“Dylan did Anthony’s taxes. They were friends for a long time.” I tried to act calm, but his words sent a chill through me.
“I’m not a fool, Tess,” he said. “I know that Eric kid was a user and also selling, so I have a pretty good idea of how Anthony might be supplementing his pizza income at Slice. Maybe Eric was…ah…assisting him. Dylan might have been in on it too.”
“Where did you hear this?” Gino demanded.
“Let’s just say that I have my sources,” he said tightly. “I run a business, too, and know how helpless it feels when you think the place might go under. Have you ever asked yourself how Anthony’s making a living? There’s never anyone in that dive.”
Gino rocked back on his heels and studied Matt. “Please go on.”
“Everyone thinks that Anthony’s pure as the driven snow,” Matt chortled. “Well, that’s not the case.”
“Okay, Smitty,” Gino said. “Time to come clean. Is Anthony Falducci running some kind of drug operation from Slice?”
Matt stared down at the floor. “I can’t answer that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Gino insisted. “How did you know about Anthony’s operation? If there’s a chance he was selling drugs, you need to tell me everything. Unless, of course, you were in on it too.”
Matt’s face turned beet red. “No! I’m done with that part of my life. I never actually saw drugs there. Once in a while, we get takeout from Slice over at the garage. I’d make small talk with Eric. He asked me how business was, and if I still had a…uh…certain kind of bad habit.” Matt hesitated before he went on. “Someone must have told him that I’d been a user in the past. The kid was clearly offering, and I have to admit, it was damn hard to say no. But I didn’t want to fall back into that again, because I have too much to lose now. I’ve been clean for over five years now. Swear to God.”
“Eric never actually said the word drugs, did he?” I asked.
Matt looked at me sadly. “He didn’t have to, Tessa.”
Fair enough. “When was this?”
“A couple of weeks back,” Matt replied.
Gino’s brown eyes locked on him. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Because I wasn’t certain that Dylan’s death might be connected to Slice.” Matt sneered at him. “And I don’t make a habit of offering up information to pigs like you either. I’m not a snitch.”
Gino glared at him but said nothing. I knew that look well. He was fighting to control his temper. Things were about to turn ugly.
Matt returned Gino’s scathing look with one of his own. “Why the hell did you have to come to my house to question me? It’s your fault Lila threw me out.” He gave me a pleading look. “I asked your cousin if he would bring you by so I could tell you face-to-face, with him here.” Matt reached for my hand. “Please believe me.”
Gino smacked his arm away. “Don’t touch her.”
Enraged, Matt pushed Gino backward. Before I even understood what was happening, Gino shoved Matt up against the wall and placed him in handcuffs. Matt swore angrily as Sergeant Warner opened the door and shouted to someone in the hall. He was quickly escorted out of the room by another officer.
Gino watched me closely. “Are you okay?”
I nodded mutely, shocked over what had transpired.
Sergeant Warner cleared his throat. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” He nodded politely at me and then left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Tess,” Gino said. “This is unusual practice, I’ll admit. Matt came down here to confront me. He was pissed off that I’d gone to his house and accused me of badgering him. Matt said he could prove he was innocent and asked me to call you. Apparently, he figured you’d believe him. I thought he might show his true colors in your presence.”
“I think he was telling the truth. Eric was using and probably dealing drugs at Slice too. I’m guessing the others were in on it as well.” I heaved a long sigh. “Dylan included.”
Gino stroked his chin and watched me thoughtfully, saying nothing.
“How long are you going to keep Matt here?”
He gave me a smug smile. “As long as I want to. Nah, I’m kidding. An hour maybe.”
“So you used me as bait for him?”
He looked guilty. “In a sense, yes. But you did say you wanted to be here if I questioned him.”
“Yes. Thank you for that.” I was glad it was over.
He slung an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
When we were settled in his car, Gino glanced briefly at his phone and dashed off a quick text to someone, then started the engine. “Tell me more about Dylan’s condition.”
“He had something called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. The doctor wanted him to have open-heart surgery. I looked it up online, and it’s a hereditary disease. I guess there’s no cure, but surgery could have prevented further complications.” It may, in fact, have saved his life. I didn’t know how bad things were, since Dr. Logan’s office wouldn’t divulge any details.
Despair settled on my chest like a heavy boulder. Dylan must have been terrified when the doctor had told him. My mood quickly soured to anger. “Why wouldn’t he let me be there when he found out? When the doctor explained everything. That’s what your spouse is supposed to be for, yet Dylan didn’t even want me to know.”
“He asked Justin to keep it a secret from you?”
I nodded. “Justin should have told me. I had a right to know.”
Gino clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead. It was a beautiful, sunny day but chilly, with the temperature hovering at about thirty degrees and supposed to dip into the teens tonight. “Of course you had a right to know,” he said. “But don’t put it all on Justin. When someone makes a promise to a friend or a loved one, they’re supposed to honor it.”
For some reason, I had expected Gino to agree with me. “Well then, he should have told me after Dylan died. There was no reason for him not to.”
He turned his head slightly. “Maybe so, but that’s not always an easy thing to do, especially when you have deep feelings for that person.”
I sighed heavily. “Gino, I can’t get into this with you.”
A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “As a cop, I’ve learned to read other people’s faces pretty well, and it’s no secret the way he looks at you—has always looked at you. I never said anything because he was Dylan’s pal and I know how happy you two were together. But I always suspected he had feelings for you. I’m actually kind of surprised that Dylan never noticed.”
“There was no reason for him to,” I said honestly. “I’ve never loved another man besides him.”
He cocked a fine, arched eyebrow at me. “Not even Matt?”
“No. He never came close.”
“Gabby hated it when you guys were dating,” Gino commented. “She used to come and complain to me about him all the time. I think she was afraid you’d end up marrying the guy.”
I smiled. “Gabby should learn to stop gabbing so much.”
He laughed, then his expression grew serious. “Try not to be so hard on Justin, Tess.”
“In all honesty, I’m angrier at Dylan.”
“I don’t know his reasoning for what he did,” Gino commented. “It’s easy to hurt the ones you love, no matter how hard you try not to. Getting back to your buddy Matt. Do you really think he’s telling the truth?”
I hesitated, not wanting to set Gino off again. “Yes. He’s not a killer, Gino. And I think he’s right about the goings-on at Slice. I’m convinced Anthony knew something about Dylan’s death, and he fired me because I was asking too many questions. It also looks like Dylan knew Vince’s partner, Bobby. I found his name in Dylan’s Rolodex.”
“So Dylan was doing their taxes?�
�� Gino asked. “Maybe Anthony had recommended Dylan to his brother.”
“It’s possible. Carlita told me they didn’t seem happy when they ran into each other in the bakery one day. And what about the white powder I found? Say what you want, but I know it was drugs, and Matt confirmed back there that Eric was dealing. Dylan was definitely involved—in a blackmailing scheme and possibly with the drugs. He had to have at least known about them if Anthony was supplementing his revenue from the sales. He was the one looking at their books for goodness’ sake! Slice is hurting for money, and Vince might be, too, since his restaurant had to close. How else would Slice even stay in business? They get a decent takeout crowd but not enough to support it. Anthony was even planning to bottle my sauce and sell it. That’s why he hired me.”
Gino looked impressed. “You’ve found out a lot to help us. We’ll start watching the place and see what it gets us. We can’t go in there and search without proof first. I’m kind of embarrassed I didn’t put this together myself. When I get back to the station, I’ll talk to Warner. You have to admit, with Dylan embezzling and now blackmailing…seems like he was focused on stockpiling a lot of money.”
“Well, I don’t know where it could be. I haven’t seen any of it. But I think we can narrow the killer down to Slice now. Almost everyone there had it in for Dylan, and they all had a different reason to want him dead.”
He nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
It should have made me feel better that we were getting closer to an answer, but I was overcome with sadness. No matter how you sliced the pizza, the facts remained the same. My husband may have been sick or dying, but he’d still stolen money that hadn’t belonged to him. Plus, I was devastated that he hadn’t told me any of it in the first place.
“I’ll let you know what I find out about Ned,” he promised. “We’re close on this, Tess. I can feel it. Now, for your part, stay home until I call you. Don’t go back to Slice, understand? Make sure to lock your—”
“For God’s sake,” I snapped. “Stop treating me like I’m five. I’m not your responsibility. If I want to go back to Anthony’s and find out what’s going on, I will. And I don’t need your permission either!”
He grabbed my arm, but I was quicker. I let myself out of the car and ran for the front door.
“Tessa,” Gino shouted, but I ignored him. As soon as I was inside and had locked the door, I heard his car drive away. Good. I hadn’t meant to hurt my cousin but was so overwhelmed with grief and shock, I wasn’t sure what to do anymore.
Distracted, I went into the kitchen and opened the freezer. There was still part of an apple pie in there if I wanted to indulge in another pity party. No, I refused to eat my feelings. On top of the kitchen counter was an unopened bottle of pinot grigio that my mother had brought over. My hand started to pull it forward, then I stopped myself. Instead, I settled on a cup of peppermint herbal tea.
When I walked back into the living room, my eyes fell upon our wedding picture. I picked the frame up off the coffee table and studied the photo carefully. I’d looked at it a million times, but it no longer evoked the same warm sensation. There was no more experience of euphoria or contentment as I stared at it. Anger was the prevalent emotion and threatened to consume me.
Dylan and I were smiling into each other’s eyes and holding hands, deeply in love. He looked so handsome in his black tuxedo, while I wore a white lace gown with an antique veil covering my head. It was almost six years since the photo had been taken but somehow seemed longer. Things had been so perfect back then. If you have true love, what else did you need? For some reason, Dylan hadn’t shared my view. He’d wanted more, and his greed had ended up costing him his life and me the man that I loved.
I removed the lid off one of the boxes I’d brought from We Care and stared down inside. I’d intended to place the wedding picture in there because I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. Still, I continued to clutch it to my chest. Everything inside the box was as neat and orderly as I’d left it the other night. Dylan would have been pleased to see that I’d made the effort—dear, organized, meticulous Dylan. He’d kept everything so pristine, with the exception of his own life, which contained more secrets and lies than a dirty politician’s.
Consumed with rage, I picked up the picture and hurled it at the wall. The glass broke and shattered into a hundred tiny pieces, its symbolism not lost on me. Then I sank to the floor and began to sob.
There were streaks of blood on my palm where a shard of flying glass must have landed. Numb to the pain, I continued to cry in anger at the circumstances—of how Dylan had let himself be put in this position. If he’d told me what was going on, we might have been able to work things out. I’d loved him more than anything in this world and never would have left him. Perhaps that’s what he’d been afraid of.
If Dylan had only come to me with the truth, he might still be alive today.
Twenty-One
For the next couple of hours, I sat in the window seat and stared numbly out onto the street. A few of the neighborhood children were outside, riding their bikes despite the cold, with a parent watching nearby. This might be one of the last opportunities they’d have to ride their bikes this year. Rumor had it that we’d be getting our first snowstorm this weekend. The sound of their innocent laughter hit my ears, reminding me of happier times that were now beyond my reach.
As I watched the sun disappear behind the clouds, I knew I had to redirect my anger, but at who? Justin? Gino? The police department? Dylan was dead. It solved nothing to be angry at him, but still, I couldn’t help myself.
Justin had meant well, but knowing that he had been privy to Dylan’s secret, or at least part of it, continued to eat away at me. He cared for me, but I couldn’t let myself think about that. Justin wanted more than friendship, and I had nothing to give. It might be a long time—if ever—until that changed.
My head was pounding, and I needed some aspirin. It was Saturday, and my mother’s Altar Rosary Society meeting was being held tonight, which meant she’d be stopping by for her cookies soon, bad batch of chocolate biscotti and all. It was tempting to leave them on the porch. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.
As I reached into my purse, my hand brushed against a smooth leather surface. It was the journal I’d tucked inside the other day. I’d forgotten to give it to Gino. I sat down on the couch and opened it. My eyes ran through the names, and one immediately stood out. Johnny Sobato. The man who’d left a message on Dylan’s phone. Was he a drug client? Had Dylan been in on the sales with Anthony? Nothing would surprise me anymore. Without stopping to think first, I dialed the number.
A man picked up after the second ring. “Yeah,” he grunted in greeting.
“Is this Mr. Sobato?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Who wants to know?”
I went with the first name that popped into my head. “Isabella.”
Another pause. “You sound different.”
“I have a cold.”
“Why’s your father got you calling? He never does that,” the man said.
“Uh,” I hedged. “He’s been busy, so I’m taking over. What’ll it be?”
An uncomfortable silence met my ears. “What do you mean? It’s always the same. Hey, what are you trying to pull? Are you working with the police or something?”
Oh crap. Stupid, stupid, stupid. My heart knocked so loudly against the wall of my chest, I was positive he could hear and clicked off in a sudden panic, then chided myself. I should have called from a number that couldn’t be traced. He’d all but confirmed my previous suspicion. Anthony was running some type of illegal ring—and Dylan had been in on it too. Any doubt I’d had before was gone. So what did this mean for Dylan’s death? Who at Slice had killed him?
I went into my bedroom, grabbed the steno pad still sitting on my nightstand, and scanned through the names again. Izzy.
How was she involved? Was she so afraid of losing her meal ticket that she’d killed or asked somebody to kill Dylan to protect her cheating ways?
Then there was Anthony. He claimed to have adored Dylan, but maybe he wanted him out of the picture. How far would he go to protect his precious daughter from a blackmailer?
Vince. Someone had blabbed about the illegal goings-on at his restaurant in New York City, and there was a good chance it might have been Dylan. Had Vince returned to Harvest Park to start over or to settle the score with my husband?
There was a knock on my door. Good grief, what now? Then I remembered. My mother had arrived for the cookies. Before I reached the door, her shrill voice echoed from the other side. “Tessa? Honey, we’re running late here!”
I unlocked the door to my mother, who gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. Aunt Mona and Mrs. DeNovo crowded into my living room behind her.
Mom glanced around the room anxiously. “I’m sorry, darling. The meeting starts at eight, and we’re terribly late.”
“How nice to see you, dear.” Mrs. DeNovo gave me a little wave. “It’s been a long time. Have you turned atheist?”
A subtle hint that I hadn’t been to church lately. “Ah, no. I do need to start going to Mass more often. How are you, Mrs. DeNovo?”
“Call me Angela,” she said and beamed.
My mother was shifting from one foot to another in impatience. “Are they in the kitchen, dear?”
Gee, the world was certain to end if she couldn’t have the chocolate biscotti right away. “Yes, in two trays on the breakfast counter.”
“I’ll help,” Aunt Mona offered. “But I need to call Gabby before we go anywhere. I forgot to ask her earlier to bring home the newest Danielle Steel novel. It came out this morning.”
My mother rolled her eyes at the ceiling as they walked toward the kitchen and left me alone with Mrs. DeNovo. She was a petite thing who only came up to my shoulder, and although she wasn’t much older than my own mother, she looked as if she’d aged twenty years since the last time I’d seen her. The woman’s hair was a tangled grayish-white mixture, and her entire face was etched with fine deep wrinkles. She smiled at me and took my hand between her two tiny, liver-spotted ones. Her fingers were ice cold, and I almost yelped as they brushed against mine.
Penne Dreadful Page 20
