“How’s your Shakespeare coming along?” I ask, remembering Frankie was taking a Continuing Ed class. “Or should I ask: How doth thee love go, Romeo?”
Frankie laughs. “I’ve got a dinner date with my lady friend tonight.” He blushes slightly but no one dares mention it. I think it’s kind of cute that a mobster who’s killed dozens of people is still capable of blushing.
“Awesome. Shakespeare has been known to inspire love,” I say. I don’t really know this from experience, but it sounds good.
“How about you?” Frankie asks. “How’s your love life?”
I shrug. “I got my eye on somebody.”
“Take my word for it, don’t waste time. Pretty soon you’ll be middle-aged with a big belly and wondering why you never asked her to dance. You capish?” he says.
“I capish,” I say.
“Hey, where’s your ugly mutt?” Jimmy asks.
“He’s home helping my assistant with the murder investigation I’m working.”
“I saw that in the paper. Veronica Smythe. You used to date her, right?” Jimmy asks.
“Used to. Her new squeeze was the murder victim.”
“Not a great way to start a relationship,” Dumbshit says.
“You think she did it?” Jimmy asks.
“No way. Veronica may not be a very nice person, but she’s not a killer. And even if she were, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to get caught.”
“She got set up,” Frankie says. “That’s a tough rap to beat in this town. The cops got it out for you and if you don’t got people on your side, you’re going down.”
“I thought it was going up. You know, like up the river,” Dumbshit says.
Frankie smacks him. “Do me a favor and don’t talk no more. My hand hurts.”
Dumbshit jams another bite of cannoli into his mouth.
“So, you’re working for Veronica?” Jimmy asks.
“Yeah, I think this Able Cable thing is the lead I’ve been needing.”
“You got an idea who dunnit then?” Frankie asks.
“I think so, but we’re working on how to prove it because, you know…”
“Yeah, I know, what we’re doing here ain’t gonna stand up in court,” Jimmy says.
“Exactly.”
Jimmy’s cell phone rings. He answers it. “Yeah, yeah, got it. Thanks. No problem. I got you covered.” Jimmy pockets the phone.
“Well? The suspense is killing us,” Frankie says. He sips his coffee.
“The IP leads back to one Terri Barton,” Jimmy says.
“That’s her,” I say. “Does he know any more?”
“She knows her computers, but not as well as my guy. She set it up about a month ago,” Jimmy says.
“Now you gotta smoke her out, like a mouse and cheese,” Dumbshit says.
We all turn to him. He looks ready to duck.
“He’s got something there. You just gotta figure out the bait,” Frankie says. “What does this Terri person want more than anything?”
“That’s easy. She wants to see Veronica get life in prison,” I say.
“And if she doesn’t? What if your pal Veronica goes free?” Frankie asks.
I stare at him while the wheels turn. I smile as the plan forms.
“That’s my girl. You ever stop working for yourself, you come see me,” Frankie says with a wink.
Thirty-Six
I steer my car through afternoon traffic with one hand and speed dial London with the other. As soon as she picks up, I say, “It’s just what we thought. Terri is the one behind Able Cable.”
“Well, that’s something, but we still have to find more than circumstantial evidence. Judge Young won’t grant Veronica bail on just conjecture. We can’t even haul Terri in. The fingerprint didn’t bring anyone up. Evidently Terri’s never been fingerprinted. I don’t mean to be a buzzkill,” London says, “but now we have to find some hard evidence that will hold up in court.”
“Can’t we get her fingerprint?”
“Only if she volunteers it. Which, of course, she won’t,” London says.
“We need a brainstorming session. How about I stop and pick up lunch at my mom’s? Today is Thursday and that means ziti. Can you meet at my place? Maybe Travis has taken enough showers and got it all figured out.”
“Your place, huh? This is new. I’ve never seen it. Of course, this is work—for now.”
I smile, glad she can’t see me over the phone waves. “Meet me there in an hour.”
*
Ma is glad to see me, but she’s not so happy about my leaving with the food. “I don’t understand why you and London can’t sit down to a proper meal. You’re going to get indigestion eating too fast.”
“I’ll chew slow, I promise.”
“It’s not good to think too much while you’re eating. Blood doesn’t know whether to go to your brain or your belly,” she argues. She stacks Tupperware containers in an old laundry basket and throws towels over it all to keep it warm.
“Don’t worry. My blood will be fine,” I say with a big sigh. “Be sure to pack enough for Travis and Michael, too.”
“Oh, I’ll need to add more. I know how those boys can eat. I’ll put in some prosciutto. Travis likes my prosciutto. When’s the wedding?” she asks. “If my youngest daughter won’t get married, maybe I can go to her gay friend’s wedding.”
“They’re not even engaged yet, Ma.”
“Are you going to walk Travis down the aisle?” Zio Tonino asks with his mouth full of ziti. “Or is it the other way around?”
Ma hands him a napkin. He tucks a corner of it into his collar. “Wipe your face,” Ma commands.
“I’m not done eating,” he says.
“Leave him alone, Bella. He’s got his habits. Like we all do,” Pa says as he enters the room. He sits at the table and Ma places a plate of food in front of him.
“Bad birdie, bad, bad, bad birdie,” Fruit Loops squawks from where he’s perched on the curtain rod.
“Why does he say that? He’s not doing anything,” I say.
“He’s one of those empath birds. He’s commiserating with Tonino’s scolding,” Pa says.
“If he keeps pooping on my curtains, I’m going to make a hat out of him,” Ma says. She gives Fruit Loops the stink eye.
Fruit Loops takes the hint and flies out the kitchen window and back to the man cave. “Bye bye, Birdie,” he sings on the way out.
“And good riddance,” Ma says under her breath.
“You really don’t like him, do you?” I ask.
“Let’s just say we have a love-hate relationship,” Ma says. “He loves me, I hate him.”
“Don’t listen to the tough talk from your mother. I’ve seen her slip him birdie treats,” Zio Tonino says.
Ma waves his words away with her hand and packs more Tupperware under the towels.
“How’s your tummy feel after the surgery?” I ask Tonino.
“Ah, right as rain. Got a nice scar to show the boys down at the Legion Hall,” Zio Tonino says. “It’s my first one and it’s a doozy. Wanna see it?”
The thought of Zio Tonino's hairy belly is not something I want to see. “Uh, no thanks. Not before lunch. You almost got it packed, Ma?”
“What’s your hurry?” Pa asks.
“She doesn’t want Veronica to go to the gas chamber,” Ma answers for me.
“They don’t gas women do they?” Zio Tonino asks.
“Naw, they stick you full of chemicals and then you take the cab,” Pa says. We all fall silent. Ma crosses herself.
Ma finishes the packing and hands me the laundry basket full of food. “You better get going. We don’t want Veronica taking any cabs.”
I make the drive home in record time, but London’s already beat me there. She’s sitting at the kitchen bar with Travis and Michael when I walk in.
“You took time to do your laundry?” London asks, looking at the basket in my arms.
“No. This is an Italian picnic b
asket.” I whip off the towel like a magician pulling a tablecloth out from under plates. “Taadaa!”
Travis sniffs the air and almost swoons. “Is that ziti I smell?”
“It is.”
“Color me hungry,” he says, running to get plates out of the cabinets.
As I unpack the Tupperware and Michael puts silverware and napkins on the table, London says, “Great place you got here. You really had a rich uncle who left it to you?”
I give Travis one of my signature looks, the one that says ‘Do you have to tell everybody everything about me?’ “Yeah,” I answer London, “He didn’t have any children and he liked me.”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Travis says. He loads his plate with pasta and says reverently, “Your mother is an asset to this country.”
“You mean her cooking,” I say. “My mother not so much.” Travis hands us all heaping plates of ziti. It’s still warm.
London takes one bite and groans with delight. “Your mother should be knighted. Or whatever it is that Catholics do.”
“Canonized,” I say. “But I think they have to be dead first.”
“This is exactly what we needed,” Michael says between bites. “The cupboards are bare. We haven’t left the apartment since having lunch with Holly Ryder.”
It’s quiet except for the scraping of forks on plates and Ivan’s toenails on the wood floor as he goes from person to person, gazing up at them plaintively for just a morsel of human food.
“Basta,” I say. “No begging.”
Ivan sits by his empty food dish and waits patiently. When we humans are full I put some leftover ziti and bread in Ivan’s bowl. He chows down. I sit back at the table and look at everyone. I think Ma may have been right about the blood thing. They all look like they’re in a food coma.
Finally, London begins the brainstorming session by saying, “So, what do we have?”
“We have a suspect, but not enough evidence to arrest her,” Michael answers. He gathers up the dirty plates. “But Travis has an idea.” He swishes off with a stack of dirty plates and silverware.
I look at Travis. “Well, spill. Let’s hear your plan.”
“It’s simple. We get Terri to kill Veronica,” Travis says. “And we catch her red-handed.”
London and I both look at each other, then back at Travis. I clear my throat. “Travis. . . I don’t think Veronica is going to go for that plan. She likes the whole being alive thing.”
“Terri doesn’t really kill her. We just trap Terri trying to kill her. We swoop in, in the nick of time, and save her,” Travis says.
In theory it isn’t such a bad plan. There is one small problem. We’d have to get Veronica out of jail to be the bait.
“It won’t work. We can’t get her out of jail,” London says. “Judge Young has denied her bail.”
Travis looks rejected. There goes his bottom lip doing that poochy thing again. He and Veronica are the only two people I know who actually stick out their bottom lips when they’re pouting. They could be twins.
“Omigod! That’s it!” I say.
“What’s it?” Travis and London say at the same time.
“What if someone who looks like Veronica gets out of jail?” I say.
“You mean somebody dresses up as Veronica to fool Terri?” London asks.
“Exactly. It doesn’t have to be the real Veronica. Terri just has to think it’s the real Veronica,” I say.
“That’d light a fire under Terri’s ass. She’d come and finish the job then. She didn’t go to all this trouble to see Veronica get away with murder. Her grudge match isn’t finished until she’s got Beth Ellen and Veronica,” London says.
“Exactly,” I say again.
Michael pipes up. I didn’t see him standing in the doorway poised in the high fifth ballerina position. “But how will Terri know that fake Veronica has gotten out of jail?”
“Because it’ll be in the newspaper,” London says.
That gets everybody’s attention. Travis is the one to ask, “How?”
“I have people,” London says. I almost laugh. That’s the same thing Frankie had said to me earlier. Maybe cops and mobsters were more alike than they knew.
London continues, “And they owe me a favor.”
“We’ve got to keep Veronica quiet. Or she’ll blow fake Veronica’s cover,” I say.
“I’ll get her put in solitary. The whole thing will be over with before she even knows what’s happening.”
“How are you going to get her put in solitary?” I ask. Then I answer my own question, “Let me guess. . . You have people.”
London smirks.
Travis asks, “So, who do we know that we can use for the bait? They have to be classy and look good in a dress.”
All eyes turn to Travis.
“Me?” he squeaks.
“You’d be perfect,” Michael says. He walks on his tippy-toes, ballerina style, over to where Travis is sitting. “I can do your make-up. I once played Sweet Charity, you know, in the national tour.”
“You never told me that,” Travis says.
“Well, I was actually understudy, but I did get to play two nights in Topeka,” Michael says.
“I love that show!” Travis exclaims.
I snap my fingers. “Boys, please. Let’s get back on track.”
Travis looks at me. His face is suddenly worried. “I don’t know. I mean, what if she did really kill me?”
“We would not let that happen,” London says.
“Just think! You’ll be famous,” Michael says.
“I would, wouldn’t I?” Travis says. He crosses his arms and looks at me. “I might be convinced to do it. But I would want to officially be your assistant,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
London raises her eyebrow in my direction.
Sigh. What can I do? I have to give in to his demands or be fake Veronica myself.
“How about assistant-in-training and you don’t get a gun?” I barter.
Travis thinks about it for all of two seconds. “All right, it’s a deal. But only if Michael gets to role-play, too. He can be my lawyer.”
Michael beams. “I have the perfect suit. I wore it when I played Nathan Detroit in Guys and Dolls off Broadway.”
I give in. “All right. But remember, this is real life, not some musical.”
“Yay!” Travis says. He and Michael bounce up from the table, high-five, and then do the 1970s bump dance around the room.
Oh no. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Thirty-Seven
We go to The 509 to enlist Bruce the Doorman’s help. I don’t want to, mainly because I can’t stand the guy. London explains that if Terri follows Travis-acting-as-Veronica back to the condo, then Bruce could blow the whole ruse if he isn’t in on it. Besides, we need him to let us into her place so we can outfit Travis in Veronica’s clothes. It makes sense, but I still don’t like him.
London, Travis, Michael, and I corner Bruce at his desk in the lobby of The 509.
“I don’t know about this,” Bruce says nervously. “I could get fired.”
I appeal to his sizeable ego. “The police and the press will be here. They’ll want to interview you because you played such a pivotal role in the capture of the murderer,” I say. I’m getting to be a pretty good schmoozer. Sometimes I even amaze myself.
Bruce thinks it over. He doesn’t think long, though, before his ego wins out. He reaches for his keys, saying, “Okay. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I want an unguided tour of her condo. I hear it’s swanky,” Bruce says.
“You’ve never been in it?” Travis asks.
“I don’t violate the privacy of our tenants,” Bruce says huffily.
“Unless they happen to be in jail,” I mutter.
Bruce holds the keys up in the air and lets them swing back and forth like a pendulum ticking off the seconds.
“Okay, it’s a deal.
Lead the way,” I say.
Michael picks up Ivan and tags along behind us.
“Does the dog have to come?” Bruce says. “I don’t care for dogs. Especially little ugly ones.”
Ivan growls. Bruce takes a step back.
“He’s a service dog,” Michael says, pointing to Ivan’s red vest.
“When I get nervous and stressed I pet him and he makes me feel better,” Travis says. He reaches over and scratches behind Ivan’s ears. Ivan stops growling.
“All right,” Bruce gives in. “But I won’t be responsible for any doggie accidents.”
Bruce lets us into Veronica’s condo and immediately oohs and aahs at the view of the city while Michael and Travis disappear inside Veronica’s bedroom. Bruce noses around the living room and kitchen, bounces his sizeable butt up and down on her swanky couch, helps himself to a glass of water using the fine crystal, opens the fridge, looks at her bookshelf, runs his finger across her movie collection, and generally seems to enjoy himself.
“Stay here and keep an eye on him,” I say to London. “I’ll go check on the boys.”
I walk into Veronica’s bedroom in time to overhear an argument emanating from the closet. Veronica’s closet is bigger than most people’s entire apartments. I walk in just as Michael says, “That is not a good color for you.”
Travis is decked out in a long blond wig, a red dress, and matching heels. I’m no expert on female attire, but even I think he looks a little hookerish.
“What’s wrong with it?” Travis asks. “Red is in my color palette. I’m an autumn. Anyone can tell that.”
“You’re more a winter,” Michael says.
“Autumn.”
“Winter.”
I interrupt, “I think Veronica might be more dressed down and classy looking if she’s just getting out of jail,” I say. I grab a hanger and thrust it at them. “How about this pantsuit? It’s purple. I like purple.”
Travis rolls his eyes. “It looks like something from Willy Wonka.”
I shrug. “I liked Willy Wonka. The new one not so much, but I love the old one.” I shake the purple outfit in Travis’s direction. “Try it on.”
Michael and Travis both look at me like I’ve lost it. “That is hideous,” they say in unison.
Till Beth Do Us Part (A Jamie Bravo Mystery Book 2) Page 22
