J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder Read online

  His arms folded across his sexy chest, Marcus leaned against the refrigerator behind him. “If you go into that apartment once more, I’ll haul your sweet ass to jail. I mean it.”

  “Fine. I won’t enter the apartment again.” It was easy to agree to the demand. I’d already gotten as much as I could from the place, anyway.

  He gave me a narrowed stare. He undoubtedly thought I’d been all too willing to agree to his demand.

  “You promise you won’t go back into the apartment again?” Thick brows arched above his eyes. “You’re serious about that?”

  With a nod of agreement, I smiled at him.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t be in there, anyway. Who knows what might have happened this afternoon if we’d been caught. My mother would probably take the brunt of the shit that would be handed out over my breaking and entering.” I shrugged my shoulders and sidled onto one of the tall counter seats.

  “That was way too easy, Vin. You never give in this easily. What else are you up to?” Propped against the fridge, Marcus stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

  “Honest to God, I’ve been up to nothing else.”

  Marcus turned away and began making a pot of coffee. His movements were fluid. I could feel the heat in the pit of my stomach move toward my lower extremities as I watched him. He was a snack, waiting to be enjoyed to the max. I wanted him in the worst way.

  My fingers laced and unlaced as I stared. He turned, catching the look on my face, and grinned.

  “I can’t stay long.” He smiled. “And, I still don’t quite believe you.

  “It won’t take long,” I promised. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “You gave in way too quickly. Anyhow, we have to discuss the money along with whatever else you want to share with me about this case.” His face serious, he flicked the coffee pot button on.

  With a disappointed puff of air, I slid off the chair and pulled ice cream from the freezer, two spoons from the drawer, and removed the lid of the container. I scooped a mouthful of the rich, creamy, coffee-flavored ice cream and stuffed the spoon into my mouth. The coffee perked. Marcus slid a steaming cup of it toward me and poured milk into the cup.

  “No bowl?” he asked with a nod toward the ice cream container.

  “No, ice cream tastes better this way. Besides, I hadn’t planned to share it with anyone, but you.” I smiled and took a sip of the strong, hot brew.

  “Tell me about the money,” he said sipping the coffee. He watched me scoop another spoonful of ice cream from the container.

  I briefly explained the apartment, the money, and how Rafael had joined Lola and me in the search. I also mentioned the look on Rafe’s face when he asked if I was taking the money with me. It made sense to me now that I knew he was with a government agency. How he hadn’t arrested me then and there was a gift from God. I could feel a novena coming on and would have to say a prayer of thanks later.

  Marcus’s granite features never changed during the story. I could see him working up questions as I finished up. It’s such a pain to be right in these situations.

  “Did anyone else come in while you were there?”

  Here was a question I was reluctant to answer. What the hell, he’d find out sooner or later, and then I’d really be in the shit with him. I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and mentioned the person who had come in while the three of us hid behind the shower curtain.

  His arms crossed over his chest again. He shook his head in despair. At least, I think it was despair.

  “There’s more,” I said glancing at the bedroom door and back at Marcus. “When I got home a while ago, someone was lurking in the bedroom.” I fiddled with the spoon, my ice cream appetite gone.

  “Lavinia, didn’t you lock the doors and windows? Have I not taught you anything? Dammit.”

  He had used my formal name. Things would get dicey now that I had confessed to an intruder.

  “He broke the bedroom window to get in. Nothing is missing.” Thankfully, I had hidden the Dona Desmaris journal.

  “Show me where he came in. You’re sure it was a man?”

  I led the way into the bedroom and pointed toward the cardboard covered window. Marcus strode past me to inspect the window and floor surrounding the area.

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “No, I just closed the storm window and covered the inner window. Should I fingerprint it?”

  “I’ll call someone from the station to come do it in the morning. You said it was a man?”

  “He ran out the front door. I chased him, but he made it past the corner of the garage and disappeared before I could catch up to him. But, yes, it was a man. He was tall, ran like a man, and when he tripped over my groceries, he sounded like a man. It was dark. Things happened too fast for me to get a good look at the guy.”

  “What did you plan to do with him once you caught him?” His sarcastic voice reminded me that I should have called the police immediately.

  “Kick the shit out of him, what else?” I answered with a cocky attitude.

  “Hmm, right. I forgot how much you like to scrap.”

  We went back into the kitchen and he sat at the counter. I settled next to him and waited for more questions.

  Marcus gulped his coffee and asked, “Do you think this person was here for the journal?”

  I nodded. “He didn’t have enough time to search because nothing in the chest was out of place. I think I came in too soon, which means he’ll be back, right?”

  “It’s safe to say he’ll try again. Just not tonight. Give me the journal, Vin.”

  “No, I’m not finished with it yet.”

  “It wasn’t a request.” He gave me a cold stare. “Give me the journal, now.”

  Sliding from the chair, I stepped around the counter, looked him square in the face, and said in a succinct voice, “I’m not done with it, yet.”

  “I heard you the first time. Now give me the damned journal.” His voice grew softer as mine grew louder.

  “No, and that’s final,” I said with a shake of my head.

  “Why are you so pig-headed about this?” Truly annoyed by this time, his eyes sparkled with anger and every muscle in his body grew taut.

  “The journal holds the key to the murder of those two women. I can feel it in my bones. They’re connected in some way. When I finish with it, I’ll give it to you, but not until then.”

  “Finish it by morning, or I’ll take it from you. Got that?” His rigid jaw and stony stare brooked no foolishness on my part.

  “I got it. No problem. I’ll stay up and finish the damned thing tonight. You can pick it up in the morning. Are you satisfied now?” I asked, exasperated.

  A nod of his stiff brimmed hat-covered head was the only acknowledgment to my concession until he rounded the counter. Sliding his strong hands up my arms, he cupped my face. His lips met mine, and I forgot to be angry or anything else, except horny. My body slammed against his. I heard him grunt at the contact. I smiled inside at the pleasure of having brought Marcus to sexual attention.

  With a groan, Marcus stepped away from me and glanced down at his erection. “You had to do that, right? Like I said, I can’t stay. I have to get back on the road. Will you be all right here tonight?”

  “I will, thanks. Rafe’s sure to show up sooner or later, and even though he’s FBI, he doesn’t realize that I know it. It means that I’ll be safe as long as he’s around.” I tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work.

  “I leave for New York tomorrow, but I’ll return in two days’ time. Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone, will you?”

  “Sure, but I’ll see you in the morning, right?”

  “You will. Have the journal ready, understand? I’m not joking with you about this, Vin. And, uh, the next time you have an intruder, call the cops.”

  “Okay, okay.” I stepped close to him, pressed my lips to his, and then watched as he left my apartment for places unknown, while I wond
ered about Rafe, the journal, and secrets.

  Chapter 17

  It was two in the morning when I woke with a start, feeling as though I was in a freefall. From the sofa, I could see flames flicker in the fireplace, the Christmas tree lights twinkled, and Dona’s journal lay atop my chest. The dream seemed real, but as I glanced around the warm, friendly room, I realized it was only a dream.

  Vestiges of it came back to me. I lay still and concentrated. A man and I were locked in combat. We struggled on the edge of the small, horseshoe-shaped stone wall above the shallow end of the reservoir just up the road from my house. In a second, I had fallen off the wall, headed toward the water below, the man grasped in my tightly clenched fists.

  With my eyes closed, I searched for his face. There was a feeling of familiarity about the person. Why? I wondered. Was he someone I knew? Rafael’s face floated into my consciousness. My heart hammered. I knew he was the man in the dream. Why we fought, and what it was about, I didn’t know. Slowly, I sat up and shook my tangled hair off my face. Sliding my fingers through the mass of tresses, I massaged my scalp. Thick layers of hair fell past my shoulders, flopping down my back as I stretched.

  Was the dream due to the fact that my father had mentioned my prior mishaps, or just all the excitement of yesterday? I considered the question for a moment before I shook my head and lifted the journal from the sofa where it had fallen.

  Warmth from the fireplace helped me relax. I snuggled beneath the thick afghan on the sofa. The journal had given me a lot to think about. The reason both women had been killed was because of money, illegal cash, to be specific. Who had done the deeds was an unanswered question. Neither death had been mob related hits. They were more up front and personal.

  Premeditation is a dangerous thing, since it means thought and planning go into the deed. These were opportunities that had been mapped out and planned well in advance. Mrs. Galumpky may have been lured outside and then clubbed to death. Mrs. Lindon had been poisoned with the fruitcake. The same fruitcake my mother had nearly eaten. Many folks don’t care for fruitcake. This meant the person doing the poisoning was sure that Mrs. Lindon liked fruitcake, and that she’d imbibe as much as she could. To be the first person to eat the cake must mean that the murderer knew Iva would charge ahead of everyone. Had Iva been told there would be fruitcake? Who had delivered that morsel of news?

  I thought about my mother reaching for the cake. She would have been an unsuspecting victim, the one who wasn’t supposed to die. Nor was anyone else meant to croak from the cake. The perpetrator may not necessarily care if others had died from the cake, as long as Iva did. There would be little or no remorse over multiple deaths, as long as the intended victim croaked.

  Poison is a woman’s choice of weapon. Men don’t care about mess. They use knives, guns, and things of that nature to commit crimes. Since I teach criminal justice, I knew this for certain. Women are neater when it comes to suicide and murder. Rarely do women shoot themselves or others. Instead, they might run over a victim using their car, overdose them with pills, or use poison. A woman may even resort to asphyxiation of a victim, anything to avoid a messy situation.

  I reviewed the journal again, and scanned the pages of Dona’s life. Her reasons to kill both women became clear. The motive included her deceased husband’s business. How had Dona managed it? Unable to picture her frail frame swinging a blunt instrument hard enough to kill Mrs. Galumpky, I leaned deeper into the sofa pillows and sighed.

  My head throbbed with the new knowledge I possessed, but couldn’t prove. What the hell, I thought, it isn’t my job to prove or disprove that Dona Desmaris had killed anyone. My job was to prove that my mother hadn’t done the deed.

  The last pages of the journal were the key to the whole affair. Dona had written of Mrs. Lindon’s blackmail schemes, which included more than one person at the senior housing complex. Pages upon pages described Mrs. Galumpky’s money laundering participation and skimming that were enlightening. I couldn’t imagine who had done the murders. Though, I was most certain these were the reasons why they’d been committed.

  In an effort to sleep, I slipped the journal beneath the sofa pillow and snuggled down under the afghan. I stared at the twinkling lights of the tree until my eyes closed.

  * * *

  Pounding on the door was my alarm clock. When I opened my eyes, sunlight poured through the interior window shutters. Within seconds, I was on my feet stumbling toward the kitchen door. Marcus called my name. I swung the door open to face the trim-bodied man who’d left, it seemed, only a short time ago.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” He laughed as he looked me over.

  My mouth tasted like crap. I knew I looked it, too. I smirked and brushed past him into the bathroom. While I worked at becoming human, I heard the chink of stoneware cups and could smell fresh brewed coffee. Marcus was at it again, playing Harriet Homemaker for me. At this rate, I’d have to figure out a way to keep this man forever.

  It wasn’t long before I left the bathroom with a washed face, combed hair, clean teeth, and decent breath. Not a bad start for the day. Hot coffee steamed in the mug Marcus set out for me, and a flaky croissant lay on a plate next to it. I hadn’t seen Marcus bring croissants in, but it seemed he had.

  Smiling at the sight of the offering, I leaned forward and kissed Marcus. His hand slid behind my neck tugging me across the counter. Tongues and moans followed the gesture. Any second, I’d have to drag him into the bedroom and have my way with him.

  As abruptly as he had grasped me, he let go, and backed away. A look of satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. A wicked smile covered his lips. It was payback for the night before when I had teased him. That had to be what this was about. Chuckling, I sat back on the chair.

  “Where’s the book?” he asked.

  “Good morning, Marcus. I’m happy to see you, too,” I remarked with a snort. It didn’t take a minute to retrieve the journal from under the sofa cushion. I handed it to him with a know-it-all grin.

  “What’s that look for?” he asked while he chewed a croissant and downed the coffee.

  “Well, I have the why of the murders figured out. I just can’t manage the ‘who-done-it’ part. Dona Desmaris has plenty to say in this journal. It starts out years ago, but you should skip to the last section and read what she says about Iva Lindon and Mrs. Galumpky. I know my mother is innocent, and this proves it beyond a shadow of doubt.”

  The pages ruffled as Marcus flipped to the back of the book. He read an entry and then turned back several more pages to earlier entries and read again. He glanced up, his eyes gleaming.

  “You’re right, Vin.” He glanced down at the pages. “Dona incriminates the two women in unlawful deeds. Though, she doesn’t name the others who were blackmailed by Iva Lindon. Mrs. Galumpky’s murder may have been planned, but not as thoroughly as Mrs. Lindon’s was.”

  “That’s what I thought. Mrs. Galumpky was probably lured outside and clubbed to death. I can’t see the slight woman that Dona is, doing that particular crime. As far as the poisoned fruitcake, well, that’s something anyone could have done, including Dona.”

  “What type of poison was used, do you know?”

  “I read the report and it seems the poison was of a floral nature, along the lines of Poinsettia centers. Most shops don’t sell these flowers with the yellow buds in the center since they are poisonous. The coroner concluded that’s what it appeared to be.”

  “Hmm, how interesting. Women usually use poisons and such methods of demise. You know that though, don’t you?”

  “Mmm, it’s part of my murder methods class at the university.”

  His chuckle brought a smile to my face. I stared at the handsome man across from me, wondering what was so funny.

  “I forget that you teach all that ghoulish stuff to your students. Is it a popular class?”

  “Sometimes. It depends on where everyone is in their criminal justice degree. It’s an elective course.” I finished
the last of the croissant and poured another cup of coffee. “What I can’t figure out is how someone would take the chance of killing more than one person with poisoned cake.”

  “Think about it for a second, Vin. If more than one person got sick or died, it would have been more difficult to figure out who the intended victim was. Instead, Iva Lindon ate the cake before anyone else could, and dropped dead because of it. She saved a whole bunch of people by dying first.”

  “True enough. I hadn’t considered that.” My chin in my palm, I rested my elbow on the counter. “Is someone coming to fingerprint the bedroom?”

  “Yeah, I called in a favor. The trooper was off for the day and the other troopers were involved in another case. Trooper Delaney will be by shortly.” He checked his watch and nodded. “Very shortly.”

  “I could have done it myself, you know.”

  “Yes, but it could have been suspect if the prints were done by you with no witnesses. You get my meaning?”

  “Uh huh.” I nodded. “Are you off duty and headed to New York?”

  “No, my mother won’t be there until tomorrow. She called and said her flight was delayed. I’m off-duty and have errands to run, so I’ll talk to you later.” He rounded the counter and kissed me before he left the house. I watched through the side window until his truck disappeared from sight. He’d been right about my fingerprinting efforts. The job needed to be done by an impartial party, one who wore a badge. That way there could be no recriminations by some two-bit attorney if the perpetrator was arrested and taken to court. I sighed and headed into the bedroom to dress.

  I’d managed to straighten the house, when there was a knock on the apartment door. I hustled to open it. Trooper Delaney stood outside, at least I thought she was Trooper Delaney. She stood an inch or so shorter than I did, but there wasn’t an inch of fat on the woman. No make-up, either.

  “Miss Esposito, I’m Trooper Delaney. Trooper Richmond asked me to fingerprint your crime scene.” She held a box of equipment in one hand and waited for me to invite her in.