by K. J. Larsen
Doug’s eyes popped. “Joey said it was all sewn up. Provenza’s the guy.”
I shrugged. “Rocco will figure it out. You can take that to the bank.”
Doug switched to a whine. “It had to be Provenza. He blew up Joey’s Ferrari. You and Tommy cudda been cooked. Roasted. Black as pigs on a spit.”
I put my fork down. “You’re ruining my appetite.”
“I can finish that for you.” He took my plate. “Hey, that reminds me. Where’d you guys go in Booker’s car last night after the big bang?”
“Bernie’s. His house was a mess. Provenza’s guys tore the place apart looking for something. Joey emptied out the contents of Bernie’s safe and we took it all with us.”
Doug chewed my succulent shrimp and thought about that. “But what if Provenza hits Joey’s house next. That would be the next logical place to look for—whatever.”
I smiled. “You’d make a good PI.”
“I’m an ex-cop. Still sneaky as hell.”
He roared as if he’d said something hilarious. I hoped he wouldn’t start bawling again.
“Joey thought of that. Junior’s at college. Linda’s in Vegas with her sister.”
“And the box?”
“It’s at my house.”
“That’s cool.” He stabbed another prawn.
“Doug, I wanted to ask you about something. I saw a note on Corey’s fridge—”
“Whoa. Back up, baby cakes. How did you get into Corey’s apartment?”
“I’m a private jane. I’m licensed to pick locks.”
He laughed. “Could you teach me?”
“Spend an hour on the Internet. YouTube is your friend.”
I finished my Mac & Jack’s and instantly, the server swept up the glass and offered another. I shook my head and she trotted away.
“Anyway,” I continued, “Corey had Bernie’s name and number on his fridge. Joey said he gave him Bernie’s number because there was a question with the pension accounts.”
“Keep your voice down,” Doug whispered with a roar. “There would be a huge backlash if a rumor got out and cops started worrying about their pensions.” He took a long pull of Corona. “Trust me. I’m the treasurer and the problem is fixed.”
“So you knew about the problem.”
“Of course I knew about it. I was the one who found the discrepancies. To be honest, I suspected a woman who retired early last year. She moved to Hawaii to be with her daughter. I was ready to go postal on her. But it was Corey’s idea to get a discreet, independent audit by an outside party. It was a good call. I knew he got somebody. I didn’t know who it was. I never met Barney.”
“Bernie. So if he did check the books, you don’t know what he learned.”
Doug popped a prawn in his mouth. “I know somebody figured it out. Corey said the mystery was solved. The missing two hundred twenty-two thousand dollars was—”
I choked. “Two hundred thousand dollars?”
He laughed. “Plus twenty-two more. Corey said the auditor found the missing money in less than fifteen minutes and he was able to resolve the issue.”
“Sounds like Bernie. Where was it?”
“In another special account set up for the education of children of fallen officers. The account was created in the sixties. There are a few fundraisers each year for those kids.”
“So it was a bookkeeping buffaw.”
“It makes sense how it happened. You remember those four cops who were gunned down in a coffee shop last year?”
“Of course. There was a huge public outcry. An astonishing amount of money came in for the families.”
He nodded somberly. For a minute he was uncharacteristically serious. You would’ve thought he was all grown up.
“Those four officers had five underage children between them,” he said. “Two hundred twenty-two thousand dollars was set aside to be deposited in an existing account exclusively for the education of those five kids. The auditor found the money in a general education fund that is shared by all children of fallen officers.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Not if one of the five wants to be a doctor.”
“Booker’s kids have big dreams. He needs a pension like that to cover their education.”
“Of course the downside is, you’d have to get shot.” Doug gave a quirky smile. “College tuition. That’s the second reason I don’t have kids.”
“What’s the first?”
“I don’t like them.”
Chapter Twenty-five
I’ve known Doug for years. He’s exhausting. He’s one of those people who will suck the life juices out of you. It’s how he’s wired.
I left the bar feeling as if I’d been hit by a truck. My fuel light flashed on before I rounded the corner. I stopped for gas and a Snickers bar and headed home all pissy.
It was finally here. The Dinner from hell. The time had come when ex-hippie, anti-gun vegans would meet the gun-toting, bone-sucking carnivores. Papa would blab about slapping big juicy ribs on his monstrous Viking barbeque, boasting like a man returning from a great hunt. The Savinos, returning from an environmental conference in Norway, would declare that meat contributes to global warming. And pastures that feed cows could grow crops to feed the rest of the world.
At least Father Timothy would be there when the lions sat down with the lambs. I fully expected a bloodbath.
My six-month lucky streak of keeping the parents apart was over. The Mamas had found each other on Facebook. They were Besties.
God help me.
I was throwing out prayers to every Saint I could dredge up. Miracles could happen, right? I was totally planning on patting Mama down so she could not whip out my grandmother’s wedding dress and toast a double wedding. The loaded M word hasn’t come up between Chance and me. I don’t know if it will.
But I do know Nonna DeLuca’s wedding gown wouldn’t hit my knees. And the waist would cut across my boobs. Nonna DeLuca is adorably short. She has a fierce spirit and top-heavy chest that can make her topple like a tree if she stands on her toes. She’s like a busty hobbit.
My plan was to go home, take a soothing bubble bath, drink a bucket of wine, and stick my head in the oven. Then I’d curse myself for not investing in a gas range.
I parked in front of my house and did a double take. Fifteen minutes ago I left Doug at the bar, staring bleakly into his glass. And here he was, hunkered down on my steps.
This day kept getting better and better.
I tromped to the house and Doug spun a pair of sunglasses through his fingers. “Yoo hoo! You forgot something.”
I removed the frames from my eyes. “I’m wearing my shades.”
Doug frowned at the glasses in his hand. “Are you sure?”
“Seriously?”
I unlocked the door and punched the alarm code. Doug followed me inside.
“OK, Doug. Why are you here?”
“The glasses. I thought they were yours.”
“No you didn’t.”
“They look like yours.”
“Not even a little bit. Mine are Prada. Yours are Ray-Bans. You had them with you last night at Mickey’s.”
He gave a goofy grin. “You’re a quick one, you are.”
“What are you doing here, Doug?”
I glanced at my watch. I had a few hours before the dreaded dinner with the parents and Doug was cutting into my bubble bath time. His faced scrunched and his eyes darted back and forth as if conjuring up something convincing. The truth takes less effort.
“Uhhm…”
I checked my watch. “Doug, I don’t have much time. I’m supposed to meet Chance’s parents at seven. I’m hoping to drown in the tub first.”
“Bwahahaha.” He thought I was kidding. “Where are you going for dinner?
”
“Mercaldo’s Steak House.”
He made yummy noises. “They got a juicy prime rib.”
I made a face. “Savino’s parents are vegetarians.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ask. Was there something else?”
He blinked hard and his eyes got wet. “I guess I didn’t want to be alone,” he said awkwardly . “With Corey gone…”
“It might help to talk to someone. The union has grief counselors. There are small support groups.”
He kicked a foot. “Strangers don’t like me much. Not like you and Joey. You’re my friends.”
I felt a stab of guilt.
“And the Sunday night poker guys. They like me.” He thought a moment and frowned. “Maybe not Max.”
My head hurt. This was like having a conversation in a middle school lunchroom.
“Talk to Uncle Joey,” I said. “He just lost a good friend too.”
He belted a laugh and the happy Doug was back. The guy was an emotional rollercoaster. I wondered if he was having a breakdown.
“Hey, thanks a million, Cat. I feel much better.”
“Uh, maybe you should see a doctor, Doug.”
“Why?” he said defensively.
I shrugged. “I dunno. They’ve got good drugs. Counseling. A lobotomy?”
“I’m not loony tunes or nothin’. I’m just freaking out. It’s totally understandable. Right?”
I rested a hand on his arm. “I’m only saying this because I care.”
“Ahh. I’m totally getting it now.” A lazy grin spread across Doug’s face. “You want me.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry babe. You’re not repulsive or anything. I am pretty sure if we got caught, your old man would kill me. Him being FBI and all. Or Max would. And they’d never find my body. No piece of ass is worth that.”
I ripped my hand off his arm like I had been burned, and gaped like a goldfish.
He winked. “Gotta jam.”
And he was gone.
***
I took a long, hot soak in the tub with lavender oil to calm my nerves, and put on a sea mud mask to “plump” my face.
Dinner with four parents and a priest was such a bad idea. Frankly, I blamed Savino. I told him I was dead and couldn’t possibly make it. What was it in the word no that was so hard to understand? The man was heartless, ruthless. I could see it all so clearly now.
I slid deeper into the steaming, fragrant water and fantasized about Puerto Rico with its pristine beaches and lushly forested mountains. There were dolphins there. And sloths! I’d always wanted to see a sloth. Cute little devils. Now that Bernie had missed his flight, well, maybe there a beach-side casa complete with a scantily clad cabana boy just waiting for me....
Get a grip, DeLucky.
Damn that man’s cobalt eyes. What was he doing in my fantasy?
I got out of the tub grumbling, towel dried my hair and started throwing every garment I owned onto the bed. What does one wear to a catastrophe? Silk or denim? Heels or flats? Sneakers? God knows I might need to make a run for it.
I heard a key working the front door and Chance let himself in. “Hey, Baby, I’m here.”
I looked at the clock. The dreaded hour was forty-five minutes away.
Chance walked down the hall and rounded the corner to my bedroom. I stood there in Marie Jo white lace panties and bra, eyes wide in panic. His eyes traveled from my face down my body. He covered the space between us in two swift strides, lifting me up to twirl me around with a lingering kiss.
He pressed his forehead to mine. “You have no idea what you’re wearing, do you?”
I stared miserably at the pile of clothes on the bed. “I’ve got nothing.”
He laughed.
I feigned disappointment but it was a hard sell. “I guess you’ll have to go to dinner without me.”
“I suppose you’re dead again?”
“Definitely.”
He smiled. “My mother will hunt you down.” He pressed a finger to my lips. “Stay.”
He walked over to my lingerie drawer and pulled out a garter belt along with a pair of nude stockings with lace top. Shoving the clothes-mountain far enough to make room, he gently sat me down and began dressing me, his eyes and hands exploring every curve.
He knelt in front of me and expertly rolled each stocking in his hands to slide them up my legs and attach them to the garters, kissing the bare skin that peeked between panty and stocking. Then he went to the closet and returned with my J. Renee peep-toe pumps and slipped them onto each foot. Reaching behind me, he took up the Phillip Lim silk dress in emerald green.
“I love this color on you,” he said, sliding it down carefully over my body and smoothing it to my curves with his strong hands, his eyes locked onto mine.
“Mmhmm.”
The cobalt blues crinkled into a smile. “Why don’t you brush your hair and we’ll go. We can pick this back up later.”
I wobbled to the bathroom and brushed my hair into a sleek curtain, hooking one side behind my ear. I added a quick sweep of mascara, blush, and lip smacker. For the finishing touch, I slipped on my diamond earrings. They were a gift from Uncle Joey last spring for my thirtieth birthday.
I walked back into the room on steadier legs. Chance hugged my wrap around me and held me a moment. His fingertips traveled lightly down the small of my back and he hummed softly in my ear. “My darling, you look wonderful tonight...”
Chapter Twenty-six
Chance parked down the street from Mercaldo’s Steak House. I stepped outside and the aroma of grilled cow hit my nostrils. Crap. I’d begged Mama to choose a restaurant with more vegetarian options than a baked potato and side salad.
Chance dragged out his cell and answered a text. When he pocketed his phone again, he was smiling.
“Message from the ‘rents, babe. We’re doing Ethiopian instead.”
“Yes!”
“My parents didn’t know Mercaldo’s was a steak restaurant until they got here. Dad suggested the Jebena Cafe across the street.”
I flashed a smug smile. “Well, isn’t Mama feeling foolish now.”
“Maybe not. My mother blames you for not suggesting a vegetarian alternative.”
My mouth opened and nothing came out.
He laughed. “I told her you had several ideas but Mama was stuck on Mercaldo’s.”
“What did she say?”
“She said I should quit picking on ‘that sweet Italian woman’.”
We cracked up.
Savino touched my cheek. “You and I, we’re good. Right?”
“We’re good.”
“So if my parents say more stupid stuff, ignore them.”
“Deal. And if Mama throws a hobbit-sized wedding dress on the table with the dessert course, ignore it.”
His brow shot up. “You’ll explain later?”
“Not happenin’.”
He hung an arm around my shoulder and we made our way toward the Ethiopian restaurant.
The light at the corner turned green and a big purple semi edged toward us. The lower gears were agonizingly slow and someone sat on a horn. A biker cut out of line. He hammered down, skirting the truck. His hand reached inside his leather jacket and a gold band shimmered beneath the city lights.
Time slowed to a crawl. The fine hairs on the back of my neck bristled. My heart beat wildly in my chest and I seemed to have swallowed my voice.
I reached for Chance and my heel caught a snag in the sidewalk. My knees crumpled under me. I plunged forward. A rain of bullets sprayed over my plummeting head, fanning my hair.
Someone screamed. It might have been me.
Chance hurled his body over mine and we crashed to the ground.
His voice broke. “DeLucky, are you hi
t?”
I shook my head and he tumbled off me. When I loosened my lips from the sidewalk and lifted my head, all that was left of the bike was a white ribbon of smoke.
I was mad. I wanted to kick some serious ass but I was shaking and my legs were jelly. It was the dreaded adrenaline crash.
Savino pulled me up and held me tight against him. I leaned into him a moment, my hand in his thick hair, feeling his strong arms around me.
Chance spoke in my ear. “Smoak?”
I nodded.
It was Smoak, all right. I smelled Alpo.
Down the block a door flung open and a wild man burst from Jebena’s, wielding a pistol.
“Police!” Papa shouted.
Father Timothy was hot on his heels; the Last Rites ready to spill off his tongue.
Mama scuttled through the door next, a fist gripping her chest.
Mr. and Mrs. Savino brought up the rear. They looked a little shell-shocked in beads and Birkenstocks.
They weren’t in Woodstock anymore.
Chance waved a reassuring hand. “Cat’s OK. She wasn’t hit.”
They pushed through the crowd and Mrs. Savino’s hand flew to her throat. “My god, Chancie! They were shooting at Cat?”
“It’s true,” Mama groaned. “My daughter’s a snoop.”
“Chancie?” I said.
Mrs. Savino threw an arm around Mama. “Poor dear,” she cooed and glared at me.
I was a mess. My knees were scraped and bleeding. My stockings shredded. And my favorite dress ruined. The shoe that flew off my foot was missing a heel.
Father Timothy edged closer, smelling the grim reaper over my shoulder.
“Cat is consulting with the FBI on a case involving a homicide. It’s classified.” Chance spoke directly to his Mom.
“Bridgeport may have a serial killer,” I blurted.
Savino’s brow shot up.
“Too much?” I said.
“People shoot at Cat because she’s a hero,” Papa said rubbing his scarred bum.
Mrs. Savino chewed her lip worriedly. “They won’t shoot when we have grandchildren, will they?”
I felt a headache coming on. Chance looked amused.
Mama giggled. “Wait until you see what I brought in my bag!”
