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

  Recognition sparked in his eyes and he smiled in greeting. “This is your mother?” he asked.

  “Yes, one and the same.” I turned to my mother. “Are you all right, Mom?”

  She nodded and the flush in her face started to ease.

  “I was explaining to the officer that I have no idea what happened to Iva. She just ate the cake and then fell on the floor.”

  “So there you have it, Pirelli,” I said.

  “Mrs. Lindon has died. This is now an official investigation, Vinnie.”

  “Is my mother a suspect?”

  Pirelli hedged and then said, “Well, she was serving the food.”

  “Then in that case, she has nothing more to say to you.” I grasped my mother’s arm, turning her toward the corridor. “If you need to speak with her in the future, her attorney must be notified and present,” I stated.

  My mother’s hands fluttered up and down, but she remained silent when I turned a meaningful glare toward her. I gave her a nudge to get her to move along. I glanced over my shoulder and hesitated when I saw Galumpky step forward. In a poor attempt at intimidation, her face was menacing, and her eyes narrowed to slits. It was a wasted effort on her part. In a second, I turned back into the room and stood toe-to-toe with the harridan.

  “This matter must be cleared up now, Ms. Esposito. If your mother caused Iva Lindon’s death, then she must own up to it.”

  I entered Mrs. Galumpky’s personal space and stared at her eye to eye. “My mother wouldn’t hurt a fly. You have been here all day, have you not? My mother arrived here a short time ago.” I turned to Pirelli and asked, “Are we talking a poisoning of sorts? Because if we are, you might look closer at the employees before you accuse my mother, Pirelli.”

  Pirelli’s thick eyebrows hiked a good inch as he listened to me. With a glance at both of us, and my mother hovering in the background, Pirelli may have been unsure who he should interrogate. I’d given him food for thought, anyhow.

  “Vinnie, there’s no need to get upset about this,” Pirelli said. “I didn’t accuse your mother of anything. I merely asked a few routine questions due to the fact that Mrs. Lindon expired.”

  “Are you sure she died from the cake?” I asked him.

  “The hospital notified us that she died. That’s all. I assumed it was from the cake since she collapsed after eating it,” he answered.

  “Let the medical examiner’s office and the lab people make the determination as to the cause of death, okay?” I turned toward my mother. “Go get your coat. It’s time to leave.”

  Mom nodded. At a complete loss for words, she hurried along the corridor. She had glanced at me before going, her eyes filled with fear, but I promised I’d join her shortly.

  When I was sure she was out of earshot, I turned toward the battleaxe before me. A hand on my hip, my Italian attitude took hold.

  “You had better not spread rumors that my mother is to blame for this unfortunate incident. She adores the residents that live here and looks forward to sharing her days with them. If you say one word, I’ll have you up on slander charges, got it?”

  Pirelli stepped forward to intervene when Mrs. Galumpky’s face took on an ominous glare. Before she could utter a sound, he raised his hands and asked us to relax.

  Relax? He wanted me to relax? This miserable bitch of a woman wanted my mother hauled off to jail for a death she had nothing to do with, and I was supposed to relax? Not today.

  “I’ll be in touch, Pirelli. Be sure of it,” I said.

  As I left the room, I heard him sigh and mumble, “I’m sure.”

  * * *

  Already in her car, my mother waited for me before pulling out of the parking lot. I stood outside her car door until she lowered the window.

  “Go home. I’ll follow you. Don’t talk to anyone about this until we’ve consulted a lawyer, please.”

  “If you say so, Lavinia.” Her lower lip trembled. A tear trailed down her cheek.

  “Mom, everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it,” I assured her.

  She nodded and backed from the parking space. I stared after the car for a moment before entering my own about three spaces down. My cell phone lay in the bottom of my handbag. I felt around for it and flipped the cover open. Scrolling the numbers in the menu, I hit send and listened as the call went through.

  “Manera here,” his deep voice rumbled.

  “Jack, its Lavinia Esposito. Do you have a pile of fruitcake sitting on your table in the lab?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. It was just delivered from the hospital. I’m checking it for poison. Why, do you want some?” Manera chuckled.

  His offbeat sense of humor, which often matched mine, usually won a laugh from me, but not today.

  “No, but the woman who died had eaten some of it at the senior center where my mother is a volunteer. Jack, could you let me know right away if the cake is laced with poison?”

  “Now, Vinnie, you know I’m not supposed to do that, especially if this turns out to be a murder investigation.”

  “I know, but my mother is under suspicion, Jack.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Detective Bellini is sending his newest recruit to your classes in January. The kid is my nephew. Give him as much help as you can, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  This is Rhode Island. It isn’t unusual for favors such as these to be extracted in return for other favors. With this in mind, I sighed.

  “Look, I won’t pass him if he doesn’t deserve it, but if he needs grading on a curve, then fine.” How big a curve was another matter altogether since Bellini and I have a love/hate relationship laced with a lot of respect. He often sent newbie’s to my classes. If they had difficulties, Bellini would ask that they be graded on a curve. It was a bone of contention, but when I needed a favor, like this one for instance, I would concede by offering a passing grade.

  Laughter met the promise, and I smirked. Jack knew I’d do what I could to help any of my students, as long as they showed a willingness to work hard.

  I hung up and drove from the parking area toward my parents’ house.

  Chapter 2

  I wondered how Mom would deal with this dilemma, and how my father, Gino Esposito, would handle it. He often had a bleak outlook on my lifestyle, which was filled with curiosity driven activities. Now that my mother was involved in what was sure to turn into a murder investigation, I would bear the brunt of his wrath, once again. It was a given.

  Mom parked her Toyota in the driveway. I pulled my Altima in behind it. I watched as she got out. She waited for me to join her before entering the house.

  “I was so relieved that you showed up when you did. Mrs. Galumpky is a horrible bully. She demanded that I admit to having caused Iva’s death. Why would I do such a thing? Iva was a lovely woman.”

  “Don’t speak to anyone without an attorney present, Mom. No one, understand? Not Marcus, not anyone, got it?”

  “But why would I not speak to him about it?”

  “Because I asked you not to, that’s why. Please, just comply with the request, Mom. Please?”

  It was evident she was confused, but she nodded in agreement and we entered the house. The smell of spaghetti sauce, referred to in my family as gravy, pervaded the room as it simmered on the stove. It smelled heavenly, the savory smells of garlic and spices brought on hunger pangs.

  With the lid of the sauce-pan in my hand, I inhaled the mouth-watering aroma. Mmm, my mother was wrong. My father was cooking tonight. I knew there would be crusty Italian bread, and salad to go with it. Those were comfort foods. I set the lid in place and settled at the table as my mother poured wine. Assorted cookies lay on the dish in front of me. I nibbled a peanut butter crisscross while Mom busied herself.

  Many a meal had been served in this kitchen. I looked around. Giovanni and I were raised in this neat little Cape Cod style house set on a postage stamp sized lot in an old, working-class family neighborhood of Cranston. We’d hung out wit
h the local kids, and Gio had played ball at the stadium several blocks away.

  Gio and I had often been involved in one prank or another, which led the boys-in-blue to frequent my parents’ doorstep with questions. Giovanni managed to come out looking like a saint, while I took the brunt of the punishment. This usually occurred since I couldn’t mind my own business, spoke out of turn, and clashed with my father more often than not. Ah, family, can’t live with them and can’t escape them.

  My mind wandered as I noticed the Christmas ornaments and decorations from our childhood displayed everywhere, ones my mother had never replaced. Some looked a bit weary.

  Gio and I had made many of them, which meant Mom cherished them above all others. She would brag about them and go on and on about how we’d sat at the table as kids and made these wonderful decorations. God forbid she should mention them to Marcus. I’d be totally embarrassed by it.

  Marcus Richmond was a constant in my life. I’d met him during a difficult time. My Aunt Lavinia, my namesake, had suddenly passed away under suspicious circumstances. I had inherited her house in a country village along with a small business in Providence. As my main man, Marcus Richmond, had swaggered into it as only a state trooper can.

  The Rhode State Police are listed as the best-dressed and most polite troopers in the United States, needless to say the most handsome, and often ruthless. When I’d met Marcus, he’d come to the colonial to investigate a suspicious package left on the door step. It wasn’t long before he’d become a daily fixture. We didn’t always agree on the way I handled things, but he was a super cop who had to adhere to strict rules.

  My inner voice, the one without a shutoff button, often rants and raves over my romantic involvement with any type of law enforcement officer, among other things. I’d managed to stay away from that romantic predicament until I’d met Marcus. The voice insists I’ll be hurt by a relationship with this type of person.

  Brought out of my reverie by my mother, I noticed her hand shook a tad when she refilled my wine glass. She sat across the table from me, her face distressed. I waited for her to speak.

  Her nervous fingers plucked at her napkin. She glanced at me and then burst into tears. It was difficult to watch my mother fall apart. I waited in silence until she gathered her erratic emotions.

  “Lavinia, how do you deal with such things in so calm a manner?”

  Me? Calm? Mom was talking to me about being calm? I’m Italian, for God’s sake. We’re never calm. Her question showed me just how badly she was handling this situation. She, above all, knew that calm wasn’t in my repertoire.

  When her tears stopped, I smiled and reminded her of our nationality, and that we were far from calm. A smile teetered around the corners of her mouth as she nodded.

  The door burst open. My aunt Muffy entered the house like the invasion of Normandy. Mom and I turned toward her at the same time.

  “Well, Mafalda, come on in,” Mom said rising to get another glass.

  “Make mine Burgundy, Theresa,” Muffy ordered.

  With a kiss to her cheek, I waited until Muffy settled at the table before I glanced out the window to see if anyone else would storm the house. All was clear. I resumed my seat.

  “Did you know that Iva Lindon passed away? I just got a call from Concetta Fonseca. She said it happened a little while ago,” Muffy blurted.

  “I know. I was there when it happened. So was Lavinia.” Mom set the wine glass and bottle on the table in front of Muffy.

  My aunt is a strong-minded woman with a mouth that would put a truck driver to shame. She also dated mob connected men. A habit we couldn’t seem to break her of. Muffy had a heart of gold where the family was concerned. She glanced at me and then turned to stare at my mother’s tear-streaked face.

  “Don’t even tell me you’re both involved in this unfortunate woman’s death. Good God, can you not stay out of trouble for one minute, Lavinia?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said with hands outstretched to ward off the oncoming lecture. “I was an innocent bystander in all this, Auntie.”

  “So, tell me what happened,” Muffy demanded as her jet black eyes became intense and sparkly.

  My mother shared our experience. She managed to keep it together when describing the scene where Iva croaked.

  “Imagine that,” was all Muffy could say as she glanced at the two of us and gulped the remaining liquor from her glass.

  “A policeman arrived, and I think he wanted to arrest me. I’m sure of it. Mrs. Galumpky was very offensive, and if Lavinia hadn’t intervened, I’d have been hauled away in handcuffs.”

  Muffy’s dark eyes peered at me when she turned in my direction.

  “Did you know this cop?”

  “Yeah, it was Nick Pirelli. He patrols that neighborhood. Do you remember him? He lived down the street from us as kids.”

  “I do. His father was an ass and his mother was a timid woman who jumped when his father said so, the bully.” Muffy snickered. “I kicked his ass more than once when we were young.”

  Chuckling at the idea of my short, stout aunt kicking some guy’s butt, I watched my mother begin to relax. Muffy kept the stream of stories up until my mother had restored her sense of humor. Leave it to Muffy to save the day, I thought with relief.

  It wasn’t until my father came through the door that my mother’s nerves became frazzled again. I figured she was about to tell him of Iva’s departure from this world, when Muffy stepped in to the rescue.

  “Gino, how the hell are you?”

  His gruff chuckle met the question and he nodded.

  “I’m fine. What’re you doing here?”

  The question took in all three of us, as did his gaze.

  “I came to visit my sister,” Muffy answered. “Vinnie was already here with Theresa. Where have you been?”

  “To the store for Italian bread.” He held the bag up for our inspection as his eyes lingered on my mother.

  “What’s going on, Theresa?” Dad asked her.

  “Well, dear, there was an incident at the senior center today while Lavinia and I were serving refreshments.”

  He looked at me and mumbled, “I’m sure there was.”

  Here we go. It would take an act of congress to stop the oncoming clash. My father and I tangle over the least thing. He’s sure he’s right while I’m sure he isn’t. He insists that I should mind my own business when I’m certain that I don’t have to. There’s that curiosity thing again.

  “Tell me what happened,” Dad said as he tossed the bread onto the counter.

  After my mother related the story, his face grew stern and he glared at me. Why? I’m not sure, but I was certain the reason would soon be revealed.

  Muffy, quiet for the moment, sipped more wine. I knew she waited for the head butting to commence. When my aunt Lavinia was alive, she never permitted my father to get far in the head butting department. Livvy would usually step in and put a stop to it, though I was capable of handling these affairs with little problem.

  When my mother finished the story, my father said, “Lavinia, you did good to protect your mother this way. I’m glad you were there.”

  I felt my mouth hang open in surprise. My father actually thought I’d done something right for a change. Mark the calendar, notify the newspaper, and contact the television stations. This was a red-letter day.

  “Thanks, Dad. It’s been a difficult day for Mom.”

  “You did good,” he said.

  I almost couldn’t take those words in. It was an unusual state of affairs for me to receive praise from my father. Mostly, he was on my ass about minding my own business and settling down to raise a gaggle of kids. At the moment, life was good.

  Before the conversation could take a sudden turn, I rose from the table and slipped on my wool jacket. Time to leave.

  “Aren’t you staying for dinner, Lavinia?” my mother asked.

  As much as I wanted some of my father’s wonderful cooking, I knew better than
to tempt the fates.

  “No, I’d better go home. This sweater is disgusting and I have papers to grade before the semester ends. We’ll break soon for the holiday vacation.” The university took nearly a month off at Christmas. The papers were already graded and ready to return to the students, but any excuse would do to get away at the moment.

  My father stood from the chair to get a container for the spaghetti sauce. He ladled the savory contents into the glass jar and plopped meatballs in, as well. Snapping the lid in place with its wire closure, he handed the sauce to me with a smile.

  “Make some pasta when you get home and have a good supper.” He sliced a chunk of Italian bread from the loaf he’d brought in. Placing it in a plastic bag, he added it to the sauce jar along with a bag of Mom’s cookies.

  I smiled and kissed everyone’s cheeks before I left. I may not have gotten a Christmas tree today, but I’d managed a free dinner and a possible murder. Both subjects were interesting, but only one really mattered to me. The fact that my mother was a suspect in someone’s death weighed me down.

  The ride home took longer than usual since the holiday season was in full swing and everyone shopped after work. Darkness had fallen and traffic on the highway was heavy. Troopers and cops abounded. They stopped speeders and assisted those who’d broken down.

  I finally parked in the driveway of the massive colonial in Scituate, the small hamlet I’d lived in for some time. My temporary tenant, Rafael, had left his vehicle on the far side of the driveway. The automatic exterior house lights flicked on as I opened the car door to get out. With the sauce and bread tucked under my arm, and the cookies stuffed in my large handbag, I headed into the house.

  It had been a long tiresome day, but it wasn’t over yet. As I entered the apartment, my cell phone jingled. I set the bundle of food on the kitchen counter and whipped the phone and cookies from my bag.

  “Lavinia speaking.”

  “Hey, this is Jack Manera. I wanted to let you know the old broad was poisoned. Some of the cake itself was poisoned, but other pieces weren’t. Whatever the woman ate was laced with the poisonous toxin. How she didn’t taste it is beyond me. She’d imbibed enough of it to kill her and two more like her.”