“No, she didn’t.” She frowned, the deep lines in her forehead standing out more. If Jake read her face correctly, it read hurt. Deeply hurt. Lola Adams had hurt her mother by not calling or visiting.
“Do you have a cell phone, Mrs. Gromme?”
“No.”
“Why did you call her husband a loser?” Louie asked.
“Because he is. I can’t believe she married a guy old enough to be her father.”
“Not good enough. ‘Because he is’ doesn’t answer the question,” Jake pushed.
“The man screwed around on his wife with a woman half his age. A loser in my book,” she simply stated.
“Okay. You don’t put any of the blame on your daughter for dating a married man?” Louie asked the question this time.
“A typical question from a man; it’s always the woman’s fault,” she said with disgust.
“No, ma’am, I think it’s both of their faults,” Louie said.
Silence ensued; after a minute or two, she said, “I guess you’re right. You can’t be looking seriously at Lola for this. My girl wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“We’re looking at everyone right now, Mrs. Gromme. Was Lola married before?” Jake asked. They each questioned her. They discovered over the years it kept the interviewee off balance.
“Yes, to another loser, at the time she met Adams.”
“What’s his name? Do you think Lola would have visited him?”
“I don’t think they kept in touch. She pissed him off when she dated the old guy, his ego couldn’t take it.”
She obviously didn’t like the first one any better than the second. “I think having his wife date another man would be reason enough to be pissed off. What’s his name, Mrs. Gromme?” Jake asked again.
“Nick Pilarski.”
“Does he live in town?” Louie asked.
“Yes he does, in their old apartment. He lives over by the post office on Marion Road, in an apartment over the deli. I don’t have the exact address. He’s listed in the phone book.”
“Thanks. Can you think of anyone else she might have visited here when she flew in?”
“I can’t think of anyone. You’d think she’d have learned. She dates losers like her father. No good, skirt chasing, gambling bums. Why she goes for the same type, I don’t understand.” She stared out her window.
“Okay, one last question. Where were you on April sixteenth?” Jake asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked, looking at them. “Where I am every night. Right here, alone.”
“No one can verify your whereabouts?”
“No. You can ask my nosey neighbors if one of them was spying on me.”
Jake let her answer hang in the air, staring at her before he said, “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Gromme.”
Outside, Jake asked, “What’s your take, Louie?”
“I thought we’d need a cast iron plate to protect the jewels. She certainly doesn’t like men.”
“You got that right. Do you think she’s telling the truth about her daughter not visiting?” Jake unlocked the car, folding his six foot frame into the department-issued Taurus. “Who’s closer, the father or the ex?”
“The father’s right down the street here, on Main Street, number thirty-four. We’ll hit the ex on the way back to the station. It’s right at the bottom of Southington Mountain.”
“Okay, we’ll take the father next.”
The father lived in an old run-down converted home. The house leaned more toward a boarding house than a four-family dwelling. According to the mail boxes, four families or individuals lived there. After ringing the doorbell, they waited a solid five minutes until Jerry Gromme answered the door, gracing them with his presence.
A grubby man, Gromme sported a day old beard, thin, dirty, straggly hair, and a pointed nose that reminded Jake of a bird’s beak. A thin, gaunt looking, even sickly man. Jake moved back, bumping into Louie to avoid the guy’s foul breath. It smelled like the city dump on a hot summer day. He reeked of cigarettes and old beer mixed in with morning breath; it could kill a rhinoceros at ten yards. He wore a wife-beater T-shirt and Jake thought he definitely could use a shower and some mouthwash.
“Mr. Gromme, I’m Lieutenant Carrington and this is Detective Romanelli. Can we come in?” he said, staying back.
“Sure. The name’s Jerry. I’m up on the third floor. We’ll have to walk, there’s no elevator.”
They walked into a mess. Where the ex-wife’s apartment was immaculate, Jerry’s resembled a pig-sty. Jake thought he just insulted the pigs.
Jerry pushed the racing forms off the couch, making room for them to sit.
“I told the other detective on the phone I don’t see how I can help you. I haven’t heard from Lola since her wedding. She only contacts me when she wants something.” He held his hands out with the palms up in an ‘I don’t know’ gesture.
“Jerry, Lola visited Connecticut on April sixteenth. She didn’t visit you, or even call?” Louie said.
“No, I told you, we’re not close. Her witch of a mother always put me down to her.”
“So I assume you two didn’t get along?” Louie asked.
“You assume correctly. If you met Mrs. Gromme, you’d know she doesn’t get along with anyone. She’s a total bitch.”
“Would Lola have contacted her mother instead of you?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, she would. They have a love-hate relationship, those two. So much alike.” Jerry shook his head. “I couldn’t live with either one of them. A pair of tough broads, one tougher than the other. Always harping on my ass.”
“Do you know who she would’ve contacted on her visit, if not you or her mother?”
“Really don’t. I don’t know her friends. She might’ve contacted her ex-husband. They go way back; started dating in high school, before she met her new husband.”
“One more question, Jerry. Where were you on April sixteenth?”
He actually grabbed his calendar, looked up the date. “I attended the Tim McGraw concert at the Half Moon.”
“Okay, thanks for your time, Jerry. If we have any other questions, we’ll contact you. Sorry, one more question. What’s your cell phone number?”
He gave Jake the number.
“Thanks.” Jake stood, as did both Louie and Jerry. Jerry extended his hand. Jake had no excuse not to shake it.
Outside Louie said, “I hope you have some anti-bacterial soap in the car.”
“You bet. I don’t leave home without it. My God, how does someone live in such filth?”
“I don’t know, but I now understand his ex-wife.”
“Okay, what’s the address for Lola’s ex-husband?”
“It’s 345 Marion Avenue, second floor.”
“What do you think, Louie? You think she contacted her mother?”
“Yeah, I do. They might not be close, but mothers and daughters always seem to have a bond we men can’t explain,” Louie said thoughtfully.
Nick Pilarski did indeed live over a deli—the aroma helped to wash out the stench from Jerry Gromme’s apartment, kicking in both their appetites.
“Let’s grab a sandwich downstairs when we’re through here,” Jake said.
They woke Nick up, discovered he worked third shift in Cheshire, at one of the factories.
“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m sleeping here?” he complained.
“Are you Nick Pilarski?”
“Who’s asking?”
“That would be us, Nick,” Jake said to annoy him. His shield in his hand.
“I’ll ask again, who’s asking?” Jake braced, watching Nick lose his patience. The guy’s got a short fuse, Jake thought.
“We’re Lieutenant Carrington and Detective Romanelli of the Wilkesbury Police Department. We’re here to question you about a recent murder. Can we come in?”
“Really, who got dead?” Nick let them in, confusion showing on his face.
“The murder victim is Chelsea Ad
ams, the first wife of Jeffery Adams, who is now married to your ex-wife, Lola,” Louie said, taking a deep breath.
“What’s that got to do with me? Shit, you think I…no way, man. I didn’t even know the woman. What are you, crazy?” Nick looked around, found a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply before blowing the smoke in their faces. “You guys want one?” he offered.
“No thanks, we don’t smoke.” Jake swiped a hand in front of his face to dissipate the smoke. He wondered how much second hand smoke he’d inhaled today. He hoped the cleaners would be able to get the smell out.
“Did you see your ex-wife on April sixteenth?” Louie asked.
“No, she lives in Florida.”
“She visited Connecticut. You’re sure she didn’t contact you?” Jake questioned.
“I’m sure. Why would she?”
“Where were you on the sixteenth, Mr. Pilarski?” Jake asked.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, we’re not kidding. Where, Nick?”
He pulled his calendar from the table next to his chair, while they continued to question him.
“What’s your cell number, Mr. Pilarski?”
“Why?” He got up, started pacing around the apartment.
“We need to check it against Lola’s bill to be sure she didn’t contact you.” Jake watched him closely, as he asked the question. Nick handed Jake his calendar, pointed out his work schedule.
“I worked that night. You can check with the company. They’ll verify it. You think she killed the woman?” he asked, amazed.
“At this time we’re just questioning everyone who knew the victim, Mr. Pilarski,” Louie said.
“Lola’s a crazy bitch, but she wouldn’t kill anyone, believe me. I would know if I were married to a killer,” he said with conviction.
“Sometimes people hide their true selves,” Jake stated.
“No, not Lola. She’s a money hungry bitch, not a killer.”
“It sounds like you still have feelings for her?” Louie asked.
“She’s hard to get over. A great lay, you know what I mean? Out of bed, she’s a tiger with sharpened claws.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We fought all the time. Been together since high school. She wanted more than I could give her. She’s a hard woman who comes from hard stock. Have you met her parents yet?”
“Yes. I still need your cell phone number, Mr. Pilarski. Don’t make us get a subpoena, because then we’ll have access to everyone you called.” Jake stared at Nick with no sympathy.
“Jesus.” He got up, grabbed a pad, and wrote down a number, handing it to Jake. “I don’t care if you look at all my calls, I don’t have anything to hide.”
“We like people who cooperate, Nick, it gets us out of their lives faster,” Jake said. “Do you know who else Lola might have visited on her recent trip here?”
“Did you check with her best friend, Katy?”
“No. What’s her full name, address, and phone number, if you have it?” Louie asked.
“It’s Katy Bonita. Wait, I have to look up the number.” He searched through his cell phone, wrote down the information, handed it to Jake. “I don’t think she has a house phone.”
“You keep in touch with her friends, Nick?” Jake asked, curiously.
“Friend. Yeah. After the divorce I dated her a couple of times. Unfortunately, no sparks, but we remained friends. You got a problem with that?” he asked defensively.
“Nope. Anyone else we should look at, Nick?”
“Lola’s not close to a lot of people. I really can’t think of anyone else.”
“Okay, thanks. Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anyone. Sorry to interrupt your sleep.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cursing, Mia jumped out of bed half an hour later than usual. Her luck continued to run downhill when traffic came to a standstill around Farmington, making her late for her first appointment. She needed to re-evaluate her job. No longer fun, it interfered with her writing. She’d taken a part-time job, three days a week, four at the very most; now she worked five days a week, with part-time benefits. Leave it to the state to get around giving benefits, though she didn’t need them. All the benefits she could ever ask for, as well as a very good salary, she got as an employee with her father’s company, Andrews Publishing Corporation, where she held the title of vice president, along with writer/contributor. Mia worked hard producing articles for each magazine every month. She could easily have published her book with their company. Being an Andrew, she’d inherited her stubborn streak. Mia refused her father’s offer, wanting to make it on her own. Naturally he didn’t understand, never did, never would—it caused constant tension between them.
That’s why she moved out of New York City, renting out her penthouse, while she relocated to Connecticut. She didn’t need to work. The generous trust fund her grandmother left her, plus the salary she drew from the various holdings and stocks the family owned, could support ten families. She wondered how Jake would handle it when he found out exactly how rich she was and what family she belonged to. Would the depth of her portfolio bother him? Would he be man enough to handle it? She’d tell him in time; she needed to know where their relationship was heading first. Too many men wanted her for her money. Jake seemed different from the men she normally dated. He definitely had a dark side to him, one she needed to explore more thoroughly. She thought her baggage might be nothing compared to his. When he’d spoken of his sister’s death on Sunday, she realized he’d carried the guilt around for years. Even with her degree in psychology she didn’t know if she could help him, or if she even wanted to begin a relationship with someone with that much baggage.
While waiting for her second appointment of the day to show, she wondered how tonight would go. This nut stalking her, she didn’t need. Did Jake bring it on himself? Would it be fair to blame him for a crazy woman’s actions? She rarely met a man she wanted to date. Would Jake Carrington be worth taking a chance on? She’d find out tonight. Her cell phone rang. She noted the caller with a sigh—her friend, Piper. She didn’t have the time or the patience to speak with her today. Piper thought her husband, Darryl, cheated on her. She wanted Mia to tell her what to do. Letting the call go to voice mail, Mia promised herself she’d call Piper back on her way to Jake’s house tonight.
Her next appointment walked in with a big attitude—a thirteen-year-old mean-spirited, boisterous girl who constantly caused fights with the other students. The school wanted to know why. Mia could tell them why before she even counseled her. Tessa threw herself into one of the chairs in front of Mia’s desk, stared her down. Saying nothing, Mia waited her out.
Finally, Tessa said, “Hi, Miss Andrews.”
“Hello, Tessa. How are you today?”
“I don’t know why I have to come here.”
“Well, think of it as a vacation from class,” Mia said, with a smile.
“I don’t need no vacation. I don’t want to come, I don’t come. Nobody cares one way or the other if I do or not,” she answered, an edge to her voice inviting an argument.
“Don’t need any vacation,” Mia corrected.
“Whatever.” Tessa picked up items off of Mia’s desk; Mia knew the girl did it to annoy her. “Tessa, we spoke about you touching my things before. Put them down.” Not giving an inch, Mia hardened her voice. She took this job because she thought she could help kids. Few could be helped, she found; the ones she did help were few and far between. It’s why she didn’t pursue her doctoral in Psychology. It depressed her.
“Boy, aren’t you touchy today?”
“No. Would you like me to go through your handbag…touch your possessions?”
“You do, I’ll kill you.” Tessa jumped up.
Mia stared her down until she sat again.
“Are you ready for your session?”
“Why? It doesn’t help.”
“Tessa, why are you so angry all the time?” Mia asked quietly.
“Well, I ain’
t no white bitch who has everything, that could be it. Or it could be that I live in a hole where no one cares about me or what I do. Is that what you want me to say?” Tessa asked angrily.
“No, I don’t want you to say anything that isn’t true. I want you to be honest with me, so I can see if I can help you.”
“Why should I?”
“I can help,” Mia stressed.
“I hate my parents.”
“You can’t change who your parents are. If they’re abusing you, we can address those issues.”
“They don’t abuse me. I hate them.”
“Tessa, you can change who you are by taking steps to lead your life where you want it to go. You have to believe before I can help you. I can’t change how you feel about your parents.” Mia made a decision, adding, “I have problems with my father. I wish things could be different. I understand I’m not going to change him, so I accept it, living my life my way.”
“What’s his problem?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters most, Tessa, is you. You can work to be a successful woman. Show the world you have what it takes to succeed, even against great odds.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not. It’s a lot of hard work. In the end, though, it’ll all be worth it.”
“Why do you care? Why do you do this? So you can feel better about yourself?” Tessa asked sarcastically.
“No, I like to help people. I see so much potential in you. I think it would be a waste for such a smart girl to let them beat her down. You want power, Tessa? Power is in knowledge, not just street smarts, but also book smarts. You’re at a crossroads in your life—you need to make a choice. Are you going to be a trouble maker all your life, and probably end up in jail; or do you want to work hard to make something of yourself you can be proud of? Only you can decide. What do you want?”
Mia pushed hard today; she was running out of options for this young girl with the attitude. Even with all her sessions, Mia never discovered the reason for Tessa’s anger. She accepted a long time ago that some kids couldn’t be helped, though it killed her with this one, because Tessa had so much potential. A brainy girl with guts. Mia gave her that.
IF I FAIL: A Jake Carrington Mystery Page 14
