A Widow in Paradise & Suburban Secrets

by Donna Birdsell

  Tina smiled. “You really are a mother, aren’t you?”

  “Can’t help it.”

  “So what was all that about with Nick? What did he mean that you bought him more time?”

  “He’s working on a project for your…for Mr. Skobelov, and he needed a little more time.”

  “What kind of project?”

  “I’m not sure, really. I don’t ask.”

  Tina nodded. “I hear you. I don’t really want to know about Viktor’s business, ya know? What should we do with your eyes?”

  “Do we have to do anything? Aren’t they okay the way they are?”

  “Don’t be chicken. How about some Wild Heather eyeliner?”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  Apparently, Tina didn’t get the sarcasm in her tone because she tilted Grace’s head back and started penciling purple along her lids.

  While her neck was busy cramping up, Grace thought she’d ask a few questions of her own.

  “So how did you hook up with Viktor?”

  Tina popped her gum. “I guess I just got lucky.”

  “Hmm. Yeah, but how did you meet him?”

  Tina hesitated. “A mutual friend introduced us.”

  “Ah.” Nick. It had to be. How many people had told her Nick preferred a girl like Tina?

  “Are you from Philadelphia?”

  “Uh-uh. Baltimore.” Tina selected some eye shadow from her makeup case and held it up beside Grace’s eyes. “Misty Mauve or Irish Rose?”

  Because she wanted nothing more than to get her nose out of Tina’s cleavage, she muttered, “May as well stick with the flower theme and go with Irish Rose.”

  “Good choice.”

  It seemed so odd to hear someone say that. She didn’t feel like she’d made a good choice in quite a while. Most certainly not this weekend.

  A good choice would have been to keep her simple hairstyle. A good choice would have been to say no to Tom when he’d asked her to sign the papers.

  A good choice would have been to pick “truth” instead of “dare.”

  Well, hell. She’d made what she’d thought were good choices her whole life. Majoring in marketing when she really loved dance. Marrying Tom when she’d been enjoying her freedom.

  Natural childbirth.

  In retrospect, they’d all left something to be desired. But at least they’d seemed like good choices at the time. Responsible choices.

  The choices she’d made this weekend? Well, they hadn’t even seemed good when she’d made them, but at least they made life a hell of a lot more stimulating.

  “I doubt the guys will be home anytime soon,” Tina said, looking at her watch. “How about a henna tattoo?”

  Hmm. A henna tattoo? Not a good choice.

  “Go for it.”

  Tina grinned. “I like you, Grace.”

  “I like you, too.”

  Tina rooted through a makeup case the size of a steamer trunk and pulled out her henna kit.

  She poured Grace another glass of wine. “After we do tattoos, I’ll teach you some dance moves.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Monday, 6:43 a.m.

  Bungee Jumping

  Momentary panic engulfed Grace when she opened her eyes to the dark red chain links encircling her bicep.

  Had she met a sailor in Tina’s bathroom? Had she joined the Navy?

  Then she remembered. The tattoo wasn’t real. Unlike the nasty headache, which definitely was.

  She had to stop drinking. Really.

  So far this weekend alone, she’d given away her panties and a twenty-thousand-dollar ring, made out with two complete strangers, agreed to cook for an insane Russian mobster, got a tattoo and learned how to dance like a stripper. What was next? Jumping out of a cake at a bachelor party? Bungee jumping naked off the Betsy Ross Bridge?

  She dragged her ass out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom, where she splashed some cold water on her face and caught her reflection in the mirror.

  She looked like a psychotic raccoon.

  She grabbed her cell phone out of the charger, which she’d thankfully remembered to bring, and slunk out to the kitchen. No one else was up, which didn’t surprise her. Nick and Skobelov hadn’t returned until after three, and Tina had drunk as much wine as she had.

  If the batter for the blini she planned to make this morning didn’t have to rise twice, she wouldn’t be up herself. But she had to hold up her end of the bargain—distract Skobelov with carbs and butter.

  It seemed silly, but she didn’t want to let Pete down.

  She wondered if he and Louis had located the computer key yet. From the conversation she’d overheard last night between Skobelov and Nick, time was running out. The Russian was getting antsy, and no amount of rasstegai or solyanka was going to help.

  She had to admit that Skobelov scared her, more than just a little. It was less what he said than how he said it. Less how he looked at her than what she saw in his eyes. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a touch of humor. No forgiveness. Not a modicum of understanding or compassion.

  He was like a sadistic little kid with a magnifying glass, and everyone else was just an ant on the sidewalk. Everyone near him walked around in fear, wondering when they were going to get fried. Even Nick seemed a little intimidated.

  Grace wondered what had made him decide to become an informant. He had to know what would happen if Skobelov found out.

  She finished the blini batter and removed a package of smoked salmon from the refrigerator. It tasted better at room temperature. Then she boiled the eggs for the okroshka she planned to make for lunch.

  At 8:01 a.m. she decided it was late enough to call her mother.

  She poured another cup of coffee and settled into the breakfast nook with her cell phone. When she flipped it open, she saw that she had a message from Tom. She punched in the access code for her voice mail.

  “Gracie, where in the hell are you? I need to talk to you. I need those papers. Call me, please.”

  His typical composure, and the clipped diction that had first impressed her and then later driven her crazy, were gone. He sounded on edge. Nervous, even. And Tom didn’t get nervous.

  She called his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. She refused to call his home phone. No way did she want to talk to Marlene.

  Besides, he really wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that she no longer had the papers and wasn’t sure where they were.

  She hit the speed dial for her parents’ number.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Grace! I left a couple of messages on your home phone. Did you get them?”

  “Actually, I haven’t been home. I spent the night at a friend’s house.”

  “A friend?”

  Did she detect a note of disapproval in her mother’s tone?

  A note? Hell, it was more like an entire symphony.

  “Yes, a friend. Her name is Tina.”

  “Oh, do I know her?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

  “What does she do?”

  Ever since her mother had gone back to work part-time at the Wicks ’n’ Sticks in the mall, she’d become a real career woman.

  “She’s, ah…she’s in the entertainment business.”

  “Oh? What, like the record business or something?”

  “No. Dinner theater.”

  “Interesting. Maybe your father and I could go see her sometime. We love the theater, you know.”

  By “the theater” her mother meant the First Presbyterian Players’ production of Oklahoma.

  “I’ll try to get you tickets. I’m sure you’d enjoy the show. How are the kids?”

  “They’re fine. Megan is on the phone all the time, though. Did you know she talks to boys?”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “And you approve of that?”

  Grace sighed. “Mom, if I could have, I would have kept them all in diapers for the rest of their lives. But they have to gr
ow up, don’t they? Whether we like it or not.”

  Her mother was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “I suppose they do.”

  Grace had no doubt her mother was remembering her in diapers and wondering where the years went. She could hear the nostalgia seeping through the quiet hum of the phone line.

  “I love you, Mom,” Grace said.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Can you keep the kids one more night? Take them to school tomorrow morning? I’ll pick them up after.”

  “Of course, dear. I know you have a lot on your mind.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Chapter 16.5

  Monday, 8:22 a.m.

  Champagne Hangover

  Pete fell out of the chair in which he’d fallen asleep listening to Balboa’s snoring, after Balboa had apparently fallen asleep in Skobelov’s living room with his face right near the bug.

  Pete picked himself up off the floor and wiped the drool from the corners of his mouth, stumbling toward the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

  He loaded the filter to the brim. The blacker the better.

  Maybe he could just skip the middleman and snort the coffee grounds instead.

  He guessed that Nick would be asleep for a few more hours at least, considering the night he’d had at the Cat’s Meow. A night that yielded absolutely nothing in the way of usable information against Skobelov but plenty of moans and sighs from the ladies giving lap dances in the Champagne Room.

  The Russian must have been licking his wounds from the Eagles’ loss to the Giants and brought Nick along for the ride. Literally.

  Unfortunately, Pete had been stuck in his car in the parking lot with the body wire receiver all night, with nothing to think about except what Grace might be doing back at the apartment.

  At least he hadn’t been worried about her safety. With Nick and Skobelov at the Cat’s Meow, there wasn’t a whole lot to worry about.

  He yawned and wondered if he had enough time to take a shower before Nick woke up. He checked to make sure the feed from the bug was being recorded and trudged upstairs, coffee mug in hand.

  Just before he stepped into the shower, his cell phone rang.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Lou. Morton’s on the move. He left the chippie in the hotel room and he’s driving into Jersey in a little rented piece of crap. Friggin’ tin can with wheels.”

  “He heading north or south?”

  “North. Could be going to New York.”

  “Nah. I don’t think so. If he had business in New York, why wouldn’t he have flown into New York? Why would he be staying near Philadelphia?”

  “You seen the price of a hotel room in New York?”

  “Maybe he’s got something set up with Johnny Iatesta in Trenton,” Pete said.

  Lou was silent for a minute. “Makes sense. Iatesta does a good business with counterfeit credit cards.”

  “Yeah. And the state police in Jersey have been on him for immigration violations. Fake social security cards, that kind of thing.”

  “Think Morton’s trying to get a bidding war going between Iatesta and Skobelov?”

  “That would be my guess. Just stay on him, okay? Let me know what happens.”

  “Right. Later.”

  Chapter 17

  Monday, 9:30 a.m.

  Charo’s Blouse

  When Grace got back to her bedroom after taking a shower, Tina was sitting on her bed, her wallet in hand.

  “Oh, sorry.” Tina blushed. “I just…I thought you might have some pictures of your kids. I didn’t have any brothers and sisters growing up, and I—”

  “It’s okay. Here.” She took the wallet from Tina and opened up a little snap to reveal an accordion of snapshots. “This is Megan, my oldest. And this is Kevin. He’s ten. And this is Callie, my youngest.”

  “This your husband?” Tina pointed to a picture of Tom standing beside his Corvette.

  “My ex. Yeah.”

  Tina had a funny look on her face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She sighed. “I just wonder if I’ll ever have that. A husband and a family and all that. Dancers don’t have the most stable lives, ya know?”

  Grace sat down on the bed beside the younger woman. “You don’t have to be a dancer forever.”

  Tina smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “What can I say? Dress me like a wild woman, but underneath I’m still a mother.”

  “Speaking of wild women, what are you going to wear today?”

  Grace pulled a pair of chinos and a lavender scoop-neck T-shirt out of her bag.

  “No, no, no-o-o.” Tina stuffed the clothes back into her bag. “That shirt won’t even show your tattoo. Come on, I’ll fix you up.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Tina. Really.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. I have tons of clothes. Viktor really spoils me that way. He likes me to look good.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Tina grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed. “I’ll do your hair, too, while we’re at it.”

  Grace bit her tongue.

  She wouldn’t pooh-pooh an offer of help in that area. She guessed the trade-off for hair that didn’t have a brush tangled in it would have to be clothes that looked like they’d been worn in a Whitesnake video.

  Tina led her down the long hall and into her own bedroom, disappearing into the huge walk-in closet. Grace sat down on the bed—which she was surprised to find neatly made—and examined her surroundings.

  There seemed to be very little of a personal nature in Tina’s room. No framed photographs on the nightstand. No bric-a-brac. No jewelry lying around.

  “How long did you say you’ve lived here?” Grace said.

  Tina’s voice sounded as if it were coming from a cave. “About six months, I guess.”

  “Where did you live before that?”

  “Here and there. Nowhere special.” Tina emerged from her closet with several garments draped over her arm. She held up the clothes. “I found the perfect outfit for you.”

  Grace eyed the blue lamé rhumba blouse and black cigarette pants. “Wow. That’s something else.”

  “Isn’t it? I’ll get you some shoes.”

  Grace held the ruffled blouse up to her chest and looked in the mirror.

  “Did you get this shirt off of eBay or something? It was Charo’s, right?”

  “Who’s Charo?”

  Grace shook her head. At least she wouldn’t see anyone she knew. It was unlikely Misty or Brenda or Lorraine would be walking around this part of town.

  “Cuchi-cuchi,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  Monday, 11:44 a.m.

  Lucky

  In the middle of breakfast, the phone rang.

  Skobelov, his mouth stuffed with blini, looked at Nick.

  “You want me to get it?” Nick said.

  Skobelov nodded.

  Nick wiped his hands on his pants and picked up the phone. “Yo.”

  He listened for a while and then put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “It’s Morton,” he said to Skobelov. “He’s in Philadelphia. He wants to meet you. Says he got an offer from Johnny Iatesta for the files and wants to give you a chance to make a counteroffer.”

  “I already paid him. What? He offer me my own damn property now?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Nick said.

  “No. You take care of enough already. I have another thing for you.” Skobelov wiped his mouth.

  “Another thing?” said Nick.

  Skobelov pointed to the phone. “Tell him I’ll meet him. At the club.” He looked at his watch. “Two o’clock.”

  Nick put the phone to his ear. “He says he’ll meet you. Two o’clock at a club called the Cat’s Meow, on Cottman Avenue. You got a car? Okay. Okay.”

  Nick hung up the phone. “He’ll be there.”

  Skobelov nodded.

  “You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Nick sai
d.

  “Nah. You blow this once already. I got another job for you.” Skobelov motioned to Tina. “Get me pen.”

  He scribbled on an envelope and handed it to Nick. “You know this guy. Go get him. He is being very difficult. I need to talk to him.”

  Nick looked at the envelope and then at Grace.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  Nick gave her a little shrug. To Skobelov he said, “Where do you want me to take him?”

  “To the club also. Today I take care of two assholes at once, no?” He laughed and stuffed his mouth with another forkful of blini.

  “I’m going with you, Vik,” Tina said. “I have to work at three.” To Grace, she said, “You wanna come along?”

  Grace’s cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of the back pocket of the cigarette pants.

  “Hello?”

  “Don’t go.” Pete’s voice was low and calm. “Make an excuse.”

  She hesitated. “Okay. I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Call me back after they leave.”

  “Will do. Okay. Bye.”

  She closed the cell phone and it slipped out of her nervous hands, skittering beneath the table. She went down on her hands and knees and crawled under the table, coming face-to-face with the Russian’s fat knees.

  Figured. He had two different-colored socks on.

  She retrieved the phone and resurfaced.

  “Who was that?” Tina asked.

  “Oh. My mom. She wants to borrow my, uh…my lobster pot.”

  “You got a lobster pot?” Tina said.

  “Sure, doesn’t everybody?”

  Tina shrugged.

  Skobelov looked at Nick. “What you waiting for?”

  Nick hesitated and looked at Grace.

  “You hump your girlfriend later, eh? Go.”

  Nick gave Grace one last, lingering look as he left the kitchen.

  “So, you wanna go with us or what?” Tina asked Grace.

  “Actually, I think I’ll hang out here. Do the dishes, get a start on dinner. Is there anything special you want, Mr. Skobelov?”

  The Russian rubbed his jaw. “You make pelmeni?”

  “Of course. It’s my specialty.”

  Skobelov smiled, showing tiny brown teeth that looked like dried mung beans. “Nicky is lucky man.”