Cold Moon Dead

by J. M. Griffin

  I rolled my eyes, turned, and walked out the door. Anderson caught up with me at the stairwell and together we left the building in companionable silence.

  Chapter 14

  Parked in front of Lanky Larry’s apartment, I glanced around the neighborhood. The three-story building was on the cusp of an historic district of Providence. The Brown University campus spread out nearby and the neighborhood community police station was located here.

  The district was a mixture of tenement houses and charming humongous dwellings, many of which were historic and registered with the Rhode Island Historical Society. These lovely homes had belonged to ship builders, sea merchants, and such during the early years of Rhode Island’s history. Here were two different worlds that co-existed within each other’s space.

  I got out of the car and knocked on the front door. Curtains twitched before the door swung inward.

  “Hey, Vin, come on in.” Larry grinned a bit. His face, less swollen than when I’d last seen him, appeared to be on the mend.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” I asked, wandering into the apartment.

  Stacks of paintings and artwork leaned against the walls, clogged the hallway, and littered the furniture. I wondered how many pieces would be displayed altogether and turned to Larry with the question on my lips. Before I could utter a sound, he chuckled gleefully.

  “Do you think this is overkill?” he asked.

  “How large is the space you have for the show?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but figured that I’d take as much as I could get in the van. Too much is better than not enough and I can always bring some of it back home, right?”

  Because his excitement was apparent, I wouldn’t dream of uttering a word of discouragement. With a simple nod, I asked where we were going.

  “I’ll lead the way. You can take your car. Let’s get this stuff loaded into the van.” Larry wrung his hands for a second before he said, “I have a confession to make, too.”

  I stopped and turned toward him. Larry’s excitement seemed to have suddenly turned to worry. What the hell was wrong now?

  “Go ahead, get it off your chest,” I said with a sigh.

  “Please don’t get mad, Vin, but I had to invite the Jabronis to the exhibition. It’s a complicated affair and Jabroni owns the gallery, so I had no choice, especially after Mrs. Jabroni pressed me for an invite.”

  I ran a hand across my forehead. Would I ever be rid of the Jabroni family? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t distance myself from them. Damn, that was annoying.

  I held my hands up when Larry started to speak. It was plain to see he was distressed over the idea of me being in the same vicinity with them, especially after the shooting incident.

  “Don’t worry about it. I understand your position. I’ll just have to avoid them like the plague.” I clapped Larry on the shoulder and reminded him we should get going.

  Boxes were piled one on top of another. I lifted the first one and grabbed hold of the ornate framed floral painting by the door. Larry followed behind with an armload of paintings and a small sculpture.

  We packed the van and made several more trips back and forth, with Larry huffing and puffing from the exertion. I stood back when he slammed the van doors shut and wondered where these works of art would find a home. Some of the stuff was gorgeous, other pieces had an avant-garde look to them, and some were downright ugly—from my point of view.

  There is no accounting for taste though, so I was certain that what I disliked would definitely find a good home. It made no sense, but the public was fickle and would buy just about anything, given the right circumstances.

  I followed him to the gallery and met with Gilda Trimming, the woman who’d invited Larry to set up the show. She stood tall and rail thin. Her dark hair was poker straight and cut on an angle to curve from along her chin line up to the edge of her skull in the back. Smart looking and chic, I thought as I shook hands with her. A black silk turtleneck covered a slight frame, accompanied by black slacks and a wide, beaded, red satin sash tied at the waist. The lipstick on the thin lips was the same shade of red and edged her lips as though it would creep over the rim of them. Small, black-framed glasses perched on the elongated thin nose and high cheekbones set off her bright blue eyes.

  “Gilda, I wasn’t sure how much work to bring, so let’s look at the space before Vinnie and I haul stuff out of the van.” Larry glanced around with wide-eyed wonder at the spacious walls, some blank and some hung with one or two works of art.

  “How many artists are exhibiting right now?” he asked.

  “Only one.” Gilda smiled. “Dahling, I have waited for you to be our first large exhibitor and I want this to be special for you.” A thin hand reached up and stroked his cheek while she stared into his face with a tiny curve on her lips.

  My little voice started to rant. It was unusual for it to warn me about anyone else’s issues other than my own. She’s not what she seems. Make sure Larry stays away from her. Shut up, I thought, and heaved a small sigh.

  A giggle and blush, followed by stammering from my short, stout friend brought a smile to my face and made me promptly turn away. I viewed the walls with interest. Some walls were brick-lined while other spaces were stark white. Tracks ran along the top from which hooks were suspended on wire to allow artwork to be hung at different heights. It looked like a class act to me and I turned my attention back to Gilda and Larry.

  His hands gestured wildly while he explained the need for stands to hold the sculptures he’d brought. Gilda turned and motioned to me with a crook of a well-manicured finger.

  “If you go through that door,” she pointed to the end of the room, “there is a young man who will help unload the vehicle. His name is Duarte.”

  “Sure, I’ll be right back.” I glanced at Larry and headed across the room for the door at the far end.

  Once I’d left the gallery showroom I realized the rest of the building was like a shabby warehouse. The owners had been most diligent in attending to the needs of the gallery end of things, but had left the rest to wrack and ruin. Glancing around the large space, I saw boxes and junk piled haphazardly everywhere. From further into the room, I heard shuffling footsteps and followed the sound.

  “Hello?” I called. “Duarte, are you in here?”

  More shuffling footsteps and then a rumbling of feet moving quickly across the space, headed in my direction.

  “Who are you?” An average-sized, brown-eyed young man dressed in worn jeans and a ragged sweatshirt, came into view.

  “Miss Trimming sent me in to ask for your help unloading some artwork.”

  His brown gaze never left my face as he nodded. He’d stared at my lips while I spoke and I wondered if he was hard of hearing. Duarte held out his hand and while I was reluctant to shake the grubby paw, I did so anyway.

  “Lavinia Esposito, glad to meet you,” I said as he watched my lips move.

  “Duarte, at your service. I saw you, and the guy you are with, arrive in a van and wondered why you were here.” His voice was well-modulated, though a touch nasal.

  We left the storage room and walked into the brightly lit atmosphere of the gallery showroom. Duarte stood directly in front of Gilda and watched her mouth as she spoke.

  Larry wandered the space, his eyes roving the walls, mumbling under his breath. I figured he was configuring the set-up of the art in his mind. He turned and glanced at me, then smiled wide. Larry’s eyes darted toward Duarte and he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. Shit, I’d seen that look on his face before and it never boded well.

  While Gilda explained to Duarte what needed to be done, I headed for Larry and grabbed his arm, hustling him outside.

  “What was that look for?” I whispered as we left the gallery.

  “What look?” Larry was sweating profusely. Another bad sign, I thought.

  “The one where your mouth gaped open like you were catching flies
while you stared at Duarte. What the hell is wrong now?”

  “Um, uh, nothing, Vin,” he stammered. “Honest, believe me, it’s nothing.”

  My eyes narrowed as we stood on the sidewalk and I stepped toward the short, chubby meatball. Fear must have struck in his heart as I towered above him, because he stepped back and raised his hands in protection mode.

  “Wait, wait,” he begged, his voice a trifle fearful. “I’ll tell you.”

  “Go for it. I can’t wait to hear this one.” My heart thumped. I feared it wouldn’t be good news. Dang, I hate when that happens.

  “While you went in search of Duarte, I asked a few questions about him. It seems he’s her son.”

  “So, what does that mean?” My anxiety built. Again I was certain the news would be bad.

  “He’s also the son of someone we both know.”

  My toe tapped the pavement. My temper geared up for a blowout the size of which many rarely ever saw.

  “And?” I asked. “I know many people, so be specific.”

  “Don’t go nuts and rant and rave or anything, Vin.” Larry’s pudgy hand ran over his bald dome. “I wasn’t aware of this when I agreed to do this show.”

  “Just freakin’ spit it out, will you?”

  “Duarte’s father is none other than Tony Jabroni.”

  “Can’t be.” I snorted in disbelief. “He’s married to the wicked witch of the west.”

  “Honest, I’m not lying. Gilda said that Duarte was her son. I met Duarte at the Jabroni residence last month. He was introduced to me as Tony’s son.”

  There was complete silence while I took in the news. An illegitimate kid, huh? Who’d have thought it? I wondered how Jabroni’s wife, the witch, had handled that particular affair.

  “So, this really does mean Jabroni will be at the opening?” I asked.

  “Yes, Gilda sent out invitations to people on her list. It wasn’t until yesterday that she told me about the Jabronis’ invitation. I don’t know who else is on that list, but she did invite Mrs. Jabroni.”

  “Great, just great.” I paced back and forth knowing I’d have to deal with both the Jabronis, Marcus, and Aaron. With a sigh of defeat, I turned and swung the back doors of the van open. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  There’d be more yelling and dissention in my life because of this. I just knew it.

  I considered how complicated my life had become of late while I carried works of art into the building and set them against the walls where Larry directed me. I had nearly settled the situation in my mind when my little voice kicked in. It really is annoying when that happens.

  Just tell Marcus and Aaron what happened. They’ll understand. You know they will.

  “Yeah right, like never in a million years. Just shut up,” I murmured under my breath.

  They love you and simply want what’s best for you. You know they’ll protect you at all costs. Just tell them.

  “Just shut the hell up,” I grumbled through clenched teeth.

  “Did you say something, Vin?” Larry asked, concern written all over his face.

  “No, I was just mumbling to myself.” I tried a smile and it seemed to work, because Larry immediately smiled back.

  Within two hours’ time, the exhibit was set up and ready to go. I knew Larry would return to the gallery once or twice before the show opened and move things around again, but that’s what artists do when they want their work to be seen at its very best. I smiled, wiped the sweat off my brow, shook Gilda’s hand, nodded good-bye to Duarte, and left with Larry in tow.

  He motioned for me to follow him to the coffee house nearby where he’d buy me a snack. I followed Larry through the steep hills that led to South Main Street and Rhode Island School of Design’s college campus.

  Before I could pull into a parking spot, I had to stop and wait for a group of RISD students to cross the street. Some carried poster board, some held bags of art supplies, and another, sporting a combination of purple, blue and yellow hair, wore her underwear over her outerwear. I chuckled at the sight and wondered how her parents would feel if they saw their darling daughter dressed inside out.

  The car snuggled in next to the curb and I locked it before entering the coffee house. Students, lawyers from the Superior Courthouse nearby, and the Rhode Island Attorney General sat around the room eating, reading the paper, or chatting in soft tones. The AG glanced up and waved his fingertips at me in salute. I smiled and waved back, anxious to avoid a conversation with him. We’d met briefly last year when he was a guest speaker at the university where I teach. He was a charming person outside the walls of his domain, but he was still the Attorney General and that was a 24/7 job.

  We ordered lattes, sandwiches, and pastries before settling by the rear windows of the small shop. We ate in silence until Larry glanced up with what I took as an apologetic look on his face.

  My hand went up to stem the flow of words I knew would spew forth. The whole Jabroni situation was not his doing. I couldn’t blame Larry for events beyond his control.

  “Not a word, not one,” I said. “Just eat your lunch.”

  His bald head bobbed up and down as he stuffed the sandwich into his mouth. It was a few minutes later that he started to scribble on his napkin. My glance crossed the table and I realized Larry was rearranging the set up at the gallery using the napkin for his design. With a smile, I leaned back in the chair, slurping the last of the latte from my cup.

  “You aren’t going to change things again, are you?” It was a silly question since I knew the answer was obviously yes.

  “I thought the largest painting should take center stage, so to speak. What do you think?”

  I leaned forward to see the plan he’d drawn on the napkin. He was right of course, and I nodded.

  “The colors are bold and bright in that painting, so they’d be set off better by hanging it on the white wall rather than the brick background.” I grinned. “I know you’ll change things a couple of times before the show opens.”

  “I’m so nervous, I could just spit,” he said with a gay flair that I rarely saw.

  Even though Larry was of the gay persuasion, he didn’t dress in drag or flaunt his homosexuality. Instead, he just lived life conservatively, the way he thought it should be lived. I’d known he was gay the moment we’d met in college and I appreciated his artistic talent and wonderful sense of humor immediately. We’d become fast friends even though I hadn’t followed art the way he had. We both had ability and respected one another for that.

  When people turned to stare at us, I laughed out loud. Then I ignored them and went back to the design on the napkin.

  “Try placing that painting there and then leave it alone. Let it rest for a while. Don’t stress yourself or you’ll end up with a health setback. You look tired. Let’s get going so you can go home.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed with a glance at me. “I’m sorry about the Jabroni thing, Vin.”

  “Not another word, understand? Not one. It isn’t your fault that I manage to complicate my life without trying.” I stood up, grabbed my jacket, and we headed toward the door.

  Chapter 15

  The market was jammed with last-minute supper shoppers. I roamed the aisles trying to remember what I needed and what I had on hand. I tossed several snacks into the basket, picked up a quart of milk, and then headed to the checkout.

  A moment passed as I waited in line for the cashier to slide the goods across the scanner. I heard a familiar voice a few aisles over and craned my neck to peer over the top of the aisle racks. I couldn’t see who it was because the person must have been shorter than the racks were, but I knew that voice. I was sure it was the old hag who had robbed me. My pulse raced while the saliva in my mouth dried up and anger coursed through my veins.

  The clerk bagged my purchases and handed me change from the twenty-dollar bill I gave her. With the bags entwined in my hand, I fumbled with my wallet, and hustled through the store, trying to see w
ho owned that voice. I wanted to see the expression on the old hag’s face when she saw me up front and personal in a place where she couldn’t shoot me.

  In a flash, I reached the aisle where the voice had come from and stared into the eyes of Tony Jabroni’s wife. She nodded and brushed past me. It was a disappointment to think I’d made the mistake, believing she was the old hag. I must be desperate, I thought with a shake of my head.

  It had started to snow as I drove away from the market and headed home. When I arrived, I threw the snacks in the cupboard, put the milk in the fridge, and settled in front of the plasma television.

  The news came on, but nothing major had taken place in Little Rhody today. No major arrests, no torrid scandals, and no murders. Who could ask for more than that?

  A rap on the door revealed Aaron standing in the hallway with a bag sporting the Kentucky Fried Chicken logo. I could smell the aroma of chicken and my mouth watered instantly. Aaron grinned and waved the bag under my nose. I grinned back and pulled dishes from the cupboard.

  “I thought you might enjoy chicken pot pie for dinner tonight, especially now that your live-in chef lives elsewhere.” He chuckled and slid the pie boxes from the bag.

  “Mmm, good thinking,” I said. “How did you know I would be home?”

  “It was a wild guess.” Aaron smiled. “Where’s Marcus?”

  “On double shifts for the next few days,” I said, licking brown gravy from my fingertips. I looked up at him and said, “I have a question for you, but don’t get mad when I ask it. You have to promise me.”

  “This must be work related.” He sighed and toyed with the fork. “Go ahead. I’ll answer if I can.”

  “Did you know that Jabroni is searching for my car?”

  Aaron’s dark brows hiked a notch. “How do you know he’s doing that?”

  “The old hag called and threatened me. She said to call off the cops and the mob. She mentioned Jabroni specifically. I thought you might have a handle on that.”

  “I’m not aware of that particular issue. I do know that things at the house have been quiet, especially since the good doctor has moved on to greener pastures. Nobody of any interest has entered or left the house, either.”