by J R Pearson
"Well, you’re in luck, since your brother's apartment is cow-free."
"Why are we even having this conversation? I told you I want to help."
"I know, but not this time," he said. "Please trust me, Jo. These people are easily defensive. I don’t want a situation to turn sour because a new face suddenly appears. And besides." He waved his keys. "It’s my car. I choose who is or isn’t allowed in, and right now I don’t want you anywhere near it."
"You’re banning me from your stupid truck?! What the hell type of crap is that?"
"I'm glad you understand." He smirked. "I'll see you later."
"Tony, don’t you dare walk out that door!"
SLAM.
CHAPTER SIX
Josie resisted the urge to grab a pillow and scream into it. She had half a mind to follow him. No, that would end in a catastrophic fight, and she was afraid the trust barrier would take a heavy blow.
She trusted to leave it to him to find answers. What else could they do at this point?
Manny's current future was rusty cell bars and a total-lack-of-privacy toilet.
What type of people was Tony talking about? She thought, dropping onto the couch, where moments ago they had catapulted to their own little world.
One without murder.
"This sucks," she said to the empty room. She felt helpless doing nothing. She picked up a dark red pillow and hugged it. Sadly, it didn't return the embrace. She wished it was furrier...and had a warm, wet nose to nuzzle her with... She wished Petey were here....
In the kitchen, she grabbed her phone and dialed her cousin Jennie. Josie chose the face-chat option, wanting to see Petey's dopey smile. One ring, and Jennie answered. At the age of twenty-four, Jennie was also short, had a head of honey-brown curls and wore large glasses. Behind Jennie, Josie recognized her quilted blanket on the sofa her cousin sat on.
"How is everything?" Josie asked.
"Strange...as usual," Jennie giggled. "I stopped by the bistro earlier and walked in on Greta arm-wrestling with Little Billy."
"Arms-the-size-of-tree-trunks Little Billy?"
"The one and only."
"Who won?"
“Greta, of course. Anyways, the town is flipping out over Brad's new side job."
"He told me already," Josie said. "He poses nude for the seniors’ art class."
"Well, he's been telling everyone in the class that it’s okay to love the skin their mamas gave them, no matter how wrinkly or saggy they are. To just embrace it."
"And?" Josie didn’t see the harm. "What’s wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is seeing seventy-year-old Mrs. Robinson frolic naked in the lake."
Oh.
"What's going on, on your end? Have the police found the killer?" Jennie inquired.
Josie updated her cousin on the latest events, including the discovery of Manny's gun at the crime scene.
"Things are not looking good at all," she finished.
"Is there anything I can do? Can Caleb help?” Caleb Evans was Greenville's Detective and Jennie's boyfriend. A murder occurring in the city was way out of his jurisdiction.
"No, there's nothing he can do."
Jennie shifted her phone to her other hand. "Look who’s up from his nap!" Onscreen, Petey came into view, and dark hazelnut eyes stared at Jennie's phone in wonder. "Feed him a few chicken treats and rub his belly—he's out like a light."
"Hey, buddy!" Josie waved her fingers at him. Petey must have recognized her, because he started licking the screen.
"Petey! No, stop!" His nose knocked the phone out of Jennie's hand, slapping screen-down onto the floor. For a brief moment Josie saw darkness.
Petey lifted the phone with his mouth and ran away with it. Josie could hear her cousin call out to him.
"Drop it!"
Josie was rewarded with a very damp view of the inside of her dog's mouth. His breath fogged the screen.
This was where nightmares lived.
And at one point, an innocent lady bug.
The trip inside his mouth ended with him setting it down as the camera looked up at Josie's bedroom ceiling.
Was Licking and ditching a person's cell phone a thing now?
Backing up like a bus, Petey's furry behind planted itself right on her digital face.
"Petey, no—"
Call ended.
Who would have thought Petey's nub of a tail was touch-screen compatible?
***
Tony strode into the pub he hadn’t stepped into for so long. He was greeted with the same clacks of pool balls. The stench of sour beer and B.O. The air clouded with cigar smoke. The neon blue lights from the bar flickered and buzzed. His shoes resisted a sticky substance that coated the floor.
The pub was a hole in the wall, located in a back alley next to a sushi joint’s giant dumpster. Those who knew about the pub didn’t need to worry about a passing bystander strolling in. The hot rotten fish was deterrent enough. If not, then the stranger would be stopped by the pub's shady patrons, making the newcomer wish he’d carried a map.
Tony slid into a creaky booth across from Luke Dodger. Just as big as Tony, Luke had dirty blond hair, swollen knuckles that had seen too many brawls, and a scar running through his left eyebrow. Plus, a hideously crooked nose from countless breaks. Luke sneered, passing for a smile. Tony returned it.
This was his friend.
"San…tino." Luke drew out the name. "Got tired of the sunshine and daisies in Greenville?"
"No, I haven't." Tony signaled the bartender for two beers.
"Tell me," Luke started. "What’s keeping you there and away from your lovely friends?" He gestured to the men in a corner wrestling over a buffalo wing. Luke leaned back in the creaky booth, considering, when Tony didn’t immediately answer. "Ah…a woman, then?"
Tony's eyes darkened. His fists flexed. Not the reaction Luke expected.
Touchy.... So there is a woman. Not wanting to make an enemy out of Tony, Luke let it go.
"All right, we'll get down to it. What is it that you need?"
After the bartender dropped off their drinks, Tony launched into Manny's arrest.
"Epstein?" Luke rubbed his stubble chin. "I'm familiar with him. Good man. Cops think he whacked Gonzales?"
"Yes. I’m trying find out who really did."
"Well, lucky for you, I happen to know all the names on an in-debt list belonging the Giovanni family, and everyone knows the Giovannis don’t like it when someone is late paying their dues." Luke took a swig of his beer.
"Marco is one of them?"
"He's number one."
The Giovanni crime family consisted of an undocumented number of blood relatives, loyal associates and no-last-name henchmen. Their territory ran to most of southern West Emily. The Giovannis were beady-eyed goblins who obtained their funds by blackmail, extortion, and tapping into bank accounts of desperate businessmen who had made the mistake of asking for loans, unaware that they were stuck for life.
"Gonzales needed a starter for his restaurant." Luke cracked his neck. "The Giovannis were more than willing to help."
Tony choked on the foul-tasting beer. Note to self: don’t drink beer in a place that has black mold growing on the ceiling.
"Pico de Gonzales," he cleared his throat, “is nowhere near their territory." Luke shrugged.
"They snatch whatever opportunity blows their way," he explained. "If you’re wondering why Marco didn’t go to Sonny for the money, Sonny's men don't take beggars."
The notorious Sonny Switch. Only a name and a faceless shadow that darkened north of the city. For decades, authorities had failed to penetrate the wall that surrounded Sonny, who was wanted in connection with dozens of homicides. Sonny's crime empire dabbled in stealing expensive artworks made by famous painters, using JewelCove as an export and import hub. Yes, some past busts had been successful. But only the pawns in Sonny's game had taken the fall.
Word was, the being behind Sonny didn’t really exist and t
he name was just used as a code to confuse police and federal agents.
Whatever the real story, Tony's path never crossed with that of Sonny's gang. And he’d like to keep it that way.
"You’re saying one of the Giovannis killed Marco because he owed them money?"
"It’s not unheard of." Luke ate a handful of nuts.
"What is Manny’s part in this?"
"Probably nothing. From what you told me, it sounds like Manny's being set up. The Giovannis are sneaky bastards." That was an understatement.
"Gibson and Perkins are leading the investigation," Tony revealed. Luke smiled wickedly.
"Our old pals? Ha! I was hoping they'd dropped dead." Tony didn’t comment on that.
"Do you know if they’re under the Giovanni payroll?" he asked. Luke's face-splitting grin disappeared.
"Those two scumbags are under everyone's payroll."
***
Dinnertime on the horizon, Josie texted Tony:
Everything okay? Coming back soon?
No reply. She tried calling. No luck.
Great, she sighed.
Next, she messaged Reese asking when he and Russell will be home.
7 tops... We caught a big one, he answered.
Josie wanted to ask him which big one, but decided to start dinner instead. Her brothers’ granite-counter kitchen contained boxes of cereal, milk, orange juice, cheese, a few veggies, and seasonings. She came across a small sack of brown potatoes and heaved them on the counter. Finding a decent-sized bowl and wooden spoon, she gathered a bag of shredded four-cheese mix and broccoli.
Tonight's meal: Broccoli and cheese, twice-baked potatoes.
She preheated the oven to 400°F and slid the spuds in on a cooking tray.
While she waited, she borrowed one of the many laptops lying around and logged on to Good Eatin' for the Curvy Soul. She wallowed in the delectable abyss that was the many comments and pictures from her growing audience, sharing links of belly-satisfying meals on her blog.
Doing so zapped her back to her comfy apartment and onto her squishy couch that she loved so much. She missed being there with her blogger friends whom she never met but with whom she had in common: an undying love for food.
Hello, Curvy!
I’m at my nana’s house, and she made the most delicious cinnamon apple crumb cake. After one bite, I knew I just had to share this with you!
The recipe is attached below! My nana says you’ll absolutely love it.
It’s moist and it taste like what a hug feels like from your own grandma—pure awesomeness!
-Annie
Good evening, Curvy Soul.
I’ll start by saying: You. Are. My. Savior.
Your suggestions of integrating unique ways to help my picky-eater kids actually enjoy their dinner worked like a charm.
I never would have thought of baking sloppy-joe meat in a biscuit-filled muffin cup. They loved it! My husband and I did, too. A second batch is in the oven now. ;)
Much love, Rhonda
Josie was suddenly reminded of her impending submission to Forks & Knives.
I’ll be okay if I don’t get picked, she thought, smiling. It wouldn’t be the end of the world… I have a home. A goofy dog. Loving friends and family…..
And Tony.
That’s all I need.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Almost an hour flew as Josie responded to other lovely folks like Annie and Rhonda, and the potatoes were ready.
Josie waved an oven mitt to cool them off, then sliced them in halves. Scooping the potato pulp into the bowl (skin intact)—broccoli and shredded cheese tossed in the bowl, too—Josie threw in a dash of garlic powder. A light dusting of onion powder. A sprinkle of salt and pepper. Then a couple spoonfuls of sour cream, and she stirred it together. Then Josie dolloped the mixture into the skins. On the baking tray they went, and back inside the oven, where they’d stay for half an hour.
She started a new post.
Simple & Satisfying,
Broccoli & Cheese Twice-Baked Potatoes are convenient for when you don’t have a ton of ingredients to choose from.
Especially when staying at your brothers’ place, where there’s nothing in the kitchen but cardboard-flavored cereal.
The timer dinged right as she was finishing the post. Oven mitt in hand, she extracted the tray to cool on the counter. The cheese had melted perfectly, oozing into the crevices of broccoli and potato mash. She took a picture of the finished results, concluded the blog post, and hit Upload.
From the back of the fridge she grabbed a bag of mixed leafy greens and tossed them in a wooden bowl with vinegar and oil, as the side salad.
"Food’s ready!" She mimed ringing a dinner bell.
Oh, right. She was alone....
Not quite.
Her brothers had a collection of wine in a mini-fridge. Josie selected a white wine.
"Congratulations. You're my new best friend."
***
Thankfully, the potatoes were still hot when the twins arrived shortly. They dropped their messenger bags and made a beeline for the dining table, where Josie had set up the spread.
"This looks delicious, Sis," Russell beamed. "Thank you."
"Smells delicious, too," Reese complimented her, placing a potato half on his plate. "It’s nice to come home to a hot meal."
"It was easy to make. You should give it a go," Josie said.
"Yeah, but usually Russell and I are burnt out from being in front of the computer all day."
"Speaking of which…" Josie shoveled a serving of salad on her own plate. "What's the 'big one' you caught today?"
"Someone is hacking into the city's hospital patient records and stealing valuable information,” Reese explained, pouring Josie another glass of wine.
"That’s sick."
"It is," Russell chimed in. "We had to work fast before the perp got a hold of patients’ Social Security Numbers. We've created a firewall to protect the areas where the perp hasn’t been and established a virus to fry his computer if he tries another attempt."
"Nothing we can’t handle." Reese cracked his knuckles and puffed out his chest. "I mean, we are professionals." Russell rolled his eyes, then glanced around.
"Where's Tony?"
"He—"
"Did you guys break up?" Reese asked, looking strangely hopeful.
"No." Josie scowled at him. She explained Tony's quest to uncover more information that could be essential to freeing Manny.
Doing so without her.
"I’d say that’s the smartest thing Tony has done." Reese waved his fork. "Keeping you out of harm’s way." Josie ignored him.
"Marco's wife, Betty, rubs me the wrong way," she said. "We talked to her this morning and she had a few choice words to say about Manny." She relayed the woman's persistent belief that Manny really did kill her husband. "At first she made it seem like she knew something,"
"And now?" Russell said.
"Now I'm not sure what her deal is. After we eat, can we look into her?"
"Wouldn't hurt." He shrugged. The three of them ate the remains of potatoes and salad. Josie snatched a potato half for Tony to munch on later.
"Anyone heard from Mom or Dad lately?" she asked around the table.
"Pops called last night," Reese supplied. "He's updating the diner's security and wanted to know which brand to buy. But what started out to be a simple twenty-minute conversation turned into an hour-long torture fest."
"What happened?"
"Pops handed the phone to Ma."
Ah.
"I called Rob two days ago," Russell said. Robert was their oldest brother, who cooked alongside their parents at the breakfast diner in JewelCove. "He said the storm that hit the Cove last weekend really jacked up the roof on his cabin. Though the repairs he started are coming along fine."
"We should set a day, sometime soon, to drive up there and help him fix it,” Josie suggested, which Reese and Russell automatically agreed. “What abo
ut Richie?" she asked. "He's been quiet.”
The twins exchanged a laugh.
"What?"
"He's sulking," Reese said.
"Lady troubles?" Josie guessed. The owner of his own seafood shack, Richie was as good at keeping a girlfriend as was a man holding on to his toupee during a blizzard.
"You could say that. Ever since he introduced Ma to babe-of-the-week Stacey—"
"That was a disaster." Josie wrinkled her nose.
"—Ma decided to disown him until he finds a 'respectable woman who knows how to work a stove,’” Russell said, making air quotes. Reese held his stomach, laughing again.
"He's on the hunt now. He misses Ma's blackberry cobbler."
***
Dinner cleaned up, they huddled around Reese’s laptop, which displayed Betty Marie Higgins-Gonzales’ general bio. Her marriage to Marco was her first. No kids. Lived in West Emily all her life. Education: high school diploma and a cosmetology degree. Josie pointed to a telephone icon next to Betty's name.
"It’s a portal to her phone records," Reese said.
"Can you pull that up, please?"
Her brother obliged. She leaned in, scanning the long list of incoming and outgoing calls and text messages—between Betty and a recurring phone number. Josie's attention was drawn to yesterday's date, the evening Marco was shot. Before and after the time of the murder, Betty and the same number talked constantly.
Over and over again.
Even now—five minutes ago, Betty was still contacting the number. Could it be her mother, maybe? A sister? Someone to console her about the recent passing?
"The area code is West Emily," Reese informed her.
"Can you click and see what the text messages say?"
"Not without a warrant for the phone service provider. It’s blocked without one."
"But you're a genius. You hack into...stuff," she said, lamely. Reese smiled.
"Yes, I do hack into stuff. With this, red flags will immediately start flying. Not to mention, it's illegal. I don't want to lose my job. Looking at general info is as far as I'm allowed to go outside of the office."
"A peek at financial records is all right, too," Russell said.
