Cold Moon Dead (8 page)

“No, and you shouldn’t either. He’ll only get angry again.” I slid off the chair and turned toward the door.

“Again? Was he angry when you told him about Jabroni?”

“I didn’t tell him all of it, just most of it. He was a tad upset, but more concerned. So I didn’t tell him I saw that woman again.”

“If you had chased her and caught up to her, what then?” His eyes held a speculative gleam.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just wanted to catch the witch. That’s all.” I shrugged. “Besides, I called Freedom and the PPD are keeping an eye out for her.”

“Do you have a sketch of this woman?”

“I haven’t done one, but that’s a good idea. Do you have some paper and a pencil?”

Aaron left the room and then returned with supplies. “I’m surprised you haven’t looked at mug shots.”

“Nobody suggested it, but then again, maybe finding the woman isn’t a high priority.” I stifled a yawn, and then closed my eyes to get a clear mental picture of the woman. Eyes open, I let the pencil race across the page. Before long, the old woman’s face took shape. Some added wrinkles and wisps of hair completed the picture. I handed the sketch to Aaron and watched him stare at the drawing.

“Damn, that was fast. You’re really good, you know that? If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this. Maybe I can get a hit if it’s scanned into the FBI system. What do you say?”

“Sure, no problem. Let me know, will you?” I yawned again and strolled toward the stairs. I turned and mentioned that Freedom should get a copy of the picture to share with the cops in her district.

Aaron nodded and closed the door.

I picked up the bag of food I’d left outside my apartment and headed inside. The message light on the phone blinked. I put the food on the counter and hit the button to listen.

“Vin, I have bad news,” the voice croaked. I leaned closer to the machine. It sounded like Lanky Larry.

“The doc says I have the mumps. Geez, imagine a guy my age with the mumps? I feel like crap. Can you finish the job for me tomorrow? All that needs doing is the foliage design you started today.” Larry mumbled some more. I couldn’t catch what else he said before the call ended.

The phone rang a few times after I dialed his number. A voice, thick with pain answered.

“Hello?” he croaked.

“Larry, it’s me . . . Vin,” I said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick. I’ll be glad to finish the job for you. Does the lady of the manor know?”

“Yeah, she’s gonna be there to let you in tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll go first thing and get that done for you. Get well, okay? Do you need some soup or something?”

Larry’s voice took on a whine. “No, I can’t eat. I look like a damn bullfrog with this throat. It’s huge.”

I wondered for a second if I’d had the mumps as a child. I’d call my mother.

With another get well wish, I disconnected and called my mother to ask about the mumps. She said that Gio and I had developed them at the same time when we were kids so not to worry. I smiled with relief and hung up.

It was late, and I was beat. The coffee pot was set for morning, so I tossed my jacket aside, put the food in the fridge, and headed to bed. It took some time before my thoughts settled down. After several deep breaths, my body started to relax and I must have drifted off.

*     *     *

The next thing I knew, sunshine blazed through the window into my face. I turned over, slapped a feather pillow over my head and contemplated the day. As I peeked out from under the pillow, my gaze rested on the alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed. Eight o’clock. Gosh, I needed to get up.

Lanky Larry’s mumps came to mind. I felt my neck and then snorted at my silliness. My mother had said I wouldn’t get them. I knew she was right. Besides, there had to be an incubation period, right? I wouldn’t get them within a day.

Silently chastising myself, I got out of bed and straggled into the kitchen for a cup of hot coffee. I downed the first cup, poured a second one after I had brushed my teeth and washed my face. The vision in the bathroom mirror made me realize it would take a lot to put my hair in order. The wild-man-of-Borneo look had nothing on this mass of snarled curls. I pulled it back from my face, added a hair scrunchy and left the room. Wisps still strayed away like antennae.

Footsteps on the stairs warned of company. When the knock sounded, I swung the door open to find Aaron, looking very GQ while I looked like a car wreck on Route 95. Did this man ever have a hair out of place?

His eyes roamed my face, stopped at my hair, and then continued over the rest of me. A grin spread across his face.

He laughed. “Tough night?”

“I guess. I can’t remember.” I yawned, ushered him inside from the cold hallway, and poured him a mug of coffee that slopped over the counter for no reason whatsoever. It was about to be another interesting day. I could tell.

“Mmm, good coffee. Got anything to go with it?” He stared suggestively at me for a moment, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Not a thing,” I said and turned toward my own cup. Geez, I was a wreck. If I’d read him right, he’d just asked for more than a slice of toast.

“Hmm, okay.” He glanced at the phone and then at me.

“Any interesting calls yet today?” Aaron asked.

“No. Should there be? Would you have some news that I should know?” I wondered what, if anything, he had found out last night. Was this simply a fishing expedition for information?

“No, I was just curious,” Aaron remarked. “Your life is an ongoing mystery, so I thought maybe you’d had another upset.” His glance took in my hair again.

Self-conscious, I reached up to smooth the strays and watched this hunk smirk at my effort to tame my unyielding mess into a semblance of order. It was useless, so I let it spring back out of control.

I glanced at the clock and stood up. Brown eyes regarded me with interest and something else, but I didn’t know what.

“I have to get out of here. I’m not trying to get rid of you, but I promised Lanky Larry to finish a job for him today.”

“Is he picking you up?”

“No, the poor guy was diagnosed with the mumps yesterday. He called me last night to ask if I’d finish the job for him.”

“That’s good of you. I have to go now, too. I’ll talk to you later today or tonight.” He smiled, gulped the rest of his coffee and left.

When the outer door closed and Aaron’s truck started, I raced into the bedroom, grabbed some old clothes, and headed toward the bathroom. Within minutes I had tamed my hair, washed up, deodorized, and dressed. I laced up my paint-speckled sneakers and sped out the door.

A State Police cruiser slid to a halt at the end of the driveway as I backed the MINI Cooper out of the garage. I watched Marcus swagger up the driveway as only a State Trooper can.

“You in a hurry, ma’am?” He grinned and leaned toward my window as I slid it down.

“Yeah, I’m headed to work. Why do you ask, Officer?” It must be my day for handsome law enforcement agents, I thought with an inward grin.

“Just checking with you before I drive to Newport. There’s a training program today and I’m a presenter. I won’t be available by phone, so you’re on your own. Try not to get into trouble, okay?” Marcus tipped his hat toward me and turned to walk away.

Why was it that the men in my life, including my father, thought I was in a jam every day of the week? I did manage to have some calm days when life didn’t go wrong. Today could be one of those days.

“Uh, excuse me? I’m not always in trouble, you know,” I said in a hoity-toity manner. I smirked when he stopped short and turned back to me.

“It’s a rare occasion when you aren’t in trouble. I must admit, though, that you do have some reasonably calm days. Just be careful today, please.”

We both smiled. He drove away with a salute. I backed out of the driveway and headed toward Cranston’s high-end country homes.

The ungainly house wasn’t one that could be missed. It sprawled at the end of the street with only one house across from it. The empty space adjacent to the two houses held a Land for Sale sign, smack in the middle of the lot.

A furniture repair truck sat parked outside the other house with two sporty cars right behind it. I glanced at them as I turned into the other driveway and parked next to the side entrance of Larry’s project house.

The curler queen hustled out the door with a lit cigarette dangling from her lips like an added appendage. Red lipstick adorned the wrinkled mouth and her hands fluttered like butterfly wings in the wind. I slid the window of Lola’s car down as ‘Queeny’ opened her mouth. The cigarette bobbed up and down as she spoke.

“Could you park your little car in the street? I need to get the Mercedes out of the garage in a while. Today is my bridge day,” she said, her tone haughty, as though I were a servant.

“Sure, no problem.” I tried to smile, but knew it failed in sincerity.

When the car was parked and locked, and well out of the way, I hiked up the driveway and knocked on the door.

This time heavy footsteps pounded on the wood flooring as someone neared the entry. The inside door stood open, and the storm door separated me from the owner. A man strode into view. I glanced up, the spit in my mouth dried like rain in the desert, while my breath stuck in my lungs.

The man who stood before me was none other than Tony Jabroni’s doctor, Louie-the-Lug. He stared at me. I stared back through the glass. Another man approached the door as I worked hard to collect my scattered wits. Tony Jabroni stepped into view. My heart thumped a wild beat as I gawked at both men.

When the doctor swung the door open, I entered like a puppet on strings—with no will of my own, no mind to tell me what to do. I was simply stunned. So much for a good day without any trouble or problems. With a couple of deep breaths, I tried a smile before I spoke a word.

“You the painter?” Tony asked in his husky voice. He frowned down at me.

“I’m just filling in for the guy you hired. He’s sick.” The salivary glands in my mouth began to work again. I swallowed in a loud gulp.

“You know the way downstairs?” he asked, without offering to show me.

“Uh huh, I do.” I moved away from the two men, in the direction of the staircase. Louie-the-Lug hadn’t uttered a sound. He continued to stare at me as though I were an alien.

“You didn’t mention our incident to the cops yesterday, did you?” Jabroni asked with narrowed eyes.

“I didn’t bring it up at all.” It was a half-truth. I hadn’t brought it up. It had been brought up to me. So I hadn’t really lied, right? It was a rocky road to hell. I was well on my way there with all these half-truths and outright lies.

“You done good, kid. You done good,” he said with a smarmy leer.

The term “dirtball” came to mind, but I knew enough to keep my trap shut. Instead, I waved my hand and practically fell down the stairs in my effort to get away. Leave it to me to end up at Tony Jabroni’s house. Thanks to Lanky Larry, I was stuck working for a mobster, the very same one who I had been warned to stay away from. The only defense I had was that I wasn’t on Federal Hill. That had to count for something, right?

My day was headed down the toilet . . . into the crapper . . . no doubt about it. Geez, I hate when that happens. Without any further thoughts on the route my life had taken, I stuffed the paint palette, bottles of colors, brushes, and water bin onto the ladder. Once settled on the next-to-the-top rung of the ladder I had dragged to the French doors, I started to paint the final leaves on the wall.

In my angst, I slopped color down the front of my jeans. Thankfully, it didn’t matter since they were clothes I only used when I painted. A towel hung over the edge of the top step on the ladder. I wiped the paint away and slapped the towel back in place. Would it be too much to expect that, for one day, nothing catastrophic would happen? I considered this while I continued to add detail to the design.

Not that being in Jabroni’s house was catastrophic in itself, but one never knew what could happen next. I finished the leaves and vines over the top of the door before I added a few more flowers to it.

Angry words, a man’s and a woman’s, filtered down the stairs from the kitchen above. Voices rose, though I couldn’t make out the words. It must be Mr. and Mrs. Wonderful, I thought, as I heard a door slam shut and a car drive away.

Within minutes Jabroni came downstairs with a tray that held a cup of coffee and a pastry on a plate. He set it on the coffee table and pointed to it.

“I brought this sfogliatelle and some fresh coffee for you. My wife just left for her bridge game, and I’ll be leaving soon. How much longer you gonna be?”

“Not that much longer. About two hours, maybe less.” I eyeballed the clamshell-shaped pastry and my mouth watered. Among Italian pastry, this was my all-time favorite. It had a thin crust ridged in layers similar to that of a clamshell. I knew there’d be a dry filling of ricotta cheese inside, delicately flavored with vanilla. The outside shell would be crispy and crunchy. Powdered sugar topped the delicious confection. I stared at it like it was the only food I’d seen in months.

Jabroni laughed at my expression and motioned for me to come down off the ladder and enjoy the fare. After his gruff treatment of me upstairs, this was a turnabout in his behavior toward me. I became suspicious over his reasons and what he offered. But let me not be the one to ask a mobster if he were about to poison me. Hell, I wasn’t that stupid.

“I can see you got good taste in pastry. You also got sense enough to keep your mouth shut, too, eh? Glad to see your father raised a bright kid.” He teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet while I pulled the pastry apart with fingers that shook a tad.

“Mmm, this is delicious,” I said around a mouth packed full of confectionery splendor.

“Good, I’m glad you like it. I picked it up this morning on the Hill. You must know the bakery near the club, eh?”

I nodded and kept chewing.

“They got the best pastry in Rhode Island. You gotta come up sometime and stop by there. Tell Giuseppe Corelli that I sent you. He’ll treat you right.”