Dirty Trouble (7 page)

“Your friend is joining us for supper tonight,” my father, Gino Esposito, said with a dark-eyed, suspicious sideways glance.

“Marcus is coming here?”

“No, your other friend. The tenant guy. Have you been up to something we need to know about?” he asked.

“Dad, I haven’t been up to anything but working. Why do you ask?” My father and I butt heads often
.
This would be no exception.

“Why would he call and invite himself to dinner, unless you’ve done something, Lavinia? What does he do for a living, anyway?” He looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. “You’re not pregnant, are you, Lavinia?”

My given name is Lavinia, and usually only my parents use it. My brother issued me the nickname of Vinnie when we were in school, and it stuck. Marcus only uses my formal name when he’s in the throes of aggravation. Aaron calls me Vinnie all the time.

“No, I’m not pregnant, nor am I sleeping with Aaron. What could I be up to? I have no time now that the semester is in full swing. And Aaron works for the Rhode Island Gaming Commission. That’s it, plain and simple.

It occurred to me that Aaron had realized his mistake in refusing the dinner invitation I’d extended. Coming to dinner at my parents’ would offer him the perfect chance to check out my family. While Aaron worked undercover for the FBI, and the Gaming Commission was his cover, he could use his job to his advantage. He was free to roam around and stick his nose into everyone’s business.

“Why would he want to eat with us?”

My father, the pit bull. Once he got his teeth into something, it became nearly impossible to open a different dialogue.

“I invited him to dinner, but he said no. Maybe he reconsidered.” I shrugged. “Perhaps he thought he’d enjoy your cooking. Ever think of that?” How stupid to consider that argument might work, but it was worth a try.

“Yeah, right. By the way, Lavinia, you’re not thinking of doin’ anything foolish, like investigating Antonio or Mafalda, are you?”

“No, and where did you get that idea?” My hand snuck to my hip while my father stared hard at me. Oh, yeah, we were about to butt heads all right.

Mom, peacemaker extraordinaire, stepped forward. She glanced at my father and then at me.

“I might have mentioned that you got Muffy out of jail. I also might have said that Antonio is being investigated by the cops. Sorry, Lavinia.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me.” I glared at my father, even though he’d turned away from me.

“It better have nothing to do with you. That’s all I’m sayin’ here. You don’t need to get involved with something that’s none of your business, like the gem thing last summer.” His flat, dark-eyed glare swung toward me and I glanced away.

My father inhabits the old school of thought. He figures all women should be married and mothers – not be policewomen, not be criminal justice instructors, and not be anything else. He has respect for my education, but there’s always that old school way of thinking that sneaks into our conversations.

With a sigh, I sipped my glass of wine and turned at the knock on the door. My gaze followed my mother as she hustled to answer the summons. She and my father had never met Aaron, which meant this should prove an interesting meal. I was most certain of it.

A bunch of flowers came through the door prior to the sexy hunk. Aaron grinned in that suave way he had, and my mother stood awestruck. As he handed her the flowers she smiled from ear to ear, stepping aside so he could enter the room.

The huge size of the man dwarfed everything in the compact room. My father turned toward Aaron after he set the cover on the kettle. With bated breath, I waited to hear what would issue from his mouth.

“So, you’re the tenant, eh?” He looked Aaron up and down before he extended a hand in greeting.

Crinkle lines appeared at the corners of Aaron’s eyes, and he nodded. It was plain to see he wasn’t any more intimidated by my father than Marcus was on his first meeting. Undoubtedly, it was a guy thing.

As the two men shook hands, I expelled pent-up breath and stepped forward with introductions all around. My eyes strayed to Aaron and then back to my parents. My mother seemed to have fallen under his good-looking and well-mannered spell, while my father, well, that remained to be seen.

Soon the flowers sat on the table, clustered in a vase of water. Across from them my mother poured Aaron a glass of heady red wine. My father settled a plate of tempting aromatic meatballs, sausage, and mushrooms on the table. The pasta boiled and dad returned to the job at hand without a word. I watched Aaron’s actions and wondered why I’d issued the invitation in the first place. Maybe Aaron reconsidered his refusal when he realized dinner with my family offered him the perfect opportunity to snoop into our affairs. Only God knows what he expected to find.

From the looks of things, my mother would think of Aaron as marriage material and start with wedding noises. My father would give me the third degree. He’d say nothing good could come from marrying a cop, any cop. This meant Marcus, of course, because they had no idea of Aaron’s true occupation.

Since they didn’t know that, the wedding noises would be two-fold. Gosh, who even considered marriage here? Maybe I was a bit ahead of myself. It was just the way my parents’ thought patterns worked.

Aaron slid into a chair at the table, leaned back in a relaxed position, and sipped his wine. I hid a smile as he and my mother conversed about the care of the flowers. There was a moment when Aaron’s eyes strayed toward me, and I caught the delighted twinkle in them. He was working my mother, I thought. This visit had to do with Muffy and Antonio, for sure. Geez
.

A bowl heaped with pasta followed a dish of antipasto salad that filled the center of the table. Proscuitto and chunks of hard Provolone cheese, which smelled like rotten socks and tasted tangy, nestled within the salad greens. Black olives clustered among roasted red peppers. My mouth watered. I inhaled the heady aromas and waited impatiently to start shoveling this tasty fare down my gullet.

My father took a seat at the table next to my mother. His dark-eyed stare lingered on me for a few seconds before he served up the meal. His gruff voice filtered across the table as we sucked down the excellent food.

“You wanna tell me about Mafalda and what you did to get her out of jail?” my father asked.

“It just took a promise that I’d be the one to take her in for arraignment. I was extended a professional courtesy. Why do you ask?”

“She called earlier this afternoon and mentioned how you wrangled her way out. Don’t get involved in this matter, Lavinia. She also knows that Antonio was released quickly and left her there. She’s not happy about that either.”

Aaron stared at me, a smile tickling the edges of his mouth.

I knew he realized my father didn’t care for the curiosity that drove my lifestyle, and I could see where Aaron’d get a chuckle from it. I shrugged and we went back to our meal.

“There’s no way I’d become involved with that. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Sure, you say that now, but I know you. Just stay out of it, understand?” Dad’s voice was gruff and loud.

There was more than an underlying message here. My father was trying to tell me that I wouldn’t be lucky if I stepped into that arena. The mob didn’t like women who tried to mind their criminal business. I got the message, loud and clear. With a nod, I dug into the salad.

The conversation wasn’t lost on Aaron, since he’d drilled me about the family and Muffy’s connections. He slid a curious glance toward me, and I smiled before passing the salad to him.

“Try the antipasto, Aaron. It’s unbelievable,” I said.

He grinned and heaped a healthy portion onto his plate. His glance rested on my father for a moment before he asked, “Did you know that Tony DeGreico met up with Vinnie yesterday?”

My fork slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Dang. He would bring that up now. Great, my parents would be all over me about it, and my mother would insist I move home. My father, well, he’d just be all over me. I really hate to be right sometimes, but….

Shaggy eyebrows drew together as my father grimaced across the table.

“That bum is out of the nut house?” he roared and turned to me. “You didn’t say he was on the street again. Where’d you meet him, Lavinia?”

I kicked Aaron under the table as I spoke to my father. “He stopped me on the street. He’s working in Foster on some horse ranch, shoveling manure. That’s all that happened, honest.” I didn’t stammer, but close to it.
Aaron would pay for his inability to keep his trap shut.

“Maybe you should move home, dear?” my mother said, her voice worried.

“He’s paid his debt to society, Mom. He isn’t about to violate any laws, or he’ll end up back where he was. He just stopped me to say hello – end of story. I’m not moving home. Besides, Aaron lives upstairs from me now, so I’ll have protection. There’s always Marcus to consider.”

My father grunted and tore a chunk of Italian bread apart. He mopped up the thick red pasta sauce on his plate with the bread in
a la zuppa
fashion and looked around the table as we all watched.

“What’s the other hand for?” he grumbled.

“Bread,” I uttered, in unison with my mother.

Aaron broke into a grin and chuckled as he watched me follow suit with the crusty Italian bread. He joined in, and I was certain he’d rarely, if ever, eaten with an Italian family before.

Between dipping the bread, and eating it, I asked, “What made you change your mind about dinner with us, Aaron?” I still smarted from his tattletale DeGreico thing. Maybe a little torture would be good for him.

Shrewd eyes took in my features, and he glanced around the table. With a smirk he said, “I just couldn’t pass up a great Italian meal with you and your family. Besides, who wants to do paperwork? I get enough of that during the day.”

Such bullshit, I thought with a barely restrained grimace. Nonetheless, I smiled to hide the fact that I didn’t believe his line of crap for a second. My father caught the look. His bread stopped in midair.

“What is it you do for a living?” Dad asked with a cool stare, even though I’d told him. It was the same flat-eyed stare a shark has. When my dad gives it, well, you don’t wanna know what he’s about. Let’s just say it isn’t a trusting look.

With a serious and earnest face, Aaron told my father about his position with the Gaming Commission. He even outlined the job – with a lengthy explanation of the system in Rhode Island. It was such a well-played lie that even I was tempted to believe him.

Gosh, he wasn’t only professional wrestling material – he could have won an Oscar for that performance. Who’d have thought, eh? But then, he’d fooled me last summer, and it was only halfway through the gem investigation that the truth came out about what he did. I was sworn to secrecy and kept my mouth shut.

My mother jumped into the conversation every once in awhile with a question about gambling laws and such. When she did, I could see Aaron sum her up for a brief second as he answered the query. Dinner with my family was never going to happen again for Aaron. Dang, I should have known better than to issue the invite after he grilled me about Aunt Mafalda and her connections. Too late now.

Warm apple crisp topped with real whipped cream was the
dessert
du jour
. I ate my usual – more than I should have. Leaning back in the chair, replete from the meal, I unbuttoned my jeans. Mom chuckled and Aaron stared at me with a wicked grin. My father smirked and grunted, that which passed for humor. I smiled, belched, and gazed around the table.

“Lavinia, excuse yourself.” My father’s dark glare was back as he waited patiently for the words.

My fingers in front of my mouth, I muttered, “Excuse my bad manners.” With that, I reached across the table for one more crumb on the dessert plate. A rap on the knuckles, from my father’s fork handle, was my reward for this wayward behavior.

“Lavinia, you’ve been hangin’ with those bad mannered cops again, haven’t you? They eat like slobs and have no manners to speak of.” His gruff voice boomed.

With a mental eye roll, I nodded and licked my fingertips. I glanced at Aaron’s wide grin, rose from the table to clear the plates, and loaded the dishwasher.

He turned to my dad, and they started talking about the pizza business. Oh, yeah, Aaron Grant was a fisherman of the worst kind. Whether he fooled my dad was another thing altogether.

Later, with a bag of goodies from dinner, and dessert, I headed toward the door. Aaron stepped close behind as we said our goodbyes to my parents. My mother had a hopeful gleam in her eye. I heaved a sigh of resignation. Dad shook Aaron’s hand and issued an invitation to join them again. Wow, I thought. Dad never invites anyone back for dinner.

My inquisitive nature fell into play more often than it should. I suspected there must be more to the invitation from my father. As unlikely as it seemed, Dad liked my tenant.

It was obvious Aaron relished the invite. He smiled broadly. I knew without a doubt that he had convinced everyone he was what he said he was. The fact that my dad thought he wasn’t a cop might have a lot to do with the return invitation.

Apprehension settled along my spine. I figured this would be the beginning of a potential marriage battle. If they only knew about Aaron’s true reasons for the interest in the family, my parents wouldn’t give him the time of day.

With a wave of my hand, I hustled out the door and made a beeline toward the car. The goody bag landed on the front seat.

I turned to Aaron and snapped, “You do realize you’re going to pay for the DeGreico thing, don’t you? There was no reason to shake my parents to their roots, you know. Did Lola tell you the whole story?”

His eyes widened at my change in attitude. He hemmed and hawed for a second and then stood there with his hands extended, palms up.

“If I’d known the response it would bring, I wouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. Lola just said this guy had harassed you and that he might do it again.”