by Becky Melby
Stifling a smile the officer yelled, “Shut up, Nicky, and bring us some coffee.” Turning the full force of his smile on Dani, he held up one finger. “Stay right there. This’ll only take a couple of minutes.” He walked back to the squad car.
Dani watched his face in the glow of his computer. He shut off the flashing lights before he got out. “No thefts reported, and your record is clean. Sorry if we scared you.”
Dani’s brain processed slowly. Why wasn’t he questioning her about Miguel? Suddenly, part of the conversation registered. “You know Vito?”
The man laughed. “Everybody knows Vito. Nicky and I went to school with his boys. Every kid in the neighborhood knew if he got kicked out of the house, the Savona’s door was always open—or if it wasn’t, we knew how to pick it with a credit card and a bobby pin. ‘Course we knew we’d get a lecture and a kick in the butt, too.”
He nodded toward the restaurant. “Unfortunately, some of us just remember life’s kicks, not the hospitality.” The look in his eyes typed a mental note. There was a story here.
The man removed his cap, revealing buzz-cut blond hair. “So, prove to me you didn’t steal Vito’s car.”
Dani warmed to his smile. “I think you just did.”
The officer raised his left brow and cocked his head.
“Why would anyone steal from a man who would give you the shirt off his back before you asked for it?”
He laughed again. “You obviously know Vito. I’m convinced.” He extended his hand. “Todd Metzger. The suspicious dude is Dominick Fiorini.”
“Ah.” His royal high-and-mightiness in the flesh?
“So, you homeless or something, Danielle?”
Dani laughed, partially from relief the questions weren’t headed in a different direction. The booming beat of a rap song thundered from a low-slung car approaching the corner. The distraction gave her a chance to formulate an answer. The car rolled to a stop.
“Hey, Sergeant Metzger, whatcha’ think?”
“Sounds great, HoJo, but tamp it down. It’s two a.m.”
The boy’s compliance surprised Dani. In the relative quiet, the sidewalk no longer vibrated. “We keep the peace just for you, okay?” He gave a wicked smile. “Maybe we go wake up the Vamps.”
“Maybe you go home and quit worrying your mama.”
The boy laughed and pulled away, squealing tires as he turned. Todd shook his head. “Now, what were you saying?”
“I was just waiting for a friend to get home, and I fell asleep.”
Nodding in the direction of the disappearing taillights, he said, “Not the best part of town to camp out in.”
She was about to respond with a lame answer when the “suspicious dude” approached with what could only be called a sheepish look on his face. His lack of eye contact with the sergeant was obvious. He looked directly at Dani. “Vito wants to talk to you.”
The officer smiled but didn’t comment as Dominick turned and led the way into the building. He opened a side door and walked in, leaving Todd to catch it before it could hit Dani. Todd shrugged. “Sorry. He flunked Manners 101.”
“Sounds like you’re used to apologizing for him.”
“Always have. In his defense, he’s seen too much in this neighborhood. And Vito’s car was stolen twice last year.”
Dani stood for a minute, adjusting to the fluorescent-lit room. A massive, flour-dusted table took up the center, one half covered with mounds of rising dough, the other crammed with loaves fresh from the oven. She stared at the dark-haired Dominick’s profile as he pummeled a mass of dough.
The pounding stopped, and he began shaping with the hands of an artist, the muscles in his arms flexing. His fingers pulled exactly the right amount of dough to shape and twist breadsticks with the speed and ease of a master.
Footsteps pulled Dani’s attention from the performance in front of her. Dani turned. Renata, in flip-flops and a baggy shirt and shorts she’d probably been sleeping in, held a phone, long curled cord looped over her arm. Surprise registered on the girl’s face. “You?” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know what’s going on, Vito,” she spoke into the phone, “but here’s your car thief.”
As Dani took the phone, she nodded in Dominick’s direction. “His eminence?”
Renata nodded, a smile lighting her dark eyes. “Wanna kiss his ring?”
“Maybe I’ll request an audience when he’s in a better mood.”
“Won’t happen.”
Dani put the phone to her ear. “Hi Vito.” She couldn’t help the apologetic, little-girl voice. “I’m sorry.”
“You okay? Did that piece of junk break down on you?”
“I’m fine. The car’s fine. I was just waiting for a friend to get home, and I fell asleep. I’m sorry they had to wake you up. Tell Lavinia I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. Why didn’t that stupido kid believe you? Always making mountains out of mole hills, that kid. And a worse temper than me. Don’t you let him get to you, you hear? Don’t let him mess with your head. You tell him if he lays a finger on you, I’ll rearrange his face, okay?”
Dani laughed. “I’ll tell him, Vito. Now kiss your wife and go back to sleep.”
“Now that we’re awake maybe I do more than kiss—”
“Hey.” Lavinia’s voice cut over his. “Dream on, old man.”
Dani was laughing as she turned back to face the table where Todd the policeman smothered a piece of fresh bread with butter then sprinkled it with garlic salt. He held it out to her. “So, Vito gonna press charges?”
“Nah, but he did ask for my shoe size.”
Renata laughed, “Cool. Cement shoes—everybody’s wearing ‘em.”
Todd opened his mouth then shut it as the tip of Dominick’s knife slammed into the table. Dark eyes turned on Dani as he pulled it out and pointed the blade at her. “I don’t know who you are or what you were doing out there, but sleeping in a car in this neighborhood is a really stupid, brainless thing to do, and laughing about it is even stupider.”
Renata rolled her eyes. “Lay off, Nicky.”
“No, I won’t lay off. And I won’t lay off you, either. You haven’t got any more sense than she does, hanging around with—”
“Wait a minute.” Dani glared back at him. “Don’t start on her. It’s me you’ve got a problem with, and I think you’ve made your point.”
“I haven’t gotten even remotely close to my point. I should have left you out there and let the Vamps or the Roses make the point.”
Todd put his hand on Nicky’s shoulder. “Cool it, Nick.”
Nicky shrugged the hand off, never taking his eyes off Dani. “You know how happy you’d make some homey, lyin’ there like you’re wearing a sign saying, ‘Here I am, dumb and stupid on a silver platter. Come and get me.’”
Dani slapped the piece of bread on the table. “I accidentally fell asleep in a locked car.”
“You think a locked car with the window open three inches is protection? Tell that to the kid across the street who got shot in his own house this afternoon.”
“He didn’t get shot. He shot himsel—I don’t have to listen to this.”
Bare feet slapped as she ran out the door and onto the sidewalk, “dumb and stupid on a silver platter” echoing in her head.
CHAPTER 4
Dani eyed the clock as she stumbled in the door. “Everyone should have at least one three a.m. friend.”
She’d heard it at a seminar last year and decided the night she’d heard it, to find out if she did. Anna Nelson had answered in a panic on the second ring. Evan had answered on the fourth with a yawn and a “What’s wrong?” Both ended up laughing.
How many people have two three a.m. friends? And was it wrong to wake them both? One to vent about the enraged Italian who’d screamed at her—the other to describe the Roman statue of a man in a white apron who shaped dough with hands that would put Michelangelo’s to shame?
She kicked off her shoes and felt her way to
the bathroom without turning on a light. Anna would make her laugh, make her forget the horrible day at least for a few moments. And then she’d ask questions, and then she’d agree with the silver platter comment.
Evan would make her pray for the cranky Italian who thought he ruled the universe.
She splashed water on her face and went to bed, still dressed, determined not to dream about a stained wall and a shrouded body and flashing lights.
After two hours of pretend sleep, she got up and grabbed her gym bag. An hour of ducks and jabs, strikes and blocks, and she was drenched in sweat and finally spent enough for the sleep she no longer had time for.
Vito met her in the parking lot on Thursday afternoon, Agatha’s keys in hand.
“She’s purring like a spoiled baby.”
Dani gave him his keys. “Thank you, Vito.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re my angel.” She pulled her checkbook out of her purse.
“Angels don’t come in packages like this one. Put that away. You want to pay me, come have supper at my house.”
“How does your wife fixing supper for me make us even?”
“It makes her happy. And when Mama’s happy…” Dark eyes sparkled.
“Everybody’s happy.” She laughed. “Fine. But I’m doing dishes.” “Deal. Monday night, six o’clock. She’s got the menu figured out already.”
Monday? Not Saturday? Or Sunday? She didn’t question, just thanked him and got in her rusty oven of a car. “Glad to have you back, Aggie.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Ignoring the little voice in her head that sounded like Evan, she drove to the neighborhood where seven was not, as described in the Bible, a perfect number.
She parked in the alley several doors down from the apartment where Miguel had put a bullet in his head. The place where her story would begin. She’d follow the ripples, the concentric circles lapping out from the house on the corner.
In a skirt and blouse, with sunglasses on and hair down, no one who’d seen her on Tuesday would recognize her. She stashed her wallet in the glove compartment and locked it. Taking only her phone and keys, she got out and walked past the back of the shabby gray house on the corner.
The mound of trash had doubled in size. Clear garbage bags full of canned and boxed food teetered on boxes of clothes, an old dresser, chair and—her stomach lurched. The stained pillow sat between a smashed television and a stuffed yellow rabbit holding a felt carrot.
Eyes focused on the gravel beneath her feet, she turned right and let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. As she walked toward the corner, pulse tripping, she pulled out her phone and punched a listing she’d called at least a dozen times in forty-eight hours. Answer, China. Answer.
“The number you have dialed is unavailable.”
Suddenly not wanting to feel so alone, she punched Anna’s number.
“Hi! This is Anna’s phone. Leave a message because, whoever you are, if you have this number, you’re im—” Dani pushed the red button. What good was a girlfriend if she spent all her time with her boyfriend?
Three doors down, two long-legged boys of fifteen or so sat on a front porch. Hi guys. Name’s Dani. I work for the Times. Either of you know Miguel Reyes? How has his death affected you? Does it make you appreciate each day? Make you want to change the way your life is going? Does it scare you to think how quickly his life was snuffed—
One of the boys waved. “Nice skirt. Nice…”
She quickened her steps, pretending not to hear his assessment of her body parts. Not the place, nor the outfit, to start interviewing.
A woman on a ladder, paint can in hand, nodded to her.
Dani waved. “Nice color.” Her face pinked. The house trim, not you. Please don’t take that wrong.
“Thanks.” The woman did a double take. Or was it her imagination? Did a pale blond seem as out of place here to anyone but her?
As if in answer, two girls in short shorts giggled past, arms and legs as white as hers. Except for the tattoos.
“Nice shoes,” one whispered. The other giggled.
If she had any hopes of mingling, it wasn’t going to happen in stilettos.
On the opposite side of the street, the Italian restaurant anchored the far corner of the block. Without a single explanation in her head, she crossed the street. She passed three houses in various shades of white and disrepair and then an old two-story building with two wide garage doors. A grassy area, maybe twenty feet wide, stretched between the building and Bracciano. Green space. Did neighborhood kids flock there to play kick ball? Would his highness, King of the Universe, allow it so close to his kingdom?
A bell chimed. She looked up and blinked twice as the king himself stepped onto the sidewalk with a white-haired couple. The couple kept walking. Dominick turned.
Shiny black hair drifted over one eye. He shook it away. One hand landed on narrow hips, displaying tanned muscles under a tight white T-shirt. A white apron, folded in half, wrapped his waist and hung at an angle. Dark eyes squinted. He nodded and held the door open. “Coming in?” His strained tone might almost be called civil.
“No. Just out walking. Thank you.”
Eyebrows rose. His head tilted to one side. “Seriously?” He said it with as much disdain as could be squeezed into four syllables. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
Fingers choking her phone, Dani folded her arms across her blouse. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, and it’s a free country.”
He took a step toward her. “Really?” He swept his arm toward the restaurant. “Notice anything unusual? Do you see bars on the windows at Mangia or Ray Radigan’s? It may be a free country, sister, but there isn’t a lot of freedom in this neighborhood. I can point out two drug houses on this block alone. You think their customers feel free? You think…”
Dani’s temperature rose with each word. Spinning away from him, she marched two yards. And slammed her heel into an iron grate. Swooping forward, nose to outstretched knee, her hands hit the sidewalk, stopping her momentum. Before she could right herself, Dominick Fiorini knelt at her feet.
“Are you all right?” Genuine, or deftly faked, concern drenched his words. Dark chocolate eyes intensified the heat on her face.
He smelled of warm bread and sandalwood.
Broad hands lifted her foot from her shoe and yanked at her stiletto. Freeing it, he slid it onto her foot. “There you go, Cinderella.”
Swallowing wasn’t an option. Her tongue fused to the roof of her mouth.
“Now go home and stay safe.” His soft words slid over her like butter on fresh-baked rolls.
She nodded and turned away. Five steps toward the corner, her tongue loosened enough for a hoarse “Thank you.”
A yellow-tinged newspaper clipping floated out of the diary as Dani set it on her kitchen table.
July 29, 1928
Two ARMED MEN SHOT IN JEWELRY STORE HOLDUP
She picked it up and read the lead.
Jewelers Row saw yet another robbery this week as three gunmen broke into Walbrecht’s Jewelers on Wabash Street and absconded with more than ’10,000 worth of cut diamonds, rings, and necklaces. The take would have been much higher, however, if an anonymous caller had not tipped off the police at the very moment the heist was unfolding.
Now that was good journalism. She’d love to see the look on Mitch’s face if she worked the word absconded into a piece. She set the clipping aside, took a sip of Tazo Calm tea, and reread the inscription inside the cover. On the opposite page, perfect penmanship spelled out Francie Tillman, Osseo, Wisconsin.
She turned to the first entry.
January 1, 1924
A new year and all these pages waiting to be filled with plans for adventure! Nothing exciting ever happens around here, but I won’t be here forever. As soon as I graduate I’m moving to New York City. I’ll get there even if I have to walk. I’ll show my sketches to someone at Harry Angelo if it kills me!
“Who are you, Franc
ie Tillman?” A quick calculation told her there wasn’t a chance she’d still be alive. Turning the book over, she opened it from the back. Just to look at the final date. She didn’t want any more of a spoiler than that. On the inside back cover was a sepia-toned picture of a young woman with a brimless hat pulled low over her forehead. A sash, darker than the hat, was tied on the right with a massive bow.
“Love your style, girl. You were lucky. Fashion got off track in the fifties and never recovered.” Had Francie lived through any of that fashion nightmare era? Dani set the book down and got up to fill the tea kettle. While waiting for it to boil, she remembered a call she’d ignored earlier. She took a deep breath and listened to her voicemail.
“Glad you liked the flowers, honey. Dad and I are so proud of you. Soon you’ll be writing for the Sun Times or the New York Times. This is just the beginning. Love you.”
Rubbing her right temple with one hand, she dialed her best friend with the other.
“Hi! This is Anna’s phone. Leave a message because, whoever you are, if you have this number, you’re important to me.” Beeep.
The second number got her a real human. “Hey, you okay?” Once again, Evan’s concern brought her close to tears. “Any word from China?”
“Nothing.”
“Just as well, maybe. So how are you doing with the fame and fortune side of your life, Miss Chase Award? Feet on the ground yet?”
A flash of her three-point landing, butt in the air, hands on the ground, with Dominick Fiorini kneeling at her feet, started a hard-to-squelch giggle. “No more head in the clouds. Just listened to a message from my mom.”
“Always good for a reality check.”
Resting bare feet on the coffee table, Dani settled back on a giant black couch pillow. “I’ll be a nothing until I write for the New York Times.”
“Keep strivin’.”
She sat up and plucked an olive from what was left of her supper salad and stuck it in her cheek like a piece of hard candy. “I called to get… What’s the opposite of a reality check?”
