“Anytime you’re ready, give me a holler and we’ll go shopping. Are you hungry? I can scoot something up to you from the deli.”
“Would you? I’m sore and energy depleted. The morning’s activities left me on empty. My shoulder is aching from seat belt strain, too.” Was I whining or what? Looking for sympathy, that’s what.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right up,” she promised and hung up.
I started to turn away, and the phone danced off the hook again. I checked the number and realized my mother was on the line.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, flexing the shoulder.
“Dear, I just saw a replay of yesterday’s news. Was that your car?” She gasped. The concern in her voice was unmistakable. “You never let on when you came to dinner.”
“Yeah, I lost control of the car. I’m fine, though. Marcus brought me home.” There was no sense in explaining the whole thing. She’d only get paranoid about it.
“It was an accident, right?”
My eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Yes, it was only an accident. The traffic on that side of the state is always chaotic, Mom.”
“All right then. I’ll have your father bring you some dinner around five tonight. What will you use for a car now, dear?”
“Lola’s cousin rented me a loaner. Lola’s taking me shopping for a new one later. I have to call my insurance man and get that squared away. It’s safe to say the car is a total wreck.”
“Mm, hmm. If you need anything, just let me know, dear.” With that, she ended the call.
A most extraordinary mother – she would hover if I let her, and it would do no good. Then she’d insist I move home, and that would start another issue. Yikes.
A knock on the door announced Lola’s arrival. When I opened the door I saw she carried a brown bag filled to overflowing. Her glance took me in from head to toe, and she started to chuckle. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re just tired. Let me see the shoulder.”
My shirt slipped sideways as I gave it a quick yank. The bluish-purple bruise lay exposed. Lola shook her head in dismay and handed me the bag of wondrous goodies. The delicious smells emanating from these treats made my mouth water.
In a hurry to unload the scrumptious fare, I hustled toward the counter and dumped the contents onto the surface. A sandwich wrapped in foil, a couple pastries, and a container of macaroni salad slid forth. I sniffed each in turn and grinned at Lola.
“Dig in, friend. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I brought a variety.” Lola chuckled and fetched a plate from the cupboard.
“My mother called. She’s sending Dad up with supper. Want to join me? We can shop for a car after we eat dinner, depending on what time we eat and when Dad leaves. Mom said he’d be here around five, but who knows if he’ll be on time.”
“Sure, that would be great.”
Being friends for many years, I knew Lola Trapezi’s friendship was a sure bet. My father taught us both to cook. Lola took her experience one step further and opened up the deli down the street from my home. The residents of the town knew a good thing when they saw it, and her business flourished.
Lola didn’t need to work year round, but she did. She could afford to take the winter months off, but instead she worked and used the slow season to originate recipes. This year, Lola decided to write a cookbook. Her proposal to an editor earned a phone called request for a manuscript. I figured that as her guinea pig, I’d get to taste all the treats she’d write about.
While I ate, Lola outlined our car shopping plans. If I wanted, we could head east toward Johnston and revisit the car dealership where I bought the Taurus. With a heavy dose of perseverance, I had managed to grind a great price from the salesman when I purchased the car a few months before. In agreement with the plan, I nodded.
My first car was stolen. Then I’d inherited Aunt Livvy’s dilapidated, ancient Volvo. I’d used that until my cousin torched it while it lay broken down on the side of the road. My latest car, the Taurus, had just been crushed. Not a great track record.
When I finished eating, Lola rose to leave and agreed to return when my father brought dinner. I promised to call her, and watched her MINI Cooper roll out of the driveway.
Alone, I wandered into the living room and hunkered down on the sofa. I flicked through the channels of the plasma television that hung suspended above the fireplace. Daytime television sucked more than it did during primetime. With a sneer and tsk of my teeth, I clicked the off button and rose, intending to go outside.
My shoulder throbbed, and I realized this was a prelude to what life would be like for the next however long. My whole body hadn’t hurt until today, and the minor aches bothered me. Stretching my arm and neck, I heated a cloth in the microwave and applied it to relax the tightening muscles before I stepped through the sliding French doors onto the deck.
Crisp, brilliant-colored leaves littered the deck and furniture. I thought there wouldn’t be many good-weather days left to enjoy before the cold set in. I kicked leaves away with my foot and plucked several others from the plant pots.
The art festival, scheduled for the coming weekend, would team with thousands of gawkers, interlopers, and city dwellers. Yard sales would abound from end to end in the village, and kids would sell cookies on the sidewalks outside their houses.
For three long days, artists would crowd onto the village green, into the community house and then spread out over the lawn of the church grounds in their booths where they could exhibit handcrafted artistic treasures. The place would be full of crowds, traffic jams, and folks hawking their wares. I was interested to see who showed up on my doorstep for a pee break or to ask if they could park in the driveway. Since a bunch of friends would probably stop in, I considered a refreshment list for the occasion.
A movement caught my eye and I glanced sideways. The huge cat from the day before peeked from under an evergreen. Leaning near the garage, the scraggly tree looked as ragged as the cat. It too sported frayed branches that bent in odd directions, similar to the cat’s tail and ears.
The beast stepped forward on tentative paws. Huge, silent pads covered the distance from the tree to the deck. At least he didn’t lift his leg and spray anything this time. Instead, he slunk onto the deck and paused, giving me a baleful glare. If I were superstitious, I’d say it was the evil eye. He stared and took a tentative step forward. A loud rumbling growl issued from his throat as he crept closer.
My hand stretched toward him, the beast rubbed his head on my palm. We were making progress, I guess. His glance roamed the deck in search of something. I wondered if he was hungry. There were leftovers from Lola’s fare, and I went in search of a paper plate to toss the remnants on. I slid the food onto the dish and then toward the monstrous animal. He sniffed the offerings from end to end.
Fangs gouged the sandwich while sharp claws shredded the bread, holding it firm. He chowed down and wiped the plate clean with a pink sandpaper tongue. In a few moments, the beast sat washing his face and paws. He seemed to enjoy the bounty I’d given him. When he finished his ablution, he stared at me with disdain.
His ears twitched as he listened to my murmured words of welcome and again when I asked questions that would never be answered. I glanced at the evergreen tree and then at the cat. He just stared at me without a sound and flicked his tongue to lick his fat cheeks.
“I’ll call you Evergreen,” I said to the cat.
The baleful stare moved away from me as Evergreen stretched his massive body. The cat sprawled in the only patch of sunlight on the deck and purred. There was a moment when I thought he’d fallen asleep, but the rich green eyes weren’t quite closed. It seemed Evergreen was aware of every movement around him. If he were human, he’d have been a survivalist, I was sure.
The day was well into the afternoon when I rose from the chaise. Across the street from my house, the small post office held my daily allotment of mail. I rounded the corner of the house and waited for the traffic to cease long enough to c
ross over.
Cars and trucks came to a halt. I stepped onto the asphalt. By the time I crossed to the other side of the street, traffic resumed. Horns blew and I waved without a glance, figuring it was someone I knew. Everybody knows everybody in a small town. When I had a bomb scare last summer, I’d become a public figure. I’d just finished a bomb course and I over-reacted when an unmarked package was left on my doorstep. That package became big news and eventually led to arrests, not at all related to bomb making. Go figure.
Today the mail in my post box overflowed. Advertisements filled the small space, but there wasn’t much else of interest. I tossed the junk mail into the recycling bin and headed out the door just as Herb, the middle-aged mailman, came around the corner. He waved at me, and I stopped to chat.
“In the news again, eh, Vinnie?” he grinned.
“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best week of my life – but not dull. Where did you hear the news?” I said, curious about the coverage since I hadn’t seen any news cameras on the scene of my accident.
“The announcement was made on the afternoon news. No camera coverage though. I bet you were in a panic, huh?”
“You could say that,” I said and started to walk away.
“Was it an accident, Vin?”
“Sure was. The cars make the turn like they do at Daytona. Someone hit my car, and I was off the road and out of control. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. Since you’ve had car troubles in the past, it occurred to me that this might be more of the same.” His bright-blue eyes roamed the parking lot filled with vehicles.
There wasn’t much room to park, and everyone tried to make space enough for the next guy who came along. The lot only held six vehicles. Since parking was at a premium, the street usually filled up around this time of day. My glance traveled over the SUVs and smaller vehicles huddled in the lot. Expensive new cars parked next to older models riddled with dents and dings in the fenders.
Just as I turned back to Herb, the post office door opened and I saw Tony DeGreico stroll out. His eyes rested on me for a moment. Herb noticed him, and we both watched Tony approach us.
Dressed in a pair of clean tan workpants with a red v-neck sweater and casual shoes, he looked dapper. A real switch from the last time I saw him, I thought. Even his hair was under control and the beard trimmed.
“Gee, Vinnie, you had a close call on the highway, eh? Never know when bad things will happen. It must have been scary for you.” His nearly black eyes took in my entire form, stopped at my chest, and then met my own dark eyes.
“Everyone has accidents. You never know what life will bring, do you, Tony?” I said in a wise-ass sort of way.
Herb shuffled his feet but stayed put. If there were some action, I was sure he’d want to have a ringside seat.
“That’s true enough. Just look at me. Once I was a man of means, and now I work on a horse farm. Just never know where life will take you, huh?” His glance held mine.
I nodded and wondered if the remark held a double meaning. As I turned to Herb, he seemed a tad nervous. His eyes flicked back and forth between Tony and me. Whatever caused him to shake in his shoes I couldn’t imagine, but I determined that Tony’s reputation had made the rounds by now. Shit.
“See ya around, Herb,” I said and gave Tony a slight nod.
Halfway across the parking lot I heard Tony call out to me. “You might want to be more careful, Vinnie. You might not be so lucky the next time.”
In an effort to escape the creep, I turned, shrugged, and stepped off the sidewalk into the parking lane of the street. Cars stopped and I crossed the street with long, quick strides before entering the gated path to the house.
My nerves were shot by the time I entered the foyer. Was that a threat? Was Tony just rubbing in the fact that I couldn’t get from point A to point B without a catastrophe? Maybe Marcus was right – I’m a disaster magnet.
Forget it, I thought. Tony wasn’t in a position to do anything to me without returning to the psych ward for it. “Who would be that stupid?” I spoke the question out loud and pushed my thoughts away from the possibilities.
In the office, I sat and scribbled a list of snacks for the weekend. That numerous friends would be running in and out of the house was more than a possibility, especially now that I made the news. I’d be number one on the agenda before anyone hit the art show.
Off duty cops, their wives or girlfriends in tow, my cousins and other relatives would stop in. They had in the past, and this weekend would be no different. The house is on the main drag. Most folks walk right by it to get to the village green where the festival is held.
I leaned back in the chair and settled into the luxurious padded folds of leather. The windows faced the street, and one smaller window faced the driveway on the western side of the house. A tide of people ebbed and flowed in their daily routines as the sun drifted further west and daylight faded.
Chapter 10
A car turned into the driveway, and I watched my father maneuver along the side of the house. He always drove way under the speed limit, which sent my mother to Jupiter every time they were out together. My mother has a heavy foot, a habit we share.
I heard the car door slam. I called Lola at the deli as I rose from the comfort of the leather chair to greet my father. I hurried to open the doors for the tasty fare he probably spent the afternoon cooking. Stepping aside, I made room for him to enter.
Gino Esposito, my father, is a rugged man. Square-shouldered, olive-skinned, and heavyset, he sports dark hair peppered with white. He was a handsome devil in his youth and is still a looker now. At least, all my friends tell me that. He has charm, they say with wide grins, while I wonder where they got that idea. All I get is lectured.
The still-hot casserole accompanied a loaf of bread, warm and crusty, that nestled inside the foil wrapper. It wasn’t Italian food, but it didn’t matter. My father made it, and that was good enough for me. From the largest bag he slid a scrumptious cake, smothered in white butter frosting.
“Is that a chocolate cake in there?” I asked, pointing toward the confection.
“Yeah, your mother made it for you. She knows you like it that way, with white frosting.” He settled onto the stool as though he’d stay.
With a sense of foreboding, I fiddled with the casserole and pulled a couple plates from the cupboard.
“What’s with the accident, Lavinia? Why didn’t you mention it last night?” he asked, his gruff voice soft, as he stared at me.
My hands stilled, and I glanced at him. Dark brown eyes took in my appearance as Dad waited for an answer. Not some trumped-up story, not an excuse for my stupidity, but the God’s honest truth. Did I dare tell him what I thought? Would he get berserk and start yelling at me? Hmmm. I opted for the stupidity angle.
“It was only an accident, Dad. That section of the highway is always a nightmare. You know that. A racecar driver couldn’t handle it any better than we all do everyday. I just lost control of the car.” As I made an effort to make light of the situation, I realized how cowardly I was.
“Lavinia, did you see who did this to you?”
My father’s face held a somber look. I took a deep breath and shook my head.
“The car hit me from the left rear. I never saw it coming. Why?”
“This thing with Mafalda, it might be more than Antonio hustling stolen merchandise. Have you stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“No, I promised I wouldn’t. You know, Dad, I got the message loud and clear at dinner. Aaron didn’t understand what you were inferring, but I did. I won’t mess with the mob, honest.”
Earnest eyes and a solemn expression met mine, and he nodded. Wow, this is big. No yelling, no recriminations, and, best of all, lots of food. Yeah, my dad loves me.
The door swung open after a single knock, and Lola strolled in. She gave my father a big hug and kiss on the cheek. When she hitched onto the stool next to him he smiled in a benevolent manner
and asked how she was.
“Hungry, that’s how I am. How are you, Mr. E?” Her Julia Roberts smile was in place, and my father succumbed to it, as all men do.
With a roll of my eyes, I pulled flatware from the drawer and laid out napkins. I glanced at my father with a silent question, and he shook his head no. Apparently he wasn’t about to eat with us. Just keep us company while we sucked down the meal.
“Are you sure you won’t eat with us, Dad?” I asked.
“Come on, Mr. E. Have some dinner and tell me what you’ve been up to,” Lola pleaded with another smile and won the day.
It’s tough when others have more control over your family than you do – but whatever works, ya know?
A smile curled the corners of my lips as I set another plate on the counter. I hauled the wine from the fridge and poured three glasses while my father dished up the fragrant casserole. With a gleam in her eyes, Lola peered at what he scooped from the casserole dish and started questioning my father about the spices he’d used.
Nothing about the accident was mentioned, and after we finished eating we readied to leave. Before going to his own car, my father walked us to the MINI Cooper and chuckled when he saw it.
“A petite car for a petite woman,” he said with a grin at Lola.
“Yep, it’s a neat little car, Mr. E. Goes a bazillion miles an hour, too. Zero to sixty in a second flat.”
“I’m sure,” he said, a wry smile on his lips.
Now if I’d made that statement, there’d have been a lecture on speeding and how I’d managed to crash my car. But since Lola was not a family member – and with her killer smile – she could get away with it. That’s life. Ain’t it?
We climbed inside the car, the engine revved, and Lola swept from the driveway. She glanced around at the house, in search of something. I figured she was searching for Aaron.
“He’s not home yet,” I said with a smirk.
“I can see that. Is he out on business this late?”
Dirty Trouble Page 8