The Focaccia Fatality (6 page)

“Let me get this straight, then,” I snapped. “You have my phone number, your cell phone has service, and yet months have gone by without so much as a word from you, other than a Christmas card that said nothing of value.”

Taken aback at my cold attitude, at least I guessed that was what caused the look on his features to harden slightly, Aidan answered, “If you’d let me explain, lass, we can get this cleared away. It wasn’t my intention to let the situation go on so long. I was out of commission for quite some time and then there was this to deal with.” He pointed to his leg.

Unwilling to listen, I put my hands up and said, “Stop, just stop. There’s no explanation good enough to excuse your behavior. If you didn’t want a relationship, Aidan, all you had to do was say so. Not hide in the highlands of Scotland and keep me waiting.” I’d begun pacing and now stopped two steps from him. “You should leave. I have work to do.” My voice must have grown louder with every word, for Sean pushed one of the doors open a crack and peaked in.

“Is everything okay in here?” she murmured.

“Fine, just fine, Sean. Aidan is leaving.”

He leaned on his cane, limped toward the door, and turned to me. “Anger solves nothing, lass. I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother,” I answered sharply and left him at the door while I entered the shop, while Seanmhair sidled into the kitchen.

Whatever Seanmhair and Aidan said to one another was unintelligible. I was so angry, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what they said. Absentmindedly, I scanned the shelves and dashed away the few tears that filled my eyes. It occurred to me that Sean would appeal to me on Aidan’s behalf.

Before I knew it, I’d walked out the front door, headed down the street and into the park. Disconsolate, I plunked onto the nearest bench and steadied my nerves as Aidan’s words sank in. Why did he use a cane? Why hadn’t he called me? Did he not care enough or was he unable to?

In rapid succession, questions came, one after the other. Unfortunately, no answers followed. I gazed off in the distance where the bay teamed with activity. Street traffic hummed in the background, and a cold December wind blew in off the water. I leaned forward, held my face in my hands, and had a good cry. After my tears ceased their flow, I wiped my face with my apron and wished I had a tissue.

The park lay barren in all its faded glory. Tall sea grass had turned a wheat color and bowed to the constant wind. Patches of grass, some greenish, the rest mostly brown, crunched under my feet as I strolled back and forth for a brief time. I glanced at my watch and realized I had to return to work.

It was also time to face Seanmhair.

The walk back was filled with thoughts. So many, in fact, that I never heard the car pull up next to me. A door slammed and footsteps echoed on the pavement. I glanced over my shoulder to see Vincent Gallagher approach. His face filled with fury, his eyes might have been made of stone, they were so cold and hard. I shivered, stopped walking, and faced him.

“Your trays are in my trunk. My wife is very upset and I didn’t want you to return to my home. You just had to report the incident to the police, didn’t you?” he raged.

“Her body was found floating in the river. I identified her, that’s it. What’s your problem, Mr. Gallagher?” My temper was on the rise. I held my breath, counted, and only reached five. “A young woman is dead, through no fault of mine. Furthermore, she was killed at your house. Don’t you feel any sympathy for her or is this just an inconvenience for you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m sorry that she’s dead.” Gallagher stomped toward the trunk of his car that automatically opened. He took my trays from it and shoved them into my hands. “You’ll never get any work in this city again, Melina. I promise you that,” Gallagher ground out as I tightened my hold on the ware.

No sense in arguing, the man could wield enough power to sink a ship before it reached port, so why bother? My business was a drop in the bucket compared to what he dealt with on a regular basis. His vicious attitude wasn’t lost on me and dread filled my steps as I hurried away from him. If my nerves hadn’t been rattled before, they definitely were now.

From the wide front windows of the shop, Seanmhair saw me stride up to the front door. She came round the counter and let me in, her face filled with surprise.

“Where did those come from?” she asked.

“Mr. Gallagher just returned them to me with a warning of dire things to come. Is this a bad dream, or what?” I asked as I set the serving ware on the nearest worktable. They hadn’t been washed or even wiped clean. I grimaced, then shoved them into the dishwasher and pushed the start button.

A concerned look in her eyes, Seanmhair asked, “What sort of dire warnings? He didn’t out and out threaten you, did he, Melina?”

I shrugged. “Not in so many words. He assured me, though, that I’d never get any other work in Providence. He’s a man with enough influence to make or break a person. It just angers me to no end, Sean. I did nothing wrong.”

She patted my shoulder as tears threatened to flow again. “Melina, you’ve had a long day and night. You go catch a nap. Samantha will be in shortly to watch the store and handle anything that comes up.”

I sniffled, nodded, and untied my apron. After I’d set some food for my upstairs apartment on my stairs, I glanced out the kitchen window and saw BettyJo beckoning me. With a deep breath, I glanced back at Seanmhair, to find she’d gone into the shop front. Soundlessly, I tiptoed out the back door and met BettyJo.

“What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you come in?” I asked softly.

She leaned close and said, “I didn’t want to interrupt you and Seanmhair. Come over, I need to talk to you.”

Curious, I followed BettyJo into her reading room. All was quiet. The crystal ball BettyJo used as an accessory glowed eerily on the table. Its inner light swirled and I half-expected to see smoky images appear. I shook off the thought and rubbed a chill that caused goose bumps to rise on my arms.

“Why so secretive?” I asked.

“We need to talk. I didn’t want Seanmhair to hear what I’ve got to say. Take a seat.” BettyJo motioned to a chair at her reading table. She clicked off the crystal ball and the swirl disappeared. Thank God for small favors. At least I wouldn’t be creeped out by having to see it in action.

Her chuckle caught me unaware. “I know the ball bothers you. Not one of my customers asks to have it turned off. Maybe it’s my Madame Zelda image that does the trick.”

“Right, I’ll remember that, Madame Zelda,” I said and relaxed. “What’s going on?”

“One of my clients came in early this morning for a reading. She was chitchatting afterward and mentioned a party she’d been to at Vincent Gallagher’s house. Surprised at the revelation, I asked if she enjoyed herself. It seems she overheard an argument between the blonde and another guest,” BettyJo said conspiratorially. She warmed to the subject and leaned her elbows on the table and said, “She recognized the man, but had no idea who the woman was.”

“Who is he, then?”

“Joshua Hardin.”

I shook my head and shrugged. “Who’s Joshua Hardin?”

“A member of the House. Haven’t you seen him on television?”

I snorted. “If I had time to watch television, maybe I’d know him. At this point, the only time I get to see what’s happening in Rhode Island is when I read old news in yesterday’s paper at two in the morning.”

“He ran for a term last year and won by a narrow margin. His reputation isn’t as sparkling clean as he’d have everyone believe. If I remember correctly, there was mention of him having an affair not long before he declared his candidacy. The story was quickly squashed.”

“Who was the affair with? Did it come out?” I asked.

She shook her head and thought for a minute. When BettyJo gets an idea, her face lights up like the Christmas tree on the White House lawn. I smiled when it happened this time. Maybe we’d get somewhere now.

With a slap on the table, BettyJo grinned. “I know who we can ask. One of my clients works at a news station. She’ll have access to the information we need.” She rose from the chair, pulled her phone from her purse, and hit speed dial.

“Hey, Myra. It’s BettyJo Seever. I need a favor and you’re the one person who can help me.” She listened for a moment and then asked if Myra would look up the video on Joshua Hardin.

“At this moment, I can’t say why I need the information, but if it leads where I think it will, I’ll gladly give you a crack at the story,” BettyJo promised.

When she’d finished with the call, BettyJo looked at me with bright eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. “Myra’s going to dig up the footage, subtly ask the reporter who did it, and then get back to me. As soon as she does, I’ll call you.”

“This was worth missing out on a nap. I’ve got to figure out what happened before the shit really gets deep. Gallagher can become a hazard to my business and lifestyle if I’m not careful. The last thing I need is to lose my livelihood.”

Her eyes widened and BettyJo asked, “He wouldn’t go that far, would he, Melina?”

“We had a one-sided conversation earlier. He didn’t say he’d put me out of business, but inferred as much. I won’t go down without a fight, but honestly, I haven’t the energy for it at the moment.” I yawned and got to my feet. “I’m going home for a nap. If you hear anything, let me know right away. Thanks, BettyJo.”

The shop was closed for the day when I returned. Seanmhair had left a note saying Samantha had called in sick. Sean had taken her leave, and left the daily deposit on the desk with a note attached. It read:

Don’t do anything foolish where Aidan or where Mr. Gallagher are concerned. Call if you need me. Otherwise we’ll talk in the morning.

Love,

Seanmhair.

I heaved a sigh, left the money bag and note on the desk, and locked the back door before heading upstairs.

*    *    *

It was a wasted effort to try and get some rest. My body refused to relax so my mind would clear long enough for sleep to take over. Instead, I slumped on the sofa, pulled an afghan over me, and dialed Vinnie Esposito’s phone number. It was possible Vinnie could tell me what I needed to know.

“Vinnie Esposito,” she said loud and clear.

“Hey, Vinnie, it’s Melina Cameron.”

“I saw you on the news and wondered if I’d hear from you,” she remarked. “Been there, done that, and disliked it with all my heart, so I know what you’re feeling. How can I help?”

This woman had a presence most bad guys tried to avoid. Self-confident, tall, and unwilling to put up with nonsense, in my book Vinnie Esposito was a woman to be reckoned with. After I explained what I was interested in knowing, she said she’d do her best and would contact me later.

Before she hung up, Vinnie asked, “You know what kind of trouble you’re asking for, right?”

“I do, but if I don’t make an effort to find out what happened to that woman, I won’t be able to get past finding her dead body. You understand, don’t you?”

A snicker crossed the line and Vinnie said, “Sure do, we’ll talk later.”

The line went dead. I stared at the phone before putting it aside. Vinnie had contacts in the law enforcement and security world. She’d been in more scrapes than I’d ever want to be involved in, and had managed to survive. If she could do it, I could, too.

Two hours later, I still slouched on the sofa when I heard pounding on the rear entry downstairs. I flung the afghan aside, slipped my shoes on, and ran my fingers through my hair as I trundled down the steps.

BettyJo and Vinnie Esposito stood on the deck. Hurriedly, I invited them in. BettyJo carried a bottle of wine and a bag from Mack & Mutts Deli. Vinnie was empty handed, but the electricity she exuded could only mean one thing. She had news.

I motioned them upstairs and followed hot on their heels. While they settled in, I took wine glasses and plates from my kitchenette. While BettyJo poured, I pulled the contents from the bag and found she’d ordered calzones. I cut them in sections and loaded plates.

“We can eat while we talk. Who wants to go first?” I said and bit into the warm, spinach and black olive-filled calzone. I groaned with appreciation and heard their laughter.

“I reached out like you asked,” Vinnie said around a mouthful of food. “The affair had been ongoing for a year or more. Hardin’s wife had no idea, or if she had, then she kept it to herself. Politician’s wives do that, you know. Look at the former governor of California’s situation. His wife waited until he left office before she pulled the plug on that relationship.”

“Did you find out the woman’s name?” I asked between bites.

With a nod, Vinnie swallowed a sip of wine. “It was hush, hush, but I kept asking until I got what I wanted.” She flipped her iPhone out and scrolled through it. Then she held it up for us to see. “Her name is Vanderkemp. Eliza Vanderkemp. Natural-blond, beautiful woman, and a former Olympic Gold Medal Winner.”

I gagged on my wine, coughed until I thought my lungs would come out through my mouth, and proceeded to drag oxygen back into my lungs. This was the same woman from the party, the one who was murdered. I had a name, now I needed to know even more.

Glancing at each woman, I asked in a ragged voice, “Any other details? Either of you?”

With a slight nod, BettyJo withdrew a note from her jeans pocket and picked up where Vinnie had left off. “She moved to Rhode Island, worked on Hardin’s campaign, and did some modeling in Massachusetts. Women’s sportswear, mostly. The two were seen together at all the fund raising parties, though she wasn’t front and center, but lingered in the background. My contact said she was a mover and shaker when it came to his political career. His wife was willing to be at his side, but nothing more.”

Scrolling through her pictures again, Vinnie showed me Hardin’s wife. “She’s mousy, but a makeover would have turned her into a reasonably good looking woman. Washington would have been the place for that to happen. In D.C., the wives are in the habit of presenting a well-coiffed appearance, much like movie stars do at award ceremonies.” Vinnie snickered. “Was she at the party?”