by Rosie Genova
“First, let me say how wonderful it is to see the boardwalk humming with so many of you this evening. Now that the power is back on—” Here Anne was interrupted by cheers and whistles from the crowd and she smiled broadly. “The rides pier is officially open for business!”
At those words, the lights of the carousel blazed on, and the crowd applauded wildly. Anne signaled for them to quiet, but she was clearly enjoying the crowd’s enthusiastic response. “Right now,” she said, “it’s my pleasure to welcome Mr. Richard Barone, a longtime summer resident of Oceanside Park and well-known philanthropist. It is our good luck that Richard has extended his spirit of giving to save our historical carousel, with its hand-carved animals and beautiful nineteenth-century design.”
“Like she cares,” Sofia muttered. “She’s only interested in the bucks.”
Someone tittered behind us and I shot Sofia a look, putting my finger across my lips.
“Mr. Barone has also generously offered to maintain the carousel each season,” Anne continued, “allowing our town to enjoy its beloved icon for many years to come.” She handed Barone the giant scissors. “Richard, would you do us the honor?”
“It’s my pleasure, Anne,” he said. “You should all know that this beautiful machine behind me was imported from Italy more than one hundred years ago. It is an exceptional example of Venetian craftsmanship.” He pointed toward the top of the carousel. “If you look up as you ride, you will see painted scenes of Venice. The animals are hand-carved and decorated, and inside resides its original Wurlitzer organ. As a side note, you might be interested to know that the word carousel originates from a contest of horsemanship called il carosello, which is Italian for little war.”
Did I imagine that Richard Barone’s eyes rested momentarily on my own? Was that glance a declaration of our own “little war”? Richard flashed his charming white grin and held up the shears. “I hereby open the Oceanside Park Carousel,” he shouted, snipping the red ribbon in half. “Rides will be free this evening, by the way.”
He nodded to the double line of visitors, mostly children, already standing at the gate. And then he turned my way and smiled directly at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a famous resident among us this evening, our very own local author, Victoria Rienzi, who writes mysteries under the pen name Vick Reed.”
My cheeks burned and my stomach did a flip-flop. Why was he calling attention to me? Sofia was digging her elbow into my ribs and Iris was glaring a hole in my forehead. Richard held out his hand. “Come up here, Victoria, will you? I think you should take the first ride.”
Sofia elbowed me again. “Get up there!” she whispered. “Don’t make him more suspicious than he already is.”
But my shoes seemed to have filled with lead. My knees were locked in place. “I can’t,” I whispered back. “I have a stomach full of sausage and onions. What if I get sick?”
Her only response was to give me a shove in Barone’s direction. Without a word, he took my hand and led me to the ride platform; his grip tightened as we stepped together onto the ride. “There you go, Victoria,” he said quietly. “Now go pick out a nice horse.”
I walked self-consciously across the wooden platform; avoiding the horses, I sat in one of the chariots along the inside of the ride and pulled the worn leather belt across my lap. Behind the ride stood the tattooed man, his arms crossed as though he was waiting. But for what? As the ride filled with eager kids and more than a few adults, he watched intently.
Richard Barone’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd. “Let ’er go!” he shouted.
At Barone’s signal, the tattooed man heaved a giant wooden lever, looking on impassively as he set the ride in motion and the organ music began its slow, piping sound. He’s the ride operator, I thought wildly. Was he here the night Pete died? Did he let him into the locked carousel house and to his death? The ride sped up; I gripped the sides of the carved chair as it made its second turn. The lights spun in circles around me, and one by one I could make out the faces of Florence, Jason, Barone, and Iris. Florence, standing protectively in front of her son. Had she provided Pete with enough wine to kill himself? Or had it been Jason, now scowling and restless, wishing he were anywhere but inside this carousel house? Or was it Barone, standing with his arms crossed, keeping his eyes on me with every revolution of the ride? Did he have something to hide that Pete was privy to? And was Iris desperate enough to serve as his accomplice? Or something worse? Round and round their faces circled dizzily across my line of vision; the music reached a crazy pitch while I begged silently in my head, Please don’t get sick, please don’t get sick, please don’t get sick . . .
Out in the crowd I could see Sofia’s worried face; Danny stood behind her and the relief washed over me like a wave. My brother was here; I would be okay. As long as I don’t puke all over a nineteenth-century work of art. As the ride came to a stop, I unlatched the leather strap and sat to catch my breath before I stood up. My legs rubbery, my stomach queasy, I took a hesitant step to the edge of the platform, only to have the ride operator reach out his arm to me. He smiled knowingly, much in the same way Barone had when he’d invited me to ride. I didn’t have a choice; if I didn’t have a hand to steady me, I’d end up facedown on the cement, just like poor Pete. He took my hand gently, his intense eyes looking straight into my own. If he recognized me from the party, he didn’t let on.
“That’s it, miss. You’re fine. Step right there. You got it,” he said kindly. I let go of his hand, and for the first time had a clear look at the animals on his left arm. There were jungle beasts and mythological creatures, framed by bright green vines and red flowers. In the center of the design, just below his elbow, was a prancing yellow lion wearing a crown. Dragging my gaze from the vivid images, I met his eyes. There were a pale golden brown, almost feline in their shape and color. Like a lion’s eyes, I thought, and just as dangerous.
I muttered a hasty thanks and hurried to Sofia and Danny as fast as my wobbly legs could carry me. Suddenly, I didn’t care if Pete had been murdered—I just knew I had to get out of there.
My brother took my elbow and steered the two of us through the crowd. “C’mon, you two,” he said. “There’s nothing to see here.”
“Do they teach you to say that at cop school?” I asked when we were out in the fresh air again. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell us to move along.”
“And I’m surprised you’re still nosing around a case that’s been closed,” he said sharply. “Vic, I meant it when I said there was nothing to see.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, hon,” Sofia said. “There are still plenty of unanswered questions about Pete’s death.”
“Even so,” Danny said through his teeth, “it is not your job—or my sister’s—to find those answers.”
“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “I’m almost ready to agree with you. Look, I got a little spooked in there; I’m not gonna lie. Right now all I want to do is head to my cottage and curl up in my bed to read, with every light on in the house!”
“You okay to walk?” Danny asked.
“Absolutely. I’d like to clear my head, not to mention settle my stomach. But I have a question, big brother: The guy who operated the carousel—the one with all the tattoos—do you have any idea who he is?”
He glanced back inside the building and frowned. “No, but I can tell you one thing: The guy’s done time. He’s got all the signs. The shaved head. The tats. The jacked arms and chest.”
Goose bumps prickled up and down my arms as I remembered the expression on the tattooed guy’s face. “So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying,” my brother said, “that I know an ex-con when I see one.”
Chapter Twenty-four
In the bright sunshine of the next morning, my night in the carousel house took on a dreamlike quality, and a sense of unreality permeated my thoughts about the
case. Pete’s death had been ruled an accident, after all. And it was likely that alcohol would have killed him in the end anyway. But I hadn’t imagined Pete’s own words or his bankbook; I hadn’t dreamed up motives where they didn’t exist, and I hadn’t invented the family history that Sofia and I had uncovered. Or Florence’s fury and fear. There was something more to Pete’s death, and I was sure that a visit to Gerry Domenica would tell us more.
After a hasty shower, I threw on my white blouse and black pants and biked over to the restaurant. Now that all of Oceanside had power, the town was humming with beachgoers. We would have a busy day at the Casa Lido, and I wondered how I would escape in time to meet Sofia for our trip to find Gerry Domenica.
But when I got to work, my frazzled-looking mother greeted me at the back door, took my arm, and steered me straight to her office. She pointed to her desktop computer, which showed only a dark blue screen and a blinking cursor.
“I thought it was updating,” she said. “Then I got the blue screen—you know, the one that indicates your computer has crashed—so I tried to restart it, but this is what I keep getting. I can’t access any of my files, including the payroll spread sheets.” She shook her head. “This is the last thing we need today, Victoria.”
My heart sank. How would I ever get out of here now? “Try turning it off and on.”
“I tried that,” she said with a sigh. “And so did Nando.”
“And he’s better with computers than I am. But everything’s backed up, right?”
She nodded. “But it’s on an external hard drive at home.” She looked at me hopefully. “I don’t suppose you have your laptop?”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“S’cuse me, Mrs. R?” Nando appeared at the office door, his face worried. “The software on the register isn’t working. I keep getting a black screen.”
Not long ago, my parents had switched over to a software program that allowed us to have digital floor diagrams, menus, records of food tickets, and just about every other kind of information that you need to run a restaurant. Without it, we’d be forced to go back to the chalkboard and scraps of paper. And of course the timing couldn’t be worse—this was the busiest weekend of our summer.
Nando turned to go and then looked back at us. “Is too bad Jason is gone. He is good with computers.”
Jason. My mouth dropped open and I felt a small shiver. Maybe he wasn’t gone. Maybe he was the one who’d gotten in here and messed with our system as a warning to me. But at least I knew he hadn’t left for school yet, that he was still lurking around town. The spiteful little sneak, I thought. He was smart enough not to have crashed the whole system, but he’d certainly done some damage. Dealing with customers all weekend with nothing but paper and pencil would make our work much harder.
“Thanks for trying, Nando,” my mom said. “It must be some kind of glitch in the whole system.”
Yeah, a glitch named Jason Connors. But I held off sharing my theory with my mother. “We can still take credit cards, though, right?” I asked.
My mom held up her smartphone. “I have the card reader attachment.” She smiled. “Your father, the least techy guy on earth, actually bought one for me.”
“Frankie saves the day again,” I said. “My basement’s nice and dry thanks to his sump pump.”
“We can always count on your dad.” Her smile faded as she glanced out at the hallway. “He’s gone to pick up Nonna. I dread telling them about this.”
“Nonna ran this place for years without computers. We’ll muddle through. Hey, do we still have that stand with the big pin in it? We used to stick the food tickets on it.”
“No, we do not,” she said with a frown. “I used to worry that you or Daniel would get hurt on that thing.” She stood up and pushed in her chair. “We’ll use a binder clip for the tickets and I’ll keep paper records until we can have somebody come in and look at the system. Grab your apron, honey. There’s a lot to do.”
“Um, could I talk to you about that, Mom?” I followed her out to the dining room.
“Sure, hon.” But her face was already in the reservation book, which I suspected was pretty full.
“Listen, I’ll stay and prep all morning and serve for most of lunch. But would you mind very much if I took off for a little while in the lull between lunch and dinner? I’ll come back and do the whole dinner shift and even help the guys with cleanup. I’ll close, in fact.”
She sighed. “I assume you have a good reason for asking?”
“Actually, I’m doing what you asked of me. I’m going to talk to somebody who might know something about Pete’s death.”
She snapped the book closed. “Yes, I asked you to look into it, but that was before his death was officially ruled an accident.” Her voice was terse, and her face held the same disapproving expression I’d come to know quite well in my teens.
“Listen, Mom—Dad and Nonna will be here any minute. Can you please cover for me on this? I’ll slip out after the lunch rush and be back for dinner service.” I took her hand. “I’m not doing anything dangerous, I promise. At the very least, I might find out more about Zio Roberto.” I grinned at her. “Now, this is where you let out a great big Nicolina sigh and say yes.”
“Don’t be smart, young lady. If I have to wait a few tables this afternoon, so be it.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you owe me.” Her mouth curved in a manner that did not suggest mirth. “And we’ll see how much you like closing up at eleven tonight.”
She went back to her office and I made a beeline for the espresso pot. It was going to be a long day. And an even longer night.
* * *
“Whose idea was it to travel south on the Garden State Parkway on Saturday of Labor Day weekend?” I asked my sister-in-law, who was happily ignoring me from the passenger seat of my car. She was scrolling through baby names in her phone, impervious to the traffic all around us.
“What do you think of Marietta if it’s a girl?” she asked.
“Here’s what I think: At this rate, Marietta will arrive well before we get to that club.” Sofia’s digging had led us to the Atlantic City Country Club, where Domenica worked.
“Now, don’t be cranky, Auntie Vic.”
Auntie Vic? I didn’t want to hurt Sofia’s feelings, but that appellation made me feel about sixty years old. “Hey, could we maybe come up with something else for the baby to call me? At least Aunt Victoria has a dignified sound.”
“I don’t know. That’s a mouthful for a little kid.”
I glared at her. “She’ll learn. Which is more than I can say for her mother or her aunt sitting here in this traffic. I hope we can catch this guy.”
She nodded. “We will. He should be there until four.”
“Wait, did you call him directly?”
“Heck no. I just called the club to confirm he worked there.”
“So we’re showing up unannounced?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“And our excuse for seeing him?”
She tucked her phone into her purse and looked at me with impatience. “Haven’t we been over this? We’re doing what you always say to do—we’re sticking as close to the truth as possible. We show up, we make nice and blind him with our charm. Then we mention your long-lost uncle and ask if he or his father knew him. And we get some answers. Simple.”
“Sofe, it’s never simple. What if he gets suspicious?”
She opened her palms and shrugged. “So what? We only want some information.”
“Right,” I said. “So we come right out and ask the guy if his father was mobbed up and if he knew my drug addict uncle—”
“Your drug addict great-uncle. Get it straight, Vic.”
I stared over the top of my steering wheel at the endless line of cars in front of us. “Well, at least we have time to plan what we’re going to say. And
I’ve got the Atlantic City book from the library; I’d like to show him the picture and gauge his reaction. I’m just not sure what we’re going to learn from this, though. I don’t think Domenica will want to talk about his father’s involvement with Leo Barone. He carries his father’s name; he’s probably been trying to live it down all this years, don’t you think?”
“You never know,” Sofia said, shaking her head. “Some of these guys wear the mob thing like a badge of honor.”
“Not Richard Barone,” I said. “It makes me wonder to what lengths he’d go to distance himself from his family’s criminal past.”
Sofia looked across at me, her face thoughtful. “Why do you think he made such a point of singling you out last night?”
“I’m not sure. Iris might have told him about my visit to the store. She saw right through my questions. Maybe he’s warning me. You know, I’ve got my eye on you, so don’t mess.”
“Ha!” She let out a snort. “And here we are, messin’ anyway.”
“True,” I said with a sigh. “And we still don’t know much about Tattoo Guy. Except for the Alyssa connection and Danny’s hunch that he’s served time.”
“Even if he did, it doesn’t seem fair to judge him for that, Vic.”
I looked over at her and grinned. “Listen to you. Since when are you so softhearted? Have we suddenly reversed roles or something?”
“God forbid,” she said. “I just think we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions about the guy because he’s got some ink on his arms.”
“But it’s more than that, Sofe, and you know it. What was he doing with Alyssa, a kid ten years younger than he is? And why did he show up at the party and masquerade as a server? More significantly, was he in the carousel house the night Pete stumbled in?”
“I thought we established that it was closed the night of the storm.”
“But think about it: If he worked the rides out on the pier, he might have had access to the carousel house. We’ve been wondering all along how Pete got in, and I think the answer’s pretty clear. It had to be Tattoo Guy.”
