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Authors: Hope Tarr

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BOOK: It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life
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“Telecommunications? So they would sell stuff like WiFi networks?”

The agents nodded. Walker explained, “Life was smooth sailing for Mr. Thornton here until he stumbled across evidence that his new brother-in-law was cooking the books. It turns out the brother-in-law was a Mafia plant. Marrying the sister was just a means to infiltrate the firm. He’d been selling the company’s WiFi network products to corporate consumers at triple the cost, and then funneling the illegal profits back to La Costa Nostra as well as using the firm as a vehicle for laundering mob money from other…
ventures
.”

Mandy wouldn’t have thought of high-speed Internet access as a commodity organized crime would set out to steal—or kill for—but when she imagined the millions of dollars that must be involved, it made a crazy sort of sense.

Pulling her scattered thoughts back to the present, she asked, “If you had evidence of the embezzlement, why didn’t you pull him then?”

“Because there still wasn’t enough hard evidence to link the brother-in-law back to the Mafia, in this case, the Romero family. They’ve been running their operation from Boston’s North End since the fifties and aside from a few petty drug busts, no prosecutor has ever been able to make a conviction stick. Thornton agreed to stay on and work for us undercover, even wear a wire, until we had enough evidence for a search warrant. When his coworker turned up as a floater in the Charles River, we knew we had to get him the hell out of Boston to some place big enough that he could get lost but close enough so we could get him back to testify without any major hassles. Baltimore seemed to fill the bill on both counts, or so we thought.”

Poor Josh, no wonder he’d worn that hunted look when she’d asked even the most basic questions about his background. At the time she’d wondered if there might be something shady in his past he was trying to hide. The truth was, he’d been a hero.

Voice quivering, she asked, “Where…where did the hit go down?”

Dr. Matthews answered, “A homeless man came across the body behind a Dumpster inside the Recreation Pier Building in Fells Point and used a pay phone to call 911. We found his car parked a block off Thames. Given the splatter on the side of the Dumpster, it’s safe to say the hit went down there.”

Recreation Pier was in the seventeen hundred block of Thames Street, the same block as The Daily Grind. Poor Josh, he apparently hadn’t lived to see much of Christmas Day.

McKinney spoke up. “Do we have an estimated time of death?”

Midnight!
Mandy’s mind screamed.
Just after midnight
.

The M.E. rocked back on his heels, expression thoughtful. “That’s difficult to pin down. Postmortem changes are strongly affected by environmental factors. With the extreme cold last night, and the snowfall, decomposition would be notably slowed.”

McKinney knocked together the heels of his polished wing tips. “Listen, Doc, we don’t need a forensics lesson, just give us a time frame for the murder, and we’ll take it from there.”

Frowning, the M.E. said, “My best estimate is that Joshua Thornton has been dead between twelve and eighteen hours.”

Agent Walker glanced down at his Timex. “It’s almost six o’clock now. That would put the hit on Thornton at sometime between…midnight and one o’clock this morning?”

Matthews nodded. “Correct.”

Mandy’s heart leaped into her throat. Even though she’d surmised as much, the M.E.’s confirmation that Josh had died within minutes to an hour of her turning down his invitation for red-hot sex and cinnamon rolls hit her like a sucker punch.

“We know Thornton showed up for work at the museum at 4:30 p.m. and clocked out just after 8:00 p.m., but we can’t account for the time between eight and midnight. Maybe he grabbed a bite to eat somewhere?”

Matthews answered, “His stomach contents yielded the remains of coffee and liquid chocolate, probably cocoa. I’m having one of my CSIs pull a data run on all coffee spots within a ten-mile radius of the museum that stayed open after 8:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve.”

Heart drumming, Mandy spoke up, “That won’t be necessary.”

McKinney stared at her, his thin ribbon of upper lip curling with what could only be contempt. “Do you mean to say you don’t think reconstructing Thornton’s last few hours alive are germane to the case? Really, officer, for all we know, that cup of cocoa could be the key piece of evidence that leads us to the killer.”

Feeling as though she were standing within the chamber of a beating heart, Mandy shook her head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She divided her gaze between the three men staring her down and admitted, “From the time he left the museum at around eight o’clock until midnight, Josh Thornton was with me.”

S
EATED ON THE STAINED SOFA
in the M.E.’ s private office, Mandy reached for the paper cup of water Special Agent Walker held out. “Thank you.”
She’d barely gotten the first sip down when McKinney jumped on her. “Just what the hell were you doing hooking up with a federally protected witness,
my
witness, while you were on duty?”

Great going, Delinski. So much for making detective—ever
. “I wasn’t on duty. I was signed out for the night. If you don’t believe me, then check my overtime slip.”

“We will, make no mistake, but for now go on. Where did you go after leaving the museum?”

“The Daily Grind on Thames Street—that’s on the Fells Point waterfront in the same block as the Recreation Pier. Right across the street, in fact,” she added, reminded they might not know the city well or even at all. “We drove in separate cars. Department policy prohibits our taking on any unauthorized passengers in the squad car without written permission.”

“And then?” McKinney pulled a pen and notepad out of his inside coat pocket and started scribbling notes.

“We ordered, got a table, and sat talking.”

The pen stilled. McKinney looked up. “Are you telling me you spent nearly four hours talking…over coffee?”

“Mochas, actually, but yes, that’s correct. It turned out we have—had—a lot in common.”

“Okay, so after this four-hour chatfest, what happened?”

“He walked me to my car, and I left to drive home.” No point in going into the details of that steamy good-night kiss or to how close she’d come to letting good-night turn into good morning.

Screw the promotion. I’ll be lucky to keep my current job.

Tone gentle, Special Agent Walker intervened. “We’ll have to include this in our report to police Internal Affairs.”

McKinney piped up, “Damn straight we will.”

Shooting a glare in the younger agent’s direction, Walker added, “Is there anything you’d like to add, Officer Delinski? Anything at all?”

Ah, so they were playing her or at least trying to. Good cop, bad cop, Mandy knew the shtick
. “Nothing I can think of at this time.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two agents exchanging glances. “I assume I’m free to go?”

Tucking his notes inside his coat pocket, McKinney answered with a grudging nod. “Just don’t plan on taking any extended vacations or sudden trips out of town.”

She set her water down on the coffee table and got up on shaky knees. “Relax, gentlemen, I’m no flight risk. These days I can barely afford dinner and a movie.”

And given the way things were turning out, it would be a while—a long while—before she went out on any more “coffee dates,” either.

5
Sunday, December 31, New Year’s Eve
New Year’s Eve, oh joy! Number of hunky potential boyfriends lost to violent homicide over the past week: one. Calories consumed: don’t know but as am swearing off men for remainder of life, who cares. Glasses of champagne downed to dull grief at grizzly death of sex god and potential soul mate: lost count after first bottle.
M
ANDY FILED HER REPORT
with the department and then went about the rest of the week in a sort of functional daze. Until she could sort things out, including her feelings, keeping herself busy—and numb—seemed like the best solution. For the most part it worked. Well, sort of. In a feeble attempt to feel better, she reminded herself she hadn’t really known Josh, not really. Beyond a shared a love for old movies, Art Deco antiques and anything chocolate, he’d been a stranger to her. Until the episode at the M.E.’s, she hadn’t even known his real name, let alone who and what he was. Sure, they’d only spent a handful of hours together, a blink of time, and yet there’d been this crazy chemistry, a connection—invisible, indefinable, and yet real nonetheless.
Taking a step back to assess the situation objectively, she could see that things never would have worked out between them. Cinderella fantasies aside, in the real world New England blue-bloods didn’t find their girlfriends from among blue-collar immigrants one generation removed. In all likelihood, he’d found himself alone on Christmas Eve and had been making time with her for lack of something better to do. All he’d wanted with her was a fling or less than that, a one-night stand. Whatever fleeting attraction he’d felt had been brought on by the holiday blues or, given his situation, just plain loneliness. If he’d lived, he would have joined the mounting list of men in her life who said they would call and then didn’t. The let-down would have been enormous but even getting used for sex and then dumped would have been preferable to the shock of finding your fantasy man stretched out on a morgue slab on Christmas night. She thought about the speed with which he’d asked her back to his apartment, how close she’d come to accepting, and couldn’t help wishing she’d gone with him—and not just to save him, either. She couldn’t forget the way he’d smiled at her, not just with his mouth but with his eyes, too; the sensual magic of his kisses; the easy way she’d fit in his arms as though she was meant, just
meant
to be there. No matter what she’d found out, she had to believe that part had been real at least. She just had to.

And now it was five o’clock on New Year’s Eve, and she was curled up on the plaid living room couch—encased in its clear vinyl cover—a bowl of microwave popcorn in her lap and jumbo bag of Reese’s Pieces on the coffee table in front of her. She leaned over to reach for the TV remote when the doorbell rang.

It was Suzie Plotnik, her best friend since they’d met as fifth-graders at St. Agnes School. Standing in the doorway, she gave Mandy the once-over, taking in the baggy sweatshirt and mismatched drawstring sweatpants, and shook her short cap of razor-cut blond hair. “I can see I got here just in time.”

Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped past Mandy and strolled into the living room, casually elegant in a cream-colored angora turtleneck sweater and slim-fitting jeans. Feeling like a blob—a blob with unwashed hair and no makeup—Mandy followed her over to the couch.

Plopping down on the cushion, she held out the popcorn bowl in offering. “Since you’re here, dig in.”

Kicking off her suede slip-ons, Suz shook her head. “No thanks.” She’d lost a boatload of weight on Jenny Craig the year before, and Mandy hadn’t seen her swallow much more than air since.

Shrugging, Mandy dug in a hand. “So are you checking up on me or what?”

“Actually, I came to invite you to the New Year’s Eve party I just decided this morning to have. I figured since I didn’t get invited to any cool, hip party, I’d throw one myself. Since it’s a last minute thing, I’m following the K.I.S.S. rule and keeping it simple—munchies and a couple of party platters from Giant Food, wine and beer, and of course, champagne. And the really great part is I’m just a few blocks away, so you won’t have to worry about driving. You can spend the night if you want or walk home afterward, your call.”

Licking butter from her thumb, Mandy shrugged. “It sounds great, really, but I’m not really in much of a party mood.”

Suz sent her a sympathetic look. “The dead hunk still got you down, huh?”

In the course of their twenty years as best friends, she and Suz had shared not only clothes and music CDs but also hopes, secrets and dreams. After Mandy had gotten home from the M.E.’s office on Christmas night, Suz had been the only person she’d even considered calling.

Voice hitching, she’d said, “I met this really great guy on Christmas Eve, at least he seemed really great and really into me,
me,
if you can believe that. Only guess what, I just ran into him again and the only thing he was wearing other than his birthday suit was a toe tag.”

Even on the brink of tears, she’d deliberately held back any mention of Josh being a federal witness. There were some things, classified case information especially, that a cop couldn’t share, not even with her best girlfriend.

A true blue buddy, all Suz had said was, “Hold tight, girlfriend, I’m on my way.” She’d shown up on the Delinskis’ doorstep fifteen minutes later with a bottle of Chianti and a jumbo box of Kleenex, neither of which had gone to waste.

With Suz’s clear green eyes looking straight through her, Mandy knew denial was pointless no matter how pathetic her situation might seem. “I know it sounds crazy, but I really thought I’d finally found him. You know,
the
guy, Mr. Right. We only spent a couple of hours together, but we had this chemistry thing going and well, as nuts as it sounds that a guy like that would be into me, he really seemed like he was.”

Crossing her long legs beneath her campfire style, Suz shook her head. “It doesn’t sound crazy and stop putting yourself down. You know what you felt. Just because he’s, uh…passed on, doesn’t make what you experienced any less real.”

“I don’t know, Suz. It was Christmas, after all, and he was…new in town. Maybe he just couldn’t face the holiday alone. Maybe he just wanted another warm body to cling to. Make that a
big,
warm body to cling to.” She tried for a laugh but it fell flat. Like leftover New Year’s Eve champagne, there was no sparkle, no fizz.

Looking exasperated, Suz dragged a hand of hot pink nails through her hair. “Look, Mandy, you’re a great woman at any weight. You’re pretty, and funny, and smart—don’t roll your eyes at me like that, yes, you are. Some guy’s gonna come along and sweep you off your feet when you least expect it, you wait and see.”

A lump of sadness moved into her throat, and Mandy set the popcorn aside. “But I thought this was him, you know, The One.”

Suz reached across for Mandy’s hand. Giving it a squeeze, she said, “I know you did, sweetie, but there are other great guys out there just waiting to meet someone like you.” Letting go, she sat back and added, “But one thing’s for sure, you’re not going to meet anyone holed up here watching
Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rocking Eve
. Besides, I’ve invited actual living, breathing men tonight including some real hotties.”

Suz was back to doing a sales job on the party. Holding in a sigh, Mandy reached for the candy. “It sounds great, really, but I still think I’ll pass.”

Snatching the bag away, Suz said, “Come on, Mandy, it’ll be fun. It’ll do you good to get out. All your sitting here gorging on chocolate will accomplish is wrecking your skin and blowing your diet.”

“I’m not on a diet and even if I were, I don’t have anything to wear—anything that fits, that is—unless you count my current ensemble.” She pulled on the elastic waistband of her sweatpants and let go, snapping it back. Was it her imagination or did the fit feel tighter than it had that morning?

Looking like the cat eyeing the dish of cream only in Suz’s case, that would be the fat-free soy milk, Suz smiled. “Remember that black velvet cocktail dress of mine you always said made me look twenty pounds thinner and volumes hotter?”

“Uh, huh.” Mandy made a swipe for the candy bag, but Suz shoved it behind her back. “The one you’re too skinny to fit in now. Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, consider it yours. I have it out in my car hanging in the plastic dry cleaning bag. I’ll go out and get it, and you can try it on.” When Mandy stayed put, Suz tugged at her arm. “Come on, Mands, if you stay home you’ll just get even more depressed, eat every Reese’s Piece in that bag, and then start on the can of fudge frosting hidden in the back of the fridge.”

Damn, but Suz was the one who should be trying for detective. “How’d you know about the frosting?”

Grinning, Suz shrugged. “I’m your best friend, remember? I know you always hit the frosting when you’re really down.”

Mandy shook her head. “It doesn’t matter because from this moment on, I am permanently swearing off men. Consider it my New Year’s resolution.”

Suz untucked her legs and popped up. “I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions, I believe in goals. Come on, let’s go check out that dress.”

BOOK: It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life
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