Dead Wrong (18 page)

Chapter 23

It wasn't until the truck rumbled into the yard that I realized what it was and that I needed to haul my butt from bed and get out to the garage. Sunday had passed quickly. It had been a day for rummaging through the boxes and bins that Aunt Livvy had packed into the garage loft. I'd managed to get a head start on the piles of junk she'd saved. I had moved most of it toward the front windows to toss it into the dumpster when it arrived.

Thus far I hadn't found any other famous painters hiding amidst the boxes. I sighed over the thought and stuffed my feet into sneakers, slid my jacket on, and grabbed my gloves. I could spend some time in the garage before I had to leave for class at the university.

The truck backed into the driveway and a huge rectangular metal trash container slid off the rollers. I stood in the doorway watching the delivery while the man behind the wheel moved the levers with confidence.

He slid from the driver's seat and strode around the front of the massive truck. A pink slip in his hand fluttered in the breeze. He held it out to me and asked when I needed the dumpster picked up.

“Tomorrow should be fine. Any time after nine in the morning will do,” I said and watched him give me the once over.

“I'll let the girls at the office know, ma'am,” he said and trundled away. He hitched back into the front seat of the truck and with a smirk and a wave, he left.

At times I wonder how I manage to draw these people to me. It always amazes me. Bankers and CEOs ignore me, but slimeballs and scumbags rank me right up there for some reason. I shook my head and climbed the stairs to the loft.

Within minutes, I emptied all the boxes and trash I'd put aside into the dumpster. I glanced out the window and realized it looked like a paltry amount of debris now that it sat inside the huge metal container. I smirked a bit and went back to work with a close eye on my watch so I wouldn't be late for class.

I dragged a few more cartons of junk to the window. As I sorted through them I wondered why on earth Livvy had saved it all. It had to have been an accumulation over years for it to become this bad, I thought. No wonder she didn't know about the stolen art. Though, maybe she did – and that was another question I'd never have answered.

I dusted off my jeans and tossed the work gloves on top of a box. As I started down the stairs to leave, I noticed a cufflink in the corner of the stair tread, midway down. It was gold and looked fairly new.

The design caught my eye as I held it in my hand, turning it over and over, looking for an imprint of who'd manufactured it. I couldn't see any indication so I tucked it into my jeans pocket and scurried into the house.

After a quick shower and a change into clean clothes, I drove to the campus to reach the classroom before the students arrived. How I managed that was a mystery. Maybe the fact that I never applied my brakes during the entire ride had something to do with it.

As I hustled across the parking lot, my cell phone rang. I searched my hobo handbag and found the phone in the bottom.

“Vinnie Esposito speaking,” I said.

“It's Lola. Are you still going to meet me this morning? I can bring Millie if you need another pair of hands.”

“Sure, why not? Besides, I got a good start this morning, but I found something on the stairs that you should see.” I told her about my find while I strode through the corridors to the classroom. I promised to meet her at the house, then disconnected the call as I entered the room.

The group was small this morning. Some of the students had left messages that they'd had to work a double shift or were investigating a homicide. This was the norm for classes such as mine. I respected the fact that the students managed to work their jobs and still pass my class.

Anderson sat at his desk, sipping coffee and staring around at everyone else. Ramirez was absent. I'd heard nothing from him. He was an undercover ‘narc' and perhaps that was an explanation in itself. There were times when nobody heard from him, depending on how deeply under cover he was. I thought it a shitty job, at best.

In light of the low attendance, I discussed the papers everyone had written. Discussion of the topic was covered, then an argument broke out between the security personnel and the street cops. It was always a territorial issue. The security officer wannabes are considered second rate by the real Five Os and neither sector had much respect for the other. This always made for a kindergarten-type atmosphere – the only difference being that these people were adults and carried firearms, mace, and batons.

Anderson smiled as I calmed the crowd with a few words on the subject of how people handle adversity. The group got the point and laughed off the remark. I ran a hand through my hair, tossing the mass of curls back away from my face. Anderson stared – his smile disappeared. I glanced at him for a moment, but then turned back to the class.

“The holiday is Thursday. I won't see you until next week. Have a good and safe Thanksgiving. As a bonus, there's no assignment until after the break. Class dismissed.” I smiled when the group cheered and watched as they hustled through the door. The only person who lagged behind was Anderson.

“Teach, something happen that you want to share?” he said in a soft voice as the last of the others left the room.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“When you do that hair thing, it's a dead giveaway that you're stressed about something.” Anderson leaned against the desk while he watched me pack the leather valise with papers.

“What hair thing?” I asked with an arched brow and a smile on my face.

“You run your hand through your hair and toss it back. Every time I've seen you do that, there's been some anxiety in your life.” He stared at me with grey eyes that seemed to see into my soul.

I sniffed a bit and sighed. Then I leaned against the desk next to him and rambled through the story of my night attacker.

“There isn't a dull moment around you. I have never seen anything like it in my life,” he said with a shake of his head.

“That's what I'm told, and to be frank, with the crazy lady out there somewhere, I could use something mundane right about now.” I snickered, but it didn't feel funny.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not at this point. I have to figure out where this woman is and why she's after me. I also want to know who's been calling me on the phone. Then there's always the why and wherefore of who killed those three people.” I sighed and glanced at Anderson from the corners of my eyes. “I guess you're right. There are no dull moments, huh?”

As I slid off the desk, I checked my watch and realized Lola would be at the house waiting for me. Anderson strode through the door next to me and walked me to the car. I slid behind the wheel, waved, and drove away, leaving him watching me in the distance as I moved off.

The drive home held no surprises, car crashes, or speed chases. For this I was profoundly relieved. The day had warmed as the sun shone high in the sky. It was a perfect day for the upcoming job of eliminating trash from the garage.

The car slid to the curb behind Lola's and I climbed out of the front seat to the sound of laughter. As I rounded the corner of the house, Lola and Gio stood outside the garage chuckling, with their heads together. My brows arched, but I smiled when they looked my way.

“What are you two up to?” I asked.

Grinning, the two of them started to laugh.

“We were swapping stories of your mishaps, that's all, Vin.” Giovanni shook his head. “Your life hasn't changed much since we were kids, you know?”

“Tell me about it.” I smirked. “Marcus says I'm a disaster magnet, and I tend to agree. It's not all bad, though. After all, what's life without a little excitement?” I chuckled, thinking of how I'd met Aaron and Marcus all in the same week and the fact that they'd become such integral parts of my life. No, life wasn't all that bad.

As we entered the garage, Lola mentioned how the paintings had disappeared from the loft. She whispered the words and I smiled, knowing that Aaron was far away from us and couldn't possibly hear what she said. Gio grinned when he caught my eye. I turned away to hide my amusement.

“Vin, have you looked for any other pieces?” he asked.

“I came up this morning and checked a few more boxes, but I didn't have much time to get into more than that.” I glanced around. Things looked the same as when I'd left earlier.

“What happened to Millie? Didn't she want to come and give us a hand?” I asked Lola.

“She went to the shelter that you mentioned to see if there was a bed available for her.” Lola stood with a container in her hands and then smiled the Julia smile. “I have a studio apartment in the deli building coming available next week. I wondered if she might be interested in renting it. The rent is cheap and the heat is included. What do you think?”

A few boxes flew out the window into the trash container as I considered the idea. I dusted off my gloved hands, turned to Lola, and caught Giovanni's glance. It occurred to me that we had the same thought, that Millie may not hang around long once she was on her feet again, but I smiled and said it was a nice idea if Lola thought it would work out.

“Millie may not stay at the Deli to work, you know. I just want you to think about that. It won't bother you if she goes on to another job that might pay more or offer more hours?”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Lola said as her brows knit together. “It wouldn't bother me, but it may cause her some anxiety. I'll have to think about it some more before I make an offer.” The Julia smile peaked out again. She turned toward Giovanni and pitched in to help him with some boxes.

It didn't take us long to scan box contents and throw the junk out the window. About two-dozen containers remained with keepsakes that I wouldn't part with. The three of us leaned against the handrail to rest.

It had taken four hours to clear the loft. There weren't any further discoveries of famous, ill-gotten paintings. I sighed in silent relief. My nerves couldn't possibly take another catastrophe at this juncture. That is what I considered another piece of famous, stolen artwork to be.

With a grin, I thanked my two cohorts and headed down the stairs. Giovanni closed and locked the loft window and door while Lola scooted to the Mini Cooper and retrieved a square canvas carryall. At the back door, I glanced at her trudging up the driveway laden with the bulky bag that was nearly the same size as Lola. Her grin meant there was something scrumptious inside for us to eat – I just knew it.

“I'll make coffee unless someone wants something stronger, like wine, beer, or whiskey,” I said and headed into the house as Giovanni's cell phone jingled.

The coffee perked while Lola unpacked her goody bag. Apple crepes, a container of whipped topping, and a cinnamon mixture in a glass shaker sat on the counter. The mouth-watering confection smelled apple-sweet and delightful. I passed Lola a couple of paper plates and some flatware.

Giovanni entered the house with a puzzled look on his face. Lola and I caught the look at the same time. My heart fluttered. Lola glanced at me with a questioning look. Gio sat on one of the tall stools next to Lola, and I leaned against the counter facing them.

“Giovanni, if this isn't good news I don't want to hear it. Please tell me its good news … please.” I whined. I knew I whined, but I couldn't help it.

When his demeanor didn't change, my neck muscles tighten. Lola's gaze bounced back and forth between us.

“What is it? I feel like you two are having a silent twin conversation that doesn't include me. Come on, guys,” she pleaded with a nervous expression.

Giovanni heaved a sigh and spread his hands on the counter.

“Jill called about the storage unit. It's gone – all of it. Not a piece of paper, a dust bunny, or anything else was left behind.” He snapped his fingers and shrugged. “Gone! Poof! Just like that.”

Like a fish out of water, my mouth opened and closed with no sound. Lola gasped, but started to smile.

“Look on the bright side of things. If the stuff was stolen, then your worries are over. Right? No FBI intervention, no thugs from your aunt, no fencing of the merchandise. Nada, right?”

She slid the plate toward her to load a confection onto her dish. Then she slipped off the stool and poured coffee for all of us. Busying herself with the milk and sugar, Lola remained silent and waited for a response.

Fingernails tapped against my teeth as I considered what she'd said and what the possibilities were. Could it have been Aunt Lena's thugs? How about a third unknown party who'd gotten wind of the artwork hiding in the unit? Maybe the FBI had confiscated everything. Nah, the FBI would have been all over Jill. I tossed that idea and reconsidered the other two possibilities. Meanwhile, my eyes never left Giovanni's. A gleam entered his dark eyes, and I smiled.

“There's only one way to find out who helped themselves to the contents of the garage and the unit in Nebraska. We need to visit Aunt Lena. What do you say? Are you game?” As I spoke, I could see the anxiety in his face, but Gio smiled in agreement.

“You got it. We'll go visit after we have our snack.”

I turned to our petite friend and smiled. “Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. Now eat this and tell me what you think.” The Lola creation was set before each of us.

Considering Lola was a cook extraordinaire, it came as no surprise that the confection melted in our mouths as we sucked it down. I sighed with pleasure after it was gone.

“That was wonderful. You have to put the recipe into the cookbook, Lola. Mmm.” I licked my lips and sucked the sugar off my fingertips.

Laughter and a nod met my actions before Lola slipped off her seat again, this time to pack up.

“I won't keep you from your errand. Good luck finding the answers to your questions.” She turned to Gio and said, “I'll see you on Thanksgiving Day.”