Film Strip
Page 23
“I’ll bet,” I said, and turned to watch a familiar car nose its way slowly down the street, a light blue Lincoln Town Car.
“Francis,” I yelled back over my shoulder, “tell me you didn’t!”
He walked up, looking all innocent, a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. “What can I say?” he said. “I messed up the cannoli. You can’t have a party without cannoli.”
Pa and Ma rushed out of the car, the trunk sprang open, and I just knew what was inside. Ma had brought cannoli all right, and every other commodity not found south of the Mason-Dixon line.
“Sierra!” she screamed, making a beeline straight for me. “You look hungry! My poor baby!”
Francis smirked and danced around her, heading down the driveway, prepared to tote groceries for hours until the bottomless pit of a trunk was finally emptied.
What none of us counted on, and certainly no one expected, was the reaction Packy Cozzone had to meeting Pa.
He and his men raced down the driveway, terrified looks on their faces. They stopped by the trunk of Pa’s car and stared. When Pa turned around and smiled, Packy dropped to his knees, seized Pa’s hand, and kissed his wedding ring. Guido and Hamm followed suit before Pa could react.
“What the hell kind of—” Pa started to ask, but Francis cut in.
“Pa, these are friends of the family, Packy Cozzone out of New York, and his colleagues Hamm and Guido.”
Pa stared hard at them for a moment and then said, “Pleased to meet youse guys, but no more kissing, all right? We’re not in the old country.”
Packy backed away, his arms now loaded with brown paper sacks. “Gesture of respect, Mr. Lavotini, that’s all.”
“Oh, Pa,” Ma shrieked, “they was raised right. That is so beautiful.”
The music got louder, flooding the street and capturing the attention of my parents, who stopped under the streetlight, frozen with memories and smiling.
“Come here, you,” Pa said, grinning at Ma. “When’s the last time you heard this one, eh?”
Ma smiled, like the whole world had suddenly shifted, dumping her back into another time and place. “Oh, Pa,” she cried. “Remember? It was the night before Sierra was born and I couldn’t sleep. You took me out into the kitchen and…”
Ma stopped talking and began to cry. Pa pulled her to him and slowly they began to dance. Pa was humming to her and smiling as they whirled around the empty street.
Nailor picked this moment to arrive, cutting the lights on his brand-new black Crown Victoria, and coasting to a stop behind Ma and Pa’s car. He sat there for a second, watching my parents dance, and then quietly slipped from his car without them even noticing his arrival. He walked up and stood behind me, his arm resting across my shoulders, a smile on his face, watching. Then slowly he pulled me around to face him, moving me gently into his arms as we began to sway with the music. I closed my eyes and listened very carefully as Nailor started to hum. In the distance Packy said something and Raydean cackled. Fluffy yipped and Francis spoke to her. I settled in and nestled my head against Nailor’s shoulder.
“You know,” he said softly, “this could be going somewhere.”
“You think so, do you?” I murmured.
“Yeah,” he answered, whirling me around in an imitation of Pa’s fancy turns.
I pushed back and looked him straight in the eye. “Well, then, you’d better hang on tight, ’cause it’s going to be a wild ride.”
Nailor’s laugh echoed down the length of the street as his arms tightened around me.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said.
We stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but must have only been minutes. He smelled so good and I felt so safe in his arms. When Francis touched my shoulder, his face tight with some unnamed tension, I jumped, startled and reluctant to leave Nailor’s arms.
“Francis, can’t you see I’m busy here?”
Francis was holding the cordless phone and he wasn’t smiling.
“Call for you,” he said, his eyebrows going up like I should catch on to something.
“So tell ’em I’m busy,” I said, and turned back to nestle my head on John’s chest.
“Sierra! No can do. Take the call.” He spoke slowly, each word a bullet. What was with him?
“All right, all right! Damn, Francis, lighten up! You’re on freakin’ vacation.”
I snatched the phone from his hand. “Hello?”
“Miss Lavotini,” a deep rasping voice said. “This here is your uncle Moose.”
If it were possible to be temporarily dead, I was. My heart stopped, my blood ceased to flow, and I was frozen.
“Hey,” I said weakly, “how you doin’?”
Big Moose chuckled softly. “We should talk,” he whispered.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you say. When?”
Nailor and Francis were watching me. Francis looked like a 911 call, sheer emergency, total concern.
“Soon,” he murmured. “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
The line went dead and I looked up at Francis.
“Who was that, babe?” Nailor was smelling trouble.
I smiled up at him just like I used to smile at Sister Mary Ignatious right before I told her a big, fat lie.
“Oh, nothing. Just my uncle wishing me well. You know how family is.”
Nailor smiled, but it was a cop smile, a look-out-’cause-I’m-getting-to-the-bottom-of-this-one smile.
“No, babe,” he said, pulling me back into his arms and starting to dance. “I don’t know how families are. Why don’t you tell me? I figure I’ve got all night to hear more about your family. Why don’t we start with that famous uncle of yours?”
The music switched to Dean Martin crooning some old tune about love. Nailor’s grip on me tightened as I sighed and settled into his arms. It was going to be a very long night.
Also by Nancy Bartholomew
Sierra Lavotini Mystery Series
Drag Strip
The Miracle Strip
Maggie Reid Mystery Series
Your Cheatin’ Heart
FILM STRIP. Copyright © 2000 by Nancy Bartholomew. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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First Edition: October 2000
eISBN 9781466883642
First eBook edition: September 2014