Authors: Anthony Izzo

Evil Harvest (14 page)

BOOK: Evil Harvest

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Straightening the strap on her dress, she had to admit she
did
look pretty good. The sundress was flowered and hugged her hips, but not too tight. The hem stopped two inches above her knees, enough to show a little leg, but not enough to make her look cheap. She had caught Matt sneaking a few peeks at her tanned legs, but that was okay; she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t looked.

When she came back into the living room, the ice pack was gone; Matt had set it in the sink. They went downstairs into the driveway and Matt sprang ahead of her.

“What’re you doing?” she said.

“I forgot to bring these up. I was so mad when I got here, I forgot them.”

He reached into the open window of the truck and wrestled out a dozen of the most gorgeous roses she had ever seen. They were wine red and she could smell them from five feet away.

He walked over to her, gave a little bow and handed her the flowers. “Flowers for the lady,” he said, in a bad Cockney accent.

“Why, thank you, sir.”

She kissed him on the cheek, careful not to bump the shiner that was rising below his eye.

“Your chariot, m’lady.” He opened the passenger side door for her and she set the roses on the seat and climbed in.

He backed the truck up, looked both ways down the street, and pulled out.

C
HAPTER
12

The sun set, streaking the sky with pinks and vermilions.

Donna Ricci knew it was time to get to her destination.

Her brother’s address was 317 Dorchester. The houses were mostly big old Victorians, some with black shutters, some with pink trim, and a few with widow’s walks at their peaks.

Most of the yards had towering maples that gave a ton of shade, and there was one big old oak tree that had a rope and tire tied to the branch. Maybe one of the fat cats who lived up here had it planted special.

Her brother had a room at the Radisson in downtown Buffalo so the house was still empty.

As she passed the house, she scanned the yard. The windows were dark, giving the house an odd, lonely look. It somehow reminded her of a dog waiting by the front door for a master that would never return.

She noticed an old man watering his lawn at the house next door. He was stoop-shouldered, scrawny and wore a yellowed tank top and plaid Bermuda shorts. His old-man breasts hung saggily, clinging to the fabric of his tank top. As she passed him, he followed her with his gaze, scowling and suspicious.

She didn’t need the locals harassing her, or maybe getting on the phone and bringing Rafferty onto the scene. Originally, she had intended to pick the lock at the side door and slip into the house. If any of the neighbors got nosy, she would flash her tin and count on the badge intimidating them enough for them to butt out.

She had found over the years that most civilians were afraid of a badge, like a vampire backing away from a cross; it had a certain talismanic power.

After she thought about it for a moment, and especially after recalling her conversation with Rafferty, she decided to go under the cover of darkness to lessen her chances of being spotted. She would maybe slip into a basement window. Getting caught breaking and entering would serve as the death knell for her career. But she figured getting a firsthand look at the scene was the only way to find out what really happened to Rhonda. She drove to Delevan, hoping to find a restaurant.

There were a lot of shops on Delevan, and she supposed this was as close to downtown as a small town got.

There was a Rite-Aid pharmacy, a Hollywood video store, a florist and then finally Niko’s Restaurant. Up ahead, more stores and shops, but Niko’s was what she wanted.

She pulled the Ford over in front of the restaurant and got out.

There was an orange, lighted sign that proclaimed:
NIKO’S—FINEST GREEK FOOD IN LINCOLN
. Donna imagined it was also the only Greek food in Lincoln.

She entered the restaurant; inside the door was a glass counter filled with chocolates: pecan turtles, chocolate-covered pretzels, peanut clusters and goobers. There were chocolate suckers, squares of dark and white chocolates and chunks of fudge. A teenage girl with a bouncy ponytail scooped out sponge candy, placed it in a wax paper bag and handed it to a woman in a fur wrap. The sweet smell of candy filled the air.

After Donna had waited a moment, a heavyset waitress with a sunflower-colored perm materialized beside the counter.

The waitress led Donna to a table, her heavy rear end swaying as she walked. She pulled a greasy looking rag out of her back pocket and wiped the table down. Donna sat down, ordered a Pepsi, and waited for darkness.

“So how bad does it look?” Matt asked, touching the swollen area under his eye.

“Like you caught Evander Holyfield on a bad day,” Jill replied, twirling her linguine.

They sat in front of the big picture window that overlooked Delevan Avenue, eating and casually watching the passersby. Presently a trio of gum-chewing teenage girls bopped past, giggling and wearing shorts that nearly exposed the bottoms of their asses.

Jill relished the food and the overall ambiance of the restaurant. Unlike most Italian restaurants, Morotto’s was brightly lit and had a vase of fresh-cut flowers on each table. Watercolor paintings of the Roman Coliseum and the Leaning Tower of Pisa adorned the walls. It was a welcome change to the thick shadows and checkered tablecloths that characterized most Italian eateries.

Now on her second glass of wine, she enjoyed the pleasant rush of heat that it provided. The company wasn’t bad either.

They had been discussing Matt’s Aunt Bernie.

“Did you keep in touch with her at all over the years?”

“No. And I feel rotten about it. I basically withdrew from the world and focused all my energy on the Rangers. And thought a lot about my family. Still do.”

“What’s it like jumping out of planes?” she asked.

“Scary. Exhilarating,” he said. “I’d do it again.” He took a bite of veal Picatta.

“You’re nuts. First jumping out of planes and then single-handedly taking on the law,” she said.

“Yeah. I fought the law ...”

“And the law won. Big-time in this case.”

“He’s going to kill again if someone doesn’t stop him. And what about him harassing you?”

Jill looked over her shoulder and then back at Matt. “You’d better lower your voice. Remember what you said to me about people listening in?”

“Right. That was stupid of me.” Matt said in a hushed tone. “Anyone could be listening. Anyone with ties to Rafferty.”

Jill finished off the last of her pasta and pushed her plate aside. It had gotten dark and a swarm of sand flies buzzed around the globe lamp out front.

“So do you still believe my story?” he asked.

“I believe something traumatic happened to you. And that your family was murdered.”

“But what about the part about the creatures?”

“I’m getting there. Let me tell you about something that happened to me at work.”

She leaned forward and he did the same. She told him about her supervisor, Dorothy Gaines, and about the awful smell coming off her.

“That’s why I don’t want to go to that hospital. There’s been disappearances there, Jill. And patients mysteriously dying. I’m sure they didn’t tell you that when they hired you.”

“It’s not exactly good PR material,” she allowed.

“Let me know if you run across anyone else like that. And if you do, stay away from them.”

“I’ll try. But one of them’s my boss so it’s kind of hard.”

It was getting easier to believe there were strange creatures living underneath human skin running around Lincoln.

But you already knew that, right? What chased you in that warehouse?

“You’re not still planning to go after Rafferty, are you?”

“I wish I could tell you I wasn’t. Jill, I joined the Rangers for more than one reason. One of the main ones was so I could learn combat techniques.”

“Well, I’m going to do my best to talk you out of it.”

“Save your breath.”

Again, a hard look of determination appeared in his eyes. It had to be awful for him, losing his whole family. When she thought about it, his desire for revenge became more understandable; the loss of her own father was incredibly painful.

“We shouldn’t say any more in here.”

“Matt, the only other people in here is that couple over there.” Jill nodded in the direction of an elderly couple, who were hunched over plates of baked ziti.

“You let me know if he bothers you,” Matt said.

“Why, so you can bash his nightstick with your face again?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m sorry, that was mean. I just hate to see you get hurt again.”

“Maybe I’ll do a Dirty Harry on him, ask him if he feels lucky. That punk.”

“I don’t see you as the Clint Eastwood type.”

“What type do you see me as?”

“The type I’d like to get to know a lot better.”

“Why don’t we take a walk when we’re done?” Matt asked.

That sounded good to her.

Donna sucked down the last of her Pepsi and the waitress arrived with the check. The bill came to four-fifty. She had initially wanted only a drink, but after seeing another customer order a slice of peanut butter pie, she had to have one. She left five-fifty on the table and walked back to the truck.

She drove back to Rhonda’s street and cruised by the house, scanning the street. Every third house had a streetlight with a broad rim over the lamp. The front windows were dark in the Victorian next to Rhonda’s, and a look down the street showed only empty lawns and porches.

She found it strange that there was nobody sitting on any of the porches or strolling down the street. It was a nice evening, despite the temperature still reading eighty degrees at eight o’clock. She expected to see people out walking or kids on bikes, but normal summer activity seemed to have ceased.

Parking the car down at the end of the street, she checked her holster, secured the Beretta in place. She straightened the blazer to conceal the weapon, though she planned on taking the garment off as soon as she was inside. Grabbing the flashlight off the seat, she got out of the car.

She strolled down the gentle curve of the street, noticing the houses were nice, but plain. No hanging baskets dangled from porches, the gardens held only dirt and weeds, and she didn’t hear so much as a radio or television from any of the homes. As she reached the house next to Rhonda’s she noted its crisp white paint job and black shutters. The wraparound porch showed only white boards and railings—no furniture.

Rhonda’s house, by contrast, was a pale pink with lavender shutters. As Donna turned up the driveway, she admired the arbor that marked the entrance to the front walk and the vines cascading over top of it. She walked up the asphalt drive until she reached the side door. Two strands of yellow police tape made an “X” across it. The front door would be the same.

She walked toward the backyard, flipped on the flashlight and shone it at the rear corner of the house, where a garden hose lay curled in a heap. She worked the light in an arc across the yard, which went back sixty or so feet and had a sturdy red maple at its center. Rhonda had loved that tree, had planted it herself. Nothing.

She turned back to face the rear of the house and saw the busted basement window. Shards of glass still rested in the dirt.
A way in,
she thought.

She told herself it was madness even considering entering a crime scene—and in someone else’s jurisdiction, to boot! But a member of her family was dead, and who the hell was Rafferty to keep information from her? And that shit about keeping the body so his own doctor could examine it? They’d probably erect a statue to her for uncovering Rafferty’s schemes.

She made her decision: a quick look around and then get out.

She killed the light and hunkered low against the back of the house, peered into the yard next door. Nobody over there. A blue SUV was parked outside a three-car garage. In the distance, a car with a rude muffler chugged down the street.

She flattened herself against the ground and slid her legs through the window. Inching backward, her legs now dangled and bumped the basement walls. The frame dug into her belly and she winced. When she was back as far as she could go, she dropped to the ground. Her shirt rose up and she scraped her belly against the concrete blocks.

“Dammit,” she said.

She brushed off her shirt and popped the light back on. Let the investigation begin.