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Chrissy saw the policeman before he tapped on her window. Cold dread swept through her. One thing that was drilled in her since childhood was that you did nothing to gain the attention of the police. Rationally, she knew the police were there to serve and protect, but childhood programming was difficult to ignore.
Especially when an officer of the law was staring at her, unsmiling.
Chrissy rolled down the window as her heart raced against her efforts to remain calm. “Is there something I can do for you, Officer?”
“License and registration, please.”
“Do I do something wrong?” Chrissy knew she didn’t. She was just sitting here. Why was he asking for them? He couldn’t have probable cause for a crime.
“Is there a particular reason you’re parked here?” A small snort escaped his nose. “Crying?”
“I wasn’t feeling well, and pulled off until I felt better.”
“Not feeling well?”
“Migraine,” she lied. What was she going to say? That she was crying her eyes out over a man she loved but couldn’t have?
“How long have you been here?”
Chrissy looked at the clock in her dashboard. “About fifteen minutes.”
“See or hear anything suspicious?”
“No, Officer.”
“You sure?”
Yeah. Chrissy was sure. She had her head so far up her butt about Saks that she couldn’t notice anything else if she wanted to.
“Yes, Officer.”
“Don’t drive off,” said the policeman.
What the hell was she supposed to do? Here she was in Westfield, miles from home without her phone, which she stupidly lost in her own house, and she was told by a police officer not to leave the scene of whatever was going on behind that crime scene tape. How badly did she fuck up now?
In a week full of screw-ups, missed communications, and physical mayhem, she felt like all she could do was screw up.
Then her phone rang.
From her purse.
What the hell? She opened the bag and fished out the lighted device. Gloria’s number was displayed on the screen. “Hey,” she said.
“Where the hell are you?” said Gloria snottily.
As if she needed this from her sister today.
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I don’t. But Grandpa wants to talk to you.”
“I’m busy. Tell him to call me later.”
“Yeah. Right. Grandpa operating a cell phone. That’s a good one. And because you didn’t answer Mom’s or Dad’s calls, I have to do this.”
Chrissy checked her messages and swore. “I was busy. I thought I’d lost my phone.”
“No excuse. You’d better get over here before all three of them pitch a fit.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m a little tied up.”
“You’re not getting kinky in your spinsterhood, are you?”
The policeman came to the window. “Ms. Serafini?”
How did he know her name?
“Come with me, please.”
“Who’s that?” asked Gloria.
“A policeman.”
“Ms. Serafini,” he said more sternly. “Put your phone down.”
“I have to go, Gloria.”
“What? Why? What did you do?”
Chrissy imagined Gloria’s over-glossed lips opening and closing like a fish as Chrissy hung up on her. Good. Serves her right for being so nosey. Chrissy hung up the phone. “Am I under arrest, officer?”
“No, ma’am. But you may be a material witness to a crime. The detectives would like you to go to the station to give your statement.”
“What crime?” She shook her head. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
“You mean you won’t cooperate?”
“No. I mean I didn’t see or hear anything.”
The policeman frowned. “Ms. Serafini—”
“How do you know my name?”
“Ran your plates. Ms. Serafini, I’d appreciate it if you could just come with me. Your car is part of the crime scene now.”
“What? Why?”
“Because a man has been shot here, Ms. Serafini.”
Shot! This was something she definitely should not be near.
“We don’t want to have impound the car, but if you can come with me, and you talk to the detectives, I’m sure we can clear this up quickly.”
Chrissy saw no other option. If she made a fuss they may arrest her anyway, and an arrest was far worse than being asked to make a statement. She had nothing to add, so this shouldn’t take long. “Okay, Officer.”
At the station they placed her in an interview room, which made her nervous. If she was only making a statement, why did they put her there? She stared at the lime green paint on the cement block walls with distaste. But beneath her cool facade her gut clenched with anxiety. She sat for a least an hour as her stomach turned.
The door opened and a familiar-looking man strolled into the room. It took her a couple seconds to remember who he was.
“Ms. Serafini?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Anglotti.”
Saks’ cousin. “I remember you from the hospital.”
“What do you know about Robert Spencer?”
“Who?”
“Hades’ Spawn call him Hawk?”
“Nothing. We barely met.”
“And where were you around six this evening.”
“I was with your cousin.”
“Cousin. Which one. I have two dozen.”
“Saks. Anthony Parks.”
“And what were you doing with Saks, Ms. Serafini?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Really? A man’s been shot and you don’t think it’s relevant?”
Chrissy wasn’t sure what Anglotti’s game was, but his questions were out of line. “Fine. We fucked, then argued. Then I left. Satisfied?”
“No,” said Anglotti. “Stay away from my cousin. You’re not good for his health.” He opened the door to leave.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“What about me?”
“You’re free to go.”
“So, you brought me here for nothing?”
Anglotti shook his head. “Most people are happy to leave this place after questioning.”
This guy had a chip on his shoulder the size of New York. “What the hell’s your problem?”
“You. Fucking with Saks’ head. And his life. Just get out of Westfield and leave him alone.”
Chrissy’s jaw tightened. How dare this, this Rocco, say anything to her. “You’re out of line,” she snapped.
Anglotti shut the door and turned to face her. “Am I? What the hell are you doing? What game are you—a Serafini—playing? First you all act like you want Saks to marry into the family. Then you act like he’s not good enough to spit-shine your shoes. And now you’re over there, fucking his brains out.”
“It’s none of your business,” snapped Chrissy.
“Yeah. I heard that line already. All I know is that my cousin has a gunshot wound from someone your family hired.”
“That’s not true. It was the Rojos who hired those men.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“My grandfather did some checking, found out who those men are.”
“And who are they?”
“Associates of the DiMea family.”
“The Jersey boys?” Anglotti’s face twisted as he processed this new information.
“It seems the Rojos weren’t happy with how the Roccos messed with their drug business last year and they got a little revenge. On Saks.” She snorted. “Figured you, being a detective, could figure that one out.”
“That almost makes sense.”
“Almost?”
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re messing with Saks.”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you, Anglotti.”
“I think you’d better start explaining things, Ms. Serafini. Because a Hades’ Spawn was shot today. The last person to see him besides the pharmacist was Saks. You were the second to last person to see Saks when I left him. And you were sitting in the parking lot where the man was shot.”
She sucked in a breath. Suddenly, she was confused, frustrated, and very scared. She hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not anything illegal, but this man was questioning her as if she were a criminal.
“It’s awfully coincidental that a member of one of Connecticut’s largest crime families is smack dab in the middle of a shooting.”
Chrissy stood. Her hands clenched at her sides as she shook with the need to strike back. This was a dangerous mood for Chrissy to be in, one of the reasons she stayed away from the family business. She absolutely hated when her hot-blooded nature rose to the surface. It reminded her of all the things she disliked about her family. “Don’t even try to imply that I have anything to do with this, Anglotti. Everything points to someone trying to start a gang war between my family and the Roccos. Why don’t you work that angle instead of harassing a woman who has nothing to do with this?”
“It’s my job to look at all the possibilities. You’re guilty.”
“Then do your job. And isn’t it innocent until proven guilty?” she sneered. “Am I free to go?”
Anglotti held out his hands. “Sure, why not?” he said dryly.
“Great.” She snatched her purse from the table and stalked out of the room.
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Anglotti.
“What?”
“Your car’s impounded.”
“What?” She spit out, in an octave higher than usual.” Why?”
He gave her a snarky smile. “Only customers are supposed to park in that lot. The owner had it towed at your expense.”
Chrissy’s eyelids formed slits. She was brought here on the suggestion they’d impound her car if she didn’t go with the police. Now they impounded it because she did. “Anglotti?”
“Yes?”
“You’re an ass.” She stalked out of the interview room, every nerve in her body fired to do something dangerous if anyone crossed her. This is what she got for crossing the line and thinking anything was possible with a Rocco. She was done. Finished. She’d never have anything to do with Anthony Parks again.
It wasn’t until she was outside the police station, standing in the cool New England night time air, that she realized she had no way to get home. So, she did the only thing she could think of.
She called Marcus.
