Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) (18 page)

“Maybe she felt sorry for Rouse,” Ron said. “Rouse had no family. No friends.”

“Regardless, Henrietta was pig-headed,” Marge said. “Her staff opposed giving Rouse the appointment, and Henrietta pulled rank. She disregarded what Lucy Pym said about Rouse’s cheating on her exams.”

“Henrietta was blind to what everyone else saw in Rouse,” I said. “She made her decision and set a plan into motion.”

“But we can’t blame her for Rouse’s murder!” Felicity said.

Sadie suddenly came alive. “Oh, yes we can!” she shouted, glaring at Viola. “People can be responsible for killing someone, even if they don’t pull the trigger!”

Viola went pale. “What are you trying to say?”

“You know
exactly
what I’m saying.”

Viola clutched at her throat. “I had nothing to do with Tim’s murder.”

“You threatened to have his car impounded if he didn’t repay his loan on time.”

“Sadie, Viola, please!  Now isn’t the time for this,” I protested, but neither of them so much as looked my way.

“Your lover boy owed me money,” Viola spat out. “Lots of it. He would have had it, too, if he’d worked instead of gambling it away.”

Sadie’s hands formed fists. I hoped they weren’t about to start flying. “Tim was out of his mind with worry! He was desperate to raise the money for you.”

“And why not? He owed me that money.” Viola tossed her dark mane over her shoulder, seemingly unconcerned that Sadie might act on her fury. “He went to those gangsters he liked to think of as his friends.” She laughed. “But he must have pissed them off because not one of them loaned him one cent! It’s not my fault if one of them killed him.”

Sadie let out a moan. I put my arm around her, but she shrugged it off and turned her anger on me. “Lexie, if you don’t throw that woman out, I’m leaving!”

Viola walked over to face Sadie. Hand on hip, she declared, “I paid to come here, same as you.”

“In which case, I won’t stay here another minute.”

Sadie pushed past Viola and made a beeline for the spare bedroom, where I’d tossed everyone’s jackets. I chased after her.

“Please, Sadie. Don’t leave like this.”

She stopped shoving her arms into her parka to throw me a murderous scowl. “How could you ask that woman to join our group, with Tim barely laid in his grave?”

“I had no idea...” I started to explain as Sadie made a beeline for the front door.

Viola and Ron left on her heels, and the others wandered into the kitchen for coffee and dessert, which they carried back into the living room.

“That was an unexpected flash of excitement,” Corrine said. “The ex-wife and the girlfriend battle it out.”

“I had no idea Viola was ever married to Tim,” I said. “Ron asked if he could come to the meeting and said he was bringing a friend.”

Joy grimaced. “Ron’s a trouble maker. He knows Sadie and Viola can’t stand each other.”

“But Tim and Sadie only started dating a short while ago,” Marge said.

“They couldn’t stand each other before Tim and Viola got divorced,” Joy explained. She lowered her voice. “Sadie was going out with Ron until Viola went after him. While she was married to Tim.”

Evan laughed. “Ryesdale’s beginning to sound like Peyton Place.”

“Why?” Corinne asked. “Ryesdale’s like any other place--people fall in love; they divorce.”

“And some are murdered,” Joy murmured.

Everyone turned to stare at her. Though I knew Joy’s comment was meant to provoke a discussion about the murders, I felt obliged to smooth things over.

“There’s been talk that both Len Lyons and Tim had mob connections,” I said. “Maybe someone in organized crime killed them.”

“How do you figure that?” Connie scoffed. “A loan shark wouldn’t kill Tim for trying to borrow money. And Len was the local burglar. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Felicity let out a heart-wrenching groan. “That Viola woman said Tim went to gangsters to borrow money. I bet Johnny killed him!”

“Felicity, sweetie.” Corinne reached out to take her sister’s hands in hers. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because Johnny kills people,” Felicity whispered. “He killed Len.” Her eyes widened. “And he wants to see you dead.”

“We’re safe now, remember?” Corinne said softly. “We have guards escorting us to work and back to the hotel.”

Felicity jerked her hands free to cover her face. “We’ll never be safe. Never!”

*****

“Felicity Roberts thinks Johnny Scarvino killed her boyfriend and Tim Draigon,” I told Brian the following evening. We were sitting in a booth in my local diner, munching on cheeseburgers.

“Really?” Brian grinned. “And you believe her?”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, but Corinne’s tough and she’s terrified of the guy. She and Felicity are living in a hotel. The house is up for sale.”

Brian frowned. “That’s too bad. We can take steps against intimidation, but only if they file a complaint.”

“Which they won’t. Corinne said it only made things worse. Have you found out anything new about Johnny Scarvino.”

“He’s a gangster. Lives in New Jersey.”

“Thanks.” I let out a huff of exasperation. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I can’t, Lexie.”

I pursed my lips. “That isn’t very sporting of you. I report conversations. In return you withhold information.”

He nodded. “It’s not fair, I admit, but I don’t want to have to step back from another case.”

“I get it. I’ve no intention of jeopardizing your career.”
In which case, Joy and I will check Johnny out
.

Brian pulled back in mock surprise. “That’s mighty kind of you, Lexie. Too kind, in fact. Which makes me think you’re up to something.”

I grinned. “The ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy was created for couples like us.”

He sent me a thoughtful glance. “I can’t stop that devious mind of yours from spinning and plotting, but I’m telling you—don’t antagonize the murderer by snooping around and asking questions. You’ve gotten one warning already.”

“Do you think the same person killed Tim and Len Lyons?”

Brian’s nostrils flared, and I knew I’d gone too far. “Maybe yes, maybe no. This conversation is over.”

“All right,” I said, stung by his reaction.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and covered my hand with his.

We finished our food in silence. Brian downed the last of his coffee and asked for the check. The waitress dropped it on the table, and he pulled out his wallet. I slid along my seat, ready to stand, when Brian looked up.

“Wait a minute, Lexie. I have to tell you something.”

He’s going to break up with me!
My heart plummeted to my stomach. I swallowed. “What is it?” I croaked.

Brian leaned across the table to speak softly. “Gayle’s going home to Utah in two days, and I’m going with her.”

“Oh!” Relief and dismay vied for top position in my heart. Dismay won out. “Will it be safe for her to go back there? Is that Shawn Estes still intent on having her brought back so he can….” I couldn’t bring myself to utter the word I was thinking.

“I’ve been in contact with the Utah police chief and the County Attorney. They’ve suspended Estes while they investigate Chester Fenton’s murder.”

“Suspended him? You mean to tell me he’s not in jail?”

“They never found the knife used to kill Fenton, so it’s his word against Gayle’s. But the department’s also looking into other criminal activities Gayle said Estes was involved in. And they’re still searching for the murder weapon.”

I shivered. “Estes must be more determined than ever to see the last of Gayle. She’s the only person willing to tell the truth about him.”

“He’s a dangerous S.O.B. Which is why I’m escorting her to Utah,” Brian said. “There’s something else. The cops hope Estes’ former girlfriend will provide corroborating evidence of all he’s been up to. An ambulance rushed her to a hospital a few weeks ago with severe internal injuries. He’d been using her as a punching bag.”

“What about Pete Rogers!” I demanded. “For all we know, Estes gave him orders to shoot Gayle on sight.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “According to the Utah police, Rogers is exactly what he claims to be. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went home. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him or his truck for three days now.”

I nodded. “I thought I spotted his truck a few times last week, but not recently.”

Now he was grinning. “How about I bring Gayle over to your house tomorrow around dinner time? You can share a meal, stay up talking all night. I’ll swing by for her six-fifteen the next morning. We’ve a ten o’clock flight. She’ll fly back to Long Island in a week or two to pick up her SUV.”

I hugged Brian and planted a big smooch on his lips. “Detective Donovan, you are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”

As much as I looked forward to spending time with my sister before she left for Utah, I couldn’t stop thinking about Johnny Scarvino. He was the linchpin that linked the two murders.

As soon as Brian dropped me off at home, I pulled out a pad and paper and jotted down everything I knew about the mysterious Johnny:

He was a mobster, which meant he was a killer.

He lived in New Jersey, but had no compunction about coming to Long Island,

He used to date Corinne, which made him no older than thirty-five.

His father went to prison for killing another gangster and his wife.

He killed Felicity’s pet ferret.

He probably shot up Corinne and Felicity’s house.

Corinne and Felicity were terrified of him.

Did he kill Len Lyons? Did he kill Tim? Both Len and Tim had mob connections, which didn’t make them mobsters. Besides, not all mobsters knew one another. I thought of the Logic class I’d taken in my freshman year of college, and realized the problem didn’t add up logically. But, like Felicity, I believed the two murders were related.

I called Joy. She answered, sounding grumpy and exhausted.

“We have to do further research on Johnny Scarvino,” I told her.

“Tomorrow. I’m off to bed as soon as I make the kids’ lunches.”

“It’s nine-thirty,” I pointed out.

“Thanks for the time check. I’ve been up since six a.m., if you don’t count the two times Brandon woke me up during the night.”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’ll come over tomorrow, after my classes.”

“I’ll be human again then.”

As promised, Joy was her usual sweet self the following afternoon when she led me to her tiny computer room.

“I looked up Johnny Scarvino. Didn’t find much more than what we’d read about him last time. He was arrested for various mob-related crimes. His father, John, must have killed dozens of people, but went to prison for killing an older couple.”

“Who?” I removed the papers on the bridge chair and sat down beside her.

“A Big Enchilada in the mob world,” Joy answered as she clicked through several newspaper articles.

“Pick the longest article,” I said. “It will have the most information.”

“Will do.” She was already printing out the article.

I studied the photos before I started reading. John Scarvino was a handsome if grim-looking man about fifty, with a full head of graying hair. The other photo was of the murdered couple, Salvatore Vito (Salvey) and Rose Fusco, seated at a table in a suit and fancy dress at some elegant affair. The photo was too grainy for me to make out their facial features, but the way they held themselves spoke pages. Salvatore Vito loomed big and brawny in the foreground; Rose hunched back in her seat as though shrinking from the camera’s lens.
A bully and his victim,
I thought.

I read the text slowly. Salvey Fusco was a boss, and Johnny’s father was his underboss. The Fuscos were found shot in the head, execution-style, in the elegant bedroom of their New Jersey mansion. Fusco’s fingerprints were found on the gun.

“I didn’t do it, I swear! Why would I want to hurt Salvey and Rosie?” Scarvino told the cops when they arrived because an anonymous caller had reported the murders. “Sure I picked up the gun. So what? You think I’m stupid?  You think I’d leave my fingerprints if I killed them?”

Scarvino swore the Fuscos were family. He’d never in a million years harm them. But the police and DA’s office saw it differently. They figured Scarvino was fed up taking Fusco’s orders and wanted to be in charge. They were sure he’d have wiped his fingerprints off the gun, given the chance.

I finished the article and looked at Joy. “It does seem pretty lame that a guy like John Scarvino would leave fingerprints.”

Joy laughed. “The cops saw their chance and arrested him. The DA threw the book at him. With that kind of evidence, he didn’t have a chance in hell of going free. Catching him on this made up for all the cases they couldn’t pin on him.”

“Then who made the call? Who knew John Scarvino was at the Fuscos’ house?”

Joy shrugged. “Who knows?  Someone loyal to Fusco? One of his capos?”

“But why kill Rose Fusco?” I asked. “In the photo she looks terrified of her husband.”

“Who knows. Maybe because she was there.”

“Did they have children?”

“There’s no mention of any kids,” Joy said.

Frustrated, I slammed my hand down on the desk. “We still know practically nothing. We’ve no idea why Johnny Scarvino’s angry at Corinne.”

“For breaking up with him?”

“That happened years ago.”

Joy shrugged. “Some men hold a grudge.”

“They do, but shooting up Corinne and Felicity’s house seemed to come out of the blue.”

“Right after Corinne’s bank was robbed,” Joy mused.

“And her picture was in the paper.”

Again I thought of Brat Farrar and how he longed to be part of the Ashby family. The family! What if the Roberts sisters were part of the family?

“I have it!”

“What?”

I grinned broadly at Joy. “Do you remember when Felicity told us at one of the meetings that Johnny Scarvino killed her ferret?”

“Of course.”

“Corinne tried to calm her down. She said Johnny had done it at their father’s orders.”