“He has no right to come here and ask all these questions,” Pete said, moving closer to me. I caught a whiff of booze. Shit. “And you, too, you have to stop bothering us.”
“Perhaps you should get him out of here,” Uncle Louie told me softly, indicating Dick, and I nodded, noticing that Mac and Mrs. DeLucia had disappeared inside.
“All right, all right,” I told Pete. Dick was getting up, brushing himself off. “Let’s get out of here,” I hissed at Dick, grabbing his coat sleeve and pulling him up the sidewalk.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked when we were at the bottom of my steps.
Dick shrugged. “I had some questions for them.”
“Questions that couldn’t wait? Questions while they’re having a spread for Sal? Jesus, Dick, the whole fucking neighborhood is there. This is not the time for questions.” I didn’t like it that I had to explain this to him. He should know this shit by now.
Dick’s expression was sheepish. “But this can’t wait.”
“What can’t wait?”
“I got a tip.”
“A tip?”
“From a source.”
Dick had sources? “What was the tip, Dick?” I asked.
He cocked his head at me, a look of confidence replacing the sheepish one. “Sal set the fire.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Sal set the fire at Prego.”
“But Mickey’s been charged with arson murder. Obviously the cops think he did it.” But I was intrigued by this. He’d said this as though he knew it for fact.
“That may change.”
Jesus. I thought about how the 911 call had been made from inside the restaurant and how Sal had been hanging around at the scene. “Who told you this, Dick?”
He shrugged. “A source. I can’t tell you.” But he blushed slightly, giving me an involuntary clue.
It could be Tom, and a pang of jealousy hit me in the gut. It was like finding out an ex-boyfriend was marrying someone else two months after our breakup. Christ, if Tom was talking to Dick and not to me, well, that was going to be a huge adjustment.
Before I could say anything, though, a black Cadillac sped past us and turned left onto Olive.
I stared after the car. Was it the same one? Had he followed me from my mother’s? Or was my imagination just working overtime again?
“Annie?” Dick was asking.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
I FOLLOWED DICK back to the paper. All thoughts of a nap were pushed aside as I speculated about Tom and how Dick could end up usurping me if I didn’t watch out. In the newsroom, I decided to tell Marty about the federal charges against Sal; hopefully that would show him I could still be useful on this story, even though I couldn’t write anything anymore.
“But you still didn’t get anything about the gambling operation?” Marty asked.
“Christ, Marty, it’s like pulling teeth getting anything out of anyone on this,” I whined.
“What about Vinny?”
I stared at him. “What about him?”
“What can he give you on the record?”
I sighed. “Nothing, Marty. Really. I can’t ask him to go on the record with any of it. It would jeopardize his job if people found out he was telling me stuff.” Vinny was no Sammy the Bull.
“You’re going to have to get something from someone.”
Which brought me back to Paula and Jeff Parker. The FBI might be easier to crack than my father or Dominic Gaudio.
“What can I do?” Dick came up behind us, practically salivating.
Marty shook his head. “You need to stay on top of the charges against Mickey. Write up what you can from what you got from your source, and as soon as the charges are reduced, we’re going to run with the story.” He paused. “And I’d better not see it on Channel Nine first.”
Dick scowled and skulked back to his own desk.
“You need to get something on this,” Marty told me.
I nodded. “I will.” I went back to my desk, picked up my bag, and grabbed my coat on the way out. I’d sounded a lot more confident than I felt.
I COULD’VE JUST CALLED Paula from the newsroom, but I wanted to be home when I did that, and I didn’t want to be within listening distance of anyone, especially Dick. My motives were moot, however, because all I got was voice mail, at her apartment and on her cell phone. This wasn’t going to be easy.
I turned on the TV and channel surfed for a few minutes, landing on a showing of Flashdance, one of the best worst movies ever made and a guilty pleasure of mine. I remember seeing the part where Jennifer Beals is dancing with Michael Nouri on the railroad tracks before I fell asleep.
The buzzer woke me up. I glanced at the clock: 6:55. I’d been asleep for two hours.
Vinny came into my apartment and flopped onto the couch like he owned the place. I scowled at him, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I saw him take in the blanket and the half-eaten bowl of microwaved popcorn.
“What’s on?” He smiled, taking a handful of the popcorn.
I pulled the bowl away from him and brought it to the island that separated the galley kitchen from my living room. “Nothing.” I could just hear it now if Vinny found out I’d been indulging in Flashdance.
I looked at the clock again, and the alarm went off in my head. Shit. My father. I was supposed to meet him at seven at Consiglio’s. I looked at the back of Vinny’s head. I’d just have to tell him to get lost.
“I have to meet my dad,” I said. “For dinner.”
He couldn’t say much, his mouth was full of popcorn, but he nodded. “I know,” he mumbled. “He asked me to come along. That’s why I’m here.”
I walked around the island and saw him taking in my yoga pants and sweatshirt.
“Are you wearing that?” he asked.
I grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl and threw it at him. It wasn’t the brightest move, since now I’d have to clean it up. But it startled him, and the look on his face was worth it. “I’ll be ready in a minute,” I said, and went into the bedroom. I wondered why my dad had asked him to come, too. I’d thought it was just going to be the two of us, and I felt a familiar twinge of jealousy again. First Tom and Dick and now Dad and Vinny.
Get over it, I admonished myself. I was too old to be a daddy’s girl.
I threw on a long skirt and a form-fitting blouse and pulled on a pair of ankle boots. I didn’t give a damn about the weather anymore. I was tired of wearing snow boots, and we were just going around the corner. I dabbed on a little blush and some mascara, tossing my hair around a little so it would look as though I’d brushed it.
Vinny’s face changed when I came back out, and if this was a date, I would’ve been sure I was going to get lucky later.
But it wasn’t, and I wasn’t, so I ignored him as I grabbed my wool coat from the small closet next to my front door. “I’m ready,” I said, forcing myself to think about chicken with mootz and asparagus and a Caesar salad.
Vinny opened the door for me and followed me out closely.
We met Walter on the stairs. He looked from me to Vinny and back again, didn’t say anything, and squeezed by us, clomping his way to his apartment.
“Gee, aren’t we one happy family here?” Vinny whispered, teasing me.
I slugged him on the shoulder, and we went out into the frigid night without another word.
He wasn’t in the restaurant, even though it was 7:15 now. My father was never late. I fumbled for my cell phone in my purse, but I had forgotten to charge it up and it was dead. Shit. My expression must have conveyed my worry, because Vinny immediately pulled out his phone and stepped outside while I waited.
He was closing the phone when he came back in. “Voice mail.”
“Maybe he’s on his way,” I said, but I wasn’t convinced. We allowed the hostess to seat us and each ordered a bourbon. Ten minutes later, when he still hadn’t arrived, I stood up.
“Something’s wrong.”
Vinny helped me on with my coat and shrugged into his own leather jacket. “Let’s go back to your place and see if he tried to call there,” he suggested.
When we got to my apartment, I turned on the lights and moved the thermostat to a more comfortable zone. My message machine was blinking.
“Sorry, Annie,” my father’s voice echoed through my living room. “I left a message on your cell, and I thought I’d reach you at home, but I can’t meet you for dinner. I need to straighten some things out.”
Just as I was about to say something to Vinny, a second voice emanated from the little box.
“Annie? It’s Tom. Call me as soon as you can.” His voice was strange, but not as strange as the next one I heard:
“Annie, your father checked out of his hotel, and I’m trying to reach him. It’s concerning Sal. It’s important. If you hear from him, please have him call me immediately.” My mother was unfamiliar in her anxiety. Even during the divorce, she always managed to remain calm and keep any emotion out of her voice, something that’s helped her immensely in her career.
Vinny was rummaging in my refrigerator, probably looking for something to eat. I ignored him as I dialed my mother’s number. He wouldn’t find much. I hadn’t been to the supermarket in a week.
My mother picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Mom, I don’t know where Dad is, I thought he was still at the hotel. I was supposed to meet him for dinner and he never showed.”
She laughed, a high, twittery sound that scared me. “He’s going to have a lot of questions to answer.”
“What’s up?”
“The police and the FBI seem to believe that your father is directly involved in Sal’s disappearance and maybe even his murder.”
Chapter 19
I sat down, dumbstruck. Vinny’s head swung around quickly, and he frowned as he shut the refrigerator door.
“The police found out Sal had been staying in a house in Morris Cove,” my mother explained.
My body tensed. That was the neighborhood where Dominic Gaudio lived. “And?” I prompted when she paused.
“A neighbor saw him there, recognized his picture from the paper, and called the police. They were waiting for him when they got the call that you’d found him at Prego.”
All this was fine and dandy, but it wasn’t telling me about my father. “And what’s the link to Dad?” I asked.
“Your father’s fingerprints are in the house.”
My heart caught in my throat, and it was a few seconds before I could speak. “It wasn’t Dominic Gaudio’s house, was it?” I didn’t want to know how they’d identified my father’s fingerprints.
It was my mother’s turn to hesitate. “No, Annie, why would you ask that?”
“I saw Dad there, yesterday.”
Vinny was staring at me, and I could see his impatience, wanting to know what was going on. I shook my head at him and said, “Mom, maybe there’s a logical explanation for this.” But as I said it, I wasn’t so sure.
“Maybe.” She wasn’t sure, either. “If you hear from him, tell him it would be better if he goes to the police himself, volunteers to answer their questions.”
Vinny was practically wetting his pants with curiosity. “Hold on, Mom.” I put my hand over the receiver. “Apparently my dad’s fingerprints were found in the house where Sal was hiding.”
Vinny frowned.
I sighed and went back to my mother. “Listen, Mom, I’ll let you know if I hear from Dad. Did you call Suzette?”
“For God’s sake, no, Annie. Why would I do that? I don’t want to worry her. Please let me know if you hear from him.”
I promised to do that, and we hung up. I sat on the couch next to Vinny.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked. I tried to shake away my doubts. He was my father, for chrissakes. I had to get a grip. He did show up at the crime scene. He wouldn’t have been that brazen if he’d really killed Sal. Would he? And so what if his fingerprints were found in the place Sal was hiding? Okay, so they might be able to get him on obstruction of justice, but it wasn’t like the cops thought Sal had killed LeeAnn. Mickey was in jail for that.
But then I remembered how Dick had heard the cops were changing their tune about the fire.
Vinny’s hand closed over mine. “Where’s my father, Vinny? If he’s innocent in all this, where the hell is he?” A thought slipped into my head. At least I was off the story. I didn’t have to write about this. As long as Dick didn’t find out, my dad was safe from the Evil Media, at least for one more day.
I dialed another number, and Tom picked up on the first ring. “We’re looking for your father,” he said, but without any harshness in his voice.
“I know,” I said. “I just talked to my mother. What’s the story here?”
“You have to tell me where he is.” He didn’t seem inclined to explain anything.
“But I don’t know, Tom. Really. I was supposed to meet him for dinner, and he never showed.”
“It would be better for him if he just came in quietly.” The implication was that I did know where he was and wasn’t telling.
“I really don’t know where he is, Tom,” I repeated. “Now I’m worried about him.” Vinny rubbed my shoulders, and it helped a little.
“If you do hear from him, do you promise to let me know?” Let “me” know, ha, that was a nice way of saying that I would be turning my dad over to the cops, but I could appease my conscience by saying I was just handing him over to my ex-boyfriend, who might treat him fairly. “We just want to talk to him.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, hanging up. Vinny continued massaging my shoulders, and if I weren’t concentrating on where my father would be, I might be concentrating on what his hands could do to the rest of me. But there was no time for that.
“Vinny, we have to find my father before anyone else does. There has to be some sort of explanation for this. So what if he was helping Sal hide, big deal. But I know he didn’t kill him.”
Vinny’s hands stopped moving, and he stared at me. “You know, Annie, I don’t believe he killed Sal, either. But I think my reason is different from yours.”
I waited for his reason, and I could see him struggling with what exactly to say. Finally, he opened his mouth again. “He wouldn’t have left his fingerprints anywhere, there wouldn’t be any connection to him at all.”
“So you believe my father could actually kill Sal but not leave behind any evidence?”
Vinny nodded. “Yeah. And you know it, too, deep down.”
“Listen, my father is not Tony Soprano.”
“That’s TV, Annie. It’s a gross exaggeration.” He paused for a couple of seconds, and I could see him thinking. “But your father has been part of a world that has courted people who could be Tony Soprano.”
I sat, dumbfounded. Somewhere inside my head I knew all that shit.
A memory flashed, and I stared at Vinny. “You didn’t know about this, did you? Where Sal was? What did you see my father and Dominic Gaudio about that day? Were you really working for Mac?”
My doubts about him hurt, I could see it in his face, but I wanted answers now. He studied my face, putting his palm to my cheek, and smiled.
“I was working for Mac. I asked them if they knew where Sal was. They said no, but I didn’t believe them. Why Sal was still in the city is something I can’t figure out. And why did he hide?”
I turned my head, and he dropped his hand. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I just needed to know.”
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
“Do you think Sal set the restaurant on fire? Maybe it was the Mob. And why was LeeAnn there?”
Vinny took a deep breath. “LeeAnn was a courier, remember? She must have been involved in Sal’s operation, she must have known everything.”
“So how did she end up dead? What went wrong? And why kill her and then burn down the restaurant?”
Vinny shrugged. “There are more questio
ns now than three days ago.” He cocked his head at me. “Your father, though, he’s kept his nose clean on the game. He’s running an up-and-up operation out there in Vegas. He should never have come back, even for Sal.”
I heard Vinny’s words, and they rattled around between my ears before settling down. I’d never wanted to know the truth, have it spelled out for me, like Vinny was doing right now. I go after other people in my investigations, real criminals, criminals who aren’t related to me.
“Wouldn’t he know that we’d help him?” I asked.
Vinny smiled. “The cops and the FBI will be watching you and your mother like hawks. He knows what’s up. He doesn’t want to get either of you in trouble.”
“Do you think he’s at Dominic Gaudio’s house?” I asked.
“No. Dom’s kept quiet the last few years, but the feds would still love to get him on something. They keep an eye on him, so if your dad showed up there, they’d know.”
“Can you find him?” Vinny was privy to the neighborhood secrets, so I was sure he had an inside line somewhere.
He smiled mysteriously. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Don’t forget, you’re going to be watched,” Vinny warned.
“Okay, but don’t you think they’re going to watch you, too?”
Vinny stood up. He walked over to the window and stood in full view, as if he were admiring the square, even though it was dark outside. With all the lights on, I knew everyone could see everything in my apartment. He turned back to me, his back to the window. “They’re probably out there now, they probably watched us come in.” He was quiet for a moment.
“They wouldn’t have my phone tapped or anything?” I was getting paranoid.
Vinny tried to smile, but it didn’t quite come off. “No, I doubt it.”
I felt a heaviness in my chest, uncertain that I wanted him to leave but knowing he had to. He had to start trying to find my father as soon as possible. We were wasting time.
I took a deep breath and stepped toward him. He caught my arm with his hand, and he kept a foot or so between us. “Do you really think you can find him?” I asked.
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