Shop windows boasted sales of up to fifty percent off all goods. Who could resist that? Today my checkbook was nestled in my pocket. I thanked God because I hardly ever carried it with me. I charged through as many stores as I could until my arms became heavy with purchases. Sweaters, jeans, shoes, underwear, and more were stuffed into shopping bags. I glanced at my wristwatch and realized how late in the day it was.
Outside, the daylight had grown dim. Lights illuminated the parking garage. I scurried toward the car with the expectation I’d find it where I had left it. The Cooper sat under the compact car parking sign where I’d left it—no damage, and no problems. I heaved a sigh of relief as I unlocked the car door.
Once the bags were bundled into the back seat, I slid in and backed out of the parking spot. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I left the city for Cranston where I hoped to cadge a meal from my parents. It grew darker as I made my way through traffic. The road forked. I turned and glanced to the right and then the left. I turned back to the right and in that fraction of a second, I realized the woman walking along the sidewalk was none other than the old hag who had robbed me the day before.
I slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. I swung the steering wheel hard. Traffic slid to a stop, horns blew, and hand gestures prevailed while I turned around. The Cooper was a great car for tight turns. As I neared the spot I’d seen her, I saw that the pedestrian was gone.
At a snail’s pace, I cruised the streets, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. I drove up one street and down another. She’d disappeared. I flicked my cell phone open and hit speed dial. Freedom answered on the first ring. I told her what had happened and where I’d seen the woman. She said she would keep an eye out in the future and thanked me for the call.
Within minutes I’d arrived at the compact Cape Cod style house where I’d grown up with my twin brother, Giovanni. We’d raised hell in the neighborhood during our childhood years. The local stadium, several blocks down the street, had hosted many games where my brother had played. Baseball games where my mother had yelled at the umpire and embarrassed the entire family with her colorful language. I smiled at the memory and parked in the yard.
Marcus owned a Victorian-style house, remodeled into a townhouse type of duplex. It sat a couple blocks away from my family’s home, but was not visible from it. The neighborhood was an old one with working people who went to bed early and rose early. Hard-working folks who’d raised their kids, watched them go to college, and get married. Now retired, these folks awaited slews of grandchildren.
My father was no different. My mother, on the other hand, had not been ready to retire. She worked for me at a gift shop in Providence, the one I’d inherited from Aunt Livvy. Mom did the accounts and helped the sales girls when things got busy. Warm, welcoming lights glowed through the kitchen windows as I sauntered up the steps to their miniscule deck behind the house. The property was the size of a postage stamp. The deck took up the better part of the backyard and the garage ate up most of the rest. There was only a smidgen of grass and flowers to be seen in the summertime. Right now, the yard looked forlorn with no snow to give it a pristine appearance. Brown, crusty grass and weeds lingered.
My mother opened the door as I crossed the deck. Though Theresa Esposito was shorter than me and a bit round in the middle, the resemblance between us was there for all to see. The genes on Mom’s side of the family were strong, even though I had inherited her sister Livvy’s particular looks and height.
“Oh, Lavinia, I’m glad to see you. I wondered if you’d be by for supper. I told your father to make that chicken soup you like so much.” Mom smiled and bustled around the kitchen.
A kettle simmered on the stove, I raised the lid and inhaled with appreciation. The chicken soup, officially named Wedding Soup, was served at traditional Italian weddings in Rhode Island. It was also a staple on holidays like Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. The soup came first at holiday feasts, followed by pasta with meatballs, then the regular meal, then the antipasto salad. Aaron and Marcus were astounded at the amount of food consumed by those of us who enjoyed this ritual. By most accounts, people that aren’t Italian don’t have huge meals such as these. I was sad for them, because they surely missed out.
A loaf of Italian bread sat on the counter. My mother took a serrated knife from a drawer and sliced the bread. She piled thick chunks high on a plate, retrieved earthenware bowls from the cupboard and set the table. My father strolled into the kitchen.
“Hi, Dad. The soup smells delicious.” I kissed his cheek as he grunted his greeting.
“Your brother called today,” my mother said.
“What’s going on with him?” I asked.
“He and his wife are off on a cruise tomorrow. He wanted to let us know in case we called and couldn’t reach him.” She looked up for a second, glanced at my father, and then asked, “He wondered if you’d heard anything about some stolen art that was recovered by the FBI?” She shrugged. “I told him that you didn’t have any connections with the FBI, so how would you know?”
“Right, I wouldn’t know,” I said as my father’s eyes flicked toward me from where he stood at the stove.
Mom smiled. “Well, that’s what I said. Giovanni seemed fine with that answer.”
My brother had been here, in Little Rhody, just before Thanksgiving. He’d managed to become embroiled in a stolen art ring that my deceased uncle, the cat burglar, had been involved with. It had taken some work, but I had straightened it out and sent Gio back to the cornfields of Nebraska to his wife and their mundane life there. What this latest query was about was beyond my comprehension. Regardless, it was the last thing I wanted to deal with, if I could help it. Thank goodness Gio and the wife were heading out to sea.
We had just settled at the table when there was a knock on the door. My mother started to rise, but I stopped her and answered the summons instead. Marcus stood outside, bundled in his winter State Police uniform and heavy outer jacket.
“I saw Lola’s car and thought I’d stop in.” He looked beyond me to what was on the table. A smile crept over his face as my mother jumped up from her chair, got a bowl, and set a place for him at the table. “Is everything okay?” he asked and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“All is well,” I answered.
“Did you get the car thing straightened out?” he murmured as my mother ladled soup into Marcus’s bowl and passed the bread to him.
“What car thing, Lavinia?” Mom wondered aloud as she added more soup to my father’s bowl.
A withering glance landed on Marcus before I answered my mother. He shrugged and started to eat.
“My car was stolen yesterday.”
“Then what are you driving, dear?” Mom asked.
“Lola’s car. She’s on a cruise.”
“How nice that she lent it to you. Where was your car that it would get stolen?”
“In Olneyville,” I said. “Could I have more bread?”
“Olneyville? What were you doing there?”
Good grief, my mother was on a roll. There would be no way to shift her now. She was like a pit bull once she sank her teeth into a topic.
“I had to drop someone off there. My car was stolen. I called the police to make a report.” It wasn’t a complete lie. My soup had grown cool and I sipped the broth from the bowl as if from a cup.
When I put the bowl down, I caught sight of my father’s glare as he mentioned I shouldn’t hang out with the city cops because of their bad manners. I grinned, asked for more soup, and started eating again.
Dinner ended with blueberry pie covered in whipped topping. I ate two pieces of pie, and drank more coffee than I should have. I was certain my jeans had stretched to full capacity.
Marcus leaned back in the chair and had a few words with my father about the weather, the food, and how much he had enjoyed the soup. My father chatted with him and then turned toward me.
“You haven’t been to the Hill, have you?” he asked.
Marcus raised an eyebrow and stared at me. I should have known I couldn’t get through a meal without an interrogation of some sort. I really hate when that happens.
“No, I haven’t been to the Hill. I did go to the mall today and shopped for clothes, though. Wanna see them?” I inquired with a grin.
“No thanks.” Dad mumbled something else. “Just stay off the Hill.”
“Why is he telling you to stay off the Hill, Lavinia?” my mother wanted to know, her voice filled with her usual innocence.
It was a sure bet this conversational tidbit was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Marcus. With an inward sigh, I considered ways around the topic. Nothing good came to mind. I toyed with the pie crust left on my plate.
A wiseass grin sneaked over Marcus’s face as he watched me. He realized I was on the hot seat and was clearly waiting to see how I would extricate myself from the pit of burning hell that my father had managed to toss me into.
“There was an incident yesterday at the district police station, and shots were fired. It seems that someone heard the shots and the person involved was from Federal Hill. Dad asked that I stay away from the Hill until the episode is sorted out.” Not bad for sitting on my ass while I lied.
Marcus leaned closer and whispered, “What shots fired?”
“I don’t know, just shots fired. That’s all.”
“Uh huh, I see.” His eyes said he didn’t believe me and that he knew there was more to the story. My mother remained unaware of anything gone awry. We all have to be grateful for the little things in life.
“There’s no reason why you should become involved in that. I’m sure you don’t know anything about it,” Mom said.
In an effort to waylay any further questions about the matter, I turned the conversation to the gift shop. My mother fell for the gambit. I listened as she rambled on. I glanced at Marcus and then at my father. Neither man uttered a sound.
“The books are ready for the accountant, your taxes are up to date, and I think you and the girls need to re-order the spring line of goods.”
“Sounds great to me. Tell them I’ll come by this week.” I usually agreed to order whatever they thought would sell since the two women knew the business better than I did. The shop catered to high-end clientele and the wares surpassed even my expectations.
“I will, dear.” Mom’s eyes rested on Marcus for a moment. “Would you care for more pie, Marcus?”
“No, thank you. I have to get back on the road.” He turned to me and said, “Walk me out, will you?” Hazel eyes sparked as he spoke. Yikes.
Here we go. My nerves jangled. I wondered how much I would have to confess. It was clear that Marcus had honed in on the shots fired thing and realized there was more to it.
Outside on the deck, Marcus turned toward me and moved close into my personal space. I waited to see what he would do, but he laid his lips against mine and embraced me tightly. Enjoying the moment, I melted against him. After a few kisses I stepped back to stare into his warm eyes.
“Marcus, is there some point to this or do you plan to leave me all hot and bothered?”
He stared into my eyes and answered, “It’s an effort to soften you up enough to tell me why the hell your father would want you to stay away from the Hill.”
“Just for safety’s sake?”
“That explanation doesn’t work, so try again. Did you have anything to do with the shots fired incident?” Narrowed eyes stared into mine while he waited for an answer.
With a sigh, I explained. “This guy came into the station while I was waiting for Freedom to return from a call. He’d been shot and made me call his friend to come get him.”
A hard look settled on his face. “And?”
“Well, my dad said he was from the Hill.”
“You’ll make sense any minute, I just know it. Fess up, come on.” He rocked back and forth on his heels and waited.
In an effort to clarify my position, I quickly explained the man and his injury.
“Did your father say who he thought this man was?”
“Tony Jabroni,” I whispered.
He leaned forward, his eyes angry. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“Tony Jabroni,” I murmured.
“That’s what I thought you said.” Marcus stepped back and paced a bit before he stood in front of me once again. “Listen to your father this time. I mean it.”
“Okay, okay.” It was plain to me, and everyone else, that Jabroni was a bad, bad, bad man.
With a nod, Marcus left me on the deck, watching him walk away. He had purpose to his step. I wondered if he’d be in touch with Aaron to compare notes.
Within moments, I had said my goodbyes to both parents. I gratefully accepted the food Mom gave me to take home. This meant I didn’t need to shop or cook until tomorrow or the next day, always a good thing.