Was there no relief from these do-gooders? By the time I reached the softball field, a quarter mile from the village, my nerves evened out. Cars lined the lot next to the field and along the road. A preschool kids’ ball game was in progress.
Stationed outside the chain-link fence, I let my fingers curl into the diamond-shaped openings. I watched the miniature players step up to the plate, their bats larger than they were. They were miniature pros. I envied their ability to hit the ball and focus on the game. Swarms of mothers cheered the kids on, proud of the players’ efforts to win.
After a few strikes, I moved away and headed back toward the house. My mind still stuck on the Tony thing, I wondered why everyone was so nervous about him. It seemed I was the only one who didn’t see a threat. Was that dumb or what? Only time would tell.
After I arrived at the house, I wandered out behind the huge Colonial to sit on the deck that stretched across the kitchen and my bedroom. Tubs of geraniums still bloomed, and while I’d planted warm-hued fall mums, the flashes of the geraniums’ bright colors were pleasing to the eye.
It wasn’t but a few minutes before I heard a horrid caterwauling and glanced around to see the origin of such a noise. My gaze settled on a ratty looking tomcat whose tail crooked at a permanent angle. It appeared he’d been in one scrap too many. He rubbed against the rail post and eyeballed me. A ragged left ear sported scars from past fights. I guessed his weight would put him around twenty pounds or so – a husky brute at any rate.
He strutted across the deck, lifted his leg, and sprayed the flowerpot. A rank odor wafted past my nose as he lolled on the deck as though he owned it. It occurred to me that the beast probably thought he did.
My eyes narrowed as my nose wrinkled at the acrid smell. I scrambled into the house for a bottle of vinegar. Wine vinegar was stored in the closet. I grabbed it and proceeded to douse the pot and deck. In an effort to reclaim my territory, I lectured the beast.
“Who do you think you are, anyway? This is my house and my deck.” If he answered, I would have been really surprised. With a stamp of my foot on the deck, I hoped the miserable crumb-snatcher would get his sorry butt out of my yard and head back to his own. I dislike being wrong, truly.
Not only did the arrogant beast stay put, but apparently he’d taken on worse than me and lived to tell about it. With an evil glance, he stretched and yawned, displaying fangs the likes of which I’d only seen on lions. Was he half mountain lion or just a pint-sized one? As he flexed wide paws, claws sprang forward, gleaming in the sunlight.
Sprawled on the sunniest patch of wood, the beast purred – at home, as though this was his right. I studied his multi-hued coat of grays and black, with a smudge of white thrown in for good measure. His face held full puffy cheeks and the most beautiful eye makeup imaginable. Only nature could produce that perfect eyeliner, I thought with envy.
Content in the sunlight, he lounged as I went in search of something for him to eat. Don’t ask me why, but I thought he might be in need of a meal. A solitary can of tuna sat in the cupboard. After opening the can, I pried the top off, slopped the fish into a bowl, and set it outside the sliding door. The beast jumped it in a flash. I watched him wolf the fish down like it was his last supper.
After he ate, he started the grooming process. Perched on the edge of the top step, he washed the wide paws, rubbing them over his face. One paw stretched open, and his long, sharp-hooked claws protruded, reminding me never to mess with him.
A loud chuckle floated down from the smaller deck suspended from Aaron’s apartment above. I stepped outside the French doors and glanced up.
Aaron’s handsome face smiled down. “You’ll never get rid of him now, you know. That Italian habit of feeding everyone has made you the new owner of that ragged beast.”
“I know, but he looked hungry.”
“He’s the size of a dog, for heaven’s sake. How can he look hungry?” Rich laughter scrolled across the yard. “And what is that horrid smell?”
“Well, he marked the flower pot as his own. I soaked it with vinegar but I don’t think it worked.”
With a shake of his head, Aaron moved inside his apartment. I heard feet rumble down the back stairs into the hallway outside my kitchen door. He strode into my apartment and joined me out on the deck. “He’s a bruiser, isn’t he?” Dark eyebrows rose as he stared at the cat.
“Yeah, an over-sized feline, if you ask me.”
A chuckle followed, as Aaron leaned toward the cat. The animal puffed up to twice his size and a testy growl rolled from his throat.
“Safe to say he doesn’t like men. Have you tried to pet him yet?”
“No, I only fed him.”
I stepped toward the cat and leaned forward with my fingers extended. He sniffed them with disdain and gave me a haughty glare before meandering off the deck. So much for warm and fuzzy.
As we watched him wander into the woods behind the house, I turned to Aaron and asked, “How did you like the pastries from Lola?”
“She’s a great cook. It would be difficult to eat her food daily and stay in shape. Nice woman – tiny, but nice all the same.” He looked appreciatively over my long legs and height. I stood only a half head or so, shorter than him.
Aaron’s wrestler-sized body stood over six feet tall, reminding me of Dwayne Johnson. The Rock. Dark good looks were enticing and the brilliant smile he sported, nearly irresistible. If I weren’t so enamored with Marcus, this man would be at the top of my wish list. A true gentleman, but a lawman all the same.
Beware. The silent voice in my head screamed like it always did when I considered a cop.
Marcus stood nearly the same height, but his craggy features and hazel eyes hooked me. Fit, and somewhat arrogant, as most state troopers are, we butted heads on occasion. It’s inevitable since I’m a confident woman, and Italian besides.
Needless to say Mr. Winky played a part in the happy equation. Marcus and I sleep together on occasion, and we seem to enjoy the relationship we have established. The conversation has never turned toward marriage and we all need to be grateful for something.
“What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” Aaron asked with a smile.
“I’m headed to my parents’ for a meal. Lola’s going to lend me her car again. She’s working late at the deli to prepare for the Columbus Day weekend crowd. Want to join me? My mother always has plenty of food.” I offered the invitation without thinking ahead.
“Thanks, but I have some work to finish. Make sure you lock up when you leave, in case Tony comes around.”
“You’re not going to go on about this Tony thing are you? I suppose that Little Miss Dynamite mentioned it when she brought the pastry upstairs this morning.”
“Yeah, she did. She’s worried about your safety.”
Flailing my hands in the air, I shook my head in disbelief. “The man stops to say hello on the street, in broad daylight, and now all of a sudden he’s a stalker and megalomaniac? God help me.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Okay, okay. Don’t get huffy.” Aaron smiled and raised his hands in mock self-defense. “I just said Lola’s worried about you.”
“Fine, I get the message.”
As we entered the apartment, he went toward the hallway door shaking his head.
“If you have any problems, I’ll be around. You might not hear from Tony again, but just be aware that he’s a free man now.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” With a mental roll of my eyes, I watched him leave.
Exasperated, I strode toward the bedroom to find my wallet. My hands shook as I tucked money into my pocket. Maybe Aaron and Lola were on target? Could Tony be stalking me? Was the accident on the highway more than coincidence? Was it an attack of some sort? I hadn’t really considered that possibility until now. With a heavy sigh, I locked up before I left for the deli.
Chapter 6
Rolling down the sunlit country roads from Scituate to Cranston in Lola’s car, l
ife’s challenges swam through my head.
My parents live in a suburb near Cranston Stadium where my twin brother, Giovanni Esposito, played baseball when we were in high school. We always camped out in the bleachers. My mother would second-guess the umpire, often using Italian adjectives that burned my ears and brought comments from the other parents. I’d learned from her.
The closer I got to the house, the more Gio lingered in my mind. My brother and I were on the wild side during our teenage years. Gio was the thinker, and I was the doer. The doer gets blamed all the time, so I was always the fall guy – or girl. Needless to say, when I christened him Saint Giovanni, there was good reason. I adore my twin, but I enjoy the fact that he lives in Nebraska and practices medicine out there in corn country.
As I pulled into my parents’ postage stamp-sized yard, a pang of guilt hit me. It was a bit unfair that I lived here and Gio lived away from the family. My mother missed him a lot. My father, well, he never lets me forget that Gio is the man of men. When Gio chose to attend medical school, my father became ecstatic about his decision. My career choice hadn’t been heralded as the best direction I could take. My father insists that I should never have taken on a man’s job.
While I am the woman of women, I am still only a woman. A woman who should bear many children, stay at home, be a soccer mom, and cook spaghetti. Yikes, perish the thought. I enjoy children, as long as they’re someone else’s. Thank you very much. The Giovanni guilt pang passed quickly as I swung my long body out of the car and strolled into the house.
Plates and flatware lined the table. Dinner for four lay spread out, and I wondered who’d be joining us. My mother handed me a glass of wine while my father stirred the pot of pasta. Nobody uttered a sound. My gaze, filled with question, danced between my parents. I didn’t have to wait long for the answer.
“Your friend is joining us for supper tonight,” my father, Gino Esposito, said with a dark-eyed, suspicious sideways glance.
“Marcus is coming here?”
“No, your other friend. The tenant guy. Have you been up to something we need to know about?” he asked.
“Dad, I haven’t been up to anything but working. Why do you ask?” My father and I butt heads often. This would be no exception.
“Why would he call and invite himself to dinner, unless you’ve done something, Lavinia? What does he do for a living, anyway?” He looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. “You’re not pregnant, are you, Lavinia?”
My given name is Lavinia, and usually only my parents use it. My brother issued me the nickname of Vinnie when we were in school, and it stuck. Marcus only uses my formal name when he’s in the throes of aggravation. Aaron calls me Vinnie all the time.
“No, I’m not pregnant, nor am I sleeping with Aaron. What could I be up to? I have no time now that the semester is in full swing. And Aaron works for the Rhode Island Gaming Commission. That’s it, plain and simple.
It occurred to me that Aaron had realized his mistake in refusing the dinner invitation I’d extended. Coming to dinner at my parents’ would offer him the perfect chance to check out my family. While Aaron worked undercover for the FBI, and the Gaming Commission was his cover, he could use his job to his advantage. He was free to roam around and stick his nose into everyone’s business.
“Why would he want to eat with us?”
My father, the pit bull. Once he got his teeth into something, it became nearly impossible to open a different dialogue.
“I invited him to dinner, but he said no. Maybe he reconsidered.” I shrugged. “Perhaps he thought he’d enjoy your cooking. Ever think of that?” How stupid to consider that argument might work, but it was worth a try.
“Yeah, right. By the way, Lavinia, you’re not thinking of doin’ anything foolish, like investigating Antonio or Mafalda, are you?”
“No, and where did you get that idea?” My hand snuck to my hip while my father stared hard at me. Oh, yeah, we were about to butt heads all right.
Mom, peacemaker extraordinaire, stepped forward. She glanced at my father and then at me.
“I might have mentioned that you got Muffy out of jail. I also might have said that Antonio is being investigated by the cops. Sorry, Lavinia.”
“I still don’t see what this has to do with me.” I glared at my father, even though he’d turned away from me.
“It better have nothing to do with you. That’s all I’m sayin’ here. You don’t need to get involved with something that’s none of your business, like the gem thing last summer.” His flat, dark-eyed glare swung toward me and I glanced away.
My father inhabits the old school of thought. He figures all women should be married and mothers – not be policewomen, not be criminal justice instructors, and not be anything else. He has respect for my education, but there’s always that old school way of thinking that sneaks into our conversations.
With a sigh, I sipped my glass of wine and turned at the knock on the door. My gaze followed my mother as she hustled to answer the summons. She and my father had never met Aaron, which meant this should prove an interesting meal. I was most certain of it.
A bunch of flowers came through the door prior to the sexy hunk. Aaron grinned in that suave way he had, and my mother stood awestruck. As he handed her the flowers she smiled from ear to ear, stepping aside so he could enter the room.
The huge size of the man dwarfed everything in the compact room. My father turned toward Aaron after he set the cover on the kettle. With bated breath, I waited to hear what would issue from his mouth.
“So, you’re the tenant, eh?” He looked Aaron up and down before he extended a hand in greeting.
Crinkle lines appeared at the corners of Aaron’s eyes, and he nodded. It was plain to see he wasn’t any more intimidated by my father than Marcus was on his first meeting. Undoubtedly, it was a guy thing.
As the two men shook hands, I expelled pent-up breath and stepped forward with introductions all around. My eyes strayed to Aaron and then back to my parents. My mother seemed to have fallen under his good-looking and well-mannered spell, while my father, well, that remained to be seen.
Soon the flowers sat on the table, clustered in a vase of water. Across from them my mother poured Aaron a glass of heady red wine. My father settled a plate of tempting aromatic meatballs, sausage, and mushrooms on the table. The pasta boiled and dad returned to the job at hand without a word. I watched Aaron’s actions and wondered why I’d issued the invitation in the first place. Maybe Aaron reconsidered his refusal when he realized dinner with my family offered him the perfect opportunity to snoop into our affairs. Only God knows what he expected to find.
From the looks of things, my mother would think of Aaron as marriage material and start with wedding noises. My father would give me the third degree. He’d say nothing good could come from marrying a cop, any cop. This meant Marcus, of course, because they had no idea of Aaron’s true occupation.
Since they didn’t know that, the wedding noises would be two-fold. Gosh, who even considered marriage here? Maybe I was a bit ahead of myself. It was just the way my parents’ thought patterns worked.
Aaron slid into a chair at the table, leaned back in a relaxed position, and sipped his wine. I hid a smile as he and my mother conversed about the care of the flowers. There was a moment when Aaron’s eyes strayed toward me, and I caught the delighted twinkle in them. He was working my mother, I thought. This visit had to do with Muffy and Antonio, for sure. Geez.
A bowl heaped with pasta followed a dish of antipasto salad that filled the center of the table. Proscuitto and chunks of hard Provolone cheese, which smelled like rotten socks and tasted tangy, nestled within the salad greens. Black olives clustered among roasted red peppers. My mouth watered. I inhaled the heady aromas and waited impatiently to start shoveling this tasty fare down my gullet.
My father took a seat at the table next to my mother. His dark-eyed stare lingered on me for a few seconds before he served up the meal. His gruff v
oice filtered across the table as we sucked down the excellent food.
“You wanna tell me about Mafalda and what you did to get her out of jail?” my father asked.
“It just took a promise that I’d be the one to take her in for arraignment. I was extended a professional courtesy. Why do you ask?”
“She called earlier this afternoon and mentioned how you wrangled her way out. Don’t get involved in this matter, Lavinia. She also knows that Antonio was released quickly and left her there. She’s not happy about that either.”
Aaron stared at me, a smile tickling the edges of his mouth.
I knew he realized my father didn’t care for the curiosity that drove my lifestyle, and I could see where Aaron’d get a chuckle from it. I shrugged and we went back to our meal.
“There’s no way I’d become involved with that. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Sure, you say that now, but I know you. Just stay out of it, understand?” Dad’s voice was gruff and loud.
There was more than an underlying message here. My father was trying to tell me that I wouldn’t be lucky if I stepped into that arena. The mob didn’t like women who tried to mind their criminal business. I got the message, loud and clear. With a nod, I dug into the salad.
The conversation wasn’t lost on Aaron, since he’d drilled me about the family and Muffy’s connections. He slid a curious glance toward me, and I smiled before passing the salad to him.
“Try the antipasto, Aaron. It’s unbelievable,” I said.
He grinned and heaped a healthy portion onto his plate. His glance rested on my father for a moment before he asked, “Did you know that Tony DeGreico met up with Vinnie yesterday?”
My fork slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Dang. He would bring that up now. Great, my parents would be all over me about it, and my mother would insist I move home. My father, well, he’d just be all over me. I really hate to be right sometimes, but….
Shaggy eyebrows drew together as my father grimaced across the table.
“That bum is out of the nut house?” he roared and turned to me. “You didn’t say he was on the street again. Where’d you meet him, Lavinia?”
Dirty Trouble Page 5
