For Love of Livvy

by J. M. Griffin

  "I suppose so. My father would have a fit, but I need answers."

  We finished lunch and returned to the house, enjoying the fresh air. Back in the apartment, Larry worked in one room while I worked in the other until my paint ran out. Scooping the empty container off the floor, I headed through the rooms. The paint store was about a half mile away.

  I skipped down the stairs and left by the front door. The state trooper from the evening before strolled up the walk. Dressed in street clothes instead of a uniform, it was a sure bet he was off duty. Jeans clung to trim hips and long legs. Sneakers adorned his feet and a T-shirt that touted Jack Daniels Whiskey fit his upper torso like a glove.

  "Good afternoon, ma'am. I just wanted to let you know what the bomb squad found last night. Can we talk inside?” He asked as his eyes slid over me.

  The look brought a rush of heat to my skin and my little internal voice started screaming Beware! Beware! Dismay filtered through me as hazel eyes checked me out. So I was covered with paint speckles from the roller, so what? And what if my hands were paint caked? I was working, after all.

  Cops see worse than this, it's a fact. I teach law enforcement officials, wannabe's, security guards or two point five officers as their called, and real police officers known as Five O's, every day of the school year. They regale me with stories of their daily lives in the business. Some tales are funny while others are downright sad, but most are entertaining. These officers live on the seedy side of life, the side that most folks never see and would never know. My present appearance was nothing in comparison, I'm sure.

  Settling the paint can on the front step, I backed into the first floor apartment and led the officer through to the kitchen. I gestured to a chair at the counter and watched his cop eyes travel around the apartment as he settled into place.

  I asked in a solemn tone as I picked miniscule speckles of paint off my hands, “The box didn't contain a bomb, then?"

  "No, it contained something else. Did you see who dropped the package off?” An intense gaze flicked over my features and settled on my eyes as I stared into his. I had a sudden urge to squirm, but held off.

  "Not at all, there was a knock at the door. By the time I got outside, the package was on the step. I looked in both directions, but saw nobody. Why?” Okay, you're scaring me now.

  "There was a note in the box attached to a black velvet bag of expensive loose gems. Any ideas on that?” His voice was calm and I admired his technique. He leaned back in the chair so not to invade my space. Relaxed, his hands lay folded on the counter. I knew that technique too, but I was unsure if he was aware of who I was and what I did.

  "You've stumped me with that one. What does the note say?"

  "Something that doesn't make sense."

  "What are the words? They are words, right?"

  "Yes, they are."

  "Well, don't just sit there, spill it. My crystal ball is broken, thanks.” Cripes, what was I supposed to do, guess? I wanted to reach into his throat and rip the words out. My anxiety mounted with each passing moment.

  He stiffened at the snappy response. I guess he still didn't like being addressed in a snippy manner. Oh well, too bad, I shouldn't have to drag the words out of his mouth. I had a vested interest in the damned box since it was addressed to my aunt, for gosh sakes.

  "Crested Inn.” Piercing eyes raked my face as he searched for a sign that I knew what the words meant.

  "Hmm, well I haven't a clue. I don't know who would leave that package for her either. It didn't have a postmark on it, huh? It would seem that this person doesn't realize she's dead."

  Baffled, I stared at him as he stared back. I tried to read the man, but he was good, very good and handsome as hell, I might add. Guarded was the word I'd have used to describe his attitude.

  He stood and waited for me to rise. We strolled to the door and as he stepped outside, I said, “Thanks officer. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name last night."

  "Marcus Richmond. If you think of anything, Miss Esposito, call me.” He handed me a card, then turned away but hesitated. Looking back, the corners of his mouth tipped up and he asked, “Was Lavinia a tough name to deal with as a kid?"

  Surprised, I stood in the doorway. “You have no idea, but it got better when my brother christened me Vinnie."

  "You don't really know the Colonel, do you?” His brows hiked a tad as he asked the question with a grin.

  "I never said I did.” My broad smile matched his.

  He nodded and left.

  Intrigued, I watched him drive off. Who could have sent jewels to Livvy? It was weird, too weird. A sense of mystery surrounded not only her death, but this strange occurrence was now piled on top of it. And what was Crested Inn all about?

  My inquisitive nature was on the move. I knew it would only be a matter of time before I became involved in the investigation on a different level than the police. That level usually got me into trouble.

  Richmond's Dodge Ram pickup truck stopped at the red light on the corner. Why had he made such a point to come by off duty? Those hazel green eyes missed nothing and though his attitude was easygoing, I'd guess he wasn't that easy with a real perpetrator. His nostrils tended to flare when he heard something he didn't like, though it was really the only outward sign of disfavor. At least they flared when I spoke to him in that unlikable manner. I smirked at the thought of it.

  Rugged good looks went with a body in great shape that stood a bit taller than me. The Rhode Island State Police take great pride in their appearance, so it was no surprise he was in good physical condition. With that lingering thought, I hustled past the gate at the end of the walk toward my car and drove to the paint store. The day was fading, and I was determined to be done with the project at hand.

  With another gallon of paint, I returned and hiked to the second floor to gaze in surprise at the magnificent technique Lanky had finished. The walls shown like buffed worn leather. Slowly, I whirled around in awe. The bittersweet tinted Venetian plaster had been worked to a glowing patina. The glorious warm hued room enveloped me as I stared in astonishment. I stepped toward Lanky, gave him a huge hug and planted a wet kiss on his round cheek.

  "It's beautiful, Larry, just beautiful. Thanks for doing this.” My spirits soared to think he'd been so conscientious over the job. I'd only needed a hand in painting the walls, but this was perfect.

  Pleasure covered his face as pride showed through. He said he was pleased to think I was happy and that alone made the sweat worthwhile.

  With a squeeze to his shoulder, we headed down the stairs into my apartment where I cracked open a couple of beers from the fridge. Handing one to Lanky, I leaned against the counter and took a hefty swig from the bottle.

  "Are you hungry? I can whip up some dinner if you want.” Now I'm not the best cook, but not the worst either. My mother cooked, but my father was the chef in the household and had taught me enough to get by.

  "No thanks, really, I need to get back to the city. I have a date tonight and want to get cleaned up. We're going clubbing."

  I smiled and nodded since I was low on groceries anyway. “Okay then, I'll finish upstairs and you'll call me tomorrow about the date, right?"

  "You betcha, I know this is the one for me. He's a real doll and dresses like Liz Taylor.” His eyebrows waggled, and I had all I could do not to laugh. Each to his own is my motto and I try to stick to it.

  He hustled back upstairs, gathered his tools and left. I followed with my beer in hand and stood in the open window watching him leave. Tired, but determined to finish the final wall if it killed me, I sipped the brew and peered at the Venetian plastered walls. Gorgeous, just gorgeous, I thought, with pleasure.

  In the unfinished room, I slopped paint into the roller pan and layered it onto the wall. The sun dipped slowly below the trees. Darkness had descended when I finished painting. Lights blazed as I went room to room turning them all on. The windows were open to help the paint dry, and I pulled the ladder to the cent
er of the room.

  Halogen floor lamps shone bright as I gathered my supplies to replace the ceiling light with a new fixture from the box near the door. I grabbed a screwdriver from the pile of junk tools to pry the cruddy old lamp off the ceiling. It crashed to the floor before I could catch it, smashing when it landed on the drop cloths spread to catch paint splatters. Shit, I couldn't get a break today.

  Stepping off the ladder to clear the debris, I pulled the new fixture from the box. Mounting four steps, I swung a leg over the edge of the ladder and straddled the top step. My butt plunked in place, I held the light in one hand and juggled the screws with the other. A few colorful Italian curses rolled off my tongue in the interim. It would have been nice to have one more hand, but God only graced me with two.

  The downstairs door opened and footsteps shuffled up the first set of stairs. They stopped on the landing before continuing into the other room. I'd left the outer door unlocked and the apartment door open. As steps advanced, my breath caught. I froze in place waiting to see who came in since I hadn't expected guests.

  With bug eyes glued to the doorway, I breathed in relief as Marcus Richmond stood outside peering in. Man, was I jumpy or what? Releasing the pent up breath I'd held until I thought I'd faint, I glared at him.

  "Geez, you coulda knocked, you know."

  His brows rose and he smirked. “I did, but you were too busy swearing.” His eyes traveled the room and he said, “Looks good, but the other room is great. Did you do that?"

  "No, my friend Larry did it today. He faux finishes for a living and offered to give me a hand. What brings you here?” Dressed in uniform, I suspected his visit meant business and my heart thumped against my ribs. Now what could he want?

  "Just stopped by when I saw the lights on up here. Have you rented the place out yet?"

  "No, are you interested?” It was a joke and he seemed to know it. Well, maybe it wasn't a joke.

  "I have a place already thanks.” He smiled. “You won't have any difficulty finding a tenant. The village is very popular. How long did your aunt live here?"

  "I'm sure you know the answer to that question, but I'll tell you anyway. She lived here for over twenty years.” I was bowled over by the change in his features when he smiled. He looked so approachable, I said, “As a matter of fact, someone came by today and asked to rent this unit.” My curiosity and other things were aroused by this trooper which made me wonder what he really wanted.

  Giving the screw driver one last turn, I clambered down the ladder, tossing the tools onto the pile of debris. Paint tray and roller in hand, I marched through the dining room into the kitchen with Marcus on my heels. I filled the tray with water and started to clean it.

  "How do you like it here?” he asked.

  "It's great except when people leave strange packages outside the front door.” I smiled at him and dirty water splashed over my clothes.

  A slight grin crossed his features as he stepped clear and watched my pathetic effort to clean up the new mess I'd created. I glanced toward him as the spark of humor entered his eyes. I guessed I was the source of it.

  "Are you worried about that package business?” he asked.

  "I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me a bit, but I'm not too concerned. If it happens again, then yeah, I'll be worried."

  "Your aunt was a trader on the stock exchange, right?"

  "She was. A damned good one, too. She made a nice living and had since she graduated college, I guess. She'd gotten a windfall somewhere along the line and started with that.” I paused in my cleanup efforts and glanced at him. “Livvy had a good head for business. She started a gift shop in Providence and when it took off, she opened two more, one in Newport and one in Wickford. But I'm sure you're aware of all that, aren't you, Trooper Richmond?” I didn't ask why he enquired because he'd only evade the question. He was on an information fishing expedition of some sort.

  A ragged towel lay next to the sink. I wiped my hands and clothes with it while I turned to the handsome face with the tight body. Whew, that was nice to look at. I licked my lips while my mouth went dry.

  "Want some coffee or a drink? I'm headed downstairs.” Uneasy at his intense gaze, I sauntered from the kitchen and switched the lights off as I left the apartment by the front staircase. Richmond wasn't far behind, but hadn't answered the question.

  We got to the first floor and I strode into the living room, where soft lights glowed with a flick of the switch. The space was large and hardwood floors gleamed. An ornate fireplace nestled against the eastbound wall. Long windows with interior shutters faced the street with northern exposure on the adjacent wall. Tall built-in bookcases straddled both sides of the fireplace while an overstuffed chair sat to the right of it. The sofa hugged the back wall and faced the street while a sculpted lion stood on a nearby pedestal.

  An antique library table settled against the interior wall with a few first edition books clustered atop it. Several pictures of me and Livvy sat next to one of me and my twin. I passed them and moved toward the kitchen.

  Richmond followed behind, but when I glanced over my shoulder, he'd stopped to study the photos and artwork with interest. Watercolors covered the walls, along with Livvy's sculptured wood lion. Stained the color of warm oak, it stood near the door to the dining room.

  "The lion is magnificent,” he called, as I wandered ahead of him.

  "Yes, isn't it? Aunt Livvy sculpted him about five years ago. He radiates such warmth in color, it's my favorite piece."

  I switched the ready and waiting coffee pot on and turned to find Richmond still absent. With a shrug, I rifled the fridge for leftovers and tossed rolls, a dish with a couple of meatballs, and the milk container onto the counter. As I straightened up, I noticed Richmond had entered the room with a gleam in his eyes. At the smirk on his face, I figured he'd enjoyed the rear view.

  "The coffee's ready, the cups are up there.” I pointed to the overhead cupboard next to the coffeepot. “You want to share a sandwich?"

  With two cups in his hands, he turned those intense eyes back to me.

  "No thanks, do you feed everyone who walks in?"

  "It's a thing I learned from my mother. If she's not feeding someone, she's not happy. Pass me that bag of rolls, will you?"

  He handed me the bag and watched while I slathered a roll with sauce and flipped the meatballs inside. I popped it into the microwave above the stove and set the timer.

  After Marcus proffered the coffee, I sipped the strong liquid and peered at him over the rim of my cup. Tension thickened the air and I wondered if my over active imagination had kicked in again. The silence lengthened and I tried to think of what to say.

  He stared back at me, cleared his throat and said, “Your sandwich is done, I think."

  My eyes cut to the microwave and sure enough, the timer was off. As I withdrew the dish, juicy meatballs flopped out of the roll, bounced across my shirt and tumbled onto the floor.

  The grin that stretched across Richmond's face was more than I could bear. Man, embarrassed in front of two good looking men in one day was too much to handle. Disgust weighed me down.

  In one swift motion, the empty sandwich hit the trash basket and I stooped to pick up the meatballs.

  "Gosh, sometimes it doesn't pay to get out of bed in the morning. My day started out on a low note and it looks like I'm going to starve to death before it's over.” I grinned, but was miffed about the sandwich all the same. A clean towel sat nearby, and I swiped at the sauce on the already cruddy shirt.

  Wide shoulders heaved with silent laughter and he shook his head.

  "You are a disaster waiting to happen, aren't you, Vinnie? I can call you Vinnie?” he asked between chuckles.

  "Sure, why not, everyone else does."

  "So tell me about the jewels and the note. You must have some idea of what it's about. You and your aunt were quite close, weren't you?"

  The day was nearly a complete disaster and now he'd pinned me to the w
all with this question. I'd thought about it on and off all afternoon since I'd learned about the package contents. I hadn't a clue as to what it was about, but plainly this Five-O thought I did.

  With a sigh, I sat on the stool at the counter and toyed with the coffee cup. My notes from the night before came to mind. I slid off the seat and went into the bedroom, bringing them back.

  I flipped the pad down in front of him and said, “I tried to make some notes last night about Aunt Livvy's life. For the life of me, I can't come up with a reasonable idea that would account for the package.” I glanced at his interested stare. “If there was something odd going on, she didn't share it with me. Livvy's personal papers are in a trunk in the bedroom though. I've gone through a box full of things stored in the closet, but there wasn't any information in it about gems. The contents consist mainly of photographs of the family. If I find any clues in the trunk you'll be the first to know, I promise."

  The skeptical glance he shot me put already frayed nerves on edge. What the hell was he after, a full confession about something I knew nothing of? Tired and hungry, my Italian attitude slipped into place. I stared at him for a long moment.

  "What do you want from me anyway? I don't know what this is about, and I have no clue why that stupid package was left for a woman who's been dead for months. Give me a break Richmond, will ya?"

  "Call me Marcus,” he said in an even tone. “I'm sure you know something, even if you don't think so at the moment. Do me a favor and make a list of any odd actions that your aunt may have exhibited prior to her death. It might not come to you right away, but try anyway.” The calm voice was in direct contrast to my strident one.

  Resigned, I rested my elbows on the counter across from him. “Don't you think if I had any ideas that I'd tell you? I've figured out that you guys have an investigation going on over her death. The local cops have been here a couple times in the past few months with ridiculous questions and a request to search the house. They didn't have probable cause so I refused. I realize if they did, they'd have had a search warrant."