Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde

by Lloyd Corricelli

  “I’m driving and I don’t have a get out of jail card like you probably do.”

  “Oh that’s harsh. You’re carrying your gun too, so what’s that all about?”

  “A friend of mine recently died and I’m looking into it.”

  “Anyone I’d know?”

  “It was in the Sun.”

  “Not the girl they found in the river?”

  I nodded yes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That was terrible. Were you involved?”

  “We’d only been dating for a short time.”

  “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been so persistent about you taking me out.”

  “You knew everything else about me.”

  “That wasn’t in your military or school records. God, it must have been tough finding that out. And the drug stuff too that they found. I imagine you didn’t even know she was junkie, huh?”

  I wasn’t interested in talking about it and tried not to be rude. If I were in her position though, I’d have to ask.

  “She wasn’t a junkie. Anyway, that’s why I have the gun. There are people who apparently don’t appreciate me looking into her death.”

  “I thought it was an accident? Is there more?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore, Diane.”

  “You said someone doesn’t appreciate it. Is that what happened to your eye when I saw you at the hockey game?”

  I nodded. The waiter brought our appetizer and her new drink and I ordered one more beer to go with dinner.

  As I looked across the table at Diane, I felt guilty for being out with another woman so soon after losing Karen. Inner conflict was the source of many of the problems I’d faced in my life. If I could have only dumped my conscience or at least traded it in for a less active one I might have been a lot better off. I wouldn’t be the man I am without it though.

  “Maybe we could talk about something else,” I said.

  “Certainly, I didn’t mean to push.”

  “Why don’t we talk about you, Leslie Diane Dunedin?”

  She looked surprised. “How’d you know that name?”

  “I have my sources too. Why’d you change your last name?”

  She shrugged. “Too many people were mispronouncing it and in my business, it’s good to have something easily remembered so I shortened it.”

  “I guess that makes sense. So you graduated from Malden High and then went to Northeastern graduating with a degree in Political Science. Unlike me you graduated magna cum laude.”

  “I needed good grades to get into law school so I worked my ass off. Who did you talk to?”

  “Hey, I have my sources too. I’ll bet you didn’t have as much fun as I did in college.”

  “No, but who says I’m not making up for it now?”

  “You also graduated from Harvard Law, second in your class.”

  “Should have been first,” she said between sips of her drink. “The guy who beat me out cheated on a final and didn’t get caught.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I saw him but didn’t turn him in. It was all I could think of at graduation. How I screwed myself over. I made a vow that day that I would never allow that to happen to me again.”

  “I’m sure. After law school, you went to work for a law firm in D.C. where you came to the attention of one Congressmen LaValle.”

  “And I’ve been working for him ever since. It looks like we’ve come full circle in our conversation.”

  The main course arrived and the topic changed to modern music, art and some things I had no real interest in like stocks and the market. We laughed a lot and it felt good to forget my problems for a short time.

  The food was very good and I wouldn’t object to eating there again; in fact, I’d make a point of it. Diane picked at her food, barely eating half the eggplant but she did manage to put down a couple of more drinks. Her eyes didn’t show the slightest hint that the alcohol remotely affected her.

  When the check came, I reached for it but she grabbed it first.

  “I also know how much money you have, but I invited you,” she said. “I’ll get this.”

  “Did they teach you that at a NOW seminar?”

  “Did you ever consider that I just want to pay so you feel obligated to sleep with me?”

  “Was that for shock value?”

  She just smiled and winked. Maybe the drinks were starting to get to her.

  On the way out to my Jeep, she took my hand and pulled herself close to me.

  “There are those who’d steal my virtue if not for a man such as you to protect me.”

  “I’ll flex my muscles and scare them off.”

  “Excellent plan.”

  “So where do we go from here? You want to get another drink?”

  “There are plenty of drinks at my place,” she cooed.

  “Only if you promise to be a good girl.”

  “I’ll be so good.”

  Damn. Every second I was with her, she became hotter and hotter and I could feel a dull aching in my loins. At least that’s what they claim that feeling is in those corny romance novels my ex-wife read. I started to feel the guilt again but that was easily overwhelmed by my libido. That partially explained why I’ve gotten involved with the wrong women my entire life. My sex drive always overwhelmed any good sense I might have had until it was too late.

  The entire way back to her apartment, she had her hand on my thigh. The woman was ultra-aggressive and not going to take no for an answer; not that I planned on turning down her advances. I parked on the second floor of the deserted garage and turned to ask her something. I never got the question out as she grabbed me and almost forced her tongue down my throat. She would have done me right in the garage but I insisted we at least go up to her apartment. It took some convincing and promises I knew I’d later break but she finally agreed.

  Women often claim men tend to think with their penis. If that’s true, my hypothalamus was planted squarely between my legs at that moment. My conscience continued to fight its own battle with Karen’s memory. How soon was too soon? How loyal should I be to someone I’d only been dating for six weeks and had kept some pretty dark secrets from me? Sadly, my mind worked that way. If this had been a movie, it would have been just like Animal House with a devil planted on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil was about to win the argument.

  I doubted Diane had the same moral and ethical issues weighing on her mind. She simply wanted to get laid. For the second or third time in my life I wished I were Tony. I always perceived that he could screw or kill anyone without remorse or debate.

  We got to her apartment and she fumbled with her keys. By the time I shut the door, her dress was on the floor and she was climbing up me like a cat on a new pair of drapes. In all my years of observing people, women in particular, I’d come to the conclusion that most looked better with their clothes on. Clothing did a good job of hiding scars, cellulite, sags and other imperfections. Diane was the rare exception to that rule. Her body was near perfect.

  Her stomach was flat and muscular and her navel was pierced with a little gold hoop. There was a small butterfly tattoo on the right cheek of her teardrop ass, confirming my earlier suspicions. Her breasts were small but perky and her nipples were erect and ready. Between her muscular thighs was a wispy little patch of trimmed red hair. When she began to nibble on my ear that was it, I completely gave in.

  She removed my jacket and threw it on the couch. I took off my gun and placed it on the sofa table in her entryway. Her eyes darted briefly to it as she undid my pants and unbuttoned my shirt. My shoulder was stiff from the stitches and I groaned a bit as she pulled off the shirt and saw my bandage.

  “What happened?”

  “Business related.”

  That must have satisfied her curiosity and she slid her hand down my shorts. I took off the rest of my clothes and left them in the entryway. She led me to the couch, laid me down and began kissing my body.
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  “I love men with big hairy chests. Scars are sexy too,” she cooed as she rubbed her fingers over the one on my chest.

  She began working her way down my body when her head popped up and she looked around. She reached up and grabbed a remote control from the end table. With a flick of a button, the sounds of Marvin Gaye filled the room. Ironically in college when I’d bring a woman home I use to play Marvin. This was definitely a planned seduction.

  “You just happen to have had Marvin Gaye in your CD player?”

  “Don’t question the moment,” she said with a little laugh.

  She kissed me and again began working her way south with little kisses. When she stopped and went to work, I swore to myself I could make it work with a liberal. There were no politics to be played tonight in the bedroom or in this case, the couch.

  About an hour later, I lay exhausted on her bed. To think I’d almost decided not to take her out. It’s not always a bad thing that there’s nothing on TV.

  The next morning, we took a shower together and she jumped me right under the hot water. At one point, I started to fear she’d tear my stitches but I persevered. We were both hungry so I took her out to breakfast at the Raven. It was pretty crowded as is typical for a Sunday morning and Jesse was hustling to keep the customers happy. She didn’t even say hi though she did wink at me from across the room. After breakfast, I drove Diane home and dropped her off out front of her building.

  “I had an incredible time,” I said.

  “I knew you would.”

  “Cocky little thing.”

  “The only cocky I want is over there.”

  She slid across the seat and kissed me long and hard, sliding her hand up my leg.

  “Wow, you just don’t hold anything back.”

  “Call me,” she demanded and slid back across the seat and out the door. I watched her walk into the building and drove off. It was close to noon and I was beat. I planned to just watch football the rest of the day and relax. Tomorrow, it was back to business.

  FIFTEEN

  When I woke up the next day my first thought of was Diane. Few women had the capacity to take my breath away and now I’d met two in a row. She had her flaws, but we could work on those. My second thought was one of guilt and I questioned what I was doing when there was still heavy lifting to be done.

  I still had to find Karen’s killer and find a way to protect Cassie from her soon to be ex-employers. After a nice little distraction, I had to get things going again and stop wasting time. My first order of business was a call to Tony and he was pleased to learn I’d gotten laid. I’m not the kind of guy who brags about his sexual conquests, but I hoped by telling him he might stop riding my ass about it. He was back in Boston and said that Cassie was nervous when he left, but she understood.

  I called my house in Maine and she picked up the phone on the first ring.

  “When are you coming up?” she asked.

  “Either tomorrow or Wednesday, depending on my schedule. You have my cell number; call me if you need anything.”

  “Okay.”

  I could hear the disappointment in her voice. I hated to leave her like that but I had no choice. I couldn’t think of anyone I could send up there to baby-sit her without a long drawn out explanation. I could probably get Uncle Sal to send another one of his guys but at the moment I required someone I knew and could absolutely trust to do this right.

  I wanted to go to the gym but because of my shoulder, decided it would be best to rest it. I could survive without my daily dosage of MILFs. I’d already gotten a hell of workout on Saturday night anyway. I wondered how long I should wait before I called Diane. I was never really all that good at the dating game thing with all the unwritten rules.

  Maybe after lunch I’d try to catch her at LaValle’s Lowell office. I figured with the election coming up in a few weeks, she’d be busy as hell and probably wouldn’t be ready for another romp anytime soon. Part of me hoped I was wrong. On the other hand, it very well might have been a one-night stand. I’ve had few of those in my life and didn’t really like them. They were cold and impersonal, though I would never admit that to another guy in the interest of preserving the tough guy image. There may come a day when I could drop the macho veneer I put up, but I wasn’t ready to abandon it just yet.

  Back to the task at hand, today was a day I had hoped to avoid. In order to identify Karen’s sixth client I had to talk to her family and see what they knew. I sincerely doubted her mother knew what she had been doing on the side but perhaps her younger sister did.

  I drove over to Mrs. Pommer’s house in Chelmsford, a little brick three-bedroom ranch built in the seventies. Her lawn was an immaculate autumn fading emerald green with a cast iron birdbath set off in a little garden to the side. Most of the foliage had fallen from her trees but there wasn’t a stray leaf in sight.

  I rang the bell and Mrs. Pommer came to the door, looking better than she had at Karen’s funeral. The color had returned to her face. She was an attractive woman who had continued to take good care of herself well into middle age. I wasn’t aware of her dating habits but she certainly could have had men lining up if she so desired.

  “Ronan,” she exclaimed followed by a big hug.

  It was a good thing my ribs were feeling better because she squeezed me as tight as a woman her size could.

  “Come in please. What brings you out this way?”

  “We need to talk about Karen.”

  “Certainly.”

  She led me down the hallway and into the kitchen. It was a very odd feeling being in the house where Karen had grown up. She and Sara’s pictures from grammar school age to most recent lined the hallway. Karen’s face staring back at me in the photos brought back the guilty feelings over my tryst with Diane, even though I’d technically done nothing wrong.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  She took a bag of coffee from the freezer and began to grind the beans.

  “Have you made any progress?”

  “Actually, I have.”

  She stopped and looked at me. In the late morning light, I could see the resemblance to Karen in her face.

  “Anything…” She was searching for the right words.

  “No, I haven’t found out who did it yet, if that was your question.”

  She nodded and finished setting up the coffee. She flicked the on button and small black drips gurgled into the glass canister. I was having a hard time summoning the courage to really go into what we needed to talk about. Telling a woman her dead daughter had worked as an escort was not high on my list of life experiences I wanted to have.

  “Have you been getting Karen’s mail?” I asked.

  “Yes, mostly just a few bills. I hadn’t had a chance to go through everything yet. Why?”

  “How about a bank statement?”

  “Possibly, let me look.”

  She exited the kitchen and returned in a few short seconds with a pile of mail. She sorted through it and found an unopened envelope from the Lowell Five. She held it up for me to see.

  “Here it is. What’s so important?”

  “Why don’t you open it for me.”

  She nodded, ripped open the envelope and unfolded the statement. She turned a bit white and dropped the statement on the table. I reached over and picked it up. It was exactly as I’d seen at the apartment. Karen had a checking balance of thirty-two thousand dollars and change.

  “That must be an error,” she said. “Karen never had that kind of money.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so either.”

  “I’ll have to call the bank and let them know.”

  “It’s not a mistake.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “Mrs. Pommer…”

  She cut me off. “Please, Ronan, call me Beverly. Mrs. Pommer makes me sound so old.”

  For some reason, it made me uncomfortable but I respected her req
uest.

  “Okay, Beverly. Do you know what Karen was doing for work?”

  “She worked at that bar downtown, what was it called?”

  “Max’s Blue Room.”

  “Yes, Max’s. She said your band played there too.”

  She feared the worst; I could see it in her eyes.

  “Please don’t tell me she was dealing drugs from there.”

  “No, this is a really hard thing for me to tell you. It was hard for me to deal with too but I’ve confirmed it.”

  She took my hand and held it tight.

  “It was something illegal?”

  “Karen was working as an escort.”

  It didn’t register. I may as well have just said coat check girl or cashier.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She got paid to date men.”

  She put her hand over her mouth in horror.

  “You mean, like a prostitute? Are you saying my daughter was a whore?”

  I didn’t answer. What was I going to say?

  “You must be mistaken. Maybe she saved that money when she was in the Navy.”

  “I visited the agency she worked for and talked to her clients.”

  She stood up and started to pace the kitchen. The tears were about to flow.

  “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but I knew when you saw the money in her account you’d start asking questions.”

  “I taught her better than that. If she needed money, I could have…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. The crying started. I stood and hugged her for a good five minutes before she regained composure.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” It felt good hearing that from her, even if it wasn’t in the context I wanted.

  “Do you think Sara knows?” I asked.

  “They were very close.”

  “Is she at school? I really need to talk to her.”

  “Does she really have to know, I mean if she doesn’t already?”

  “I have information that the list of clients the agency gave me is short a name. I’m hoping maybe she can provide the name or at least a clue as to the man’s identity. It might help me find out who killed her.”

  “They were very close and might have talked about it. I can show you a copy of her class schedule.”