Cold Moon Dead

by J. M. Griffin

  “Is everything all right?”

  Larry’s skin was still bright red. His short neck appeared more swollen than when he’d picked me up earlier in the day. His health status worried me and I didn’t want to catch whatever it was he had.

  “I don’t feel so great. My throat is killing me. It must be strep throat or something. That was my doctor on the phone. He said to come right in, if I could,” he said in a raspy voice. To convince me further, Larry wiped moisture from his face with a chubby hand.

  “Sure, no problem. Just make sure you get checked out, all right?” I had to see Freedom at the station anyway, so this early end to the day worked out to my benefit.

  We cleaned up and packed the supplies in an out-of-the-way corner. Larry scribbled a note to Hilda that said he would call her later. While I waited for him, I gawked around the first floor rooms that were bursting with flamboyant furniture, heavy brocade drapes, and sparkling trinkets. Gaudy was the term I would use since I couldn’t think of another description right off hand. This was certainly a switch from the lower level with its tasteful furnishings and accoutrements.

  Within half-an-hour, Lanky Larry had dropped me off at home and headed to his doctor appointment. I waved as he left then went inside to change before my drive to the community police station in Providence. Lola had flown away to her cruise ship destination, but her car sat in the driveway with the keys under the front seat.

  Clean and ready to face Freedom’s taciturn attitude, I left for Providence. With any luck, I wouldn’t get robbed on the way.

  The cell phone jingled as I headed uphill toward the station. Freedom was on the line wondering how close I was.

  “I’m almost there. Can you meet me, or are you on a call?”

  “I’m on a call. Jake Milligan will take the report. Just give him the basics and he’ll take it from there. I’ll see you if I get done here before you finish up.” She chuckled a second and then said, “Don’t give Jake a hard time, okay? He’s a rookie and you’ll probably scare the crap out of him.”

  “Right. I got it,” I said. If anyone did the scaring, it would be Freedom.

  A few minutes later I swung into the lot across the street from the station. A cruiser idled outside the building. I entered and called out Milligan’s name. A tall man with a lean frame ambled down the corridor toward me as I peered around the doorway. Light brown cropped hair covered his head. Jake Milligan had to be about my height and maybe even my weight. He was thin and somber in appearance.

  His pale blue eyes didn’t miss a thing. He nodded at me and asked who I was.

  “Lavinia Esposito,” I answered.

  “Banger just called and said you’d be in to give a report of shots fired. How come this wasn’t done earlier?”

  This guy had the personality of a prune. Where was Lola when I needed her? She’d have smiled at this guy and he would have eaten from the palm of her hand. Huh. What the hell, I may as well just give him the facts. No smile, no charm, nothing.

  “It’s a bit complicated, so I will tell you what I know. You can take the report and do with it what you will.” I sat down and shared my story, leaving out the man’s name and a few other details I considered important to my survival.

  We had just finished the report when the door opened. I heard Free mumble into the radio that was permanently attached to her shoulder. She strode down the hallway and nodded to me but her glance rested on the newbie.

  “Did you get the report?” she asked.

  “Yes, I did. I have it here for you.” He pulled the pages from the printer and handed them to Freedom. His expression reminded me of a puppy looking for adoration from its master.

  I stifled a grin.

  Her eyes scanned the sheets and then rested on me.

  “This is it? That’s all that happened?” She asked this with a doubt-riddled expression.

  If I hadn’t known cops so well, I probably would have been nervous. Instead, I held my ground and remembered that what I had said to the rookie was to be taken as fact.

  “Free, that’s all that happened. I left nothing out. Do you know this guy or did anyone see anything that I didn’t?”

  Her head wagged back and forth as she read the report once again. She handed it back to Milligan and told him to take it down to headquarters. He nodded and left us alone. I couldn’t help but smile over the way Jake acted around Freedom. She intimidated the hell out of him, but then she did that to some of the cops she’d worked alongside for years. Freedom was a legend in her own right, whether the colonel liked her or not. It took a stupid fool to mess with her.

  “You up for lunch or what?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but take your own car in case I get a call and have to leave. We don’t usually get a break unless we call out for the time. Today no one can replace us because Today we’re short one cop in the district.”

  With a nod, I followed her from the station to the nearest pizza joint down the street. We went inside and ordered calzones and pizza strips. The smell of Italian sandwiches was almost more than I could stand. The air was so aromatic, I could practically taste the food before it arrived.

  We ate in silence for a bit and watched the traffic flow past on the dreary winter street. No wind today—just damp cold. That’s how the weather is in Rhode Island during the winter. Damp, cold, and more damp. I chewed the pizza, extracting every morsel of flavor I could from the sauce. Geez, it was good. Freedom finished up before I did and leaned back in her chair, waiting. For what, I didn’t know, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

  “So, why don’t you tell me why you held back the information?” Freedom asked the question quietly so the nearby patrons couldn’t hear what she said.

  “I was rattled, that’s all. It’s not every day I see a gunshot victim,” I whispered. “He wasn’t hurt real bad, by the way. At least that’s what he said.”

  “Huh.” She snorted. “If anything like that ever happens again, speak up. You got it?”

  “Yes, yes, okay,” I said. “Sorry I held out on you.” I tried to look sorry, but it didn’t work because she burst out laughing.

  “You are such an actress, honest to God.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m not buying your act, so cut the crap. You have your own reasons for not telling me what happened. I get it, don’t worry. Just remember that next time things might get difficult if you hold out. I might not be the person you have to deal with.”

  “You’re right.” I conceded, ate the rest of my Calzone, and drank the coffee I’d ordered.

  “Did Marcus know about the shots fired?” Free stared at me when I didn’t answer, then gave me a lopsided grin. “No shit, you didn’t tell him?”

  Normal people would be appalled by this whole scene, but with cops it’s different. They look at things from an entirely different perspective than other human beings. What we find reprehensible or appalling, they often find humorous. Who knows why? Not me, that’s for sure.

  “I didn’t tell anyone except Lola and all she did was yell at me. Then Marcus came into the house and yelled at me because I was robbed. Finally, Aaron came downstairs last night and yelled at me as well. I was on overload by then – I can tell you that.”

  I smirked as the scenes ran through my head like an old newsreel. They hadn’t been funny at the time, but in retrospect, I could understand why everyone was up in arms. It’s not healthy to mess with someone who’s been shot, shot at, or is connected.

  The police radio went berserk and Freedom rose from the table. She said she’d catch me later and left in a whirlwind of lights and sirens. I leaned back in the chair and sipped the remainder of my coffee.

  The rest of the day lay wide open. I was so close to the Providence Place Mall, which sits near city hall in the middle of Metro Providence, that it seemed prudent to take advantage of that. I left the restaurant and drove to the mall’s parking garage where I left Lola’s car secured and alarmed.

  Chapt
er 6

  Shop windows boasted sales of up to fifty percent off all goods. Who could resist that? Today my checkbook was nestled in my pocket. I thanked God because I hardly ever carried it with me. I charged through as many stores as I could until my arms became heavy with purchases. Sweaters, jeans, shoes, underwear, and more were stuffed into shopping bags. I glanced at my wristwatch and realized how late in the day it was.

  Outside, the daylight had grown dim. Lights illuminated the parking garage. I scurried toward the car with the expectation I’d find it where I had left it. The Cooper sat under the compact car parking sign where I’d left it—no damage, and no problems. I heaved a sigh of relief as I unlocked the car door.

  Once the bags were bundled into the back seat, I slid in and backed out of the parking spot. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I left the city for Cranston where I hoped to cadge a meal from my parents. It grew darker as I made my way through traffic. The road forked. I turned and glanced to the right and then the left. I turned back to the right and in that fraction of a second, I realized the woman walking along the sidewalk was none other than the old hag who had robbed me the day before.

  I slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. I swung the steering wheel hard. Traffic slid to a stop, horns blew, and hand gestures prevailed while I turned around. The Cooper was a great car for tight turns. As I neared the spot I’d seen her, I saw that the pedestrian was gone.

  At a snail’s pace, I cruised the streets, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. I drove up one street and down another. She’d disappeared. I flicked my cell phone open and hit speed dial. Freedom answered on the first ring. I told her what had happened and where I’d seen the woman. She said she would keep an eye out in the future and thanked me for the call.

  Within minutes I’d arrived at the compact Cape Cod style house where I’d grown up with my twin brother, Giovanni. We’d raised hell in the neighborhood during our childhood years. The local stadium, several blocks down the street, had hosted many games where my brother had played. Baseball games where my mother had yelled at the umpire and embarrassed the entire family with her colorful language. I smiled at the memory and parked in the yard.

  Marcus owned a Victorian-style house, remodeled into a townhouse type of duplex. It sat a couple blocks away from my family’s home, but was not visible from it. The neighborhood was an old one with working people who went to bed early and rose early. Hard-working folks who’d raised their kids, watched them go to college, and get married. Now retired, these folks awaited slews of grandchildren.

  My father was no different. My mother, on the other hand, had not been ready to retire. She worked for me at a gift shop in Providence, the one I’d inherited from Aunt Livvy. Mom did the accounts and helped the sales girls when things got busy. Warm, welcoming lights glowed through the kitchen windows as I sauntered up the steps to their miniscule deck behind the house. The property was the size of a postage stamp. The deck took up the better part of the backyard and the garage ate up most of the rest. There was only a smidgen of grass and flowers to be seen in the summertime. Right now, the yard looked forlorn with no snow to give it a pristine appearance. Brown, crusty grass and weeds lingered.

  My mother opened the door as I crossed the deck. Though Theresa Esposito was shorter than me and a bit round in the middle, the resemblance between us was there for all to see. The genes on Mom’s side of the family were strong, even though I had inherited her sister Livvy’s particular looks and height.

  “Oh, Lavinia, I’m glad to see you. I wondered if you’d be by for supper. I told your father to make that chicken soup you like so much.” Mom smiled and bustled around the kitchen.

  A kettle simmered on the stove, I raised the lid and inhaled with appreciation. The chicken soup, officially named Wedding Soup, was served at traditional Italian weddings in Rhode Island. It was also a staple on holidays like Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. The soup came first at holiday feasts, followed by pasta with meatballs, then the regular meal, then the antipasto salad. Aaron and Marcus were astounded at the amount of food consumed by those of us who enjoyed this ritual. By most accounts, people that aren’t Italian don’t have huge meals such as these. I was sad for them, because they surely missed out.

  A loaf of Italian bread sat on the counter. My mother took a serrated knife from a drawer and sliced the bread. She piled thick chunks high on a plate, retrieved earthenware bowls from the cupboard and set the table. My father strolled into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Dad. The soup smells delicious.” I kissed his cheek as he grunted his greeting.

  “Your brother called today,” my mother said.

  “What’s going on with him?” I asked.

  “He and his wife are off on a cruise tomorrow. He wanted to let us know in case we called and couldn’t reach him.” She looked up for a second, glanced at my father, and then asked, “He wondered if you’d heard anything about some stolen art that was recovered by the FBI?” She shrugged. “I told him that you didn’t have any connections with the FBI, so how would you know?”

  “Right, I wouldn’t know,” I said as my father’s eyes flicked toward me from where he stood at the stove.

  Mom smiled. “Well, that’s what I said. Giovanni seemed fine with that answer.”

  My brother had been here, in Little Rhody, just before Thanksgiving. He’d managed to become embroiled in a stolen art ring that my deceased uncle, the cat burglar, had been involved with. It had taken some work, but I had straightened it out and sent Gio back to the cornfields of Nebraska to his wife and their mundane life there. What this latest query was about was beyond my comprehension. Regardless, it was the last thing I wanted to deal with, if I could help it. Thank goodness Gio and the wife were heading out to sea.

  We had just settled at the table when there was a knock on the door. My mother started to rise, but I stopped her and answered the summons instead. Marcus stood outside, bundled in his winter State Police uniform and heavy outer jacket.

  “I saw Lola’s car and thought I’d stop in.” He looked beyond me to what was on the table. A smile crept over his face as my mother jumped up from her chair, got a bowl, and set a place for him at the table. “Is everything okay?” he asked and gave me a peck on the cheek.

  “All is well,” I answered.

  “Did you get the car thing straightened out?” he murmured as my mother ladled soup into Marcus’s bowl and passed the bread to him.

  “What car thing, Lavinia?” Mom wondered aloud as she added more soup to my father’s bowl.

  A withering glance landed on Marcus before I answered my mother. He shrugged and started to eat.

  “My car was stolen yesterday.”

  “Then what are you driving, dear?” Mom asked.

  “Lola’s car. She’s on a cruise.”

  “How nice that she lent it to you. Where was your car that it would get stolen?”

  “In Olneyville,” I said. “Could I have more bread?”

  “Olneyville? What were you doing there?”

  Good grief, my mother was on a roll. There would be no way to shift her now. She was like a pit bull once she sank her teeth into a topic.

  “I had to drop someone off there. My car was stolen. I called the police to make a report.” It wasn’t a complete lie. My soup had grown cool and I sipped the broth from the bowl as if from a cup.

  When I put the bowl down, I caught sight of my father’s glare as he mentioned I shouldn’t hang out with the city cops because of their bad manners. I grinned, asked for more soup, and started eating again.

  Dinner ended with blueberry pie covered in whipped topping. I ate two pieces of pie, and drank more coffee than I should have. I was certain my jeans had stretched to full capacity.

  Marcus leaned back in the chair and had a few words with my father about the weather, the food, and how much he had enjoyed the soup. My father chatted with him and then turned toward me.

  “You haven’t been to the Hill, have you?�
� he asked.

  Marcus raised an eyebrow and stared at me. I should have known I couldn’t get through a meal without an interrogation of some sort. I really hate when that happens.

  “No, I haven’t been to the Hill. I did go to the mall today and shopped for clothes, though. Wanna see them?” I inquired with a grin.

  “No thanks.” Dad mumbled something else. “Just stay off the Hill.”

  “Why is he telling you to stay off the Hill, Lavinia?” my mother wanted to know, her voice filled with her usual innocence.

  It was a sure bet this conversational tidbit was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Marcus. With an inward sigh, I considered ways around the topic. Nothing good came to mind. I toyed with the pie crust left on my plate.

  A wiseass grin sneaked over Marcus’s face as he watched me. He realized I was on the hot seat and was clearly waiting to see how I would extricate myself from the pit of burning hell that my father had managed to toss me into.

  “There was an incident yesterday at the district police station, and shots were fired. It seems that someone heard the shots and the person involved was from Federal Hill. Dad asked that I stay away from the Hill until the episode is sorted out.” Not bad for sitting on my ass while I lied.

  Marcus leaned closer and whispered, “What shots fired?”

  “I don’t know, just shots fired. That’s all.”

  “Uh huh, I see.” His eyes said he didn’t believe me and that he knew there was more to the story. My mother remained unaware of anything gone awry. We all have to be grateful for the little things in life.

  “There’s no reason why you should become involved in that. I’m sure you don’t know anything about it,” Mom said.

  In an effort to waylay any further questions about the matter, I turned the conversation to the gift shop. My mother fell for the gambit. I listened as she rambled on. I glanced at Marcus and then at my father. Neither man uttered a sound.