Conditions. Sophia darted a sideways glance at Angelo but she couldn’t read his expression.
“My first condition is that Miss Mancini remains in the household and equally assists her brother in all parenting duties.” He looked directly at Sophia. “Are you willing to accept this responsibility, Miss Mancini?”
“Wholeheartedly, Your Honor.”
“Condition number two is that a court appointed social worker, a Miss Featherstone,” he motioned to a woman sitting in the back of the courtroom, “shall visit at a time suitable to her schedule to check in on the lad. Her reports will keep me apprised of Luciano’s welfare. Is that clear?”
Angelo quickly agreed that it was.
“My third condition is that Mr. Mancini continues to visit his physician every other day for psychological testing. I will want to have those test results submitted before we reconvene next. Do you agree to that condition, Mr. Mancini?”
Angelo nodded again. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Fine. My last condition is that when we meet again in thirty days, Mr. Mancini, you and your sister need to provide tangible evidence that your business venture is well underway. Specifically, I want to see a daily log of activity, client list, and a set of your books, with one hundred dollars in billable hours a week.”
Sophia’s heart dropped. They needed to earn a c-note a week? They only had thirty days to launch a private investigation agency? To build a client list? To solve a case? She bit her lip.
“At that time I will better be able to determine your potential to earn a sustainable income.” He looked down at the sister and brother for a long moment. “You have the burden on your shoulders to prove that you can provide for Luciano. If I am not satisfied at that time, no matter how much I might feel for your personal heartache, I will need to order custody transferred to the Burkewaites. Are you completely clear on what I am saying?”
Angelo said that he was. Sophia nodded.
Thirty days. It wasn’t enough time.
Except that it had to be.
Chapter Two
The crime rate in Little Italy soared as word got out that the Mancini Detective Agency was open for business. First, Mrs. DiEsprio’s favorite pink crystal rosary was stolen from her bureau drawer. Sophia’s offer to come the next day to help Mrs. DiEsprio clean out her drawers apparently did the trick. Several hours after their client left the brownstone with a typed receipt for the consultation, she phoned Sophia to say that her rosary had miraculously reappeared. A miracle indeed.
Their first case was an open and shut one, but hardly the challenge Sophia had hoped for.
Following several more such transparent cases was a visit by Giuliana Conti. Mrs. Conti wanted to have her husband tailed on the suspicion that he was cheating on her.
“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” she sniffed into her perfumed handkerchief. “All these years of marriage ... I’ve given that man six children and devoted my life to him, and now this. Can you help me, Angelo?” Her dry eyes went from brother to sister. “Sophia, what can you suggest?”
Sophia glanced at her brother to get his take on the situation but she could see he would be no help. His eyes twinkled and he struggled to keep a smile off of his face.
“Mrs. Conti, isn’t your husband still using his wheelchair to get around?” Sophia waited for the answer she already knew she’d hear. She wasn’t even going to pretend to take notes on this one.
“Well, yes dear, he is. He is ninety-three after all.”
“And how much time do you two spend together?”
“Day and night.” Mrs. Conti lowered her handkerchief and leaned closer to Sophia, her voice conspiratorial. “You know how husbands are. I wait on that man, cook him three meals a day and it seems I don’t have a moment alone. He’s always right there! Why I was telling my daughter–-” She stopped speaking, eyes wide. A sheepish expression flashed across her face. She unsnapped her pocketbook, took out a crisp five dollar bill, and laid it on the table.
Sophia picked it up and held it out to Mrs. Conti. “No, this is too much. While we appreciate you wanting to support our new business, we couldn’t possibly take your money. Could we, Angelo?”
He cleared his throat and managed to contain his laughter. “No, of course not, Mrs. Conti, but thank you for stopping by to wish us well.”
The older woman reached for her cane, struggled to her feet, and spoke as if she hadn’t heard them. “On second thought, perhaps it would be better if I were to spend a few weeks keeping a little diary of when he comes and goes, you know? Yes, that will give you more to go on.” She waved away the cash Sophia held out. “No dear, keep that as a retainer. You can mail a receipt.”
Sophia waited impatiently for Angelo to return from helping Mrs. Conti down the brownstone steps. She was grateful for the outpouring of support from their neighbors, even if it came in the guise of bogus cases. But when the charade ended, as it had to, she and Angelo needed a legitimate business with real clients, not well-meaning friends with empowered imaginations.
“So where exactly are we, sis?” Angelo asked as he sat on the edge of the desk they’d hauled down from the attic early that morning.
“Eight clients and thirty-seven dollars.”
“Not too shabby for our first day.”
“Twenty-nine days, Angelo, that’s the real number to focus on here.” Sophia threw down her pen and paced the length of the living room, or office. Whatever they called it, it was starting to feel like a cage. “You remembered to invite Mrs. Conti to our grand opening tomorrow?”
He nodded. “She said they’d love to come.”
Sophia raised one eyebrow. “They? She’s going to bring her cheating husband?”
“Much easier to keep an eye on him that way, I’m sure.”
Sophia couldn’t help but laugh. If nothing else, the day had proven how many friends and how much support they had. And Angelo had smiled several times and laughed too. That was worth gold.
Now all they needed was a crime. Or a criminal. Both, preferably.
“Sophia, am I supposed to be somewhere right now?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, and I’ve written it down for you. You’re supposed to meet Grandpa at the bocce court in a half an hour.” She handed him a piece of paper with the details written down. “You promised to take Luciano to the pond so he could feed the ducks.”
Angelo looked down at the paper for a long moment before he raised his worried eyes and met her gaze.
“If I can’t remember to pick up my son or where I promised to take him, how in God’s name are we going to solve a crime? Do you really believe we can pull this off?”
“I absolutely do,” Sophia lied without hesitation or guilt. “Now go so Grandpa and Luciano don’t worry about you.”
Angelo brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re the best, sis.”
“I know.” She grinned.
Angelo paused in the doorway. “Do you want to come with us?”
“No. You go and enjoy your time with Luciano.” She waved him out of the room good-naturedly. “I have plans.”
Which was true. She did. Growing up, their grandfather had told them many times that if they went looking for trouble it was sure to find them. Trouble was what she needed now, and she couldn’t wait for it to find her. She was going looking for it.
***
Three blocks from home, she literally ran into someone who looked as much like trouble as anyone had the right to.
“Excuse me,” Sophia apologized and waited for the man in front of her to step aside.
He didn’t. Instead, he stood, blocking out the sun, and scowling down at her.
“Are you Sophia Mancini?” His voice was deep and thick.
“I am.” Who on earth was this? “Do I know you?” She was sure she didn’t. If she’d met a man this angry-looking before, she’d certainly have remembered it.
“You and your brother are detectives?”
It took
a few seconds for it to register that they were indeed. She needed to get used to that. Looking surprised at the question wasn’t going to be good for business.
“We are. How can I help you?” He certainly didn’t appear to be a man in distress.
“I’ve got a message for you.”
“What do you wish to speak to us about, Mr.—ouch! Let go, that hurts!” In a flash, the stranger had one beefy hand wrapped around her elbow, and was moving her across the sidewalk, toward a waiting car. She hadn’t noticed the Buick parked next to the curb.
“Ouch! Let go of me, or I’m going to scream murder.” Sophia struggled to free herself, but it was no use. His grip was tighter than tight. She tried to dig her heels into the ground but the cement was unyielding. What the hell was going on? “I mean it. I’ll start screaming and I won’t stop–-”
“Fai silenzio,” he growled.
Fear and anger battled within Sophia’s mind, but she heeded his command and stayed quiet. She looked up and down the street, but it was deserted. Her heart sank. Where was everyone?
She landed in the back seat and, although her eyes needed time to adjust to the dark interior, she knew someone else was in the car by the strong smell of cologne that assailed her.
“It’s kind of you to join me, Miss Mancini.”
Sophia straightened with as much dignity as possible after being so rudely shoved into the back of a car. She crossed her legs at the ankle the way the nuns at St. Catherine’s had taught her, and she held her pocketbook primly on her lap. She could at least pretend to be in control of her runaway nerves.
The car started to roll slowly forward.
Her eyes adjusted to the lack of sunlight, and she peered into the opposite side of the car to try to see who the smooth voice belonged to. The front passenger-side door slammed shut and the enormous man who had grabbed her turned to look back at her.
“When someone says hello to you, you should be polite and say hello back.”
The hulk was giving etiquette lessons?
“That’s okay, Mooch. I think we’ve just surprised our guest, is all.” The smooth voice paused. “Are you having a pleasant day, Miss Mancini?”
“I was, right up until your friend man-handled me into your vehicle.”
“I apologize if we startled you, but I wanted to speak with you for a moment.”
Frankie Vidoni! Sophia felt a small, smug sense of satisfaction that she’d figured it out without being told. But what did Frankie, of all people, want to talk to her about?
“What kind of business could you possibly have with me?”
Grandpa had been right. When you looked for trouble, it really did meet you halfway. Because, if anyone in Little Italy was trouble, it was Frankie Vidoni. Which, Sophia realized, really should frighten her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it might be good for business to hear him out. And since the car was still moving along at a snail’s pace, listening to Frankie seemed easier than trying to jump out.
“It has come to my attention that you and your brother have opened a private investigation agency. I wanted to wish you much success in your endeavor.”
“You could have sent flowers or a note, Mr. Vidoni.”
He laughed. “True, true, I could have indeed.” He twisted a gold pinky ring around his finger as he spoke. “But then I wouldn’t have been able to make you a proposition.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’d like to retain your services.”
Sophia waited for more, but Frankie was silent.
“Can you give me an idea of what sort of case this is?”
“No.”
“Pardon me?” What was his game?
“I would like to keep you and your brother on retainer for any, shall we say, future happenings.”
Happenings? She had no idea what that translated to in the Vidoni world, but it didn’t sound good.
“Could you perhaps call our home to discuss this?”
“I assumed you shared a party line with neighbors?”
Sophia nodded.
“I thought so. I’m sure you can understand my reluctance to be overheard, can’t you Miss Mancini? Now, let’s get down to business. I happen to know that Angelo has recently had certain legal proceedings that would make employment definitely advantageous to him.”
Ah, so Frankie knew. The thought unsettled her. “Mr. Vidoni, you can’t hire us if you don’t have anything for us to investigate.”
“Let’s just say I have a feeling that something may happen. Soon.”
May happen? What did that mean?
She turned to Frankie. “Then call on us after it happens and we’ll see if we can help. Now, please let me go.”
“Can I drop you somewhere?”
“I was on my way to Vincenzo’s Ristorante.”
“That’s where tomorrow’s party will be?”
Sophia nodded. He already knew that. But what was it he wanted to know badly enough to have her tossed into his car?
“My invitation seems to have been misdirected.”
“Your invitation wasn’t misdirected, misplaced, or even lost, Mr. Vidoni, because we didn’t send you one.” She ignored the threatening glare from Mr. Mooch in the front seat, and kept her eyes on Frankie’s impassive face. “However, you are welcome to join us. I don’t think it’s your...usual crowd, but feel free to come.”
Frankie nodded his thanks, a pleased expression on his face. “May I bring a guest?”
“Mr. Mooch is welcome to join you, of course.”
Frankie cleared his throat. “I was referring to a lady friend.”
So perhaps this wasn’t the best time to ask after Mrs. Vidoni.
“Fine. Vincenzo’s at four o’clock. May I go now?”
“Of course. Thank you for your generous invitation. Until tomorrow then.”
Frankie gave the order to stop and the car drew up in front of Bagatelli Brothers Menswear. Sophia waited to alight until Mooch came to open the door for her. She stepped onto the sidewalk and turned back toward the car.
“You’re welcome to come tomorrow too, Mr. Mooch.”
His only response was a low growl.
And he was worried about her manners?
***
To clear her head, Sophia needed a cannoli. She headed straight for Carelli’s Bakery.
She stopped at the bakery window, and let her eyes feast on the rows of pastries and cookies that lined the glass cases. She inhaled deeply. She loved Carelli’s. It was one of her favorite places in the world, which, she reminded herself, might explain why her dress for tomorrow just barely fit. Before she had time to decide if just one little cannoli would really hurt, the bakery door swung open and a sad-looking woman stepped out.
“Hello, Sophia.” The words were spoken as if they wrung out of her mouth by a torture device.
“Hello, Stella. How are you?”
Stella Moretti was Vincenzo’s wife, legally at least. Poor woman, she probably always would be. A devout Catholic, Stella was tied to Vincenzo by their marriage vows, but she didn’t live under the same roof with him. He’d tossed her out of their apartment above the restaurant as soon as he’d come back from the war.
While others had gone through the war years with worry in their eyes, Stella had had a gleam in hers. She’d been carefree. While other wives with husbands fighting overseas prayed German and Japanese bullets would miss their loved ones, Stella prayed the bullets would find her husband the perfect target. Her prayers had gone unanswered, however, and now her pre-war look of perpetual misery had returned.
But what could Sophia say? I’m sorry your husband came home alive?
“I hear you and Angelo have opened a detective agency.”
Sophia nodded. “We have. We’d be grateful if you refer anyone you might know who is looking for help with personal matters. In fact, why don’t you come tomorrow for our grand opening party at–-” She stopped speaking. She couldn’t very well invite Stella to the same restaurant her
husband had thrown her out of.
A morose smile played on Stella’s lips.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”
“It is okay, Sophia. I wish you much success however I won’t be able to join you. I don’t want to be anywhere near Vincenzo.”
“It’s still that hard for you to be in the same room with him?”
Stella laughed, a strangled sound that caught in her throat. “Hard? No. I’m not afraid of Vincenzo. I just worry that if I got that close to him, I’d kill him.”
Chapter Three
“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.” A meat cleaver slammed into the cutting board with each repeated threat.
Sophia watched in stunned silence. Perhaps she’d come at a bad time.
Unseen, she eased the swinging kitchen door closed and backed out of Vincenzo’s kitchen. Moments earlier, she’d arrived at the restaurant to find it deserted.
In search of Vincenzo, she had headed back to the kitchen, only to witness the execution of a chicken. Somehow it was hard to believe the threats were aimed at the poor bird.
It wouldn’t have surprised her half as much if the mad man with the cleaver had been Vincenzo, but it was Eugene Gallo, Vincenzo’s meek and mild partner.
What to do now? Eugene obviously needed the space to work through his rage. What on earth had angered him so? The poor, defenseless chicken couldn’t possibly have incurred such anger.
A quick glance at her wrist watch told her she had time to wait for someone to show up. She only needed to run over a few details for tomorrow’s party and then she’d be on her way. Where was everyone? She’d never seen the restaurant empty before. The silence was almost eerie.
Sophia wandered to the front of the dining room. Vincenzo’s Ristorante was no kitsch Italian eatery. Tasteful and elegant, it offered subtle Italian charm with divinely inspired dishes that brought cars full of people from the city each weekend.
Who had designed the restaurant’s interior? She’d never thought about it before, but it couldn’t have been Vincenzo. The atmosphere was too classy, too elegant, for him to have had input. Eugene? Before today she’d have said no, absolutely not. Eugene was so--what was the kind way to say this--he was too colorless. Too timid. Eugene wasn’t the kind of man who made much of an impression.
From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) Page 2
