Turning back to the table, I saw the box containing the typewriter. It couldn’t stay in the kitchen. As I lugged it into the living room, I heard Sev upstairs with Pearl. I couldn’t quite catch what they were saying at first, only that she spoke after him much more slowly and carefully. Then I realized they were speaking Italian. Slow and simple but patient and calm despite everything. I smiled to myself as I unpacked the typewriter onto the desk in the parlor. I’d found a good man somehow amid all the Westwick corruption.
Someone knocked so softly I barely heard the taps even in the quiet of the house. Rubbing ink off my fingers with my handkerchief, I opened the door. Crista. She had a covered casserole dish propped in the crook of her elbow like a baby. A strong garlic smell wafted from it.
“I know I was supposed to come earlier this afternoon to cook dinner for you”—she smiled hesitantly—“but I heard Mr. Arrighi was the one who found Mr. Trask, and I thought maybe you would both like some time to be alone.” She held the dish out. “So, I cooked at home. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Uh, yes. I mean, no; we don’t mind.” I jammed my stained handkerchief into my pocket. I took the dish and nudged the cloth covering with my thumb. A whiff of garlic and tomato escaped, though I couldn’t identify the contents with such a small peek. “If you hang on a second while I put this down, I can get my wallet.”
“Oh, no, no. Consider it a housewarming gift.”
“Um, well, thank you.” Now I felt awful about suspecting her of trying to steal Sev from me.
Her smile broadened. “You’re very welcome. Enjoy,” she said. “Buona sera, have a pleasant evening.”
“Wait.”
She paused mid-turn. “Si?”
I took a breath. If Walter Trask had been involved in her husband’s murder, and she had tried to take revenge, I was about to drop myself into a viper pit. Looking at Crista, though, it was impossible to be afraid. She just stood there in a faded green dress, no weapon, no fists, not even a suspicious look. Plus, the top of her head reached my shoulder. How would she lift a branch and swing it hard enough to crack a man’s skull?
“Did you hear about Bella?” I asked.
“No? What has happened?”
“Sheriff Kelly arrested her on, uh, well, assault, but he’s holding her on suspicion of Trask’s murder.”
Crista paled. “Madonna. She didn’t!”
“I don’t think so either, but how well do you know Bella? Because she seems content to sit there with a murder charge. You’re friends. Do you know why she might do that?”
“We are friends, yes, and she has always been kind to me, but she is a private person, I think is how they say it. She does not share when she does not have to.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that. “Does she know anyone else here besides Mr. Trask who might know?”
Crista shook her head.
“Right.” I sighed. “Well, I didn’t want to have to drag this up, but Kelly also thinks she had something to do with, um, your husband Leo’s death.”
“No, ridiculous!”
“Exactly.” I lowered my voice. “I know this is a lot to ask, but I want to go back to Kelly in the morning with hard proof, or at least reasonable doubt.” I took a breath. “What happened to Leo, Mrs. Manco?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, not meeting my eyes. “He and Mr. Trask left one night. Two days later, Mr. Trask stumbled back, and Leo never returned. And Sheriff Kelly did nothing. He said Leo had abandoned me, which I knew wasn’t true. So, I called Bella, begging for help. And she came, brought her own men to look. And they found him.” Crista took a shaky breath. “He’d been shot with a rifle, but that was all they would tell me. We told Sheriff Kelly to look into Mr. Trask, and he did after a while, but his rifle bullets didn’t match.” She shrugged. “So, we do not know what happened. Perhaps it was the border patrol.”
I nodded. So, not much different than what Bella had said. Could the story really be the truth? “While Bella was here, did she go anywhere while you weren’t with her? Did she seem particularly friendly or unfriendly with anyone?”
“Unfriendly with Mr. Kelly. That is to be expected.” Crista worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “There was a man though. He wasn’t from here; he was renting from the Reeds.” She gestured at the house. “For a hunting trip, he said. He was here perhaps a little more than a month, but he stayed the whole time Bella did. Left the day after. She didn’t speak with him at all, but she…” Crista shook her head. “Now that you say it, I think she tried to avoid him.”
Well, a mysterious man might be anyone. Rival mob. G-man. Hell, he might have been her ex for all I knew. “Does he have a name?”
“James Smith? Maybe Joseph?”
I suppressed a groan. That had fake name written all over it. The least he could have done was be creative. “Did he talk to anyone a lot?”
“I wouldn’t know. My mind was elsewhere.”
Right, murdered husband. “Understandable. Did the police have a word with him at all?”
“No. He left before they decided to do anything.”
“And what did the Reeds have to say about that?”
“Not much, as I understand it. They weren’t here, and when the police asked for his contact information to track him down, it all ended up in dead ends.”
And yet Kelly still thought Bella had something to do with these deaths? Somehow, this town was shadier than Westwick. “I find it kind of strange Kelly wouldn’t have hounded them about that.”
Crista shrugged. “They’re not here often, perhaps a few months every few years, and they’re very wealthy. And Robert Kelly has family in the Boston police department. Maybe if he were a good man, he might sacrifice his own job, but even a good man would have to think twice about ruining his whole family.”
Ah, good old extortion. That explained at least some of Kelly’s reticence. So, I’d have to track down the Reeds myself. “Who knows the Reeds well?” I asked.
“Mr. Trask did. He did business with them in Boston, or at least that’s what I have heard. And Bella does. I don’t know who else. When they stay, they are very quiet.”
I nodded. Definitely shadier than Westwick. “Thanks. If you think of something else, will you let me know?”
“Of course.” She took a step back. “Is there anything else?”
“I wanted to say I’m very sorry about what happened to your husband.”
“Believe me, Mr. Carrow, no one is sorrier than I am. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Crista smiled faintly. Then she walked off the porch, leaving me with the dish and no real answers. “Please give Mr. Arrighi my regards.”
Chapter Seven
After another restless night, I concluded that Alex Carrow was definitely not a morning person, but again, only after Pearl demanded I wake up at half past seven. I struggled my way through putting on clothes and slumped downstairs. Sev’s voice drifted from the kitchen. Strange, especially since Pearl was still upstairs. Even stranger, it sounded melodic. Or it might have been if it hadn’t been horribly off-key. I shuffled toward the back of the house.
Sev was dressed in a full suit again, the navy pinstripe that followed all the right lines. He hovered by the stove, his back to me. Daisy sat on the counter beside him, staring at the contents of a bowl. He was singing. Or trying to. “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I’m half crazy over my love—”
“Are you singing to the cat?”
Sev froze. He turned to me, his face turning a dusty red. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Caught red-handed, I’m afraid.” I chuckled. I slid into one of the chairs. From her perch on the counter, Daisy glared at me and swished her tail. I rolled my eyes. “What’re you doing all dressed up?”
He shrugged. “I thought I might go to the factory to see if the accounting job is still available. If Mr. Trask was working with Bella, maybe I can find something there that will help get her out.”
Well, he had a point. An inside
man would make things a lot easier. Or worse. Hell, there might even be trouble from him knocking on the door. Considering the looks Sev had garnered in our walk through town the other day, Robert Kelly wasn’t the only person here who had an issue with “foreigners.”
“Do you think they’ll bring you on?” I asked.
“It’s worth trying. The worst they can do is say no, and then I come home.”
That definitely wasn’t the worst they could do, but I didn’t want to cut off his grand plan to save Bella, especially considering that was also my own goal. I’d have to keep all my paranoia to myself. Maybe I ought to go with him to keep an eye on things. My blocky six-foot frame might keep some people in line who might have otherwise tried a thing or two.
God, I was already so stressed I wanted to smoke. I could practically smell it. No, wait, I could smell it. Streams of gray were snaking off the pan on the stove. I jumped up.
“Uh, Sev? Whatever you’re frying…”
“Cazzo,” he hissed as he whipped back around.
Knobs were turned, but the smoke remained. I dared creep closer as he muttered a stream of what were probably swears in Italian. Whatever had been in the pan had charred beyond recognition.
“What were you making?” I asked. My voice came out strained as the smoke scraped my throat.
“Pancakes,” he muttered as he dumped the still-smoking pan into the sink. “I thought I would be cute.”
Ah. Well, that matched up with his ironic sense of humor. Though maybe this wasn’t quite the time. “You’re cute enough,” I said as I pulled him toward me. “You don’t need to go burning down the house to prove it.”
Apparently, I’d said the wrong thing because he twisted his face away so my kiss landed on his cheek rather than his lips. “One of us has to learn to cook,” he insisted. “Unless you want Crista having to come by every day?”
The image of Crista getting kissed while cooking flickered into my mind unbidden, distracting and horrifying me so much I barely heard Pearl rumbling down the stairs. I only just managed to step away from Sev as she appeared in the foyer.
“Something’s burning,” she said.
“Yeah, we know,” I answered, waving the last of the smoke away with my hand. “Did you have breakfast?”
“No, but I have to go now, or I’m going to be late to school!”
Oh crap, I’d forgotten about school between the car accident, the murder, and Bella being in jail. What time was class supposed to start? Eight thirty? I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen. Shit.
“Okay, okay, we’re going now,” I said. I snatched an apple off the counter. “Here, this is breakfast, and I’ll come around at noon with your lunch.” I smiled at Sev. “See you tonight, I guess.”
“Ah, actually.” He looked to Pearl. “Can you wait on the porch for Alex, gattina? I need to talk to him about something.”
“Fine. But I don’t want to be late,” she huffed.
Her hair ribbons flapped as she spun on her heel. The sass on this kid. Was that normal at such a young age? Should I be trying to do something about that? Sev seemed oblivious to the fact we’d been scolded, only focused on fishing in his pocket. As soon as Pearl stepped outside, he produced his knife.
“I know you are going to start looking around for answers today.” He held it out to me. “Better safe than sorry.”
I wanted to protest—the sight of the blade dragged up memories of Emma’s slashed neck—but he had a point. My mouth tended to cause problems, and I knew nothing about any of these people. So, I tucked the knife into my own pocket.
Sev smiled. “Sei troppo corrigioso,” he murmured.
He said that to me often. Very brave or too brave, depending; I had a feeling he meant the latter. But I didn’t feel very brave. It was just that someone was going to have to do something, and it might as well be me.
“Thanks.” I pulled him against me again. “Good luck at the factory, okay? If something goes belly-up—”
“It will be fine, caro.” He kissed me. “Now get going. God help us both if Pearl is late.”
Sev had been right—I’d been planning on beginning my hunt for answers that morning, and I’d decided to start with Judith. She was Trask’s fiancée, after all. She was bound to know something. So, as soon as I got Pearl to school, I went looking for her.
It was easy enough to find where Judith Howe lived. All I had to do was ask the first person I saw on the street, though there were so few houses I could have probably knocked on every door and found it within the hour as long as I didn’t mind the wafts of sickly sweet maple smell clinging to everything. In any case, the house was on one of the streets crossing Main. It was made of brick and was largeish, though nowhere near as big as the ones belonging to the upper crust in Westwick.
Judith seemed only slightly surprised to see me. “Can I help you, Mr. Carrow?”
“I came to offer my condolences,” I said.
She smiled politely. “How kind. You didn’t even know Walter. Or me.” She stepped back and gestured at her foyer. “Won’t you come in and have some tea?”
Alarm bells started ringing in my head. This was too much like how Emma had coaxed me into a false sense of security. But I was here, and no one else was going to put the effort into fixing this. I mounted the last stair with a murmur of thanks.
The parlor looked something like ours except it had a hutch instead of a desk, and a striped area rug took up most of the center. The fireplace was solid and swept and unremarkable, but above it was a sheet dangling off whatever had been hung there.
“A painting?” I asked, my mouth moving too quickly for my brain to shut it in time. Great job being rude, Alex.
Judith paused in the doorway between the parlor and the kitchen. “A mirror.”
“You’re Jewish?”
She returned with a small tray of tea and picked over cookies. Undoubtedly, she’d had many people traipsing through since they’d found out about Trask. She placed the tray on the table and motioned for me to sit.
“My mother was,” she said, “which means I am, at least in theory. I’m not much of a practitioner.” She waved a hand at the mirror. “Though some details come through.”
I nodded, wondering how many people hadn’t known until they’d paraded through her living room as she’d mourned and if that would change their opinion of her. Funny thing, though, she didn’t seem particularly upset. She hadn’t even been particularly sad back in the forest with Trask’s body right in front of her. Grief could be different for different people, so maybe she was numb. Still, her impassiveness was suspicious. And why wasn’t Kelly in here trying to corner the statistically most likely culprit?
“How did you meet Walter?” I asked.
A flicker of something shone in her eyes. “I was his secretary. The factory had grown, and I was the only one who knew shorthand at the time.” A hint of a smile appeared. “I started college in Boston, and I came back here to take care of my father when my mother died and ended up asking for work.”
Well, not an unusual story, in-office romance. I’d slapped together a few short stories on the theme for the pulps. “You’re not the secretary now, are you?”
“No, that would be Mrs. Gaines. I felt it was unprofessional to keep working once Walter and I became serious. We were supposed to get married this summer.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry for me,” Judith said. “I understand you’re in mourning as well. Your sister and your brother.”
Brother? Oh right, Martin. I’d forgotten I’d told Crista that detail. And if I told Crista, half the town probably knew by now. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, we saw Marianne’s coming, but Martin was so sudden.” A wave of real grief floated across me and settled in my throat, giving my next words a strained quality. “Shot. Wrong place at the wrong time. That’s when we decided to come here.”
Judith sighed. “It is very unfortunate you arrived in time to see another murder, especially sinc
e there hasn’t been one here besides Mr. Manco in some thirty years. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not like Sheriff Kelly. I don’t believe you or Mr. Arrighi had anything to do with it.” Her finger tapped against her teacup. “It would be very silly for you to kill a man you’d never met, wouldn’t it? No motive.”
Well, she’d started it already. “What do you think the motive was?”
She shrugged. “Walter was a wealthy man, and there will be people who will benefit financially from his death. His brother, for one. Mr. Gaines may, depending on legal factors.”
Yourself, maybe? “Any personal grudges going around?”
“I suppose I should be happy you’re the one asking me and not Mr. Kelly, but I will assure you and everyone in town I had no reason to want to harm Walter. He may have had his faults, but he was a good man.”
I watched her. Nothing. No grief, no anger, not even insistence. Like her face was plastered over. Like she had trained herself to be still.
“You know, in my experience, when you have to specify someone was a good man, they usually aren’t. And I’m not trying to badmouth your fiancé. I’m including myself in that.”
“How unfortunate you feel that way.”
Geez, she cut me off at every angle. What if I came at her from somewhere she didn’t expect? “I hear he was mixed up in Mr. Manco’s death.”
Judith sighed. “Mr. Kelly says otherwise, but I understand why you might not want to believe him. Particularly if you’re friends with Crista. She never quite forgave Walter for making it back alive.” She lowered her voice. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“Just that they both went out and Leo didn’t come home. Why, what happened out there?”
“I couldn’t say about how he was shot, but Crista was in the family way at the time.” Judith softened a little. “You should have seen her, Mr. Carrow; she glowed. And so happy! But all the stress of her husband being missing and then knowing he was dead…”
Boiling Over Page 7
