in a strange situation. We sort of need each other. The rest will sort itself out in time.”
“I’ll tell you what he needs. A good swift kick in the balls.” Shanna smirked. “Tell me about the sex.”
I set my elbows on the table and smiled. “He hasn’t lost his touch.”
The waiter reappeared before the conversation got too raunchy.
“I’ll have the beignets.” Smiling, I handed him the menu.
“Creole omelet, home fries, and a side of bacon.” Shanna turned back to me and narrowed her eyes.
I lowered my gaze and fidgeted with my napkin.
“I knew it. You’re marrying him for the orgasms.” She laughed loud enough for several people to turn in our direction. “What happened to the vibrator I gave you for your birthday?”
I wanted to hide under the table, but it was no use and she’d probably follow me. “People are watching us.”
She turned and glared at the onlookers.
Thankfully, I knew how to get Shanna off the subject of Gabe. “How’s your dating life?”
“Non-freaking-existent. After the last debacle, I pulled my profile off the dating sites. I’ve decided to live a celibate life, focus on work. I want my PI license.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I could take the course now. It’s only forty hours.”
“You should.”
We had this conversation many times before, but she’d always chickened out at the last minute.
“I’d have more credibility with clients if I finished my degree.” Shanna lowered her voice. “All I have left is the English and math courses. With my dyslexia, I can get help with the reading and writing. Would you tutor me in math?”
“Of course.” I hated math more than I hated the extra weight I carried in my hips and the fact I had pimples and wrinkles at the same time, but I’d do anything for her. God knows, she’s done worse for me.
“Thanks, Maggie. I’m hoping to get into classes this fall.”
The waiter delivered our food, but I ignored the powdered sugar-coated balls of deliciousness.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Shanna eyed me.
“I’m too stressed out.”
“Bullshit. You’re the definition of a stress eater. Tell me you aren’t starving yourself for that asshole.”
Most of the time I treasured having a friend who knew me inside and out, but not when it came to my weight. “I’m not. Chloe and I had a stomach virus over the weekend. I took one look at the beignet and felt queasy.”
“Stay on your side of the table.” Shanna stole a beignet from my plate. “Now that I have the Marchionni stuff wrapped up, I’ll start working on Gabe’s baby momma.”
I’d all but decided to tell her not to investigate Chantal, but the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself I needed to know. He’d lied about the call, and I suspected it wasn’t the first time.
“I know that look.” She grabbed my hand. “Tell me you’re not falling in love with him again.”
“I would, but you’d see right through me.”
Shanna muttered a slew of curses that would make a pirate blush.
“It gets worse. Chantal called my house, and he lied about it.” I blurted it out before I thought the better of it.
“That son of a bitch. He’s already cheating on you?”
I’d always heard of eyes flashing red when someone was angry, but until that moment, I thought it was BS. Shanna was about to lose her mind. “No. I mean, when does he have time? Maybe she saw the announcement in the paper?”
My best friend in the world gave me a look that told me I’d skyrocketed to the top of her shit list—right beside Gabe.
I checked the time and sucked down the rest of my coffee. “I’m late. I have to swing by the bar before I head to the office.”
“Go. I’ll get the check.” Shanna folded her arms. “Just don’t do anything else stupid.”
“I’ll try.”
I made a show of walking fast until I was out of view of the café. Other than the occasional deadline, I had no clock to punch. I didn’t really need to go into the office, except I wanted to check up on a few things, and I needed a public place to read the file Shanna had given me. Sure, I could do it at home, but I’d cry less if surrounded by professional journalists—or so I hoped.
21
Maggie
The conversation with Shanna had shaken me, but being back in the French Quarter rattled me to my core. I used to love Jackson Square with its tarot readers and fun shop
s. I’d been baptized and taken my first communion at Saint Louis Cathedral, but I hadn’t set foot inside the building since my sister and brother-in-law’s funerals.
I would have loved to light a candle for them, but I had too much to do—plus I kept getting this creepy crawly sensation between my shoulder blades and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
The prank caller’s words pinged around in my skull to the point of paranoia. Was someone following me?
I’d seen enough movies to know better than to keep looking over my shoulder, but I couldn’t help myself. No one stood out as particularly menacing in the crowd, nor did I notice the same people twice. That’s it. I’m losing my mind.
Thankfully, the bar was only a couple of blocks from the café. I punched the security code on the backdoor and poked my head into the break room. A woman stood with her back to the door reading the notices on the bulletin board.
I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but the side door was open. I was looking for the owner.” She smiled a smile that reminded me of a news anchor. Pretty, but pretend.
“The owner’s working from home today.” I’d seen her here before though I didn’t know her name. “Were you looking at the job postings?”
After a brief silence, she nodded. “Are you still hiring?”
“I think so, but you’ll need to speak to Jessie.”
“Thanks, I will.” She turned for the door.
“I’ll show you out.”
“No need.”
I followed her anyway. Something about the conversation felt off, besides the fact she’d let herself into a closed bar. Why would a leggy blonde be waiting here for Gabe like they had a standing Wednesday morning date?
Once I locked the door behind her, I headed for the office.
Jessie glanced up from her paperwork and removed her earbuds. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”
I motioned behind me like an idiot. How had she been here the entire time and not realized someone had wandered in? “There was a woman in the break room.”
Her eyes widened. “When? Just now?”
“She said the side door was unlocked.” I didn’t know Jessie well, but she’d never struck me as the careless type.
“I came in through the employee entrance about an hour ago. I haven’t been up front, and I know I locked the doors last night.” She ran her hands over her arms. “I’ll make sure nothing’s missing. Do me a favor and don’t mention this to Gabe. The family’s already giving him grief about me working here.”
By the family, I assumed she meant Papa Joe. The man was a notorious misogynist. “Want me to stick around to make sure everything’s okay?”
“I’m expecting a friend any minute.” She blushed and handed me a folder labeled receipts. “He brings me coffee on weekdays.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.” I tucked the file into my bag.
There are some things that one simply should not see by the light of day—Bourbon Street is one of them. I ignored the gaudy strip clubs, and piles of garbage, but I couldn’t help doing some quick window shopping at a couple of the sex shops.
What can I say? Living with Gabe had woken my dormant hormones.
My skin prickled, and the sensation that someone was watching me returned. I ducked my head and picked up my pace. Every block or so, I glanced over my shoulder, but no one stood out.
I turned the corner on Poydras Street and ducked beneath the awning of a souvenir shop. A man in a leather jacket followed, made eye contact, and continued on his way. He looked back at me twice but smiled each time.
Is he following me or flirting?
I blew it off as paranoia after the conversation with Shanna and walked the rest of the way to the NOLA Society News offices.
I didn’t have an office or know many of the employees milling about, but no one questioned my presence. The badge hanging from my lapel gave me the right to use the research computers with access to many of the city record databases.
My first search turned up general information about the Marchionni Corporation. I took notes on their holdings and the members of the board of directors. Next, I conducted individual searches on each of the properties owned by Gabe’s brothers, and jotted down names associated with the businesses.
I’d become so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear my boss approaching until Marlena set a hand on my shoulder. I jumped out of my chair. “You scared the stuffing out me.”
“I’ve been practicing my stealth moves.” Marlena cackled and met my gaze. “You should have told us you captured one of New Orleans sexiest bachelors. It killed me to read it in the competition.”
“I didn’t place the announcement in the Picayune.” My cheeks heated. I had a good idea who’d leaked the story and fully intended to have a word with my would-be mother-in-law. “As for the engagement, it’s complicated.”
“If I was in your shoes, I’d march that man down the aisle so quick he’d need a seat belt and helmet.” Marlena leaned in and gave me a half-hug. “Though many women are mourning his loss, myself included... Congratulations.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks. You should know, my relationship with Gabe won’t affect the piece.”
“Of course it will, but given your personal relationship, I trust you’ll come up with something that’s a different flavor of delicious.” She leaned forward to read the screen.
“I’m not changing my tactics. The piece will be honest, and from the looks of it, gritty.”
Marlene’s frown started in her eyes and worked its way down her face. “Did you find something?”
“Not yet, but I have a private source who’s doing some digging into financial records. I’m focusing on identifying the key players outside the family.” I closed Shanna’s file to keep Marlena’s eagle-eyes off the police report.
“Smart. If there are dirty secrets, you’re more likely to find them on the periphery, but are you certain you want to go this route?”
“Absolutely. I also took a part-time job in a Marchionni establishment.”
Marlena’s perfectly shaped brow rose. “Oh?”
“I thought it would be interesting to get an insider’s perspective. See what their employees have to say about the men behind the myths.”
She pursed her lips and glanced over the bank of computers. “Maggie, given the circumstances, you should use a pseudonym on this piece. If it turns out to be more than the typical story, I’m going to sell it to the highest bidder. You’ll want anonymity.”
“I appreciate that, if not for Gabe’s sake, then for my sister’s children.”
“You’re a talented young woman. Too talented to be writing fluff for a local magazine. If you ever decide to spread your wings, I hope you know I would write you one hell of a reference letter.”
Ah yes, the old follow your dreams speech. What was it with people using it while trying to get rid of me? It stung, and that pissed me off. “If I’m so talented why were you about to fire me not too long ago?”
Marlena tilted her head. “To force you to come up with something new, or to push you into looking for a position that will challenge you.”
“Thanks, but I have all the challenges I need right now.” If she only knew.
“Being engaged to Gabe Marchionni will do that.” She winked and walked away.
I waited until she disappeared around the corner and opened Shanna’s file.
An hour later, I’d created a list of over twenty known associates of the Marchionni family who’d been convicted of crimes ranging from racketeering to RICO violations to murder. Another dozen or so associates had died violent deaths or were missing.
I flipped to the police reports concerning my sister’s death. Page after page of descriptions of the scene, my sister and brother-in-law, the car—crushed bodies, severed brake lines, broken lives.
One name caught my attention, Chantal DuBois. Papa Joe na
med her as a disgruntled business partner, but the woman had an alibi the night of the accident. Papa Joe believed someone had murdered them. The reports all but agreed, and yet the police had ruled it an accident.
By the time I’d finished reading, I knew two things for certain—I needed to find out who was making the threatening phone calls, and I needed to talk to Gabe.
22
Gabe
After my disastrous morning, I’d called in reinforcements. Hildie, mine and my brothers’ former nanny, arrived within the hour, which freed me up to do my father’s bidding.
I glanced at the man sitting next to me—a man about to take his last breath.
“Please. If I could explain.” Artie Guzman, accountant at the Marchionni Corporation for the previous six years, smelled like tuna fish and cheap cologne.
I’d never done this sort of thing, but I’d hung around people who had since I’d started sprouting pubic hair. Tough guys, the kind you wouldn’t want to sit next to on a bus, who seldom spoke and rarely smiled. The type of man I never wanted myself or my brothers to become.
I clenched my jaw and stared straight ahead.
Artie Guzman had no wife or kids or family other than two prize-winning poodles. I knew this because he’d reached for his wallet to show me a picture of his dogs a split second before my father’s go-to-guy broke Artie’s fingers.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. It was a joke in the break room. Accountant humor.” His voice warbled between terror and laughter. “I didn’t steal anything.”
Every criminal sang the I-didn’t-do-it tune, but this felt different. I believed him. It took serious balls to steal from a man like my father. Artie Guzman didn’t seem the type.
The thug beside him slammed his fist into Artie’s jaw hard enough to break bone. Blood and spit splattered across my six-hundred-dollar Ralph Lauren dress shirt.
I focused on a drop of crimson on the back of the seat in front of me and thought about Maggie. Her smile. Her laugh. Her hair. Then I thought about my father and his possible motives for ordering this murder. Was Guzman a pawn in Papa Joe’s plan to rope me into the business?
Absinthe Minded: A Mafia Romantic Comedy (Bourbon Street Bad Boys' Club Book 1) Page 13
