Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design)

by Jean Harrington

  “Yeah,” Serge said, barging in and sniffing the air. “Let’s get the hell out of here. It stinks.”

  “Lovely. Maybe if you hadn’t scared her half to death, you’d be sniffing roses right now.”

  “What’s your name?” Pinstripes asked me.

  “Mrs. Dunne. What’s yours?”

  “Vito.”

  “How do you spell that?” My defiance was nothing but a flimsy sham, but I was determined not to show how frightened I was. I was also stalling for time. Surely any minute now Francesco would come barging in, looking for his pregnant wife, and give these guys whatever it was they wanted.

  “Mrs. Dunne, huh? Like I told you before when we paid a call on Mrs. Salvatore, you’re a wiseass.”

  Using his Glock like a baton, Serge waved us over to the bed. Jewels sank onto the mattress with a sigh. I stood at the foot holding on to the bedpost as if it were a merry-go-round pole. In a way it was. I’d circled around these two goons before. Like the first time in Chip’s place, the reason for it baffled me.

  Vito and Serge—I didn’t bother asking Serge his name—stood in front of Jewels, arms crossed. “Where’s Frannie?” Vito asked her.

  Listless, wan, she shrugged her narrow shoulders.

  Serge slid the gun into his jacket pocket and took a step closer. Even without the pistol in his hand, he looked tough enough to break her in two. “The man asked you a question.”

  She looked up, eyes wide. “Over the garage.”

  “Alone?”

  She shook her head. “The baby’s with him.”

  “Anybody else?”

  Jewels hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

  “You’re a liar. Just like always.” Serge leaned over the bed and gave her a slap that sent her spread-eagled across the mattress.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “Cut that out.”

  “You. Shut up,” Serge said, then to Jewels, “Find a phone. We want you should get hold of Frannie.”

  Jewels lay whimpering on the bed.

  “You need a phone,” I said. “Feel free. Use mine.”

  Serge turned toward me with a snarl, ready, I was sure, to send me flying across the room. Not wanting him to get near enough to feel the Cobra at my waist, I held up my hands, palms out. “No offense. You want a phone? I have a phone.” I pointed to the bedside table. “Right there.”

  Vito snatched it off the table and, grabbing Jewels by the arm, sat her up and handed her the cell. “Call Frannie. Tell him to get over here fast.”

  “It’ll wake the baby.”

  He stared at her without saying another word. Just stared. And stared. With a trembling hand, Jewels reached out and took the cell.

  While we all watched, she tapped in some numbers. Then, “Frannie, Deva needs to talk to you.” A pause. “I know it’s late. We have a problem here. A big one. Tell Joey to stay with the baby.” She hung up and wordlessly laid the phone on the bed.

  “Let’s go,” Serge said to her. “We’ll meet him in the other room. Both of you dames shake a leg.”

  I let go of the bedpost, and he gave me a shove toward the door.

  “What’s the matter, you got a bug in your margarita?” I asked, playing with fire, but anger trumped my fear. Besides I had an ace, if not up my sleeve, down my pants, and that was comforting, as long as the safety didn’t let go and the gun shoot out my appendix.

  Nerves in shreds despite my bluster, I followed Jewels, whose complexion had gone from gray to ashen, into the living room with the thugs right behind us.

  Vito glanced around, a disgusted expression on his face. “You got a problem with chairs? There’s not one in the whole damn house.” He pointed to the Townsend. “Just useless junk like that. I always heard Grandese was nuts, but this caps it.”

  “The design isn’t finished,” I said. “The chairs are on special order. Come back for the open house party. You’ll be impressed.”

  “Enough out of you. Both of you, on the floor.” Jewels squatted down in front of the Townsend, tented her knees and huddled into a crumpled ball. I was scared all right, but at the sight of the palpable terror in her eyes, I was worried for her.

  “I’ll stand.” I didn’t want to sit hunched on the floor in my snug jeans with the Cobra digging into my belly.

  “Down,” Serge ordered.

  Down I went, hoping the damn gun wouldn’t accidentally go off. Folding my legs to one side to ease the pressure, I waited for a chance to act. Serge’s Glock was stashed in the pocket of his jacket, so I could probably risk going for my gun. But I hadn’t used the Cobra in over a year. Could I release the safety, take aim and shoot fast enough? Or maybe shooting wouldn’t be necessary. I’d just aim, force Serge to keep his hands in the air so he couldn’t get at his own weapon and hold them at bay. Then Francesco could call the cops. Where was he, anyway? He sure was taking his time finding out why Jewels needed him.

  The kitchen door opened and slammed shut. Serge reached into his jacket pocket again.

  “Hey, Jewels,” a voice called. “What’s up?” The voice didn’t belong to Francesco.

  As sensuous as a tango dancer, a tall, limber young guy came striding in on the balls of his feet, looked at the Glock in Serge’s hand and came to an abrupt stop. The tango was over.

  “What—?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Vito asked.

  “Joey. Francesco’s driver.” He tipped his head at Jewels. “Her brother.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’s your brother-in-law?”

  “You all right, Jewels?” Joey asked, ignoring Vito’s question.

  She nodded, white-lipped and trembling.

  “You scared her,” Joey said to Vito, but with the gun leveled at him, he didn’t move into any kind of attack mode.

  “She’s got reasons. Down on the floor next to Jewels. We want you should get Francesco over here. And we’re not waiting all night.”

  While Joey hunkered down and gathered his sister in his arms, Serge kept his weapon trained on us and said to Vito, “Go get that phone off the bed.”

  He went after it, came back and handed it to Joey whose initial assurance had slipped. These guys were serious. Though scared, I was curious too. Who were they? What did they want with Francesco?

  The front door opened—Francesco was a front door kind of guy, no kitchen doors for him—and slammed shut.

  “Jewels! I finally got the baby calmed down. That damned phone woke him...whoa.” He came to an abrupt stop but recovered fast. “I wondered when you guys would show. Figured it was just a matter of time.”

  “You expected them?” I asked, indignation busting through my fear. “I’ve been alone in here every night this week. What did you do, set me up?”

  “They’re not after you,” Francesco said. “Ain’t that right, boys?” He stood defiant in what looked like a hastily pulled on pair of shorts, his muscular legs apart, arms folded across his hairy bare chest. His eyes never leaving the suits, he asked, “You all right, Jewels?”

  She whimpered out a reply.

  “So?” Francesco challenged. “What can I get you guys? An Amaretto? A cold beer? There’s some Heineken out in the fridge. The one you passed in the garage.”

  “This is the nuttiest damn house I ever been in,” Vito said, “but we’re not here to hang out. We’re here to talk business. Casino business.”

  Francesco nodded. He didn’t look surprised. “There’s casinos and casinos.”

  “Don’t get smart. We’re taking Emerald City. The owners don’t like what you’re doing out there.”

  “What’s that, Vito?”

  Over the weeks since I’d been working with Francesco, I’d gotten to know him pretty well, and though his stance hadn’t changed, I could tell from the uncertainty in his voice that some of his cocky bravado had fled.

  Vito took his time answering, examining his manicure—I hated shiny nail polish on men—hitching up his tight pants before saying, “They don’t like you working with the Asians, helping
them break into Florida gaming. The Florida boys got enough competition from the Seminoles. They don’t want no more.”

  So Francesco was more than just a real estate investor. I’d had no idea, but guaranteed, Rossi knew. No wonder he’d wanted me to drop the project. Disgusted at my own stupidity, I blew out an exasperated breath.

  Francesco simply put his hands in his shorts pockets and stood there quietly.

  “Out where I can see them,” Serge ordered.

  Francesco took his hands out of his pockets. “No problem. The problem is you guys coming in here in the middle of the night, scaring my wife. She’s got a kid on the way and—”

  “Yeah.” Vito snorted. “We know all about the kid.”

  “Yeah?” Francesco’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah. Donny told us.” A nasty gleam shone in Vito’s eyes. “He said it was his.”

  Uh-oh.

  Francesco lost it. He lunged at Vito. No contest. Vito gave him a right hook that sent him flying across the room right into the block-front chest of drawers. Dazed but otherwise unhurt, Francesco scrambled to his feet. “You crazy? That chest’s worth a fortune. You coulda ruined it.”

  Serge aimed the pistol at Francesco’s head. “Don’t move. We got more to say.”

  “You said enough.” Francesco had gotten his groove back. “You’re telling me my wife’s having Donny’s kid?”

  Vito cocked his head at Jewels, who was sobbing into her maternity skirt. “Yeah. She’s been Donny’s squeeze since she was sixteen. Ain’t that right, Jewels?”

  Fists balled, Francesco strode over to Vito. “I oughta kill you.”

  “That’s not nice.” Vito waved a finger left to right in front of Francesco’s face. “Just so you’ll know we don’t talk for nothing, I’m showing you something.”

  Vito reached into his breast pocket and removed the black book that I would bet was the same one he took from AudreyAnn. “In here’s every name, every number, every contact you ever made in Florida. We’ve got it all. You been working like a mole. There’s names here from Hong Kong to Orlando.” He upped an eyebrow. “Rich pickings, huh? We know that’s just the beginning. The toehold. Thanks to Donny.”

  “Yeah.” Serge cleared his throat. “Donny sang for us. Just like Pavarotti.”

  Letting go of Joey, Jewels hoisted herself to her feet. “You killed Donny for that?” she asked Serge, her voice quiet as a snake moving through grass. “For some numbers?”

  Serge laughed, an honest to God belly laugh. “Why the hell would we do that? Donny was the goose laying golden eggs. We didn’t kill nobody.” He waved the Glock in Francesco’s direction. “He stiffed Donny. You didn’t know that? You dumb or something?”

  Ignoring the Glock, ignoring Serge’s laugh, Francesco stared at her. “That true what they say? The kid’s Donny’s?”

  Her eyes dull with untold sins, she nodded, just once. Once was enough. Francesco’s shoulders slumped.

  “Did you kill him because of me?” she asked

  Francesco let out a humorless guffaw. “I didn’t know about you and him. I heard he was spilling his guts to these guys. He betrayed me. He betrayed his whole family. He was too stupid to live anyhow. Cost me plenty. Look how he tossed a butt and torched my building. A dumb move.”

  “You sure about that?” Vito’s face wore a nasty grin.

  Francesco’s eyes narrowed. “Got something to say, say it.”

  Vito shrugged. “That torch job was no accident. You don’t cooperate, this house is next.”

  Francesco was making an effort to control himself, but his hands were clenching and unclenching. He nodded at Vito, a thoughtful, evaluating nod. I wondered what he was thinking of—his furniture or his family?

  Finally, his hands still grasping fists full of air, he said, “My wife and kids live here. You go after women and kids now?”

  Family.

  “Nah. We’d wait till Jewels was gone outta here. Why do you think she wanted to go up north a few weeks ago?”

  Francesco swiveled his attention to Jewels. “That right?” he asked.

  Wordless, she nodded.

  Francesco’s glance lingered on her baby bump. “I’m glad I stiffed Donny. He had it coming, more ways than one.” He straightened his shoulders. “But who’s gonna know? Vito and Carmine—” so that was Serge’s name, “—ain’t going into any court singing like Pavarotti. Not even like Sinatra. I’ll lay odds on that. And you can’t be forced to testify against me.” He shot a glance filled with contempt at Jewels’s brother cowering against the Townsend. “Guaranteed, Joey won’t say squat.” He upped his chin at me. “So that leaves only little Miss Decorator over here.”

  He swiveled his attention from Jewels to Vito. “We can work together. I leave the Florida casinos alone, you leave me and Jewels alone.” He held out a hand. “Capisce?”

  “Just like that? I dunno,” Serge said, stowing his gun in his jacket again. “We got reports to make.”

  “Yeah, you guys are the messengers, not the capos. I got that. Well, go back to Lazzo with my offer.”

  Vito drew in a breath.

  Francesco eyed him, smiling. “Yeah, I know all about Lazzo. You tell him he wins. He’ll like that.” He yanked up his low-flying shorts. “Yeah, he wins. Francesco Grandese is pulling out of Florida. The climate’s not good for my furniture, anyway. So I’m out of here.” He pointed a stubby finger at Jewels, who still sat huddled on the floor. “So is she.”

  Then he upped his chin at me. “The price for that is her. You gotta get rid of her or no deal.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Showtime. I whipped the Cobra out of my jeans and held it steady, both hands at shoulder level the way Dad taught me. One of Boston’s finest, he would have been proud. Though even with my weapon at the ready, I wasn’t sure I could handle all this. Suppose I had to kill someone? Could I do it?

  Serge’s hand crept toward his jacket pocket. If I had to.

  “Make a move and I’ll shoot your balls off,” I said, sweeping the room with the gun.

  “You ain’t shooting nobody,” Serge scoffed. “The safety’s on. Get her, Vito!”

  Vito hesitated. In that millisecond, I released the safety. He took a step toward me, and I shot him in the foot. He fell to the floor, the odor of gunpowder and his howl mingling in the air.

  Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I leveled the gun at Serge. “Don’t try it. I learned from the best.” His hand, halfway inside his jacket, fell to his side. I glanced over at Jewels. “Call 911. Ask for the police.”

  She slumped against the Townsend and shook her head. “I can’t. Frannie’s my husband. I took a vow.”

  A vow? Wearing Donny’s baby bump and she was talking of vows? Unbelievable. A tiny part of me wanted to shoot her in the foot too for being such a hypocrite.

  “Murder trumps all, Jewels,” I said, sounding like an Irish priest I once knew.

  Hands on her abdomen, she gazed up at me as if she were hoping my absolution was the real deal. “I can’t call the cops on my own husband.”

  “That’s right, baby, you can’t,” Francesco said, his expression lighting up as if he had just won the Power Ball.

  Was she crazy? We needed help, and we needed it fast. I couldn’t hold off four men forever.

  “Joey, get the phone,” I said. “Make the call.”

  Either too scared or too shocked to move a muscle, he stared at me blank-faced.

  He was useless. I turned back to Jewels.

  “Francesco killed your lover. The father of your baby. You don’t owe him a thing.” I wasn’t sure that was exactly true, but in a room full of enemies, this wasn’t the time for semantic fine-tuning. “Call 911, or I’ll blast out the front window. That should bring the neighbors running.”

  “Let’s talk this over,” Serge said, a United Nations diplomat all of a sudden. “No sense getting hostile.”

  Vito moaned. “I need a doctor.”

  No one made a move to help him, incl
uding me, Annie Oakley, but I was worried. I didn’t know how badly he was hurt, and I didn’t want him to bleed to death while Serge pontificated.

  “The phone, Jewels, the phone,” I said. “You don’t have a choice. Make the call or you’ll be aiding and abetting. Helping a murderer. Think of your children.”

  That must have convinced her. She slowly nodded. “I know. I have to do it for them.” Color returned to her cheeks. Ignoring me and my gun, she stared at Francesco as if he were a stranger. “Why did you kill him, Frannie? Your own cousin? What for? Casino money? Why did you need so much?” She raised her arms wide and waved them around. “For this junk?”

  “Junk!” Like a man stabbed in the gut, Francesco screamed out the word. “This stuff is priceless. There’s only ten Townsends in existence. You know what that means?”

  “No, and I don’t care. Donny, I cared about Donny.”

  Francesco stared at her baby bump again as if he couldn’t keep his eyes away from it. “Yeah. You proved that. But that don’t matter to me. You’re my wife. I’ll pass the kid off as mine.”

  “No, you won’t.” She shook her head. “This baby isn’t yours. She’s mine. And Donny’s. You’re her father’s killer. I don’t want you near her.” She jerked upright. “Where’s the phone, Joey?”

  “Over my dead body.” Francesco lunged for her, moving so fast he was on her before I could stop him. If I shot now, I’d risk hitting Jewels.

  In the confusion, Serge whipped out his Glock and fired. Either he was a poor shot, or he was rattled. He missed me. The bullet struck the front of the Townsend, ripping a hole in one of the perfectly matched mahogany panels. Before he could get off another shot, I took aim, squeezed the trigger and hit him in the arm. He screamed. The gun fell from his hand and slid across the polished floor.

  Francesco leaped off Jewels. Howling like a banshee, he knocked Serge out of his way, dashed over to the desk, and ran his hands along the mutilated wood. “Look what you done. Look what you done! You wrecked it. Wiped out a million bucks. Or more. I oughta kill you for that.” He swiveled away from the desk and, forgetting me, forgetting Jewels, forgetting everything but his own red hot rage, he went for Serge.