Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel)

by Diane Kelly

  When my face was finished, we went to my closet to look for something for me to wear.

  “Do you have anything that’s outdated?” she said, sliding hangers back and forth as she looked over my wardrobe.

  “I don’t want to be one of those kind of old ladies,” I said. “Not all mature women dress like Lu.” Many of the women I’d seen at Whispering Pines were smartly dressed in clothes I recognized from the Chico’s catalogue. They could teach my boss a thing or two about fashion.

  We eventually settled on a pair of black pants and a red blouse, over which I draped a scarf in a black and gray houndstooth pattern. I looked like a grandma that had it going on.

  Nick swung by to pick me up, laughing when I opened the door. “What’s it say that even with gray hair I still want to bang you?”

  It said a lot, actually. It said that, should Nick and I be lucky enough to live a long life together, he’d still find me attractive when the bloom was off my rose.

  “You can bang me,” I told him, “and afterward I’ll pat you on the head, give you a nickel, and bake you some cookies.”

  “Freaky.”

  We drove over to the complex where Alicia and I had lived a few years ago, taking places in front of my former unit. Stratford wasn’t due until ten, but the residents of Whispering Pines would be arriving shortly.

  The first ones on the scene were Harold, Jeb, and Isaiah, who arrived with two ladies in a nice Buick. I directed them to a visitor’s parking spot, waving my arms. “Over here, guys!”

  Nick and I helped Isaiah into his wheelchair, and the gang joined us at the curb.

  Lu and Carl were the next to arrive. Lu waited in the front seat while Carl walked around the car in his shiny white bucks to open the door for her. Such a sweet, old-fashioned gesture.

  “I like your shoes!” Harold called to Carl, lifting his foot and wiggling it as if performing the hokeypokey. “See? I’ve got the same ones.”

  Carl stopped to admire them. “You and I share the same good taste.”

  Nick and I, on the other hand, shared a quiet chuckle.

  Carl opened the door and helped Lu out of her seat. Her beehive stood proud atop her head, her extra-hold hairspray causing the pink mound to glisten in the morning sun.

  Jeb, whose arm was linked through that of the woman who’d driven them over, gave Lu a wink and a nod. Looked like there were no hard feelings. Good. Life’s too short.

  The sixteen of us chatted excitedly among ourselves until Harold noticed the Ozarks Express van pull into the parking lot. He pointed to the entrance. “There he is!”

  As the group murmured excitedly, Nick stepped away so it wouldn’t look like he was with us.

  The van pulled to a stop in front of us and out hopped Adam Stratford in his usual sunglasses and cowboy hat. He had a clipboard in his hand, a stack of preprinted receipt forms held in place under the clip. “Good morning, folks!” he called out in his spicy Cajun accent. “How’s everyone doing today?”

  I stepped forward. “We’re just great.” I held out my hand. “I’m Melvina Cannoli, the one you spoke with on the phone.”

  Stratford cocked his head, eyeing me closely. Could he tell that my face bore a quarter-inch coating of puttylike foundation?

  He shook my hand, probably figuring my eyesight had gone so bad I didn’t realize how awful my makeup looked.

  I held up my purse. “We’ve all got our cash and traveler’s checks.”

  Adam dipped his head and his eyes flashed with greed. “Wonderful. You all will have such a nice time on this trip. The last group I took up to Hot Springs has already scheduled another vacation with me.”

  Sure they did.

  “You said we could take a look inside the van,” I reminded him. “I’d love to get in there and pick my seat.”

  “Of course. You’re welcome to take a look inside.” He stepped over to the doors and opened them. “Climb on in, everybody. I think you’ll find the seating very comfortable.”

  The group streamed toward the van. Though several of the people glanced his way, Stratford didn’t seem to recognize any of them. That told me he’d ripped off quite a few senior citizens, too many for him to remember. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized this morning’s look-see was a farce.

  Jeb scraped his way toward the van. He’d removed the tennis balls from the feet of his walker. Removed the usual rubber tips, too. The ends were raw metal now. When he reached the door, he placed one of the tips on top of Stratford’s loafer and bore down with all his weight.

  Stratford grimaced. “You’re on my foot, sir.”

  Jeb made no move to lift his walker. When Stratford attempted to pull his foot out from under the walker, Harold rolled Isaiah’s wheelchair up onto Stratford’s other foot.

  Stratford buckled, putting a hand on the fender of the van to steady himself. “Careful, there. You’re on my foot, too.”

  Harold looked up into the man’s face, his eyes narrowing behind his thick lenses. “You don’t remember us, do you?”

  An uneasy look skittered across Stratford’s face. “Should I?”

  Nick stepped into place behind Stratford.

  “Hell, yes, you should!” Jeb spat. “You took two hundred and fifty dollars from each of us over at Whispering Pines and never showed up on the day of our trip. I missed my sea salt scrub!”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stratford shoved the walker off his foot and forcefully pushed the wheelchair back. “There must be some mix-up.”

  “No, there’s not!” Harold retorted. “I recognize your Cajun accent.”

  “You’ve got me confused with someone else, old man.” Stratford stuck his head inside the vehicle. “Everyone out of the van. Now!”

  “Hell, no!” Lu cried, thumbing her nose at Stratford from her place in the front row. “We won’t go!”

  The others joined in, and soon a loud chant of Hell, no! We won’t go! had drawn a crowd of onlookers from their apartments.

  “I’ll wait you out,” Stratford spat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sooner or later you’ll have to use the bathroom.”

  “Joke’s on you!” called one of the men. “We’re all wearing diapers!”

  Stratford frowned. “I’ll give you ten seconds to get out of my van and then I’m calling the police.”

  “Call ’em.” Lu batted her false eyelashes in challenge. “Better yet, I’ll call ’em for you.” She pulled out her cell phone and began to dial.

  Stratford stormed over and reached into the van to grab her phone. But he was too late. Before he could get to Lu, Nick had grabbed his arms and yanked them behind him.

  I whipped my handcuffs from my purse and stepped over to cuff him. “There’s no mix-up, Mr. Stratford.”

  The crowd cheered, many of them applauding and several of them pumping their fists.

  “What the hell is this?” Stratford cried, struggling.

  Nick pushed him up against the van while I flashed my badge. “We’re special agents with the IRS. You’re under arrest for fraud and tax evasion.”

  The man’s face turned purple with humiliation and rage as Nick dug through his pockets, pulling out his keys, wallet, cell phone, and loose change. “Get those people out of my van!”

  “Not going to happen,” I told him. “Your van is being seized as evidence.”

  Nick tossed me Stratford’s keys and I snatched them out of the air.

  The man’s nostrils flared. “You can’t just take people’s property!”

  I arched a brow at him. “You did.”

  He sputtered like the empty fire extinguishers at the bistro last night.

  Touché. I tossed him a well-deserved look of disgust. “That’s what I thought.”

  A U.S. Marshal pulled up and claimed our prisoner, escorting Stratford to the back seat of his vehicle.

  “You haven’t seen the last of me!” he hollered at the van.

  “Who cares?” one of the women
called, waving her hand dismissively. “By the time you get out of jail twenty years from now we’ll all be dead.”

  Jeb, who was seated in the second row, stood up as well as he could in the van, lowered the back of his elastic-waist athletic pants, and pressed his butt to the window facing Stratford. Who needs the old man in the moon when you can have an old man’s moon?

  I stuck my head into the van. “Everyone comfy and ready to go?”

  Another round of cheers went up. Jeb held up a can of Ensure nutritional drink and a metal flask, proceeding to pour a healthy dose of what smelled like whiskey into the can. “Let’s party!”

  I climbed into the van and took the wheel. Nick hopped into the passenger seat. We planned to take turns driving. Luckily, a van this size required no special driver’s license. Anyone with a regular Class C was qualified.

  We headed out of the complex and made our way to Central Expressway, continuing north on U.S.75 all the way to Durant, Oklahoma, home of the Choctaw Casino. After everyone checked into their rooms for a two-night stay, we all headed for the casino floor. Well, all of us but Jeb. He’d scheduled that long-overdue full-body sea salt scrub in the spa.

  This vacation was just what Nick and I needed after the intense pressure of the last couple of weeks. We played blackjack and roulette, switching to poker when the spinning wheel seemed determined to empty our wallets. A commotion in the center of the gaming floor caught our attention, and we wandered over to find Lu and Carl playing craps. While I’d attempted to play the game before, I’d never quite mastered all of the rules and nuances. Lu and Carl, on the other hand, played like pros. Their new friends from Whispering Pines cheered them on until they had stacks of chips in front of them so high they threatened to topple over and bury the green felt surface.

  The two of them cashed in their chips and Carl held up a handful of bills. “Hey, everyone! Dinner’s on me!”

  We migrated en masse to the buffet, stuffing ourselves silly with Southern comfort foods like mashed potatoes, cornbread, and fried okra. Afterward, Lu, Carl, Nick, and I splintered off from the group to enjoy a glass of wine and the smooth styling of the pianist in the bar.

  Lu raised her glass. “A toast,” she said, looking from Nick to me, “to my two best agents.”

  We all clinked our glasses and took a sip of our wine.

  I raised my glass next, looking meaningfully from Lu to Carl. “To finding your way back to the one you love.”

  We all clinked our glasses again.

  Carl raised his glass this time, wagging his brows at Lu. “To makeup sex!”

  Lu blushed and offered him a reproving head shake, but a moment later giggled and raised her glass along with the rest of us.

  Though Nick and I had nothing to make up for, we weren’t about to miss this prime opportunity for a roll in the hay, though the so-called hay was actually a very comfortable king-sized bed. Afterward, we lay spooned together, Nick rubbing his thumb slowly and softly up and down my arm.

  He kissed my outer ear. “When I thought you might die inside that restaurant…” His voice became choked and he stopped speaking, finishing his sentence by leaning his face against my bare shoulder and giving my arm a tight squeeze.

  I turned my head to look at him. “You think I’d let a punk like Tino Fabrizio get the best of me?”

  Nick chuckled, his breath tickling my skin. “I have never been so glad that a case is over.”

  “Not me.” I rolled over to face him straight on now. “I’m going to miss all that chocolate cannoli.”

  He gave me a smile. “When do I get my nickel and cookies?”

  chapter forty-six

  Ciao, for Good

  Though Tino Fabrizio had turned off the cameras at Cyber-Shield and Benedetta’s Bistro prior to setting the fire, the video footage recorded by Josh’s drone showing Tino climbing into the catering truck and pulling it over to block the back door would be more than enough to convict him of three counts of attempted murder. With direct access now to Cyber-Shield’s computer systems and monitoring equipment, no doubt the FBI would come up with evidence to link him to at least some of his other violent crimes. He’d enjoyed his last cannoli. Finally, we federal agents would see that the man was served the heaping plate of justice he deserved.

  Fabrizio was charged not only with murder, but also conspiracy to commit insurance fraud, extortion, and, of course, tax evasion. Given the strength of the evidence against him, and the number of crimes he was connected to, the judge had denied him bail. He’d rot in jail until his trial, and then he’d rot in prison for the rest of his life.

  Neener-neener.

  With Tino locked safely behind bars, the Cyber-Shield clients who’d been afraid to talk before came forward. Dozens of them provided evidence that he’d extorted money from them, giving us bank records showing regular, large withdrawals to cover the protection payments. By our best estimate, Tino had extorted over two million dollars from his clients.

  Eric Echols had been arrested, too, and charged with aiding and abetting Tino in his crimes. While Tino had used some of the extorted cash to pay his henchmen, the majority of the extorted funds were found in small, fireproof cash boxes stashed inside outdated desktop computer equipment at Eric’s apartment. Tino and his attorney tried to claim that Eric was the ringleader and that Tino hadn’t been aware of his tech expert’s extortion and violence, but nobody in law enforcement believed them. A jury wouldn’t, either.

  While negotiations were still in the works, it looked like prosecutors would work out a plea deal with Echols in return for his testimony. Though the guy admitted he had doctored video footage and thus helped Tino cover up his crimes, he, too, had been threatened by Tino, who’d said he’d off Echols’s parents and siblings if he didn’t cooperate. Prosecutors were likely to be a little more lenient given these extenuating circumstances.

  It freaked me out to learn that the shifting camera Tino had mentioned on the recording wasn’t one at Looking Good Optical as we’d originally thought, but rather was one of the cameras in front of the bistro. Tino had Eric working on footage that would make it appear as if Benedetta had been the one to pull down the security doors the night of the fire, not him. He’d also had Eric doctor a feed from their home to show Tino at the house when the fire started at the bistro. If not for Nick spotting my phone and Josh flying his camera drone over the building, Tino would have had a plausible alibi and our deaths would have been ruled an accident.

  Eek.

  Cole Kirchner was also being held without bond. When call records were obtained for a cell phone found hidden behind his refrigerator, an entry for Alex Harris’s home number showed up, placed on the night his bar caught fire. He was likely the person who’d called for “Becky.” He was suspected to have assisted Tino in the murder of the locksmith and the disappearances of the personal trainer and several other men with suspected ties to Tino Fabrizio. Copious amounts of cash were found in a safe deposit box he’d rented. Looked like he’d been saving up, too, but since he wouldn’t talk we could only speculate what he’d planned to do with all that money. Given what he knew about Fabrizio, he was lucky to be alive. When we told him about his boss’s history of killing off those who’d done his dirty work, Kirchner turned a little green, realizing he had likely come close to losing his life.

  Given the developments in the case and the new evidence obtained by the joint task force, Alex Harris’s insurance company finally paid the claim for the damage to his bar. The insurance proceeds would allow him to quit his job at the country club and rebuild his business. I was glad things worked out for him.

  Benedetta was cleared of any wrongdoing. Footage taken from inside the bistro showed Tino entering and exiting before and after hours, but he took no cash in or out of her business during that time. All he did was fill his face with pasta, cannoli, and the occasional bombolone. The high liquor invoices proved to be valid, and no money laundering had taken place through the bistro. When I asked about her p
ersonal income tax returns, she said that it had been her accountant’s suggestion that the couple file separately to avoid the marriage penalty at the higher income brackets. The reason for the separate returns was entirely benign.

  With Cyber-Shield’s reputation ruined and clients canceling contracts left and right, Benedetta sold off the company’s patrol cars and equipment and took over the space to set up a bottling operation for her pasta sauces. She also changed the name of Tori’s Mushroom Pasta to Tara’s Mushroom Pasta on her new menus.

  I had a chance to speak with her a final time at the restaurant as it was being rebuilt.

  She had tears in her eyes and choked up when she talked about her soon-to-be ex-husband. “I knew his cousin in Chicago was up to no good,” she said, “but I had no idea Tino had done the things he did up there or here in Dallas. He was always so loving with me and the girls, and the lies he told me made sense. A man who worked in the security business would likely have to make unexpected calls in the middle of the night to check on things. I never had any reason to doubt him.” She dabbed her wet eyes with a napkin before steeling her resolve and standing up straight. “If I’d known what he was up to, I would have left him and turned him in to authorities long ago.”

  We never did figure out who the man was who’d come into the bistro and changed out the working fire extinguishers for the useless, empty ones. He appeared to be another random thug Tino had recruited to do his dirty work. We could only hope that with news outlets regaling viewers with tales of how Tino betrayed the men who worked for him, the guy realized he’d dodged a bullet and would take the straight and narrow path from here on out.

  Sadiki was cleared of any wrongdoing in the Hookah Lounge robbery. Files on Cyber-Shield’s server proved the video of him taking the funds from the safe was merely a spliced bit of footage from months before. Detective Booth was happy to give him the good news, and looked forward to the resolution of some of her cold-case files that involved men with links to Tino.