Diamonds, Pies & Dead Guys

by Jennifer Fischetto

  I lightly groan and wish I could fly.

  I choose to go with Kevin simply because it feels like it would be the ride with fewer male glares. And I'm right. Kevin is lost in thought on the way over.

  He parks in visitor parking, which I find interesting since that's not his habit, and the two of us head inside.

  I follow him past the front desk and into the squad room. There are a dozen or so desks and chairs, a line of file cabinets along one wall, a coffee station way in the back, and several doors leading to offices. It's loud, even with less than half of the desks filled—phones ringing and a lot of chatter.

  There are a couple of women in brightly colored shorts and tank tops, showing more skin than is covered up, talking excitedly with an officer. A man is handcuffed to a desk near us, and a woman by the file cabinets is sobbing about a lost pet.

  It sounds like chaos, to say the least.

  Enzo, Kirby, and Michael arrived a few seconds before us. Kirby's leading Michael toward the back of the room, and Enzo stops and turns to me.

  "Why don't you sit in the waiting area? It's less noisy."

  I nod and start to walk back out when I hear Kevin say, "I'll sit with her."

  Enzo doesn't reply.

  Kevin walks ahead, and we sit on a couple of uncomfortable looking metal chairs between the front door and desk.

  As I'm staring at the faded white and gray speckled flooring, I remember I haven't called Julian to let him know I'll be late. Like really late. I didn't hear my phone ring or buzz, so he may be waiting at my apartment. Darn. I don't want to make that call in the police station.

  Kevin runs his fingers through his hair and leans his head back against the wall. "You shouldn't have come with me."

  "I'm fine," I say but start bouncing my right heel just the same.

  My mind wanders, and I remember his car. "So a brand-new car, huh? I didn't think detectives made that kind of money."

  "We don't." He's staring at the ceiling.

  "Then where did you get it?" I ask. My curiosity is high now. Don't tell me he was lucky enough to win it.

  "I said I don't make that kind of money, not that I didn't buy it." A corner of his mouth lifts.

  "Okay, now you really have to explain."

  "Hilary spent money like it was water on completely unnecessary things. Manicures, small kitchen gadgets, even though she was a horrible cook, jewelry, shoes, handbags."

  "Those earrings she's wearing," I say out loud and quickly add, "That she was wearing the night she died."

  He scoffs. "Those are one carat each, and we can't afford them. She spent every penny she earned and then would dip into our household account. And I won't mention our credit cards and how far in debt I am right now. We fought about it a lot, and last week I got sick of scrimping when she had designer bags, shoes, and expensive perfumes."

  "So the car was payback?"

  He gives one nod. "Something like that."

  "Dude, you guys sound toxic."

  He doesn't deny it.

  "So I'm beast-like, huh? Does that make you Belle?" he asks with a lopsided grin.

  My stomach clenches at his comparison to a Disney couple.

  Before I get to respond, the main doors open, and Julian and Pop enter.

  Oh no!

  My first thought is "something is wrong," but when Julian spots me, glances to Kevin, and then gets that angry, tight-lipped expression, I know I'm in trouble.

  Kevin must realize the same because he stands up and says, "I'm going to check in with your brother," and walks off before the two men I love stop in front of me.

  "You're here with him?" Julian asks. His tone is full of revulsion, but his eyes are filled with sadness.

  I stand up and keep my voice down so that the cop behind the desk doesn't hear. I don't want any of this circulating the precinct. "I needed to return his keys, and you have a cow when I'm anywhere near him."

  "You hate him," Julian says.

  This was very true, but now hate feels too strong. Mistrust, aren't fond of, and want out of my life seem more appropriate. I doubt Julian will understand though.

  Once again tonight, I don't get to say anything else because Julian walks out the door.

  I look at Pop. "Why are you two here?"

  "Your brother called saying you'd need a ride. I was still at the deli, and Julian was looking for you."

  "Why were you at the deli this late? It closes at seven," I say.

  "We were very busy, and there was a lot to clean up. You know how your mother is." His smile is gentle and full of love.

  "Pop, I messed up tonight."

  He extends an arm and pulls me into a half-body hug. "It'll be okay."

  I rest my cheek on his chest. I hope he's right.

  * * *

  Every time Idris Elba opens his mouth, about to confess his undying love for me, an annoying sound emits instead. Over and over. It won't stop. I shout for him to say it, but then he just stands there and isn't trying anymore. The sound continues though. What is it?

  He begins to fade, and this grayish light appears. I squeeze my eyes shut because it becomes so bright, and when I open them, I'm staring at my white ceiling, and my phone is ringing.

  Oh, so that's the noise.

  I grab the offending object, don't recognize the number, and debate not answering it. If I can get back to dreamland, maybe Idris will make all of my fantasies come true. I start to put the phone back on the nightstand and scoff to myself. What if it's important?

  "Hello?"

  "Gianna? This is Tanya, Steven's fiancée."

  Hilary's soon-to-be sister-in-law. Or was-to-be.

  I scoot up against my pillows and rub my face. "Yes, hi. How are you?"

  She hesitates before saying, "We're okay." But she doesn't sound okay. There's a sadness in her voice.

  "How can I help you?" I ask.

  "Um, I'm calling to let you know that the funeral is tomorrow. Steven was going to call, but I told him I'd do it."

  "Oh, okay, yeah. Thanks for telling me." Wow, I hadn't expected it this soon in a murder case. I found her three nights ago. Sometimes the medical examiner holds the body for a week. This must've been a simple case. Whatever that means.

  She rattles off the time and location. "There will be services at the church and then graveside… Well, you know."

  "Yeah." Unfortunately, I've been to a fair number of funerals in my lifetime. I know how they work.

  She sniffles, and my heart breaks a little. I don't know this woman, but all of my feelings are with Mrs. Porter and Steven, and now Tanya by association.

  "Do you guys need anything?" I ask.

  "No, we're good. Really." But she sniffles again.

  "What are you doing this morning? How about breakfast? My treat."

  "You don't have to," she says.

  "I want to. Come on. I can pick you up, or we can meet at that diner in Oceanside." Not only did the place have decent food, but it was almost halfway between Freeport (assuming she lived near Mrs. Porter) and South Shore Beach.

  "That sounds nice. I can meet you," Tanya says.

  "Great. How about in an hour?" I want to shower and look presentable. Plus, I need to tell Julian I'll be late into the office this morning. That's if he's speaking to me.

  Tanya agrees, and we hang up.

  I glance at the time and realize it's earlier than I thought. I bite the corner of my lip and dial Julian's cell phone. It rings and rings and goes to voicemail. He's either in the shower or ignoring me.

  After I finished giving a statement last night, Pop drove me to the motel to pick up my car. Julian and I haven't said a word to one another since he stormed off.

  "Hey, it's me," I say when I hear the beep. "I'm taking Hilary's brother's fiancée to breakfast, so I may be late to the office. There aren't any clients scheduled today, so let me know if this is a problem."

  I hang up, and that sinking feeling I had all last night returns.

  An hou
r and ten minutes later, I step into the diner and spot Tanya sitting at a booth along the right side of the long, narrow establishment. Oceanside Diner has been here as long as I can remember. It changed ownership a few times, but the food's stayed the same. I love the nostalgia and familiarity.

  Tanya sees me and waves. A soft smile sits on her delicate face. Her blonde hair is back in a ponytail, and she's dressed in a pastel pink T-shirt that matches her lip gloss, black shorts, and sandals.

  I toss my purse onto the seat across from her and slide in beside it. "Sorry I'm late. I didn't take work morning traffic into consideration."

  "It's fine. I've only been here a couple of minutes." There's a steaming, untouched cup of coffee before her.

  A wire-thin server with thick black bangs and a tattoo of a raven on the inside of her left wrist comes to our table. "Can I get you something to drink? Are you ready to order?"

  "I know what I want, but if you need time…" Tanya says.

  I shake my head. "No. I'm good. I'll have the chocolate chip pancakes."

  I've been here enough times to know that is their best dish.

  Tanya gets the same with a side of bacon, and I add coffee with cream to my order.

  "Tell me how things have been these last few days," I say. I probably can't do much to help Mrs. Porter, but if there's anything, I'd like to try.

  Tanya looks down at the table and shakes her head. "It's been horrible. The grief, the media wanting to know about Hilary being killed by her cop husband. It's all been very hard on Mom. Steven and I are there for her, but she's alone while we work."

  I hadn't thought about the journalists. Of course they'd want the latest news, and a cop's wife's death had to be front page, at least locally.

  As for Mrs. Porter, this wasn't good.

  "Where do you and Steven work?" I ask.

  The server arrives with my coffee, and I load it up with cream and sugar. I like it almost dessert-like.

  "Steven works at a factory in Farmingdale, and I do this." She waves her hand toward the kitchen door. "Not here. I serve tables at a bar."

  Constantly being on her feet must be part of the reason she looks so fit.

  "And do the two of you live close to your jobs?" I ask.

  A small frown knits her brows closer together. "No, we're staying with Mom until the wedding."

  "Oh, you're living with her. Well, that's good right now." It's a relief that Mrs. Porter isn't alone all the time.

  "Yes, but we're both gone at night, which is when she gets the saddest." Tanya sips her coffee.

  I see her point. Maybe I can stop in a few nights. The idea of doing it tonight, right before the funeral, bothers me though. It won't be fun anytime, but I don't think I can handle the emotions that the woman will experience tonight or tomorrow. Does that make me selfish?

  "Do you think Kevin killed her?" Tanya asks.

  It's such a swift change of topic and a heavy question. "I'm not sure, but…"

  Tanya's eyes widen. "But what?"

  "Logically, yes. The spouse is often the guilty party. But no, I don't." I can't place my finger on it. Despite what Hilary says, I don't think Kevin killed her. Of course, I have been wrong in the past about people.

  Tanya shakes her head. "I don't think so either."

  "Why?" I ask.

  She shrugs. "Just a hunch."

  Same.

  I smile, but it quickly fades when I think of Hilary's mom. "What do Mrs. Porter and Steven think? Do or did they like Kevin?"

  "Oh yes, she loves him. Same for Steven." That small frown reappears. "Actually, I'm not sure how she feels about him now. She's hurt. She's not sure what to believe. The police questioned her and asked if Kevin and Hilary had problems. She said no, but I think others have told them otherwise. They didn't outright say it, but their questions suggested it."

  Yep, that would be Brenda. I suddenly wonder if other neighbors overheard their arguments. Maybe the apartments below them got a better grasp on who was with Hilary last. Surely the police asked. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to… No, this isn't my business.

  "Mom said that you're close with the police," Tanya says. "Does that mean you and Kevin are friendly?"

  The way she says the last word, I wonder if she thinks Kevin and I are more than friendly.

  I scrunch up my face but then quickly relax it. If she's not aware of my relationship with Kevin through Hilary or her mother, I don't want to bring it up. It's long, messy, and private.

  "She must be referring to my brother, Enzo. He's a police officer."

  Tanya's eyes widen, and a small smile crosses her mouth. It's fast, as if she finds it exciting but isn't sure if she should be obvious. Or maybe that's how I feel about the issue. I love having a cop in the family, especially when he gives me information.

  "Oh, wow. I didn't know. What does he think about Kevin possibly killing Hilary?" she asks.

  I'd begged Enzo to tell me some details, and I know how hard it was for him to do so. There's no way I'm betraying his trust and discussing it with anyone else, especially a woman I barely know.

  "Well, he-he's…" I wasn't expecting the question, so I'm momentarily caught off-guard. "Um, he's kinda hush-hush about it all. He doesn't want to jeopardize his job."

  She nods and then lifts her cup. "Of course."

  We sit for a moment in silence, and then Tanya reaches for a napkin and blots her eyes. "I'm going to miss her so much."

  My heart melts for the umpteenth time since I visited the Porters. I wish I had something uplifting to say.

  "Were the two of you close?" I ask.

  "We were getting there. She worked days, and I work nights. On our days off, they either weren't the same or she was busy. But we connected through Facebook and text, and Mrs. Porter insisted we have dinner together once a week as a family."

  Sounded like my own.

  "And what about Steven? Is he managing?" I ask. I'm not sure how close or distant the siblings had become, but they grew up in the same house. There had to be wonderful memories.

  "He's dealing. He loved his sister dearly. This is incredibly hard. It was so unexpected."

  I reach across the table and squeeze her clammy hand. I can't do anything for this family other than be there for them. It doesn't feel like enough though.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After Tanya and I finish breakfast, I head to the office. I arrive thirty minutes later than usual, and when I get to the door, it's dark inside. Julian isn't here. That's not unusual, but my gut is telling me we should talk about last night.

  I unlock the door, turn on the overhead light, and call him.

  It rings and eventually goes to voicemail. Before I listen to the entire message though, my phone dings. It's a text from him. I stare at my phone with a frown. Is he busy in a meeting and can't answer his phone?

  I hang up the call and read the text.

  Take the day off.

  That's it?

  I heavily sigh, annoyed that I don't get more than a quick command, and worried that I may have really hurt or upset him. I know I was wrong to be evasive, but I wouldn't have if he wasn't so macho when it came to other men. Jealousy isn't cool or complimentary.

  I turn off the light, lock back up, and walk across the street to the deli. It shouldn't be too busy at this time of the morning. I can fill in Ma about tomorrow.

  I enter through the front door, and she looks up with her polite welcome smile. When she sees it's me, the smile quickly fades, and I laugh.

  "What? Only your money-paying customers get the full-on Rosa Mancini pearly whites?" I ask.

  She catches on and playfully swats my arm when I step around the counter to give her a hug. "Why are you here? In need of coffee?"

  That wasn't a part of the plan, but I won't say no to a second cup. I grab a to-go cup and start filling.

  "Actually, I wanted to let you know that Hilary's funeral is tomorrow."

  The skin between Ma's brows pinches, and her voice lowers. "Oh
. I'll talk to your father, but we'll close the deli so that both of us can attend. You can ride with us."

  That makes me feel better. I top the coffee with creamer and sugar. "Thanks, Ma. I'm not fond of going alone."

  "What about Julian? Or is he still mad?" She raises her brows and straightens a basket of individually wrapped plastic cutlery by the register.

  "I think he's still upset. We'll talk eventually. He may need to get past it on his own." I really don't know because, other than him getting jealous a few times when I hung out with Michael, he's never really like this. I'm not sure how to make him see reason.

  "He'll be fine. Some men can't handle their women having male friends."

  "Well, first, I'm not his woman, and he's going to have to get over that because I won't stop speaking to Michael or any other future guy friend who comes along."

  Ma grins. "Sweetie, you two may be taking it slow, or whatever you're calling it, but you are still a couple. No man pays the receptionist he doesn't really need a salary just because. He's doing it because he loves you."

  "I'm his assistant."

  She chuckles. "Same thing."

  I know she's right, but she states it so plainly that it suddenly sounds different.

  "Don't you think it's time the two of you seriously examine your relationship? Either go all in, whatever that may be—no pressure from me—or separate."

  The door opens, the bell jingles, and a man in his forties enters.

  Ma pats my arm and turns to help him.

  I grab my coffee and enter the kitchen so that I can mull over what she just said without an audience.

  Ma, Pop, and the rest of the family don't know that Julian is a fixer. I never told them. It's not my secret to share. This has made my reason for taking it slow difficult to explain. Normally this would be a conversation to have with your sister and some junk food, but I can't do that.

  And Ma's totally right. Again. It is time Julian and I figure things out. It's been a year since we broke up and he followed me here to South Shore Beach. Then we briefly got back together, I learned of his fixing job, and we drifted apart enough that I've been calling us "taking it slow."