“Hello,” she called out again. “Is anyone here?”
The only answer was a pathetic meow. Her eyes followed the sound. A tiny black kitten sat next to a body sprawled on the floor.
It was Mooch. Sophia rushed to his side and knelt beside him. She fought a rising panic. There was no obvious sign of trauma--no gunshot wound, no knife sticking out of the body. She shivered.
She immediately felt for a pulse, but her hands were shaking so hard she wasn’t sure if the faint pulse she was picking up was real or her own wishful thinking.
“Mr. Mooch, can you hear me?” Sophia called to him, but she knew it was in vain. He was completely unresponsive.
She looked around the small apartment frantically but there was no sign of a telephone. She scrambled out into the hallway and knocked on several doors calling for help but no one responded. She ran back into the apartment and threw open the window that overlooked the street.
Thank heaven Andrea was still waiting on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building.
“Andrea,” she shouted down, hanging halfway over the wooden window sill. “Help, I need you--”
Startled, Andrea looked up. “Hang on, Sophia. I’m coming right up.”
“No, no, stop. I need you to find a phone booth and call the police. I need an ambulance too.”
Andrea stared up at her, reluctance to leave her plain on his face. “Are you hurt? What happened? Tell me who-”
“Just go, Andrea, please. It’s not me. Someone here is hurt.” She looked back over her shoulder. The kitten’s wailing cries were growing increasingly louder. “We need to get him to the hospital. And call Captain McIntyre too. Hurry.”
While Andrea raced down the block in search of a telephone booth, Sophia returned to Mooch’s side and tried to find a pulse again. It was ever so faint, but this time she knew it was real.
“Help is coming, Mr. Mooch. Just hold on.”
His blank, unconscious expression unnerved her. She hardly recognized him without his scowl. She squeezed his hand and said a quick prayer that Andrea would get help to them in time.
The kitten clawed at Sophia’s arm and she picked it up. Cuddling it and murmuring reassurances, she stood and looked around the apartment. There didn’t appear to be any sign of struggle, not with the tidy and sparse furnishings in complete order.
When her eyes spotted a wallet on an end table, she hesitated only a moment before picking it up. There was still cash inside. That, and the fact it was neatly sitting on the table, told her that Mooch most likely hadn’t been knocked out in a bungled attempted robbery. Besides, who would take on a man the size of Mooch for a few dollars? There were plenty of smaller people to rob.
She drew out his driver’s license and blinked in surprise when she read it. Ottavio DiMuccio, born May 17th, 1921. She didn’t know which surprised her more--that he was only a few years older than she, or that his last name wasn’t really Mooch.
What other secrets did he have? Working for Frankie Vidoni, probably plenty. Of course she worked for Frankie too, but she didn’t have secrets. Just a million unanswered questions.
She glanced helplessly at Mooch’s body. There was nothing she could do for him but wait for help to arrive. She let her gaze wander around the apartment. Where was the book that Francesca thought she saw Mooch leave Vincenzo’s with?
Guilt pricked at her conscience as she opened cupboards and looked in drawers. She found nothing. Not a single book or a stray scrap of paper. Obviously Mooch wasn’t much of a reader. She looked under the furniture and even under the sofa cushions but found nothing.
Oh, God. Where was Andrea? Captain McIntyre? The ambulance?
She scooped up the kitten again and tried soothing it but it squirmed out of her grasp, dashed across the room, and jumped up on the window sill. Its little howls grew louder.
“Don’t move, you little beast.” Sophia slowly approached the window, fearful the tiny fur ball would leap out and be in for a long, nasty fall.
As soon as she was close enough she grabbed the kitten and held it tightly against her chest. She leaned out the window just in time to catch a glimpse of Captain McIntyre dashing up the stairs. Her knees went weak with relief.
She ran out to the landing and leaned over the banister.
“Up here, Captain,” she called when he came into sight. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
He arrived at the top of the stairs, not the least bit out of breath, Sophia couldn’t help but notice.
“Miss Mancini, for the love of God, what you are doing here?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but brushed past her into Mooch’s apartment. She followed him in. The approaching sound of a wailing siren reached her ears.
“Go downstairs and tell the medics which apartment we’re in,” he instructed her. He was kneeling beside Mooch’s unconscious body, trying to get a response. “Hurry.”
Sophia flew down the stairs, one hand on the wooden railing and the other clutching Mooch’s kitten. The nuns at Saint Catherine’s would have been proud of her, because all the way down the stairs, she frantically prayed the medics had arrived in time to save Mooch’s life.
***
The coffee at St. Joseph’s Hospital was the worst Sophia had ever tasted. Bitter and cold, it was downright disgusting.
She handed a cup to Captain McIntyre. “Drink at your own risk.”
“Thank you for the warning, Miss Mancini, but I feel quite confident I can handle the coffee.” He took the offered cup and lifted it to his lips. After one sip, his lips contorted into a grimace. He handed the cup back to her. “Vile.”
She tossed both cups into the nearest rubbish bin and sank down on an aged vinyl bench to await word from the doctor.
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” she said hopefully.
“Hmmm,” was his only response.
He sat flipping through the same small spiral notebook that he had made notes in at the apartment after the medics had taken Mooch away. He’d asked no questions then, but she knew he eventually would. And so she waited. But he stayed silent. Exasperatingly so.
“Thank you allowing me to come with you to the hospital.” She wrung her hands. Why were the doctors taking so long? “And thank you for letting me stop at home to drop the kitten off.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So what do you think happened?” She couldn’t help it. She wanted to know what he was thinking.
“We’ll wait for the doctor to tell us what, if anything, happened to Mr. DiMuccio.”
“If anything?” Sophia cried out. The curious stares of others in the waiting area told her that her voice was too loud. She lowered it. “How can you say that? Obviously someone hurt him.”
He raised his head. “And you know this how?”
“He was laying there on the floor unconscious, wasn’t he?”
“It’s entirely possible that Mr. DiMuccio became ill from a natural cause.”
“Then what are you doing here?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sophia realized she’d overstepped.
Captain McIntyre leaned closer and lowered his voice, his earlier detached, polite tone now strained.
“I might well ask you the same question, Miss Mancini.”
She felt the need to justify her presence. “The door was unlocked when I arrived at the apartment.”
“Was it now?”
She ignored the bait and continued. “I found Mooch on the floor, unresponsive.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I ran to the window and called down to my cousin to phone for help.”
“And, pray tell, why was your cousin waiting downstairs? Serving as a look out perhaps?”
“Nonsense,” she shot back, indignation pushing her to her feet.
He stood to face her. “You’ve admitted to going through his wallet.”
“I didn’t go through his wallet. I peeked inside of it.”
“What else aren’t you te
lling me?”
Sophia hesitated. She was guilty of looking around the apartment.
“What about the book you were looking for?” Captain McIntyre grilled her. “The one your cousin and Tommy Gaglio saw? Did you find something?”
“I don’t appreciate the implication I’ve tampered with evidence.” So he knew. Angelo was right, this man didn’t leave a stone unturned.
“And I don’t appreciate you turning up everywhere there’s trouble.”
Sophia couldn’t help but smile. “Ah-ha, so you admit that there is trouble.”
“I’d say a murder less than twenty-four hours old without the killer in custody can be construed as trouble, yes.”
A discreet cough broke through the tense verbal standoff. Sophia turned to look over her shoulder. Frankie Vidoni, dressed impeccably, right down to the red carnation in his suit lapel button hole, nodded to her.
“Excuse me, Captain.” Sophia followed Frankie out of the waiting room and down the corridor. She stopped a safe enough distance away from the waiting room so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“I’m glad you received my message, Mr. Vidoni.”
“What did you find in the apartment?”
His bluntly self-interested question startled her. She simply stared in response. What was the matter with him?
“What did the doctor say?” he tried again.
That was more like it. “He hasn’t been out to talk to us yet.”
He nodded in the direction of the waiting room. “Why are the police involved?”
Sophia wasn’t sure how to answer. How much information did she owe him? He was her client and he had paid them a sizeable fee. Still, she hesitated.
It suddenly occurred to her that his first question had been about what she’d found. Why did he assume there was anything to find?
“We called them after I found Mooch unconscious.”
Frankie’s intensity was palpable. “And?”
“And here we are.” Let the ball be in his court. If he was burning up with questions he could just ask them already. She waited.
“Miss Mancini, I assume you might imagine that by working for me Mooch is privy to, shall we say, certain sensitive information. You take my meaning?”
She nodded. If not the details, she certainly got the drift.
“And as such, I make it my business to protect my interests,” he continued, his eyes not leaving hers. “So I ask you again, what did you find in the apartment?”
“Precious little.” The tiny, black kitten popped into her mind’s eye. “If you’re asking me if I found a certain book, no I did not.”
“What?” Frankie looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard from a reliable source that Mooch was seen near Vincenzo’s restaurant last night with a book. I wanted to ask him about it, and that was the reason I went to see him. I don’t know anything more, so I can’t give you any other details than that.”
“Was Mooch seen going into the restaurant with the book, or leaving with it?”
“Leaving.”
Frankie’s face returned to a more normal color. He obviously didn’t appear to mind if Mooch left Vincenzo’s with something, but he’d panicked at the idea of something being taken into the restaurant. Interesting.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sophia saw a doctor head into the waiting area. “Here’s the doctor with news about Mr. DiMuccio.” She fully expected Frankie to follow her into the waiting room, but he didn’t.
Dr. Casterinni recognized her immediately. “Why, hello Sophia.” He smiled. “How’s your family? I hear Angelo is home. And, tell me how is little Luciano?”
Sophia returned his smile. “We’re very blessed Angelo came home in as good a shape as he did. Luciano is wonderful, but you knew I’d say that.”
They chatted about the doctor’s family for a few moments before he turned to the subject of Mooch. “I understand you’re waiting here for news about Mr. DiMuccio?”
“I am.” She glanced over her shoulder at the police captain who stood only a few feet away. “We are.” She introduced Captain McIntyre to the doctor. “Is Mr. DiMuccio going to be okay?”
The smile faded from Dr. Casterinni’s face. “That I can’t say for certain. He’s regained consciousness, but he’s uncomfortable.” He frowned. “I can’t say exactly what might have been used until the lab results come back, but I have little doubt that your friend ingested a poisonous substance.”
Poison?
She looked at Captain McIntyre to gauge his reaction. His lips were drawn thin and his eyes narrowed, his expression grave.
So someone had tried to hurt Mooch. More than hurt. Someone had tried to silence him. Permanently.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re calling from where?”
“The hospital. We’re waiting for word on Mooch.” Sophia shifted the telephone to her other ear, turned sideways and craned her neck so she could keep an eye on the police captain and Frankie. “How is everything at home?”
“Luciano is having a ball playing with the kitten,” Angelo replied, “and Grandpa is fit to be tied that it’s in the house. He’s not very happy you weren’t home for dinner either, And what do you mean ‘we’re waiting?’. Who is with you?”
“Captain McIntyre. Two other officers just arrived and they’re talking, what about, I’d love to know. Frankie Vidoni is here too.”
“How is Mooch?”
“Dr. Casterinni could only say that he’s been poisoned.” She lifted her free hand to her throat. Poor Mooch.
“Is he expected to make it?”
“Uh, I think so.” Distracted, she watched as Captain McIntyre nodded to the officers with him. One reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like...no it couldn’t be.
She could hear Angelo’s voice faintly in the background.
“Listen, it’s late and you should be home. There’s nothing you can do there tonight, so I’m coming to pick you up. Meet me downstairs in front of the hospital in ten minutes.”
Sophia didn’t answer. Her eyes were riveted on the scene unfolding at the other end of the hallway. Handcuffs. At least that’s what it appeared as if the young police officer was handing to Captain McIntyre.
“Soph? Hey, are you still there?”
She struggled to focus on what her brother was saying. “What? Oh, yes. I’m here.”
“Ten minutes, and I’ll be out front, okay?”
“Oh my God, Angelo, you’re not going to believe this.” She hardly could believe it herself. “They’ve just arrested Frankie Vidoni.”
***
Sophia spent a restless night tossing and turning, unable to sleep for thinking about the attack on Mooch and Frankie’s subsequent arrest.
The worst part, she decided the next morning while dressing, was not knowing any of the details. Her grandfather had refused to drive her to the police station last night, and to her extreme annoyance, Angelo hadn’t gone to bat for her.
“You’re not Frankie’s lawyer, sis,” he’d argued with her on the drive home from St. Joseph’s. “You’d be in the way.”
True, but she’d also have been in the know.
On her way downstairs she gave Angelo’s door a thump, hoping it was loud enough to wake him. Immature? Possibly. Satisfying? Absolutely.
“He’s not in there,” Grandpa called from the bottom of the stairs. “He’s gone out.”
“Out where?” He wouldn’t have dared go to the police station without her. No, of course he wouldn’t. She reached the bottom of the stairs. “Did he tell you where he was going?”
Her grandfather glanced into the mirror over the hall table. “No.” He straightened his bow tie and turned side to side to examine his reflection. “How do I look, picolina?”
“Dashing. Which lucky woman are you off to impress so early in the day?”
“That would be the Widow Gambetti.” His smile was charming, his manner debonair.
; Sophia shook her head. “What are you going to do when one of them catches you someday, Grandpa?”
“Worry not, cara. I may be an old man but I can out-run them all.” He took his hat off the hook and settled it on his head. “Luciano is upstairs getting dressed. Mrs. Andretti and her sons will be here soon to walk him to school. I don’t know where your brother is, but never you mind.” He shook his finger at her. “I don’t want to hear tell of you running wild around the police station.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “I won’t be running wild anywhere, for heaven sakes, Grandpa. But I’ve got a job to do.”
“You have a job to do here.” He reached over and pinched her cheek. “You belong at home. Let Angelo take care of business, and you take care of the family.”
“I’d rather work than be stuck here at home.”
He frowned. “The war confused you girls, but that’s over now. It’s time to stop talk of working. This is all Mussolini’s fault, you know.”
When Grandpa started in on the many sins of Il Duce it was time to either move him along, or get moving herself.
“Give my best to Signora Gambetti,” she said as she held the door open for him.
“I will. In fact, I’ll make you a deal. You get rid of that cat today, and I’ll ask her if she knows of any nice Italian boys you might like to meet.” He grinned and lifted his hat. “I’ll find you a nice young man, fear not.”
The word fear didn’t even begin to describe the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of an arranged marriage.
***
“I don’t feel good, Zia.” Luciano sat at the kitchen table, an uncharacteristic frown marring his usual sweet face. “My tummy hurts.”
Sophia blew a wisp of hair off of her face. Her hands were covered in borax and could do nothing to help tame the escaped curl. She furiously scrubbed the kitchen tile in front of the oven. Just what had happened in the kitchen last night while she’d been at the hospital?
“Was your father trying to cook again, Luciano?”
The boy nodded. “It didn’t work out.”
“It never does.” And that was putting it mildly.
“Why were you in the hospital last night, Zia? Are you sick too?”
From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) Page 9
