BIG DADDY SINATRA 2: IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, Book 2

by Mallory Monroe

  Joffee stood up. “I’m saying that the surveillance footage, coupled with the fact that you despised your stepmother, coupled with the fact that you lied to authorities on immaterial matters like where you parked your car, makes you our prime suspect. Donald Sinatra, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Tess Magrid and the attempted murders of Jenay Sinatra and Bonita Sinatra. Please rise and turn around.”

  The room was stunned. Even Brent, who was a police sergeant no less, was speechless. Donald stood up, with tears in his eyes. He looked to his father. “Dad,” he said, as Joffee turned him around and began to handcuff him. Jenay stood up too. Charles began walking toward his son.

  “He didn’t do it, Joffee,” Charles said. “Donald would not have done that.”

  “Then fine,” Joffee said. “He’ll have his day in court. But right now, we believe we have enough to arrest him and I believe the DA will have enough to prosecute him. Let’s go,” he said to Donald, and began to take him away.

  “What are you doing?” Brent asked his boss. He was still too stunned. “You know my brother. You know he woudn’t do anything like that!”

  “Stay out of this, Brent,” Joffee warned him. “Don’t come to the station right now, you stay completely out of this. You will not be on this case. There will be no accusations of favoritism here.”

  And Joffee, with a terrified Donald, left the home.

  “Oh my God,” Jenay said, with her hands on the sides of her face. She couldn’t believe it. “What a nightmare day!”

  Charles went over to the side table and grabbed his keys. “Brent, Tony, look out for my wife and girl.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tony said.

  “Where are you going?” Brent asked.

  “To get your brother out. He didn’t do it.”

  “But what about the evidence?” Robert asked.

  “I don’t give a fuck about any evidence!” Charles shot back. “He didn’t do it.” Then Charles went over, kissed Jenay, and left.

  Brent ran his hands through his hair.

  “What are we going to do, Brent?” Robert asked. “You heard Chief Joffee. They’ve got all of that evidence against him, and we all know how Donnie is.”

  “Your father knows too,” Jenay said.

  “Then why doesn’t he believe it’s possible?” Robert wanted to know.

  “Because he can’t believe it,” Jenay said. “And because that boy came from Charles, I can’t believe it either.”

  They all looked at Jenay.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chief Joffee was angry, but there was nothing he could do about it. Charles Sinatra had spoken with Joffee’s boss, the mayor, and suddenly Joffee was being ordered to release Charles’s son. When asked why, the mayor insisted that they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him. But Joffee knew better than that. Donald Sinatra was being released solely because his father was Charles Sinatra, and every asshole politician in Jericho was afraid of him.

  Charles sat quietly in Joffee’s office. He was still stunned by the events of the day, and was still contemplating who could have done such a thing. He was not in a talking mood. He listened to Joffee’s complaints as if the chief wasn’t even talking to him. Until Joffee forced a response.

  “You made him face those domestic violence charges a few years back like a man,” Joffee said. “But now, for something this serious, you play dirty to get him off the hook. And make no mistake about it: pulling the mayor into this was dirty as dirty can get.”

  Then Joffee got loud: “We have overwhelming evidence that you boy killed that nanny and tried to kill your own wife and baby. Yet you run down here and get him out? A murderer like that? How could you do that and still live with yourself?”

  “Because that’s not what I’m doing,” Charles said. “I’m not here to get a murderer out. I ‘m here to get my son out. And I don’t care if your evidence stacks ten feet tall, my son didn’t do it. Donald Sinatra didn’t do it. I would have called the president if I could have.”

  Joffee stared at Charles. He’d never seen him so certain.

  The door opened and the officer, with Donald beside him, walked in. Charles stood up. When Donald saw his father, he ran to him and threw his arms around him. Charles held his son.

  “I didn’t do it, Dad,” he said. “You’ve got to believe me! I didn’t do it!”

  “I know you didn’t,” Charles responded, and began leaving. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Donald looked back at Joffee and smiled in twisted satisfaction, as he followed his father out.

  When they left, Joffee grabbed the phone on his desk, and threw it across the room.

  Outside, Charles got behind the wheel of his truck and sat there. Donald, who was seated on the passenger seat, looked at him.

  “Thank-you for believing me, Dad,” he said.

  “Why did you lie?” Charles asked, and then looked at his son.

  “I didn’t lie!”

  “Why did you lie?” Charles asked again. “Why did you say the reason you went into that drugstore was to get a prescription? Why did you park two blocks away, but claim you parked right around the corner? Why did you lie?”

  “But I didn’t lie,” Donald said.

  Charles slapped him so hard across his face that his nose drew blood. “Why did you lie? I’m not asking you again!”

  Donald knew he had to come clean with his father or risk permanent injury. He knew he had to tell it to him straight. “When you fired me from the Inn,” he said, “and you said how pathetic I was for lying on your wife, I felt like I had hit rock bottom. Again. But I still . . . I knew what I needed. The doctor had already told me what I needed. But I couldn’t . . . I didn’t want to be stigmatized. So I talked the doctor into putting it in a different name.”

  Charles frowned. “Put what in a different name?”

  “My prescription.”

  “Why would it need to be in a different name, Donald?”

  Donald hesitated. “Because it was for depression.” Donald said this and looked at his father, as if he was expecting him to judge him.

  “Keep talking,” Charles said.

  “He diagnosed me with severe depression and said I needed medication. So he agreed to put it in a fake name and today I decided to go and pick it up. I planned to tell the Pharmacist that I was picking it up for a friend. Since my name wasn’t on the prescription, I didn’t figure he would know anything.”

  “What didn’t you want him to know?” Charles asked.

  “I didn’t want him to think I was crazy,” Donald responded. “Because I’m not.”

  “Nobody said you were crazy.”

  “But that’s how people are. The doctor said it was a chemical imbalance, and that medicine would help put me back in balance or something. It’s like a person with high blood pressure who has to take medication. He said I really needed it.”

  “So you talked some doctor into giving you a prescription in somebody else’s name, which I’m sure is illegal, because you didn’t want the drugstore clerk to think you were crazy?”

  “You know how they gossip, Dad. It would have been all over Jericho had it been in my name. Big Daddy Sinatra’s baby boy is a freak, they would say.”

  “A person who suffers from Depression isn’t a freak, Donald,” Charles made clear.

  “But that’s how they would put it! And that’s the reason why the pharmacist told the police that I didn’t have a prescription at his drugstore. It was there, but it wasn’t in my name, and he didn’t know any of that. And when Chief Joffee said I went toward the back of the store as if I knew an explosion was about to take place, that wasn’t true either. I didn’t know an explosion was coming. I saw Mrs. Drysdale at the counter and I hurried to the back of the store because I didn’t want her to see me. That’s why I parked blocks away too, because I didn’t want my car anywhere near that drugstore. But I didn’t see where that was Chief Joffee’s business.”

  Charles shook his head. It was
such a ridiculous story, worrying about what people would think of him because he had an illness, but it was so like his baby boy. He pulled out his cell phone, called the Information operator, got the phone number to Harrell’s Drugstore, and then began phoning the store. “What’s the name?” he asked his son.

  Donald looked at him. “The name?”

  “What’s the name on the prescription?”

  “Oh. Joe Brown.”

  “How original,” Charles said.

  A female’s voice came onto the line. “Harrell’s Pharmacy,” she said. “May I help you?”

  “I’m calling to see if a prescription is ready,” Charles said.

  “The name please.”

  “Joe Brown.”

  She checked. “Yes, sir, Mr. Brown. It’s ready.”

  “Is it the one for depression or that other one?”

  “It’s the Zoloft, yes sir.”

  “Okay. Thank-you,” Charles said, and hung up.

  Donald smiled. “So you believe me now?”

  “I believed you then.”

  Donald considered his father. “Why did you believe me?”

  “Because you’re my son. Because your foolishness put you at the right place at the right time and you saved Bonita’s life. Because you’re far too uncoordinated to commit that kind of crime.”

  Donald smiled, and then he laughed. “You’re right about that,” he admitted. Then his smile was gone. “But since I wasn’t the one who tried to kill Jenay and Nita, who did?”

  “And were they targeting Tess?” Charles added. “All I have are questions too. That’s not good.”

  But then he looked at his son. “Go back to that doctor,” he said. “Get him to write that prescription again, and put it in your name. And then go and get it filled. You’re sick, son, you aren’t crazy. But you will be out of your mind if you know you’re sick, and there’s medicine that can help you, but you refuse to take it. Take it, Donald. Take it every day. Be the man I know you are and take your meds.”

  Donald swallowed hard. It was the first time in a long time his father referred to him as a man. Not just his baby boy. But a man. “Yes, sir,” he said with strength in his voice. “I will.”

  By the time Charles returned home, looking undeniably drained, Jenay was out back, on the patio. Brent and Tony were sitting with her. Charles opened the French doors and stepped out too.

  “Where’s Donald?” Jenay asked. “What happened?”

  “He’s home. I took him to his house.”

  Brent was surprised. “You mean Chief Joffee released him?”

  “On the mayor’s orders, yeah.”

  “Oh, great,” Brent said. “He is not going to like that.”

  “Who cares?” Jenay asked. “Donald didn’t try to kill me, I don’t care what Joffee says.”

  Charles looked at Jenay with love and affection in his heart. Because she was always true to him, and his sons. He could count on nobody else to protect his children, but he knew he could count on Jenay.

  He walked over and leaned back on the lounger with his head on her lap and his feet planted on the patio. He was exhausted she could tell. She began rubbing his soft, wavy black hair. “It’s been a long day for you,” she said.

  “Nothing compared to what you went through. Where’s NeeNee?”

  “Asleep in the nursery. Bobby’s with her.”

  Charles nodded. “Good.”

  “My parents called.”

  Charles looked back at her. “You told them what happened?”

  Jenay shook her head. “No. And they haven’t heard otherwise. I just don’t want the drama of them criticizing my choices once again. I’ve had enough drama in this one day to last a lifetime.”

  Charles reached up and clasped her hand in his.

  “So if Donnie’s off the list,” Brent said to his father, “who’s on the list?”

  “And what is the list?” Tony asked. “Is it a list of Jenay’s enemies, Tess’s enemies, or your enemies, Dad?”

  Charles stretched his upper body. His expensive suit was wrinkled and his eyes were bloodshot. “We’ll have to go on the working proposition that it’s all of the above,” he said.

  “So where do we begin?” Jenay asked.

  “Where we ended.”

  Jenay looked at him. “Richmond?”

  He nodded. “Richmond.”

  Arianna Sinatra’s home was as opulent as Charles would have imagined it to be. Located on Rothesay Circle in Richmond, it spewed old money wealth.

  “She was rich,” Jenay said as they got out of the rental car and made their way to her front door.

  “Her husband died,” Charles said, “and now all of this belongs exclusively to her. And her first order of business after her husband died was to join forces with your ex and see if they could use those girls to get between us.”

  “A pathetic try.”

  “To say the least,” Charles said.

  “But she never took her new husband’s name. She kept your last name.”

  “I was her first and, let her tell it, only love. This guy was her benefactor.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “Yeah,” Charles said, and rang the bell.

  The Butler answered after what they considered a longer than usual time. But he was a very old Butler, probably pushing seventy. So they understood. “May I help you?” he asked after he opened the door.

  “Yes, sir. I’m Charles Sinatra.”

  “Oh. Mr. Sinatra. Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon. This is my wife, Jenay.”

  “Mrs. Sinatra,” the Butler said with a slight bow.

  “We’re here to see Ari. Arianna. Is she in?”

  “Oh, I’m afraid not, sir. She’s not here.”

  Charles waited for more. “Well can you at least tell me where she might be?”

  “Why she’s in prison, sir.”

  Charles and Jenay were surprised. “Prison?” Jenay asked.

  “Well, not technically prison,” the Butler corrected. “But jail. She’s been arrested.”

  “For what?” Charles asked.

  “Why murder, sir,” the Butler said.

  Charles and Jenay looked at each other. And then they looked at the Butler. He seemed thrilled by the prospect of his employer going away for a long time. He seemed pleased beyond measure.

  They sat in the visitation room at the county jail and waited for the guards to bring her in. But both Charles and Jenay were still digesting the news.

  “It’s so unreal,” Jenay said. “She murdered somebody? That’s wild.”

  “Yeah,” Charles agreed. “Even for Ari that’s wild.”

  “Wonder if Quince had something to do with it? Wonder if that’s why we haven’t been able to catch up with him? We drove by that house he and the girls were staying in, and it’s empty. Maybe he was involved too.”

  “Maybe,” Charles said. Then he looked at Jenay. “You don’t put it pass him?”

  “I don’t put anything pass Quince,” Jenay responded firmly. “Not after he told me outside of the girls’ school that he was leaving me for another woman, and he didn’t care that his words had just destroyed my life. No. I wouldn’t put it pass him.”

  Arianna was escorted into the room and the guard stood by the door. She smiled when she saw them. “How do I look?” she asked with a twirl. She was a very petite woman. “Jumpsuits aren’t usually my style. But I think I rock this one. What do you think?”

  Charles failed to see the humor. “You’re awfully upbeat considering where you are.”

  Arianna sat down at the table across from them. “I’m surviving until my attorneys get me out of here. That’s all this is about. Now what do you want from me?”

  “Somebody planted a bomb in my wife’s car. Was it you?” Charles asked without ceremony.

  Arianna laughed. “Very funny. Why would I want to kill that bitch?”

  “The only bitch in here is you,” Jenay answered before Charles could. Cha
rles smiled. “So who did you kill?” Jenay asked her.

  “Very funny again,” Arianna responded. “I didn’t kill anybody. That former right hand man of mine, Ed Anderson, was arrested for killing a certain lady, and then he implicated me in his scheme.”

  “What lady?”

  “The mother of Quince’s daughters,” Arianna said. “His babies’ mama.”

  Charles was floored. Jenay was too. She leaned forward. “But he said she died in a car accident.”

  “She did die in a car accident. It was a rigged car accident, at least that’s what the prosecution is now claiming, but it was a car accident.”

  “So where’s Quince in all of this?” Charles asked.

  “Right in the dab thick of it honey,” Arianna gladly proclaimed. “That’s why he’s on the run. He took those daughters of his and scrammed. Nobody knows where he is. Sick bastard! And you think any of us had time to be planting bombs and blowing up Miss Pick and Pay? You have got to be kidding. I’m fighting for my freedom. That’s all that matters to me now. Bombing some bitch in Maine is the last agenda item on my to do list. Especially a low-rent bitch like her.”

  Charles was about to fire back with an angry retort, but Jenay, again, beat him to it. “I might be a low-rent bitch in your eyes,” she said, as she began to rise. “But I’m a free bitch. I’m the bitch leaving this bitch. You’re the bitch who gets to stay.” Jenay juggled her hands as if she was weighing the options. “I’d rather be me, bitch,” she concluded, and then she and Charles headed for the exit.

  Only Charles was laughing hysterically as they left.

  Later, as they drove back to the airport, Jenay leaned back against the headrest. “Are you going to tell your sons?” she asked him.

  “I already have.”

  Jenay looked at him. “You called them? What did they say?”

  “They said they don’t care. Even Donald doesn’t care. She’s a nonfactor as far as they’re concerned and they don’t want to have anything to do with her.”

  “Wow.”

  “Too many years she hasn’t given a damn,” Charles said. “So they stopped giving a damn too.”

  But then Jenay thought about the girls. “Carly and Ash,” she said and laid back against the headrest. “They must be so scared and confused. Their mother left them, Vernita left them, I left them, and now Quince is on the run and probably acting like some madman.”