Cuff Me

by Lauren Layne

  The mess seemed to have grown since last time she looked, and since Jill knew herself well enough to know that the longer she waited the more burdensome the task would become, she forced herself to clean it up now.

  She wasn’t particularly organized by nature, but when it came to work, she had to be, so she carefully sorted the mess of papers by order of date, in case she’d need to quickly find something later.

  Not that it would likely make much of a difference for Lenora Birch. This case seemed determined to stay cold—ice cold.

  Finally Jill got to the last scanned article. It was over fifty years old, and the original must have been so faded that the scanned image was barely legible.

  In fact, it was so hard to read, and so old, that Jill had barely glanced at it the first time. It was a local story from Lenora’s hometown of Lorrence, a tiny town in Ohio barely big enough to be on most maps. Understandably, a local girl getting cast as the lead in a major Hollywood film was a big deal.

  A Love Song for Cora went on to garner an Academy Award nomination and was the movie that launched Lenora’s career.

  Jill placed the article on top of the pile and sat back on her heels. She couldn’t help the wistful smile as she glanced down at the article. She wondered if its columnist—a Bill Shapiro—had had any idea that his little article would be the first of hundreds on a Hollywood legend.

  Her eyes skimmed the hard-to-read print. Bill Shapiro’s writing was amateurish, at best, and his irritation at being unable to get a statement from the producer, the director, or Lenora herself was thinly veiled.

  Ultimately the only “insider” willing to speak with Bill had been an assistant casting director, Miles Kennedy, and Bill had obviously done his best to add a bit of drama, despite the lack of big-name references.

  According to Mr. Kennedy, Ms. Birch’s casting as Cora Mulroney was a bit of a happy accident—an accident that had yet another tie to the little town. As it would turn out, it was actually the younger Birch sister who originally caught the attention of the director during the auditions. Upon learning that Miss Dorothy Birch was no longer available, the elder Lenora was cast, as she’d been a close second choice for the role of Cora…

  Jill frowned.

  Dorothy Birch was an actress?

  And a good one, apparently, if she’d been the first choice for the now iconic role of Cora.

  What in the world would have come up to make a seventeen-year-old girl pass up the opportunity of a lifetime?

  And how must it have felt that that very film had made her older sister a household name?

  Jill didn’t have siblings, but she couldn’t help but think that must have left a scar.

  A very deep, very long-lasting scar.

  Her mind whirring into overdrive, Jill quickly rifled through the pages toward the other end of the stack until she found the article she’d been reading just hours earlier.

  It was from the Entertainment section of the LA Times—celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of A Love Song for Cora.

  The anniversary had been just three days before Lenora’s death—timely coincidence Jill and Vin had disregarded as unimportant before. The film, while famous, was old, most of its principal actors and behind-the-scenes legends long dead.

  A Love Song for Cora was free of the controversy and scandal that followed Lenora in her later films. The fact that its anniversary had overlapped so closely with Lenora’s death had seemed a bittersweet send-off for one of Hollywood’s sweethearts.

  Jill picked up the other article—the older one, from Ohio—and chewed her lip. Reread the part about the role of Lenora being the director’s second choice.

  It was probably nothing.

  It certainly didn’t feel like a breakthrough. Whenever Vin had one of his premonitions, or a surge of Spidey sense, it seemed to rip through him with vicious certainty. When Vin knew something, he knew it. One hundred percent.

  Jill didn’t know anything.

  Didn’t feel anything except a faint tingling.

  Was a quote from an ancient news article really worth pursuing? Hell, it wasn’t even an actual quote. For all she knew Bill Shapiro had gotten Miles Kennedy’s answering machine and decided to make something up to add a little flair to his otherwise dull recitation of the facts.

  Jill stood and stretched, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two articles.

  It was probably nothing. She was pretty sure it was nothing.

  But then again, this sort of assessment was usually Vincent’s part of the job. Her role came after.

  Jill picked up the phone to call Vincent, although with a very different agenda than she’d had just a few minutes before. This time she needed her partner.

  “Dang it,” she muttered when he didn’t pick up. He was still at work. She could call into dispatch, get him on the radio…

  But that seemed excessive. It wasn’t even an open case, and she didn’t have proof beyond the blurry scan of a small-town newspaper publication that was a half-century old.

  It could wait.

  She texted him to call her, then put the phone back down.

  Her stomach rumbled, telling her the only thing she’d eaten was a handful of chips.

  Jill went back to the kitchen and started to go through the motions of making a sandwich. Bread. Mayo. Mustard. Ham.

  She cut the sandwich into neat triangles and then stared down at it without taking a bite.

  The tingle she’d felt earlier was more of a buzz now. Distracting enough that she couldn’t seem to think about anything except Lenora Birch being pushed over the railing of her home. Probably by someone she knew. Trusted.

  Someone who had a grudge…

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

  She poured a glass of the wine Elena had brought over, wanting to calm her nerves. But that too sat untouched next to the sandwich.

  The buzzing was getting louder.

  “Okay, fine,” Jill muttered to herself. “It can’t hurt to have the conversation.”

  She headed to the bedroom, pulling out a pair of slacks and a blue button-down. She pulled her hair into a ponytail before grabbing her badge.

  And her gun. She wasn’t an idiot, after all.

  She checked her phone as she headed toward the front door. Nothing from Vincent. Jill hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should have him meet her.

  Then she remembered that she was supposed to be sick, but Vincent was still working. For all she knew, he was knee-deep in the middle of an active homicide case, and if she pulled him out of that for a not-quite-hunch on a cold case that they weren’t supposed to be working on…

  She patted her gun reassuringly as she opened the door. She was a damn good cop with a firearm. She could certainly handle talking to a frail sixty-six-year-old lady on her own.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Vincent was about four minutes away from catching Jill’s “flu” in order to avoid a huge backlog of paperwork, when his father called.

  “Pops,” Vin said, answering his cell.

  “You busy?”

  Vincent glanced down at his computer, then at the Post-it note that served as his to-do list.

  Flipped over the Post-it note, looked at the list that extended to the other side.

  Looked back at the computer and that patient, blinking cursor.

  “Nope,” he replied.

  “Good. Got time for a late lunch? I’m close to Darby’s.”

  Vincent raised his eyebrows at that. Partially because it was nearly four o’clock. That was a really late lunch. And also because his father rarely left Staten Island these days except to go to church.

  In fact, Tony Moretti was increasingly becoming a homebody as he gradually adjusted to retirement. If he could be coaxed from the comfort of his house, it would have been for a good cause.

  And in the case of Vincent’s father, the only thing that qualified as a good cause was meddling in his children’s business.

  Vincent was app
arently the offspring du jour.

  “Sure, what time?” Vin asked. If nothing else, he was curious to see what he’d done this time to warrant the lecture.

  “How about… now? I’m a couple blocks away.”

  Vincent rolled his eyes. Of course he was. “Sure. Meet you there.”

  Vin was nearly out the door when Captain Rodriguez called his name. Swearing softly, Vin turned around.

  “Going somewhere, Moretti?”

  “Lunch.”

  His boss frowned. “Didn’t you just go on a coffee run, like, twenty minutes ago?”

  “That was for coffee. Now I need food.”

  The captain crossed his arms. “You know, I’ve always been tolerant of your methods since you’re damn good at getting results, but between Henley’s leave of absence, and then the Lenora Birch case, and now Henley being out sick again—”

  “I know,” Vincent said, trying to make his face look apologetic. “It’s actually for that very reason that I’m headed out to grab a bite to eat with my father. He’s determined to talk some sense into me, and I’m all too ready to listen.”

  Rodriguez’s frown lifted slightly at that. “Your father? The police commissioner?”

  Former, actually, but Vin wasn’t about to make that distinction just now.

  “Well, all right,” his boss said slowly. “Don’t take too long. And what’s the story with your partner; is everything—”

  Vincent was out the door before his boss could finish the question.

  Vincent was pretty damn good at bullshitting about just about everything, but any mention of Jill still rubbed like salt on an open wound. He’d been doing his best not to even think about Jill. He sure as hell didn’t want to talk about her.

  Didn’t want to talk about the way he couldn’t go to sleep because she wasn’t beside him. About how he’d handed any cases to other detectives the past couple days because he couldn’t bear to work without her.

  Hell, even coffee didn’t taste good anymore because she wasn’t there to drink it with him.

  Vin didn’t know how to explain any of that to himself.

  He wasn’t going to start running his mouth about it to other people.

  His dad, apparently, had other ideas. Vin knew it the moment he walked into the Darby Diner and saw his father…

  And his two brothers.

  “Shit,” Vincent said, looping onto the booth beside Luc as he glared across the table at his dad and Anth. “This is an ambush, huh?”

  “Dad’s idea,” Luc said, taking a sip of coffee.

  That was probably true. Both of his brothers were dressed in uniform, which meant they too had likely gotten an unexpected “late lunch” summons.

  “I’m sure you put up a huge protest,” Vin grumbled.

  “Hell no. I’ve been waiting a good long while for it to be your turn, Big Brother.”

  “Same here,” Anth chimed in.

  “My turn for what?” Vin asked.

  “Oh, you know, just the usual ‘you’re being an idiot’ speech,” Luc said.

  Anth’s grin was evil. “I love those.”

  “Really?” Vin snapped. “Because I was there when you got said speech, and you didn’t seem to love anything about it. And you,” he said, shifting his attention to Luc, “remember that time Mom and Dad cornered you about—”

  “Enough.” The quiet command came from their father. “We’re not here to ambush you.”

  Anthony coughed.

  “We just want to know what’s going on.”

  “Nothing,” Vin snapped.

  “Well, see, I’m having a hard time buying that,” Anthony said, leaning forward and folding his fingers on the table. “Because the cat’s out of the bag about Jill’s engagement being long over.”

  “Cat’s also out of the bag that you two have been sleeping together,” Luc said.

  Vincent jerked slightly in response. “Who told you that?”

  Anth’s smile was sly. “You just did.”

  “Fuck,” Vincent muttered. He was better than this.

  “We just want to know what’s going on,” his father said again.

  Vincent picked up the menu as a way of avoiding the question, but his father knocked it back down again. “We ordered you a cheeseburger.”

  Vincent opened his mouth, looking for an argument, only to realize that a cheeseburger was exactly what he wanted.

  A waitress appeared at that moment and placed a Coke in front of him, and his scowl deepened because that too was exactly what he wanted.

  “Good,” his father said, correctly reading him as always. “Now tell us—”

  “What’s going on,” Vin finished. “I know the question, I just don’t know the answer.”

  He braced himself for them to start badgering him, but to his surprise, the men of his family looked sympathetic. As though they knew what he was going through.

  And perhaps they did. Vincent didn’t know the details of his parents’ early courtship, but his mother was strong willed, and his father was, well… difficult.

  As for his brothers, Vin had recently seen firsthand how uphill their battle had been. Luc, because of his dark secrets and the not-so-minor fact that Ava had once been out to expose them. Anth, because of some ridiculously misplaced notion that his career ambitions precluded him from being in a relationship.

  Vincent appreciated the sense of camaraderie. He did. But it wasn’t the same. For both Luc and Anth, there’d been very specific demons that needed slaying. Luc and Anth had been broken, yes, but the problems had been precise. Problems, which, with the right woman and the right circumstance, could be solved.

  But with Vin—Vin didn’t have any demons to be played. Didn’t have toxic secrets that only needed to be coaxed to the surface. Like them, he was broken, yes, but not because anyone or anything had broken him.

  He’d always just been… apart, somehow.

  There was a moment of silence as their food came, and paper napkins were placed in laps, and Anthony muttered irritably about the injustices of pickles, and Vincent started to think he might get off easy.

  And then Luc dropped his spoon back into his bowl of chili and turned to face Vincent. “I know what you’re thinking, and your case isn’t different. You’re not special.”

  Vincent’s cheeseburger turned dry in his mouth, and he had to wash it down with Coke.

  “How did you—”

  “Know what you were thinking?” Anth finished for him. “Because we’ve been there. We all think that our special brand of emotional hang-ups is special.”

  “Don’t know how I raised three idiots,” their father said, jabbing a fry around the table at this sons.

  “Oh good, a pep talk,” Anth muttered.

  “I’m serious,” Vin’s dad said. “You’re exceptional cops, but you’re a bunch of goobers when it comes to personal lives.”

  Luc took a bite of chili. “And I suppose you got it right with Mom the first time? No bouts of stubbornness or saying the wrong thing?”

  Tony’s eyes narrowed on Luc. “What did your mother tell you?”

  Luc shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Good,” their father muttered.

  “But Nonna said you were an absolute moron,” Anthony chimed in quietly.

  Tony dropped his Reuben. “Now see here, what my mother never understood was that I had to do things my own way, on my own timetable—”

  Vincent set his glass down hard enough to rattle the table. “Exactly,” he said. “Which is why I’ll ask that my family let me and Jill do things our way, at our speed.”

  The three of them stared at Vincent for a moment before exchanging a glance.

  “Nah,” Luc said finally, reaching over and stealing a fry. “That would have flown, say, five years ago.”

  “Bambino’s right,” his father said gruffly. “That woman is the best thing that ever happened to you. It’s time that you stop pussyfooting around and—”

  “Make an honest woman of
her,” Anth said in a rather impressive imitation of their father.

  Tony jerked an elbow at Anth, unperturbed by the subtle mockery. “Yeah. That.”

  “I’m trying,” Vincent said quietly. “You think I’m not fucking trying? I bought her flowers. I set out candles. I cooked.”

  “Damn,” Luc said, looking impressed. “And she’s still pissed at you?”

  Vin pushed his plate away, mostly untouched. “She didn’t know.”

  “What do you mean she didn’t know?”

  “She just… she came over wanting to go out, muttered something about not wanting Chinese food—”

  “You cooked Chinese food?” Luc interrupted.

  “No! Steaks. But she didn’t know that, and—”

  “What about the flowers?” Anth asked, puzzled. “She didn’t put the pieces together?”

  “Well, I don’t know that she even saw the flowers.”

  “Okay, this is bullshit,” his father said with a shake of his head. “Total bullshit.”

  Vin lifted his eyebrows at his dad’s input. “Perhaps. But I didn’t go about it the right way, so maybe she’s right to be pissed. But then she got all… girly.”

  “Oh, dear God. You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

  Vincent ran a hand over his face, feeling tired. “No, but she started rambling about how I have caution tape around my heart, and would I ever love her, and how she wants marriage.”

  Luc whistled. “Our Jill doesn’t pull her punches.”

  “But she’s got a point,” Tony said. “It’s been what, five, six years?”

  “It’s been three weeks!” Vincent said, slamming his palm on the table.

  Anth squinted and made a face. “Eh. It’s been more like six years.”

  “Jesus,” Vin said, putting his elbows on the table and dropping his face into his hands. “What is it you’d have me do? Hire an opera singer to serenade her? Hold a boombox over my head outside her window? Set up a scavenger hunt that leads to all her favorite kinds of tacos just to show I care?”

  “Wait. She has multiple favorite kinds of tacos?” Luc asked. “That’s either hot, or weird, I can’t decide.”

  “I don’t think Jill cares so much about what you do,” Anth said quietly. “I think she cares about how you feel.”