“Okay,” I said, turning back to Roz and Bunny. “Here’s the plan. Bunny, you need rest. You come with Roz, okay? We’re going to take you home. Is that okay with you?”
She nodded. It was a slow, sort of half-nod, but I was taking it.
“Roz, stay here with Bunny for just a minute, I’m going to convince Peggy to help us take Bunny back to her house.”
I popped over to Peggy’s van. She had rolled her window down. I didn’t waste any time. “Here’s the scoop: Bunny Bergen ran over a rabbit with her Jag and snapped. Meltdown. She came looking for Howard. I’d kill her, but we don’t have time—I want my pedicure. If we can take her back to her house in your van, we can still make it to La Voila in time—you game?”
Peggy didn’t answer, just stared at Bunny. Admittedly, it was a lot to throw at a person all at once.
“Peggy—they’re Ultra-Ultimate Pedicures. Ultra. Ultra. They’ll soak our feet in that warm wax, then rub them and scrub them until we’re almost asleep in those womb-like chairs. Remember what it was like, before kids? When we had money to throw away on luxuries? We can’t miss this. I’m all for leaving her here, but Roz has this whole Mother Teresa thing going on . . .”
“Yeah, get her in the van. Do you have the gift certificates?”
“I’ll get them. You help Roz.”
Peggy helped Roz guide Bunny into the back seat while I ran into the house and grabbed my purse and the ever precious gift certificates. I locked up the house lickety-split.
By the time I got back Peggy was in the driver’s seat buckling up and Roz and Bunny were seated awkwardly on the middle bench. I hopped into the front passenger seat.
Bunny’s house was less than a minute away. With just some extra gas to the engine, we could be there in no time, then on our way to Heaven.
“Come on Peggy,” I said. “I feel the need! The need for speed!”
Peggy put her gear shift into reverse and we were on our way.
Roz rolled her eyes. “You and your Shot Gun quotes. Do you think we should be leaving her alone?”
“First off, it’s Top Gun,” I corrected her. “Don’t you EVER watch movies?” It was my turn to roll some eyes. “Secondly, she’s looking much better to me. We’ll sit her down with a cup of tea and she’ll be fine.” I looked at Bunny who was rubbing her head. “Bunny, you okay?”
Her response, although slower than I would have liked, was positive.
“Yeah. I’m . . . I’m okay. I’m . . . well . . . I’m, you know . . . embarrassed. I just don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?”
“Why I’m . . . in this van.”
“Do you remember walking through the woods?”
She shook her head.
“Do you remember a rabbit?”
She shook her head again.
“Do you remember asking about Howard?”
Her face went red. She shook her head yet again. “Why would I . . . ask about Howard? He’s your husband.”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” Suppressing an urge to reach back and strangle her skinny little neck, I started to query her further, but was interrupted by Peggy.
“Uh oh,” she said. “This can’t be good.”
Scooting back around, I agreed. Either an accident had occurred or else someone’s house was on fire. Red lights flashed on fire trucks—I counted two of them. There was also a fire rescue vehicle and an ambulance. As we got closer, I realized they were parked right in front of Bunny’s house. Two black sedans with more antennae than a radio station and a Fairfax County police car topped off the circus.
All of this for a dead rabbit?
I put the gift certificates to my mouth and kissed those Sweet Tangerine Spice Pedicures goodbye.
Chapter Two
“I THOUGHT I HEARD SIRENS a few minutes ago,” Roz said.
“Who could hear anything with Bunny wailing like a cat in heat?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. The comment was unkind. Roz shot me a look to shame, and rightly so. I whispered under my breath. “Sorry.”
Peggy slowed to a near crawl and whistled. “Hey girls, look at the sexy cop in the sunglasses. If I weren’t married . . .”
Dressed in a black suit, hands in his pockets, revealing a gun in a chest holster, and moving toward an unmarked car, was a man I had known for over twenty years. I slapped Peggy hard.
“That’s not a sexy cop. That’s my husband.”
“That’s Howard?” She squinted for a better look. “He cleans up nice. You know, it’s really true—he does look like George Clooney.”
Roz piped up from the back. “Why is Howard here?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Full of fury, I bounded out of the van and slammed the passenger-side door a little too hard behind me. “Sorry, Peggy!” I yelled as I stomped forward, eyes focused on Howard. He stood at one of the two unmarked cars, talking to a uniformed policeman.
Green Ashe Place was a much longer street than my own White Willow Circle. Bunny’s monstrosity of a house was third from the left. She had one of the largest properties in the neighborhood: over an acre of land graced by an enormous brick front colonial house. Two tall white pillars added a hint of dignified Southern charm to the enviable homestead that sat back nearly two hundred feet from the street. A long macadam driveway made a bee-line to her three-car garage.
The flashing, rumbling emergency vehicles lined both sides of the street, while the police cruiser blocked access to Bunny’s house. Howard’s car was parked behind a fire engine on the right hand side of the road, not far from where we had stopped.
The problem was, Peggy was right. Howard always looked incredibly sexy when he wore a suit, sunglasses and a gun. And the FBI badge on his hip really got my juices flowing. The whole hot-guy crime fighter look was new and always robbed me of a breath or two. By the time I reached his side, the wind had practically gone out of my angry sails.
“Barb! What are you doing here?”
“I live in this neighborhood remember? What are YOU doing here?”
“Official business.” He looked at the van. “Is that Peggy?”
“Yeah. And Roz. And . . . a friend.” I coughed. “Of sorts.”
“Get back in the van and have Peggy take you home. I’ll come over and see you when I’m done here.”
He went in for a kiss. I stopped him at the pass.
“Uh, we can’t go. We have a crazy lady in the car. She showed up on my doorstep all loopy and asking for . . . who was she asking for again?” I tapped my forehead in mock forgetfulness. “Think, think, who was she asking for?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh! That’s right. She was looking for YOU! Why would she be looking for you, Howard?”
“Bunny Bergen? Is Bunny Bergen in that van?” At the mention of Bunny’s name, every suited and uniformed man within hearing distance looked in our direction.
I squinted suspiciously. “What’s going on here?”
Howard grabbed my elbow and moved back while motioning to a blue-jacketed EMT standing beside the ambulance. “Can I get your help over here? Bring a blanket.” He turned to face me. “Barb, tell me what happened.”
“How’s the fettucini at Fiorenza’s?”
His body stiffened. He blinked three times then looked away.
“I went out for dessert with Roz and Peggy last night,” I continued. “You know that yummy lava cake at Scottie’s Pub?”
He turned back to me, his jaw set hard, but his dark eyes soft, revealing a whisper of emotion. Was it guilt? “Barb, let me—”
“Parking was hard to find though, so we left the car over by Fiorenza’s.”
“I can explain.”
“Which of course, meant we had to walk past Fiorenza’s to get to Scottie’s.”
“Listen to me—”
“I always look into Fiorenza’s when I walk by, because, as you know, a person is likely to see a familiar face in there. It’s such a popular restaurant and all.”
“Do you want to hear what I have to say?”
“No, Romeo, I don’t. Keep your dalliances to yourself, just don’t go on pretending that this marriage means anything to you.”
Howard’s face reddened like coals when they’re stoked. His fists tightened. Not that I thought he’d hit me—he wasn’t the wife-hitting sort. But I’d made him mad. Plenty mad. He was silent for a few seconds (it seemed like years) while he stared at me with those intense, deep brown eyes. I stood my ground, though. I was the woman wronged, after all.
Finally, he spoke. Slow and deliberate like Christopher Walken on sedatives. “I’m on duty and have a job to do. We’ll talk about this later. Now what happened with Bunny Bergen?”
“I found her in our front yard mumbling and acting like Rainman when he missed Jeopardy. Said she ran over a rabbit in her driveway, so she came over to our house looking for you. Do I need to ask why she was looking for you? Casanova?”
“Is she in the backseat?”
“Yeah, with Roz.”
“Is she calm?”
“Now she is. I guess. You didn’t answer my question.”
Howard finally gave directions to the EMT who stared awkwardly at the sky during our little lovers spat. “She’s in the backseat. See if she needs care.”
Then he guided me toward the passenger side of the van. He brought his face close to mine and spoke in hushed tones. “Listen to me. Go back to the house and stay there—all three of you. I’ll have to send Agent Bell over to take statements.” He pointed to a tall, suited man who also wore an FBI badge and said with a half-hearted smile, “Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.”
I wasn’t warming to Howard’s stab at humor but his cologne was starting to bake my cookies. Fighting the urge to jump him and give everyone a show, I played coy. “Can’t wait.”
He stopped me as I headed back toward the van. “Barb?”
“What?”
“I’ll come by tonight and explain.”
“Fine. But I promised Roz I’d go to the PTA meeting, so it will have to be after.”
“You hate PTA meetings.”
“I do. She needs me there. Some problem with the yearbook.”
“The yearbook at Tulip Tree Elementary? What’s the problem? You’re not involved are you?” His concern seemed oddly out of place. He was probably trying to feign interest in my life to throw me off the scent of his philandering.
“Slow down law man—I have no idea what the problem is. It’s a grade school yearbook for crying out loud. The company probably made the margins too wide. But I’ll be sure to alert you and your Bureau buddies if it looks like any federal laws were broken.”
He relaxed and came in again for a smooch, but I still wasn’t obliging. I needed to hear his story first.
By the time I had plopped back into Peggy’s van, Bunny was long gone.
Peggy was spewing questions before I had the door closed. “Holy canoli, girl! What’s going on? Why are they here? What did Howard say?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, and nothing. I take that back—he did say that we have to go back to my house until an agent comes and asks us questions.”
Roz put her face between the two front seats. “Questions about what?”
“Bunny, I guess.”
“Did you ask him about last night?”
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Understood,” Peggy said. She backed into a nearby driveway and spun around. “Well, this certainly did turn out to be an exciting day anyway, huh?” Leave it to Peggy to see the bright side of things.
My head throbbed mercilessly. “I need wine. A big, big glass of wine. Forget the glass. I need a vat of wine.”
Roz, always the level-headed one, put her two cents in. “You need to eat something first.”
My eyes were still closed, but I could feel us turning into my driveway.
“What the heck is that?” asked Peggy.
“What?” I opened my eyes.
A yellow, rusting Volkswagen van was parked in front of the garage. I’d never seen it before, but I knew the leather-coated man standing at my front door. Somehow, the man and the vehicle didn’t match, but nothing about this day seemed normal.
“Barb . . .” Fear quivered in Roz’s voice. “Is that who I think it is . . .”
Peggy didn’t hide her panic. She slammed the breaks hard and tightened her grip on the wheel. “Maybe we should go back and get Howard for protection.”
I slapped my forehead and fought the urge to scream to the heavens. First Bunny Bergen showed up in my front yard desperately seeking a sanity transplant, then I missed my Sweet Tangerine Spice Ultra-Ultimate Pedicure, and now a pug-faced Mafia thug had decided to pay me a little visit. Why?
Surely someone up there hated me.
Chapter Three
ROZ HAD EVERY REASON TO be afraid of the man, Frankie Romano. Not too long ago, he had sprained her wrist when he and his sidekick, Elvis Scarletti, kidnapped us by order of lady organized crime boss, Viviana Buttaro. Mafiosi in the suburbs of Virginia. Who knew? Very scary ordeal. I could write a book.
On the other hand, Frankie and Elvis eventually helped me assist the FBI in bringing down the chain-smoking, spikey-heeled Viviana and her cohort group of corrupt pharmaceutical executives, so I knew that Frankie wasn’t really such a bad guy after all. In fact, I learned later that he had a serious aversion to killing, so we were never really in danger of being whacked. Regardless, Roz and Peggy still quaked in their seats.
Unbuckling the seatbelt, I tried to offer some consolation. “It’s okay. He’s harmless—I’ll go talk to him. You stay here.”
Frankie had watched us drive up. He stood, looking uneasy, with a lasagna pan in his hands. He had a face like a pug-dog, but dressed himself smartly in a black leather jacket and shiny shoes that surely boasted designer labels. “Mrs. Marr . . . nice to see you.”
“Don’t call me that, Frankie. We were tied up together, you threw up on my back, and we got shot at with an AK by a guy named No Toes—I think you can call me Barb.”
He smiled. “How you doin’ Barb?”
“I’m . . . good. I guess. Where’s Elvis?”
“Went back to Philly. He never was a fan of dis place you know.”
I nodded as if I really knew the guy well enough to understand that comment. “So, um . . . what brings you by?”
He cleared his throat. “I brought you dis. It’s for you and your friends.” He handed me the warm pan. The aroma of basil and cheese wafted upward and tickled my nosehairs. My stomach roared like a hungry lion.
“Is dat them in dat mini-van there?” He asked.
Looking at Peggy’s van, I laughed. “That’s them. They’re still kind of afraid of you.”
“Dat’s why I’m here,” Frankie said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m turnin’ over a new leaf. Makin’ amends. I got me a list—you know, like dat guy on the the TV show dats talkin’ about karma all the time.”
“So you brought us a lasagna to make amends?”
“No! Dat’s baked ziti. It’s my specialty. I got me a real job—I’m da chef over at dis place you mighta heard of. Fiorenza’s.”
“Really? We eat there all the time.” So does my husband and his bimbo girlfriends, I thought.
“No kiddin’? Well next time you’re there, ask for me—I’ll make you a real special dish.”
I felt a little uncomfortable at the thought of forging a friendship with Frankie the ex-mobster, even if he hadn’t been the murdering kind.
“Oh!” Frankie’s face lit up and he started to pull something out of his pants pocket. “I forgot I wanted to give you something else, here.” The first time I met Frankie, he pulled a gun out of that pocket. Today he produced a chunk of business cards and handed me one. It read simply: Frankie Romano. Below his name was a phone number. “You call me should you have a need—anytime you need anything. Well, nothin’
illegal as I’m turnin’ over the new leaf and all. But, I would like if I could give one of these to each of them ladies there too. Especially the lady whose hand I mangled. I feel awful bad about dat.”
Looking back at Roz and Peggy, I saw the terrified expressions on their faces had not weakened, despite our friendly exchange of food and business cards. “You know, I think it’s best if we build them up to you gradually. Let me give them the cards after you leave, and I’ll tell Roz—that’s the lady whose wrist you sprained—I’ll pass on your apologies to her. Maybe in a couple of weeks we’ll stop by Fiorenza’s and say ‘Hi.’ Or something.”
Frankie’s smile filled his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And you call me anytime, you hear?”
“Absolutely.”
The big lug moved in and hugged me so tight I thought I might drop the baked ziti on his designer shoes.
“Well, I’ll go then. Need to get to work. Get ready for the dinner crowd.”
I patted his back. “You do that.”
Frankie practically skipped to his Volkswagen, grinning and waving at Peggy and Roz as he passed. Each gave a very hesitant and tentative wave back.
After he puttered away in his clunker, they left the safety of Peggy’s van and followed me into my house.
“What was that?” asked Roz.
“Evidently he’s traded in his shiny Lincoln Town Car and life of crime for an old Volkswagen and some good karma. He says he’s sorry about your wrist. Now let’s eat baked ziti! I’m starved.”
We’d polished off the ziti and were sipping on glasses of Pinot Grigio by the time Agent Bell showed up to question us about Bunny Bergen and her apparent mental breakdown. We needled him for information, but he was a stone-faced, pinch-lipped bugger. No fun at all, and definitely not coughing up the goods, so when he thanked us for our time and I closed the door behind him, we were still left wondering “Why had Bunny snapped?”
Back at my kitchen table, Peggy and Roz were scratching at remnants of ziti. I looked at the clock above the sink. “Two-fifty five. Callie’s bus will be here in five minutes.”
Citizen Insane (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #2) Page 2
