One Foot in the Grove (20 page)

Buck waited for me to say more.

I gulped more whiskey. “She was kind of weird. Like, when we heard she'd run off to get married, it seemed almost impossible. You'd have to have seen Loretta to understand.”

“Meaning?”

“Let's just say, she doesn't strike me as the romantic type. She's kind of a brute, actually. And it isn't so much her physical looks . . . there's something else about her. Scares me to think of her with someone. Anyone.”

“Why?”

“Loretta's a big girl. Thick neck. Fat hands. Dour expression. Dark eyes. She has the kind of black eyes that tell you to run. Daphne even said once that Loretta loved to chop meat. Who likes to chop meat? Still, Loretta's a hard worker. And Daphne said she's one of the best employees she'd ever had . . . and my sister's gone through quite a few, let me tell you.”

“I'll bet.”

“Do you think she's dead?”

“I don't know. But if she's not, she's a force to be reckoned with. They call her ‘the Cleaver.'”

“You mean . . .”

“Don't ask. Let's just say she was well-known in the meatpacking business.”

I swallowed hard, remembering how I'd stood side by side with Loretta in the kitchen.

“Do you think she killed the pastry guy? But if he's her brother, why would she kill him?”

Buck didn't answer.

“She wouldn't, would she?”

Buck shrugged. “I'll make sure someone talks to Daphne again about Loretta in the morning.” “What? No personal nighttime visit for my dear sister Daphne? Aren't you going to intimidate anyone else tonight?” I stifled a yawn. It was well after midnight, the booze had kicked in, and I was getting punchy.

“Am I intimidating you, Eva? You've never been afraid to speak up for yourself.”

“Speaking of which, it's late and I'm tired. I can't think anymore. Is there any more to drink?”

“All gone.”

“Then, I think you should go now. Or arrest me. Oh, wait!
You know, there is another thing that I forgot to tell you.” I heard my words getting fuzzy.

“What's that?”

“I heard gunshots last night.”

“What kind of gunshots?”

“I don't know. Just gunshots.” I started twirling my hair between my fingers.

“Like a handgun or pistol? Or more of a crack or boom sound from a rifle or shotgun? I know that you know what a shotgun sounds like, Eva.”

“Shotgun, I guess. No. Maybe handgun. Oh, I don't know! I thought I heard shots a few times before I left the cottage, but it was so stormy outside that I'd decided some of it was thunder.”

Buck looked at me, then closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Anything else?”

“Yes. How come everyone is so fixated on me having something to do with all this? It's not like I was the only one in the woods last night.”

“I never said you were the only one out there, did I?'

“Not exactly. But Detective Gibbit certainly thinks I was the only one. Except for Loretta.”

“Do you think someone else was in the woods?”

“Well, obviously, Ian Collier, from next door. How come no one is asking about him? Or that creepy Lurch guy that works for him. He carries a gun, you know. I saw it.”

“Who carries a gun?”

“Lurch. So, why aren't you visiting Ian Collier and his pet, Lurch, tonight? Why me?”

“Ian Collier wasn't involved.”

“What do you mean he wasn't involved?” I'd raised my voice. “He found me, didn't he? How could he have found me if he wasn't already out that night? And what was he doing on
our
property, anyway? He's the one I'd be looking at.”

“Anyone else?”

“What do you mean, ‘Anyone else?' Are you dismissing me? Am I saying something you don't want to hear?
Why
isn't Ian Collier a suspect?
” I heard the pitch of my voice getting higher.

“Because, Babydoll, I know Ian Collier. He's not a suspect.” Buck never changed his expression.

“You know
me
! And I'm a suspect! Why is that? What makes
me
more suspicious than some gaga mystery gazillionaire from next door? No one in this town knows a thing about him. Where'd he come from? Where'd he get all his money from? Who does he know? What does he
do
over there behind all that barbed wire?” I was throwing my arms around.

“You're yelling, Eva.”

“Or is it precisely that he's got money? Money and power. So, no one in this backwater town wants to cross him. That's it, isn't it! He's got everyone eating out of his hand. Including you. Hey, maybe he's the one who got you your job as sheriff! I hear Eli Gibbit was supposed to be sheriff and you stole the job from him. Did Ian Collier pay for your new position? I'll find out what he was doing for myself!” The liquor, combined with my overall exhaustion, was getting the better of me. I knew I was out of control, but I was powerless to stop myself.

“Eva, you'll stay the hell away from Ian Collier. And Greatwoods. Stay outta there, you hear me?” Buck's eyes were flashing.

“Loud and clear. But hearing you doesn't mean I'm listening.” I sat back and crossed my arms. Sensing this was territory that I wasn't supposed to venture into, I felt quite sure that I'd uncovered something important. The very fact that Buck was warning me off made me think there was even more reason to investigate.

“I'm warning you, Eva. Stay away from there.”

“You're
warning
me? Like, who do you think you are? ‘Warning' me? My father? I'm not a child, you know.”

“You're beginning to act like one. However, I'm chalking it up to the alcohol.”

“How dare you! How dare you spend the evening with your precious girlfriend, come over here, ply me with
alcohol, scare me about getting arrested, seduce me for your sloppy seconds, and then—of all things—patronize me! You're way worse than Daphne said you are.”

“Daphne? I wouldn't put too much stock in what Daphne has to say about me. I'd expect nothing more than a scathing review. And sloppy seconds? Eva, what the hell are you talking about? You've had too much to drink.”

“And you haven't? You're calling me a drunk? You've got nerve. Considering you're the one who poured me the liquor in the first place! Here I am, thinking I'm about to be arrested. Trying to cooperate, even though it's after midnight, and I'm very,
very
tired. And, I don't feel at all well. The booze, if you remember, was all your idea.”

“Yes, it was. You looked bad, Eva. I thought a little nip would help you relax. Feel better.”

“Relax? I
bet
you wanted me to relax! Relax right into bed with you. I mean, there it is!” I waved toward Grandma's big four-poster bed, taking up a conspicuous chunk of the one-room space. “All of four feet from where we're sitting. Are you trying to get back at me? Humiliate me? It was eighteen years ago!”

“Eva . . .”

“No! Don't look at me like that. Especially when I look ‘bad.'”

“Eva, this isn't about that. Believe me.”

“Oh really? Come on. I didn't just fall off the . . . what's it called? Oh crappy. Whatever it is . . . the potato truck!”

“Turnip. The expression is ‘turnip truck.'”

“Who cares. I mean, really, what kind of sheriff comes into a woman's home late at night, says he's ‘a little' on duty, then plies her with drinks? A sneaky womanizer, that's who! You never could play by the rules. People are right. Abundance would be better off with Eli Gibbit as sheriff.”

“You're entitled to your opinion. I see there's no arguing with you now.”

“Or ever! How dare you. Go on! Go back to Debi.”

“Debi? You mean Debi Dicer? What does she have to do with this? Eva, what the hell are you talkin' about?”

Suddenly, my chest heaved. A torrent of tears welled up inside me. What
was
I talking about? I stood up, and the chair fell over behind me. I flailed and turned away from Buck, still seated at the table.

“Go on. Get out,” I cried. I put my hands to my face and took a slow breath. “Now. Please. I want you to go,” I said quietly. The floodgates were letting loose. Damned if I'd let him see me cry.

“Eva . . .” I heard Buck scoot back his chair and get up. From the corner of my eye, I saw him start toward me. Then he stopped and started to pick up the dishes from the table.

“Leave it! All of it. Just go.” I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand.

Without a word, Buck crossed the room, walked right past me, and grabbed Loretta's photo before pulling open the creaky screen door and stepping outside. The door slapped shut behind him.

Dolly looked at me sheepishly as I went to draw my bath, sobbing every step of the way.

I spent an inordinate amount of time Wednesday morning in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to fix my face. I looked positively ghastly. Although a long bath, a couple hours of sleep, and a good dose of ibuprofen had finally quelled most of the aches and pains from my injuries, I had to deal with a killer headache and a face swollen from crying.

Blubbering for hours after Buck left had uglified me to the point that I was afraid to step out of my cottage without some sort of intervention. I understood how Daphne had felt when her face blew up from the lye. Still, I wasn't going to tie a scarf around my head. Besides, my public portrayal couldn't get much worse than it already was.

Sigh
.

Standing at the sink, I pressed the washcloth soaked in cold water and witch hazel to my face. I willed the cold compress to relieve the swelling around my eyes. My hair was still damp from my late-night bath a few hours earlier. I'd coiled and piled it on top of my head and secured it with
a single bobby pin. Hoping to divert attention away from my cried-out face, I'd put on a big, dangly pair of Native American silver and turquoise earrings. The rest was simple: a fitted black V-neck tee shirt, a pair of white ankle-length jeans, and thong sandals. I'd replaced the soiled bandage around my left ankle with a black neoprene pull-on ankle wrap that I'd used after twisting my ankle on a Boston sidewalk once. Although my twisted ankle was better, I knew that it would be another couple of weeks before I would walk without pain. My cracked rib was another story. That'd be a long time healing.

“It's all over now,” I whispered to myself. “Time to start fresh. Forget the past.” I took a breath and looked in the mirror.
Ugh
. I felt tears start to well up in my chest again. I pressed the cold compress to my face with more force.
Stop!

Lazing in the morning sunshine, Dolly snored peacefully on the fluffy bathroom rug in front of the claw-foot tub. Already, it was nine thirty. I'd been up until early morning, bawling and cleaning—oddly, the cleaning had relaxed me more than the bath, or perhaps it had finally worn me out—and I'd slept late and missed breakfast. Thankfully, no one had bothered me. But now, ready or not, I needed to help Daphne prepare for the midday Chamber of Commerce meeting. However scandalous my appearance, it was going to have to do. Besides, getting out and keeping busy would help me stop fretting. And knowing that facing the folks of Abundance was inevitable, I figured I might as well bite the bullet, get it over with, and see as many people as I could at once. It couldn't be any worse than facing Buck after all these years. Hopefully, eating a little crow on my home turf would make it go down easier.

I turned the sink faucet off and patted my face dry in a pale pink towel. I grabbed my sunglasses and slid them on.

“Alright, Dolly, it's time to face the music,” I said.

Dolly jumped up from the rug and barked. As she scampered out of the bathroom into my “living room” she barked
again. And barked. And barked. Shrill and nonstop, she kept barking.

“Dolly! Hush!”

Stepping out of the bathroom, I nearly bumped into the man standing in my cottage.

“Do ya mind shutting up the mutt?” said Sal Malagutti.

Dressed in brand-new camo pants, with tall, lace-up, military-style boots, gray tee shirts, and piles of gold chains across their hairy chests, Sal and Guido sucked up the space in my tiny cottage. Hulking next to my grandmother's four-poster bed with its ivory matelassé cover, Guido slid a big hunting knife out of a holder on his belt. He started picking at his fingernails with the knife, flicking nail debris on my bedcover.

“Dolly, it's alright. Come here,” I said quietly.

Dolly scampered around Guido by the bed and then Sal, who stood between me and Guido. When she got to my feet, Dolly jumped up on my leg. I reached down and picked her up—not easy since Sal remained just inches away from me. I was trapped between Sal and the door to the bathroom behind me. Dolly shook and growled quietly as I held her.

Looking up at Sal, I was grateful for the cover of my sunglasses.

“Mister Malagutti. Mister Gambini. Is everything alright?” I asked. Maybe it was all perfectly innocent. Maybe they just had no tact, I thought.

Not for long.

Sal leered at me. I noticed gold caps in his mouth, and his lip looked twisted, due to a scar that angled down from one of his greasy cheekbones. Still, I thought, with less bulk, a neck, and without the scar, he might have been almost good-looking as a young man.

Just inches from my face, Sal mocked, “Sure. Everything is just fine.” He turned to Guido, “Right, Guido?”

“Right, boss.” Guido didn't look up as he leaned against my bed. His dark, hairy forearms worked the knife fastidiously over his stubby fingers. Guido was a little shorter and younger than Sal. And instead of a scar, he had pockmarks
on his face. He was every bit as repellant as his boss. I got the impression that he'd always been that way.

The two of them, whom I'd jokingly thought of as giant, ugly toads in the big house, looked far more menacing up close and personal. In fact, these two toads were more like live gargoyles, with grotesquely cruel, harsh expressions.

Sal turned back to me and bent his head down, closer to mine. His black eyes were mean, and his breath was garlicky. With nowhere to go except back into the bathroom, I leaned away from Sal until my shoulder thudded into the doorframe.

“We just wanted to have a little chat with you, that's all. Didn't we, Guido?” said Sal with a lecherous smile.

“That's right, boss. A little chat.” Guido never looked up from his nails.

I slapped a smile on my face.

“Well, I'm happy to speak with you gentlemen. Only, this is my private home. Perhaps we'd all be more comfortable if we chat over in the big house? On the veranda?” I sounded like Daphne.

“This is just fine, right where we are. Don't you agree, Guido?”

“Yeah, boss. I like it here. Nice bed.” Guido patted the coverlet on the mattress.

I glanced past Sal and Guido, out the front window, and saw Daphne walking across the lawn. She'd given up the stupid head wrap and was smiling. Her curled, shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair bounced in the sunlight as the yellow chiffon skirt of her dress fluttered in the breeze. As she walked, she chatted with one of twins. They were carrying some floral arrangements, probably headed for the tent that was set up for the Chamber of Commerce meeting. I thought about calling to her. But then maybe I was overreacting.

It wouldn't be the first time.

“What is it you want, Mister Malagutti?” I was still trying to smile politely. As if it was perfectly normal to have two wise guys accosting me in my home.

“We just want to send your daddy a little message, that's all,” said Sal. “You see, we'd like to do some business together.”

“Then why aren't you speaking to him?”

“Well, he ain't here right now.”

“He'll be back in a day or two. You can speak with him then. Or give him a call. I'm sure he'd be happy to discuss a business proposal with you.”

“Business ‘proposal.' I like that,” said Sal sarcastically. “Sounds so . . . polite. Don't you like that, Guido?”

“Yeah, boss. That's cute.”

“So, lemme make this quick,” Sal said to me. His tone was sharp. “I don't usually discuss business with women. In fact, I never discuss business with women. It's not a woman's place.”

“Then why are you?” I interrupted.

“If ya shut up for a minute, sista, I'll tell you. Like I was saying, I don't do business with women. But this here, see, this is a unique situation.”

“How's that?”

“Well, on account of you being with Lenny the Doughboy, that's how.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, Cupcake, don't play coy with me. I knows you're that runaway bride chick from up in Boston. And I knows you and Lenny were up to something, and that means you were up to something with Tony the Baker.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah. Right. Look, I don't know whether you was doin' business with Lenny, shaggin' him, or whether you killed the guy, or what. Maybe it was all of it. Maybe you're Tony's moll. I know he's got a few babes stashed here and there. But it don't matter. Here's the deal. I like it here. Don't we like it here, Guido?”

“Yeah, boss. We like it here.”

“Originally, I came down here to check out the olive oil business. You know? Thought maybe your old man and I might be able to come to some sorta mutually beneficial
agreement. However, now that I'm here, I've decided that I want to stay.”

“Lots of people like it here.”

“Yeah, well, ‘lots of people' ain't me. So, here's the deal: I want this place. All of it. Not just the olive oil. Ya hear me?”

“My father is not selling.
We're
not selling. This is our home. We've been here for six generations. In fact, the state of Georgia has recognized ours as a centennial farm—meaning my family has owned and operated this farm for more than one hundred years. I'm sure there's lots of farms and plantations for sale around here. You need a Realtor to find you another place. Try Debi Dicer in town. She's perfect for you.”

“I don't want another place. I want this place.”

“Yeah, this place,” echoed Guido. He snapped his knife in its leather holder and crossed his arms, glaring at me.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I ain't sure what you got goin' on with Tony the Baker,” said Sal. “I knows it must be something, 'cause I read in the paper today that you been seen talking with Tony a bunch of times at his pastry shop up in Boston.”

“That was about my wedding cake!”

“I don't give a hoot what you say it was about, Cupcake. And I thinks you're smart enough to say it was about a cake. Maybe you was the middleman between Tony and your father. Maybe your poor farmer daddy needed some money to pay for your fancy wedding up in Boston. I don't know. I don't care. The point is, you're the only connection I see here to Tony Lemoni. That means you're the one who brought Tony's man, Lenny, here. And now that Tony the Baker is involved, I got competition from the New England family, and that translates into a big pain in my ass that I don't need. It don't matter that Lenny's dead. Tony'll just send someone else. Someone else I have to whack. So, you're costing me money, see?”

“Boss don't like it when folks cost him money,” said Guido.

“So, the way I sees it, now
you
gotta get rid of Tony. Capisci?” said Sal to me.

“Get rid of Tony?”

“Like you got rid of Lenny.”

“I didn't kill Lenny! I didn't even know Lenny. And I'm sure as hell not going to ‘whack' somebody.”

“Bella donna, I don't care how you do it. You can ‘off' Tony just like you did Lenny. I actually respect you for that. Or your daddy can take care of it. It ain't my problem. It's yours. And I don't take ‘no' for an answer. You go tell your daddy that. I want this place. I'm gonna have it.”

“When the boss wants something, the boss gets it.” Guido chuckled with a menacing look.

“Now, Cupcake, you go tell your daddy that I think you're real cute,” Sal said with a leer. “And tell him that I might like to have me a piece of that cupcake cuteness. Also, I might want to share my piece of cupcake with Guido when I'm done. Or not. Ya know, sometimes people have accidents. People fall down stairs. People drown in their ponds. Their car brakes fail. Or sometimes, people and their little black dogs just plain disappear. Even pretty little cupcakes like you. Capisci?”

Dolly growled in my arms as the goon put his fat finger up against my temple and slowly drew it down the side of my face, down my neck, to my chest, and right to the vee in my shirt. Then he pressed his finger into me, leaned in to my ear, and whispered, “Bella . . . Bella. You smell
so
good.” Still with his finger in the vee of my shirt, Sal drew back and smiled a wicked smile as he looked me up and down. “Yeah, Guido, I think I might like me a
big
piece of this.”

“I'll give my father your message,” I said dryly. “Now get out.”