Stuck on Murder

by Lucy Lawrence

  “Oh, fine,” Brenna said. She tried to sound put out, but truthfully she was relieved. It was always nice to have backup, just in case.

  As soon as they had jotted down the pertinent names and addresses and plotted their course on a map, they set out in Brenna’s Jeep. The drive to Bayview took two bags of Chili Cheese Fritos, two Dr Pepper Big Gulps, and a shared package of Hostess Snowballs, the pink ones. It also took two hours with one bathroom break to slog their way through the rush hour traffic that congested the highway like a particularly nasty head cold.

  Bayview was a tourist Mecca that sat at the heel of Cape Cod. Filled with beachfront inns, bed-and-breakfasts, hotels, and motels, it was the crossing point for all traffic headed out to the Cape on Route 6. It was also a thor oughfare for the travelers catching the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard from Woods Hole, making it the center of all traffic flow.

  They decided on the drive to stop at the restaurant that the mayor had eaten at first and see if anyone remembered him. It was called Vincent’s.

  Brenna got off the main road and took the shoreline drive that Tenley pointed out. As the sun set, they passed a large marsh on one side and a housing development on the other. As they broke through the trees, the road turned and the marshland gave way to ocean with small businesses lining the opposite side of the narrow road. Within three miles, Vincent’s came into view. It was a large, gray brick building that boasted a view of the water on three sides through its floor-to-ceiling windows.

  It was six o’clock, the height of the dinner hour, and Brenna and Tenley found themselves tenth in line, waiting to speak with the hostess. During a quick scan of the room, Brenna noticed that most of the people in the restaurant were older. The décor was bland, everything in shades of mauve and gray, as if the restaurant didn’t want to compete with its majestic view of the ocean.

  When they were second in line, Brenna heard Tenley gasp and she turned to see what was wrong.

  Tenley was staring open-mouthed at a large portrait that hung on the wall behind the hostess. Brenna studied the four foot by six foot painting of a man with an impressive schnozz and a Sinatra-esque smile, but she couldn’t find anything alarming about it.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Tenley leaned close and whispered, “That portrait.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “That’s Vincent … Vincent Cappicola,” Tenley hissed.

  “He owns the restaurant?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Hi, can I help you?” the hostess asked them.

  Brenna didn’t see that there was much they could do at this juncture. They had to find out whom the mayor had met here even if it was the owner himself.

  “Hi,” she said. She fumbled in her purse for the photo of Mayor Ripley that she’d taken from the box Cynthia had given her. “I was wondering if you remember seeing this man here, last Thursday?”

  The hostess glanced over Brenna’s shoulder at the waiting line.

  “We’re kind of busy, lady, are you planning on eating here or not?”

  Brenna handed her a twenty. “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not,” the hostess said as she pocketed the money. She had cranberry red hair, styled in a severe bob, and she kept a pencil behind her right ear. The name embroidered in navy blue on her pale blue polo shirt was Dottie. She frowned at the picture Brenna held out to her, then her face cleared. “Yeah, I remember him. He was a total pain in the ass.”

  “How so?” Tenley asked. Her eyes were darting around the restaurant as if she expected the Cappicolas to come out with guns blazing at any moment.

  “No table was good enough for him,” Dottie said. “I had to move him four times. He kept saying how he was friends with the owner and he was going to report me if I didn’t give him good enough service. What a jerk.”

  “Was he friends with the owner?” Brenna asked.

  “Given that the owner is my Uncle Vinnie,” she said and pointed her thumb at the portrait behind her, “and the fact that I’d never seen the jerk before, I’d have to say no.”

  “Is your uncle in tonight?” Tenley asked.

  “No,” Dottie said. “He’s retired. My cousin Dom oversees the family business now.”

  “Is Dom here?”

  “No, he’s out on business. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  “One more question, Dottie,” Brenna said. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Not a bit,” she said. She wiggled her fingers under Brenna’s nose. Brenna sighed and put another twenty in the girl’s hand.

  “Was the jerk with anyone?” she asked.

  Dottie closed her eyes as if trying to remember. “Yeah, he had a date. A skinny little blond lady, dressed nice, lots of diamonds, but still looked like there were lots of miles on her tires, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Cynthia,” Brenna and Tenley said together.

  “Thanks, Dottie,” Brenna said. “You’ve been a big help.”

  “Anytime,” Dottie said. “Now can I show you two to a table?”

  Brenna glanced at the portrait of Vincent looming over them. “Not tonight but thanks.”

  Dottie shrugged, looked past her, and barked, “Next!”

  They left the restaurant quickly. Neither of them spoke until they were back out in the salty sea air.

  “Retired?” Tenley asked. “Can you retire from the mob?”

  “I don’t know. I thought the retirement package came with monogrammed cement anklets,” Brenna said.

  “I need comfort food,” Tenley said. Her voice held just the barest hint of a whimper.

  “Me, too,” said Brenna. “Let’s go.”

  The lobster roll was perfect. The toasted split-top roll, the kind only found in New England, was grilled on the sides and stuffed to bursting with lobster meat drenched in butter. The butter ran down her fingers while Brenna tried to savor each bite, but it was still gone too soon.

  She and Tenley had found a drive-in seafood restaurant called Chick’s a few miles up the shoreline from Vincent’s. They parked along the water’s edge and sat on the hood of the Jeep. With a take-out container full of clam strips and French fries between them, they munched in silence as they watched the waves roll in.

  “Do you think the Cappicolas offed Ripley?” Tenley asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brenna answered. She’d been mulling over the same thing. “It appears that he and Cynthia came down here. Maybe it was just a day trip. Maybe it had nothing to do with Morse Point Lake being developed.”

  “Maybe, but it seems unlikely,” Tenley said. “Why would he have the Cappicolas’ name scribbled in his file and why would he be eating at their restaurant if he wasn’t trying to court their business?”

  “Those are some pretty dangerous people to go into business with,” Brenna said.

  “Maybe he couldn’t he find anyone else,” Tenley said.

  “Or maybe he needed someone who was more powerful than Nate,” Brenna said. “Maybe the Cappicolas were the only people who had the clout he needed.”

  “Yikes,” Tenley said.

  “Agreed.”

  “Shall we go and check out the motel?” Tenley asked. She wadded up her wrappers and bagged the empty boxes. She dumped them in a nearby garbage can.

  “Might as well,” Brenna said. “I wish we could find some evidence that Ripley met with Dottie’s cousin Dom, however. I get the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling us, and right now it all seems so flimsy.”

  “Very circumstantial,” Tenley agreed.

  They climbed back into the Jeep and followed the directions to the Red Pony Inn. It was several miles away, and now that it was completely dark, Brenna was forced to drive more slowly along the unfamiliar road.

  She wasn’t sure when she started to get the hinky feeling that they were being followed, but given that the stretch of road they were on was becoming increasingly desolate, she found it odd that
the large sedan behind them was maintaining a precise distance between them.

  “Tenley,” she said. “I’m going to pull over up ahead. Could you get the license plate of the car behind us when it passes?”

  “Problem?” Tenley asked.

  “Not yet,” Brenna said. “I may just be paranoid, but I can’t help feeling like we’ve picked up a tail.”

  “A Buick of a tail, no less,” Tenley said as she glanced behind them. She fished in her purse for a piece of paper and a pen. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Brenna quickly cut the wheel to the right, hoping to catch the Buick by surprise. She did. It sailed passed them as Tenley quickly jotted down the plate number illuminated in the Jeep’s headlights.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Good, because it looks as if they’re turning around.”

  “What?” Tenley cried as she glanced up from the paper in her hand. “Geez, I really thought you were just being twitchy.”

  Brenna didn’t wait for the Buick to complete its K turn on the narrow road. She stomped on the gas, while the Buick floundered like a compass needle seeking north, and sped around its back end.

  Tenley turned around in her seat to keep an eye on the Buick. “They’re reversing now.”

  Brenna kept her eyes on the road in front of her. Several neon signs reading VACANCY whipped by; still she pressed on.

  “They’re back on the road. They’re closing the gap between us.” Tenley’s voice rose higher in pitch with her increasing panic.

  Ahead, Brenna saw the Red Pony Inn. She knew she couldn’t outrun the Buick on unfamiliar terrain. She could feel her insides crackle with anxiety. She had a split second to make her decision and hope it was the right one.

  Again, she yanked the wheel sharply to the right. Tenley fell half into her seat and then jolted forward as Brenna slammed on the brakes in front of the motel office.

  The Buick bounced into the parking lot behind them.

  “Come on,” Brenna yelled. “Let’s go.”

  They dashed out of the Jeep and sprinted through the front door of the office. Brenna pulled it closed behind them and swiftly turned the dead bolt.

  “Can I help you?” The night clerk peered over the counter at them. He was holding a Marvel comic book in one hand and a red Mountain Dew in the other.

  “Oh no!” Tenley grabbed Brenna’s hand and pointed at the far wall.

  Brenna looked and felt her mouth slide open. The same portrait that had been in Vincent’s restaurant hung on the wall in front of them.

  Just then a key turned in the lock on the front door. Tenley let out a strangled cry and they clutched each other close as whoever had been following them in the Buick was about to enter the inn.

  Chapter 15

  Dip the cutout in a bowl of water until the paper is saturated so it will take the adhesive more easily.

  A man wearing a navy blue suit, impeccably cut to fit his trim but muscled body, entered the inn with two gentlemen, also in dark suits, behind him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Cappicola,” the night clerk greeted him. Brenna noticed that he swiftly hid the soda and the magazine under the counter. “How are you tonight?”

  Brenna felt Tenley tremble beside her. Obviously, they had found Dom Cappicola, or rather he had found them.

  “Fine, Jason, just fine,” the man said.

  His gaze swept over Brenna and Tenley. His head tilted to the side as if they weren’t what he had been expecting. With his chiseled features complemented by dark eyes and hair, he was undeniably handsome. But Brenna had met a lot of handsome men in her life, and none of them had exuded raw power like Dom Cappicola.

  He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, and she felt extremely self-conscious, overly aware of her unruly windblown hair, her lack of makeup, her grubby jeans, and navy blue hoodie. She would have felt so much better if she were wearing the female equivalent of his power suit. Say, her black rope dress from Tahari. Yes, that would have made her feel much less like a wayward adolescent under his scrutinizing glance.

  Brenna looked from him to the portrait on the wall and then back at him. Meanwhile, Tenley was making small whimpering noises in her throat.

  “You look younger than your portrait, Mr. Cappicola,” she said.

  His mouth twitched as if he was amused. “I should hope so,” he said. “That’s my father.”

  She could see it then, the family resemblance. He had the same schnozz as his father, but it didn’t overpower his face like it did his father’s. This younger Cappicola had a strong square jaw, which balanced his nose. And now that he was standing closer, she noticed his eyes were a warm shade of chocolate brown, not the coal black of the man in the portrait.

  “My name is Dom,” he said. “Dominick Cappicola.”

  He held out his hand and Brenna shook it. Her fingers were icy from the chilly evening air and from sheer terror, but if he noticed, he said nothing.

  “Brenna Miller,” she said. “And this is my friend Tenley Morse.”

  Generations of good breeding forced Tenley to unclamp herself from Brenna’s side and shake his hand.

  “These are my associates Paulie and Sal,” Dom said. “Now that we’ve all met, I was wondering if you ladies would give me the pleasure of your company in the diner over there. I have some questions for you.”

  “Oh, we’d love to, really,” Brenna said. “But …

  “We’ve got a sick cat … er … aunt,” Tenley stammered.

  “At home,” Brenna finished. “And we need to get back immediately.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your aunt … er … cat,” Dom said with a sympathetic nod and just a trace of mockery. “But this isn’t a request. Shall we?”

  Paulie or Sal, Brenna was unclear as to which was who, opened the door for them and they filed back out into the brisk evening air.

  The diner was across the parking lot from the inn. It was a stand-alone steel and glass building that had an oily aroma about it as if it existed in its own personal grease bubble. With every step closer, Brenna was sure they were inching nearer to their doom.

  What if Dom had murdered Mayor Ripley? What if he thought they knew and had proof? Was he going to stuff them into trunks and float them, too? She wanted to grab Tenley’s hand, break into a run, and escape, but she doubted they’d make it to the edge of the parking lot.

  One of his two goons opened the door, and Dom gestured to them to go first. Brenna walked in with Tenley behind her. She glanced around the tiny, red vinyl and chrome room and was disturbed to find that it was empty, save a waitress, who was sitting at the counter, chewing a wad of gum, and reading the latest issue of US magazine.

  Brenna saw Dom turn to talk to Sal and Paulie. They nodded. She watched through the window as the taller of the two leaned against the side of the building and lit a cigarette. The other one disappeared around the back of the building, as if he had been sent to watch the rear door.

  Tenley gave her an alarmed look, and Brenna knew that she had seen him, too.

  “Have a seat,” Dom said. He looked at the waitress and barked, “Three coffees, Gina. Please.”

  Brenna and Tenley squeezed into a booth in front of the window. Maybe if someone drove by and saw them, they’d be rescued. Brenna decided to cling to that life raft. The waitress slid off the stool, looking put out. Brenna thought that took some nerve, considering who her boss was.

  “Now Brenna, Tenley, let’s get acquainted, shall we?” he asked.

  Gina plunked three steaming cups of coffee and a bowl of creamers in front of them.

  “Thank you,” Brenna said. She tried to make eye contact with the young woman to let her know they were in trouble, but Gina didn’t even glance at her.

  She stirred in two sugars and two creamers, but the black sludge was as thick as melted tire rubber and seemed to absorb the creamers, remaining the same black shade as before.

  Dom looked at his with equal disgust. “Sorry, I bet this is left over from t
his morning.” He pushed his cup away with a sigh.

  “Is there something we can help you with?” Brenna asked. Her nerves were close to the breaking point. If Dom had an issue with them, she wanted to know about it.

  “You came to Vincent’s,” he said. His gaze moved from her to Tenley, where it lingered.

  “That’s right,” Tenley said. She shook her long blond hair and Dom looked entranced. Brenna rolled her eyes. Men had been having this reaction to Tenley since they were in college. She’d feel sorry for them, but really, Tenley was such a nice person, they’d be lucky to have her.

  “So?” Brenna asked, trying to get on with the discussion.

  Dom shook his head. “So … er … well, Dottie is my cousin, and she told me you were asking questions about Jim Ripley.”

  “That’s right,” Brenna said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Again, she felt that surge of power emanate from him, and she knew this was not a man to cross. What should she tell him? Somehow accusing him of murder seemed a bad way to go. She went for a version of the truth instead.

  “Ripley was murdered,” she said.

  He tilted his head, considering her. She noticed he didn’t look surprised by the news.

  “I heard about that,” he confirmed. “Why does that bring you here?”

  “A friend of ours has been wrongly arrested for the murder. We need to find out what really happened to Jim Ripley.”

  “So naturally, you came to Bayview to accuse the Cappicolas,” Dom said. He looked annoyed.

  Brenna met his dark gaze and knew that if Dom had killed Ripley, they wouldn’t be leaving Bayview, at least not the way they had come. She had nothing to lose.

  “We found Ripley’s receipts from Vincent’s and the Red Pony Inn dated a week before he died,” she said. Tenley gasped beside her, but Brenna forged on. “We have to find out what he was doing down here. Look, we’re not accusing anyone, we’re just trying to help our friend.”

  Dom studied Brenna. His look was admiring. “He’s a lucky man.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “The man who generates so much loyalty from two such lovely ladies,” he said.

  This time his eyes stayed on Brenna’s face, and she felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Good grief, was he flirting with her?