I hated that I was now in a position where I had to defend Kenny, of all people. “No, on this you are wrong, completely wrong. Kenny did not kill Ethel, period. Your reasoning is flawed, and frankly, if he hears you running around town saying stuff like that, Kenny’s likely to sue you.”
“That’s true, sweetie,” Janine said. “A lawsuit is right up Kenny’s alley.”
“But he asked to join us …”
“I’m going to have to agree with Ava on this one,” Stanley said. “It doesn’t make sense for him to start killing. He never exhibited any violent behavior before, right?”
Giuseppe and I looked at each other, and I knew what he was thinking. He was remembering all those childhood incidents where Kenny’s cruelties had ripped the fabric of our young existence. He had been a typical schoolyard bully, always taunting, always getting others to join in making fun of whoever his target was for the day—or in my brother’s case, for Giuseppe’s entire education at public school. At least it had seemed that way.
But could a childhood bully progress to murder? How does someone go from playground insults to taking a life?
I shuddered, knowing full well it was possible. I just didn’t think it was possible in Kenny’s case.
“You need to be careful of that detective, too,” Giuseppe said.
I didn’t even have to ask who he was talking about. “Please don’t tell me you think he’s a suspect,” I said.
“No, I don’t think he’s a suspect, but I do think he has a dark and tortured past. You, my sister, like to heal the wounded, so you need to stay away from him. He can heal just fine all by himself.”
“What do you mean I like to heal the wounded?” I wasn’t sure if that was an insult or not.
“I mean you are a kind and giving person, and every time you meet someone who is struggling with loss or getting bullied or anything along those lines, you respond by becoming emotionally available to them,” he said. “Then you confuse your feelings of wanting to help with feelings of attraction.”
Thanks, G. My date is going just fine, thanks for helping with your lame-brained ideas.
“No worries, he is truly not my type,” I said, glancing at Stanley.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt, emotionally or physically. Investigations can be dangerous. What are you doing to protect yourself?” my brother asked.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“He’s right, if Kenny is the killer,” Stanley said. Seeing the look on my face, he was quick to add, “I’m not saying he is, but if there’s even a remote possibility, you need to take steps to protect yourself more than ever. He knows where you live, and he knows where you work.”
I didn’t even try to suppress the big dramatic sigh I’d been holding back since this conversation started. At least Stanley had the common sense not to comment on what my brother had said about the detective. “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s pretend Kenny is the killer. Can anyone enlighten us as to why he would bother to come after me, too?”
“Maybe he’s escalating,” Giuseppe said.
“For cryin’ out loud, he’s not escalating. Never mind, can we drop this conversation?” I said.
“We need to find out how Ethel died so we can start to put together a better profile of the killer,” Giuseppe said.
“First of all, you need to stop watching so much television. Nobody here knows how to do a profile or figure out that a push down the stairs must mean the killer is a forty-year-old schoolteacher, because who else could it be. Second of all …” I stopped because I realized I had no second of all. Giuseppe was right, we didn’t really know how Ethel was killed.
I thought back to what I’d seen, the body and the blood. All I knew was that she was dead.
I pulled my cell phone out and started digging through my purse.
“What are you doing?” Giuseppe asked.
“Shut up,” I said, but nicely. Siblings can do that.
I found the card I was looking for and dialed the number. The voice that answered sounded suspicious, and rightly so.
“It’s me, Ava. Ava Maria Sophia Cecilia O’Dell.” Just in case he knew anyone else with that name, and probably because I was a little bit nervous. I wanted to sound confident, but I wasn’t sure he’d answer my question.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
There was a silence on the other end, so I waited, wondering if he was going to hang up. “Spit it out, girl, I don’t have all night. I have an investigation to run,” Detective Rialto said.
I swallowed past a lump in my throat and tried to project a sense of poise and self-assurance.
“I was wondering when you’ll have the results of Ethel’s cause of death,” I said, hoping I wasn’t speaking too quickly.
“As a matter of fact, I received them tonight right after I left you.” There was another brief silence, followed by the sound of shuffling papers and coughing. “Okay, Ava Maria Sophia Cecilia, I suppose you want to know the details.”
I held my breath and considered it a good omen that he remembered my entire name, no easy feat for some in this town. “I think it might make us all feel better if we knew.” It was the best I could come up with to steer him away from my private investigation.
There was another pause before he spoke. “Okay, Miss Nosey Pants, I might as well tell you. You’ll probably read about it in the paper tomorrow anyway, but I have one stipulation.”
Uh oh. Stipulations were never good.
“I want to tell you face-to-face. There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“The four angels who had been kept ready have been released to kill a third of mankind. They wait upon the green.” The whispered voice that came from the darkness on the side of my building lodged a pit of dread into my stomach. Just what I needed on my walk home, a religious nut trying to save me. I quickened my steps, trying not to think of the four statues that stood sentinel across from my home. My hand trembled as I unlocked the front door.
Oliver was waiting for me inside the front foyer of my apartment building, munching a chocolate biscotti my aunt must have given him. My aunt makes the best biscotti, so even though I wasn’t really hungry, my stomach gave a little growl I hoped Oliver couldn’t hear.
His name is Detective Rialto. Do not call him Oliver, he’s not your friend. He’s law enforcement, and he’s here to do a job.
Stanley had not been happy about leaving me to meet with the detective alone, but I could tell he didn’t want to come across as overbearing. We parted at the front of Scentsations with him giving me one more kiss. Our first date had certainly been one to remember.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m here for you. And be careful, people around here have been acting strange lately.” He was right about that, I thought, remembering the eerie voice.
Stanley was sweet, and his kiss left me slightly breathless, but right now I had to put that kiss out of my mind and focus on business. Right now I was going to hear what the detective wanted to talk to me about, and I hoped it was something along the lines of, “We’ve caught the killer, your insights were so helpful.”
I knew better, but I could hope. I was still learning how to investigate this type of situation. Maybe later I’d see what I could find online about becoming a private investigator.
“So you found the place,” I said. I wondered if he’d checked to see if I had a record or not or if he’d run a background report on me.
Detective Rialto gestured to the staircase. “Lead the way.”
I hesitated, wondering at the wisdom of allowing this man into my personal space. Was he going to yell at me again?
“Can’t we talk here?” I asked, pointing to the ground.
“On the floor?”
“No, here in the foyer.” Letting him come up to my apartment felt personal, almost too personal.
“What I have to discuss with you
is private,” he said. “It would be better if we spoke where there was no possibility of being overheard.” At that his eyes wandered to the door of my aunt’s apartment, and I knew, as I’m sure he knew, that she was listening.
“I’m not going to try anything, you know,” he said in a quiet voice.
“I know,” I scoffed. Yeah, like that was something I wanted. I wasn’t afraid of him. “I’m upstairs. C’mon.”
I tried not to think about the fact that my ass was in his face as we climbed the stairs, because that wasn’t relevant to the investigation. I was simply trying to remain professional.
Throwing my keys on the counter, I turned to him. “So tell me about Ethel.” I decided the direct approach was best.
“Like I said, you’re going to read this in the newspaper tomorrow, since those jackals got hold of the information too.” He paused, lost in thought. “It was a strange death, Ava. A large number of people didn’t like Ethel, but the way she died … I’ve never quite seen this before.”
I didn’t want to interrupt him, but I was dying to know how she was killed. Poor choice of words, but he was dragging this thing out longer than necessary.
Detective Rialto looked at me, probably remembering that I was standing right there.
Get to the point.
“I’ll get to the point,” he said. “Someone literally twisted her neck, which is what caused her death.”
I sort of stopped breathing. Not literally, because that would have killed me, too, but the news took my breath away. I hadn’t expected this at all.
“But her head was …” I didn’t know how to finish that statement.
“The wound on her head, which is what you’re probably referring to, was caused postmortem.”
“So someone twisted her neck, then bashed her on the head after killing her?” That didn’t sound right to me. Not that murder is ever right, but this was weird. Who kills like that when a simple gunshot will do the trick?
“Forgive the pun, but that sounds like overkill to me,” I told him. Something occurred to me. “Can you tell if she was killed from the front or the back?” Not that I believed her ghost might have seen anything or could really tell us something useful, but it was worth asking. Since I had to be there anyway, at least I’d have something useful to say.
Detective Rialto shook his head. “No, whoever did this came up behind her and killed her.”
“And pushed her down the stairs? Or did it all happen in the basement?” None of this made sense to me. Why would someone do this? Was somebody really that angry with her?
Maybe the police knew more, and he was still holding out on me, not giving me all the information. “Do you know anything else?” I asked.
“No, we’re not finished working the crime scene,” he said. “We think she was killed upstairs, but nothing is conclusive. We still have some tests to run.”
I was silent, thinking about Ethel’s last moments. Nobody should have to go through that, I don’t care how many homeowners she pissed off.
Oliver walked through my living room and over to the window, seeming to take everything in at one glance. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter, right? Who cared what he thought of my apartment? We were not going to become friends, that much was clear. He hated me.
“The other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” he began. I waited, patient. I had a feeling he was going to ask for something, just because he was fidgeting a little. In the short amount of time I’d known him, Oliver didn’t fidget. This could only mean one thing. I had something he wanted.
“I know I’ve told you to stay out of this investigation, but I also know you won’t,” he said. “You strike me as an interfering sort of woman.”
I didn’t bother being nice. “What the heck kind of idiot do you think I am? I have no intention of being found dead in a basement.”
“Nobody has any intention of getting killed, but it happens. I don’t want to argue with you, but it’s clear to me that you can be a bit … inquisitive. Here’s what I want you to do.”
I tried to put my annoyance aside so I could pay attention to what he was saying, but this guy was seriously pushing my buttons. Maybe sometimes I was a little curious about things, but that was none of his business. “What do you want from me?” I didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
“I want you to keep your ears open. If you hear anything about this case, if you hear anyone saying things that sound weird or suspicious, call me right way.”
Silence spread throughout the room. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that.
“So I’d be sort of working with you.”
“No, you’d be telling me things you heard,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
“Things I heard related to the case, then reporting it to you and helping you solve the case. That’s kind of like working with you,” I insisted.
“Fine, call it what you want,” he relented. “The thing is, I know I’m relatively new in town, and I know the people who have lived here their whole lives have a different type of insight. All I’m asking is that you tell me what you hear or know. That’s it. I don’t want you doing anything. I don’t want you questioning people. I don’t want you putting yourself in any danger.”
This request would make my work so much easier, but first I had to tell him the one thing that was going to annoy the heck out of him.
“I have to tell you something, but you have to promise not to be mad,” I said.
He looked up at the ceiling, either looking for cracks or praying for guidance.
“Why don’t you tell me, then we can talk about it?” he said.
“My brother has been very upset by this whole situation,” I began. “He believes Ethel’s murder is going to hurt his business.”
“His ghost hunting business?”
“Yes, and his store business, too. So I sort of promised him I’d help him solve this.” I finished the last part of my sentence quickly, hoping Oliver wouldn’t get mad and take me off the case. Not that I was officially on the case, but I didn’t want him to tell me to mind my own business. Again.
“Can’t you just tell him no?” Oliver asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Not really. He’s my brother, and he needs my help,” I explained. Did the detective have any remaining family, or was his wife his only family? Did he have children? I still didn’t know very much about him.
“I know exactly how to handle him,” Oliver said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“You’re not going to put him in jail, are you? Because he’s got a wife and baby, you know. Plus, I’d lose my job and it would be bad for the Brewster Square’s economy if his store closed.” I knew I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop. I had to make sure Oliver didn’t arrest my brother.
“I’m not going to arrest him,” Oliver said.
“Then what are you going to do?” I asked. His words hadn’t filled me with confidence, and I had to protect my brother.
“I’m not going to do anything. You are,” Oliver said.
“I’m not going to arrest him or bring him to the jail. I won’t.” I shook my head.
Was that a smile I saw on the man’s face?
“No, but you are going to tell him that any interference from either you or him will result in both of you being arrested and having to appear in court on charges of interfering with an investigation.” He looked smug, and I knew he wasn’t going to like what I had to say.
“That won’t work,” I said. Before he could tell me all about the law, which I knew from the look on his face he was about to do, I rushed to explain myself. “The thing is, my brother won’t care. I know him, especially when he gets an idea in his head. He’ll think that the law only applies to other people, or outsiders, and that we know enough people in town to get around it. I have a better idea.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Oliver said, “and I don’t see why you can’t just warn your brothe
r off. Tell him I said so, and tell him I mean business.” Instead of looking like he meant business, Oliver looked a little lost. Lord knew I could identify. It wasn’t always easy dealing with my family. But it was definitely worth it, because my family was awesome, and that’s what I needed him to understand—a little eccentric sometimes, but awesome.
“Listen, I get your point, and don’t worry, we aren’t going to interfere. But why don’t I tell Giuseppe a variation of the truth?” I asked.
Oliver’s eyebrows drew together, and his eyes flashed. “I’m not so sure I like the sound of this. I’m already pushing it by asking you to share information with me. I don’t think I can compromise anything else. When the murderer gets caught, and this goes to court, I need to have an airtight case.”
“I know, but just listen. Since you’ve asked me to tell you anything I hear about, it’s sort of like I’m working with you, right?”
“No,” he said.
“So if I’m sort of working with you, I can tell my brother that I’m undercover,” I said. The pieces of the plan were coming together in my mind as I talked, and I was confident this was a great idea.
“You can’t say that,” he said.
“Every now and then you can tell me something I can tell him, and I can tell him everything else is confidential,” I said. It was brilliant, really, since we wouldn’t be giving Giuseppe anything that he wasn’t supposed to know.
Oliver rubbed his forehead and stood in silence for what felt like forever. “I knew as soon as I saw you that you were going to be trouble in my world.” His voice was low, but I heard every word, and I think he meant for me to hear him.
“I’m not going to apologize for who I am,” I said.
Looking up at me, he smiled. “You’re right, you shouldn’t ever apologize for that. Let’s say I go along with this harebrained scheme of yours. What sorts of things are you envisioning sharing with your brother?”
Madness in Brewster Square Page 13
