Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “I’m sure I will. For now, let’s get the warrants.” The breeze lifted his now dry hair.

  I shrugged against the increasing wind, more than a little irritated that he wasn’t sharing information. “Fine. What’s the plan for that?”

  “With the meager evidence we have?” He slowed down just a little. “Judge Hallenback. He’s the only one crazy enough to give us warrants on these facts.”

  Wonderful. Just wonderful.

  Chapter 18

  Judge Hallenback lived in one of the stately mansions downtown, built by timber magnates over a hundred years ago, directly across a street and private beach on Lilac Lake. The road was private with a gate, which had been open for once. Nick and I stood on his wide and darkened porch with round and stately columns bracketing us. The moon tried to glow through the clouds, barely showing.

  Rain continued to patter down as Nick knocked for the third time on the thick door, trying to peer past the inlaid glass at eye level.

  A ruckus sounded inside. “Maybe we should’ve waited until morning,” I whispered, clutching the warrant request against my chest.

  “Ouch,” came loudly from inside followed by several bangs.

  The porch light flicked on and flooded us, and I shut my eyes in protest. Then I blinked several times just as the door was yanked open. “What the holy hell are you doing on my porch at one in the morning?” the judge boomed, standing there bucked-ass naked, save for the purple tasseled hat.

  “Uh.” I took a step back.

  “Whoa.” Nick stared intently at a place over the judge’s right shoulder. “Ah, Judge? We need you to sign a warrant.”

  “Crazy people out late at night.” The judge moved back and grabbed a white woven blanket off what looked like a Damask decorated sofa. He wrapped it around his waist. “Who in tarnation are you?”

  Nick looked up. “Nicolo Basanelli, and I’m the current prosecutor for Elk County.”

  The judge looked at me and scratched the salt and pepper whiskers on his sagging chin. “You, I know. Alberto, right?”

  “Albertini,” I murmured, trying not to stare at his bare chest, which was covered with pink flowers from a marker that smelled like blueberries. They were upside down as if he’d drawn them himself, which he must have. “Anna Albertini, Judge.”

  “Huh.” The judge shook his head, and the tassels danced around him. “Whatta you want?”

  “Warrant. Two, actually.” Nick took the papers from my chest and handed them over. “Sorry to awaken you.”

  The judge squinted down at the first document. “You want to search the residence of Melvin Whitaker.” He read through the application, hummed a bit, and handed it back. “Nope.”

  It was the first time I’d seen Nick speechless. So, I stepped in. “Excuse us, Judge?”

  The judge shook his head again, and the wild tassels caught my gaze. “You don’t have enough. Some kid who’s dead might or might not live there? What proof do you have that the deceased lived with his uncle?”

  I cleared my throat. “The deceased gave me a piece of paper to find him at his new address, which is Melvin Whitaker’s address. We also have the statement of Melvin’s neighbor, Thelma Mullens, who said that Randy lived with his uncle.”

  The judge narrowed his faded blue eyes. “Where’s the affidavit of the neighbor attesting to that fact?”

  Geez. Come on. I sighed. “We don’t have an affidavit.” Although Thelma would probably love to be part of the case. “I talked to her, and I’ve sworn to it in my affidavit. I am an officer of the court, Judge.”

  “I know who you are, Alberto!” he thundered. “Get me the affidavit, and I’ll sign the warrant. If that’s all—” He clutched the door.

  “No.” Nick wedged his foot in and then winced as the judge pushed. “We have another warrant application, Judge.” He handed over the other papers and managed to kick the door open a little more, pushing the judge back a couple of feet.

  The judge frowned and read over the papers, drawing them up to his face. “Cheryl Smythers.” He glanced up. “What kind of name is Smythers? It’s not even spelled right. There should be an ‘i’ instead of ‘y.’ Who spells their name like this?”

  I couldn’t find an answer. The judge was really losing it. “She was in possession of drugs, Judge.”

  The judge rubbed his whiskers again, reading the papers. “At her place of work. Where’s your proof that she has drugs at her personal abode?”

  Okay. The guy did know the law, even though he was crackers. “It just seems likely,” I said, not sounding sure.

  The judge slapped the papers back at Nick. “Get me probable cause, Basanelli, and I’ll give you a warrant. If you come here at night again, this late, bring me a fuckin’ ice cream cone.” Then he slammed the door.

  I gulped.

  Nick let loose with an impressive litany of swear words strung together in Italian, reminding me of my dad trying to fix his carburetor. There was nothing like a string of fierce Italian expletives. He ended with a nice ‘fucking tassels.’

  I glanced his way. “You know, he wasn’t wrong.”

  “I know,” Nick said grimly, turning to go back to my car. “We’ll get that affidavit from your witness tomorrow, or rather, later today, so the police can at least search Whitaker’s house. For now, you’ll have to drop me off at home on your way.”

  I paused at the base of the steps as the night grabbed hold of me. I’d seen a dead body. What if Aiden was at my cottage again? While I didn’t fear him, whether I should or not, I didn’t want to see him right now. “How about you drop me off at my sister’s and just bring my car to work tomorrow?”

  He paused and looked over his shoulder at me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” This time of year, I rarely stayed alone, anyway. I glanced at my watch, seeing it was now the next day. Tuesday. One day before I’d receive the anniversary note. My stomach lurched, and my head began to hurt. The note would arrive, I’d deal with it, and then the gate would open for six months more of breathing easily. Until the next note. “She lives over Smiley’s Diner on Main Street.” I tossed him the keys; my hands suddenly too shaky to drive.

  He caught them in one hand, cool guy style. “All right. Let’s go.”

  I’d called Tessa on my way up her stairs so she wouldn’t shoot me when I used my key. The smell of the diner, eggs and bacon, wafted through the ceiling, and I took a deep breath. When was the last time I’d eaten? Was it only the night before? So much had happened. My stomach rumbled.

  Worse yet, it was now Tuesday. Only one day left before the anniversary of my kidnapping. I shivered and unwelcomed fingers clacked down my spine. Life was not fair sometimes.

  Tess’s apartment was quiet, and I knew my way in the dark, reaching her bedroom and shucking my jeans for a T-shirt I found on our Nana’s fainting couch at the base of Tess’s bed. Dawn was finally breaking outside, barely lighting the room from her open window. She rolled over to face me, her voice muffled as she threw the covers open to reveal flowered sheets that had probably been our mom’s. “Why so late? Or rather, early?”

  I slid inside and faced her, much like we had as little girls. Then I told her about the entire night, not leaving anything out.

  Finally, I wound down, snuggling beneath the hand-quilted comforter.

  “Wow.” Tessa yawned; her wild hair spread out on the pillow. “The dead body sucks, and let’s not talk about that again. But you kissed Aiden.”

  I nodded, catching my hair on the pillowcase. “Yeah.” I’d already gone into too much detail about how great of a kiss it was. Finally. “I just can’t believe he’s a killer. I mean, I know he’s with the Lordes, and they don’t seem to be great guys, but it’s Aiden.”

  She snorted. “Believe me, it’s easy to be fooled by a guy.”

  I already knew that. In fact, I’d dated a jackass in law school for quite a while, but nobody compared to a couple of Tess’s exes. She had horrible taste in men. Truly terrible. Or per
haps she just had bad luck. I wasn’t sure. “What do you think?”

  She shrugged beneath the covers. “Heck if I know. It’s really easy to mix up who you want somebody to be and who they really are. You’ve been dreaming about this guy for years, and you’ve created an image in your head. What if you can’t see past that to the Lordes Defender?” Her voice was sleepy but her mind clear in the way that Tess had of getting to the meat of a fact. “Just because you want him to still be your hero doesn’t mean he is.”

  That was true. “Do I owe him?” I whispered.

  “Doesn’t matter what I think because you believe you owe him,” she whispered back, like we had as kids. “Let’s start there. Do you think you owe him?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “If you can save him, are you going to?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Okay. Are you willing to lose your job or break the law to help him?” she asked.

  I thought about it. “No. I’ll help him within the law.” If I broke it, then I was as bad as the people I wanted to put away. He’d gotten hurt helping me, and I was willing to get hurt paying him back, but I wouldn’t break the law. I had to believe in something after what had happened to me, and the law was it. Even though Jareth Davey had perverted it. I sighed. “This is hard.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Tomorrow is the day. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” My eyelids started to droop, even though my anxiety was up and would be until I received the anniversary letter from Davey tomorrow. “Maybe he’s dead and won’t send the card this year.”

  “We can always hope,” she said. Then she was quiet for a few moments. “I’ve thought about going after him through the years. Just taking him out so he couldn’t send any more cards.”

  I nodded. “Me, too.”

  She reached out and held my hand. “Did you know that Dad had the Lugi uncles try and find him a couple of times?”

  I swallowed. “No.” It did sound like our dad. Sometimes I thought my family considered me fragile and damaged. Scared. Helpless. One of the reasons I’d become a lawyer was to prove how strong I could be. Now I enforced the law and tried to find justice. “Why didn’t they say something?” I asked.

  “They’ve never found him,” she said, sounding more awake now. “That’s kind of scary.”

  “He lived off the grid here, so he’s probably doing the same thing elsewhere.” I sounded way too logical, while I felt like a scared kid again. I shook it off. The cards were sent from all over the States, and sometimes from other countries. I figured he had friends send them or something. It didn’t matter. Someday, and I had no clue when, he’d come for me.

  I was armed—and I was ready.

  Chapter 19

  I borrowed black pants and a cream-colored blouse from Tessa and was late to work on Tuesday, skidding in barely with enough time to head to misdemeanor court that morning. It wasn’t until lunch that I had time to call Thelma and ask her to come in and sign an affidavit. She was delighted to do so and said she’d bring brownies after her appointment with an eye doctor.

  I really wanted those brownies.

  When she showed up, I ate two before anybody else could get to them. Nick was absent most of the day, and for some reason, Celeste wasn’t inclined to share his location. Maybe she was starting to like being his paralegal. He’d left my car in the lot and my keys at the front desk before I’d even made it to work. So I finished up the day and called him to ask if he wanted me to take the new paperwork to the judge, having to leave a message on his cell.

  I stared at the finished paperwork on my desk, which had only a smudge of brownie frosting on the corner.

  My phone buzzed. “This is Anna,” I said.

  “Hey. It’s Nick. Let’s see the judge tomorrow. I’m on to something today.” He sounded distracted. “Let’s grab breakfast at Smiley’s. Seven in the morning.” He clicked off without waiting for an answer. Humph. That was mildly annoying.

  On the bright side, I had some free time. So I headed home and went for a run, careful to stay on the path and keep my surroundings in sight. A murder had occurred on the dike road, and the world seemed even less safe than it had a week before. I breathed heavily as I finished and returned home to make a simple chicken and rice dish. I wondered what Aiden was doing.

  Was Tessa right about him? Of course, she was. There was no way any man could live up to the guy I’d created in my head through the years. After reading for a while, I headed to bed, more than a little exhausted after the night before. Breakfast with Nick. A business meeting and not a date.

  The phone buzzed me awake sometime after midnight. I fumbled for it on the dresser. “Wh-what?” I mumbled into it.

  “She’s dead.” A loud crash sounded. “Damn it. My foot.”

  I blinked awake, my mind clearing. “Nick?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled; his voice slurred. “She’s dead. My fault. So young.”

  I sat up and flipped on the bedside table lamp. “Who’s dead?”

  “Cheryl Smythers,” he hiccuped. Something crashed.

  Cheryl was dead? What? What was wrong with him? “Are you okay?”

  He sighed, the sound loud through the phone. “No, Albertini, I am not fine. I am totally and completely bombed.” He hiccuped again.

  I pushed from the bed. “Where are you?”

  “In my condo,” he mumbled. “Didn’t I tell you where I live?”

  “No.” I reached for a pair of jeans I’d tossed over a chair, my hands shaking. “What condo?”

  “Blueridge Condos above the marina. Lucky number seven, baby,” he slurred. “Shoot.” More banging sounded, he grunted, and a loud crash echoed. Several, actually, followed by a hard grunt. “Stupid stairs.” Then he clicked off.

  I wiped a hand across my face. What the heck? Was it part of my job description to help out a drunk Nick Basanelli? He had called me, and he was living in the condos right above the Tamarack Lake Marina and only about five minutes from my cozy cabin. How was Cheryl dead? The bodies were piling up, and I wanted some answers. So I tossed on a shirt, brushed my teeth, yanked my hair into a ponytail, and headed out to my car.

  The night was cool but not raining as I drove around the lake road to the luxury condos. It figured Nick would live there. I parked next to his Jeep and strode up the stairs to knock loudly on his door.

  He opened the door dressed in faded jeans and nothing else. What was it with bare male flesh these days? Although, unlike the judge, Nick was something to look at. Hard muscles with a tattoo over his bicep that surprised the heck out of me. Some sort of military designation? His jeans were unbuttoned and his feet bare. A bunch of boxes were stacked behind him. “Albertini,” he murmured, weaving in front of my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  I tore my gaze from his nice chest to see a bleeding wound above his eyebrow. “What did you do?” I moved toward him, reaching for it.

  He slapped my hand away and staggered back. “Fell down the stairs. Gravity wins every time.”

  I peered closer but didn’t try to touch again. “You might need stitches.”

  He scoffed. “Stitches are for wimps.” Then he grinned, making him look more boyish than I could’ve imagined.

  My chest warmed. Whoa. I had to keep myself in check here. “Let me at least put a bandage on you.”

  He shut the door and leaned toward me, bringing the scent of whiskey with him. “We gonna play doctor?” His eyes glimmered a soft amber, and with his five-o-clock shadow, he looked like a guy who knew all about anatomy.

  “No.” I pushed past him to walk beyond the stairway toward a great room overlooking the lake. More boxes were stacked on a leather sofa and chair. The kitchen was to the left with high-end appliances, and no doubt his bedroom was upstairs. I was not going up there. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

  He followed me, picking up a half-full crystal tumbler holding an amber liquid that matched his eyes. “I’m a bachelor. There’s no first aid kit.�
� He lifted the glass to his mouth.

  I grabbed it, yanking it from him.

  “Hey.” His lip pouted out. I swear it did. “Give that back.”

  “No.” I moved for the kitchen and dumped the contents in the sink. “You’ve had enough.”

  He tucked his thumbs in his jean’s pockets, not seeming bothered by the blood sliding down his face. “You’re kinda mean late at night.”

  “You have no idea.” I stepped over several more unopened boxes and started pulling out drawers. “You need to unpack.”

  He sighed and reached above the fridge, bringing down a box of bandages. “Here.” Taking my hand, he drew me toward the round kitchen table and sat. “You wanna fix me, feel free.” Then he tipped back his head and shut his eyes. “Then I get to fix you.”

  A drunk Nick was a huge flirt. And he was good at it. I gingerly cleaned his wound and did the best I could with the bandages, having to step between his legs to get close enough to do so. No doubt he’d done that on purpose. “You’re my boss, you know,” I reminded him, throwing the bloody paper towels in the garbage.

  He opened his eyes, and his pupils dilated. “Yeah.” His hands settled on my hips. “Right now, I don’t care.”

  “I do.” Even though those hands felt pretty good, I grasped them and stepped away. Oh, I wasn’t dating Aiden, but his mouth had been all over mine just the night before, and messing around with my boss was a mistake, anyway. “Tell me about Cheryl.”

  With another exaggerated sigh, Nick pushed from the chair and headed for the living room, knocking boxes off the sofa so we could sit. Then, giving me a look, he went and poured two full tumblers of bourbon.

  I took the drink and sat, waiting for him to do the same. Then I turned to face him on the sofa. “Talk.”

  He took a deep drink, and his throat moved nicely. “Cheryl is dead. Probable overdose.” He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have cut her loose.” He partially turned to face me, bending his knee on the sofa. “She was only eighteen. A kid.”