J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 06 - Death Gone Awry

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  Rockland, Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2015 J.M. Griffin

  Exclusive cover © 2015 Laura Givens

  Inside artwork © 2015 Joanna D’Angelo

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication

  reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means,

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,

  or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title

  is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 978-1-927555-55-2

  A catalogue record for the Ebook is available

  from the National Library of Canada

  Ebooks are available for purchase from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 978-1-927555-56-9

  Editor: Joanna D’Angelo

  Copyeditor: Sarah Corsie

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Judi, who listens better than anyone I know. Thank you.

  Acknowledgments

  When in need of information concerning criminal justice, I call upon Kristina Paglio, my go-to advisor. Thanks for your help.

  Also Available

  The Esposito Series:

  For Love of Livvy (Book 1)

  Dead Wrong (Book 2)

  Dirty Trouble (Book 3)

  Cold Moon Dead (Book 4)

  Season For Murder (Book 5)

  The Esposito Series Box Set (Books 1-3)

  Deadly Bakery Series:

  A Crusty Murder (Book 1)

  A Crouton Murder (Book 2)

  Focaccia Fatality (Book 3)

  Coming Soon

  The Esposito Series:

  Deader Than Dead (Book 7)

  DEATH GONE AWRY

  Chapter 1

  Please don’t be dead.

  I peered at the floating body as I stripped off my jacket and ran toward the water. Frigid temperatures and freezing waist-deep water numbed my skin, leaving me with uncontrollable shakes as I hauled the body toward shore. Struggling against strong winds and soggy clothing that hugged my skin, I slogged on. His clothing drenched, he grew heavier and heavier as we drew closer to land.

  Blood floated halo-like around his dark hair, leaving a trail behind us. While blood is my least favorite thing in the whole world, I doggedly ignored it in order to get this stranger ashore. My stomach hadn’t revolted from the sight of it, not yet anyway, and I guessed I was safe. In shallow water, he became heavier still, and my breathing labored at the strain of his weight. Land was within reach. So what if it just happened to be a cemetery, big deal.

  In good physical shape, I stand just short of six feet, tall for a woman, but I take after my aunt Livvy. I’m not a weakling either, though my struggle to pull this inconsiderate fool ashore tested my strength. We finally reached dry ground. Shivering and puffing from exertion, I dragged him by his arms and flipped him onto his back.

  Pale, cold skin stretched tight across his prominent features. He wasn’t dead pale, so I dropped down onto my knees and felt his neck for a carotid pulse. Pressing an ear against his chest, I listened for a heartbeat before I checked for breathing. With my cheek near his nose, I didn’t feel any warmth from his breath. I should have known better, I’m never that lucky.

  My jacket lay on the ground where I’d flung it before wading into the bitter and still wintry water of the Scituate Reservoir. With fingers stiffened from my recent drenching, I fumbled in the dry jacket pocket for my cell phone. I dialed 9-1-1 and set the phone on speaker mode. In the time it took for the operator to answer, I had started CPR. I’m not trained as a professional life-saver, but I’m certified to perform cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. Besides, I figured the guy had nothing left to lose.

  A distant male voice echoed as I counted chest compressions. His voice droned from the speaker as he asked what the problem was.

  “I’m performing CPR on a guy who drowned in the Scituate Reservoir. Send me some help. I’m in the cemetery behind the church in Scituate village.”

  “What church would that be, ma’am?”

  “The only damned church with a full-on cemetery behind it.” I breathed into the man’s lungs and started counting compressions once again.

  “Ma’am, that isn’t enough information. What is your name and present location?” The voice was calm. I was not.

  “One and two and three and four and five and . . .” I counted and breathed, counted and breathed. Silently, I prayed this man wasn’t beyond help.

  The cool, collected dispatcher waited for enlightenment. Of course he wasn’t soaked to the skin, freezing his ass off, performing CPR on a dead guy, and trying to talk all at the same time, either. I could have used a break here.

  “Listen up,” I yelled toward the phone, “alert the freaking North Scituate Fire Station and tell them to help me, Vinnie Esposito. They’ll know who, and where, I am.” I ignored the man’s babbling and multi-tasked for another moment.

  Seconds later, sirens blared as trucks left the station less than a quarter mile away. Sound carried in the small rural village, edged by the reservoir. Within those same seconds, my victim coughed, spewing water and saliva onto my clothes as I leaned over him.

  How lucky could I get?

  Turning him on his side, I watched the bedraggled man while blood continued to dribble from his head wound. Folding my legs beneath me, I leaned back and listened to him haul ragged gulps of air into his lungs. His breathing steadied as color flowed into his face. I huffed and puffed, shivered and shook, while watching the man become stronger with every breath.

  Fire and rescue trucks halted at the top of the slope. I glanced over my shoulder. The rescue team was heading toward us at a run. Relief spread through me like warmth from a crackling fire.

  Thank God.

  Bill MacNert, an old timer at the fire station, approached. His lips always held a secret smile and I never could figure out what went on behind his twinkling eyes. I’d known him and his family for what seemed like forever. He drew closer, his eyes on me, while shaking his head back and forth.

  Directing the younger men toward the victim on the ground, as though they didn’t already know what they were doing, I moved back and smiled at Bill.

  “Leave it to you.” He smirked.

  “Hey, I did my good deed for the day,” I said and took the emergency blanket a team member handed me.

  The EMS crew knew their stuff. They worked on the floater and then loaded him into the rescue. A large bandage was wrapped around his head, heavy blankets were piled over him, and an oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. I watched the rescue move away, figuring the stranger was fortunate indeed.

  Eyeing me with a keen gaze, MacNert asked, “Ya know this fella?”

  “Never laid eyes on him until today.” Shivering, I walked toward my coat where it lay in a jumbled pile on the ground. I glanced around and realized that I’d hardly visited with my dead aunt.

  There’s always tomorrow, Livvy.

  Visits to Aunt Livvy usually occurred when my life had turned to crap or I’d managed to stick my way too curious nose some place it didn’t belong. I would unload my woes onto her grave and feel better for having done so. Livvy isn’t a ghost or
anything. Don’t get me wrong, she’s as dead as they come, but it just gives me comfort to know I can come here and talk. She had always been a great listener. I missed that the most now she was gone.

  A local cop arrived on the scene. Slowly, I hiked up the slope toward the road, my feet squishing in soggy sneakers while drenched jeans chafed my skin. Dressed in winter attire, with a heavy jacket and husky boots to keep his dry feet warm, I envied the cop. Knowing full well that he would want a report, I sauntered forward. Gosh, I was cold, shivering so hard my teeth chattered nonstop. After all, it was only the beginning of March, and in Rhode Island, it’s a cold, wet month.

  “Are you Lavinia Esposito?” The officer stared at me.

  “The one and only.”

  His narrowed eyes held a doubtful gleam, but I ignored it. Cops tend to be suspicious about everyone and everything. I know this for a fact, since I teach criminal justice at a local university to cops, or po-pos as they’re called, and to security personnel, nicknamed wannabes by the cops. Often, a few legal students take my classes as well, which, in turn, creates an interesting, yet kindergarten-like atmosphere. The egos alone are a challenge when it’s time for order in the classroom. I know they’re adults, but it doesn’t always seem as if they know it.

  “Did you see the accident?”

  “No, I heard a splash. Branches snapped, and I went to see what happened. The guy was floating face down in the water.”

  His wary expression never left my face. “What were you doing here?”

  I shivered again and asked, “Do you think we could continue this conversation later? I’m just about frozen.”

  “You live a couple blocks away, right?”

  “Uh huh.” I was certain he knew where I lived since I’d been in the news from prior misadventures of sorts. Besides, most of the local cops knew me, or of me, so he’d undoubtedly heard my name somewhere along the way.

  He opened the cruiser door and motioned me in. I glanced back at MacNert, who grinned and said he’d check with me later.

  It only took a minute or two before we arrived at the house. I live in the village of North Scituate, in western Rhode Island, across the road from the post office, in an oversized colonial built a couple hundred years ago. The house had been converted into two apartments at one time or another. When Aunt Livvy died, she left me her house and a gift shop. The gift shop was in Providence’s historic section of South Main Street.

  The upstairs apartment is rented out to a luscious undercover FBI agent, Aaron Grant, who uses the Rhode Island Gaming Commission as his cover. While we aren’t romantically involved, it’s great to have eye-candy just upstairs. I reside on the ground floor. The driveway was empty of Aaron’s Yukon SUV. My car sat in front of the barn-sized garage.

  We arrived at the house and the patrolman escorted me inside. I’d opened the front entry door just as Aaron was pulling into the driveway. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved it wasn’t Marcus, but it was a safe bet that Aaron would knock on my backdoor within seconds. Sometimes it’s good to be right. Aaron is a calmer sort of guy than Marcus, especially when it comes to the mishaps that constantly occur in my life.

  The officer and I heard a rap on the kitchen door as we made our way into the room. I swung the door open. Aaron stood in the hallway with a look of concern on his handsome face. Stepping aside to let him in, I left the two men together while I went in search of dry clothing. I could hear their muffled voices and wondered what they were discussing.

  I peeled off my sopping wet clothes and left them to puddle on the floor while I donned a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt over fresh undies. I tossed the mess into the washer on my way back to the kitchen.

  Aaron gazed at me in surprise. “You saved a man who had drowned?”

  I glanced at the cop and then nodded.

  The cop stepped forward, his handy notepad at the ready.

  “So you didn’t see what happened?” he asked again.

  “No, I didn’t. I thought we covered that ground before.” I pulled my long, wild and curly hair back and applied a clip to hold it away from my face.

  “And you’re sure no one was around?” the officer asked.

  “I didn’t look.”

  “Why not? It’s reasonable to think you would at least glance around.”

  What the hell? Why was I being grilled like a suspect? My Italian attitude settled in place as I said with a slanted look, “Well, I didn’t. I heard the splash and went toward the water. I saw the floater and felt it was more important to haul his ass to shore.”

  With a cool stare and a nod, the patrolman scribbled notes. I watched and wondered what he jotted down. He’d never tell me, so it was useless to ask.

  “What were you doing there? You never said.”

  “Visiting my aunt.”

  His brows hiked a tad, his eyes widened, and an odd look crossed his face. He waited for me to enlarge upon the statement.

  I didn’t explain since it was none of his business what went on between me and Aunt Livvy. I waited, too. For what? I don’t know.

  “You visit your dead aunt?”

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?” My hand landed on my hip. This man had started to fray my nerves.

  Aaron, silent until now, glanced between me and the patrolman, and cleared his throat.

  “Vinnie often goes to visit her aunt’s grave to clear debris from it. It’s a matter of respect, I’m sure you understand.” His pearly whites shined as he smiled with sincerity at the patrolman. Aaron was a hard act to follow so I remained silent.

  “Of course. I didn’t mean, well, uh, okay, that about wraps it up.” The officer stammered while his face flushed scarlet. “If I have any other questions, I’ll be sure to contact you. Should you remember anything else, call me at this number.” He handed me a business card.

  I glanced at the name. Harvard Bernard. Geesh, and I thought Lavinia was bad. Yikes. Did his friends call him Harvey or Bernie or Harvey Bernie? Ridiculous and immature, I know, but a smile started to tickle the corners of my mouth. Before I got into trouble over the name, I offered as sweet a smile as I could muster and thanked Officer Bernard for the ride.

  I swung the door open when he’d followed me toward the front entry. Lola Trapezi, my best friend, stood on the doorstep, her hand raised to knock. She flew into the room like a whirlwind. I smiled when she stopped short. She grinned in return and then turned her famous Julia Roberts smile toward Officer Bernard.

  Now, I’ve never seen a man who could resist that smile, not in all the years I had known Lola. Men melted like butter, and became downright foolish idiots when she offered up that smile. God knows why, but they did. This man was no different than the rest. He softened like putty in her hands, it was clear as day.

  Officer Bernard stood in the doorway of my living room as though frozen in place, mesmerized by the petite, auburn haired creature with a smile the size of New York City. Dark, nearly black, eyes and lots of freckles accompanied her smile, and a pert nose completed the whole affair. Lola was adorable, no doubt about it, and single.

  She winked at me and asked Bernard, “And you are?”

  “Patrolman Harvard Bernard, ma’am,” he said in awe.

  With her hand extended, Lola chuckled and introduced herself. She invited him to stop by the Salt & Pepper Deli for a sandwich sometime. He merely nodded, unable to utter a coherent sentence.

  After Harvey shook her hand, he sidled toward the door. I turned away and grinned after he’d gone. The man had no clue what had just hit him, the poor sot, and he’d caught Lola’s interest.

  “Why was he here?” Lola demanded when the outer door closed and we’d entered the kitchen.

  “It’s quite a story.” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Did you bring any scrumptious morsels from the deli? I needed sustenance before repeating my tale, yet again.”

  Lola chuckled. “I brought goodies, but they’re in the car. I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”

  She turned to s
coot out the door, but Aaron waved her off and said he’d get them. Grinning, we watched him walk away.

  “Okay, fess up. What have you gotten yourself into?”

  “I went to visit Aunt Livvy and straighten up her gravesite plants when I heard a splash, so I went to see what happened. This guy was floating face down in the water, and his head was bloody, too. Quite a gash, though I tried not to look. You know how blood affects me.” I shivered slightly.

  Sliding onto the tall counter chair, Lola nodded while I made fresh coffee. Aaron came in with the bag. Fragrant aromas of Italian cold cuts slathered with pickled hot peppers hit me when he set the sandwiches on plates. My mouth watered in anticipation.

  “So, tell me what happened then,” Lola insisted.

  I repeated the beginning of the story so Aaron wouldn’t ask a million questions. While we ate, I explained the rest of my stone-cold water adventure. We’d reached the pastry stage by the time I finished answering their questions. It hadn’t taken long, since I had no real information.

  “Didn’t it seem weird that this guy happened to fall into the reservoir with a gash on his head? Nobody is allowed in the reservoir, it’s for drinking water,” Lola said.

  The Scituate Reservoir is made up of several bodies of water, separated by roads, and other pieces of land in the northwestern region of Rhode Island. These ponds and lakes feed into one another within Scituate and surrounding areas. The City of Providence protects the land and water from being used for activities of any sort.

  The area near the cemetery is lake-like. Gorgeous at any time of the year, the land is posted for no trespassing, no hunting or fishing—you get the idea. It’s a serene place that Aunt Livvy had always loved. The cemetery bordered part of the reservoir perimeter, not far from my house. After Livvy’s death, I was told she owned the last plot available with a water view.

  “I agree, Vin,” Aaron said. “Are you sure you didn’t see or hear anyone?”

  “I heard the splash and some branches snap.” I stopped and thought for a second. “The branches should have snapped first, right?”