He’s going to break up with me! My heart plummeted to my stomach. I swallowed. “What is it?” I croaked.
Brian leaned across the table to speak softly. “Gayle’s going home to Utah in two days, and I’m going with her.”
“Oh!” Relief and dismay vied for top position in my heart. Dismay won out. “Will it be safe for her to go back there? Is that Shawn Estes still intent on having her brought back so he can….” I couldn’t bring myself to utter the word I was thinking.
“I’ve been in contact with the Utah police chief and the County Attorney. They’ve suspended Estes while they investigate Chester Fenton’s murder.”
“Suspended him? You mean to tell me he’s not in jail?”
“They never found the knife used to kill Fenton, so it’s his word against Gayle’s. But the department’s also looking into other criminal activities Gayle said Estes was involved in. And they’re still searching for the murder weapon.”
I shivered. “Estes must be more determined than ever to see the last of Gayle. She’s the only person willing to tell the truth about him.”
“He’s a dangerous S.O.B. Which is why I’m escorting her to Utah,” Brian said. “There’s something else. The cops hope Estes’ former girlfriend will provide corroborating evidence of all he’s been up to. An ambulance rushed her to a hospital a few weeks ago with severe internal injuries. He’d been using her as a punching bag.”
“What about Pete Rogers!” I demanded. “For all we know, Estes gave him orders to shoot Gayle on sight.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “According to the Utah police, Rogers is exactly what he claims to be. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went home. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him or his truck for three days now.”
I nodded. “I thought I spotted his truck a few times last week, but not recently.”
Now he was grinning. “How about I bring Gayle over to your house tomorrow around dinner time? You can share a meal, stay up talking all night. I’ll swing by for her six-fifteen the next morning. We’ve a ten o’clock flight. She’ll fly back to Long Island in a week or two to pick up her SUV.”
I hugged Brian and planted a big smooch on his lips. “Detective Donovan, you are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As much as I looked forward to spending time with my sister before she left for Utah, I couldn’t stop thinking about Johnny Scarvino. He was the linchpin that linked the two murders.
As soon as Brian dropped me off at home, I pulled out a pad and paper and jotted down everything I knew about the mysterious Johnny:
He was a mobster, which meant he was a killer.
He lived in New Jersey, but had no compunction about coming to Long Island,
He used to date Corinne, which made him no older than thirty-five.
His father went to prison for killing another gangster and his wife.
He killed Felicity’s pet ferret.
He probably shot up Corinne and Felicity’s house.
Corinne and Felicity were terrified of him.
Did he kill Len Lyons? Did he kill Tim? Both Len and Tim had mob connections, which didn’t make them mobsters. Besides, not all mobsters knew one another. I thought of the Logic class I’d taken in my freshman year of college, and realized the problem didn’t add up logically. But, like Felicity, I believed the two murders were related.
I called Joy. She answered, sounding grumpy and exhausted.
“We have to do further research on Johnny Scarvino,” I told her.
“Tomorrow. I’m off to bed as soon as I make the kids’ lunches.”
“It’s nine-thirty,” I pointed out.
“Thanks for the time check. I’ve been up since six a.m., if you don’t count the two times Brandon woke me up during the night.”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’ll come over tomorrow, after my classes.”
“I’ll be human again then.”
As promised, Joy was her usual sweet self the following afternoon when she led me to her tiny computer room.
“I looked up Johnny Scarvino. Didn’t find much more than what we’d read about him last time. He was arrested for various mob-related crimes. His father, John, must have killed dozens of people, but went to prison for killing an older couple.”
“Who?” I removed the papers on the bridge chair and sat down beside her.
“A Big Enchilada in the mob world,” Joy answered as she clicked through several newspaper articles.
“Pick the longest article,” I said. “It will have the most information.”
“Will do.” She was already printing out the article.
I studied the photos before I started reading. John Scarvino was a handsome if grim-looking man about fifty, with a full head of graying hair. The other photo was of the murdered couple, Salvatore Vito (Salvey) and Rose Fusco, seated at a table in a suit and fancy dress at some elegant affair. The photo was too grainy for me to make out their facial features, but the way they held themselves spoke pages. Salvatore Vito loomed big and brawny in the foreground; Rose hunched back in her seat as though shrinking from the camera’s lens. A bully and his victim, I thought.
I read the text slowly. Salvey Fusco was a boss, and Johnny’s father was his underboss. The Fuscos were found shot in the head, execution-style, in the elegant bedroom of their New Jersey mansion. Fusco’s fingerprints were found on the gun.
“I didn’t do it, I swear! Why would I want to hurt Salvey and Rosie?” Scarvino told the cops when they arrived because an anonymous caller had reported the murders. “Sure I picked up the gun. So what? You think I’m stupid? You think I’d leave my fingerprints if I killed them?”
Scarvino swore the Fuscos were family. He’d never in a million years harm them. But the police and DA’s office saw it differently. They figured Scarvino was fed up taking Fusco’s orders and wanted to be in charge. They were sure he’d have wiped his fingerprints off the gun, given the chance.
I finished the article and looked at Joy. “It does seem pretty lame that a guy like John Scarvino would leave fingerprints.”
Joy laughed. “The cops saw their chance and arrested him. The DA threw the book at him. With that kind of evidence, he didn’t have a chance in hell of going free. Catching him on this made up for all the cases they couldn’t pin on him.”
“Then who made the call? Who knew John Scarvino was at the Fuscos’ house?”
Joy shrugged. “Who knows? Someone loyal to Fusco? One of his capos?”
“But why kill Rose Fusco?” I asked. “In the photo she looks terrified of her husband.”
“Who knows. Maybe because she was there.”
“Did they have children?”
“There’s no mention of any kids,” Joy said.
Frustrated, I slammed my hand down on the desk. “We still know practically nothing. We’ve no idea why Johnny Scarvino’s angry at Corinne.”
“For breaking up with him?”
“That happened years ago.”
Joy shrugged. “Some men hold a grudge.”
“They do, but shooting up Corinne and Felicity’s house seemed to come out of the blue.”
“Right after Corinne’s bank was robbed,” Joy mused.
“And her picture was in the paper.”
Again I thought of Brat Farrar and how he longed to be part of the Ashby family. The family! What if the Roberts sisters were part of the family?
“I have it!”
“What?”
I grinned broadly at Joy. “Do you remember when Felicity told us at one of the meetings that Johnny Scarvino killed her ferret?”
“Of course.”
“Corinne tried to calm her down. She said Johnny had done it at their father’s orders.”
Joy bit her lip as she thought. “So she did.”
I nodded. “What if Salvey Fusco is Corinne and Felicity’s father?”
Joy’s eyes flit back and forth as she considered this possibil
ity. “You mean their names aren’t Corinne and Felicity Roberts?”
“Probably not.”
“Felicity does go on and on about Johnny Scarvino,” Joy mused. “She’s terrified of him.”
“And Corinne admitted she used to date him.”
Joy shook her head in disbelief. “It can’t be. This is too weird.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Because it’s happening on Magnolia Lane where you live, and not in one of your FBI cases?”
“We’ve no proof,” she said weakly.
“Of course we don’t. But it adds up! It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Joy nodded. “I’ll call one of my buddies, find out what I can about Salvey Fusco’s family.”
“And I’m going home to start Gayle’s farewell dinner. Brian’s dropping her off in a couple of hours.”
Since Gayle was a vegan who occasionally ate fish, I’d picked up some Chilean sea bass, salad, and several winter vegetables, which I planned to roast in olive oil and garlic cloves. My sister had no rules against imbibing wine, so I bought two lovely bottles of chardonnay, along with a gallon of extra rich chocolate ice cream.
Brian and Gayle showed up at my doorstep at six-fifteen. I invited Brian to join us, but he said he had to catch up on paper work before flying to Utah, and he’d take a rain check for when he returned to Long Island. While Gayle carried her duffle into the guest bedroom, Brian pulled me into the den for a long, passionate kiss.
“So you won’t forget me,” he whispered and nipped my earlobe, sending me swooning. He released me so suddenly, I nearly toppled over as he strode into the hall.
“What are you doing?” I called after him.
“Checking all your windows and doors. Make sure you double-lock the front door when I leave.”
Five minutes later, he was gone. Still dazed, I wandered into the kitchen, trying to remember what attention my carefully-planned meal required. None whatsoever. I smiled at Gayle, already seated at the table.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Starving.” She grinned. “And thirsty.”
I turned the oven temperature down and removed a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator door. I uncorked it and filled our glasses.
Gayle swallowed a healthy mouthful of wine and sighed. “I’m going to miss you, Lexie.”
I patted her arm. “We’ll see each other. I’ll come out to Utah. I promise.”
“You’d better.” She gulped down the rest of her wine. “I’m terrified of going back. Shawn has plenty of influence in town. Regardless of what they find against him, he won’t take this lying down.”
I suppressed a shudder. “Brian’s talked to the County Attorney several times. He believes you, but can’t take further action until he interviews you face-to-face.”
Gayle burst into tears. “Wally Foster’s new at the job. Shawn’s been in the police department for almost twenty years. He has friends. All I need is for one of them to tamper with the evidence and I’ll be charged with Chet’s murder.”
I put my arms around her. “That’s why Brian’s going with you. To make sure you get treated fairly.” I thought a moment. “If you’d like, I’ll come, too.”
Gayle shook her head so fiercely, I expected to see her turquoise earrings fly across the room. “You stay right here, Lexie, where you belong. I feel better knowing you’re safe at home.”
“If that’s what you want,” I murmured, thinking that with two unsolved homicides, life wasn’t exactly safe in Ryesdale, either.
Gayle loved the sea bass and accompaniments, and ate heartily. We finished off the bottle of chardonnay, and I was about to open a second when Gayle stopped me.
“I’d rather have coffee and dessert.”
“Your wish is my command,” I said, rising to fill the coffee maker. I was delighted that either the wine, the food, or a combination of the two had mellowed her mood. She cleared the table while I ladled out huge portions of ice cream, which I drenched with chocolate syrup and nuts.
“Let’s have dessert in the den,” I said, grabbing a handful of napkins and leading the way.
We settled on both ends of the couch and polished off our ice cream as we reminisced about our childhood.
“Did you know how jealous I was of you when we were kids?” Gayle blurted out.
I stared at her to see if she was kidding. “Really? Why on earth?”
“Why on earth?” she exploded. “Because you were older. And close to Mom. And to Sylvia. I remember the three of you going off on shopping sprees or to Manhattan, while I had to stay home with the baby sitter because I was too young.”
“But you’re six years younger than me,” I said, remembering one incident when I was fifteen. Gayle had screamed and hollered when Mom said she couldn’t see a Broadway show with us because she was only nine.
“And sometimes acted even younger?” she asked with a bittersweet smile.
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
“That came from being so damn frustrated. Whenever I wanted to go out with you and Mom, she always said I was too young. And so I ended up making the loudest fuss I could. Then when I was old enough, you went off to college.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I had no idea.”
“And it didn’t help that you were brilliant in school. The teachers were so damn disappointed when I didn’t turn out to be another Alexis,” she said bitterly.
“But you had other strengths,” I said lamely.
“Yeah. Folk dancing and pottery making, while you got a PhD in English.”
“Years after I had Jesse,” I pointed out. “I was a single mother juggling a job and taking classes. It was a long haul and not easy.”
Gayle made a face. “I even screwed up in that department—never marrying, never raising a child.”
I shot her a look of disbelief. “And I was great at it? Come on, Gayle! Look at my record. Godfrey wasn’t husband material; at least not at twenty-three. He left me right after Jesse was born. And now both he and Jesse live in California, as chummy as any father and son.” I sighed. “As for Gerald—he was a total nut case. Why I ever married him is beyond my comprehension.”
“You claimed he was brilliant, sexy, and charming, remember?”
I nodded. “So he seemed. Three months into our marriage, I realized how selfish and immature he really was. And spiteful. Look how he ended up accidentally causing his own death.”
“By burning down your house.”
“To a crisp.”
We looked at each other. Our lips turned up into smiles, and a minute later we were laughing hysterically.
“He-ee killed himself,” Gayle said. “That’s not funny.”
“It certainly isn’t,” I agreed between bouts of laughter. “It’s tragic.”
“You don’t keep husbands for very long,” Gayle pointed out unnecessarily.
“Did I ever claim to be good marriage material?” I demanded, tears streaming from my eyes. “As you can see, I’m far from perfect,” I said when our laughter subsided.
“But the best sister in the world,” Gayle said, hugging me tight.
The sound of a truck idling outside the house caught my attention. I switched off the light, then ran to the window to tweak back the drape.
“What is it?” Gayle demanded.
“Trouble,” I said, watching two men cross the lawn. I raced to the hall table where I’d left my cell phone and dialed Joy’s number. Ruthie answered.
“Ruthie honey, it’s Lexie. Let me speak to your mom or dad.”
“Mom’s at the gym. Daddy’s in Zack’s room fixing something.”
“Get him, okay?”
“He told me not to bother them unless it was an emergency.”
The doorbell rang. “Gayle, open the damn door!” shouted an angry male voice.
“Keep away from the door!” I told Gayle.
“What’s happening?” Ruthie asked.
“Get you dad. Hurry, please.”
The pou
nding on the door reverberated through the house. Would the door hold? Could whoever it was break his way in?
“Don’t!” I shouted at my sister, but it was too late. Gayle was peering through the peep hole.
She let out a shriek. “It’s Shawn. He’s going to kill me!”
Mike was on the line. “What’s wrong, Lexie?”
“Shawn Estes’s come for Gayle,” I said. “I don’t know how he found out she was here—”
“Take her down to the basement and lock yourselves in the cedar closet. Now!”
“But—”
“Do as I say! I’m coming over.”
“There are two men…” I started, but Mike had hung up. I pressed Brian’s number. It went to voice mail. I ended the call.
The thumping and shouting grew louder. As scared as I was, I had to see Shawn Estes for myself. No big surprise. He was a scowling, burly man with a Fu Manchu mustache and bushy eyebrows under his cowboy hat. The pistol strapped to his hip sent a ripple of fear down my spine.
“Open the door, Gayle!”
“He’s going to break it down!” Gayle moaned as she crumpled to the ground.
“Get away from my house!” I shouted. “You have no jurisdiction here.”
“Gayle’s wanted for questioning in a homicide case back in Utah. She had no business running away.”
“I’ve called the police!” I shouted. “They’re on their way.”
Shawn’s hearty laughter gave me the chills. “We’ll be halfway home by the time they arrive. Now open the damn door or I’ll break it down!”
I covered my ears, then realized I had better things to do with my hands. I wrapped my arms around my keening sister. “He won’t get us,” I whispered. “We’ll hide in the basement.”
“He’ll find us.”
“Then we’ll go out the back door and make a dash for Joy’s house.”
I prodded Gayle to her feet and half-shoved her through the kitchen. I was about to unlock the door when she grabbed my arm. “Pete’s out there!”
“And using the butt end of his gun to smash in the glass panel!”
I pulled my favorite knife from the knife rack. It had a long slender blade with a sharp point. When the gun’s grip broke through the glass, I stuck the knife point into the back of Pete’s hand. His yowl made me grin.
Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) Page 15
