Cold Moon Dead (21 page)

“You really need to get your life under control, Vinnie,” Aaron said. “I mean that. You end up in horrible situations that are detrimental to your health. Your nerves are frayed, and to be frank, I’m worried about you.”

His concerned expression held another emotion, one that I wasn’t sure of at the moment. I nodded and gave a heavy sigh.

“You’re right, of course. I’ll take your advice and try harder to stay out of trouble, okay?”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. It lasted but a second before a rush of guilt flooded me. So, once again, my never mundane life was taking on another aspect. Maybe I had feelings for Aaron that I couldn’t admit to myself. Then again, I had to remember that his focus could merely be to work me for information he thought I might have.

“What time are you planning to see your father?” His question reassured me that his intentions toward me weren’t as pure as he’d have me believe. I figure he always has an ulterior motive, even when he’s at his sweetest.

“He said to come by anytime today.” I poured coffee into the empty cup I’d left on the counter and motioned to Aaron with the pot. “Do you want some?”

He shook his head. “I have to report to headquarters. Try to have a calm day, will you?”

Grinning, I nodded and watched Aaron make his exit. In a few seconds his truck rolled into the street and away from the house. I sighed, settled onto the counter stool, and cupped my chin in my hand while I stared out the French doors.

The day looked cold even though the sun shone brightly. My spirits waffled all over the place. Like it or not, Tony Jabroni’s death saddened me. Even though he scared the bejeepers right out of me, somehow I mourned his death. How and why that emotion had swept into my life was beyond my scope of understanding. Maybe I needed a psychiatrist . . .

Forget that idea. It would take a million years to straighten out this psyche. I chuckled at the thought and drank the cooled coffee. In moments I was prepared to leave the house, bundled in a winter jacket and a heavy scarf, with my favorite cloche snug on my head.

The road to the cemetery lay clear of ice and snow as I strode toward Livvy’s grave. The wind whipped around, grabbing my scarf and slapping it onto my face. I’d certainly be happy when spring rolled onto the scene. This cold weather sucked, big time.

Aunt Livvy’s gravesite lay at the bottom of the knoll. I reached her headstone and swept small branches and other debris from her grave. The wind blew in off the reservoir with enough force that it always left the grave littered.

Huddled in front of the stone, I whispered a small prayer. The only one I remembered, actually. I brushed my gloved hand across her name and wished her well. Standing there, I told Livvy about Jabroni’s death and its effect on me. After rambling on about the whole incident for some time, a sense of serenity seemed to surround me. I was sure that Livvy would have hugged me if she were alive. Maybe I did need that psychiatrist after all.

I bid her a fond farewell with a promise to return, then left the cemetery and strolled toward Lola’s deli. A gray Crown Victoria idled on the side of the road past the church. Marcus sat behind the wheel, a heavy winter jacket covering his upper torso. He left the car as I approached and ordered me to get inside.

Unwilling to argue with him in the middle of the road, I slid into the passenger side of the car. He pulled away and drove into the churchyard. Parked at the edge of the cemetery driveway, he turned to me with a grim expression.

“Jabroni is dead. You were there, and I have a need to know exactly what happened. So speak up . . . and no lies, Lavinia.”

Okay, so this wouldn’t be a pleasant meeting. My newfound peace blew away as quickly as a balloon in the wind. Within minutes I had related the entire evening from the time Marcus left me in the parking lot up to the point where I had left the hospital. No sense in making up a story. Aaron would only fill in the gaps anyway, leaving me to deal with more arrogant dismay. Cripes, this day had started out so well, but had taken a downturn somewhere along the way.

A nod every now and then meant Marcus listened with avid attention. He was good at his job of ferreting out the truth of a situation. I ended with my arrival home and the call from Larry.

“What the hell were the FBI agents doing all this time?”

“Darned if I know. They were there and nobody heard or saw a thing.” I had left out the call from my father and hoped Marcus didn’t know that particular piece of information. He and Aaron were most definitely not invited to this dinner. I wanted to make sure that I held up that end of my father’s orders.

“Lola must have been shaken.”

“She was like a zombie, frozen in her tracks after the initial shock. If Aaron hadn’t stepped up when he did, I don’t know what I’d have done with her. At least she wasn’t hysterical.”

“Where were you going just now?” Marcus stared at my bundled figure.

“To the deli to check on Lola. She went to work this morning after she stopped by.”

“Then I’ll give you a ride, unless you want to walk, of course.” Marcus smiled as the wind whistled around the car. He shifted into drive without waiting for an answer.

“I was surprised you didn’t show up last night when the alarm went out.”

“It wasn’t our jurisdiction. We only interfere when we’re told to do so. It was the FBI’s and the police department’s show, not ours.”

“I see. Well, it was a tough night for Larry and everyone else who attended. Larry managed to sell some of his work, though.”

The car slowed and Marcus pulled into the lot behind the deli. He parked the vehicle, mumbled into his radio and shut the motor off. We went inside together.

The room was half-filled with people who turned to stare as we entered through the rear door. I smiled at Marcus and turned to Millie. She stepped up to the counter and greeted us as though we were long lost friends.

As usual, Marcus laid his trooper charm out like a roll of wallpaper on the loose. These guys just can’t help themselves. The uniform has a lot to do with it, because when troopers are in regular clothes, they look like every other Joe on the street. And they say clothes don’t make the man, huh.

I smiled as Millie fell victim to his charm. Speechless, she only nodded when he ordered a coffee to go. When I stepped up to order, she snapped out of her reverie as though I’d slapped her upside the head.

“What will you have, Vinnie?” she asked.

“Earl Grey tea will do the trick, Millie,” I said with a grin.

She scooted off to prepare the beverages while Marcus sauntered into the kitchen. He was greeted with Lola’s wide smile that had the usual effect on him. He smiled back and gave her a brief hug. I hadn’t gotten a hug, nor had he asked how I was. Huh. I guess I wasn’t as fragile as Lola.

Millie brought our steaming beverages into the kitchen. Marcus handed Millie some money. She thanked him, slid a glance toward me, winked, and left the room. A smile tickled the corners of my mouth at the thought of her reaction to his charm.

The conversation between Lola and Marcus included the news of the cookbook release. Marcus congratulated Lola over her publishing success. She grinned. Her glance swung toward me.

“Aaron came by earlier. He had a few questions about last night. Did you see him this morning?”

“He stopped at my apartment before he left. We discussed Jabroni’s death. Why? What did he ask you?”

Lola’s face took on a strange look. “He wanted to know if I’d remembered anything else about last night, but I hadn’t. Why would he ask that?”

She didn’t know Aaron was an FBI agent, so her curiosity was well founded. I shrugged and said I didn’t have any idea why he’d ask such a question.

“I can’t figure out how somebody could be stabbed in such a place. There was no telling who would happen down that corridor while the deed was in progress, right?” Lola’s large round eyes flicked between Marcus and me.

With his coffee in hand, Marcus nodded. He said he had to leave and wished Lola a pleasant day. I walked him to the car.

His hand came up to my face and cupped my cheek as he stood next to the open car door.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Vinnie. I know I didn’t say so before, but I mean it.”

“I know, Marcus, but it’s nice to hear you say so.” I leaned toward him and kissed him. He kissed me back and stepped closer. I smiled and that ended that kiss.

“I’ll be by tonight. I have a couple reports to finish later. Then I’m off duty for the next couple of days. I’ll call you.” Marcus kissed me lightly and got into the car.

As he drove away, I headed into the deli and sat in the kitchen with Lola as she stirred a fragrant kettle of soup. It smelled divine. I sniffed the air with appreciation. Mmm. A combination of spices and vegetables. I glanced around the room for a bowl, but Lola said the soup wasn’t ready yet.

“What are you doing later?” she asked.

“I’m headed down to visit with my father. My mother has a meeting, so he asked if I’d stop by.” I kept the reason to myself since I didn’t want Lola to get caught in any lies. She wasn’t as good at lying as I was.

“I have a date with Porter tonight.” She could hardly hold in her excitement. “We’re taking in a show at the Comedy Connection. I could use a good laugh right about now.”

“I hear you.” I wrapped the scarf around my neck and pulled the cloche down over my hair. “Have a great time, and I’ll expect a full report tomorrow.” The tea was gone, and I was ready to trek up the street to my house.

When I stepped inside the warm apartment, I left my outerwear on the kitchen chair and checked for phone messages. I breathed a sigh of relief that nobody had called.

The clock over the fridge had hit four o’clock. It was time to go see my father. I tossed the clothes from the washer into the dryer and set the timer before I left the house. My feet dragged as I headed toward the car.

Darkness had fallen by the time I arrived at my parents’ house. I parked in the driveway in front of the tiny garage. Soft lighting from the kitchen windows cast warmth across the sweet little deck attached to the Cape Cod style house.

Trudging up the steps of the deck, I sucked in a deep breath. I found it an effort to summon the courage for the oncoming battle.

The door swung open and I marched inside. My bravery might be short-lived, I thought, but at least I attempted it. My father stood at the stove stirring sauce that smelled so heavenly, my taste buds tingled while my mouth watered in anticipation. Dark eyes slanted toward me as he nodded a greeting.

Smile to ward off any bad karma,
my internal voice warned me. I tried a smile and my father gave me a half smile in return. So far, so good, I thought.

“That smells wonderful, Dad.” I stepped toward the stove to take a deep sniff of the tantalizing aroma.

“Yeah, wonderful.” The spoon landed with a clink in the glass tray reserved for cooking utensils. He turned to me and motioned toward the table.

Wine glasses sat empty. He filled mine with a rich, dark Burgundy wine from his own stash. His wine glass held ice water. My father didn’t drink alcoholic beverages, but he made wine in his cellar for the rest of us to enjoy.

As I toyed with the glass, he sat down across from me with a hearty sigh.

“Lavinia, tell me what you saw last night at the gallery when Tony was stabbed.” Dad’s eyes didn’t waver. He didn’t blink. His mouth settled into a line that brooked no stories, lies, or half-truths.

I took a hefty swig of the wine and swallowed hard. My eyes traveled the room before they landed on my father, the man who managed to raise my hackles faster than anyone else in my life. The effort it took to breathe was enormous, but I did so, and hoped my anxiety didn’t show.

“I don’t want to argue with you . . .”

“No bullshit, Lavinia. Just answer me, please.” His unibrow wrinkled as he glared at me.

“Fine.” I took another mouthful of wine and started the story of how Tony had been found. As I finished, I said, “I never really saw anything or anyone.”

“When you went to the hospital, what did you see?”

Surprised that he knew that particular fact, I told him what had transpired and hoped that would end the question-and-answer period of our evening.

“How did you know I went to the hospital?”

He shrugged. “I know these things, Lavinia. And I know you.”

Rising from the table, he pulled three plates from the cupboard next to the sink. Silverware rattled as he slid the drawer outward and grabbed what was needed. I stared, but kept my mouth shut. Why three plates? I wondered.

Once the dinnerware was properly placed on the hand-stitched placemats my mother had made, Dad set the food out with an order to get the salad from the fridge.

In a few seconds, dinner sat ready to eat. My father turned toward the living room and said, “You can join us now.”

I glanced around the room. Who the hell was my father talking to? Had I finally driven him over the edge of sanity? Had he lost his marbles?
Had I?

My eyes riveted in the direction in which my father had spoken. I heard approaching footsteps that were definitely not those of my mother. I held my breath as Tony Jabroni shuffled into the room. His pasty pallor caused me to inhale sharply. Holy cow . . . he wasn’t dead.

In an instant, I’d jumped from the chair and rushed toward the dead man walking. I found myself babbling about how relieved I was that he hadn’t died after all. I squeezed him and heard a sharp intake of breath. Obviously, I’d hurt him. He stood still in my grasp until I stepped back and apologized for my behavior.

“S-s-sorry for the outburst and for hurting your wound,” I stammered.

Dark eyes scanned my face, and a small grin curled the corners of his mouth. Tony nodded and moved toward the table with effort.

My father had risen to pull the chair away from the table for the supposed dead man. Once Jabroni had seated himself, my father pushed the chair closer to the table.

“Sit down, Lavinia, so we can eat,” Dad ordered with a nod toward my chair. “The food is going to be cold and you know how I feel about cold pasta.”