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Authors: John McEvoy

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Chapter Fifty-Three

September 10, 2009

Ralph Tenuta passed the large white bowl of mostaccioli down the dining room table. “Have some more, Jack.”

“I will, Ralph.” Doyle turned to Rosa Tenuta before helping himself. “What a great dinner, Rosa. I might have another piece of that chicken Vesuvio, too.” Rosa beamed as she forked a breast from the platter onto Doyle’s plate. Ralph was smiling at the other end of the table at whose middle Doyle was seated. The meal had been long, lavish, and delicious. Even Doyle’s notable capacity for food was being tested.
Early to the gym
tomorrow,
he vowed to himself.

This dinner at the Tenuta home was to mark Doyle’s final day as Ralph’s stable agent. The mood was festive. Two of Tenuta’s trainees had won their races at Heartland Downs that afternoon, Editorialist as the favorite, Clever Carolynn at 13-1. Doyle parlayed the pair, starting with a $100 win bet on Editorialist. He was flush. Thus far in the evening the talk had all been about horses, flavored by Doyle’s effusive praise of the meal, delivered to the delight of Ralph. But Rosa’s curiosity came to the fore with the main course.

“Jack, we read all about Renee Rison’s death. And the arrest of the man who shot her. That must have been terrible for you, being involved in the death of a young woman.”

Doyle almost choked on his pasta. “Involved? Rosa, I was just there. As a witness. That woman maybe didn’t deserve to die that way, shot to death by a man she’d hired. But she was sure as hell set to kill me. She was an evil little person.”

He sighed and looked around the dining room. Reached for his glass of chianti. “Watching people die has never been fun for me,” he said.

“So you’ll be testifying against Sanderson?” Ralph said.

“Yes. He’s expected to come to trial in about two months. They’ll have my testimony as well as the iPhone recording of what went on there in Renee’s office.”

Rosa said, “The papers reported that the FBI people were late going in to help you.”

“Almost too late,” Doyle said. “Damon Tirabassi set up the iPhone connection. Mine worked fine. It was recording and the voices also were being carried to where the agents were out in front of Renee’s building. One problem. Their phone was malfunctioning. They were only getting snatches of the conversation. Government-issued equipment, Jesus. Anyway, Damon finally got his phone to work properly. And they charged in. I hit Sanderson pretty good. Damaged his larynx. When he was writhing on the floor, I couldn’t resist. I put my phone next to his ear and started playing back what he’d done and said. It was great.”

Rosa said, “I still don’t quite understand what Renee was up to. Wasn’t she going to inherit a load of money from her father?”

“Not as big a load as she had in mind. So she used her savings, and borrowed against the equity in the travel agency building she owned, to finance the crimes. If she could get sole control of The Badger Express, she’d be sitting on the mother lode. That’s what the greedy little bitch set out to do. She nearly managed it.”

Rosa said, “But wouldn’t you think Renee would be vulnerable to these men she hired after it was carried out? Wouldn’t they have a hold over her?”

“I don’t know what she figured,” Doyle said. “Maybe she was counting on their loyalty to her late brother, the dead SEAL. Who knows what she had in mind? She hired these two men, Sanderson and Orth, who had been in the service with her brother. Guys who had later done dirty duty as private security workers in Iraq. Before they went too far and got sent back. Sanderson did the recon, Orth the killing. The bastards wiped out six innocent men. Just for money. Or maybe, in Orth’s case, because he liked it. I don’t know, Rosa. I don’t understand people like that.”

“How do you figure this stuff, Jack?” Ralph said. “Arnie Rison was as nice and honest a man as I ever had as a client. How could he be the father of a woman like Renee? It’s beyond me.”

“And a lot of others, too, Ralph,” Doyle said.

Rosa said, “What happens to The Significant Seven’s money, Jack?”

Doyle drained his wine glass before saying, “Arnie Rison was understandably shattered by his daughter’s confession. To his credit he called in Frank Cohan, the attorney who had prepared the original Significant Seven contract. Cohan, as he should have done in the first place, inserted the word ‘all’ in regards to distribution of the syndicate’s proceeds. The amended contract was notarized and copies distributed to the widows of the other men the next day. That next night, poor Arnie Rison gave up the ghost.

“To
their
great credit, the widows of the six dead men have agreed to an arrangement whereby
all
future proceeds from The Badger Express are to be used exactly as their late husbands originally intended. For the benefit of retired race horses. They’ve appointed a trustee to administer the funds. These good women have put this money where their husbands’ hearts were.”

Rosa offered Doyle another piece of chicken, which he declined. Her husband said, “Jack, I’ve kind of stayed away about asking you something else. You and Cindy Chesney? I noticed you didn’t even speak to her when she came to the barn with Doc Jensen yesterday.”

Doyle hesitated before answering, “To put it bluntly, Ralph, Cindy and I are over with.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Rosa said, “Are we ready for dessert and coffee? I’ve made the cannolis that Ralph loves.”

Doyle smiled at this most accommodating of hostesses. “I am, Rosa. Thank you.”

Rosa went into the kitchen. Ralph sat back in his chair, arms crossed on his chest, pouting. He said, “You don’t want to tell me anything more about you and Cindy, that’s up to you.”

Doyle’s face tightened. He thought about Tyler and Wilma. He knew he could never tell Ralph, or anyone else, about him and Cindy Chesney without potentially screwing up her already terribly difficult life. He hated the sponging of horses she had done, but he could not bring himself to hate her or to hurt her.

Ralph sat back in his chair, patting his belly, a look of satisfaction on his face. “What a meal, hey, Jack?”

“Outstanding.”

“Rosa’s her old self again. We’re back where we should be,” Tenuta said.

“Some of us are,” Doyle said softly to himself. “Some of us.”

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BOOK: The Significant Seven
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