Secondhand Smoke

by Karen E. Olson

  “He always has words with me,” I said. “How are you?” I started feeling guilty. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her, and she’d always been there for me when I was a kid.

  She shrugged. “The emphysema isn’t good, but I hold my own.”

  “I’ll come by sometime,” I said, but she chuckled as she shook her head.

  “You always say that.” She gave my arm a little squeeze. “I know you want to, though,” she said as she moved past me into the kitchen.

  My childhood was jumping up and biting me on the ass.

  The minute I smelled the garlic and tomato sauce coming from the kitchen, I forgot about feeling guilty. Death in most neighborhoods called for food, and lots of it. It was lunch-time, my stomach growled, and I picked up a plate.

  Reporters don’t usually eat at things like this, but I knew what I’d be missing if I didn’t, and I wasn’t about to miss any of it.

  I spotted Tom across the table. He was staring at my plate. “You have to get your own,” I hissed at him, his mouth watering almost as much as mine.

  “She’s always hungry.” Vinny’s voice came from somewhere to my left; I was too busy piling on some ziti and antipasto to look up.

  “She’ll eat anything.” Tom didn’t have to say that the way he did, and I temporarily forgot the plate in my hand as I gave him a dirty look. Vinny was smirking, and it was almost as if they were forming some sort of alliance.

  That wouldn’t do.

  I popped an olive in my mouth and eyed Vinny. His resemblance to Frank Sinatra hit me again. Not the old, fat Frank who couldn’t remember the words to his songs, but Frank from the 1950s, like when he was in High Society with Grace Kelly and had some pretty smooth moves. Yeah, that was Vinny, smooth as silk.

  “Now, boys, let’s not get nasty,” I said.

  I could see both of them itching to say something, but to their credit, they just shook their heads and tried not to laugh.

  “What’s going on?” Vinny asked Tom as I took a bite of bread stuffed with spinach.

  “Routine questioning.” His look told me not to say anything. He motioned toward Mac, who was in the corner talking quietly with Dominic Gaudio and his daughter. “Need to get a timeline.”

  “What for? Sal’s dead, can you give her a day?”

  Tom didn’t say anything, and I could see Vinny’s thoughts moving faster than a fucking hamster on a wheel.

  “There’s something you’re not saying,” Vinny finally said. He turned to me, his eyes boring into my soul. Fortunately, my mouth was full and I couldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean much.

  “You know, don’t you. Come on, Annie, what gives?”

  I shook my head.

  “Vinny, what’s going on?” It was Rosie, coming from the kitchen, carrying the coffeepot.

  Vinny took it from her and put it on the table. “Nothing,” he said, but I saw he wouldn’t meet her eyes, which fell on me as I swallowed, suddenly nauseated. I put down the plate.

  “You again,” Rosie said simply.

  “Hi,” I managed to spit out.

  She glowered at me, then turned to Vinny. “I thought this was over. And to bring her here, now, when your family needs you.” Her tone was sharp, and I knew she wasn’t thinking about Vinny’s “family.”

  “You young people need to take this outside.” The woman in the flowered scarf was back. I peered more closely at her and recognized her as Uncle Louie’s wife, Aunt Sophia.

  I wasn’t related by blood to any of these people, but calling them “Uncle” or “Aunt” was just something we did in the neighborhood. And I was being sucked right back into it without even realizing it.

  “Oh, Rosie, dear, you’re such a help.” Aunt Sophia turned to Vinny. “The wedding’s in May, isn’t it?” Her twittering laugh echoed through my head. She knew damn well when the wedding was. I could feel a migraine starting.

  Tom, sensing this was not something he wanted to get in the middle of, moved quickly past us and toward Mac. Damn. I tried to follow him, but Aunt Sophia’s hand held my arm in a vise grip. All these old ladies could scare the shit out of me when I was a kid, and they still had the same effect.

  “It’s nice to see you’re back with that nice police officer,” Aunt Sophia said, but with an edge in her voice that told me I’d better steer clear of Vinny DeLucia or else.

  “We’re not back together,” I told Aunt Sophia, wanting to clear up any misconceptions, but at that moment, Dominic Gaudio and his daughter swept past me and through the living room and out the front door.

  I wanted to follow them. Call it instinct, but something told me that Dominic Gaudio would know why the FBI was checking out Prego.

  But then I saw Tom escort Mac down the hall and out of sight. He was going to do it now; he was going to tell her and then quiz her about where Sal might be.

  Aunt Sophia’s grip got stronger, but she spoke to Vinny. “Come around this weekend, and I’ll make supper. We should talk about the wedding.”

  But before he could say anything, a scream echoed through the house.

  Chapter 6

  Oh, Christ,” I muttered, breaking away, Vinny on my heels. Tom was standing by the window, Mac was sprawled across the bed, facedown. Her support hose peeked out from under the black crepe dress. Vinny pushed past me to Mac and held her hand, looking up at Tom.

  “What the hell did you do to her?”

  Tom’s face was hard. “Nothing. I told her her husband did not die in that fire.”

  Vinny’s face contorted with confusion. “What?”

  Tom shook his head. “It wasn’t Sal in the restaurant. The body was a female.”

  Mac’s back heaved with her sobs, but she finally lifted herself onto her elbow and looked up at the three of us.

  “If he’s not dead,” she said, sobbing, “I’ll kill him for putting me through this.”

  Mac waved her hand at the people who had gathered just outside the door. Rosie was in the front and started whispering. They shuffled away and the door shut, but not before I saw Rosie’s eyebrows arch at Vinny, mentally asking him what was going on. He shook his head, and she frowned at him, but then she disappeared, too.

  Mac shifted on the bed and adjusted her dress, her hand covering the top buttons near her neck, as if something might show. Vinny gave her a tissue and she blew her nose, blinking a couple of times. Finally, she spoke.

  “You must excuse me,” she said, looking first at Vinny, then at Tom. Her eyes made their way to me and stopped. “Annie, you be a good girl.”

  I knew what that meant: You write one word about this and you may find yourself in a situation you might not enjoy. I nodded.

  “So I assume you don’t know where your husband is?” Tom asked. I recognized his “official” voice.

  “I have no idea. First you tell me that he’s dead, and now you tell me he’s alive. What am I supposed to think?” Mac asked.

  Tom sat on the bed next to her, and she inched over a little to make room, even though I could see Tom was treading on thin ice. He should’ve stayed where he was, but it was too late now.

  “Is there a reason why your husband might want to disappear?” Tom asked.

  Mac frowned. “My husband is an upstanding citizen. He has no reason to hide.”

  “Then where is he?”

  Vinny moved away from the bed and came over to stand next to me at the window. His eyes lingered on mine for a second, and I felt myself flush.

  Mac’s face was flushed for a different reason. “I don’t know where he could be. The car’s in the driveway, so he didn’t drive anywhere.” Was she lying or just pissed that Tom would ask her that? I couldn’t tell. I glanced at Vinny, who was trying to figure it out, too.

  The door flung open, startling us, and Pete Amato fell toward his mother, his face twisted with rage.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Get the hell out of here, all of you,” he shouted as he cradled his mother’s head against his che
st.

  “Oh, Petey,” I heard Mac mutter, “they say your father’s alive. He didn’t die in the fire.”

  Pete frowned, and I felt Vinny’s hand take mine out of my pocket and lead me out the door. Tom was trying to ask Pete a question, but what it was or whether he got an answer, I’ll never know because Vinny didn’t stop in the living room but led me out the front door and back into the snow.

  He stopped at the bottom of the steps.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.

  I shrugged. “What was what? Tom wanted to tell her it wasn’t Sal. And he needs to find out who it was and where Sal might be.” I knew Vinny wasn’t stupid; that wasn’t what he was looking for.

  I turned around and started to walk away but felt Vinny’s hand on my arm.

  “I’m sorry. But Mac’s a friend.”

  I sighed. “I know. She’s my friend, too, remember? I guess I thought it might make her happy to find out Sal’s alive, but . . .” My voice trailed off.

  “Yeah, something’s not right, but why don’t you let Tom find out about it?”

  “What about my story? I need this.” I felt the anger rising. Vinny had been such a cheerleader for my crusading journalist a few months ago, but then again, he wanted my help at the time and was feeding my ego.

  “You’ll get it when you need to,” he said, his eyes searching my face as he moved closer to me, close enough to kiss me.

  I found myself leaning toward him, but then Vinny pulled back, asking, “What the hell’s going on over there?”

  He pointed toward the restaurant, and I could see the FBI guys trying to be discreet in their matching jackets and slacks.

  “It’s the FBI.”

  Vinny stared at me. “I can see that. What are they doing?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Shit,” he said quietly. “I have to go back in.”

  “Can I tag along?”

  Vinny smiled condescendingly, and it pissed me off. “That’s not a good idea. No one will talk to you right now, you know that.”

  I did know that, but I had to try.

  I followed him all the way up to the door, where his mother and Aunt Sophia appeared. Vinny shrugged his shoulders at me as if to say, Told you so, as they let him squeeze past but blocked me from entering.

  “Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble today?” Mrs. DeLucia asked.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I began, but Aunt Sophia put up her hand to silence me.

  “There’s a lot to sort out here.” She was about a head shorter than me and rather birdlike, but her voice was like steel. “You can come back tomorrow.”

  The door closed before I could say anything else, and I knew nothing would get me back inside.

  My car was parked near my brownstone catty-corner to where I was. The snow was starting to taper off, and I heard a plow somewhere in the distance. It wasn’t until I was halfway to my car that the white Town Car pulled up beside me.

  A window rolled down in the back, and I could make out a profile. Dominic Gaudio.

  “Miss Giametti?” I smiled on reflex. It had been a long time since someone called me “Miss Giametti”—I had taken my ex-husband’s name, and even though we divorced after being married about a nanosecond, I never changed it back.

  The door opened, and a hand extended from the black hole inside. My heart quickened, and I caught my breath, but curiosity overtook any fears, and I folded myself down and climbed into the car. Dominic Gaudio was alone in the back; his daughter was in front, next to the driver.

  Age spots dotted his face, but his smile was bright and his eyes clear, indicating his intelligence. Tom was right. There was nothing wrong with this man.

  He took my hands in his, and I could feel his warmth through my gloves. “You look like your mother,” he said simply.

  No one had ever told me that—it simply wasn’t true—and I began to be suspicious.

  “It’s the eyes,” he continued. “Beautiful eyes.”

  Okay, so I wasn’t going to call the cops.

  “Be careful what you write, Miss Giametti. Things are not what they seem.” His voice was light, despite his words. Sort of like Yoda, dispensing wisdom instead of an obvious threat.

  “I get the facts, sir,” I said respectfully. This was not a guy I could fuck around with. I wondered if he knew the body in the restaurant wasn’t Sal, if that’s what he was trying to say.

  “Make sure you get all of them before you do anything else.” His voice was barely above a whisper, shades of Marlon Brando as Don Corleone, but without the cotton in his jaw. “And please give my regards to your father.” He shifted in his seat, and I knew I was being dismissed.

  I climbed back out and watched the door close after me. The Town Car moved past me, turning right on Chapel before disappearing down the street.

  SOMEHOW I MANAGED to make it back to the paper in one piece. The trucks had done a half-ass job plowing, little bits of sand and salt peppering the way but not doing a helluva lot for traction.

  The whole way back, I ran Dominic Gaudio’s words over and over in my head. I knew the guy was a mobster, but I couldn’t help it: I liked him, even though I’d spent barely five minutes with him.

  When I got inside the building, I made my way to the newsroom, threw my bag on my desk, and landed hard on my chair. Dick Whitfield was at his computer next to me, tap-tap-tapping with one finger on the keyboard.

  Before I could even log on to my computer, I heard Henry calling my name.

  “I hope you’ve got a good story. Wesley’s been back for an hour, and he’s got some great shots. Of the fire and the accident.”

  No shit. Wesley would have a good shot of Dick’s ass.

  “Yeah, I’ve got some good stuff. Just need to make a call first.” I picked up my phone and dialed Paula Conrad, my friend and source at the FBI. If Jeff Parker wasn’t going to tell me anything, I might be able to get something at least off the record from Paula that I could work with.

  Paula was having dinner with her parents in Westport, and I knew she wouldn’t mind getting a call on her cell phone interrupting her visit. She was probably undergoing major interrogation from her mother about her personal life, which was about as exciting as mine.

  “Oh, thank you for calling me.” Paula’s voice resonated in my ear, and I heard her say, “I have to take this, please excuse me.” A few more seconds and I heard a muffled, “Oh, God, it’s worse than ever. I even had to make up a boyfriend, just to get her off my back. I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed Tom.”

  “He’s not mine to borrow anymore, so go ahead.” I paused. “I have a question.” I fiddled with a pencil.

  “Work related?”

  “Prego burned down this morning.”

  “What?”

  “Prego, the restaurant across the square from my place. Problem is, the owner is missing and there was a body in the rubble. A woman. Not sure who. But here’s the thing: Jeff Parker showed up. Do you know anything about that?”

  She was quiet. Too quiet.

  “Okay, Paula, what’s up?”

  “I’m sorry, Annie, I really can’t tell you.”

  “Are you working on this?”

  “They didn’t call me, if that’s what you’re asking. Although I wish they had.”

  It was getting more and more mysterious. “Can’t you tell me anything? They’ve been out there most of the morning.”

  “Jesus, and they didn’t call me? They knew how to reach me.” I was getting pissed at Paula for not telling me, and she was pissed at her fellow suits for not letting her in on the game.

  “I gotta go,” I heard her say, and the line went dead.

  This wasn’t good. Paula always told me something, and if she wasn’t telling me anything on this, then there was something really big going down.

  I’d never heard anything concrete about Sal Amato except the usual rumors that he was mobbed up. That’s what everyone said abou
t everyone in the neighborhood. But if Dominic Gaudio was showing up to pay respects, it seemed more likely than not. Maybe Sal was in trouble. One person probably knew the whole story, and I reached for the phone again.

  “I’m sorry, Annie, but your father left an hour ago.” Suzette’s voice was a little squeaky. I wondered how my father could stand it.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “He’s on his way to Connecticut. Didn’t he call you?”

  There was no voice mail message on either my cell phone or my work phone. He knew I was working. Oh, shit, he’d probably called my mother, thinking I’d be there later on in the day. I wasn’t about to make her my third call. I had enough to deal with.

  “Do you know when he’s supposed to get in?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, honey, but you know Joe, he’ll call you.” She hung up.

  I sat staring at my phone for a few minutes.

  “What’s up?” Dick’s voice invaded my space.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. My dad’s coming to town.”

  “For Thanksgiving?”

  It’s too bad looks really can’t kill.

  Biting my tongue, I got up, found my way to the cafeteria, and pondered the calories in either a Twix or a Baby Ruth. I shouldn’t have volunteered to work on a holiday. I should’ve stayed home and made myself a bowl of soup and told my mother I was working. But I would’ve gone to the fire even if I wasn’t and ended up here anyway.

  I decided on a Twix and hoped Dick would be gone when I got back.

  No such luck.

  “You really have to start being nice. I saw you out there, you can be nice.”

  I made a face at him as I chewed. Oh, Christ, I shouldn’t have let him see me like that. Now I was going to be held up to a higher standard, and that sucked.

  I knocked out the story about the accident in about twenty minutes. Ronald, as promised, had faxed the report already, so it was pretty routine. When I was done, I sent it to Henry’s queue for editing and pulled up the story about Prego and started filling in the blanks. I got so into it, I didn’t even notice Henry and Dick standing behind me, reading every word.