An hour later, I heard the knock on the door before Aaron strode through. Dressed in corduroy slacks, loafers, and a soft knit V-neck sweater, he looked too much like an L.L.Bean commercial for me not to chuckle.
“What?” he asked.
“You look like you stepped from the L.L.Bean catalog.”
“Do I? Is that bad?”
“Not at all. It’s just a far cry from the day I met you. The slacks you had on would have sliced cake and the shoes had to be handmade Italian leather. Am I right?”
“Yeah, the attire was a gift from my mother. I do like nice clothes though and shop at Joseph A. Banks quite often.”
A clothes horse, that’s what he was. A WWF body wrapped in Joseph A. Banks clothing. Who could ask for more? Even in casual attire, Aaron looked hot and more handsome than ever. I chuckled, slipped my jacket on, and we left for the Mall.
As with most light snowfall in Rhode Island, only the northwestern section of the state had any of the white stuff. Once we’d reached the next town, there was no snow to be seen, just cold temperatures instead. We drove to Warwick and headed into the Mall.
Elaborate decorations adorned every window of the stores that lined both sides of the building. Grand trees, laden with ornaments and garlands centered the aisle of the huge shopping center. Christmas music combined with muted sounds of people shopping and talking filled the air. The sight and sounds alone brought on the holiday spirit, which I always had in abundance at this time of year. It simply slid over me like a mantle right around Thanksgiving and I enjoyed nothing more than shopping for presents. The Christmas tree was another matter.
“If your knee starts to give you problems, just tell me and we’ll call it a day, Vinnie,” Aaron murmured as we rambled along, gaping at the store windows and pointing out the decorations that appealed to each of us.
In Macy’s, we headed toward the women’s section. I glanced around at the clothing, handbags, and shoes. A Ferragamo bag caught my eye and I lifted it from the display. Soft leather filled my hands and the fresh smell of the material floated up my nostrils. Some poor animal had given his life so a woman could carry everything but the kitchen sink inside this bag. Well, someone had to carry it, so why not me? Wait, I wasn’t here to shop for myself, so I put the bag back in place.
Aaron held up two cashmere scarves for inspection. I stared at the material. Smoothing it with my fingers. Lovely, I thought. The feel of cashmere against skin is soothing and the colors of all the other scarves on display were as rich as the ones Aaron held in his hands.
“Who are these for?” I asked.
“My sisters-in-law, what do you think of them?”
Buttery material, glorious colors of deep burgundy and ultramarine blue – nothing wrong with those. I wondered if these women appreciated the effort Aaron put into their gifts.
“They are wonderful. Do the women wear these colors?”
“Yeah, they are prone to business attire. I think these will do just fine.”
I smiled and nodded. He turned to pay for the scarves while I meandered away from the counter toward the Coach handbags, further away. Bags and belts nestled in with festive looking shoes. I picked them up and looked them over. As I set them back on the display, I glanced around.
There was something familiar about a woman with dark eyes who stared at me from across the room. She turned away and headed toward the door, but not before she gave me a nasty glare. I stood, uncertain, for a moment, wondering what the look meant. Where had I seen her before? I couldn’t remember and it niggled at me until I heard Aaron’s voice from behind.
“Contemplating some new shoes?”
“Huh?” I glanced at him and then smiled. “No, just looking.”
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Uh, no. I thought I saw someone familiar, but must have been mistaken.”
After a few more stores and several additional purchases, my knee began to throb. We’d been in the mall for a couple of hours and I needed a break.
With bags in hand, we left the building and headed toward Garden City. This section of Cranston held an outdoor mall where stores were entered from the sidewalk. There was a wide parking lot wedged within the center of the shops. Joseph A. Banks stood on one side with the Kids Gap and several other elite stores. On the opposite side of the parking area stood the Yankee Candle shop, a few expensive women’s clothing shops, the Eddie Bauer store, a fine jeweler’s, and a Victoria Secret’s store – among others. Restaurants interspersed the shopping district and we headed into one of them.
The head waiter approached us as we entered. I glanced around, reveling in the delicious scent of scrumptious delights. I smiled as we wound our way toward the table assigned to us. Tall menus were handed out and I ordered a club soda with a twist of lime while Aaron ordered coffee. We sat in companionable silence reading the menu when I glanced up to see Aaron’s gaze.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all,” he said and then cleared his throat. “What will you have for lunch?”
“Uh, the spinach salad will do nicely.”
He signaled the waiter and gave our order. After the waiter left, Aaron reached across the table and took my hand. Panic swelled as I stared at him.
“This has been a great day. We should do this again sometime.”
“Mmm, that’s sounds like a plan. Who else do you need to shop for?” I asked, unable to take my eyes from his.
“Just a few more people, but I think you’ve put enough pressure on that knee for today.”
With a nod, I sensed him having something else to do. Afraid to ask what he was up to, lest it concerned romance or my family, I glanced around the room at the décor. I wondered who the artist was that had painted the mural on the back wall. Before I could voice my question, the food arrived and I was saved the trouble.
Large slices of tomato and fresh mozzarella cheese nestled within tender baby spinach leaves. Fresh, paper-thin slices of Spanish onion colored the cheese and the roasted red pepper strips that lay across the top. A light vinaigrette dressing had been drizzled over the salad, and warm bread sticks lay cloth-wrapped in the nearby basket.
A chuckle from Aaron brought my attention to him and away from the food. I smiled and watched him indulge in the angel hair pasta topped with a savory marinara sauce on his dish. A salad of mixed greens sat to the side of his plate. He unwrapped the bread sticks and offered them to me.
“Go ahead. I know you can hardly wait to dig in,” he said with that gorgeous smile.
We ate in silence for a few moments when he asked the dreaded question I’d hoped to avoid.
“How did the visit go with Lena yesterday? You didn’t mention it last night and I wondered about it.”
“She is lonely without Nate and her children aren’t very supportive at this juncture. They feel she’s headed into senility, or worse, and I couldn’t judge whether they are right or wrong. Lena’s oldest son, Angelo, stopped by while I was there. He filled me in on her memory gaps and said his siblings are concerned.” I somewhat lied by omission … so what? I was on the fast track to hell anyway, so I didn’t have much to lose at this point.
His brown eyes studied me as I spoke. I knew he weighed my words and tried to figure out if I was lying. I had spoken the truth, just not all of it.
“Did Lena say anything about Nate’s business?”
“Just that he was a rascal and a cheap bastard. Her words, not mine.” I smiled.
He chuckled and then said, “She sure put on a show at the funeral home. I was astounded, and in my business I shouldn’t ever be surprised. People do strange things and have unbelievable reasons for doing so.”
On dangerous ground now, I glanced at him.
“You’re right about that.” I then proceeded to share a past experience with him, embellishing it as I went along. Befo
re long, Aaron was laughing and I’d managed to quell my guilt over lying to him.
“What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, but I thought I’d head to the art store in Providence to pick up some supplies later, if my knee feels better. I want to paint a gift for my mother for Christmas.”
“Anything special in mind?”
“Maybe a Leonardo DaVinci or Michael Angelo design with a Vinnie twist to it.” I laughed.
A wide grin met mine. He leaned back in the chair as the waiter removed the dishes. Aaron ordered Cappuccino for us both and asked if I wanted dessert. I nodded a definite no and grinned.
“Tell me, did Lena say what her plans are for the future?”
“She just said that she and Nonni have planned a vacation together. Why?”
“Where? Do you know?”
“She wasn’t certain where they would end up,” I lied, again. “Were the two vans in the street FBI surveillance?”
“One of them was, yeah. They reported what time you arrived and left. They also said Angelo was there.”
“Huh, anything else you can share – or is that it?”
“Like what exactly?”
“I don’t know. What type of surveillance do you have going on?”
“Just the basics. We don’t have probable cause for more than that. We have no evidence that Lena was involved in Nate’s business.”
I nodded and sipped the fragrant brew delivered by the waiter. Mmm, good stuff.
“Has Angelo said what they have planned for Lena?”
“Not exactly, but I think they’d like to stuff her into a seniors’ home of sorts. Maybe an Alzheimer’s ward.” I shook my head in dismay.
“Surely she’s not that bad off?”
“I don’t think so, but who knows what will happen. I think she’s sound enough to consider a vacation with Nonni. If my grandmother thought she was addle-brained, she wouldn’t consider a trip to the market with her. Nonni is far from stupid and knows her limitations.”
“Yes, Nonni is quite astute. I like her – she has a sharp tongue and no fear. Quite a character, too.”
“If you only knew the half of it.” I laughed.
“You’ll have to tell me sometime.” He chuckled and then stared at me again. “You don’t think Lena will see me, then?”
“I asked and she said absolutely not. Lena probably wouldn’t help you anyway, even if she could.”
Aaron nodded, but said nothing.
Chapter 19
As he drove, Aaron entertained me with stories of odd cases he’d been involved in. I soaked up the tales, thankful for not having to lie to him anymore, even if it was by omission.
Once the door to my apartment closed, I shuffled through my art supplies. It was then I realized the need for watercolor and pastel paper, and additional colors in both media. I checked my handbag for checkbook and credit cards, took some pain relievers, and left the house for Providence.
The time of day usually belies the amount of traffic headed in and out of the city. Around two in the afternoon, traffic into Providence starts to grow heavy. After four, the traffic out of the city is bumper to bumper. I finally made it into Providence and drove along Memorial Boulevard, headed to Rhode Island School of Design. The campus borders the Providence River where the canal has a pedestrian walkway on the college side. It’s the historical part of the city with homes and buildings from the early days of a seaport Providence. Tourists, lawyers, and students gather along the canal for lunch, to relax and sketch. The lawyers frequent the Superior Courthouse just down the street from the college. They are a busy group of men and women who flow through traffic on foot from nearby offices.
When one such person stepped into the crosswalk, I slammed on my brakes and motioned to the ‘No Walk’ sign lit above their head. The man gave me a cold glare and scuttled across the street, avoiding oncoming cars in the process.
My heart pounded over the fact that I’d nearly run down a pedestrian. That’s when it hit me. The woman at the mall who had given me such a baleful glare was the same woman who’d caused my bicycle accident. Her face had embedded itself somewhere in my subconscious. It wasn’t until this man had given me the same look that the memory had come to the forefront of my brain.
Cars honked and I stepped on the gas pedal to enter the flow of traffic. Turning onto South Main Street, I found a parking spot near the front of the RISD art supply store. The door lock clicked as I left the vehicle and wandered into the store. My mind in a muddle, I tried to focus on the supplies I needed to purchase.
Aisles of colorful chalks, pencils, tubes of paint, and paper caught my attention. With an effort, I thrust the memory of the woman aside and strolled through the store in search of what I needed. Wants outweighed needs. I ended up with more supplies than I’d anticipated. I smiled as I took stock of the basket of goodies and turned toward the register.
The student behind the counter, dressed in black with orange and purple striped hair, a long cross earring in one ear, and a stud in his lip, rang up my purchases. I stared out the wide windows of the store. The kid told me what I owed, and I handed him my credit card.
Once again I stared toward the glass panes facing South Main Street. A PPD detective car slowed for the red light at the corner. The driver glanced toward the store. I waved when I saw Anderson behind the wheel. He didn’t see me and glanced away. I signed the credit card receipt and left the store, but Detective Anderson had already made the turn onto Waterman Street and was headed up the hill.
The rolled bundle of paper and bag of supplies were clutched tight within my grasp. I strode toward the spot where I’d managed to park while the cold wind buffeted my progress.
An alley laid to my right as I approached the car. I glanced toward the sound of a loud moan emanating from within the confines of the narrow space. Two dumpsters filled the passage, and I couldn’t see who made the noise. Hesitant, I took a tentative step into the narrow space. Call me stupid, but curiosity rules my existence.
Once in the dim passageway, I called out. Another moan answered my words. I stepped further into the dank corridor. Tall buildings hovered over the limited space where dumpsters cut off whatever light there might have been from the street. Even though it was still afternoon, dreary skies had started to take on a dark hue. I walked a few steps further in, noting the worn shoe-covered foot. It extended just past the end of the furthest dumpster. With care I stepped closer.
My phone lay within my jacket pocket. I whipped it out and hit 9-1-1. A cool, calm, collected voice answered the call and asked what my problem was. By this time, I had stepped around the first dumpster and peered toward the leg protruding further out past the second trash container.
I poked my head past the second dumpster, glanced toward the ground at what appeared to be a homeless man covered with filth. A rank odor wafted upward and I choked from the smell. He lay nearly unconscious, blood seeping from his nose and lip.
“I’m at the Rhode Island School of Design campus,” I said and gave the address. “There is an alley near the art supply store and someone has been injured there. Send an ambulance, will you?”
I disconnected the call, aware that the emergency person would only continue to ask ridiculous questions. I set my purchases on the ground and kneeled toward the victim. He appeared to have been assaulted and was surely a homeless person.
A car slowed at the alley entrance. Before I could turn to see if it was the rescue, the man sat bolt upright, grabbed my jacket and puked all over it. Aghast, I stumbled backward, gagging on the sour smell.
The man let go of my coat to stare at me a moment before he fell back on the ground, eyes closed and breathing labored. I choked and gagged over the foul matter covering the front of my jacket. Gasping for fresh air, I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and tossed it asi
de.
“For Chrissake Vinnie, can’t you stay out of trouble for one moment?” I heard a guffaw of laughter as I turned my head toward Officer Francisco DeMagistras. He shook his head at my appearance as he strode forward.
“We got a call about the victim. You failed to identify yourself, Vin. I saw your car and was afraid it was you. God, you stink.” He chuckled and backed up a bit after he inspected the victim on the ground.
Sirens wailed and a rescue vehicle pulled to the alley entrance. I stood up and grabbed the offending jacket, rolling it inward to keep the vomit off my hands and clothes. It was truly foul, wreaked of liquor and a variety of food. I figured I’d never get the smell out.
Frankie D. moved aside as rescue personnel filled the alley. I took a step back and followed him when he went toward the street. A rescuer stopped and asked if I was all right. I nodded and moved on.
We’d reached the sidewalk. Frankie wrote his report in the notebook he lifted from the front seat of his patrol car. A red Taurus pulled up behind him. Detective Anderson slid out of the car. I grinned and waved. He smirked and strode forward.
“I should have known that was you in the store. I couldn’t see through the window very well. What have you done now?” He grinned and glanced at Frankie D. with a nod.
“Vin found an assault victim, a drunk who tossed his cookies on her coat. She stinks to the high heavens. I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.” Frankie laughed. His brilliant smile and sense of humor covered the latte-colored face. He stepped from the vehicle, towering above me by a few inches. He was a big dude, one I’d never consider confronting.
“I heard him moan as I walked to my car. I had to check it out,” I said.
“Yeah right. It could have been an assault set up, did you consider that Miss Nosey Parker?” Anderson asked.
“Speaking of that, I remembered something of significance today. Do you have a minute?”
Dead Wrong Page 14
