Stuck on Murder (17 page)

A man wearing a navy blue suit, impeccably cut to fit his trim but muscled body, entered the inn with two gentlemen, also in dark suits, behind him.

“Good evening, Mr. Cappicola,” the night clerk greeted him. Brenna noticed that he swiftly hid the soda and the magazine under the counter. “How are you tonight?”

Brenna felt Tenley tremble beside her. Obviously, they had found Dom Cappicola, or rather he had found them.

“Fine, Jason, just fine,” the man said.

His gaze swept over Brenna and Tenley. His head tilted to the side as if they weren’t what he had been expecting. With his chiseled features complemented by dark eyes and hair, he was undeniably handsome. But Brenna had met a lot of handsome men in her life, and none of them had exuded raw power like Dom Cappicola.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, and she felt extremely self-conscious, overly aware of her unruly windblown hair, her lack of makeup, her grubby jeans, and navy blue hoodie. She would have felt so much better if she were wearing the female equivalent of his power suit. Say, her black rope dress from Tahari. Yes, that would have made her feel much less like a wayward adolescent under his scrutinizing glance.

Brenna looked from him to the portrait on the wall and then back at him. Meanwhile, Tenley was making small whimpering noises in her throat.

“You look younger than your portrait, Mr. Cappicola,” she said.

His mouth twitched as if he was amused. “I should hope so,” he said. “That’s my father.”

She could see it then, the family resemblance. He had the same schnozz as his father, but it didn’t overpower his face like it did his father’s. This younger Cappicola had a strong square jaw, which balanced his nose. And now that he was standing closer, she noticed his eyes were a warm shade of chocolate brown, not the coal black of the man in the portrait.

“My name is Dom,” he said. “Dominick Cappicola.”

He held out his hand and Brenna shook it. Her fingers were icy from the chilly evening air and from sheer terror, but if he noticed, he said nothing.

“Brenna Miller,” she said. “And this is my friend Tenley Morse.”

Generations of good breeding forced Tenley to unclamp herself from Brenna’s side and shake his hand.

“These are my associates Paulie and Sal,” Dom said. “Now that we’ve all met, I was wondering if you ladies would give me the pleasure of your company in the diner over there. I have some questions for you.”

“Oh, we’d love to, really,” Brenna said. “But . . .

“We’ve got a sick cat . . . er . . . aunt,” Tenley stammered.

“At home,” Brenna finished. “And we need to get back immediately.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your aunt . . . er . . . cat,” Dom said with a sympathetic nod and just a trace of mockery. “But this isn’t a request. Shall we?”

Paulie or Sal, Brenna was unclear as to which was who, opened the door for them and they filed back out into the brisk evening air.

The diner was across the parking lot from the inn. It was a stand-alone steel and glass building that had an oily aroma about it as if it existed in its own personal grease bubble. With every step closer, Brenna was sure they were inching nearer to their doom.

What if Dom had murdered Mayor Ripley? What if he thought they knew and had proof? Was he going to stuff them into trunks and float them, too? She wanted to grab Tenley’s hand, break into a run, and escape, but she doubted they’d make it to the edge of the parking lot.

One of his two goons opened the door, and Dom gestured to them to go first. Brenna walked in with Tenley behind her. She glanced around the tiny, red vinyl and chrome room and was disturbed to find that it was empty, save a waitress, who was sitting at the counter, chewing a wad of gum, and reading the latest issue of
US
magazine.

Brenna saw Dom turn to talk to Sal and Paulie. They nodded. She watched through the window as the taller of the two leaned against the side of the building and lit a cigarette. The other one disappeared around the back of the building, as if he had been sent to watch the rear door.

Tenley gave her an alarmed look, and Brenna knew that she had seen him, too.

“Have a seat,” Dom said. He looked at the waitress and barked, “Three coffees, Gina. Please.”

Brenna and Tenley squeezed into a booth in front of the window. Maybe if someone drove by and saw them, they’d be rescued. Brenna decided to cling to that life raft. The waitress slid off the stool, looking put out. Brenna thought that took some nerve, considering who her boss was.

“Now Brenna, Tenley, let’s get acquainted, shall we?” he asked.

Gina plunked three steaming cups of coffee and a bowl of creamers in front of them.

“Thank you,” Brenna said. She tried to make eye contact with the young woman to let her know they were in trouble, but Gina didn’t even glance at her.

She stirred in two sugars and two creamers, but the black sludge was as thick as melted tire rubber and seemed to absorb the creamers, remaining the same black shade as before.

Dom looked at his with equal disgust. “Sorry, I bet this is left over from this morning.” He pushed his cup away with a sigh.

“Is there something we can help you with?” Brenna asked. Her nerves were close to the breaking point. If Dom had an issue with them, she wanted to know about it.

“You came to Vincent’s,” he said. His gaze moved from her to Tenley, where it lingered.

“That’s right,” Tenley said. She shook her long blond hair and Dom looked entranced. Brenna rolled her eyes. Men had been having this reaction to Tenley since they were in college. She’d feel sorry for them, but really, Tenley was such a nice person, they’d be lucky to have her.

“So?” Brenna asked, trying to get on with the discussion.

Dom shook his head. “So . . . er . . . well, Dottie is my cousin, and she told me you were asking questions about Jim Ripley.”

“That’s right,” Brenna said.

“Why?” he asked.

Again, she felt that surge of power emanate from him, and she knew this was not a man to cross. What should she tell him? Somehow accusing him of murder seemed a bad way to go. She went for a version of the truth instead.

“Ripley was murdered,” she said.

He tilted his head, considering her. She noticed he didn’t look surprised by the news.

“I heard about that,” he confirmed. “Why does that bring you here?”

“A friend of ours has been wrongly arrested for the murder. We need to find out what really happened to Jim Ripley.”

“So naturally, you came to Bayview to accuse the Cappicolas,” Dom said. He looked annoyed.

Brenna met his dark gaze and knew that if Dom had killed Ripley, they wouldn’t be leaving Bayview, at least not the way they had come. She had nothing to lose.

“We found Ripley’s receipts from Vincent’s and the Red Pony Inn dated a week before he died,” she said. Tenley gasped beside her, but Brenna forged on. “We have to find out what he was doing down here. Look, we’re not accusing anyone, we’re just trying to help our friend.”

Dom studied Brenna. His look was admiring. “He’s a lucky man.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The man who generates so much loyalty from two such lovely ladies,” he said.

This time his eyes stayed on Brenna’s face, and she felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Good grief, was he flirting with her?

“Did you talk to Ripley?” she asked. She made her voice crisp and businesslike. A small smile played on his lips and she got the feeling she didn’t fool him one bit.

“I did,” he said.

Brenna and Tenley both gasped. This could be it. The information they needed.

“He wanted Cappicola Redevelopment Corporation to invest in a project in Morse Point,” he said. “He proposed building townhomes around a lake up there.”

“And?” Brenna asked.

“And I said no,” Dom said.

“What about your father?” Brenna asked. “Did he say no?”

“My father is retired,” Dom said. “He hasn’t run any aspect of the family business in over a year.”

It was quiet at their small table.

“Why did you say no?” Brenna asked.

Dom glanced between the two of them, as if trying to decide whether they were trustworthy or not. Finally, he leaned over the table and motioned them closer. They leaned in.

“There was too much heat from that artist guy up there,” he said. “It was not a sound investment. Ripley had some big ideas of me sending some of my guys up there to muscle him out, but . . .”

“But what?” Brenna prompted him.

He lifted his hand and tapped his fist against his lips, again considering them. He lowered his arm and leaned forward once again.

“I’m sure you know my family’s reputation.”

“Well connected,” Tenley said.

“Mobbed up,” Brenna added.

“Hoodlums,” Tenley volleyed.

“Gangstas,” Brenna countered.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Dom said. He looked a little irked and they both went quiet. “Well, the thing is, I’m trying to make the family business legit.”

Brenna and Tenley both sat back, flabbergasted. They couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d said he was really a woman.

“Really?” Tenley asked. “But the Cappicolas have been connected for as long as I can remember.”

“I know,” Dom said. “I’ve been getting some static from the family, but I went to Harvard, for Pete’s sake. I can’t be mob.”

Why this struck Brenna as funny, she had no idea. Perhaps it was the relief that she would not be floating in a box at the end of the evening after all. Either way, she felt a snort escape her and then another. The harder she tried to stop it, the harder she laughed. Tenley must have felt the same relief because she started laughing, too.

Annoyed by the noise, the waitress hopped off her stool with a huff and took her magazine to the back.

Dom gave them a rueful grin and said, “You remember my two friends?”

They nodded.

“Well, Paulie went to MIT and Sal went to Harvard with me and graduated magna cum laude. He’s actually a CPA.”

Brenna broke into a fresh peal of laughter and Tenley joined her. They’d been terrorized by an Ivy League accountant.

“So, how did the mayor react when you told him you were going legit?” Brenna asked, once she’d stopped laughing.

“I didn’t tell him,” Dom said. “I have a reputation to maintain and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone either.”

“Our lips are sealed,” Brenna promised. “So what did you tell Ripley?”

“I just told him no,” he said. “I told him it was bad business to try and oust a renowned artist, who appeared to be willing to come out of seclusion to fight him. I told him he should come up with a new location.”

“How’d he take that?” Tenley asked.

“He was pretty steamed,” Dom said. “And the blond he was with didn’t look too happy either.”

“His wife, Cynthia,” Brenna said. “She’s the force behind the man.”

“I’ll say,” Dom said. “When I left their table, they were hissing at each other like a pair of snakes. Scary.”

“We can imagine,” Brenna said.

“Besides, even if the townhomes were a good deal, I would have passed. I don’t want any more investments in Morse Point,” Dom said. “I’m trying to diversify.”

“You have investments in Morse Point?” Brenna asked.

“Just one,” Dom said. “And it’s not a moneymaker. In fact, we’re thinking of cutting it loose.”

“What is it?” Tenley asked.

“Cappicola Industries owns the
Morse Point Courier
as well as three other town papers in that area,” he said. “The
Courier
is lagging. If it can’t manage to sell more papers, we’re going to have to shut it down.”

Brenna felt herself get a touch light-headed. It was all coming into focus now. Ed Johnson’s paper was owned by the Cappicolas, and if he didn’t up the sales, he was going out of business. He needed a big story, and boy, did he ever get one. Interesting.

A glance at her watch showed it was getting late. Now that she had some information of value, she couldn’t wait to get back to Morse Point to tell Nate.

With a none too gentle shove, she pushed Tenley out of the booth. “Look at the time.”

Tenley gave her a curious glance but followed her lead by giving a big yawn.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Dom,” Brenna said as she stood beside the booth. “Er . . . thanks for the coffee.”

He rose and stood in front of her, blocking her path to the exit. For a fleeting second, she wondered if he was going to stop them from leaving. Then he smiled and she shook her head. Probably, that aura of power he put off was genetic like his hair and eye color. He just couldn’t help it.

He took her hand in his and pressed a business card into her palm. His hand was large and warm where it enveloped hers, and Brenna felt her pulse skitter at the contact.

“If you have any more questions, call me.”

“Okay,” she said. Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. She pulled her hand out of his, feeling like an idiot.

As she made her way home, Brenna watched Bayview disappear in her rearview mirror with the realization that sometimes people just plain surprised you, for better and for worse.

 

 

It was late when Brenna dropped off Tenley at her house and then headed out to her cabin. The beams from her headlights bounced as the Jeep bobbed along the quiet road, which was jutted with potholes, remnants from several merciless New England winters.

She was tired from the inside out, and the only thing she wanted to see for the next eight hours was the inside of her eyelids. She wouldn’t, of course, because as soon as it opened, she planned to be at the jail, telling Nate what she’d found out about Dom Cappicola and Mayor Ripley.