For Love of Livvy

by J. M. Griffin

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  Lachesis Publishing

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  Copyright ©2009 by J.M. Griffin

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Also available from this author:

  For Love of Livvy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

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  For Love of Livvy

  by

  J.M. Griffin

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  www.lachesispublishing.com

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing

  2221 Millar Road West, RR# 4,

  Spencerville, Ontario, B0P 1R0, Canada

  Copyright © 2009 J.M. Griffin

  Exclusive cover © 2009 Carole Spencer

  Inside artwork © 2009 Carole Spencer

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing, is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 13: 978-1-897562-45-1

  A catalogue record for the Ebook

  is available from the National Library of Canada

  multiple Ebook formats are available from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 13: 978-1-897562-46-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Kristina

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Also available from this author:

  Dirty Trouble—Lachesis Publishing, Inc.

  To be released in winter 2010

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  For Love of Livvy

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  The front door knocker rapped twice after the door bell rang. I hustled from the rear deck of the gargantuan house to answer the summons. Someone seemed impatient, and I was curious as to who it was. My watch read just after eight o’ clock. I swung the heavy door open to find my prospective visitor absent.

  It was so quiet, the town ghostly in its seemingly deserted state. Sundays were always lazy days in Scituate, once church was over. With a glance up and down the street of the small historic Rhode Island village, neat colonial homes stretched along the sides of the road in both directions. No one came into view.

  On the doorstep, a package addressed to my recently deceased Aunt Livvy sat wrapped in brown paper. Again, I gawked up and down the street, but only empty sidewalks and barren roadway appeared in the waning light. The idea of a jaunt along the main drag entered my mind. I figured it would be senseless since the street was visible for about two hundred yards in either direction. Whoever had left the package was gone, long gone.

  An eternity passed, or so it seemed, while my gaze locked onto the square, little box. Reluctant to touch it, I decided to call the local fire company to come take a gander. Call me paranoid, but as a criminal justice instructor, a recent audit of a class on bomb components remained fresh in my mind.

  I quickly stepped to the living room and grabbed the phone. I dialed the private number of the fire station up the street. A grunt came across the phone line that could only be Bill MacNert.

  "Hey Nerd, its Vinnie,” I said. “A package was just left on my doorstep, could you come down and check it out for me?"

  "Sure, you got a secret admirer or somethin'?” He cackled, as only senior men can.

  "Not likely, but you never know. This package is addressed to Lavinia Ciano, not Lavinia Esposito and is wrapped in brown paper. Nobody's here to accompany this little surprise either."

  "I'll be right down, Vinnie, don't touch it.” He warned.

  "Okay."

  Anxious, I paced back and forth across gleaming hard wood floors in the spacious living room of my newly acquired colonial. My fingernails tapped the enamel on my teeth as I wandered to and fro. As irrational as it seemed, I finally leaned against the door jamb inside the entry to wait for MacNert to arrive.

  It wasn't long before the limber old guy came into view as he hot footed down the street with a stethoscope in his hand. This particular piece of equipment wasn't quite what I'd expected, but then he wasn't a bomb expert either.

  When he arrived on the doorstep slightly out of breath, he glanced at the parcel, and then turned toward me.

  "This was just delivered, you say?” MacNert squinted toward me with wizened brown eyes that twinkled all the time. It was as though there was a private joke going on inside his head.

  "Yeah, someone knocked on the door, and when I got here to answer, there was nobody around. It didn't seem prudent to mess with it, so I called you."

  "You just finished that bomb class, eh?” He chuckled and then sobered quickly. Since 9/11, everyone took stuff like this with a serious attitude. While he chuckled, I knew MacNert was no different.

  The stethoscope ends plugged into his ears, Bill laid its diaphragm on top of the package. Removing it, he gingerly set it against the sides and listened again. I didn't make a sound as he stood and glanced up.

  "There's no tickin’ but that doesn't mean it's not an explosive. You should probably call the state police barracks up the road. Have them send their bomb guys down for a lookie see, just to be on the safe side."

  "Geez, I hate to do that. I'll feel stupid if it's a joke,” I whined.

  "It's up to you, but if you were nervous enough to call me, then you should call them. It's just my opinion, Vin.” He stepped over the box and wandered into the entryway. “Got anythin’ to eat? Wifey's out of town visitin’ her sister and I'm starved."

  Bill didn't seem over concerned, but then again, he hadn't recently taken a bomb class either. My eyes never left the box as I answered him. “There's food in the fridge, help yourself."

  I'd known the homely man and his family for years and respected his opinion. Tapping my fingers against my lips, I called after him, “You're right. I'll ring the state police now, but stick around okay?"

  Unwilling to be nailed as over-dramatic by the staties, I reluctantly punched in the numbers. It was bad enough that the local cops had bugged the shit out of me for the first month after Aunt Livvy's death. They still stopped by now and then, annoying me even more with stupid questions. Questions to which I had no answers.

  After the trooper covering the desk answered, I explained what I'd found on the doorstep. He seemed unconcerned until I mentioned my name and addr
ess, and then he stated someone would be down momentarily. The swift change in his manner piqued my curiosity. I wondered why he'd suddenly capitulated when his initial response had been of disinterest.

  In the living room, I paced while awaiting the arrival of the state police. Within minutes a sleek, grey Crown Victoria pulled up to the curb out front and a tall, lean trooper got out. Broad shouldered and well built, he walked with assurance and a certain amount of swagger. I stepped into the open door entry and watched him saunter through the front gate onto the walkway. He stared at the package and then at me.

  "Did you call about this box, ma'am?” Keen hazel green eyes traveled over my face and down my body.

  Craggy features, sculpted from granite, faced me and I felt my blood run hot as the breath caught in my throat. What was this about? I gazed at him admiring the neat package wrapped in the trim uniform.

  "I did. Bill MacNert from the fire station thought it would be a good idea since it was mysteriously left on the doorstep. He checked to see if it was ticking, but it isn't."

  "Are you Lavinia Ciano?” The trooper's glance strayed from the name on the wrapper to me as his eyes showed a glint of humor and his mouth twitched.

  Could that humor be over the name? I wondered, as I said, “No, my name is Esposito. Livvy was my aunt.” Our eyes held and my heart pounded. I licked my parched lips and then glanced away.

  An oversized van idled up behind the patrol car and the trooper glanced back. Two men stepped from the vehicle dressed in heavy gear and acknowledged him. He turned to the lead man, mumbled a few words and then stared at me again. If this was an action film, I would have expected Bruce Willis to jump out of the truck announcing he was about to kick someone's ass. This wasn't an action film, but a real life situation instead.

  The two guys angled through the front gate and hitched their gear as they hauled a peculiar looking lidded barrel toward the front door. By this time, a few neighbors had taken notice of the activities. Several people straggled along the sidewalk across the street to watch.

  You'd think it was a freakin’ sideshow. I smiled and waved. Nobody responded, they just continued to gawk. A little excitement for them on an otherwise dull Sunday, I guessed. The trooper stood aside and watched the crowd, but said nothing.

  The overdressed bomb guys corralled the box between them. With delicate finesse they lifted and stowed it into the metal container, loaded it into the truck and drove off. I stared in disbelief. Hell, I wanted to know what was in the package. I had a right to know, didn't I?

  The trooper turned to leave and I stepped forward.

  "Uh, I'd like to know what's in the box, if it's not too much to ask.” My hand snuck up to my hip as my cocky Italian attitude slid into place.

  Tall and Curious stiffened at my tone and turned to stare at me. It seemed he wasn't used to being spoken to in this manner, which wasn't any big surprise. Women tend to respond differently to men in uniform, especially a man such as this luscious creature. Well, not this chick. I teach guys like him all year long and the “I'm so wonderful” thing gets old fast.

  "I'll be sure to let you know, Miss Esposito. If we have any questions, you'll hear from us right away."

  I gawked a moment and my eyes narrowed. His opened wide in contrast and he waited, his body tense. Maybe he thought I'd pitch myself off the steps onto his perfectly toned frame and pummel the daylights out of him or something. It was a thought, but I really wanted to know what was in the package. Besides, his muscles were bigger than mine.

  In an effort to change tactics rather than be handcuffed and dragged off to jail, I smiled and spoke in as nice a manner as I could muster.

  "I'd appreciate any information you could give me officer, since the package was left in such an alarming way. Should I call headquarters tomorrow?"

  His look narrowed. I suspected he was unsure of where this was headed. There was a moment's hesitation before he answered the question.

  "Sure, that would be a good idea.” He gave a nod of the stiff brimmed campaign hat that covered cropped brown hair.

  "All right then. I'll call the colonel first thing.” My voice remained light and sweet, and the smile was charming, at least I hoped it was.

  The colonel runs a strict police force and is a tough disciplinarian with an intense dislike for any impropriety, implied or otherwise. I'd gleaned that much from the cops in my criminal justice classes.

  A tight lipped smile crossed his face. I figured he couldn't decide whether I really knew the colonel or if this was a ploy. To be truthful, I lied by omission. I hadn't said I knew the colonel, I just said I'd give him a call.

  "That won't be necessary ma'am. As soon as there's any information, I'll get in touch with you.” With a nod of his head, he turned and left.

  Don't you hate that ma'am thing? It makes me feel old. I know I'm thirty-something, but really.

  Bill MacNert stood near the doorway sucking down a sandwich filled with sausage and peppers. My mother had sent the food home with me the day before. The smell of rich tomato sauce and fragrant sausage tantalized my taste buds.

  "Guess it wasn't that serious then?” Slurp noises preceded a sauce blob that dripped down his uniform shirt.

  I glanced at Bill's shirt, snagged a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at the drip.

  "I won't know until tomorrow, but if I'm the town laughing stock you're in for it and don't forget it. By the way, did you leave me any food?” I chuckled at his expression.

  Bill's guilt ridden grin assured me that he hadn't, but he swore that he had. He handed me the empty plate before he headed toward the fire station. I watched the stethoscope bob up and down from the back pocket of his pants. He trotted up the street, and I felt sure the story would make the rounds since Bill was an avid gossip.

  The crowd had dispersed, and I was alone again. Livvy would have had a fit over the whole affair had she been alive, but I figured there was no sense in being stupid. I act that way often enough, thank you.

  Mystery still surrounded Livvy's non-violent death. While the police weren't forthcoming with information, the state troopers’ attitude on the phone caused me to reconsider the promise to my father to not investigate on my own. I wandered through the house deep in thought over the situation.

  Darkness had descended as I headed toward the bedroom. Changing into a t-shirt and boxer briefs, I climbed into bed with a notebook. The troopers’ attitude niggled at me. I leaned back against the pillows scribbling notes about the package delivery. Words ran across the page as the scene and the trooper came to mind. The trooper's name wasn't on his badge, but I remembered the badge number.

  The pad propped against my knees, my mind drifted over the parcel and the officer's attitude. Warm hazel green eyes along with the trooper's cool manner had drawn my interest. It wasn't really just his bearing that caught my attention either and it was a struggle to stay focused.

  Intense eyes sat above a strong, chiseled nose and firm jaw. I sketched the features onto the pad of paper. His lips weren't thin, not too wide, but just right for kissing. Wondering what it would be like to taste those lips, I gave myself a mental head slap. A cop is the last thing you want or need, my inner voice echoed. This voice always echoed dire warnings through my head. It had a bad habit of doing so at the worst possible moment. Just stay focused on Livvy, I lectured myself.

  Snuggled under the lightweight blanket, thoughts about Livvy and our life played in my mind. Muscles relaxed, and I realized I needed to talk to her tomorrow. The graveyard was about two blocks away from the house. I often went to her grave for a conversation when I'd become involved in one issue or another. That's what my life consisted of, one issue or another. Most of the time the issues were huge, never mundane, not ever.

  I sighed, sniffed the sweet summer scents that wafted through the open window and wondered how this summer in Rhode Island would be. The pillow slipped lower and so did I as my mind wandered over life, the package and my aunt.

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o Table of Contents]

  Chapter 2

  Found dead in her car outside the house by a local police patrolman, there remained lots of unanswered questions about Livvy. Now the box would bring up a new group of suspicions. No one in law enforcement had shared their thoughts, but it was obvious some existed.

  I considered ways in which I could acquire those cop theories, but nothing came to mind. It might take some intense thought mingled with some sweet talk to get the knowledge I desired.

  I thought about the trooper's smirk at the name Lavinia and the shortened version of it. With a name like Vinnie, you'd fiddle with the possibility of my being a guy, wouldn't ya? I have my twin brother, Giovanni, to thank for that. My Italian parents, mainly my dad, have this old world thing going on and thought I should be named after my Italian aunt, Lavinia. What a hanger!

  As I went through school it always seemed the teachers would hit an operatic high note when they got to the end of it. Maybe it was because, unlike my saintly acting brother, I was in constant trouble. Anyway, he nicknamed me Vinnie and it stuck.

  I'd lived in Cranston most of my life, but my Aunt Lavinia resided in North Scituate, pronounced sit-chew-it, a quaint village on the western side of Rhode Island. Most towns are close to the city of Providence so it's easy to live in the countryside without losing touch. Anyhow, North Scituate is more than ten minutes from anyone in the family, so nobody but my parents ever went to visit.

  On Sunday afternoons, we'd take a ride to the country. Not so far away from home, but an eternity to the rest of the family. Although, the typical Rhode Island mentality is that if you live more than ten minutes away from someone, you may as well be on Jupiter. Go figure! I refer to this as the ten minute rule.

  As I lay in bed with thoughts of Aunt Livvy and life without her, the phone rang. My brother, Giovanni, was on the line. I made no mention of the package, but being my twin, he heard something in my voice.

  "How are you, Vin?"