by J R Pearson
"Why should it matter?" He frowned at her. A vein protruded from his neck. “He didn't do it."
"I never said he did, Tony," she argued. "And don't get mad with me. I’m just trying to lay out the information that we need."
"We don't need that." He stared straight ahead while he maneuvered out of the subdivision. She hated it when he closed her out. Reaching over, she touched his stiffened arm and felt it relax under her palm.
"Hopefully after finding and talking to Betty, we'll have some sort of clear indication of who the killer may be."
***
Their next stop was Pico de Gonzales. Its roof brown. The words 'Pico de' were bold red and 'Gonzales' green. A chili pepper ended the title. The parking lot was empty—
Except...
A hot pink sports car with the roof down sat alone in the restaurant's parking lot. A platinum-blonde woman leaned against the hood, wearing oversized sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. Josie scrunched up her nose. She hated cigarettes.
Tony parked a few feet away and got out to open her door. The blonde woman tossed her fake extensions over shoulder. Big sunglasses prevented Josie from gauging Blondie's mood as they approached.
"Good morning," Josie waved. The woman blew a stream of smoke out one side of her mouth. Josie held her breath.
"What do you want?" The woman moved her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her face was youthful, but the pack-a-day voice and wrinkles around her mouth made her seem older.
"We're looking for a woman named Betty Gonzales," Josie revealed.
"Yippee, you found her." The woman said dryly and dropped her cigarette, crushing it with her sandal. "You're going to have to go somewhere else if you want to eat." Betty gestured to the restaurant. "We’re closed."
"That's not why we're here," Tony said. "We want to know more about the death of your husband." Betty's eyebrows shot to her hairline, baffled by Tony's bluntness.
"What's it to you?" Betty folded her arms. Her eyes took him in from head to toe. "You certainly don't look like the cheap-suited cops that roam around here."
"That's because I'm not," he said, unamused. “A friend of mine has been wrongly accused of your husband's murder—"
"Wrongly? Ha!" Betty let out a short laugh. “If you're here on behalf of Manny Epstein, then you obviously don't know your friend." Betty's smirk made Josie uneasy.
"What are you talking about?"
"For years, Manny Epstein fought with my husband—"
"That’s common knowledge," Tony interrupted.
"Is it also common knowledge that police were called several times to break up fights between Marco and Manny? Especially when things got physical." This was news to Josie. Verbal sparring, she could understand. But fistfights? Unfortunately, from the look of Tony's face, he hadn’t been aware of Manny's past actions.
"When Marco and I first opened the restaurant, Manny always came around, yelling and screaming, pissed out of his mind that we were stealing his customers and ruining his business. Every damn day, he came by. Marco had to take out a restraining order on him. Manny is a low-life. He should've been locked up years ago."
"All that aside," Josie furrowed her brow, not liking the ash-smelling-woman one bit. "It still doesn't mean Manny is the killer. And yet you sound for certain he is. Are we missing something?" she inquired. Betty's heavy makeup cracked under confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"Were you there when your husband was killed?" Josie challenged. "Did you see Manny shoot him?"
"Uh-I....no." Betty made busy taking out another cigarette. Once it was between her bony fingers, she lit it. "But one could deduce he is the culprit. That’s why he's now in handcuffs."
"Where were you during the time?"
"I was running errands when I got the call from a Lieutenant Gibson that Marco was found in our kitchen."
"Inside?"
"That's where the kitchen is," Betty snapped. Josie kept quiet from noting that outdoor kitchens were a growing trend.
"Lieutenant Gibson said our patio door was left wide open," Betty said.
"Marco opened the door to his killer," Josie looked to Tony. "He knew who it was—?"
"Of course he did! It was Manny!" Betty exclaimed.
"If your husband and Manny couldn’t stand one another, then why did Manny come to your house?" Josie asked. "And, if true, what's Marco's reason for opening the door?" Tony watched Betty's face closely.
"Manny must've tricked Marco into doing it."
"I don't buy it." Tony shook his head. There was more to the story then Betty was letting on....
"You listen here," Betty sneered at him. "Police have arrested the right man." Again, she tossed the cigarette. “Your friend was jealous, penniless, and reeked of rotten jalapeños." She put her sunglasses back on. "My Marco can now rest peacefully, knowing his killer has been c-caught." Her voice wavered at the end. Her faded maroon lips trembled.
Tony was over the conversation. Without another word, he headed back to his truck.
"Jo, we're leaving,” he called over his shoulder. Josie remained fixed. She had one more question to ask.
"What will happen to the restaurant?"
Betty merely shrugged. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Josie flopped onto the passenger seat, releasing a gust of air. Her hands shook. Talking with Betty had drained her, leaving her body spent and mind in disarray.
And famished.
"A refueler would be nice," she said. Tony leaned over and planted one on her lips then turned the key in the ignition.
"I know just the place."
CHAPTER FIVE
The Hit Café. A quaint coffee shop sandwiched between a designer shoe boutique and a used bookstore. A green awning shaded brew-sipping customers at wrought-iron tables. The Café reminded Josie of Sweeny's Café in Greenville, except the folks at Sweeny's were laid-back, and stopped to chat. People here were on the move, to-go cups in hand, cell phones to their ear. After all, it was the city, the complete opposite of Greenville's small-town persona of locals doing more than ignoring each other. Tony opened the door for her, and a breeze carrying scents of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon rolls lifted her hair.
Okay, she could get used to this.
"Grab that spot by the window," Tony said. "I'll place our order. What do you want?"
"Surprise me."
She hopped up on a high-backed-chair at a long counter facing floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the sidewalk. She placed her purse on the stool beside her, saving the spot ‘til Tony returned.
A wide array of people walked, shuffled, and skateboarded by. Parking meters bordered the path; parallel to the sidewalk, yellow cabs zipped past on the busy street. Honks and the occasional shouted curse word were muffled under the steady beat of footfall. Josie's eyes ping-ponged from one person to the next. So many of them, she thought. Single and in herds, they moved swiftly around each other, never missing a collective step or tripping on a discarded shoelace or concrete crack. Within just a minute, a hundred people must've trudged by.
That’s like half the population of Greenville, she exaggerated to herself.
Tony appeared, empty-handed.
"The guy at the counter said he'll bring over our order," he said. Josie removed her purse, allowing him to sit.
"Your face is funny. What’s up?" She referred to his twisted features. He visibly shuddered.
"The guy that took the order was overly...chipper," he said. Josie vibrated, laughing.
"Overly chipper? What’s wrong with being happy?" Another bout of laughter bubbled in her gut when his disturbed expression deepened.
"Nothing. But I’ve never seen anyone be that happy. It was creepy, and stop laughing at me." Despite his demand, he joined in. To Josie, on any other day, she wouldn’t consider it laugh-worthy. Giggle, maybe.
And yet, they needed it.
The small burst of pleasure she felt of laughing over something so silly took her mind away
from Manny's current predicament.
A sugary caffeine boost was also warranted.
"Tony...what Betty said about Manny—"
"Should be taken with a grain of salt," he cut in. "Manny having run-ins with Marco and the law before is his business."
"I get it. But that doesn’t help his case. Gibson will see those previous assaults, the tit-for-tat rivalry and—if he takes Betty's word—Manny's accusations of a declining business due to Pico de Gonzales popping up—"
Although last night, Tortillas and Beans had been packed.
"—is motive enough for Manny wanting to," she lowered her voice, "kill Marco."
Tony cracked his knuckles, then aligned his arm along the back of her chair. She didn’t care to admit his cologne soothed her like the tulips did for Mrs. Norris. "As for Betty's story of Manny showing up at their house, gun at the ready—it doesn't make sense."
"She's lying," Tony grunted.
"No argument there. Still, we have no other witnesses to contradict it." She explained: “Seymour was too late. The house to the right is empty. I noticed a ‘For Sale’ sign. And Gibson sure as hell isn’t going to tell us his findings."
Have we hit a dead end? she asked herself. Still, was anyone looking at the killer's escape? Heaving himself/herself over the fence and landing on Seymour's poor little table was impossible for Manny's ten-tamales-a-day gut. That alone, Josie believed, should have Lieutenant Snake and Detective Weasel looking for other suspects.
"What do you think was in the evidence bag?" she asked.
"I don’t know." Tony exhaled. "Since we heard Gibson say the case will close this afternoon—whatever it may be is a game changer."
For whom?
The picker-upper Josie was anticipating arrived. Tony groaned.
"Brace yourself."
"Hello! Welcome to the Hit Café!" said a bright-eyed, freckled, redheaded young man. His green hat bore the café’s logo. Tony wasn’t kidding. The guy could get devastating news, and his chipper disposition wouldn’t falter.
Creepy.
"I have your treats right here!" He placed a tall cup in front of Josie. "One double chocolate-chip frap with extra whipped cream." He placed another in front of Tony. "One mint iced coffee annnnndd…" He set down a basket of golden pastries. "Our amazing mini ricotta pancakes." His hundred-watt smiled beamed brighter than the glare the sun was bouncing off the parking meters outside. "If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask! My name is Chip!"
Tony dropped his head to the counter.
"Thank you...Chip," she said, patting her boyfriend's shoulder.
"You're very welcome! Enjoy!"
Chip, the Chipper Chocolate-Churning Chancellor, returned to his post. Josie stuck the straw into the frothy mountain of whipped cream. The dark chocolate syrup and light-brown milky caffeinated cream, spotted with chocolate chips, were layered beautifully. Tony’s iced coffee was poured into a mason jar. Ice cubes floated on the surface, accompanied by a vivid mint garnish.
Josie was accustomed to the iced coffee's unique blend. It, too, had a syrup—a boiled, then cooled, mixture of water, sugar, mint leaves, and seedless vanilla beans. Her parents’ breakfast diner carried the recipe, along with a wide range of others for coffee devotees.
Tony let her take a sip of his drink. It punched a cool refreshing zing, followed by the mild flavor of coffee, but her attention homed in on the scrumptious ricotta pancakes. Small inch-thick golden disks, the pancakes were evenly crisp on each side, moist within, and powdered with snowy white sugar. Josie immediately detected the slightly salty ricotta cheese that had been whisked into the sweetened batter. A miniature porcelain bowl of ruby-red strawberry jam was included.
Well, folks. This was definitely a blog moment.
She snapped a quick photo of the basket with her slim digital camera, adding one with the café's napkin bearing the logo, to show where she was. That done, she dived in.
***
Behind the counter, Chip watched the couple he had just served enjoying the mini ricotta cakes and talking quietly, heads bent close.
I know that face. He continued to watch the dark-haired man with wire tattoos drink his iced coffee. I was told to remember that face. The couple looked troubled. He wondered what was being said. That’s not important. Focus on what you were told to do. Chip jostled himself. Make the call.
Chip told the cashier next to him, Tyler, that he was taking a quick break. When Tyler clicked his tongue in annoyance, and questioned him, Chip snapped, hissing at Tyler to mind his own damn business. He turned on his heel and walked into the short hallway that led to the employee lounge. Lounge, or dingy coat closet that could fit four—he didn't care. What mattered was, no one was around. He dialed the specific number he had been made to memorize. Saving the number to his contact list was a dangerous move. If his phone were to turn up lost or possibly in the wrong hands, the individuals in charge would serve him his ass on a silver platter.
"What?" a gruff voice said on the other end.
"Tell Sonny that a certain someone is here," Chip informed the voice.
"Who is?"
"Tony Santino."
***
Josie keyed in the access code Reese had given her to the penthouse. The twins were still at work. She wondered what cyber bandits they were currently wrangling. Sighing, she dropped her purse on the kitchen counter, then caught Tony cheesing at her again.
"What now?" She glared at him, hands firmly on her hips. "You're giving me the same goofy grin you did back at Marco's house."
He chuckled, drawing her to him. "You've got powdered sugar on your lip," he said, touching the plump soft bottom lip with his thumb.
"Oh...wait a minute. So the whole time we were walking down the street to your truck, I had a bunch of white specks on my face?"
"The light in here just emphasizes it. I barely saw it when we were in the shade," he shrugged.
"Yeah, but—" She stopped, realizing what he had said. "Back up.... You knew and didn’t tell me?"
Crickets.
"TONY!" She smacked his arm. His laughing echoed through the apartment. Josie gave him the evil eye while brushing off the tiny crystals.
"Here, let me." He pushed her hand aside and bent to kiss her. A snide remark on the cusps of her lips was smothered by his. Her toes tingled. Her stomach warmed. Her hands, relieved of sugar duty, clasped around his neck.
Their attraction hadn’t been the spark of fireworks that everyone else experienced. The sappy romance novel with the “Tony, my love, carry me over the threshold of an eternity of cosmic passion” mantra was nowhere to be seen.
Their ever-evolving attraction was a simmering pot of bacon-cheddar chowder covered by a frustrating lid. Eventually it just boiled over, and they both let their hearts hand them each a bowl with a side of buttered cornbread.
Perfect, and meant to be.
They broke away, panting.
"I-I don't think you got it all," she said, breathless. "The sugar, I mean."
"You're right. I'll try again." Their lips reconnected; this time, the heat she felt ignited to a full flame. She gripped his shirt and pulled him to the couch. Fevered lips never separated as they clumsily met the leather cushions. Their bodies faced each other, chest to chest, heartbeats galloping faster than a runaway horse headed for a hay bell festival.
Being in Tony's arms was easy. He tasted like home, reminding her of cozy picnics at the Greenville lake with Petey and Jade, and faintly of the childhood they had in JewelCove. Mint coffee also swirled in the mix. The cushions dipped under her backside. She smiled up at him as their foreheads touched.
"Jo," he kissed her neck, inhaling her sweet scent.
"Hmm?"
"I—"
Vzzzt.
Tony ignored the vibrations coming from his back pocket. Instead he focused on the beautiful woman in his arms. "Jo—"
Vzzzt.
"Jeez, just answer it," Josie said. Reluctantly, he let her go t
o answer his cell phone. Number unknown.
"Hello?"
Josie's pulse accelerated. The romantic excitement was lost. She stared wide-eyed at the different emotions that played on Tony's face.
Shock.
Dismay.
Then anger.
"What—how?" he said to whoever was on the other end. "Where was it to begin with?" He stopped to listen. "Josie and I were there when Gibson found it. I never would have thought—no, no. I'm going to do everything I can—hello? Hello? Manny?" Tony swore loudly, redialing the number, but was disconnected. Josie asked what was wrong.
"Perkins, that son of a bitch, had Manny tell me himself that he's officially being charged with Marco's murder." Tony stood. His grip tightened around his phone. Josie was afraid he'd smash it against the wall. "The evidence found in Marco's backyard today was a forty-five caliber revolver... It belongs to Manny."
"How is that possible?" Josie stood as well.
"Manny doesn't know how it ended up the killer’s hands. It’s been locked in a drawer at his restaurant in his office. "
"Someone is going through extreme lengths to have the finger pointed at him," Josie said, realization finally dawning. "He's being framed."
Tony stared a hole through the floor. He knew he should've reached out to his old friends once Manny had been arrested. They had the resources and information that the police never seemed to grasp.
Now was the time to open that door. He pocketed his phone and palmed his car keys.
"Where are we going?" Josie followed.
"We are not going anywhere. You are staying here, Jo," he said. Josie reared back.
"If that’s your version of a joke, then I’ll allow you a few minutes to come up with something better," she said. He continued moving.
"Tony." Her voice halted him.
"I’m going to go meet with people I don’t want you around," he exclaimed.
"Ok, thank you for your concern—"
"It’s not a concern. It’s a decision I just made, and I’m hoping you understand that.” His eyes blazed. Josie crossed her arms.
"You can’t decide for me. These are not the olden days where a turkey-leg-eating man orders the little lady to go milk the cows."
