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

  “Should have, but didn’t,” Aaron agreed. “I think your victim had company.”

  A chill skittered along my spine, followed by a shiver. If the person who inflicted the head wound on the floater had seen me, then my life was likely to take a turn for the worse any time now. Dang, it sucks when that happens.

  “You may be right. My concern was to get the man out of the water and onto dry land,” I said thoughtfully. The implications of what had taken place brought on a round of questions that concerned the why, who, and other stuff.

  “Wait until Marcus hears this one.” Lola’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she sipped her glass of soda.

  “I can hardly wait,” I answered with a sense of dread. Marcus Richmond, a Rhode Island State Trooper, is my paramour. He’s a man who thinks I’m way too nosy for my own good, a man who loses his temper with me from time to time, but a man who cares for me all the same. Though, of late, he’d begun to complain over my lifestyle and antics.

  Within the past few months, Marcus had become less patient with my nosiness and the problems that plagued me like a bad dream. While I’d brushed off his comments, I hadn’t appreciated them. After all, I had to put up with my father’s remarks, and that was no picnic either. I figured this might be one of Marcus’s temper-losing times. Hmmm.

  Chapter 2

  After Lola and Aaron left, the rear entry door banged open, followed by a knock on the kitchen door. I glanced at the clock and found it was later than I’d thought. The day had sped by. The knocking persisted until I answered the summons.

  “Have I not taught you anything about asking ‘who is there?’” Marcus reprimanded me and brushed my cheek with a kiss.

  “I know I should ask, but I don’t always think of it. Besides, I expected you to come by.”

  His brows hiked a bit, he glanced at me. “You did? Why?”

  Crap, he hadn’t heard of my afternoon excitement.

  “I thought you would have heard by now.”

  “Heard what?” His expression grew serious. He leaned on the counter waiting. From the look on his chiseled features and the way his hazel green eyes had narrowed, he probably thought it would be bad news.

  As with most law enforcement officers, Marcus could wait with the best of them. He could out-wait me any day of the week. I got it over with and told him the story. Hell, he’d find out sooner or later anyhow.

  “You say you revived this guy? He had a head injury?”

  “Mmm, I did, and he does. I don’t think he got hurt from the fall into the water, though.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?”

  “For the hundredth time, no, I didn’t see anyone other than the floater.” I chewed my lip a second and then asked, “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

  Marcus shrugged and muttered something that sounded like, “Here we go again,” when the doorbell rang. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I went to see who it was.

  What is this anyway, Grand Central Station?

  With a sweet grin, Bill MacNert stood on the step. I moved aside to let him in. He hustled into the kitchen, rocking side to side like a listing ship, on bunion-laden feet.

  “Got a report back on the fella that took a dip in the reservoir today. Thought you might like to know your CPR effort wasn’t wasted. He’s gonna be just fine and owes it all to you.”

  “How is his injury?” I asked Bill.

  “Took about ten stitches to close that wound. He’s gonna have one helluva headache, that’s for sure.” He snickered.

  “Who is this guy, and where did he come from? Did he say how he ended up in the water?” I settled onto the stool after I’d poured fresh coffee for both men.

  Bill sipped the brew, smacked his lips together, and said, “He’s from the City.”

  That meant Providence. If you were from Cranston or Johnston, or any other Rhode Island town, it would be named, but if you were from Providence, it was referred to as the City. It’s purely a Rhode Island thing.

  “Name of Tim Slaggard. He’s a preacher man from one of them there new-age church communities. You know them guys who need money to drive a Mercedes and live high off the hog while some little old lady is eating cat food after she’s given him her last damned dime?”

  This seemed a sore subject for Bill. I wondered what caused his snippiness concerning the preacher. Let me say that I am a Roman Catholic, born and raised. A non-practicing Roman Catholic, but I’m still one all the same. My parents are Italian and are also Roman Catholic. My entire family is of the Roman Catholic faith, all but one aunt who strayed from Catholicism into the Episcopal Church. I didn’t consider it too far a stretch, but the family thought she had committed an almighty sin. I guess it’s all in how you perceive religion.

  Believing is enough for me. Plain and simple as it seems, I try to stay away from discussions of faith, politics, other people’s money, and their kids. Each to his own, is my motto and I try to stick to it. Not so easy a task all the time, but I try nonetheless.

  “How did you find out about his preacher status?” I asked Bill.

  “He gave his information to the EMT on the rescue once he became coherent. I remembered his name from a newspaper article a while back. He’s no better’n them sinners he spouts off about.” With that, Bill harrumphed. He nestled back into the chair at the kitchen counter and held up his cup for more coffee.

  Bill is a decent guy. His personality has a few wrinkles, but I figured he’d earned them over the years. I poured a fresh cup of coffee for him, and offered him the next to last pastry from Lola’s cache. Bill took one and Marcus ate the last one before asking for a coffee refill.

  Curious about the man, I asked, “What was Tim Slaggard doing at the reservoir? Did he say?”

  “Well, that’s the strange thing, he just said he slipped and fell into the water.” Bill shook his head slowly. “Don’t ya wonder if he really did? Nobody in their right mind would be out on the reservoir, especially not in this cold weather.”

  A shrewd gleam entered Marcus’s eyes.

  “You think he lied?” Marcus asked the elder man.

  “It does seem odd that he’d be out there at this time of year. Folks come to take lots of photographs, especially them School of Design kids, but when the EMT asked if he was doing the photography thing, he said no.” Bill took a deep swallow of his coffee and clunked the cup onto the counter. “Vin, did you see anyone at all?”

  Was no one listening? I had answered that question over and over until I wanted to scream. With a deep breath, I said, “No, just him in the water, with a bloody halo.”

  “Strange, huh?” Bill wondered aloud.

  “Indeed.” In an effort to quell the gossip that would run through town faster than wildfire in a wicked wind, I refrained from my theory of another person at the scene. If Bill thought there was a would-be murderer handy, he’d be the first one to tell all and scare residents out of their wits. A good man, our Bill, but an avid gossip monger, too.

  Finished with the pastry and coffee, Bill said he had to be going and left with the same hustle as he had arrived. I smiled when the door closed and glanced at Marcus.

  “Tell me, Vinnie, why you didn’t share the second person theory with Bill?” His smile said he knew the answer.

  I grinned. “Some things are better left untold. That’s the motto of the FBI and State Police, isn’t it?”

  “Mmm, sort of.” Marcus smirked. “It’s more of a need to know basis. You never said he’d been struck on the head.”

  I shrugged. “I thought he may have hit his head on the way into the water. Why are you here anyway? I need to know.” I rubbed my hands across his well-muscled chest and stepped closer to him. I only asked since he was in uniform. It usually meant police business, so my curiosity hiked a notch.

  Curiosity is a wonderful thing, unless of course you happen to have an overabundance of it. Cursed with it all my life, I have to admit I enjoy snooping around where I shouldn’t, which often leads to interf
erence in situations that are none of my affair, and usually dangerous.

  “I’m headed back to the barracks and thought I’d stop by to see if you could go to the Performing Arts Center this weekend. You’re interested in seeing the musical La Familia, right?”

  “You actually got tickets for that? My mother said they were sold out and was disappointed she wouldn’t get a chance to see how the actors and singers handle the story of humorous vineyard life.”

  “They were complimentary. The star performer and I attended the same college. He looked me up when he arrived in town.”

  “What time should I be ready?”

  He got up, slipped his hands around my waist, held me tight, and kissed me deeply. “Be ready around six, we’ll have dinner first.”

  “You betcha.”

  He smiled, kissed me again, and left with a warning to stay out of the water.

  I smirked as the door closed and knew what he really meant by the remark. Staying out of the water was one thing, minding my own business was another. An hour later, I’d folded and put away the laundry before lining up the homework assignment for the next day of classes at the university. The students had finished their reports on the University of Rhode Island’s Crime Lab after we’d toured the facility and gotten a firsthand opportunity to see techs at work. This week’s classes would put some of those practices into action.

  A box of broken tail lights and crumpled car parts sat in the classroom closet. They’d been used to set the scene for an accident and robbery in the past, which brought excitement to each new class I presented the scene to. I wrote the assignment, offered just enough information to capture the students’ interest, and packed the paperwork into my valise.

  Grabbing my jacket, I headed to the Salt & Pepper Deli to chat with Lola. Her exit, after her whirlwind entrance earlier, left me wondering if there was something plaguing her mind.

  When Aunt Livvy had bought the house I now lived in, I’d been a mere teenager. My twin brother, Giovanni, and I would visit, but I stayed with Livvy as often as I could. Livvy and I painted together, laughed over nothing, and ate great food, usually prepared by my dad. She often told me to follow my dreams, whatever they were. She and my mother agreed on that, and Mom pushed the idea home more often than not. The fact that I’d decided to travel my chosen path, most certainly not the one Mom would have chosen, didn’t make a difference. She supported me no matter what. We all need to be thankful for the small things in life.

  As a criminal justice instructor, I deal with the police quite a lot and on equitable terms. At least when I’m not being robbed at gunpoint, forced off the road, and stalked by some nutcase I’d known from a past that rears its head like a snake every now and then. I have a penchant for being in the wrong place at the worst of times, but it’s like the weather. There’s nothing that can be done about it, so I live with it.

  During the years I visited Aunt Livvy, I’d become familiar with the people in town. Lola Trapezi and I were true and steadfast childhood friends. My father, a chef in his younger years, taught us how to cook. Italian life revolves around food, family, and more food. It’s just the way things are. Lola, who had a flair for it, took the lessons to the next level by opening up the deli and offering home cooked meals. I only cook when the spirit moves me, when the deli is closed, or I think I might be starving to death and need to eat.

  Glowing interior lights beckoned as I walked up the steps of the historic building that Lola owned. She rented space to a couple of shop owners, a combined florist and gift shop took up one end of the long, wide building that filled the entire corner of the street. A large chalkboard hung on the fenced in area inviting the public to buy flowers for every occasion. Lola’s sandwich board offered soups and sandwiches that had been voted Rhode Island’s best by some group or other. The second floor of the building had storage on one side and a vintage clothing shop on the other.

  Inside the deli, warm, spicy aromas accosted my sense of smell. I could tell a latte had been made and that minestrone was the soup of the day. Nibbles of fresh Italian bread nested in a basket on the counter. I smiled at Millie, the woman who tended the clientele, and ordered a mug of Earl Grey tea before sauntering into the kitchen. Millie nodded and said she’d bring it in to me.

  The oven door swung downward. Lola slid a hot sandwich from within and set it on a plate. The paddle was nearly the same height as she was and the image brought a smile to my face. Marcus always called her Little Miss Dynamite. Lola’s Italian heritage was evident, but somewhere an Irishman had entered the mix. Thick locks of rich auburn hair were tied back and netted at Lola’s nape while she cooked.

  As for me, I’m a standard dark haired, brown eyed, full-blooded Italian American. Long legged, well endowed in the breast department, and wide shouldered, I manage to remain slim. No extra layers of fat or bulge for me. I run daily or walk a couple of miles.

  My twin brother, built guy-style, stands my height. We resemble one another more than most fraternal twins. He resides in Nebraska, he’s a doctor, and he’s married to a nurse. She runs him, and his medical office. My father considers my brother as the man of men. I was relieved Giovanni decided not to live here in Little Rhody.

  It isn’t that I don’t adore my twin, but my father is an old world Italian who thinks men should be whatever they want and women should be mommies, cook pasta, and ferry the little kiddies to their sports games. Perish the thought. Needless to say, my father, Gino Esposito, cares not for my career choice and tends to buck me at every turn. My mother and Aunt Livvy had gone to bat for me on more than one occasion. Now, only my mother does so.

  My father and I get along well for the most part. It’s simply those moments when he barks at me about getting married and having a brood of monsters that starts my engine roaring. We agree to disagree, but the kicker for him was the last time we had dinner together. He said I should get married and have kids. I told him he needed to talk to Gio about having kids instead of nagging me incessantly. His glare had hardened when he told me to be careful how I spoke to him. I realized there was a step off point I should avoid at all costs, and I’ve done so since.

  Families like mine don’t converse in the usual way of average American families. Most of the time there’s yelling and hollering. It’s normal conversation for Italians. There’s lots of hand waving and gestures, some nice and some not.

  Then there are moments when my parents speak Italian because they don’t want me to know what they’re saying. Unfortunately, I understand quite a bit of the Italian language and can figure out exactly what they’re trying to hide. Not letting my parents in on this, sometimes, without thinking, I speak to my father in the language, so it’s certain both my parents are aware of the fact that I know they have secrets.

  The mug of hot tea sat in front of me as Millie hustled back into the dining area of the deli to serve the steaming sandwich to the lone customer. I heard snatches of their conversation before it turned quiet. Lola rinsed her hands and cleared the breadboard of crumbs.

  “The stranger is going to be all right?” she asked.

  “It seems so. MacNert said he’s stitched up and has a concussion.” Leaning my elbows on the worktable, I cupped the mug in my hands and sipped the tea. “He’s fortunate. If I hadn’t been there, he would surely have stayed dead.” I shivered a bit and sipped some more.

  Finished with the clean-up, Lola sat on the stool across from me. She leaned forward and whispered that she had a favor to ask. Her glance strayed toward the dining area, and then back to me.

  “I’ll come by on my way home, if you’ll be alone.”

  Intrigued, my curiosity kicked into high gear as I conjured up images of what Lola had on her mind. The need to know was strong. I wasn’t sure I could wait another hour or so to hear what she wanted.

  As a business woman, Lola was successful. In the romance department, her life often traveled uphill and down again. As a matter of fact, she’d once referred to it as a downhill s
led race, picking up speed fast. I didn’t view her romantic life that way, and insisted more than once she needed to get out of the deli and meet people. Maybe her need to talk concerned romance, but why was she being so secretive about it?

  “Why don’t you tell me now?”

  “I’d rather discuss it at your place.” She grinned as she stared at me. “Your curiosity is running rampant, I see it by the expression on your face. Gosh, that must be awful for you.” Her laughter bubbled over.

  “You have no idea.” I chuckled along with her.

  I rose from the stool and left her snickering. From the doorway, I glanced back and asked, “What have you heard about Tim Slaggard? That’s his name, the floater.”

  Lola’s smile faded and her face took on an odd look. The reaction surprised me, and instantly I came back into the room.

  “What is it, Lola? What do you know?”

  She came close and murmured, “He’s been here in the deli a couple of times. You didn’t say he was the man you rescued.”

  “I wasn’t aware of his name,” I whispered and shrugged. “Bill MacNert told me. He mentioned Slaggard’s a new-age minister of sorts. That’s all he said.”

  Leaning against the worktable, I stared at Lola. Her mind was elsewhere. My annoying inner voice started to nag. Maybe she’s involved with him. Don’t say anything else, just mind your business for a change. Yeah, right. As if I could ever manage that. Climbing Mount Everest would be a more successful task than minding my own business.

  Suddenly, Lola came out of her funk and glanced at me. Her expression cleared, and she said she’d see me later. Knowing when to back-off, I agreed by way of a nod and left the deli.

  Chapter 3

  At the house, I noticed lights were on in Aaron’s apartment. I took the back stairs two at a time and knocked on his door.

  Dark eyes and a beaming smile met mine as he beckoned me inside. Aaron motioned toward a seat at the kitchen counter.