by Kim Pritekel
“Be with ya in just a sec, hon,” Lizzie called from the kitchen, glancing at the newcomer through the order-up window that passed between it and the dining room.
“No worries, Lizzie,” Catania said, taking a seat on the chrome and vinyl stool, third from the end at the bar. She glanced at her watch, happy when the older waitress made her way in front of her, two stacked Styrofoam cups with plastic lids in one hand and a full coffee carafe in the other. “Are they ready?” Catania asked, glancing over Lizzie’s shoulder to see if she’d see Louis’s familiar form scurrying around the kitchen. Her gaze returned to the redhead standing in front of her staring at her with apologetic brown eyes. “What?”
“How about two lemon bars?” she asked, pulling one cup from where it was tucked inside the other and placing it on the counter next to its twin.
“Wait, what? Why?” Catania’s heart fell. “Oh no. Is the waffle maker broken again?”
“Not exactly,” Lizzie hedged, screwing her mouth into a sardonic smile.
Catania raised an eyebrow in question, reaching for the first cup Lizzie had filled with steaming coffee, which she knew had been brewed freshly for her. She carefully placed the plastic lid on the cheap cup, the small burn scar on her thumb proof of lesson learned.
“Louis is. He quit today.”
“I’m torn on whether to sit here and throw an all-out fit, or just arrest you,” Catania said dryly.
Lizzie chuckled. “I’m sorry, hon. We’re supposed to get a new cook in tomorrow or the next day for the fancy stuff. So, how ’bout those lemon bars?”
Catania let out a heavy sigh and sent her bottom lip out into a playful pout. “Fine.”
Ten minutes later, she carried the Randy’s branded paper bag in hand by the handles as she balanced the two Styrofoam cups in her other hand into the large room she shared with the other detectives. She weaved her way through the maze of desks, conversations, debates, and the occasional—and sadly, expected—cat whistles and hissing sounds to her desk toward the back.
“Finally, my dinner!”
“Yes, because we know it’s all about the ‘O.’” Catania smirked.
“Hell yeah,” her partner, Oscar exclaimed, accepting one of the cups of coffee and a moment later, a Styrofoam takeout container.
“That’s right,” Catania added.
“Yup,” Oscar Riley responded with a nod, peeling the plastic lid off his coffee. He tugged open one of the drawers in his desk before heavy strawberry blond eyebrows fell. “Shit. You got any of that sweetener stuff you’ll let me use, Nia?”
Catania plopped down in her desk chair after placing her food and coffee down on the square of desk space she cleared off with a shove of her hand. Opening her own drawer, she tossed a few packets Oscar’s way. “Forgot to get some from Lizzie,” she explained. “I’ll load up tomorrow.” She picked herself out a couple packets and one of powdered creamer. Glancing at her partner of six years, she asked, “How did court go today?”
He nodded, what was left of his double chin making an appearance with each bob of his head. “Son of a bitch looked as smug as ever,” he said, pulling the meal box toward him. “So glad our part of that case is done. Real piece of shit, that guy.”
Catania eyed him, waiting for what she knew would be disappointed surprise. She broke into laughter at the look on his very expressive face. “That,” she said, responding to his whined What’s this? “Is a lemon bar.”
Oscar glared over at her, holding the yellow treat in sausage-like fingers. “No shit, Sherlock. This isn’t what I ordered, nor was it part of my weight-losing gig to give up Louis’s waffles.”
“It was not, nor what I ordered,” Catania admitted, bringing her own lemon bar out of the box and raising it for inspection. “But, it’s what we got. Louis quit.”
“Damn,” he said, taking a healthy bite of the tart dessert. “Did you threaten to shoot Lizzie if she didn’t give us waffles?” he asked, mouth full.
Catania grinned. “Something like that. Though these are pretty good, I have to say. Should have given them a chance before.” She reached over and grabbed her coffee, which now seemed super sweet from the tartness of the lemon. Setting the cup down, she glanced across the narrow aisle between her desk and Oscar’s. “I think we should go by Frank Costner’s house tonight,” she suggested, referring to the elusive witness to their current case difficult to nail down for some questions.
Oscar nodded, finishing his “dinner.” “I’m game with that.”
“Awesome.” Catania took another swig of her coffee after finishing her own lemon bar and glanced over at her partner, noting the wrinkled dirt-brown suit with a dark brown and tan tie that looked like it had been snatched from 1978. “Can you possibly be any more of a cliché if you tried?” she asked, closing the Styrofoam carry-out box and tucking it back into the paper bag.
“What?” Oscar asked, looking down at himself. “Shit,” he muttered, sweeping a few crumbs off his tie. He sipped from his coffee before reaching inside the suit jacket to remove what the clinging waxy paper claimed was a grape-flavored Dum Dum from within. He peeled off the wrapper and stuck the sucker into her mouth, white stick hanging out. “What?” he asked again.
Catania shook her head. “Friggin’ Kojak.”
“Hey,” he said, the sucker removed from his mouth with a sickening wet pop. “If you hadn’t convinced Linda that I needed to stop smoking, I wouldn’t need this.”
“Yes, yes, bring your binky,” Catania muttered with a tired sigh. “Come on, let’s get to Costner’s place.”
****
It had been a long day, made longer because of the slow nature of their shift. Though this was a good thing in that everyone in the city went home that night, it made for a lot of continuous paperwork that caused Catania to rub her tired, red eyes as she pulled her Jeep up to a slow stop at the red traffic light. Letting out a sigh, she glanced over to the passenger seat next to her to the box of coffee she’d picked up at Starbucks the minute they’d opened, a stack of plastic-wrapped cups next to it. She continued when the light turned green, headed toward the river walk in downtown, not but a mile from her apartment.
Downtown Pueblo had been a real pit for years. A town that had begun in the late nineteenth century with the steel mill, it had fallen on hard times after the mill went down in the early 1980s, causing a great deal of poverty and the rise of Hispanic gangs.
In the 1990s, the town was coming back and work had been done to revitalize the downtown area. Now, it was littered with trendy antique shops, eateries, museums, and the river walk, a mile-long meandering cement path around a man-made canal where folks could bring their kayaks or take one of the leisurely boat rides. During the day it was full of walkers and runners. In the cold night, a different clientele tended to stroll around the icy water.
As Catania turned her Jeep onto Main Street, she saw the small group of women standing near the Main Street entrance of the river walk near the pagoda where public restrooms were. As she neared, she could see Maria and Trish, two young Hispanic women, both of which she’d had in her patrol car more than once during her time on the beat, and a young African American woman that she hadn’t seen before.
She slowed as she pulled to the curb, coming to a stop next to the threesome. Leaving the engine idling, she reached down and took hold of the knob to crank down the squeaky window.
“’Mornin’ ladies,” she said to the group that made their way over to her “Cold one, huh?”
“Bet your tits,” Maria muttered, arms hugging herself over a light jacket that was no match for the early morning temperatures. “What’s up, G?”
“Not much,” Catania said, tearing the thin plastic wrap around the cups before she filled one with steaming brew. She handed it to the shivering woman. “Any luck, ladies?” she asked, eyeing the trio.
“What, you a cop?” the unfamiliar woman asked, a cocky lift to her left eyebrow.
“Yeah, she is,” Trish said, reaching
for her own coffee, which she wrapped cold-reddened hands around. “She cool, Liv.”
“What I don’t get,” Maria added after a sip of her own coffee. “Is how them pigs keep their things up in this cold.”
Catania smirked. “I wouldn’t know.”
Trish glanced over at Liv, who looked confused. “She like Miranda.”
“Oh,” Liv said with a nod, taking the third offered cup. “What the hell is in this shit?” she asked, looking into the light brown depths.
“Cream and sugar,” Catania said simply. “Things been quiet?” she asked conversationally, meeting Maria and Trish’s dark gazes.
The twenty-eight-year-old shrugged. “Eh, I guess.” She took another sip of the hot coffee, the layer of dark red lipstick she left on the edge of the cup in stark contrast to the white wax-coated paper
“Where’s Chantal?” Catania asked, noting Liv had pulled a cigarette out of her jacket pocket. Without thinking, the detective reached over to her glove compartment and snatched a book of matches, simple white with her name and work phone printed on it, noting the number eighteen was scrawled across it in black Sharpie. She made a mental note of that before handing over the matches. “She been around?” she continued, curious about the young woman she often saw with Maria and Trish.
“She ain’t been around for a few days,” Maria said, bumming a cigarette off Liv, as well as one of her matches. She glanced at the handwritten number then grinned over at Catania. “Feel like you’re cheatin’ on me or something,” she quipped. “Mine was number twelve.”
Catania returned the grin for a moment. “Want some more?” she asked Trish, who was finishing her coffee.
“Yeah.” The young woman handed Catania her empty cup. “I seen that dude you was asking about last week,” she said conversationally.
Catania spared a glance at her before returning her gaze back to the box of hot coffee as it poured into the cup. “Yeah? He say anything to you?”
“He asked for directions to Bingo Burger.” Trish smirked, taking her refilled cup back. “Told him to go suck himself.”
“Did he comply?” Catania asked, an arched eyebrow raised.
“Nah. He took off.”
“Alright, ladies. Well,” Catania said, glancing at each of the three women one last time. “I better get going. Anyone want more before I go?” she asked, holding up the box. Two cups thrust at her followed by Maria’s half-filled one. She poured out the rest of the coffee then wished the women a safe journey home before she rolled her window back up and headed home herself.
A few blocks down, she saw a lone figure walking along the street. It was a young woman, maybe a teenager. She had short dark hair, one side tucked behind an ear. Her shoulders were hunched slightly in the light blue and gray jacket she wore, as though she was trying to block out the cold. Her hands were tucked into the front pockets of her jeans.
Catania slowed her Jeep and pulled up alongside her. “Hey,” she called from the partially opened window which she was slowly rolling down. The figure stopped and turned to face her. Catania watched as the young woman walked over to her. “How’s it goin’?”
The young woman shrugged then brought a hand up to wipe at her cold-reddened nose. “S’okay, I guess.”
“Where are you headed?” Catania asked, both as a suspicious law enforcement officer but also as a concerned adult. It wasn’t safe for a young woman to be walking the streets alone.
“The place I’m staying at right now,” she said noncommittally.
Catania smirked. “So I would assume. What’s your name?”
Another shrug. “Squirrel.”
“Squirrel? Your parents not like you?”
The girl chuckled. “Yeah, something like that. So look, I’m cold, can I go?”
“Sure. Hey,” Catania said, reaching to her glove compartment and snagging matchbook number nineteen. “Give me a call if you need anything,” she said, tossing the small item which was easily caught in one hand. Catania knew a street-smart kid when she saw one. “Get somewhere warm and safe,” she added as she cranked her window closed and drove on.
Chapter Two
Catania shifted her weight to her other leg as she fully opened the tri-fold brochure, eyes scanning the glossy pages. “You think this is a good idea, Papa?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Alberto d’Giovanni said, shaking his head. The self-made business owner let out a heavy sigh and rested large, calloused hands atop the counter. “I know he seems to connect with you more than anyone. I thought maybe you could talk to him.” He shrugged a shoulder. “See what he wants.”
Catania was about to respond when she stopped, glancing past her father toward the hallway that led to the bathroom. “Do you hear the shower?”
“Nope,” he said, turning to follow her gaze with his own.
“Hang on, Papa.” She reached out and squeezed her father’s arm as she passed him, padding toward the bathroom in her baggy cotton shorts and T-shirt. “Matty?”
She could hear her father following her down the hall stopping when she did at the bathroom doorway. Her gaze went first to the shelf above the toilet, which was empty. She silently cursed her forgetfulness before her gaze dropped to her brother who sat on the floor. He had gotten into the box of Q-tips that she now remembered she’d left on the vanity. His pattern and number-oriented brain was directing him to slowly and carefully place the cotton swabs along the thin lines of dark gray grout, parallel little lines of Q-tips like soldiers marching off to battle.
“Papa,” she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Open the closet door to the washer and dryer. On the dryer is a laundry basket with folded clean clothes. There should be a colorful beach towel on top. Would you bring that over here, please?”
Left alone, Catania didn’t make a big deal out of it as she reached into Matteo’s packed overnight bag, which he’d placed on the closed toilet lid and removed his bottle of shampoo and conditioner as well as body wash. Though Catania had all those things already in the shower stall, she knew her brother would never use them. They had to be the only brand he trusted, which he’d used since the day Catania had brought them home for him—picked randomly—twenty years before. The family always worried what would happen should they no longer sell it.
“Alright, come on, Matty,” she said cheerfully, stepping past him to put the toiletries into the large shower stall. “Time for your shower.”
Matteo glanced up at her from his creation and, without a word stood, turning away from the Q-tips as though they weren’t even there. “You have an uneven number of tiles on the west side of the bathroom,” he said, tugging his sweater off over his head, revealing a thin, pale chest sprinkled with dark hair.
“Here you go,” Alberto said, bracing himself with a hand on the doorframe as he leaned in to hand his daughter the asked-for towel.
“Thanks, Papa.” She grabbed it and put it on the shelf where she knew Matteo had expected it to be. When it wasn’t there and the bathroom wasn’t set up as he expected it to be, he’d become distracted. “Okay, all set?” she asked, clapping her hands together. She surreptitiously glanced around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything else.
“You can leave,” he said, continuing to disrobe regardless of who else was in the room.
Catania quickly gathered all the cotton swabs from the floor as well as the nearly empty box and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
“Sorry, Papa,” she said with a tired sigh as she joined him back in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Do you want some coffee or something?”
“No, no,” he said, waving her offer away. “I have to go back to the shop.” He tapped the glossy brochure where it was left on the counter. “Give it some thought and let me know what you think.” He grinned at her, revealing the gap where one of his teeth was missing, a story she’d never been told. “I figure maybe I’ll get some space to myself.”
“Matteo’s bedroom?
” she asked, amused though surprised to hear him say such a thing.
“You betcha. With six kids and a wife, I haven’t had my own space since the womb.”
Catania chuckled. “I told Mama to clean out my room long ago. I don’t know why she won’t.”
“In hopes you’ll come back home,” he said simply, reaching for his jacket which he’d tossed over the breakfast bar counter. He shrugged into it. “She’s convinced you’ll come to your senses some day and come home to tell us you’re staying until the wedding day.”
“Yeah, well,” she said with a snort. “Hell will freeze over first.”
“Don’t say such a thing,” he said, reaching up to lightly touch the crucifix that rested around his neck hidden by his shirt. He leaned over and placed a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “See you tomorrow, amati.”
“Goodnight, Papa,” she said, following him to the door and holding it open as he exited. “I love you.”
Alberto raised a hand in acknowledgment as he disappeared into the cold night.
****
Catania glanced up from time to time where she was curled up in the recliner in the living room. A fire snapped and popped in the fireplace, sending a dancing orange glow into the room. Matteo sat in the gamer chair Catania kept in the corner for his weekly visits, and he played whatever game he was into on the gaming station she kept for him and the flat screen that was mounted to the wall.
Gray eyes fell back to the notebook resting on Catania’s lap. She read through a few of the notes she’d taken on her current case before turning the page, which opened up to her “Matchbook Girls” list. She flicked her pen against her leg as she scanned the list, noting with sadness some of the numbers and descriptions that had been crossed out, either the matchbook owner found dead or the matchbook found ownerless.
