“Kick-ass competence and comedy are a match made in heaven, when the author is Nancy Bartholomew!”

—Jill M. Smith, Romantic Times BOOKClub Magazine

“Stella! Wait!” Pete cried. “Honey, really, come inside. Let’s talk about this.”

I saw Lou Ann behind Pete, hastily pulling on her jeans and hopping around on one leg. She was panicked, and that made me perversely happy. I put the car into neutral and opened the driver’s side door. Pete looked hopeful, probably thinking that with just the right approach he could smooth the entire thing over.

“Well,” I said. “I guess you’d better pick one of us. Are you ready to start over, too?”

Pete looked puzzled, but Lloyd, the black-and-white-spotted mutt, bounded down the steps and leaped into the car.

“Pete?” I said, my voice a sweet coo of encouragement.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Bite my smooth tender ass!”

With that, Lloyd and I drove away.

Dear Reader,

We’re thrilled to bring you another exhilarating month of captivating women and explosive action! Our Bombshell heroines will take you for the ride of your life as they come under fire from all directions. With lives at stake and emotions on edge, these women stand and deliver memorable stories that will keep you riveted from cover to cover.

When the going gets tough, feisty Stella Valocchi gets going, in Stella, Get Your Gun, by Nancy Bartholomew. Her boyfriend’s a lying rat, her uncle's been murdered and her sexy ex is back in town, but trust Stella—compared to last week, things are looking up….

Loyal CIA agent Samantha St. John has been locked up—for treason! With the reluctant help of her wary partner, Sam will hunt for the real traitor—who bears an uncanny resemblance to Sam herself—in Double-Cross, by Meredith Fletcher, the latest adventure in the twelve-book ATHENA FORCE continuity series.

Don’t miss the twists and turns as a former operative is sucked back into the spy life to right the wrongs done to her family, in author Natalie Dunbar’s exciting thriller, Private Agenda.

And finally, a secret agent needs a break—but when her final mission goes wrong, she’s pushed to the limit and has to take on a rookie partner. Luckily she’s still got her deadliest weapon…it’s Killer Instinct, by Cindy Dees.

When it comes to excitement, we’re pulling no punches! Please send me your comments c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Sincerely,

Natashya Wilson

Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell

Stella, Get Your Gun

NANCY BARTHOLOMEW

NANCY BARTHOLOMEW

didn’t seem like the Bombshell type at first. Sure, she grew up in Philadelphia, but she was a gentle minister’s daughter. Sometimes, though, true wildness simmers just below the surface. Nancy started singing country music in biker bars before she graduated from high school. (And yes, her dad was there, sitting in the front row, watching over his little girl!) She graduated from college with a degree in psychology and promptly moved into the inner city, where she found work dragging addicted inner-city teenagers into drug and alcohol rehabilitation. She then moved south to Atlanta and worked as the director of a substance abuse treatment program for court-ordered offenders. Then Nancy turned to the final frontier…parenthood. This drove her to writing. Now Nancy lives in North Carolina, rides with the police on a regular basis, raises two hooligan teenage boys, and tries to keep up with her writing, her psychotherapy practice and her garden. She hopes you’ll love her “daughter,” Stella Valocchi, and thanks you from the bottom of her heart for reading this book.

For Marti
Mentor, Midwife, True Blue Friend

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

In retrospect, perhaps kidnapping Lloyd was a bad idea, not that I regret it. I most certainly do not regret kidnapping Lloyd. It improved both our lives, and I can say that in all honesty, even if my law-enforcement career and reputation have gone straight to the dogs. Before Lloyd, my life was in the toilet, so anything short of the sewer is an improvement. I know what you’re thinking—how can a woman feel her life is on the upswing when she’s just been shot at, arrested and thrown in jail? Trust me, compared to last week, life is most definitely looking up.

Last week I was just a junior patrol officer looking to make detective. All I wanted was my shot at the big time, and thanks to “Needle Nose” Robanski, I thought I was about to realize this lifelong ambition.

Needle Nose was on a one-man crime spree somewhere in Garden Beach, Florida. He had a nasty knack for waylaying exotic dancers, beating them beyond recognition and then finishing the job with a filet knife. I figured I was going to be the one to catch him. I guess I just didn’t realize it would take more than a bottle of blond hair dye, stiletto heels and a fake leather loincloth to do the job. Undercover police work takes conviction. You have to sell yourself in your perp’s world. You have to be one of them and not just pass as a cheap imitation. So I was out there, selling myself, the night old Needle Nose made his appearance.

The manager of the Solitaire Gentleman’s Club, Alfonso Lewis, wasn’t too pleased with my performance. He kept calling my sergeant and complaining I was bad for business, that I had no “customer service orientation.” I ask you, did you ever try to conceal a microphone in a padded bra the size of a postage stamp? Do you know what it feels like to have a hard plastic button nibbling away at your right boob while you’re simultaneously bending down to deliver a drink and trying to keep some jerk’s hand from slipping between your legs?

It was a challenge, but I handled it because I was a professional, and because I wanted Needle Nose Robanski almost as much as I wanted the promotion that catching him would ensure.

My partner, Lou Ann Ross, called in sick that night, so the sergeant sent a rookie to man the surveillance van in the parking lot. He didn’t send just any rookie, either; he sent Leon. Leon was twenty-one, maybe five foot six and weighed in at just under 130 pounds. He’d been with a training coach for three solid rotations before someone finally stuck him on our squad and warned us not to give him anything too important to do. Leon was a hair away from unemployment, and I was his last shot at redemption.

When I saw him pull up, I could only assume that catching Needle Nose must not have been too important to the Garden Beach Police Department. Covering my ass must’ve ranked up there with mundane chores like dispensing parking tickets. Maybe sending Leon was the department’s way of saying that our undercover operation wasn’t paying off. Needle Nose Robanski wasn’t taking the bait and had probably left town.

Still, when I stepped out onto the loading dock of the club a little after 1:00 a.m., I assumed Leon had me covered. I needed a break. I’d just come close to committing a vicious assault of my own, and had Alfonso not been tailing me like a bird dog, I might’ve gotten away with more than just teaching my nasty little customer a few things about respect and anatomy.

I slipped out the back door, shutting it firmly behind me, and paused to catch my breath. “Leon,” I said softly, believing he was secure in his listening post across the lot, “I’m taking a break. I’m gonna sit in my car and eat a sandwich.”

I stood there for another moment or two, scanning the lot, and then headed down the steps. It was a beautiful fall night, with a clear sky and bright stars. Living on the Florida Panhandle was heaven to a displaced Yankee. I let myself relax a little. I got careless and that was all it took. Needle Nose caught me off guard just as I inserted the key into the driver’s side door. He slammed me into the hard metal of my car and clamped his thick hand over my mouth.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll cut you,” he said. To make sure I took him seriously, he jabbed the tip of his knife into my side, the cold metal nicking my bare skin and drawing a thin trickle of blood.

A surge of adrenaline hit me, dead center in my chest, sucking my heart up into my throat. This was it, the real thing, the moment I’d trained for—a face-to-face encounter with a bad guy.

Needle Nose was huge compared to me. He must’ve outweighed me by seventy pounds and had a good eight inches on my five feet four inches. To make matters worse, he had bad breath and a weapon. I would’ve given anything for my Glock.

I waited for Leon, hoping he’d left the tape running in the camera and on the recorder. I listened hard for the sound of the van door opening but heard nothing. Needle Nose pulled me back against his chest, one arm wrapped around my neck while his other hand held the knife against my exposed skin. He twisted away from the vehicle and began moving toward the Dumpster, half pushing and half dragging me with him.

I knew what would come next; I’d read all the reports. It was always the same M.O. He would take me behind the trash bin, slit my clothes off, rape me, beat me and then cut me beyond all recognition. Good thing I had the full support of the Garden Beach Police Department behind me; otherwise, I might’ve been in trouble.

When Needle Nose rounded the trash bin, I decided not to count on backup. It was time to make my move. Unfortunately, he made his move first. He slipped his knife up behind my bra strap and sliced it cleanly before I could react or even really process what he’d done. It was too late to stop and regroup; I was already taking action, faking a stumble to the left. His knife hand flew out to the side as he cut the strap. He was forced to try to grab me with his left hand.

I used his own momentum to duck back under him, grabbing his wrist as I went, twisting and jerking his arm up as hard as I could. I was rewarded with the sound of ripping tendons and ligaments, followed by a sharp scream of pain as Needle Nose fell forward and I landed on top of him.

I hung on to his thick wrist as he bucked like a bronco. I was riding him and trying to drive the heel of my stiletto into his knife hand when Leon finally materialized.

“Stop!” he cried in his squeaky adolescent voice. “Garden Beach Police! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

But Needle Nose never heard him. As Leon arrived, the sharp point of my heel had connected with the meaty flesh of his underarm, sinking in with a sickening squish that forced Needle Nose to drop the knife. Blood began to rain down on the two of us as I fought to control him. The guy wouldn’t quit. If anything, he fought harder, but then, so did I.

I lurched forward, grabbed Needle Nose by his stringy hair, jerked his head back and then, with a force I didn’t know I had, slammed his face into the concrete slab beneath us. His head connected with a sickening thud that seemed to knock the fight right out of him. I smiled as Needle Nose gave up, his body shuddering into an involuntary surrender.

I was a little disappointed when he didn’t rally. My energy was still in fight-to-survive mode and I didn’t want to stop, not yet at least. I was in touch with my violent side and I was thinking I liked it. I was thinking I’d come a long way from the mousy little girl who joined the academy on a dare. I was riding the crest of an adrenaline high, and finally I was one with Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone and Demi Moore. This was good versus evil. This was karma delivering a massive dose of cosmic justice. This was my life…and I loved it.

“Are you all right?” Leon was staring at me, his face frozen in a terrified grimace of bravado and something else I couldn’t quite read. He didn’t make a move to help me, just stared, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Leon, why are you just standing there? Quit pointing the gun at me and help me cuff the son of a bitch!”

Leon’s face was scarlet. He lowered his weapon, tried to reach for the handcuffs and struggled without success for thirty seconds.

“Put the gun in your holster, then take out the handcuffs,” I said, feeling the impatience rising to the point of boiling over. “You did call for backup, right?” I demanded.

“Backup?” He sounded as if he were repeating a foreign language.

“Yeah, you know, where they send some help to take this dirtbag to jail?”

Leon had the cuffs now and handed them to me, turning his head aside as he did so. “Yeah, I’ll do that right now.” He started to key his mike, leaving me to try to cuff a now writhing Needle Nose all by myself.

“Leon?” I said.

“Yeah?” He looked back at me for a second, then down at the ground like a schoolkid.

“Would you mind securing the suspect’s weapon first, then helping me get the bracelets on before you call?”

Leon lurched forward and grabbed the knife from the ground. Once he’d tossed it out of harm’s way, he grabbed the suspect’s bleeding arm and jerked it awkwardly in my direction, his head averted as if touching the wounded man was extremely distasteful.

“Leon,” I said, “watch what you’re doing! What is wrong with you?”

I started to swing my leg off of Needle Nose and pull him up, but Leon was too close, hovering over me like a forty-pound baby robin.

“Ma’am?” he said, his voice even squeakier than before.

“What is it, Leon?”

“Um, do you know that you’re naked?” he asked.

I looked down, saw the girls flying free in the night air and remembered Needle Nose’s deft handiwork.

I looked back at Leon. “Is that a problem for you, Leon?” I said. “Because I am fully aware of that fact and will attend to it once we have secured the suspect.”

He gulped. I pushed up and tried to stand, pulling a screaming, bleeding Needle Nose along with me. Leon attempted to help, but accidentally tripped me in his attempt not to look at my tits.

That is how I wound up in the examining room next to Needle Nose at the Bay County Medical Center.

“It’s only a sprain,” the doctor said. “Keep it wrapped and you’ll be back to normal in a week.” He looked at Leon’s uniform shirt, buttons straining across my chest, and then back at the clipboard he held out in front of him.

“So this was an undercover thing, huh?” he said.

“No, Doc,” I answered. “I always wear a loincloth with my shirt. It makes it so I can run faster and leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

He glanced back at me, or rather at my breasts, and swallowed. “You need anything for pain?”

“They don’t,” I said, “and my foot’s fine, too.”

His face reddened and he left without another word.

“Stella,” my sergeant said, “why’d you do that? He’s only a kid.”

I looked at the sergeant and grinned. “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I just couldn’t help myself. Did you see how red his face got?”

The sergeant rolled his eyes. “Stella, you gotta work the public-relations angle here. What’s Pete gonna say when I tell him how you acted?”

That got my attention. “You’re not going to tell Pete, Randy,” I said. “I’m serious. He doesn’t need to hear about tonight from anybody but me, okay? Let me tell him myself.”

The sergeant sighed. “Stella, I gotta work with the man. You only gotta live with him. He’ll go easy on you, but me, I gotta cover my ass. How’s it gonna look, me letting you get hurt on your first undercover gig, huh? Besides, it’ll be all over the department by tomorrow. You can’t keep a thing like this quiet. I’m putting you in for a commendation.”

I frowned. “I don’t want a commendation, Randy—I want to make detective.”

Randy rubbed the five-o’clock shadow that made his already dark skin seem three shades darker. “You gotta be patient, Stella. You’ve only been with the department, what, four years?”

I nodded, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. It was the good-old-boy system that kept me and Randy from getting ahead and he and I both knew it. It had nothing to do with time in or how well you performed.

“Just try, all right, Randy?” He nodded and held the door open while I hobbled out. “Leon brought your car over,” he said, and handed me the keys.

“Oh, great! You let him drive it?”

Randy smiled. “Stella, you gotta have more patience with Leon. He’ll get the hang of it sooner or later. Besides,” he added, “Leon was the only guy left on the squad tonight. We’re short-staffed. I had no other option. I never thought this—”

“Don’t worry about it, Randy. I know you were doing the best you could.”

I hadn’t told him about Leon and I wasn’t going to—nope, that was something I was saving for a personal face-to-face with the rookie.

“All right,” I said. “Whatever. Just don’t call Pete. Let me go home and tell him myself. Maybe I can make him see it in a positive light. I’ll tell him I tripped.”

“Stella,” Randy warned, “he’s the best officer in the department. He’s gonna find out.”

“Yeah, but maybe I can cushion the blow for him first.” I grinned. “That is one of the benefits of the job, you know. I get to keep the loincloth, and the girls at the club taught me a couple of moves I didn’t even know were physically possible. Maybe I can try my act out on Pete and he’ll—”

“Stella,” Randy said, “just go home and stay off your foot! I don’t want to see you back at work for a week, okay?”

“My plan exactly,” I said, and grinned at him as if I really meant it.

You gotta get up early to fool a cop like Pete O’Brian. He had a nose for trouble and would spot a lie a million miles away. I had to be more than a little clever.

I plotted Pete’s ambush the entire way home. He’d be asleep, naked like always, and I’d take him by surprise, slipping between the sheets, running my tongue all over his sexy, strong body. What man could resist a little midnight rendezvous?

I could tell him about Needle Nose later, and then he could strut around and tell me how he should’ve been there to take care of me. I could act as if I really needed him to save me from myself, which might not be too much of an act given the night’s events. I could even play the whole thing down, so he wouldn’t get jealous. I knew Pete would be just a little bit jealous. He always wanted to be the hero. One day I might break him of it, but not now. For now, I’d just keep training, honing my skills and trying to keep Pete from ever realizing that I was getting to be one hell of a cop. He’d come to accept me as an equal, maybe, one day, just not now.

I shook the negative feelings off and drove. I had the next couple of hours all planned by the time I turned into the trailer park. Pete might not like assertive, even aggressive, females on the job, but in bed it challenged him. Sex with Pete was great.

I cut the lights, turned off the engine and coasted to a stop in front of our single-wide trailer. Pete loved surprises, especially naked, under-the-covers surprises. Well, he was going to see a new side of me tonight, all right, the blond exotic-dancer temptress was on her way to blow his mind in a way he wouldn’t soon forget.

Too bad my partner, Lou Ann, beat me to it.

I saw her car sitting on the pad next to Pete’s Jeep. Had she heard about Needle Nose and come to tell Pete? I hopped out of the Camaro and let the door shut quietly behind me while I fumbled for my house key. She could have listened to the scanner and heard about me being hurt. She came over to reassure Pete and wait for me, I told myself, but the explanation didn’t quite fit. In the first place, why would Lou Ann and Pete wait for me in the dark? Secondly, Lloyd was sitting on the stoop and there was only one reason why Lloyd ever sat outside on the stoop.

I walked slowly across the grass to the trailer, my heart pounding hard against my chest. There was a very dim light flickering in the master bedroom. As I drew closer, the not so gentle shaking of the trailer walls crumbled my frail tower of denial.

I walked up to Lloyd and patted him on the head. He looked up at me with huge brown sympathetic dog eyes and whined.

“I share your pain,” I whispered. “Is this why your real mom left?”

Lloyd licked my hand and looked away. I’d struck a nerve. We both knew, in our heart of hearts, that the only reason Pete kept the little black-and-white spotted mutt around was that he hoped maybe one day Tracy would come back for him. He never said as much, but you could tell. It was all in the way he ignored the dog but refused to get rid of him, or in the way he sighed sometimes and said, “Tracy used to…” Before now, I’d prayed Tracy never returned to claim her prize. Now I realized why she’d left in such a hurry, never to return.

Lloyd whined again, reclaiming my attention by butting his head against my leg. The only time Lloyd camped out on the back steps was when Pete and I had sex. Lloyd’s nerves couldn’t take it. He always tried to jump up on the bed and rescue us from ourselves. This distraction seriously irritated Pete, so Lloyd got shoved unceremoniously out the back door, where he waited with an almost unbearable level of trembling separation anxiety.

“You’re a good boy, Lloyd,” I said, and bent to pet him again. “Now you stay here and let me handle this.” Only I didn’t have any idea of what I was going to do, or how I was going to deal with my partner and my boyfriend betraying me. It was one thing to stay tough on the outside, but inside I was shaking harder than Lloyd.

I slipped into the kitchen, padding barefoot across the floor in an attempt to catch them unaware. This stealth was completely unnecessary. You could’ve driven a truck through the quaking trailer and not disturbed Pete and Lou Ann. When I reached the doorway, he had her up on all fours in the center of our bed. Her enormous breasts swung back and forth as he hung on to her hips, driving into her with everything he had.

“You’ve been a bad little girl, haven’t you?” he snarled, slapping her fat butt with a loud crack.

Lou Ann was pleading. “No, Daddy, don’t spank little Lou Ann!”

“Bad girl!” Pete cried, and brought his hand down again with a sharp smack. “Bad, bad girl!”

“Oh, I’d say she isn’t the only bad kid in the classroom,” I said.

They jumped apart, Pete shoving Lou Ann so hard she collapsed in front of him with a gasp and had to struggle to flip back over.

I don’t know when I pulled the gun out of my pocketbook. All I know is, I was standing there and it was in my hand, and the violent side of me was in complete control again.

“I wouldn’t move,” I said, when Pete appeared to be considering it. “Really.”

I aimed and put the first bullet into the wall beside his head.

Pete froze and put his hands out in front of his body like a traffic cop. “All right, baby, all right. Now, just calm down. I can explain.”

“Fuck you, Pete!” I said. “You can’t explain fucking my partner any more than Lou Ann here can explain fucking my boyfriend, can you, honey?” I put the second bullet into the mattress six inches away from her thick left thigh and was rewarded with a terrified shriek.

“How long have you two been meeting like this?” I asked, trying to recall all of Lou Ann’s recent sick days.

“Baby, I swear, this was the first time!” Pete said. “Now baby, really…” He started to shift toward me, and I lifted the gun, aiming it dead center at his chest.

“Do you feel like trying me, sweetheart?” I asked. “Because I don’t care if you do. Dead is dead, but I’m thinking I just might take the family jewels instead. Wouldn’t that give you a little more to think about? Wouldn’t that be just the right thing for this particular occasion?” I lowered the gun a few millimeters and smiled as his balls shrank up behind his already invisible penis. “Bad boy,” I murmured. “Bad, bad boy!”

I looked over at Lou Ann for a fraction of a second, knowing Pete would make a move if he found an opening. “So, you tell Dave and the kids you’re fucking Pete, or did you save that for me to do?” I asked her.

Lou Ann’s face paled. “Oh, Stella, don’t do that!” she cried.

I could feel my body begin to tremble with rage and grief. I couldn’t stay in the trailer too much longer or I really would hurt somebody, like maybe myself.

“So what did I do to deserve this, Pete?” I said, looking back at him, never moving the Glock from its target.

“Baby, you didn’t have a thing to do with this….” he began.

“Damn straight, I didn’t,” I said. “And I never will, not ever again.” I backed up a step. “That’s the trouble with weak men,” I said. “They can’t handle strong women. You and Lou Ann ought to be perfect for each other.”

I kept walking backward, keeping Pete in my sights, daring him to leave the bed before I turned and walked out of his life forever. I took in every detail of the room, memorizing everything, the way Pete and Lou Ann looked together naked, the way the sheets and blankets puddled in a heap at the foot of the bed, the fear in Lou Ann’s eyes and the blank look on Pete’s face. I was forcing myself to commit the unthinkable to memory so that I would never, ever be tempted by Pete’s charm to forgive him and start over. No, this was a lesson I was going to learn and never need to repeat, a lesson I’d somehow forgotten to learn from other lovers in the past and one that was almost killing me now.

I felt the shaking begin to get worse as I closed the kitchen door behind me and stepped out onto the stoop. I almost tripped over Lloyd in my hurry to get down the stairs and escape before anything worse could happen.

He yipped as I squashed his paw and stared up at me with his huge dark eyes.

“You were trying to tell me, weren’t you?” I said as I passed him.

I kept on going, crossing the dry, crunchy grass and half-running toward the car. I jumped in, started the engine and threw the car into Drive as Pete appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Stella! Wait!” he cried.

I put my foot on the accelerator, lurched forward, pulling even with the back steps, then stomped on the brakes.

“Honey, really, come on inside. Let’s talk about this,” he said. “Come on, Stel, where are you going to go, huh? Come on, baby.”

I saw a flash of Lou Ann behind him, hastily pulling on her jeans and hopping around on one leg. She was panicked; I knew that much, and that made me perversely happy.

I put the car into Neutral and opened the driver’s side door. Pete looked hopeful, probably thinking that with just the right approach he could smooth the entire thing over.

“Well,” I said. “I guess you’d better pick one of us. Tracy left you. She’s never coming back. Are you going to keep on waiting for a miracle, or are you ready to start over, too?”

Pete looked puzzled, then almost relieved, but it was Lloyd who never wavered. He bounded down off the steps, crossed the yard and leaped into the car with a joyful bound of doggy delight.

“Pete?” I said, my voice a sweet coo of encouragement.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Bite my smooth, tender ass!”

With that, Lloyd and I drove away, laying rubber down the narrow trailer park road, screeching out onto the main drive and flying away from Pete and Lou Ann as fast as we could, the cool night air slapping our faces and drying the tears that for some reason lasted only a few minutes.

Chapter 2

Lloyd and I drove around Garden Beach for the better part of an hour before I came to any conclusions or developed a working plan. My cell phone rang continuously and I finally had to turn it off so I could think without interruption. It seemed to me that I’d lost just about everything I’d come to Garden Beach to find. Losing Pete was probably the least of my worries. I’d also lost my partner—the person who was supposed to be watching my back had been flat on hers with my boyfriend. That hurt, but even that wasn’t my biggest loss.

Garden Beach, Florida, was a small town with a small police force. Pete and I couldn’t coexist in the same department. He was the department’s hero, the wonder cop who always got his man, or now, woman. It wouldn’t take long for Pete and Lou Ann to spread the rumor that I was unstable and that they were the two injured parties. They’d tell people about me firing my service weapon at them. My reputation, and worse, my opportunities with the force, would be dead, and even Needle Nose Robanski’s capture wouldn’t salvage that. No, if I was going to remain in law enforcement, I’d have to move on.

At 5:00 a.m., I pulled into the police department parking lot.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised Lloyd, and limped in through the rear entrance. I slowly made my way down the empty corridor to Randy’s closet of an office, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I reached into my purse for the gun, dropped the magazine out, and left the police-issued Glock sitting empty in his top desk drawer. I grabbed my shield and felt tears stinging my eyelids as I ran my fingers over the gold-and-silver badge one last time. I dropped it into the drawer beside the gun, closed it and walked out of the office before I could change my mind.

I went into the women’s dressing room next, spun the combination to my locker and found the street clothes I’d worn in to work the night before—a pair of denim shorts, flip-flops and a worn T-shirt that said Garden Beach Police Softball League. I changed, slammed the locker shut and left before the first shift people started arriving. My ankle throbbed and I felt like shit. How had I so totally screwed up my life in such a short amount of time?

I spent the next three and a half hours with Lloyd, sitting on the beach, drinking coffee, feeding Lloyd a chicken biscuit I ordered but then couldn’t stomach and saying goodbye to my old life. I was feeling about as sorry for myself as Needle Nose was probably feeling over in the county lockup. Only, maybe Needle Nose was luckier. His future was all behind him. He could count on a trial followed by a thousand-year jail term. I had no idea what was going to happen with me.

At 9:03 a.m., I walked into the credit union and withdrew every last dime from my joint account with Pete. The grand total came to $384.96. I took the money and didn’t look back. What goes around comes around, I thought. Besides, he could always sell the clothes and few personal items I’d left behind, couldn’t he?

“Look at this, Lloyd,” I said when I got back to the car. “That’s all we had to show for ourselves, just under four hundred dollars. Ridiculous, huh?”

Lloyd looked over at me and smiled. His doggy tongue hung out the left side of his mouth, and his soft black-and-white ears drooped across his face, half hiding his eyes.

“I know it’s a small fortune to you. Hey, maybe that’s why your mama didn’t take you with her when she left. Maybe there just wasn’t enough dog-food money to go around, huh?”

I think this hurt Lloyd’s feelings because he sighed softly and turned away from me.

“Lloyd,” I said, trying to make it up to him, “both of us have been in bad spots before. You lost your mom, and I lost both my parents. You’ve probably had your share of bad love affairs and, well, we both know how my love life is going. But we can’t focus on the negative. We’ve got to be positive. Things are bound to look up.”

Lloyd didn’t seem too encouraged by this line of reasoning. He moaned, keeping his attention focused on the passing scenery.

“What I’m trying to say is, we’re survivors. We’ll get by.” My pep talk was starting to depress me, so I changed strategies. “What we need here is a little T.L.C and a fresh start. You’re going to like it where we’re going.”

I pulled the Camaro up onto A1-A and started to accelerate. Behind us, I could see the sparkling blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico and the sugary white sands that ran along the panhandle. It had been my oasis from the cold gray north, but no longer. I was leaving and maybe never coming back. I’d run away to Florida so I could find myself, so I could become someone else, someone I liked. What was I left with after six years of re-creating? I looked back at the ocean again. It had all been a mirage, a colorful, warm oasis that vanished when you stretched out your hand to touch it.

“Okay, Lloyd, it’s like Uncle Benny always says, ‘No matter where you go, there you are!’”

Lloyd belched.

“Okay, so he wasn’t the first to say it, he was just repeating it. That doesn’t make it any less true. I’m taking you home. We’ll go see Uncle Benny and Aunt Lucy. We could use a vacation, huh, boy? Maybe after a couple of weeks we’ll figure out where to go from there, all right? At least we left before they fired us. I could still work for another department. Maybe.”

Lloyd barked once and turned to look out the passenger-side window again. No matter where you go, there you are, I thought.

I reached over and switched on the radio. Granted, things were bleak, but that was a good thing, right? I mean, what was left to lose? What more could go wrong?

Ten miles later, Lloyd threw up his salvaged chicken-biscuit breakfast. It took another five miles to find an exit with a gas station and another thirty minutes to clean every crack and crevasse of the front passenger seat. By the time we got back on the road, I’d revised my opinion of our collective future. We were in the dismal swamp of life and sinking like elephants in quicksand. There was no happy ending and there would be no re-creating reality with pink-tinted glasses. Life just plain old sucked.

I turned the radio up and let Sheryl Crowe fill the empty space in my head. I didn’t want to think anymore. My logic was filled with more black holes than outer space, and thinking had become my biggest liability.

Lloyd must’ve agreed with me, because he didn’t say anything for the next 1,100 miles. We drove like participants in an around-the-world scavenger hunt, only stopping for gas and fast food. We slept in snatches at rest areas until at last, after twenty-eight hours on the road, we hit the familiar territory of my old hometown.

Lloyd woke up in time for our big arrival in Glenn Ford, Pennsylvania. He stretched and pulled himself up to stare out the windshield at the gray sky and billboards that advertised local businesses, whining a little and probably wishing I’d pull over and let him pee.

“Honest, Lloyd, it’s only two more miles. We’re about to cruise through midtown Glenn Ford. Look, there’s Banker’s Union. That’s where I had my first savings account!”

Lloyd was very unimpressed. When I turned onto the main drag I started the travelogue in earnest.

“Look, Lloyd, that’s Guinta’s drugstore. I used to stop in there every day on my way home from school and drink a vanilla soda.” Lloyd actually closed his eyes and shook his head softly. “Lloyd, there’s the place where they make the best hoagies! Lloyd! You’re missing small-town America. Come on, look!”

But Lloyd didn’t look and I didn’t have time to say another word. There was a loud explosion somewhere in the front of my car, and driving became difficult as the Camaro suddenly pulled hard to the right. Lloyd barked, and I gripped the wheel and with some effort pulled us up onto the tarmac of Carpenter’s Auto Body Shop, narrowly missing a rusted-out Oldsmobile.

I stared up at the sign. Carpenter’s Auto Body. Surely Jake hadn’t become a mechanic? I edged the car up a few more feet, felt the pull of the flattened tire and knew I had no other option. We were stuck here, Jake or no Jake.

I looked at Lloyd, then reached over and stroked his head. “It’s all right, sweetie,” I said. “We’re home. At least the car had the good sense not to blow until we made it.” I looked out the window at the unfamiliar auto shop and smiled. “Hey, we even broke down in a gas station! Isn’t it great? I told you life would look up!”

I swear Lloyd rolled his eyes at me.

The sign on the door of the shop said Closed in big orange letters. I looked at my watch; it was almost 11:00 a.m. How could it be closed? It wasn’t a holiday. I opened the car door, stepped out onto the tarmac and stretched. No sign of life anywhere. I walked around the front of the car slowly, obviously inspecting the right front tire. It was flat as a pancake.

I walked around to the back of the car, popped the trunk and stared inside at the space where the spare should’ve been, and then remembered I’d taken it out so I could fit my undercover equipment in its place. I shivered, realizing that the outskirts of Philadelphia were a lot colder than the Florida Panhandle in mid-November.

This was so not what I needed. A flat tire, no spare and me wearing shorts and a T-shirt. I stared back up at the darkened auto body shop. Maybe they were all inside drinking coffee and eating bagels. Maybe if I walked up to the door and banged, someone would take pity on me and come fix the flat.

I trotted up to the storefront and cupped my hands to the glass, peering intently into the darkened interior. A bald man wearing a grease-smudged gray uniform was in the room behind the cash register, sitting at the desk and looking intently at a stack of papers sprawled out in front of him. I sighed, relieved that at least he wasn’t Jake Carpenter, and knocked on the glass.

The man froze, looked at me, then away, as if he could erase my presence by ignoring me.

“Oh, come on, please!” I cried.

I saw his shoulders slump. He looked up, squinting with little coffee-bean eyes. “We’re closed,” he called, then turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.

“I know,” I said, “but my car’s front tire just blew and…”

He looked up again, frowning, clearly annoyed at the continued intrusion.

“I’m freezing! Come on! Really, it’ll only take a minute. Please, I’ll pay you double, okay?”

“Come back this afternoon and we’ll take a look at it,” he said.

This was not the Glenn Ford I knew. When I’d lived here the people were friendly, always ready to help a woman in distress. What was wrong with this idiot?

“Listen,” I said, pitching my voice as loud as I could without screaming at the fool, “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’d change the tire myself, but my spare is gone, and…” Words failed me. I felt tears queuing up at the edges of my eyes and knew I was about to completely lose it. “Damn it, I said please, I said I’d pay you double. Hell, if I knew how to plug a tire, I’d offer to fix it myself. Now what more is it going to take? Do I need to flag down a passing motorist and hope they have a spare my size? Do I need to call a tow truck, the police, EMS? What?”

The man’s eyes widened; clearly he thought a maniac was accosting him. He rubbed his oil-stained fingers across his bald skull and gave up.

“All right, all right, keep your shirt on!”

He stood up, walked around the desk and through the leaf in the countertop to unlock the front door. I watched him approach, my cop instincts inspecting him and fitting him into a preliminary category. He was the kind of guy you didn’t turn your back on, short, stocky, muscular build, tattoos and a bad attitude. He was sizing me up, too, in a nasty, see-you-naked way that made me hug my arms closer to my chest.

“Wait in here,” he said before he’d even pulled the door wide enough for me to pass through. He was gone before I could say a word, grabbing tools as he scuttled over to inspect the Camaro’s tire.

Lloyd went crazy, barking like a demon maniac, teeth bared, eyes showing white and pawing at the window in an attempt to protect me from my knight in shining armor.

I opened the door and started across the lot. “Lloyd, stop that!” I yelled. “He won’t hurt you,” I added, praying Lloyd wouldn’t scare the guy off the job.

The mechanic looked back over his shoulder at me and scowled. “I told you wait inside,” he said. “I ain’t scared of no dog!”

That was good, because Lloyd clearly liked the guy about as much as I did, and hadn’t backed off his display of killer instinct one bit.

I ducked back inside the shop. The guy was a fruitcake, probably an ax murderer in his spare time. I looked past the counter into the office. It looked as if a cyclone had blown through, papers mounded on top of the desk, files open and spilling over onto the floor. It was a wonder the place stayed in business.

When he brought the tire into the shop, I walked to the doorway and watched him. His fingers flew across the rubber surface, locating the nail that was responsible for the flat and quickly working to plug it. His shop was as organized and neat as his office was chaotic.

I stepped back into the reception area, not wanting my savior to see me and get any more irritated, and waited for him to finish. I sat in a cold vinyl chair, closed my eyes and rested my head back against the wall. In ten more minutes, I told myself, it would all be better. I’d be sitting in Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny’s warm, sunny kitchen, eating homemade cinnamon buns and drinking strong black coffee. I’d be home and nothing else mattered after that.

I guess I must’ve drifted off. The next thing I was aware of was the tinkle of the bell over the shop door. I sprang to my feet as the mechanic stepped into the room. “It’s done,” he said. “You can go now.”

“How much do I owe you?” I said, trying to smile, but stopping at the sour look on his face.

“Five bucks,” he said.

I dug into my pockets, pulling out cash and searching for the right bills. “Oh, come on,” I said, “it’s gotta be more than that. You opened up for me.”

“Five is fine,” he said, his voice almost a snarl.

I handed him a ten. “I don’t want any change. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t…”

“See ya,” he grunted, pushing the door open and waiting expectantly.

Some perverse part of me, seeing his rush to get me out of his hair, made me linger, walking slowly toward him. “You usually closed on Thursdays?” I asked. “I mean, in case I ever need more work done, I can remember not to bother you on Thursday.”

“No,” he said. “Death in the family.”

That took me back. Of course. He wasn’t always like this, he’d lost someone close to him. That explained everything. I looked back at the office. What if his wife had just died? Maybe she was in charge of the office, the bookkeeping and everything, and suddenly, here he was trying to find the papers he needed to arrange for her funeral.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

I stepped out onto the tarmac and heard the lock click behind me. Aunt Lucy would know all about it. Here I’d been thinking the worst when this guy had just lost his wife or maybe one of his kids. I slid behind the wheel and looked over at Lloyd.

“You see what being a cop’ll do to you?” I said. “It jaundices you toward life. It blinds you to the good in human beings. I’m telling you, Lloyd, in my next life, job, whatever, I’m gonna be something optimistic, you know, like the lay version of a nun. Maybe I’ll go into social work.” I remembered the overburdened therapists at the mental-health center in Garden Beach and thought better of the idea. “Okay, maybe I’ll take up exotic dancing. That way, I’ll be improving men’s mental health while actually getting paid for it!”

Lloyd wasn’t listening. He was looking out the window at the darkened shop and growling.

“Lloyd,” I said, “if your instincts are that good, how come you didn’t warn me about Pete, huh?”

Lloyd’s head whipped back in my direction at the mention of Pete’s name and he yipped, a quick, short bark that I interpreted as an apology.

“Okay, you’re right,” I muttered. “You told me so.” We turned off Lancaster Avenue onto Sunset Drive. “Here we go. We’re home,” I said. I coasted slower as we rounded the corner and approached Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny’s tiny Dutch colonial.

The street was lined on both sides with cars. “Looks like they got company,” I said. “Maybe it’s Aunt Lucy’s altar guild.” But there were too many cars for it to be a simple ladies’ meeting.

A blue sedan pulled away from the curb close to the house, and I pulled in, parked and looked up at the house where I’d spent the last four years of my childhood. There was a white funeral wreath on the door.

My throat tightened. I stared up at the flowers and felt denial take over. It couldn’t be. I was tired. It was just a decoration, nothing special. The cars meant nothing. My skin began to prickle. Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny, they’d been fine when I’d seen them last Christmas; no one had called to say they were ill. They would’ve called. Someone would have called. What was going on?

I opened the car door and stepped out onto the street, feeling as if time had somehow slowed to a frozen halt. I rounded the car and opened Lloyd’s door mechanically, watching him jump out onto the sidewalk and make a beeline for a nearby bush. It was like watching a movie.

I felt myself cross the yard, felt the cold air stinging my cheeks without registering the fact that it was cold. I was fixated on the white carnations in the wreath, staring at them as I walked closer and closer to the front door.

As I started up the front steps, the door suddenly swung open. My cousin Nina from California stood there, unsmiling, her black-lined eyes rimmed with red. She looked like an updated, shorter version of her mother, Aunt Lucy’s oldest sister, Myrna. She’s dyed her hair, I thought, taking in the peroxide-blond choppy cut and the pink tips that stood out like miniature signal flags all over her head. I felt frozen, removed from the strange movie that was my homecoming.

“Where the hell have you been?” she said, hands on hips, black vinyl miniskirt tight against her stick-thin thighs. “Well, at least you got here. I guess somebody finally reached you. We only called about five thousand times. I thought cops always had their cell phones on. Isn’t it like a law?”

“What happened?” I asked. I could hear voices behind her and caught flashes of people moving around inside the house.

Nina shrugged, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door almost shut as she moved. “Heart attack, I guess,” she said. “He had his tablets but they didn’t do any good. By the time the ambulance got there, he was gone.”

“Uncle Benny?” I whispered, tears flooding my eyes. “He’s dead?”

Nina stared at me, frowning. “Stella, hello? Yes, Uncle Benny’s dead. What did you think?” She frowned harder. “How come you’re dressed like that?” she asked. “I mean, even I knew it was cold. And what’s wrong with your foot? Why’s it wrapped up like that?” She looked past me, her eyes lighting on Lloyd. “You brought your dog with you? You couldn’t find somebody to watch him?”

The questions came, rapid-fire, one after another, without a pause to hear the answers. I couldn’t have answered her, though; I was too overwhelmed to speak.

“You’d better get your suitcase and come on,” she said. “We’ve got to leave for the funeral parlor in an hour. They’re sending limos for the family.”

She turned and started to open the door, realized I wasn’t moving and turned back around.

“Are you coming?”

“I didn’t bring…” I began. “I didn’t know…”

Nina closed the door again. She turned and descended the steps slowly, opening her arms to me as she approached.

“Oh, my God! You didn’t know! What did they tell you?”

“Nothing,” I whispered. “I didn’t know.”

Chapter 3

It was a lovely funeral. Strange, but nonetheless beautiful. The only hint of a hitch came when Aunt Lucy said she wanted Uncle Benny propped up in the casket for the viewing, but between the more sensible cousins and the funeral home director, calmer heads had prevailed.

The funeral director explained that they couldn’t prop Uncle Benny up in the casket, that certain natural events would occur to make this impossible, so Aunt Lucy gave in and went standard on the visitation. But she did manage to insist that Uncle Benny be dressed in his fishing vest and lure hat.

“I want people to remember him like he was, not like he is,” she said, and her voice cracked just slightly, letting us all know that if we pushed it, she’d lose it.

Nina leaned over and muttered in my ear. “Too bad you couldn’t get here any sooner,” she said. “Aunt Lucy actually wanted to bury Uncle Benny in his Jon boat. It took some doing to talk her out of that one, I’ll tell you!” She looked over at Aunt Lucy and smiled innocently, then turned back to me. “She’s lost it, Stella. Ever since the stroke, she’s been loopy.”

I looked at my aunt, trying to do an assessment of her mental capacities. She looked just as she always had, only older. She had always been a small butterball of energy and enthusiasm. Uncle Benny’s death had stifled that, but had a stroke made her crazy? I was reluctant to believe that.

“She’s got some strange ideas, Stella,” Nina continued. “I mean, sure, she’s always had strange ideas, but I mean really weird stuff. She thinks she’s the next Einstein or something. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I mean, she can’t live on her own—she’s too nuts to handle the bills, let alone drive or take care of herself!”

Aunt Lucy stopped talking to the funeral director, glared at Nina and said, “I heard that, young lady! I don’t think anybody who runs off with a rock musician and gets certain intimate portions of her anatomy pierced has much room to be calling the kettle black.”

The room fell silent as everyone turned their attention toward the object of Aunt Lucy’s displeasure. Nina’s face turned scarlet, her chin inched up a defiant two inches and she stalked off, her spiky pink-and-blond hair waving like a midsummer wheat field in Iowa.

“You know what her problem is?” Aunt Lucy said. “She moved to California. Them people out there just ain’t right. One day that entire part of the continent is gonna fall right off into the ocean. Then where will they be, huh? That’s right. Reno, Nevada’s gonna be prime oceanfront property—you mark my words.”

I looked over at Uncle Benny. He was lying in a gunmetal-gray casket, his favorite Garcia rod tucked into the satin padding beside him. His hat was listing drunkenly to one side, and there was a lipstick smear on his right cheek from where Aunt Lucy had kissed him goodbye. At the foot of the casket was a shiny red metal cooler loaded with gleaming cans of ice-cold Budweiser.

“We’re popping a top for Benny,” one of my eighteen-year-old cousins explained somberly. “Drinking’s legal in church—at least if you’re Catholic.”

In the background, Dean Martin sang “Amore” and Orlando Wilson floated across a big-screen TV, silently instructing his audience on proper casting techniques.

“You see the flowers, Stella?” Aunt Lucy asked, suddenly materializing by my side. She pointed to a huge funeral wreath shaped like a leaping bass and mounted on a tall wire frame. Gone Fishing, it read. “Ain’t they beautiful?” she breathed. “And them over there.” She gestured to a wreath of red, white and blue daisies that read Sleep With The Fishes, Big Guy! She smiled. “They’re from the boys down at the Saint Anthony’s Lodge.”

“It’s lovely, Aunt Lucy,” I said, but I was really thinking that I’d dropped into a bad day in a psychiatric unit.

Aunt Lucy took my arm and led me closer to the casket. “Look who’s here, honey,” she said to Uncle Benny. “It’s our Stella. Don’t she look pretty with her hair done blond? Of course the clothes belong to Nina, but that’s on account of Stella came sudden.”

I squirmed, tugging at Nina’s black pleated miniskirt. I tried my best not to topple over in the stilettos I’d been forced to drag out from my undercover equipment. Uncle Benny didn’t seem to mind. He appeared to be concentrating on nailing the big one. His eyes were closed and his mouth was frozen in a sewn-shut, lopsided grin. The body in the casket in no way resembled the uncle I loved.

“You couldn’t get them to put in the cigar?” I asked.

Aunt Lucy shrugged. “It was bad for his health, anyway.” She looked back at the crowd. “This is some turnout,” she said. “I think almost the entire town is here. It’s been like this since he died, people turning up with food or beer, all of them talking about the good turns he did for them or the ways he helped them out when times were tough. He done things I never knew about, Stel. The man was a saint.”

The pews in the funeral home chapel were filling up as people filed in for the service. In the background, Dean Martin had finished “Amore,” and was now replaced by Andy Williams singing “Moon River.”

“He don’t look so dead to me, Stella,” Aunt Lucy said. I gazed down at the tiny woman and saw tears begin to track across her withered cheeks. She reached behind me, pulled a can of beer from the cooler and opened it. With great care, she placed it beside Uncle Benny’s left hand, removing another untouched can that had grown warm. “I was kinda hoping maybe the beer would bring him back, you know?” She sounded like a little child, pleading for one more chance.

“I know, honey,” I said. “It’s hard to believe he’s really gone.”

Andy Williams stopped singing, and the soft strains of organ music signaled the start of the service. The big-screen TV went dark momentarily as Orlando Wilson’s fishing tips were replaced by a larger-than-life-size portrait of my uncle, out on his boat in the middle of Kerr Park Lake, reeling in a “big one.”

Aunt Lucy seemed to snap out of her melancholy reverie. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she said as the funeral director started walking purposefully toward us. She lifted her head, wiped her eyes and allowed herself to be led into the family pew that was located off to the side of the tiny chapel.

I trailed along behind her, filing into the box and settling myself next to my aunt. The organ swelled to a crescendo, cueing us all to stand. We opened our leaflets and began singing “Somewhere over the Rainbow.”

Nina nudged me. “Okay, you can’t possibly think this is normal,” she whispered.

I shrugged, irritated. So what if Aunt Lucy was a bit unconventional? It was Uncle Benny’s favorite song. Maybe singing it comforted her. Wasn’t that what funerals were supposed to do, comfort those left behind? Maybe everybody was jumping on the Aunt-Lucy’s-lost-it bandwagon just a little too quickly. Of course, that was before the service started and Jake Carpenter walked to the front of the chapel, looked right into my eyes and took my breath away.

Ten years, a river of bad memories, and the man still had the same intoxicating effect on me.

“Aunt Lucy, what’s he doing here? Where’s Father Mark?” I whispered.

Aunt Lucy frowned. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared up at me. “He wouldn’t come, Stella,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

I just looked at her, feeling crazy. “Knew what?”

The last strains of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” died away, and Aunt Lucy’s voice carried in hushed silence. “They said Benny killed himself, Stella, but he wouldn’t do that. Jake’s the one who found him down at the garage. If you ask me, someone did this to my Benny! That man wouldn’t kill himself. No way, and he wouldn’t up and die on me without a fight!”

The congregation reacted and the sound of their voices almost drowned out Aunt Lucy’s next bombshell. “I know you don’t like him, honey, but Jake’s the only one who listens to me.” She smiled. “It was just a lucky break for us—he’s an ordained minister.”

I looked up at Jake and saw him staring back at me, no doubt slack-jawed at the new and improved version of my former self. Blond hair, spiky stiletto heels and Nina’s miniskirt definitely wasn’t the old mousy me. No, I was a good ten pounds lighter and four inches taller in heels. Between the makeup and the attitude, I was surprised he recognized me at all.

I stared right back at him. He hadn’t changed in all the time I’d been gone. He had the same dark eyes, same killer good looks and probably the same smart-assed attitude. I watched as his gaze shifted to Aunt Lucy. When he smiled gently at her and then winked, I could’ve thrown up. He was wearing faded tight jeans, cowboy boots and a black leather Harley-Davidson jacket. Where was his respect for the dead? And for that matter, if Jake Carpenter had somehow found Jesus, which I seriously doubted, where were his robe and collar?

I leaned over and touched my aunt’s arm. “Aunt Lucy, the last time I checked, Jake was a bartender, not a priest.”

She smiled. “Well now, honey, except for those little two-day Christmas trips of yours, you’ve been gone almost eleven years. A lot happens, especially around here. Jake’s got his own auto body shop. He’s really changed, Stella. He settled down after he got out of the service. He’s found himself.

“He sent off for one of them mail-order certificates. He’s a minister in some nondenominational church, you know, the kind that doesn’t meet and doesn’t have a building.” She held up her hand to cut off my protest. “I know, it sounds funny but, well, he’s here and Father Mark isn’t.”

Aunt Lucy lifted her head defiantly, nodded toward Jake and the service began again.

“Brothers and sisters,” Jake said, his voice rising above the crowd’s murmuring, “let us pray!”

I didn’t even bother to bow my head. Jake Carpenter might be fooling my aunt, but I wasn’t going to fall for his tricks again. Nope. One trip to the altar with Jake Carpenter had been more than enough for me.

Chapter 4

In one short hour, Jake Carpenter managed to take every feeling I’d been harboring about him for eleven years and twist it into a molten mass of confusion and regret. In some ways, he was the same as he’d always been, but with a twist, a difference that was both charismatic and unfathomable.

We were assembled at the graveside when Jake decided it was time to speak. Up until then, he had functioned mainly as an emcee, letting Uncle Benny’s friends tell the stories of his many kindnesses and good deeds. But as we stood around the AstroTurfed grave site, contemplating this final rest stop for my uncle, Jake seemed to take charge. It was time to say goodbye, and Jake was there to ease the transition.

“A priest, in this case me,” he began, “a Lutheran pastor, who shall go nameless for the sake of protecting his sterling reputation, and our Benny were all out fishing in Benny’s boat over on Kerr Park Lake one day. It was hot and we had consumed a fair quantity of Benny’s favorite brew when the pastor felt the call of nature.”

Everyone was smiling at Jake. Even my jaded cousin Nina beamed up at him benevolently.

“So the pastor gets out of the boat, walks across the water, steps ashore and visits the Porta-John.” Jake’s eyes twinkled. “Then he walks back across the top of the water and steps into the boat, not a drop of moisture on him. A little time goes by, and then it’s my turn. I hop out of Benny’s skiff, walk across the water and return the same way.”

I scanned the group of mourners and found they were all smiling, wrapped up in Jake’s tale and seeing their old friend through familiar eyes.

“Well now, Benny, he can’t stand it. He says, ‘Youse guys ain’t the only ones with faith. I can do that, too!’ So he hops out of the boat…and sinks like a rock! He comes up sputtering, mad as hell. ‘All right,’ he says, ‘how’s come youse guys can walk on water and I can’t?’” Jake chuckled. “I looked at the Lutheran pastor. He looked at me and says, ‘Reckon we shoulda shown him where the stepping stones were, huh, Jake?’ he says.”

The congregation laughed. Jake laughed, too, but his eyes were warm as he looked over at Aunt Lucy and the rest of us who stood by her. “Yeah, we all loved Benny. He was a good man, but he was only serious about a few things—his family, his friends and fishing.”

Jake moved to stand beside the open grave site, resting a hand on the closed casket. “Benny’s hooked the big one now. He’s moved up to fish with the pros, and us amateurs, well, we’re gonna miss the hell out of him.” Jake smiled at Aunt Lucy. “But we can all take comfort in this certainty,” he said. “Benny’s with the big guy himself, fishing that vast and comforting expanse they call eternal life. And one day, we’ll all be together again, because that’s how it works. No one is ever lost to us, not really. They’ve just gone on ahead to scout the territory.”

Jake looked out at the congregation. “All right,” he said. “You guys on the left of the casket are group one. You people over there are group two. And you people in the back, you’re group three. Now, when I point to you, start singing. I think you all know the words…. ‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.’”

With that, Jake smiled gently, raised his arms in the air like a band conductor and motioned. Like sheep we began to sing, right on cue. And as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground, we filed past the grave, tossing pink carnations in on top of Uncle Benny and singing the simple, sweet song we’d known as children. But that was not why I felt such an urge to escape from everyone and everything. What sent me over the edge was the fact that Jake Carpenter had taken me in once again.

He had managed, with his goofy joke and his stupid song, to lull me into an unguarded moment in which every happy memory I’d ever shared with Uncle Benny came flooding back with a suddenness that took my breath away. Jake had forced me to feel the vast emptiness of losing the one man who’d ever truly understood me.

This new pain melted into all the feelings I’d so carefully sealed away, leaving me stranded in my old hometown and feeling like a shipwreck survivor. I was home, but I was a stranger. I’d expected to find things just as they’d always been, only better, softened by the pink glow of my very selective memory. But now, when I needed to come home and feel safe, I found myself trapped in a nightmare.

I stared out of the funeral home limo as we drove home, watching the familiar neighborhood pass by the rain-streaked window. Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny lived in a blue-collar Italian neighborhood that even on the best of days smelled like the nearby paper mill. The brick row homes and postage-stamp backyards were coated in a thin layer of grimy ash that descended like smog over everything and everybody, until gray became the standard color and a hacking cough our constant companion in the wintertime.

But once you set foot in the house, the black-and-white TV screen of our lives changed into a vibrant Technicolor. The kitchen was yellow, the air warm and fragrant with baking bread and everywhere you turned there was some picture or reminder of all the important events or occasions in Benny’s and Lucy’s full-to-overflowing lives. It was a home with love to spare, a home that had taken me in when my parents died and tried, with some success, to raise me into a healed and whole person.

People were packed into every corner of the downstairs by the time I arrived. They sat on the steps leading up to the second-floor bedrooms and peeked through the banisters at the others sitting in the living room below them. They laughed and shouted, hugged and drank, and some cried, not for long, but with earnest emotion that was no longer concealed by convention or etiquette. It was as much home to me as it was foreign. It was too much to return to, and still, it had not been enough to keep me rooted.

When I heard Jake’s voice in the living room, I knew he’d look for me, and I also knew that whatever he had to say, whatever explanation he chose to offer, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for what I spent so long trying to forget. Jake Carpenter was a bastard’s bastard, and my opinion of him wouldn’t change just because he’d been kind to my aunt and uncle.

I looked around the crowded kitchen and realized I was trapped, saw the basement door behind me, and lit out for the space below like a homing pigeon. Uncle Benny’s workshop was down there, a safe haven to him for years and now for me.

I closed the wooden door behind me, fumbled for the light switch and began my descent down the worn, smooth steps to the basement. It still smelled like the old coal furnace, even with years having passed since Uncle Benny had made the switch to oil.

I stepped down into the bright white space and found it just as I’d left it—concrete floor, workbench and cabinets back behind the steps; old worn, terry-cloth couch against the far wall; shabby, braided rug; ancient TV sitting on top of a rusting metal TV tray. It was exactly the same as the day I left home to strike out for Florida, and Benny’s secret bottle of Wild Turkey was in exactly the same place as it always was, way in the back of the last cabinet on the left.

I reached in, pulled out the bottle and was reaching for a shot glass when I found the envelope. It was a sealed, white, standard legal-size rectangle and it felt thick with papers.

I slowly pulled it toward me, placed it on the workbench and knew I was going to open it. I decided I needed fortification first. I poured a shot, lifted it to my lips and tossed it back, feeling the burn as the liquor found its way down my esophagus and into my empty stomach.

“Damn!” I whispered, half choking on the bourbon. I poured another shot and carried it and the envelope to the couch, where I sat down and prepared to read whatever Uncle Benny had hidden away from Aunt Lucy.

I started to fumble with the seal, realized I still felt unprepared and drank the second shot. Then, with slightly trembling fingers, I undid the flap and pulled out the thick sheaf of papers.

It was meant to be a legal document—that much seemed clear, but it was a generic, computer-generated form, not one from a lawyer’s office. There were no embossed seals, no witnesses’ signatures and no “whereas” and “to wit’s.” It was a simple agreement, a partnership arrangement, in which Uncle Benny had invested $260,000 in Jake Carpenter’s auto body shop.

I poured a third shot, tossed it back and felt the burn all the way to the pit of my stomach. I turned back to the beginning of the document and read, this time making careful note of the terms and conditions. It seemed that Uncle Benny had given Jake the money in return for a share of the business, a guaranteed income for himself and Aunt Lucy. But where had my uncle come up with so much money? He was a retired government chemist, not some hot-shot executive. My aunt had been a chemist, too. When my parents died and I’d come to live with them, she’d retired early to take care of me. She became a homemaker, pinching pennies to make ends meet, making her own soaps and cleaning supplies, clipping coupons. They lived in a row house. Where had Uncle Benny gotten so much money to give Jake?

I folded the papers back up, shoved them into the envelope and carefully returned them to their hiding place. I turned, intent on heading back to the couch, and felt the room spin slightly. Not a good sign, I thought. I tried to remember when I’d last eaten anything and figured it might’ve been yesterday as I’d pulled out of Garden Beach and started toward home.

“Shit, Uncle Benny!” I said to the empty room. “This is so not like you!” Even with a fur brain, I knew there was more to this than the agreement said, but what? Obviously that jerk Jake had conned my poor retired uncle out of his retirement money and every dime of his savings. Jake probably promised my uncle pie in the sky and a pot of gold at the end of the auto body rainbow. Now Uncle Benny was dead and Aunt Lucy was crying foul play. Did she know about Uncle Benny’s agreement? I figured not.

The more I thought about Jake taking advantage of my aunt and uncle, the angrier I got. Jake had been trying to rip off my uncle. He had to be in financial trouble; I’d just bet on it. I looked at the steps leading to the kitchen and listened to the dull rumble of people drinking and laughing overhead. I leaned back against the sofa cushions, kicked off my high heels and pulled my feet up where I could massage my throbbing ankle.

“I should’ve worn my flip-flops,” I muttered. I tugged with no effect at the hem of the miniskirt, trying to cover my thighs and get comfortable at the same time. It was pointless. I was not a sexy showgirl, merely a poor imitation who would’ve given anything for her own jeans and a T-shirt.

I needed to eat, but I was so tired and Uncle Benny’s old couch was so comfortable. I pulled one of Aunt Lucy’s afghans down from the sofa back and snuggled into it. It smelled like Uncle Benny’s Old Spice aftershave. I felt sadness threaten to overwhelm me and closed my eyes, hoping to wish it away. I leaned back against the soft, overstuffed cushions and tried to remember all the good times, hoping the grief would somehow vanish or at least become manageable.

“I’m gonna close my eyes, just for a minute,” I murmured. “Then I’ll eat, and then I’ll kick some Jake Carpenter ass!” The prospect seemed somehow satisfying. I could finally exact my revenge on Jake Carpenter and be doing it for a worthy cause. What could be better? I envisioned Jake, pleading with me, his dark, sexy eyes widening with fear as he realized what he’d lost and what he was about to lose. I fell asleep imagining him on his knees, begging for mercy.

I woke up with the sudden awareness that I was no longer alone.

“You know, you drool when you sleep,” Jake said, his voice right up against my ear, the musky scent of him suddenly overwhelming my dream world. “And you still make that little piglike sound, too, you know, the one you make when you snore so loud you half wake yourself up? I hadn’t thought of that in years!”

I opened my eyes. Jake Carpenter was sitting beside me on the edge of the sofa, leaning over to balance himself above me and smiling as if he were in complete control of the universe. For a moment I felt disoriented, and wondered if I was still dreaming. I stared at Jake, willing my eyes to focus. He bent closer, his face inches from my own, inspecting me intently.

“Breath mint?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “Gun.”

Jake’s brows furrowed. “Gun?”

“Yeah, in case my breath don’t kill you, my gun will.”

Jake straightened, one eyebrow pushing up into a question mark. “You’re still mad?” He shook his head. “That was years ago. We were just kids. I’d think after all this time you’d be relieved, not mad.”

I pushed back, struggling to get away from him and sit up at the same time.

“Relieved? That’s what you’d call it, relieved?”

Jake nodded solemnly. “We were just kids. What did we know about making a lifetime commitment? You should be grateful I stopped us.”

I stuck out my hand, pushing the center of his chest with two fingers, knocking him back a few inches.

“Grateful?” I swung my legs off the couch and sat up. “Let’s get something straight—you weren’t the one who backed out. If you’d listened to what I was trying to tell you, you’d have known—”

The cellar door swung open and a shadow crossed the top steps.

“Stella,” Nina hissed. “Are you down there?”

We froze, willing her away so the battle could continue, but Nina had some sort of sixth sense.

“Stella, damn it! The cops are here. You’d better get upstairs, quick!”

Jake was already moving, rising from the couch and turning to extend his hand to help me up. I ignored the hand and started to push past him.

“You might want to tame that bird’s nest,” he said. “It makes you look like you just crawled out of bed.” His eyes met mine and I saw the flash of hot intimacy lingering there, remembering every moment I now wanted to forget.

I reached up and felt the mound of tangled hair. I was avoiding his eyes, avoiding everything about him, and still I felt my body respond. Damn him! I forced myself to keep on going, raking my fingers through the tangles and trying my best to ignore him. Was it my imagination, or was he even more arrogant than he had been in high school?

I started to climb the steps, stopped when the pain in my ankle made further progress impossible, and took a deep breath. Stilettos just had to be the only shoes in my car other than flip-flops. A calmer person would have packed before leaving town. But then a calmer person wouldn’t have shot up her boyfriend’s trailer with her service weapon. At least I’d brought my personal gun, another Glock. Protection beat footwear any day, didn’t it?

“What’s wrong with your foot?” Jake asked. He was right behind me, his hand reaching out to cup my elbow in support.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? That didn’t look like nothing. It looked like you couldn’t walk on it. I mean, it is wrapped in an Ace bandage. There must be something wrong with it.”

I looked back at him, shook my head and then started out again on the other foot, willing myself to walk up the stairs.

“You are just as pigheaded as ever,” he muttered behind me. “Probably tripped on those spiky shoes of yours. You never used to dress like a…”

I whirled around. “Like a what?” I said slowly. “Go on, say it. Like what?”

Jake raised one hand in defense. “Well, you know, like a movie star.”

I didn’t think for a second that Jake Carpenter had meant a G-rated movie star, but Nina’s reappearance precluded any further argument.

“There’re two of them,” she whispered loudly. “They’re going through all the medicine cabinets and asking Aunt Lucy a bunch of questions.” Nina rolled her eyes. “Of course, she’s not making any sense.”

I clutched the banister and hauled myself up the last steps. “Where is she?” I asked.

“In the living room. Almost everybody else left.” Nina took in my disheveled appearance, then looked behind me at Jake and started to smirk. “You don’t waste time, do you?” she whispered to me. “Damn. If my Spike wasn’t so jealous, I’d be chasing him, too!”

“I am not chasing him,” I hissed back.

“Well…” Jake said. “She did attempt to tackle me, but that’s only because her bum ankle makes her move slow.”

“Shut up, Jake!” I pushed past Nina and left her to handle him.

I could hear Aunt Lucy’s tremulous voice coming from the living room, responding to questions that were murmured in voices too low to make out clearly.

I rounded the corner into the living room just as Aunt Lucy said, “Of course I knew where he kept his pills. I was the one gave them to him before he left every day—otherwise, he might’ve forgotten.” Aunt Lucy shook her head slowly and looked at a spot on the floor in front of her feet. “Who’d have thought they wouldn’t do any good when the time came?”

“Can I help you?” I said, limping in between the two plainclothes detectives and Aunt Lucy.

They looked up, clearly startled and yet recognizing the tone, the cop voice that, while asking a question, was really making a demand. The woman, in her thirties, dumpy and overweight, rose to her feet, an attitude brewing. She was a bleached, brassy blonde in a cheap gray polyester suit. Her pumps were sensible and her stockings had a run that snaked crookedly up her left leg. She made matters worse by wearing blue eye shadow and thick black eyeliner.

“Excuse me,” she began.

“You’re excused. Now, let’s take this into the kitchen, where perhaps you can show me your search warrant and explain why this expedition is so necessary at such an inconvenient time.” I stuck out my right arm, stiff, like a crossing guard, further cutting them off from Aunt Lucy.

The guy, older, gray buzz cut, his face lined with sun and smoke wrinkles, stood up, giving the senior-officer nod to his junior partner and indicating a move to the kitchen would be better than an incident in the living room.

I trailed behind them like a cattle dog nipping at their heels, jerking my head in the direction of the living room when I spotted Nina and Jake. Nina was a little slow on the uptake, but Jake steered her past us and out of the way.

“Now,” I said when we reached the kitchen, “I’m guessing you don’t have a warrant.”

“Listen, you,” the stocky blonde said.

I looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “So, we should add rude to your list of character defects?” Before she could answer, I turned to her partner. “I’m thinking you were thinking to get into the house while my aunt was still reeling from the grief of burying her husband. Maybe you were thinking that because she’s old and a little infirm mentally, you could take advantage of her.” I shook my head. “That makes you stupid, in addition to rude and quite possibly incompetent.”

His face reddened and the little bulldog beside him puffed out her chest and prepared to yap some more. I interrupted her before she started.

“I’ll be in touch with our lawyer. If you have some burning need to search the house, get a warrant. You could have circumvented a lot of grief by simply telling my cousin or me, straight up, what the fuck was going on and what you needed from us. Instead you busted in here and upset my aunt.”

The guy was studying me, working his jaw muscles in an attempt to calm down. He knew that if he wanted anything at all from us, he’d need to eat some dirt and try a more civilized tack.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I apologize. Sometimes we get wrapped up in the case and forget our manners.”

“You see?” I said, turning to look at the bulldog. “Wasn’t that easy?” I smiled, broad and phony. I looked down at the little woman. “You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar,” I said. “Don’t worry if you don’t get that one right away—it’s like a proverb. It might require some thought to figure it all out.”

The senior officer circumvented the blonde’s next explosion by saying, “I’m Detective Slovineck and this is my partner, Detective Poltrone.”

I nodded, not offering my name. “And what is it we can do for you, Officers?”

I felt Jake step silently into the doorway. I knew he was listening and watching, ready to help should I need assistance, which I, of course, wouldn’t require even upon pain of death or arrest.

“The initial toxicology report came back on Mr. Valocchi,” he said. “Long story short, we have confirmed that this was a homicide and not an accidental death or suicide as we at first thought. Apparently he was forced to ingest his entire bottle of nitroglycerine, resulting in his death. We needed to talk to the victim’s wife about who might’ve done this and also take all the medication with us for testing by the lab.”

I felt an icy hand clutch at my heart. So Aunt Lucy was right. Uncle Benny had been murdered.

“You’re saying someone gave my uncle too much of his medicine? Maybe he just took too much. Maybe the pain was real bad and he panicked.”

Detective Slovineck shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Whoever did this crammed the entire bottle of pills under his tongue and down his throat. There were signs that your uncle struggled, bruising on his neck and defensive wounds that showed he tried to prevent what happened. That’s why we’re ruling out our initial impression that this was a suicide. We’ll wait for confirmation from the coroner’s office, of course, but that’s what it looks like now. We need the rest of his medications to give to the M.E.”

It was as if the words just wouldn’t sink into my head. Why would anyone want to hurt my uncle? I looked at the two officers, trying to put myself in their place. They would start with the most obvious suspects. They would start with Aunt Lucy, because after all, who else would stand to benefit from Uncle Benny’s death?

“Okay,” I said. “Did you get the bottles you need?”

“I got the ones in the bedroom and his bathroom,” Detective Poltrone said to Slovineck, “but she said there were more in here.” She looked around, her eyes lighting on a string of bottles that lined the windowsill behind the kitchen sink.

“You can take them,” I said, “but be sure they’re his and not hers.”

I stepped to the sink, watching as Poltrone put on a latex glove and picked the bottles up one by one, dropping them into plastic evidence bags, which were then carefully sealed and labeled.

I stepped to the door leading outside and into the driveway. I opened it wide and gestured.

“My aunt is in no condition to answer questions today,” I said. “If you want to talk to her, call tomorrow and I’ll set it up.” I paused and looked at them. “That is, as long as her attorney feels this would be appropriate.”

Detective Slovineck was staring at me again. “You on the job?” he asked.

“Was,” I said. “Garden Beach, Florida.”

He nodded, but it wasn’t collegial. It was the wary nod of an adversary sizing up the competition and finding it worthy. “You can always tell,” he muttered. “We’ll be in touch.”

I closed the door, leaned my head against the frame and sighed with relief and fatigue.

“That honey-and-vinegar thing,” I heard Jake say behind me, “you know, it works both ways.”

I closed my eyes, lifted my head a couple of inches and banged it slowly against the door frame. Why was that man still here? This was quickly followed by another thought. I turned around and faced Jake.

“Aunt Lucy said you were the one who found my uncle,” I said. “He was at your shop, wasn’t he?”

Jake nodded, waiting for me to continue.

“I know about the money he gave you, too,” I said.

I didn’t have to say another word. Jake’s eyes smoldered with barely suppressed rage. He knew where I was heading. He stared at me for one long moment, then turned away, disgust clearly written all over his face. I heard the sounds of his footsteps moving through the living room and into the narrow foyer hallway. A moment later I heard the soft slam of Aunt Lucy’s front door.

Chapter 5

I awoke the next morning in my old bed, surrounded by cabbage-rose wallpaper and the faint scent of cedar. For a moment I was disoriented. Nothing seemed familiar. As I stared around the room, my eyes brought the angled ceiling into focus, and I remembered everything with a skidding ache that seemed to drain the world of color and promise.

Lloyd was gone. The indentation at the foot of the bed where he’d slept was cool to the touch. I fumbled with my watch and saw that morning was quickly slipping away. The sound of murmured voices rose from the first floor as I headed into the bathroom. How had I managed to sleep for so long?

I hastily pulled on my jeans and T-shirt and started down the stairs. My body responded by sending out dual throbbing drumbeats of pain, one from my ankle and the other from my hungover head.

“Idiot,” I muttered to myself. I eased slowly down the steps, listening to the sound of Aunt Lucy’s voice growing louder as I approached the first floor. She was in the kitchen talking to someone.

“I know you’re inside that dog,” she said. “There’s no sense trying to hide from me. I’m a big girl and I can handle change.”

I reached the doorway just as Aunt Lucy turned away from the stove, a plate of eggs and bacon in her hand. Her white curls stood out like runaway corkscrews. She was wearing a faded pink floral housecoat, fluffy pink bunny slippers and a blue silk scarf knotted like a bandit’s mask around her neck.

Lloyd the dog sat at the kitchen table wearing one of my uncle’s fishing hats. When I stepped into the room he looked up at me and sighed. He was probably thinking I’d arrived to rescue him, but was ambivalent because Aunt Lucy was approaching him with the plate of food.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “What’s Lloyd doing wearing Uncle Benny’s hat?”

Aunt Lucy put the plate down in front of Lloyd and beamed up at me. “Well, honey, maybe you’d better have a cup of coffee first.” She peered at me, stepping closer and sniffing suspiciously. “And a couple of aspirin, too, I’ll wager. You got into the liquor cabinet last night, didn’t you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She was back at the stove, opening a cabinet and reaching for the pill bottle.

“Yep, your uncle here was bad to drink now and again, weren’t you, honey?” she said.

Her back was to us, so I figured I’d misheard her. I looked over at Lloyd. Aunt Lucy had put the Yellow Pages on the kitchen chair so Lloyd could reach the table at a proper height. He sat there, his shaggy black-and-white spotted fur gleaming in the brightly lit kitchen, wearing Uncle Benny’s hat without complaint and wolfing down the plate of eggs as fast as he could go. After all, it wasn’t every day a dog got this kind of treatment.

Lloyd looked up and met my gaze for a fraction of a second. He was grinning.

“Aunt Lucy, Lloyd doesn’t need to sit up at the table. He’s fine to eat from the floor. In fact, I’m gonna run out and get him some dog food in just a little bit—”

Aunt Lucy interrupted me. “No! Don’t do that! Don’t you know anything?”

She stomped over and placed a thick mug filled to the brim with coffee in front of me. The coffee sloshed, spilling onto the table, but Aunt Lucy didn’t notice. She was gazing at Lloyd with a fond, loving expression on her face.

“Aunt Lucy, that’s Lloyd. He’s my dog, remember?”

I said the words slowly, making sure they had time to sink in just in case she needed a new prescription for her glasses.

Aunt Lucy leaned over and patted me on the back. “That’s what they’d have us think,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But I know better, and so do you.”

She slipped into a chair beside Lloyd and stroked one of his paws. Lloyd growled softly, afraid she was going to undo his sudden good fortune.

“Oh, you poor, dear sweetie,” she said with a light giggle. “You always did like your food, now, didn’t you?”

Her face clouded over for a second. “You know, that was part of your problem. You ate all those things that weren’t good for you, like Vienna sausage and potted meat.” She gripped Lloyd’s paw a little tighter and stared right into his big, brown doggie eyes. “That’s turkey bacon you’re eating, you know,” she said. “You can’t even tell the difference, can you?”

I took a long pull on my coffee and tried to figure out an approach to dealing with Aunt Lucy. Surely to goodness, Glenn Ford had grown enough to include at least one psychiatrist.

“Yep,” I said as I leaned back in my chair and stretched, attempting to appear very casual about Aunt Lucy’s sudden departure from reality. “Old Lloyd’s a good dog.”

I stressed the word dog. Aunt Lucy turned away from Lloyd for a second and focused on me.

“Let’s not be too concrete,” she said, her voice tightening. “Do you or do you not believe in reincarnation?”

My head was pounding. This was going to be another long day.

“Well, I, um, I guess I never really gave it too much thought, Aunt Lucy. You know, with us being Catholic, I sort of figured the Blessed Virgin story was enough to handle without actually venturing into the afterlife and all.”

Aunt Lucy released Lloyd’s paw and brought both hands down hard on the table. “Horse pucky!” she said in a loud, firm tone.

“Horse pucky, the part about the Blessed Virgin?” I asked, knowing with a certainty that this was not at all what she meant.

“Stella Luna Maria Valocchi,” Aunt Lucy said, “you know exactly what I mean! Wake up and smell the coffee! This is the twenty-first century. Get with the program!” Aunt Lucy gestured in Lloyd’s direction. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who that is! Look in his eyes and tell me that isn’t your uncle Benny.”

Aunt Lucy sighed and reached for Lloyd’s paw again. He was finished eating, so he licked her fingers, either thanking her or looking for forgotten food morsels. To Aunt Lucy it was a sign from the great beyond.

“You see!” she cried triumphantly. “He always kissed me after he ate!”

Behind us someone snorted softly. Nina, her hair looking exactly as it had yesterday, wild and unkempt, stood framed in the doorway. Her mascara was smeared into raccoon rings of thick black around her bloodshot blue eyes, giving her a decidedly dangerous appearance.

“You see?” she muttered as she passed behind my chair on her way to the coffee pot. “Like a loon.”

I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Clearly I had done something terrible to piss God off to this extent. What other reason could there be for leaving me here in my aunt’s kitchen, the sudden defender of the Catholic faith?

“Well, Aunt Lucy,” I began, “I don’t know about the afterlife. I mean, I don’t think none of us can say for certain what happens, but I’ve known Lloyd for about a year now, and in all that time, he’s always been a dog.”

Nina had poured her coffee and was leaning against the counter, just out of Aunt Lucy’s sight, rolling her eyes. Lloyd moaned softly and let loose with a thick doggie belch.

“You see?” Aunt Lucy said. “Benny always had the heartburn.”

Nina was shaking her head and making circular coo-coo motions with her left index finger. I ignored her and turned my attention back to Aunt Lucy’s mental status. Aunt Lucy could not be crazy, at least not permanently.

“You know,” I said, ready to try again, “I don’t think Uncle Benny would come back so quick. I mean, isn’t there some sort of waiting period, like an orientation process? Besides, Lloyd has his own soul. What would happen to it if Uncle Benny took over? Don’t they reincarnate you into a new body, you know, so you start with a clean slate?”

Aunt Lucy frowned, then with a sudden quick motion, reached across the table and slapped me upside my head.

“Is that what your Uncle Benny paid that college for? So you could come out with a closed mind? Think a little, Stella! That dog and your uncle ain’t so very different. They are of like minds. Didn’t you ever hear of that phenomenon before? Like minds, where two think as one? That’s how come they can accommodate so many people in so few bodies! It’s your communal unconscious. I saw it on the Discovery channel.”

Aunt Lucy grinned. “I hope I come back as a kitty,” she said, giving Lloyd a flirty look. “Then your uncle Benny here can chase me around the house. Just like the old days, eh, honey?” She laughed until tears flowed down her cheeks.

I didn’t know what to do. Nina certainly wasn’t going to be of any help. Hell, she was what, twenty years old? I had no doubt she’d be on the next plane back to L.A. Aunt Lucy was clearly non-compos mentis, or at least temporarily out to lunch. And Lloyd was currently very content to masquerade as my uncle.

I took a deep breath and decided to ignore the reincarnation delusion for the time being.

“Aunt Lucy,” I said, “we need to make sure all of Uncle Benny’s affairs are in order. You know, make sure he gave you power of attorney, get the will probated and take care of the paperwork part of all this….” I let my voice trail off for a second, then continued. “I’d be glad to help you with it if you want.” Hell, in her current state, she might decide Lloyd would make all the decisions.

Before she could answer, I jumped in. “I doubt Lloyd can read, and anyway, Uncle Benny’s got enough stress just getting used to his new life. The least we can do is sort out the details.”

Aunt Lucy smiled softly. “It’s all right if you don’t believe me, Stella,” she said. “You’re a good girl. You remind me of your uncle the way you take care of me.” Her eyes softened and filled with unshed tears. “I would appreciate it if you would look things over, just so you and your uncle’s executor can be on the same page about everything. Benny’s papers are in the desk in the study.” She glanced at Lloyd, then back at me. “Oh, and Stella?”

“Yeah, Aunt Lucy?”

“Even a moron knows dogs can’t read! There are limitations, you know. Reincarnation doesn’t mean a dog suddenly has superpowers. What do you think I am, nuts?”

With this, Aunt Lucy stood up and walked back to her place by the stove. “Sit down and quit making them faces, Nina,” she said, reaching over to smack her with a wooden spoon. “You think I couldn’t see your reflection in the toaster?”

Nina scurried out of Aunt Lucy’s reach, slid into a chair at the table and buried her face in the morning paper.

“I’m making eggs and turkey bacon,” Aunt Lucy said. “Any objections?” Neither of us said a word. “Good,” she said. “Then later, Nina, you can do the dishes while Stella looks over your uncle’s papers. I’m taking Benny fishing.”

Lloyd looked at me and grinned, clearly pleased with his new life.

“You’d better watch it,” I warned him in a whisper. “What goes around comes around. Don’t get all cocky—this is temporary.”

Nina raised her head and looked at the two of us. “What? She’s got you talking to the dog now?”

I made a face at Nina and turned back to my coffee. I was making a mental to-do list: sort out Uncle Benny’s legal affairs so Aunt Lucy could understand them and run her life. Take Aunt Lucy to a psychiatrist so she could tell real from imaginary, and find out what kind of maniac would murder a kindly old man like my uncle. The other, less pressing questions could get sorted out later—like why I always picked the wrong men and what I should do with the rest of my life.

Dorothy had it all mixed up when she told Toto “There’s no place like home.” What she meant to say was, “Home is no place to go crawling back to,” or in the words of that old-guy poet, “Your ass can’t go home again, ’cause even home doesn’t stay the same.”

Chapter 6

I stood in the ancient bathtub upstairs for what seemed like hours, drowning myself in an endless stream of hot water, waiting for the others to leave. I couldn’t face the piles of legal mumbo jumbo and manage the continuing circus of Aunt Lucy’s delusions and Nina’s attitude at the same time, so I hid out like a coward and waited for them to leave.

I heard Nina stomp up the narrow staircase, stop outside the bathroom door and call my name softly. I ignored her. A moment later Aunt Lucy yelled out. “I found the car keys, honey. Let’s go! The fish don’t bite after noon, you know!”

Nina groaned and stomped back down the steps, her platform heels tapping out a rough, staccato warning that she was not at all pleased with her new duties as Aunt Lucy’s keeper and chauffeur. A moment later the door slammed and the house was left in abrupt, welcome silence. I shut off the water, pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out onto the bath mat, wrapping a thick pink towel around my body and enjoying my sudden freedom.

I was toweling off my hair in front of the bedroom mirror when I heard them return. The back door opened, footsteps crossed the kitchen floor and below me I could hear someone moving through the downstairs.

“Probably forgot her stud collar,” I muttered to myself. “Or sunscreen for her tattoos.” I smiled at the mental image of ultrahip Nina trapped in a Jon boat with Aunt Lucy and the newly reincarnated Uncle Benny.

I walked to the top of the stairs and was about to call out when I heard the heavy crash of metal upon glass. A male voice swore, words I couldn’t hear clearly, and my heart leaped to my throat. I spun around, stepped back into the bedroom and grabbed my Glock up from its resting place on the bedside table. I scanned the room, double-checking. There was one phone in the house and it was downstairs in the kitchen. My cell phone was out in the car.

I sighed and slowly started down the steps. No call to 911. No backup.

“One in the chamber, twelve in the magazine and intruders in the house. No problem,” I reassured myself.

I crept down the stairs, around the corner and stopped at the end of the long hallway. They were in my uncle’s study, working quickly, pulling out drawers and rifling through papers.

Fucking predators, I thought. Must’ve read the obituary, must’ve watched the house waiting for her to leave. Jesus!

I eased down the hallway, stopped at the doorway to my aunt’s bedroom and gently turned the knob. I pushed and the door gave. I scanned the empty room, gun held at arm’s length in front of my chest, saw nothing and moved on. Uncle Benny’s study was on the left side of the hallway. By rights, I should’ve moved along that wall, making myself less vulnerable to being seen, but then I would’ve had less of an angle on the intruders. I took the right wall.

I checked the bathroom, holding my breath, ready. I moved within range of the study and took a quick glance inside. There were two of them and they were oblivious to my presence. Drawers hit the floor; papers flew. They worked with their backs to me, apparently unconcerned with anything but the task at hand.

I felt the anger surge into an adrenaline rush. “Fucking assholes,” I murmured, and started to make my move.

I heard a slight snick of sound behind me, the kind of sound that registers as “Oh, shit!” but comes too late to prevent catastrophe. I felt my body fly forward and into the wall across from where I stood, the impact registering with a resounding shock of pain as my forehead and body slammed full force into the rigid plaster. The gun careened out of my hand and skittered down the hallway.

I ricocheted off the wall, using my free hand to push off and spin toward my attacker. He stood an arm’s length away, a black mask covering his face and an ugly gun pointed directly at my chest.

“Hurry up!” he yelled to the men in Uncle Benny’s office. “We got company.”

I watched his eyes and saw his attention return to me, saw him register the Glock lying on the floor and then take a mental inventory. Was I a potential threat to him, or merely a frightened woman?

I watched him stereotype me, saw the glint in his eyes and decided to use the oldest trick in the book. I began to tremble, feigning fear. I let my bath towel slip, pretending to try to catch it, but missing as it quickly slid to the floor.

“Oh, my God!” I gasped. My eyes widened. I took a step backward and was rewarded with a lecherous sneer. “Oh, no!” I wailed softly. “My towel!”

I made a move to bend over and reach for it, giving both audiences a view of cleavage they would not soon forget, and stretched out my arm to reach for the towel. As I expected, the gunman took a step forward, gun arm extended, legs spread in a ready stance, trying to ensure that I didn’t go for the weapon that lay on the floor between us.

I brought my arms together, outstretched and rigid, as if going for the bath towel. I clasped my fingers together to form a tight hammerhead and brought my fist up in a rocket aimed directly for my attacker’s crotch.

The blow connected and my new friend doubled over with a gasp of pain. I used the heel of my right hand to drive a second blow hard into the narrow band of flesh below his nose. He crumpled, sagging to the floor in a pool of bloody agony. He was making gagging sounds and heaving as I grabbed the gun from his useless hand.

I whirled, prepared to take on the other two intruders, but instead saw the last one struggling to escape through the window in my uncle’s study. I brought the gun in my hand up, aimed and sent a round crashing into the windowsill beside the rapidly retreating burglar.

I missed the target, but maybe my unconscious had been working on new, incoming information, maybe I didn’t want to hit my target just yet. The man diving out of Uncle Benny’s study window wore cowboy boots, black snake-skin boots, the same kind of boots I’d seen Jake Carpenter wearing as he piously conducted my uncle’s funeral.

“Son of a bitch!” I yelled after the escaping intruder. “Your ass is mine, Jake Carpenter!”

I brought the gun up, aimed and pulled the trigger. Nothing! I pulled again. Again, nothing.

“What the fuck?” I looked down at the weapon. It was a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver. I spun the cylinder, not believing what I was seeing. “What kind of idiot robs a house with one bullet in his gun?”

I didn’t have to wait on the answer; the silence in the hallway was answer enough. I turned slowly, still holding his useless revolver, and found the man in the mask holding my Glock.

“Drop the gun,” he said.

I let the weapon fall to the ground in front of me.

“Kick it over here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why? We both know it’s empty.”

He didn’t like this. “Shut up and do as I said.”

I reached out and punted the offending gun in his direction. Without taking his eyes off of me, he retrieved it and stuck it in the pocket of his sport coat.

“I’m leaving,” he said, backing up. “I can leave with you breathing, or not breathing. You have a preference?”

Great, a smart-aleck burglar. “Sure.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Then here’s what you have to do to stay alive. Don’t try and follow us.” I saw his eyes rake my naked body and he smiled slightly. “Although that would be a vision, wouldn’t it, you running through Glenn Ford in the altogether?”

A wise-ass with an educated vocabulary—now, there couldn’t be too many of those around town. Might make finding him easier, because I was going to find him. It was my new mission in life.

“Count to a thousand before you start getting all hysterical and calling for help. Anything less than that, I’ll come back and shoot you with your own gun.”

I sighed inwardly and made a mental note to humiliate him publicly as soon as possible.

“The one-bullet thing?” he said. “I do that for a reason. There’s entirely too much violence in the world today. Bullets work on the same principle as money—if you have it, you tend to spend it. I’d rather rely on my wits.”

He’d been backing up as he lectured. A moment later I heard the kitchen door slam. Two moments later I heard a car squeal its tires as it tore out of the alley onto the street that ran in front of the row house.

“Great!” I said to the empty house. “I get my ass kicked naked and lose my gun in the process.”

I shook my head, plucked the towel up off the hallway floor and headed for the phone. Every bone and muscle in my body ached, but nothing hurt as much as my pride. I’d let a group of punks, Jake Carpenter almost certainly one of them, break into the house and run, making a clean getaway. Damn!

I limped into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed.

“911 operator,” the voice answered. “Do you have an emergency?”

A few smart-assed responses came to mind before I finally managed to say, “There’s been a break-in at 361 Mary Street.”

“Is anyone injured?” the voice asked in a perfectly unconcerned monotone.

“It’s nothing I won’t live through,” I said, and hung up.

By the time the uniforms arrived, I was dressed and disturbing the crime scene. I was trying to find out what, if anything other than my weapon, was missing. I wanted to know why Jake had taken the risk of breaking into Aunt Lucy’s house in broad daylight, but I thought I already knew. I figured he was looking for the papers I’d found in Uncle Benny’s workroom.

When I’d accused him of owing Uncle Benny money, he must’ve known I’d found the agreement. He was probably trying to remove any sign that Uncle Benny had lent him money. Maybe he planned to deny he owed the family a dime.

“Stupid asshole,” I swore. “I never thought you were a genius, but this move was pathetic!”

The cops took over, looking irritated when they saw me touching their evidence, and sealed the room. The next hour was spent wasting their time and mine until Detectives Slovineck and Poltrone could arrive and further complicate my life.

“I don’t understand,” Detective Poltrone said. “You saw a pair of cowboy boots and assumed from that quick glance that it was Jake Carpenter come to rob your uncle’s estate? Why would he do that?” She had an exasperating habit of flipping her notepad shut whenever she asked me a question, as if she was trying to let me know she wasn’t going to believe my answer or find it worthy of noting in her all-important log of clues.

I rolled my eyes and made a silent appeal to Detective Slovineck.

“You think he wanted to steal back a copy of a financial agreement he made with your uncle?” Slovineck asked, knowing full well that was exactly what I thought but saving his partner’s face.

“Okay,” I said. “Do we not have motive, means and opportunity here? Jake must be in some kind of financial trouble. He cons my uncle out of $260,000. He never intends to make good on the partnership—he just wants the money. That’s why he killed my uncle. When he learns I’ve seen the papers, he tries to steal them back so there’s no proof. He wants it to be my word against his. That’s why he’s desperate enough to make a daytime raid on Uncle Benny’s study.”

I sat back, waiting for the detectives to respond, and felt sick at my stomach. Granted, Jake was a jerk and a coward, but a murderer, too? How could I have been so wrong about him? How could I have ever loved someone who would coldly plot the murder of my uncle and the destruction of my family? I didn’t want to believe it, but what else could I think?

“Stella!” Aunt Lucy appeared in the study doorway, Nina peeking over her shoulder and Lloyd at her side.

The two detectives looked up like startled rabbits and I stood, turning around to reassure my aunt. “It’s all right, Aunt Lucy,” I began. She interrupted me.

“Honey, this is such a mess! You could’ve just asked me where the will was!”

“Oh, no, Aunt Lucy, it’s not that…”

“Besides,” she continued, “Jake would’ve given you a copy.”

“Jake?” The name squeaked out of my throat like a strangled cough. Behind me I heard Detective Poltrone flip open her notepad and begin scribbling.

“Oh, yeah, honey,” Aunt Lucy said. “You know, he’s the executor. He has to have a copy. Otherwise how could he administer the trust and run the business?”

The room was absolutely still except for the scratching of Detective Poltrone’s pen across the smooth surface of her notepad.

Detective Slovineck spoke first, standing up respectfully, gesturing to his recently vacated seat and ushering forward.

“Mrs. Valocchi, if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions. You see, it seems your house was broken into and your niece here thinks she saw Jake Carpenter leaving the scene.”

Aunt Lucy seemed puzzled for a second, then nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll bet he was chasing after them guys.”

I was not the only person in the room trying to make sense of my aunt’s statement. Detective Poltrone frowned. “I think she meant to say that Jake was one of the intruders, Mrs. Valocchi.”

Aunt Lucy smiled benignly. “No, no, no. Stella and Jake have issues, that’s all, past life issues.”

“There’s the matter of the money your husband gave Mr. Carpenter, or loaned him…” Slovineck began.

“Money?” Aunt Lucy asked. She was clearly confused.

“Wait,” I interrupted. “I think my uncle made most of the financial arrangements by himself, so my aunt wouldn’t be burdened by those kinds of pressures.”

Aunt Lucy smiled at Lloyd, and turned back to Detective Slovineck. “Yeah, my Benny’s good like that. I don’t let him plan the meals or do the grocery shopping. It just blows his mind.”

I stood up and started for the door. “Wait, the agreement’s downstairs. Let me get it so you can see what I’m talking about.”

This seemed to pacify everyone. I left for the basement, signaling Nina to keep an eye on Aunt Lucy. I didn’t want the detectives double-teaming her with questions she couldn’t answer while I was out of the room. There was no sense in pushing her further over the edge.

I flew down the basement steps, crossed the room to Uncle Benny’s cabinet and opened the door. I reached behind the Wild Turkey bottle and felt…nothing. I stooped down, shoved the bottles aside and peered inside. The envelope was gone.

“This isn’t happening to me,” I whispered. “Damn!” I hit my forehead with a clenched fist. I’d hidden the envelope back where I’d found it, never imagining anyone could’ve known about it, anyone like Jake Carpenter.

I walked slowly up the stairs and returned to my uncle’s office. I knew what would happen now. Nothing. No proof. No reason to believe Jake was anything but a trustworthy friend of the family. Damn!

Detective Poltrone couldn’t hide her glee at my predicament. Detective Slovineck was more professional. He, at least, went through the motions of asking about how I’d found the agreement.

“So, you’d been drinking?” Detective Poltrone interrupted.

“A little,” I answered, “but not enough to make me hallucinate a legal document!”

“Well now, I don’t know,” Aunt Lucy said. “I’ve seen you when you’ve had a little too much and—”

“Aunt Lucy,” Nina broke in. “I was with Stella last night. She wasn’t drunk.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming and stood up. “I think I need a little fresh air,” I said, motioning Nina forward and mouthing “Take care of her” as I passed by. “I’ll be right back.”

Of course, I had no intention of returning. The local cops could sit around all day long with their thumbs up their butts, asking questions and trying to “understand,” but I was going to do something.

I breezed through the kitchen, grabbing my purse as I went and passing the crime-scene investigators who were still photographing and printing the hell out of the house.

“Take your time, kids,” I muttered as I passed the busy police officers. “I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

I climbed into my Camaro, fit the key into the ignition and froze. My Glock, minus its magazine, was sticking out of the open ashtray.

“No way!” I murmured.

I picked up the gun and turned it over in my hand. I wasn’t about to think my new friend hadn’t wiped it clean. What in the world was going on here? I pulled a new cartridge out of the glove compartment and inserted it back into my weapon, started the car and listened with satisfaction to the low growl of the engine as it hummed to life.

It felt good to be taking matters into my own hands. My life had purpose again. I was going to set things straight for Aunt Lucy, and Jake Carpenter’s karma was going to catch up with him.

I pulled out of the driveway, heading south toward Carpenter’s Auto Body Shop. The closer I came to my destination, the more I felt the rage and grief welling up inside of me. Jake had always seemed so slick, so good at promoting himself as the all-American rascal hero. Even I had been fooled by his charm and good looks, but I’d been a kid back then, an innocent, vulnerable kid.

True, after he left me I’d wanted revenge, but in an adolescent, imaginary way. And I had to admit that up until a few hours ago, I’d still harbored get-even fantasies. I know twelve years is a long damn time to wait for the world to rotate on its cosmic axis. A better person would’ve let go of all that foolishness.

I guess I was still a maturational work in progress because I wanted Jake to suffer some kind of public humiliation to make up for my own suffering at his young hands. In Garden Beach they used to say, “The sun don’t shine on one dog’s ass forever!” I really took that to heart, but of course, I never envisioned the turn Jake’s life would take and its effect on my family.

Uncle Benny’s murder changed everything. This wasn’t a kid’s game anymore. It was revenge and justice balled up into one ugly package. I wasn’t thinking about Jake as the boy who’d left me behind anymore. I was thinking about him as I would a suspect.

I slipped my hand into my purse and pulled out the Glock, feeling the solid weight of it as I shoved it behind my back and into the waistband of my jeans.

Jake Carpenter had crossed the line from simple heartbreaking to possibly committing murder, and he was going to be forced to deal with me. I was the black cloud on Jake’s horizon, and he was in for one hell of a storm.

Chapter 7

I began inventing myself after my parents died. I was thirteen and confused. The entire world, as I knew it, had ended when their plane plunged into the cold waters of the North Atlantic. There wasn’t anything heroic about their deaths. They were tourists on a second honeymoon, while I was just the kid they left behind. There was no war to blame for it, no terrorist to hold responsible. There was only me. At least, that’s how I saw it.

“Stella,” Uncle Benny said once, “your parents, they would’ve done anything for you. They didn’t want to leave you like this.”

We were fishing, sitting on the bank of Kerr Park Lake, our poles held lazily with one hand and our sodas clasped firmly in the other. It was the first spring after they died, the first budding of the forsythias that my mom would miss, the first hit on a crank bait that Pa wouldn’t be around to feel tug on his line. No, they didn’t want to leave me. I knew that much already. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I’d wished for them to go away and leave me alone. Not forever. Not like this. Just for a little while. Just long enough for me to sneak out with my friends, maybe drink a beer, maybe smoke pot, maybe even kiss the cute boy at my bus stop. I just wanted to be the girl who got away with “it,” whatever that was. And now look—I’d wished them to death.

It took Uncle Benny another two years to figure that one out and arrange another fishing trip, another “casual” conversation that seemed keyed to my current state of mind.

“Stella, baby, you’re taking everything so serious! You gotta lighten up, kid, live a little. Why you don’t go to no school dances? What’s with the fellas, eh?”

I remember feeling the sun hot on my face and wishing I could be anywhere but by my uncle’s side.

I shrugged, focusing my attention on the water in front of us, looking everywhere but at him. “I don’t know, Uncle Benny,” I’d said. “I’ve got a lot of homework. Those dances, they’re for the jocks. If you’re not going to college, you go to the dances. Me, I gotta win a scholarship.”

Uncle Benny shook his head and wrapped one beefy arm around my shoulders. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, “I got your college already paid for. You’re supposed to be having fun. This is the best time of your life.”

The best time of my life? How could anybody think that being a miserable teenager was a good time? Didn’t he know? How could he and Aunt Lucy not know? I killed my parents, well, as good as killed them. How do you have fun after you’re responsible for something like that? No, all I could do now was try to make it up to them by being good, serious and well behaved for the rest of my life. I was going to be a nun who did scientific research into something terrible like leprosy. I would live with lepers and die with lepers, wasting away, feeling the pain and anguish that I deserved and finally welcomed as my body eroded millimeter by millimeter.

I had my life all figured out. I was on the path, maybe not to salvation, but at least I would find redemption in my penance. But stupid Jake Carpenter came along and ruined it all. He came barreling up on his motorcycle, with his curly blond hair escaping around the edges of his helmet, and stole my heart away like a bank robber.

At first I tried to ignore him. But Jake wasn’t the type you could just ignore. His bike was loud, roaring up from behind like a throaty tiger. He was the star player on both the football and baseball teams, varsity not J.V. He dated the cutest cheerleaders. He went to all the dances, too, but he never stayed long. He left with the girl voted most likely to, a different one every time, and we all knew where they went and what they did, even if no one ever exactly witnessed this union with their own eyes.

Teachers threw up their hands, but loved him all the same. I thought he was a flash-in-the-pan moron, even if he did have those piercing blue eyes and a grin that always seemed to say he knew something that none of the rest of us knew…except for the select few girls who left under cover of darkness and returned at dawn, transformed by Jake into the full flower of womanhood.

I made a career out of ignoring him, or watching when I knew he couldn’t see me. Somehow he managed to sneak up on me, despite my careful guard.

“Yo, what’s your name?” That was the first thing he ever said to me. He pulled up behind me as I walked home from school, gunning the throttle of his 650 Triumph, and whistling when I wouldn’t answer him, as if perhaps I merely didn’t understand English and that was why I wasn’t paying attention to him. Stupid boy.

I ignored him until he pulled up onto the sidewalk ahead of me and blocked my path. He grinned, his eyes warm with invitation. He was wearing a pair of torn and faded blue jeans with a white T-shirt. I suddenly found myself wanting to take the helmet he offered and ride off into the sunset forever. Jake had a way of making you forget everything but him.

“What? You don’t like bikes? I mean, if you’re scared, say so.” He was grinning, as if maybe he knew I wanted to go but wouldn’t let myself give in.

Something about the challenge grated on me, pulling out the little rebel who I’d thought died along with my parents.

“I’m not scared,” I scoffed. I looked him over slowly, obviously, taking in the bike and the boy with a deliberate cool gaze. “I was just thinking maybe you can’t drive, and that’s why you’re up on the sidewalk. I’d have to be a total idiot to ride with somebody who can’t operate his bike any better than that. Maybe you need to let me show you how it’s done.”

I saw the spark flash in his eyes, and the wide grin broke into a delighted chuckle. “Oh, so you’re a hot rod, huh?”

“No,” I said. I pulled myself up as tall as I could and casually tossed my hair back over my shoulder. “I’m just smart, that’s all. If you can’t handle your bike, then you damn sure can’t handle me!”

With that, I stepped around him and went on my way, heart pounding and knees shaking. I didn’t look back, but I wanted to. I was dying to see the look on his face, to know if I’d scored one on him or not. As much as I didn’t want it to matter, or want him to matter, it did.

Every day I ducked under Jake’s outstretched arm as he leaned across my locker and smiled down at me. Every afternoon I walked home with my friends, hoping to hide myself from his relentless attention. But, in the end, I was my own undoing. One afternoon, just after a spring break where Jake had been particularly notorious and the stories especially unbelievable, Miss Miller stopped me in the hallway.

“Stella,” she said, her voice thick with urgency. “Tell me you’re still on the peer-tutoring list!”

“Sure,” I answered.

“Good,” she said, her thick glasses magnifying her eyes to buglike prominence. “Coach Sims says if his player doesn’t get some math help, he’ll be off the baseball team and we just can’t have that!

“Can you start today and work with him every day?” Miss Miller asked.

I nodded enthusiastically. What a stroke of good fortune. I’d be tied up after school for an hour, and Jake Carpenter would never find me.

Of course, we all know who the student was. Coach Sims rounded the corner with Jake in tow, the two of them grinning like banshees for very different reasons. I groaned, making Miss Miller whirl back around to study me anxiously.

“Stella, are you all right?” she cried.

I took a deep breath, considered visiting the school nurse with “female problems” and then realized there was no use in prolonging the agony. I turned back around and faced the firing squad with a determined look on my face.

It took Jake Carpenter precisely one week to lure me onto the back of his bike. Two weeks after that I was hopelessly, dog sick in love with the boy. But I wouldn’t sleep with him. That was where I drew the line, barely. I knew his type. All they wanted was a one-night stand and they’d be gone. Besides, I still had my lifelong intentions; a few weeks of suck-face and intense groping sessions hadn’t managed to sway me that far. But I was wavering.

“I’m saving myself,” I told him solemnly.

“For what?” he asked. “Old age?”

We were hidden by the apple trees of Highland Orchards, tucked safely into a grove that I believed to be our own secret sanctuary. Jake had spread out a quilt where we lay in the late-spring moonlight. He had me topless, and had just slipped his fingers below my waistband when I’d called a halt to the proceedings.

I knew I needed a good reason, maybe two good reasons, to keep him at bay, so I turned to my newest invention of a self, the queen of daytime drama. I drew in a breath, envisioned myself as a tortured princess who could not yet reveal her secret identity and let fly with everything I had.

I made tears well up in my eyes, not hard to do if I shifted to the left and rolled my hip over onto the sharp stone underneath the quilt.

“Stella,” Jake whispered in alarm. “What is it? Don’t cry!”

I smirked mentally and looked right into his steel-blue eyes. “Jake, before my parents died I made them a promise.”

This had him. I was about to swear on my dead parents. The fact that I was telling a lie in their names was not lost on me, but this was a white lie, a pure, for-my-own-good lie.

“I told them I would wait until I was married,” I said sadly. “Oh, baby, I do want you,” I whispered passionately, “but you see, we can’t. I promised.”

Jake stayed silent for another long minute, during which time I murmured things like “I’m sorry” and “You know I love you.”

I thought he was touched by my wish to honor my parents, but what he was really doing was standing by as I nailed the lid shut on my own coffin.

“I know you love me, Stella,” he said finally, “and that’s why I can’t ask you to sacrifice your virginity for anything other than the bonds of holy matrimony.”

I exhaled a long-held sigh of relief and almost missed the words that came next.

“My parents are going on a cruise in two weeks, and my grandma’s coming to stay while they’re gone. We’ll do it then.”

I jumped away from him, searching for my bra with one hand, and wondering if he’d heard anything I’d said at all.

“Do what, Jake? I just told you…”

“I know. I know. Shh. Let me finish.” Jake patted my hand. “Two weeks from now you tell your aunt and uncle you’re going to sleep over at a girlfriend’s house and meet me in Maryland.”

“Why?” I asked, knowing now he hadn’t listened to one single word I’d said.

Jake sighed. “So we can go to Maryland, silly!”

“Maryland?”

Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re not eighteen yet, are you?”

I felt a growing realization start to burn in the pit of my stomach. “No.”

Jake smiled. “Then we have to go to Maryland to get married. I mean, you did say you wanted to honor your promise and you do love me, don’t you?”

He looked at me the way a kid looks at Santa Claus, hopeful and excited. I mean, I just couldn’t let him down, could I? Besides, I knew deep in my adolescent heart that I loved Jake Carpenter.

That was how I wound up in Elkton, Maryland, parked in front of a tiny brick house that had Justice of the Peace on a sign in the front yard, waiting for a boy who never showed up and feeling totally humiliated.

I waited for hours, long enough for the old man who lived inside to come out and ask if I needed help, long enough that I couldn’t go home and explain that I couldn’t spend the night with my girlfriend Laura because she was sick, and long enough to realize that to Jake, this had all been a horrible joke and I was just another one of his victims.

What made it worse was the way he studiously avoided me, the way all of his crowd dumped me back into my old, anonymous life without so much as a glance over their shoulders. My pride kept me from doing all the things I’d seen his other girlfriends do. I never called, never pursued him for answers, just smiled when I passed and kept my head held high.

I was so unbearably miserable. I graduated, but as soon as I could, I left town, claiming that I wanted to go far away to college. However, all I really wanted was to stay safe in my aunt and uncle’s home, wrapped in their unconditional love. It took a long time for me to get past Jake’s betrayal, and then, all I could focus on was revenge. I wanted to know he hurt like I did, even if that meant I was immature, or that I couldn’t let go and grow up.

Eventually, I quit looking over my shoulder for him when I’d come home to visit. I focused on my studies. I became a cop and was on the road to being the best in the business, a real badass with a mission. I dated, but never seriously and never for long. But then I found Pete, my mentor turned lover, and watched the whole disastrous process repeat itself. It seemed I’d learned a whole lot about protecting my body, but not a damn thing about guarding my heart.

Love and betrayal. When would I ever learn? Some people are meant to fall in love and find eternal happiness. I was born to kick ass and take names. My purpose on Earth was clearly not to fall in love and make babies. I had a higher calling. I was going to right the wrongs in my little universe, and I was going to start with finding my uncle’s murderer.

Chapter 8

Old habits die hard, I suppose, because I just can’t seem to stop reinventing myself. I pulled into Carpenter’s Auto Body Shop and put on my cop face. I was hurt and angry, but Jake wasn’t going to get to see that in me. Jake was in for the steel-reinforced law dog, the officer who stops at nothing until the criminal is apprehended and the wrong avenged. I wasn’t that little lost girl now. I was Jake Carpenter’s new worst nightmare.

I cut the Camaro engine, stepped out onto the tarmac and proceeded to walk toward the open bay of the garage. I had the entire act working for me, the tough stride, although marred a bit by my lingering limp, the squared shoulders, the aviator-style, mirrored sunglasses and the I’m-right-you’re-wrong attitude. It carried me through the doors and into the semidarkened interior of the garage. It lasted right up until Jake poked his head out from underneath the hood of the rusted-out Oldsmobile and smiled.

That smile, along with the I-like-what-I’m-seeing gaze, stole my cool for a brief second. How could he be so at ease when he’d just robbed my house? Surely he didn’t think I hadn’t seen him? Of course, he had the agreement now and I didn’t. That’s why he was so cocky. This little discussion was going to take some careful playing, all right.

He straightened, laid down his wrench and wiped his hands on a grimy rag. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t need to apologize. I understand.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jake’s smile never wavered. “Yesterday. The things you said about me and your uncle. You were just upset. I know you don’t really think I killed him.”

I leaned against the edge of a tool cart, folded my arms across my chest and played stupid.

“So now you’re a mind reader,” I said. “Well, you’d better hone your technique, Sherlock, ’cause you’re batting zero with me. I don’t know who killed my uncle, so I wouldn’t be able to rule you out as a suspect.” Before he could interrupt, I went on. “But since you’re so clairvoyant, I won’t have to tell you that I didn’t come here about that.” I paused, waiting to see if he seemed anxious at all. His clear-eyed gaze stayed as cool as ever.

Okay, I thought, two can play this game.

“The police will sort out what happened to my uncle,” I continued. “I’m here about my aunt.”

The smile had been slowly fading from Jake’s face as I spoke, replaced by an inscrutable mask of polite courtesy, the kind extended to strangers and customers.

“What about Lucy?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

The concern seemed genuine, and I marveled at his ability to seem so clueless.

“What’s wrong?” I echoed. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I spent most of last night going over Uncle Benny’s papers and bank accounts. There’s barely enough money to pay for the funeral, let alone to support Aunt Lucy.” I was lying, looking for his reaction. I had no idea what money Aunt Lucy had, but it was a pretty safe bet old Jake had taken every last dime.

Jake frowned and shook his head. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought he really cared. “Stella, that’s not right. That’s not how it is,” he murmured.

“Really?” I pushed away from the cart and took a step toward him. “I find that somewhat hard to believe. After all, you took Uncle Benny’s retirement. He gave you everything he had in savings, and now I learn you’re the executor of his will and the administrator of his estate. What part of that equation is wrong? What am I not getting here?”

I shook my head slowly, frowned as if I was puzzled and looked right into his baby blues. “I’ve just gotta wonder why anybody in their right mind would knowingly give all their money away without so much as a string attached. I mean, I could see him getting taken by someone he trusted…”

I let my expression change to one of surprise. “Oh, I guess that’s what you want me to understand. He trusted you.”

I waited another beat, saw his features soften almost imperceptibly and then moved in for the kill. “So tell me this, Jake, did my Uncle Benny trust you with his life, too?”

Boom, there it was, the accusation had been laid on him with all the subtlety of a two-by-four upside the head.

Jake’s face reddened. His eyes glowed with barely suppressed rage, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him as a killer.

“I would never hurt your uncle, Stella. You know me better than that.”

“You think?” I said. “Jake, I never knew you. I knew the guy you pretended to be, but I never knew you. I’m not my uncle, Jake. I won’t believe you just because you look me in the eye when you talk.”

Jake attempted to speak but I raised my hand to stop any further attempts at an explanation. “What? You gonna say you didn’t know you were leaving my uncle penniless? Don’t waste your breath. The truth here is you didn’t think I’d find the signed agreement before you could steal it back.”

“Stella, it’s not like that!” Jake moved a step closer. I tensed, ready to defend myself.

“Let me explain,” he said. His voice was liquid silver, warm and smooth. His eyes met mine, and all I could see was his naked appeal. He could be so genuine. “I think it would make more sense if you understood the circumstances,” he said.

I raised one eyebrow. “Understand this. I’m not the naive girl I was twelve years ago, not anymore.”

Jake started to say something, but was interrupted by the loud clang of a bell, the result of a customer pulling up to a gas pump.

“I’ve gotta go get that,” he said. “She needs to know about some repair work.”

I looked out at the pumps and saw a knockout blonde slowly step from her BMW and smile in Jake’s direction. Some things never seem to change, I thought.

“Can’t your mechanic do that?” I asked.

Jake was already moving past me. “I don’t have a mechanic. This is a one-man operation.”

“What, you fired the guy who fixed my tire yesterday?”

Jake froze and spun on his heel. He faced me, so close I could’ve reached out and touched him, so close I could smell the lingering spicy scent of his aftershave. “What mechanic? What tire? The shop was closed for the funeral yesterday. Like I said, it’s just me here. That’s why your uncle was—”

“Yoo-hoo, Jake!” the blonde called. She was peeking out over the top of her designer sunglasses and curving one well-manicured finger in a come-hither demand for immediate attention.

“Damn!” Jake swore softly. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said to me. “I’ll be right back.” He stalked off into the brilliant late-afternoon sunlight. I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell from the blonde’s reaction that he was giving her a dose of the Carpenter charisma.

“You gotta watch that guy,” I reminded myself in a whisper. “He could win an Oscar with that act.”

Jake stood with one hand resting lightly on the frame of the blonde’s open car door, his head bent slightly as he flirted with his petite customer. She laughed, cooing up at him like a schoolgirl.

I stared back out at Jake and sighed. Okay, so maybe I was a little jealous, even if I knew better than to still lust after him. What made me want a slime ball like him in the first place? Why hadn’t I seen him for what he was? For that matter, why hadn’t I seen Pete for who he really was? Why did I always pick the bad boys?

I watched the way Jake dispatched his admiring customer. He patted her car door, closing it with a proprietary air, thus tucking the bimbo neatly back inside her vehicle and ensuring her departure. He even waved as she drove off, the smile never leaving his face although I knew he was irritated by the interruption.

Of course, the smile vanished the moment he hit the garage and saw me still standing there. His look stiffened into a distant, defensive expression. The glow vanished from his eyes, and his lips tightened into a thin line. It was as if the room’s light dimmed by forty watts and the temperature dropped a good ten degrees.

I shook myself mentally, throwing his attitude off. “Your office?” I said.

He nodded, held the door for me and then stepped past me to lift the countertop. He gestured toward a coffeepot. “Want a cup?”

I looked at the machine, sniffed and inhaled the acrid scent of a brew that had lingered in the pot for hours.

“No, thanks,” I answered.

From there, it was all business. We walked into the office, still piled high with papers, and sat across the large wooden desk from each other.

“Before we get to your uncle’s financial arrangement with me,” he began, “I want to hear about what happened yesterday. You say you were here and there was a mechanic working?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure it was this shop and not Sheeler’s down the street? I mean, you’ve been away for a while. You could’ve been confused.”

“I think I can tell the difference between old man Sheeler’s convenience store and your auto body shop. I only dyed my hair blond—I didn’t actually lose IQ points.”

Jake’s lips twitched for a brief moment, then he was back to the questions. “What did this guy look like?”

“Short, muscular, bald and mean.”

Jake frowned. “And you say the shop was open?”

“No. I had a blowout and he was sitting in here at the desk, working. Now can we get on with Uncle Benny’s business?”

Jake stood up and walked to a tiny refrigerator that sat in the corner of his office. He stooped down, opened the door and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Want one?” he asked.

“No. I want you to write a check and sign over the execution of Uncle Benny’s estate to me—that’s all I want.”

Jake stood and unscrewed the cap on the plastic bottle. He was staring at me, but his mind was stuck on the phantom-mechanic issue.

“Maybe one of the guys you tried to get to cover for you changed his mind and decided to come in anyway,” I offered, hoping this would lay the matter to rest.

Jake shook his head. “Nope. I know who it was. I just didn’t think he’d come back, that’s all.”

“Okay, good. Now, about the money.”

Jake sat down across from me and propped his long legs up on the desk. He was wearing pointy-toed, worn-out leather cowboy boots, unusual footwear for a mechanic, I thought, and he was paying absolutely no attention to me. He sat drinking his bottled water and staring at a spot on the wall behind me, as if watching a movie.

“Jake?”

No response. I waited a minute, staring around the office. There were no pictures of kids or a wife; in fact there were no signs of a woman’s touch anywhere. I stared at his boots again, trying to pit this pair up against the ones I’d seen flying out my uncle’s window. Were they the same? I couldn’t tell.

I tried again to get his attention.

“Jake!”

This time he jerked slightly and his eyes shifted to my face. He was momentarily disoriented. He pulled back into the here and now of his office with a sigh, put the bottle down, jerked his legs off the desk and straightened up in his chair. He rolled closer to the desk and closer to me.

“Stella,” he said, “can we just call a truce here? I want to explain some things to you.”

I looked into his eyes and felt something deep inside my heart begin to give. Against my better judgment, I nodded. “Go ahead,” I said, and leaned back in my chair to listen.

Jake took a deep breath and smiled slightly. “Here goes,” he said. Another deep breath, then, “Your uncle and my dad were friends. When my dad died, your uncle kept coming around, just like he always did. I guess he was looking out for me for my dad.” Jake kept talking, his words coming faster and faster, as if he’d been waiting to tell his story for a very long time.

“After it went bad between us and you moved off to Florida, I went kind of wild.”

Went wild? He was wild enough before I left. I could only imagine what he had to do to become even more of a terror.

Jake looked at me, his face reddening. “Stella, I wasn’t like everybody thought I was back in high school.”

“You think you had to tell me that?” I said. I couldn’t help it.

“No, I guess not.”

He looked at me, and his eyes softened. For a brief second I thought perhaps I saw tears forming, but he turned away before I could be certain. When he met my gaze again, the control was once more in place.

“What I mean is I had a reputation as this big ladies’ man.” His eyes met mine. “You thought I knew what I was doing. The truth is it was just a big show. Everybody assumed I slept with all those girls. They thought I was the big man, but I couldn’t do it, Stella. I wanted to, but when it came down to it, I always backed out.”

My heart softened a little. I thought about how it had been for all of us, wanting to be popular, or “in” and never thinking we were good enough just as we were. It was so stupid.

“After you left—”

“After I left?” I sputtered. “I never…”

Jake held up his hand. “That doesn’t matter now. Just let me say this. After…well, anyway, I started drinking. Everything just got worse and worse.” Jake took a deep breath. “I got busted. The judge cut me a break, I guess because I had been the star of the football team and he was a big booster club member. Anyway, he told me I could join the service and he’d wipe the slate clean.”

Jake sighed and shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad, really. I mean, at that point college wasn’t an option. So I signed up.”

“That’s not so bad. Sounds to me like you lucked out.”

Jake’s eyes met mine. “That isn’t all. I mean, that’s not the worst of it.”

I was having a hard time imagining what could’ve been worse without jail time attached, but I didn’t have long to wonder. Jake took a deep breath.

“Stella, before I left for boot camp I got Donna Manello pregnant. I’m not proud of it. Hell, I don’t even remember it too well, but I did. She said I was the father and…” Jake stopped for a second. “Well, there was only one right thing to do. I married her, even though I don’t think she loved me and I know I didn’t love her. She was doing what her father wanted. It wasn’t like…”

He stopped and looked at me, leaving the sentence unfinished. I knew with a deep certainty what he would have said, but I blocked that realization out with a forceful mental shove.

“I heard you were in the service,” I said, trying to make it easier. “But I didn’t know you got married. Manello, like in the Mafia family run by Tony Manello? Is she related to him?”

Jake nodded, looking sick. “His daughter.”

I was trying to stay calm, but inside I was steaming. What nerve the guy had, coming on to me after Uncle Benny’s funeral and married to Donna Manello! Her father allegedly ran the biggest racket outside of south Philly. How could Jake involve himself in something like that? Furthermore, I wondered how Donna and her “esteemed” father would react if they knew Jake was flirting with someone other than his wife.

Donna Manello had been the captain of the cheerleading team. She’d been everything I’d ever dreamed of being, tiny, cute, popular and big breasted. Next to her, I was a towering nerd with thick glasses, stringy, mouse-colored hair and no discernable sign of ever having reached puberty, unless you counted blemishes.

Okay, so I was jealous. She won. I lost.

“How many kids?” I asked, choking on the idea and trying to picture six little Godfathers all clustered around Jake and Donna’s dinner table.

Jake looked up at me, his expression miserable. “We don’t have any kids. She lost the baby at four months. I was at Fort Bragg by then. I wasn’t even here. It really tore her up, Stel,” he said. Jake looked desperate, as if my forgiveness or understanding was crucial to him. “I was in training. I couldn’t even be there for her. She blamed me, said I was never there to help her, and she was right. When things got really bad, I asked her why she didn’t just leave.”

“Why didn’t she?”

Jake looked down at his hands. “She said she loved me, but I think her father made her stay. I think he wanted her off his hands.”

I found myself suddenly feeling sorry for Donna Manello.

“I heard rumors that she was running around, but I didn’t believe them. Donna was going through hell and it was my fault. I got her pregnant, and when she needed me it seemed I was always out on assignment. I sure wasn’t going to divorce her on top of that. I owed it to her to ignore the rumors. I figured if she wanted out she could tell me. Otherwise, I was going to do whatever it took to make things right when I got back home.”

I nodded and my heart snapped right in two. Poor Donna and poor Jake. “Of course you couldn’t leave her.”

His expression changed as I watched, hardening into a bitter, angry mask. “Well, it turns out I was wrong about her, but I won’t bore you with the details,” he said.

His eyes met mine and seemed to be searching for some response from me. I didn’t know what to say. It sounded as if he had the same problem I did, falling for the sad stories and mistaking need for promise. Oh well.

“The military was good for me. I reenlisted because they made me a hell of an offer. I thought it would help us start a life of our own. How was I supposed to know she wanted me to work with her father? I thought she knew me better than to think I’d follow in his footsteps.”

I looked away, studying the traffic moving along Lancaster Avenue. Darkness had fallen in the short time we’d been inside, a sure sign of the approaching northern winter.

“She was playing me the whole time,” he said. “I stayed in for six years, sending home money, coming home when I could or flying her to North Carolina when I was in the country. She wouldn’t move, and since I was gone a lot on…assignments, well, I didn’t press the issue. She did just enough to make me believe she was happy. But I was the one who didn’t question it.”

“What happened?”

Jake looked down at the papers on his desk and seemed to be watching old videotapes from his past.

“When I got out,” he said, “I came home and opened the shop. She worked in the office doing the books, but eventually I could see she wasn’t happy. She kept saying she wanted me to ‘be’ somebody. I told her I liked who I was, who we were.” Jake shook his head. “I was such a fool.”

I nodded, waiting for the inevitable.

“Turns out the guy who plugged your tire, Ron, wound up plugging Donna, too. He didn’t seem to have a problem working for Donna’s father. I don’t know if he started running numbers before or after he started here, but I know that’s what he was doing before he and Donna took off. I don’t know why he would come back unless he wanted something. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone else with him?”

I shook my head. “He was the only one I saw. Do you think they’re still together? I mean maybe he was here looking for her.”

“Donna must’ve given him her key. She wouldn’t be caught dead here. Before she up and disappeared, she cleaned out my bank accounts. She’d been siphoning off all the shop profits while I was working my ass off, too.” Jake shook his head in disgust. “That’s why I couldn’t ever get ahead. That’s why things were always a struggle. Hell, I lost almost everything I own. I live upstairs because Donna hadn’t paid the house note in six months. She was robbing me blind and I was too stupid to see it.”

“Maybe you just trusted her to be as loyal as you were,” I said softly.

Jake discarded that notion. “No,” he said, “I was a dumb ass, pure and simple. If it hadn’t been for your uncle’s help I’d be bankrupt by now. Benny was the one who had to tell me my wife had been keeping two sets of books—the ones she showed me and the ones she kept.”

Oh, shit, my heart said, sinking with that here-we-go-again feeling. You idiot! my head scolded. I found myself believing Jake Carpenter’s story. Worse than that, I didn’t want to see him sink. I wanted to help.

“So he lent you money?” I asked.

Jake shook his head vigorously. “No way! He helped with the books. Your uncle was a smart guy, you know. He’s the one who figured out what she’d been doing.”

“So why did my uncle give you the money?”

Jake’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “You don’t have to worry, though. I’ll see your aunt gets her money back.”

“Gets her money back?” I echoed. “Where is it?”

Jake leaned back in his chair and ran one hand through his tousled hair. “Can’t tell you.”

“All right, then, don’t tell me—just write the check.”

“Can’t.”

Jake was stonewalling me, pure and simple. What in the hell was going on? Was he trying to drive me crazy?

“Listen, you,” I said, moving forward in my chair. “I don’t play. I’m not the same stupid girl you knew in high school. Now tell me what’s going on, and tell me right now or I’m going to the police.”

Jake hesitated, looked up at the ceiling, and after a moment looked back at me.

“You can’t,” he said.

I jumped out of my chair and leaned across his desk. “Can’t? You’re telling me I can’t go to the police?”

He nodded.

“Oh, you’re playing with the wrong woman now,” I heard myself say. “I’m a cop and you can damn well believe I know what I can and cannot do.”

Jake stared at me, his eyes widening in surprise. “You? A cop?”

I straightened in my seat. “Yeah, me. What’s so unbelievable about that?”

Jake laughed, tried to stop and choked. “You? I’m sorry. I just can’t picture little you running after some tough bad guy, tackling him and then taking him into custody. Not you.” Jake saw the look on my face and held up a hand to ward off my rebuttal.

“I’m not saying you don’t have the mouth for it, but…” He stopped, stared harder, and then said, “Wait. Is that how you hurt your ankle?”

I felt the indignation well up inside my body, felt the lift-off from my chair as my temper ignited, and knew I was responding to him with old anger and not the emotions of the current moment.

“Jake Carpenter, don’t try to sidetrack me! You don’t have a clue about who I am or what I’m capable of. Now, come up with the money you owe my aunt or I’ll see your ass gets thrown in jail.”

“You can’t,” he said, implacably sure of himself.

“And why not?”

Jake smiled. “Because you have absolutely no proof that any money is missing or that I owe your uncle anything.”

“You son of a bitch!” I swore. “That was you in my uncle’s house. You took the agreement!”

The bell tinkled above the door to the waiting area. Jake frowned at the interruption and rose from his seat.

“Stay there,” he said. “I’ll be right back and we’ll get this straight.”

I watched him walk past me, his scent filling the air as he passed within inches from my chair. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to reconcile Jake the boy with this new, older version of him as a man.

“Now, Jake!” I heard a female voice insist. “Right now!”

I opened my eyes and turned, trying to see the new arrival, but Jake’s broad back blocked any chance peek.

Jake turned, caught me staring, and for a moment, hesitated. He turned back, said something to the newcomer in a low, measured tone, and then waited as she left, the door swinging shut behind her with an angry tinkle of bells.

Jake stepped to the doorway of the office, his expression a mixture of apology and something else. Worry perhaps?

“Stella, something’s come up,” he said. “I need to take care of it right now. Could we pick this up later, like tonight at your house?”

I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing. “Jake, this isn’t a social call!”

Jake’s face darkened. “Stella, I don’t have a choice. I promise we’ll talk tonight. Can you not give me that much?”

“What could be more important than Uncle Benny’s murder?” I demanded.

Jake didn’t answer. He wouldn’t answer. I could see that by the determined set of his jaw. Jake had secrets. Of course Jake had secrets; who was he trying to fool with his phony openness? He’d given me lots of nonessential information, but he never answered any of the big questions.

I stood up, swept past Jake and let him think he’d won. The direct approach wouldn’t work, but that was fine. I was a cop; investigating suspicious circumstances was my specialty. Why should Jake Carpenter be different from any other criminal?

I gave myself a mental bitch slap. What had I been thinking? Where was the cold, calculating Stella? Where was the sneaky, nosy, no-excuses made, unremorseful snoop? I wasn’t a sap. I was too crafty for that.

You don’t surprise me on birthdays ending in zero. You don’t pull the wool over my eyes and think you’re making me happy. Surprises annoy me. They arouse my curiosity in an irritable sort of way, and once that’s happened, your secret is history. Jake Carpenter hadn’t learned this about me, and it was just as well because it was going to make sneaking up on the auto body office that much easier.

I let him watch me leave, let him imagine that I wasn’t looking in my rearview mirror as I drove off. He didn’t need to know I had caught a glimpse of his urgent visitor returning to the office from her hiding place around the side of the building. Poor Jake, it must be hell to be him and have me on his case.

I drove into the parking lot of the Acme grocery store, left the car and skirted the back lot until I’d crossed the line onto Jake’s property. From there it was a cakewalk. Hulks of cars in various states of battered disrepair hid me as I skulked my way toward the rear entrance of Jake’s automobile sanctuary. It was nothing to slip through the back bay door and begin edging along the wall of the darkened garage.

“Dead?” a female voice cried. “What do you mean, he’s dead? Benito can’t be dead! I can’t lose him! I have been with him since Maryland, since the old days. He can’t be…gone!”

The words ended in harsh sobs that echoed through Jake’s office, over the transom window and out into the shadowy work area.

“You knew this might happen,” I heard Jake say. “I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do. I was too late to save him.”

The woman’s sobs continued for what seemed an eternity. Jake was silent. I tried to picture him comforting this stranger, but my mind kept racing ahead with question after question. Who was she? Was Uncle Benny having an affair? I tried to picture my uncle wrapping some woman other than Aunt Lucy into a passionate embrace. I just couldn’t envision it. Hell, I couldn’t imagine Uncle Benny and Aunt Lucy! My uncle’s ardor was reserved for fish, not women.

I stared up at the narrow window and wished it were closer to the ground. What did she look like? Had my uncle been having an affair? No. Uncle Benny would never cheat on Aunt Lucy. He’d adored her. Hadn’t he? Maybe there was another explanation.

I shook my head. Or maybe I had been as blind about my uncle as I had been about every other man in my life.

A huge red tool chest stood against the wall beneath the window. If I stood on it, I’d still need a good three feet to reach the window ledge. I looked around, spotted a trash can, and decided to make do.

“What is it the Special Forces guys always say?” I muttered, trying to silently balance the inverted can atop the tool chest. “Adapt and overcome.”

A wrench clattered to the floor of the garage, dislodged by the trash can. I held my breath, just knowing Jake would hear me and come out to investigate, but Uncle Benny’s “friend” was wailing again.

“He promised me he’d be careful,” she said, the sobs ending as anger began to edge into her tone. “He said he had something for me. That’s why I came. He told me it was ready.”

She was silent for a moment, apparently waiting for Jake to reassure her that she’d be taken care of, but he didn’t say a word.

I hoisted myself up onto the tool chest and prepared to scale the trash can. It wobbled precariously as I gripped its sides and tried to clamber up onto its slippery bottom.

“Damn!” The can tipped and I swore without thinking.

“What was that?” the woman said.

Jake, apparently more clueless than usual, said, “What?”

“I thought I heard someone say something.”

I heard Jake’s chair scrape against the floor as he prepared to investigate. I held my breath, frozen into a crouch on top of the barely balanced metal can.

“Don’t do it,” I prayed. “Don’t come in here.”

Jake moved. I heard his footsteps heading for the doorway of the office. If I didn’t take the chance now, I’d never see her. He was coming my way.

I stood up, teetering on the wobbly barrel and reached for the ledge of the transom. I pulled up with my arms, gripping the thick sill, and was rewarded with the loud clang of the trash can hitting the floor.

“This is so not good,” I whispered.

Jake moved. I heard him leave his office and lift the counter. He was heading for the garage. He was seconds away from finding me.

“Ouff!” I exhaled and pulled myself up, almost over the ledge. I grappled and tried to bring my leg up, the way soldiers do in basic training when they scale the wooden wall on the obstacle course.

I was no soldier, and this was a slippery garage, not a military training field. I popped my head up over the ledge for a second and was rewarded with one brief glimpse of bleached-blond hair before I lost my grip and plunged eight feet down onto the hard concrete floor.

I landed on my sore ankle and barely stifled a groan as Jake reached the doorway.

He stepped out into the work bay and called, “Anyone out here?”

I held my breath, crouched behind the tool chest and waited for the inevitable hide-and-seek game of discovery to begin.

Jake stood still, listening. I could see part of his profile. He took a few steps into the garage, sighed and, for some reason, walked back into the office without inspecting any further.

“Cats,” I heard him say. “Knocked over the trash can. Damn animals. I’d run ’em off but they keep down the rats.”

The woman exhaled with a loud, impatient sigh. “I don’t care about that,” she said. “What am I going to do now?”

I shook my head. Women. No wonder men always thought that it was always about them. Here’s my uncle, dead, and she wants to know what about her! Damn!

Jake sighed, maybe thinking the same thing I was. “I don’t know everything yet. Benny’s niece showed up and she’s asking a lot of questions. I’ve got to get rid of her. The cops are all over this mess. I can’t do anything yet. Let things die down a little. Don’t worry. I’ll get it to you.”

Jake muttered something else I couldn’t hear, but the bimbo made it easy on me.

“What? What do you mean you don’t know where it is?”

Jake was clearly irritated. “Just what I said. If he had something for you, I don’t know where it is!”

This did not sit well with his visitor. I heard a chair scrape across the floor. She was getting ready to make a scene; I could feel it.

“I’m not leaving this godforsaken cesspool of a town without it!” she stormed. “You hear me?”

Jake heard her, all right. There was no way not to hear her; she was shrieking loud enough to be heard two blocks away.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said.

“You do what you have to do to get it!” she raged. “You want his death to be for nothing? You want me to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened, if only…”

She didn’t finish her sentence; instead she started crying again.

“Forget it!” she sobbed. “You are useless! You know less than he did! I can see I must handle this myself!”

I sank back against the wall and wondered what in the hell was going on. The blonde, apparently done with Jake, stormed out, slamming the outer door as she went. The building was silent.

I stood up, wincing as I put weight on my foot, and started to sneak out the way I’d come, then stopped and thought better of it. Was this really the time to leave? The blonde had worn Jake down. Why not capitalize on that and surprise him with another round of questions? Never interrogate a suspect at their convenience; always pick the worst possible moment so you can stress them further.

I chuckled silently. Jake was stressed, all right. What perfect timing. Besides, if I waited, the cops might come and arrest him. I’d never know the truth then. Jake was just the type to lawyer up, letting the legal system rescue him by giving him due process. The way I saw it, Jake didn’t deserve a break and Uncle Benny and I deserved a full confession.

I turned and began to head back for the office. I was moving slowly, limping as my sprained ankle reminded me of just how foolhardy I’d been.

I didn’t hear him come up behind me. Didn’t know he was there until I felt him grab me by the arms, spinning me around and pinning me against the wall before I could react.

“Let me go, Jake!”

How had he done that? How had he managed to vanish from his office and sneak up on me without me knowing? Damn! The man was good, and that was frightening.

He wasn’t happy. The concrete wall and the Glock in my waistband bit into my back. I felt every vertebra grind against the pressure of his hold. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His blue eyes deepened to navy.

I made the mistake of pushing back against him and was rewarded with the bruising grip of his fingers biting into my skin.

“Let go of me!”

He said nothing, merely stared with a cold glare that began to frighten me. I could easily see him as a killer.

“I decided not to wait until tonight to talk,” I said. “I want to talk now.”

“You decided to sneak back here and eavesdrop,” he answered. “Don’t bullshit me. I eat girls like you for lunch.”

I stiffened, meeting his gaze with my own and refusing to look as rattled as I felt. “All right, then. Who was she?” I asked.

“An old friend.” His voice was low and steady, as if daring me to challenge him.

“Sounded more like she was Uncle Benny’s friend than yours.” I took a stab in the dark. “Is that where the money was going? Did my uncle have a girlfriend?”

We were playing with each other, looking for chinks in the armor. Underneath the spoken conversation was an entirely different layer of questions. Who are you? What are you made of? What will it take to break you down?

“What’s going on here, Jake?” I said finally. “I have a right to know.”

He smiled, but he wasn’t amused. “No, you don’t,” he said. “You have no rights here. Furthermore, what you know could get you killed. No, not could get you killed,” he said, correcting himself, “will get you killed.”

As I watched, Jake had become larger than life. This was a man I’d never seen before.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I said. “Let me help you.”

Jake threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly. “You want to help? I’ll tell you what you do.” He paused, making sure I heard him. “Get out. Walk away. Let me handle this. It’s what I do.”

“No, Jake, whatever it is, I have a right to be here. I need to know. This is what I do, too.”

He stared at me with raised eyebrows and slowly shook his head. “No, let me assure you, this is not what you do. This isn’t about handing out traffic tickets or locking up drunks. This is way out of your league.”

Anger surged through me, erasing any apprehension I had been feeling. Who the hell did he think he was? “Try me,” I said.

Jake’s gaze softened slightly. He leaned closer, bringing his head down toward mine and making me aware of the heat that burned the thin space between us and stole the very oxygen from the air.

“Try you?” he whispered.

He continued to move toward me, his eyes focused on my lips. He was going to kiss me, and worse, I found my body responding like a traitor. My eyes began to close. My lips parted and I held my breath, waiting for my uncle’s killer to bruise my mouth with his crushing embrace.

Jesus! My eyes flew open. What was going on here? Had I lost my complete mind? The asshole was trying to sidetrack me, and I’d almost let it work!

I brought my hands up and shoved him hard. His eyes registered surprise. The ground beneath my feet shook. The walls of the shop began to tremble. This was not passion suddenly becoming bigger than both of us; this was an explosion!

Outside the garage, the fuel pumps blew with a violent fury of heat and flames, hurling stone, brick and glass into the garage. I was aware of moving, being thrown back and away from the open bays. I landed in a corner, hit my head and felt stunned for a few moments.

The heat was unbearable; it rippled through the garage in waves that distorted everything around me. I thought I saw Jake in front of me, moving toward the fire. I opened my mouth to yell at him, to warn him back, but knew he couldn’t hear me. My own ears were ringing from the blast.

I started toward him, futilely screaming his name. He had to stop. There would be more explosions as the fire hit the other fuel pumps. What was he doing? I ran, no longer feeling the pain of my swollen ankle. I was trying to close the distance between us, dodging puddles of flaming liquid and sidestepping debris. The heat from the fire took my breath away. It hurt to inhale.

I looked up and saw Jake clear the bay doors just as a second explosion rocked the ground beneath our feet. A car hurtled into the air, burst into burning pieces of metal, and became a deadly Gatling gun as the shards flew out in all directions. The metal awning over the pumps gave way. One of the supporting beams began to teeter, then fall. Jake stood in its path, watching the devastation before him, unaware of the impending danger.

“Jake!” I screamed and tore forward, ignoring the heat and pain that lashed out at me as I ran.

The pole seemed to fall in slow motion, breaking away from supports weakened or destroyed by the explosion and resulting fire. Jake never saw it coming. He stood, studying the carnage in front of him.

I covered the last ten feet between us in a few seconds, but even then I realized I would be too late. I dived, tackling him as the pole built up speed. I slammed into his torso but was too late to push him completely out of the way. The beam missed his head but connected with his left leg.

I rolled, somersaulting up onto my feet and moving back toward Jake. The heavy beam had pinned him to the ground. His leg was bleeding and he was unconscious. For a moment I wondered if he was dead.

I ducked into a crouch, reached his side and knelt beside him. Debris and ash rained down around us. The fire was spreading. I knew more explosions would follow as it reached the dozens of combustible barrels and cans that littered the shop property. I had to get Jake out and away from danger.

In the distance I heard the siren on top of the firehouse begin the low, steady wail that signaled the volunteers to assemble. I had no illusion that men could stop work, drive to the station and reach us before the shop burned to the ground.

I felt Jake’s neck for a pulse and was rewarded with a low moan.

“Hang on,” I told him. “Help is coming.” It was a lie, but I felt better.

I tried to move the post, felt it give slightly and shudder to a halt as something blocked its momentum. A car fender, mangled by the blast, had pinned the beam to the ground. I edged my way closer, feeling the heat from the fire singe the hair on my arms and face.

The metal was too hot to touch. I sat on the tarmac and used my legs to push the heavy fender out of the way. The fire was spreading toward us. I felt my heart beating painfully against my chest. We were running out of time.

I leaned back against the base of the pump station and brought my legs up almost to my chest. I held my breath and shoved against the post, slowly rolling it away from Jake’s leg.

It seemed as if I’d found strength within my body that I had never before known. I remember sliding my hands under Jake’s arms and pulling him across the littered parking lot to relative safety behind the shop. It seemed he was no heavier than a small child. I moved him back and away from the smoke and fire, almost to the edge of his property, positioned him between two rusted-out cars, and began checking his injuries.

He moaned and struggled to consciousness, his eyes opening into a wild, panicked stare.

“Stop that! She’s inside!” he gasped, shoving my hands away. “Got to get her out!” He pushed up, trying to rise into a sitting position. “I have to save her!”

“Jake! No! You can’t!”

He couldn’t seem to hear or understand me. He was looking around, obviously confused. He started to push up off the ground again, cried out in pain, and slumped back to the ground, unconscious.

I felt panic rise in my throat. Jake needed medical attention. I looked down at him and saw blood soaking his pants leg. We needed to stop the bleeding. Jake needed help. I stared back at the fire. Thick black smoke rose into the air as the tires ignited. I looked at the building and felt a sudden rush of anxiety. What if Jake’s visitor hadn’t left? What if that was what Jake meant when he said, “She’s inside!”

I stood up and began to run toward the shop. I came within ten feet of the back bay door before I was forced back by the heat. I dodged between disabled vehicles and tried the far side of the building, hoping I could gain access through a window.

I looked over my shoulder, trying to scan the area in front of the property. I could hear sirens and the rush of engines as the firefighters arrived. I couldn’t wait for them. There wouldn’t be time for explanations or caution. If Uncle Benny’s possible mistress was still inside Jake’s office, it was up to me to save her.

I moved to the side of the building and began to approach the window. The glass had been blown out by the force of the explosion, but the metal burglar bars still clung to the window frame. Smoke billowed around the brick wall, choking me and making it almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me.

I reached the window, cupped my hands around my eyes and peered inside. I had a clear view of the waiting room, now a mere shell of broken glass and brick. The wall between the front of the shop and Jake’s office was almost gone. The inferno was about to destroy the interior of the building. I realized that if Jake’s visitor had been trapped in his office, she was most certainly dead.

The heat and smoke forced me back. I staggered, aware suddenly of how difficult it was to breathe, and began limping back toward Jake. I was only conscious of needing to reach him. He was seriously hurt. What if no one saw him lying back there? I had to be where I could signal the emergency personnel when they arrived.

I remember all of this, the sense of desperation I felt, the pain and exhaustion that suddenly seemed to weigh my body down with each step I took, and the unbearable heat and smoke. I do not remember losing consciousness. I only know that the world was black and all thought seemed to vanish into a thick, gray mist.

Chapter 9

“I’m tellin’ you, Paint Bucket, I never forget a face. It’s her, all right. I mean, her grown up, with her hair dyed blond, and, you know, tits.”

The voice, male and high-pitched, came from a million miles away, echoing through a tin-can tunnel that seemed to end at the tip of my very last, irritated nerve.

“No, that ain’t her,” a deeper voice argued. “Stella Valocchi didn’t never look that good. She was a brain, remember? She wasn’t like the rest of ’em. Her kind don’t go in for colored hair. Besides, she was terminally flat-chested. Time don’t do shit for women that’s got little tits. You gotta pay for them puppies.”

A bony hand suddenly gripped my left breast and squeezed hard.

“You are wrong, my friend,” the squeaky voice argued. “Them tits is all hers. Gen-u-wine! Trust me!”

I shot out a hand, gripped the offending wrist and twisted hard. I was rewarded with a howl of pain from my admirer.

I opened my eyes and saw two very grimy men swim into a blurry focus before me. The man attached to the wrist I held was reed thin, with a sparse, black five-o’clock shadow covering the lower half of his pressed, ratlike face. His companion was short and stocky, with long red hair and a thin goatee that hung down to the center of his chest. Both wore dirty yellow coats and heavy black firefighter hats and boots.

“Ma’am,” the redhead said, “please! Let go of my partner’s arm. You’re hurting him! He was checking your vital signs.”

“He was groping me, you malevolent ignoramus!”

The redhead looked at his partner. “No shit, Weasel! You were right! It is her! Listen to them big words!”

He looked down at me again, only now he grinned. “Stella! Yo! How you been? Long time no see! It’s me, Paint Bucket! Remember?”

“Hey, yo!” Weasel squealed.

Paint Bucket seemed to suddenly recall his friend’s presence. “Stella, you remember Weasel, don’t you?”

He looked from me to Weasel and back again. Weasel moaned as I used his wrist in a futile attempt to pull myself up into a sitting position.

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember you. Who could forget you guys?”

James Zybelski and Eddie Roman, a.k.a. Weasel and Paint Bucket, were the two class cutups voted most likely to suffer brain damage from inhaling gasoline and smoking pot throughout our junior high school and high school careers. Now, apparently, they’d grown up. Weasel still looked like his nickname, but Eddie didn’t look at all like his alcoholic, house painter father.

“You look good, Stella,” Paint Bucket said. “You’ve changed! I almost didn’t think it was you at first, but old Weasel recognized you right away, didn’t you, buddy?”

Weasel paled and a soft groan escaped his tightened lips. “Un-huh,” he managed to say.

“Yeah, you can take the girl out of the town but you can’t…”

“Bucket!” Weasel wailed.

“Oh, yeah!” Bucket said, suddenly aware again of his buddy’s predicament. “Uh, Stella?”

“What?” I answered, irritated beyond my ability to think clearly.

“Would you mind?” Paint Bucket gestured to Weasel’s wrist. “I think you’re hurting him!”

I glared at the two space cadets, pulled harder on Weasel’s arm and managed to sit up. Weasel screamed like a baby. I released his wrist and tried to focus on the scene beyond the two men.

“What happened?” I asked.

I was sitting on the edge of the Acme parking lot. The remains of Jake’s auto body shop burned with an intensity that generated a sweltering heat wave. Firefighters swarmed the perimeter of the blaze, training hoses into the center of the building and onto what was left of the pumps.

“Somebody probably tried to light up while they were pumping gas,” Weasel answered. “Blew themselves to smithereens! I mean, there’s probably body parts all over town. Really. I think they found a foot or something on top of the sign over the door at the Tap Room!”

“James,” Paint Bucket scolded. “You don’t have to be so fucking graphic. There’s a lady present!” Weasel looked around, focused back on me, and frowned. “Bucket, it’s only Stella,” he said.

Paint Bucket stroked his goatee, shook his head sadly, and looked to me for sympathy.

“Weasel here ain’t the sharpest knife in the rack, you know what I mean? Besides, that fire’s way too hot to leave body parts intact. If the victim was at ground zero, they won’t find so much as a filling to bury.”

“Yo!” Weasel protested. “I’m not stupid! You think they’d let us be volunteer medics if we were dummies?”

I looked at the patches attached to their uniform jackets and shuddered. These two were medics? They were responsible for saving the lives of innocent citizens?

And then I remembered Jake.

“Where is Jake?” I demanded. I tried to stand, felt the world start to turn black and shook my head to clear it.

“Yo,” Paint Bucket said. “Easy! Take a hit of this oxygen. It’s good stuff!”

Weasel started toward my head with a plastic mask, but I waved him off.

“Where’s Jake?”

Blank stares from the peanut gallery.

“Paint Bucket, where’s Jake Carpenter?”

He and Weasel looked toward the shop. “Well, if he was in there…” Weasel said, unwilling to go any further.

I looked at the blackened remains of Jake’s shop. The flames were dying out as firefighters poured water into the charred building.

“He wasn’t in there,” I said. “He was out here, between two cars. His leg was broken and he’d lost a lot of blood.”

Paint Bucket and Weasel attempted to pass a look over my head, but I saw them.

“I am not hallucinating,” I said. “I pulled him over there myself!”

Weasel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You?”

“He’s a big dude, Stella,” Paint Bucket offered. “No offense but…”

I stood up slowly and scanned the lot. There was no sign of Jake, but I saw the two cars where I’d left him.

“He was right there,” I said, pointing. “Maybe another ambulance took him.”

Paint Bucket and Weasel were shaking their heads. “We only got one ambulance. We’re the only medics in the department,” Bucket said.

Weasel nodded solemnly. “It’s us or nobody,” he said.

“Honest, Stella,” Paint Bucket said, “we’ve been here five minutes and you’re the only victim we’ve seen!”

“How long have they been here?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the fire trucks.

“Not much longer than us,” Bucket said. “Maybe ten minutes.”

A familiar pair of figures emerged from behind one of the fire trucks, Detectives Poltrone and Slovineck. I almost felt relieved. At least they would be able to tell me about Jake.

I glanced back at Weasel and Paint Bucket. Weasel was bending down over the oxygen tank, adjusting a valve and frowning.

Paint Bucket caught me staring at Weasel and smiled gently. “Bet you’re wondering how two losers from high school got to be medics, huh, Stel?” I started to protest, but he raised his hand, palm out, to stop me.

“Don’t worry, everybody wonders.” He shook his head. “This is what we do, Stella. It’s the one thing me and James do right. I don’t know why. I guess it’s our gift. Anyway, we don’t mess around with saving lives, you know?”

I nodded, seeing the serious expression on Eddie’s face. “People always like us cuttin’ up, you know? So we keep doin’ the act—everywhere but here. Don’t blame Weasel for playing with you. He just can’t be any other way.”

I nodded again, touched by the realization that Weasel and Paint Bucket were stuck in their childhood identities, and stayed that way now so their friends would continue to like them. It was so sad.

I left them, moving toward the two detectives, but stopping as I came to the spot where I’d left Jake. He was gone, but he’d been there. I knelt down and touched the blood-soaked clump of grass that had been crushed by the weight of his body.

Surely he hadn’t left under his own power? He had to have had help. Someone else must’ve taken him to the hospital. I stood up and scanned the path between the junked cars and the back of the lot. I inspected it for blood drops, footprints or anything that would give me a clue as to Jake’s whereabouts, but found nothing.

“Ms. Valocchi, what are you doing here?” Detective Slovineck stood a few feet away, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. His partner lagged a good five yards behind him. I ignored Slovineck’s question and pretended to study Detective Poltrone. She was panting, her face streaked with soot marks. For a moment she reminded me of a bulldog, or maybe Winston Churchill.

“Ms. Valocchi?” Slovineck repeated.

“Where’s Jake Carpenter?” I asked.

“I thought you might know,” he said. “What happened here?”

I shrugged, stalling. “Some kind of explosion, I guess.”

Slovineck eyed me warily. “You saying you don’t know?”

Poltrone closed the gap to where Detective Slovineck stood and paused, almost gasping for breath. The underarms of her blue-and-white-flowered dress were rimmed with darker bands of sweat-soaked material, and she seemed even more irritated than usual.

“So you weren’t the victim, huh?” she asked. She frowned her disappointment in my direction. “Damn!”

“Not this time,” I said. “What’s your excuse?”

Detective Slovineck motioned his partner off and took a step forward. “How about we go down the street to my office and talk?” he said. “I’d like to know more about what happened here.”

“So would I,” I said.

“Oh, right!” Poltrone sputtered. “Like you didn’t…”

Slovineck cut her off with a sharp look, but not before I guessed where they were going. The two actually thought I had something to do with the explosion!

“Maybe some other time,” I said. “I don’t know a thing. I was just passing by and…”

“Oh, bullshit!” Poltrone said, but fell silent again as Slovineck gave her another warning look.

“So was there a female victim?” I asked him.

“Why do you think that?” Slovineck asked, trying to play coy.

I frowned. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it was on account of her,” I said gesturing to Poltrone. “She said too bad I wasn’t the victim. To me, that implies that there was a victim and it was female.” I smiled. “Damn, I’m good! Too bad you guys don’t have someone on the force with my natural abilities.”

“That does it!” Detective Poltrone said. “One more smart-ass remark from you and we’re going down to the office to talk.”

“Try it on, honey,” I said. “Maybe you want to add assault on a moron to your list of bogus charges!”

“Ladies!” Slovineck thundered. “Enough!”

Poltrone jumped back as if she’d been stung and I smirked. Whatever hold Slovineck had on her had to be a good one. Poltrone looked as if she wanted to kill me yet she did as he commanded and backed off.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said. “Now I need information and you look like the only one in a position to tell us what happened. Don’t make me do this the hard way.”

“Ask nicely and we’ll talk,” I answered. “Trump up false charges and you don’t get shit.”

It was a standoff for a few moments, then Slovineck shrugged his thick shoulders. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee. What d’ya say?” He looked over his shoulder at Weasel and Paint Bucket.

“I’d rather go someplace where we won’t be overheard,” Slovineck added.

“All right. But let’s make it neutral territory.” I pointed to a diner down the street. “The Coffee Cup looks good to me, only she’s out,” I said, indicating the fuming Poltrone.

“Detective Poltrone’s my partner. She stays.”

I shrugged. “Okay, then so do I. See ya!”

In the end, Detective Poltrone remained behind to sniff the fire marshal’s butt while Slovineck and I had our discussion over coffee and a bagel. He was pissed and I was suffering from a powerful headache so our talk had an edge to it, an undercurrent of suspicion and wariness. I knew I shouldn’t have jumped Poltrone’s case. On any other day, I wouldn’t have allowed her ineptitude to bother me, but this wasn’t a normal day and I felt that time was being wasted.

Detective Slovineck listened while I told him about coming to pay Jake a visit, leaving and then returning just as the building exploded. I left out the part about the blonde. I knew she could’ve been the victim, but I didn’t know her name or anything. It wasn’t as if that information would necessarily help Slovineck. Jake would be the better source of that information.

My real reason for omitting any mention of her was that I needed to know what had gone on between her and my uncle before anyone else let the cat out of the bag to Aunt Lucy. She didn’t need more pain. What Aunt Lucy didn’t know about Uncle Benny’s life wouldn’t kill her, but if something he’d been doing secretly had wound up killing him, I wanted to be the one to nose it out.

Besides, if Jake thought I couldn’t handle the blonde and whatever trouble she’d brought with her, I could only imagine what faith and confidence he’d have in our local police force. No, the blonde was a secret I was going to keep to myself. She’d been shocked by my uncle’s death, so I wasn’t counting her as a suspect, but she knew something helpful; I could almost bank on it.

Slovineck knew I was holding back. He watched me through heavy-lidded eyes and waited until I’d finished before he moved in on my story.

“Why’d you go back after you agreed to meet Jake tonight?” he asked.

I shrugged. “For the same reason you’d drop in unannounced,” I said. “He wasn’t expecting me. He didn’t have time to work out his story.”

Slovineck frowned, patted his coat pocket as if he was fishing for a cigarette and let his hand drop to the table again.

“But you never got to ask him anything because the building exploded and he was knocked unconscious?”

I nodded impatiently. “Your turn,” I said. “Did you run the prints you recovered at my aunt’s house?”

“Too many,” he said. “We’re running them, sure, but it’ll take forever, you know that.”

I looked at Detective Slovineck, noting the bags under his eyes and the fatigue that deepened the lines in his face. He wasn’t such a bad guy, I thought, just out of his league. Murders didn’t happen in Glenn Ford. Oh, sure, drug deals went bad, and occasionally two rival motorcycle gangs had it out in a bar, but the murder of a man with no enemies? That just didn’t happen in our small town.

“Listen,” I said. “I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I’m telling you, my uncle gave every last dime he had to Jake Carpenter. Hell, for some reason he even made Jake the executor of his will and administrator of his estate. I may not have the signed agreement, but you could look at the bank records and see that Uncle Benny made a large withdrawal about the same time Jake probably made a large deposit.”

The big detective nodded slowly. “I was already thinking to do that,” he said. “I intend to talk to him as soon as possible. There’s a lot that doesn’t add up about Carpenter, but by the same token, that doesn’t make him a killer.”

“Can you think of anyone else in town who might’ve had a better motive?”

Slovineck met my gaze. “Frankly, no. But your aunt isn’t exactly stable.” He took a sip of his coffee, silently nodding when the big-haired waitress approached and held the coffee carafe out to him.

“Aunt Lucy would never…” I sputtered. “She loved my uncle. He was her world!”

Detective Slovineck moved with slow deliberation, pouring creamer in his coffee and emptying packets of sugar into the cup. He stirred the mess with a spoon before looking up at me.

“I’m not saying your aunt would have done anything deliberately. Maybe she thought she was helping him—maybe she doesn’t remember. You know, your cousin did say that your aunt has been a little erratic since her stroke last year.”

I bristled. “Aunt Lucy is not that kind of unstable! She’s brilliant. Some people mistake that for eccentricity, and maybe it is, but Aunt Lucy’s not as out of it as people might think!”

I knew, even as the words spilled out of my mouth, that I was being defensive and maybe even lapsing into a bit of denial. Aunt Lucy had taken me in after my parents died. She didn’t have to give up her career and stay home with me, but she said it was something she wanted to do. She taught me to cook, held me when I missed my mom, and helped me to understand organic chemistry. She was no mental slouch, and she was no killer. I would never bring myself to believe that.

“My aunt was one of the best research chemists in the country before she quit to stay home with me,” I said, trying to calm down and appear rational. “She has a tiny stroke while she and my uncle are on vacation out west, and suddenly everybody wants to make her crazy. Well, she’s not!”

I thought of Aunt Lucy feeding Lloyd the dog at the kitchen table, swearing he was my uncle reincarnated, and cringed. Okay, so Aunt Lucy was a little nuts, but she wasn’t a killer.

Detective Slovineck knew he’d hit a raw nerve. He reached out and patted my hand, like a father reassuring a child.

“I’m not saying your aunt killed your uncle. All I’m saying is that we have to think of every angle and investigate every possibility, no matter how foolish it seems.”

He paused, drawing his hand back and becoming the police officer again. “I want to talk to Jake Carpenter, but I’m going to do it by the book, the right way, ’cause if he did this, I want the case to go down right. I’m not taking any chances, okay?”

I stood up, threw a couple of bills on the table, and nodded. “Just so long as you know I’m not backing off, either. You do this investigation by the book,” I said. “But I follow my instincts. I don’t think we have time to waste on investigating irrelevant and impossible options.”

He made an attempt to warn me off, but I was out the door and gone before he could get the words out. Jake Carpenter had disappeared. I was pretty sure he’d had help. If the police didn’t know where he was, then he hadn’t checked into a local hospital. So where had he gone? And if he was so innocent, why hadn’t he sought medical help? Jake’s injuries could be life threatening without proper care. What in the world was going on?

I quickened my pace, walking briskly toward the cut-through to the Acme parking lot. Carpenter’s Auto Body Shop, or what was left of it, had been cordoned off. Traffic snaked in a detour around the block so the firefighters could keep the flames from spreading to the old Methodist church now reincarnated as a Danish furniture store.

As I watched, one wall of Jake’s building began to tremble. Men’s voices called out warnings and hoses were pulled back. The bricks gave, crumpling inward. Ash and embers rose into the sky as a black cloud of smoke and heat billowed out in all directions.

A collective cry echoed through the crowd of onlookers rimming the yellow caution tape. I skimmed the fringes of the crowd, heading back to my car as if it were home base. As I drew closer I made out two familiar forms. My cousin Nina stood leaning against the passenger-side door, ankles crossed, a cigarette dangling from one manicured hand. Lloyd, the dog, sat in the driver’s seat, both paws propped up on the steering wheel. Neither one of them looked happy.

Nina didn’t see me coming until I was right up on her. She was staring at Jake’s garage and shaking her head slowly from side to side, as if she couldn’t quite take it all in. Lloyd, on the other hand, saw me and ignored me. He was staring at something or someone to the left of the fire. As I stepped closer I could hear his low, throaty growl and see the hackles rising on the back of his neck.

I switched my attention back to Nina and noticed for the first time a streak of dried tears and soot on her face. She was biting her lower lip, her eyes round with worry or concern. She didn’t seem to see me until I reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. Relief overtook the anxious look in her eyes, but only for a moment.

“Is Aunt Lucy with you?” she asked.

I looked over my shoulder. “No,” I said. “I thought she was with you!”

“Shit!” Nina brought the unlit cigarette up to her lips and appeared to inhale deeply. “She gave us the slip!” Nina glared at her cigarette and then threw it away with an irritated sigh. “Everything was fine. Those two detectives were asking her questions about Uncle Benny’s papers and what could’ve been taken, and she was doing fine, answering them and showing them Uncle Benny’s file drawers. Then the call about the fire came across their radios and they both jumped up like they’d been shot in the ass.”

“What about Aunt Lucy?” I asked, wishing she’d get to the point faster.

Nina sighed. “That’s what I’m saying,” she said. “Aunt Lucy got all bent out of shape and said she was going to listen to the scanner in her room. I was trying to see if the noon news had anything on about it.” Nina threw up her hands in disgust. “Next thing I know, she’s gone. Her Buick was gone and this freakin’ meatball-head of a dog was gone, too!”

Lloyd growled a little lower when Nina called him a meatball-head, but was otherwise preoccupied by whatever it was that seemed to be holding his attention. I stared out at the crowd, trying to identify the source of his anxiety, but couldn’t find anything other than a woman with twins in a baby carriage to merit such alarm.

“So you figured she’d be here?” I asked.

Nina looked at me with the scorn of a twentysomething-year-old. “Well, it was the logical conclusion, wasn’t it?”

I shrugged, waiting for her to get on with it.

“I hoof it down here, in these,” she said gesturing to her high-heeled sandals. “And all’s I get for my trouble is blisters and him.” Nina jerked her head in Lloyd’s direction. “And is he going to come up with where Aunt Lucy’s gone? Oh, no, he just wants to play cabdriver and sit here growling at babies!”

Nina scowled at Lloyd. “Moron,” she muttered.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, attempting to follow her. “You found Lloyd sitting in my Camaro, but you didn’t find Aunt Lucy’s car or Aunt Lucy?”

“That’s what I said!” Nina groused. “For a while there, I thought maybe she drove into the building, especially after I hear someone saying a woman got blown up in her car!”

That explained the tears and the worried look I’d seen on Nina’s face.

“It wasn’t Aunt Lucy,” I reassured her. “Are you sure she didn’t just go to the store or something?”

Nina gave me another withering eye-rolling glare. “Come on, Stella,” she said. “We’re talking about Aunt Lucy here. There is no way tragedy comes to town and Aunt Lucy decides it’s a good time to go shopping. Not her. Aunt Lucy listens to that scanner 24/7. That’s how come she knew about Uncle Benny before the police could notify her. She was down at Jake’s before the ambulance got there. You didn’t know that?”

I shook my head. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Paint Bucket and Weasel, Glenn Ford’s finest EMTs, working their way toward us, their attention focused on Nina’s long legs and tiny miniskirt.

“Yeah, Aunt Lucy don’t miss much. That’s why I figured she’d be here.”

Lloyd whined and laid his head in Nina’s lap.

“You think she’d be down at St. Anthony’s Lodge?” I asked. I didn’t wait for her answer. “That’s where Uncle Benny always went. Since she and Lloyd here got separated, maybe we should try there. I mean, if she really thinks Lloyd’s Uncle Benny, well, she’d go looking for him in all the usual places.”

Nina shrugged. “I give up! I guess it’s better than looking for her in the grocery store.”

I felt the tension in the pit of my stomach growing. First Jake disappears, then Aunt Lucy. Gone. Vanished. I was reduced to looking for my aunt in an all-male Italian social club because she believed my dog was her dead husband brought back to life. Now, how was I going to explain that one to the man working the door?

Chapter 10

In the end, we were not the ones who found Aunt Lucy. She found us and it was a very good thing she did because I was on my way to hell with Nina close behind and Lloyd riding shotgun. It was not a pretty picture, but by that time, who was left to care?

Nina and I drew a blank at St. Anthony’s Lodge. The place was deserted. The parking lot was empty, and the only sign of life was a giant sandwich board placed outside the front door. Pro-Indy Wrestling, Saturday Night. Tag Team Special: the Wreckless Wranglers Versus the Well-Hung Warriors. Witness the Return of Hometown Girl, Jacqui O, In a Stellar Rematch Against Angelique the Terrible!

Nina read the sign aloud and shook her head. “Oh, my God!” she cried. “This venue has so gone downhill!”

I looked at her. “What was your first clue, the tag teams or the lady mud wrestlers?”

Nina shook her head harder. “Spike would be so upset,” she said. “They turned the band down when Spike wanted to play here. I mean, they like, said the band was too fringe. Can you believe it?” Nina massaged her temples and closed her eyes. “I feel a migraine coming on,” she moaned.

Lloyd looked away but not before I saw the grin on his face. He thought my cousin was a loo-loo.

“Nina,” I said, “focus! Aunt Lucy is lost somewhere. She needs us. She could be in danger.”

Nina’s eyebrows rose. “You think? Really? Why?”

I took a deep breath and wished for a visit from the patience fairy. “Did it not occur to you that maybe the person who killed Uncle Benny might want to kill Aunt Lucy? I mean, it’s not likely, but what if he wasn’t the only target? What if Jake wanted Aunt Lucy dead so there would be nothing between him and the money he owed Uncle Benny? What if the people who robbed the house this morning wanted to kill Aunt Lucy?”

I’d gone too far. Nina’s eyes widened, filled with tears, and she began to cry. She erupted into loud, hiccupping, snotty wails that would’ve drawn a crowd in tiny Glenn Ford had its residents not all been at work or inside preparing early dinners.

“Aw, Nina, don’t cry!” I threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m not saying anyone’s after Aunt Lucy for sure. I’m just saying we need to watch our priorities.”

“I only said what I did about Spike because I guess I just miss…” She snuffled the rest of the sentence into a crumpled napkin, and I slid my arm around her thin shoulders.

“I know you do, honey. It must be hard for you to be away, especially with so much going on. Don’t worry, we’ll find Aunt Lucy and get everything straightened out. I’m sure Spike misses you, too.”

I swear Lloyd snickered. He padded after us as we headed back to the car, and without a doubt, he was laughing. I shot him a dirty look and kept trying to calm Nina down so we could focus on looking for Aunt Lucy.

“What sort of law did Spike practice?” I asked. I didn’t really care. I only wanted to divert Nina’s attention to something less laden with emotion.

“Oh, Spike didn’t have a private law practice,” she said. “Spike was the assistant district attorney here, you know, for Chester County.”

That got my complete and total attention.

I stopped on the sidewalk, my hand clutching the door handle of Aunt Lucy’s car, and stared at my little cousin.

“You mean your boyfriend is the former assistant D.A. for this county?” I asked. This was too amazingly unbelievable. “He prosecuted criminal cases? He knows all the detectives? He could like, grease the wheels of Lady Justice?”

“Not exactly,” she said.

“Not exactly what? He didn’t prosecute cases or he couldn’t grease the wheels of justice?”

“Well, neither, I guess…I mean, that’s not what I mean.” Nina broke off, frowning.

Before she could get all twisted around in some New Age explanation of how Spike’s true calling conflicted with his ability to help us, I interrupted. “Nina, does Spike know every detective in Chester County by name?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“No buts, Nina, just yes or no. Could Spike use his influence to push this investigation?”

“Well, maybe, but, Stella…”

“Nina,” I said, “you gotta call Spike. Right now! We need that man’s help, and I don’t mean tomorrow!”

“Well, I will but I gotta tell you, Spike’s not…”

“Nina,” I started to argue, but stiffened as I felt someone behind me grab my arm. I whirled, reached my hand behind my flannel shirt, into my waistband, and wrapped my fingers around my Glock.

I found myself face-to-face with a wizened old woman, dressed head to toe in black and carrying a foil-wrapped casserole dish.

“Stella? Stella Valocchi, that’s you, isn’t it, dear?”

I squinted, trying to unearth the identity from my lost memory banks, and finally succeeding.

“Mrs. Cozzone! Wow, it’s been a long time!” Eleven years hadn’t changed the old woman much, except perhaps to add a few more wrinkles. She was still the watchdog of Glenn Ford, ever vigilant and ever ready with a condolence casserole.

“Here,” she said, shoving the frozen brick into my arms. “In your time of sorrow,” she said. “Give that to your aunt Lucia, eh?”

I smiled politely. Nina smiled. Even Lloyd smiled. But we were all probably thinking, That’s another pan of lasagna to add to the 451 others that sit waiting in the basement freezer.

“Thanks, Mrs. C,” I said. I half turned then looked back at the old woman, as if I were just then wondering about something. It was important to ask the question I had in mind while keeping it low-key so we could prevent an all-out panic driven by Mrs. Cozzone, the neighborhood Italian hot wire.

“You haven’t seen Aunt Lucy today, have you?” I asked. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that Nina’s smile had been firmly cemented into place.

“Why, no, dear,” Mrs. Cozzone said. “Is something wrong? Is she missing? Isn’t she at home? You know, after the break-in, I’d be home cleaning up after those bastards. You don’t think she went looking for them, do you? Or even worse, the little fuckers could’ve come back for her! Maybe she’s been kidnapped!”

The profanity, coming from such a tiny, elderly woman, took me back, but I tried to stay calm.

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” I assured her. “I just wondered if you thought she looked tired, that’s all. No big deal. She says she’s okay, but I worry about her health.”

Mrs. Cozzone nodded wisely. “Yeah, grief and shock does that to a person. Of course, I see your aunt all the time, not like you young people, so out of touch with those that raised you, the very ones that gave you the food out of their mouths, the ones that suffered and labored to put a roof over your ungrateful heads…”

“Thanks, Mrs. C,” I said, cutting her off.

I was trying to back up, but Mrs. Cozzone already had me pinned against the hood of the Camaro. It was all I could do to pull up on the door handle and begin edging the door open for a quick escape.

Nina and Lloyd had already slid into the front seat from the passenger side, leaving me to extricate us from the tentacles of Mrs. Cozzone’s fit of righteous indignation. I jumped behind the car door, sank behind the wheel, jammed the key into the ignition and cranked it.

Outside the vehicle, old Mrs. Cozzone continued her lecture, whipping herself into a frenzy that brought a fine sheen of sweat out across her hairy upper lip. I pulled away from the curb with a squeal that signaled rubber burning on asphalt.

“Jesus!” I said, looking in the rearview mirror. “She’s actually standing in the middle of the street shaking her fists! She’s completely lost it!”

Nina nodded. “Mrs. Cozzone has always been nuts. Didn’t you have her for catechism class?” she asked. “We were all going to hell if you asked her.” Nina peered into the side mirror and watched the spectacle. “I don’t think they should let lay people teach catechism,” she said. “It was worse than the nuns! Mrs. C was in and out of the psycho hospital the whole time we were growing up. And Father picks her to teach us catechism? I’m surprised there’s any Catholics left. You couldn’t pay me to go through all that again! No way. Not me. I’m a card-carrying agnostic now.”

I shot a glance in her direction. “You saying you’re not Catholic anymore?”

Nina rolled her eyes. “You saying you still believe in Santa Claus?” she answered, perfectly mimicking my tone.

I was speechless. It was one thing to stop going to church, but to actually quit being Catholic? I didn’t know you could resign the Catholic Church. It was like joining the Mafia. You didn’t quit something like that; it was a lifetime commitment. The only way to leave those two organizations was feet first out the front door with six guys carrying you.

“You know what your problem is, Stella?” Nina said, interrupting my thoughts.

We were pulling into the driveway of Aunt Lucy’s house. Her ancient Buick sat smugly in front of the open garage doors.

“Look,” I said, ignoring Nina. “Aunt Lucy’s home. Who’d have thought to look here for her?”

“Like I was saying,” Nina continued. “You take every little thing so seriously! See, Aunt Lucy’s fine! No bogeymen are after her!” Nina turned in her seat and frowned at me. “Stella, you are so damn paranoid!”

I walked away from her so I could lay my hand on the hood of Uncle Benny’s car. It was cool to the touch. Aunt Lucy had been home for hours probably. Of course it was the very place I should’ve checked first, but I thought Nina had covered that angle. You know what happens when you assume, I reminded myself.

Lloyd hopped out of the car, planted his feet in the center of the driveway and started growling. A white panel van had pulled up to the curb, and the driver discharged two men in white jumpsuits. As we watched, they opened the back doors, pulled pump cans and various other pieces of equipment from the truck and started up the sidewalk to Aunt Lucy’s front door.

“Who’s that?” I asked Nina.

She shrugged. “God?”

She could be so sarcastic. That was the difference between the two of us. For me, the glass was half full, even if I was a cop.

“Funny,” I answered.

I crossed the tiny lawn, cutting them off as they reached the bottom of Aunt Lucy’s stoop.

“Gentlemen?”

The lead dog was the shorter of the two, carrying a clipboard, which I supposed made it official. He looked down at the papers attached to it, then back up at me, a toothy smile plastered across his clean-shaved face. He reminded me of the Pillsbury Dough Boy only with muscles. His companion looked like Mr. Clean on steroids, huge, rock solid and devoid of any emotion.

“Spaznatz Pest Control,” Top Dog said. “Here to do the monthly service. Mrs. Valocchi, I suppose?”

“You don’t know?” I answered.

This didn’t rattle the big dog. His smile stayed stuck in place. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m new.” He looked up at the front door, then back down at the papers on his clipboard. “Any trouble with those roaches this month?”

“Roaches?” Nina shrieked. “I hate roaches!”

I gave her a little smile. “Ah, but they’re all God’s creatures, Nina!”

She gave me a fuck-you smile, which I returned in full before looking back at the pest-control guys.

“Can I see some ID?” I asked.

“Certainly.”

Smooth. This guy was way too smooth. My guard was up, or maybe it was just well-deserved paranoia setting in. I waited for the men to produce plastic-coated badges, studied them, matched up the faces with the credentials and nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Just let me tell my aunt you’re here and you can get right to it.”

I brushed by them, unlocked the door and stepped inside the darkened foyer. Lloyd continued to growl and when Nina dragged him past the two workers, he broke into a furious hail of barking and actually lunged at the guys with what seemed like intent to do grievous bodily harm.

“Lloyd, will you cool it!” I yelled.

Nina smiled at the two guys. “Sorry. He’s been through a lot lately,” she murmured. “Let me go put him up. Wait here.”

We closed the door behind the two exterminators and began our search in earnest. I walked through the downstairs calling my aunt’s name. The house was still. No lights were on and no one answered me. If she’d been home, there would’ve been the smells of dinner beginning to simmer on the stove. Aunt Lucy had her schedule and she always stuck to it. Dinner was served at five-thirty without fail.

I looked at the clock on the living-room mantel. Four forty-five. Where was she?

Nina and I exchanged glances. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know. Let them in, I guess. And Nina, I may be paranoid, but just to be on the safe side, call the company and make sure this is regularly scheduled maintenance.”

Nina nodded, shuddering. “Roaches! I can’t believe they had roaches! I’ve never seen a bug in here. Aunt Lucy keeps such a clean house!” She opened the front door and went to give the bug men the okay. As I searched the rest of the first floor, I heard the two exterminators enter the hallway and begin spraying.

I was just finishing my search of the upstairs when Nina called. “Stella, could you come here for a second?”

What now? I wondered. I dragged myself down the steps, wishing like hell for a clone of Super Woman, or a shot of caffeine.

I found Nina sitting at the kitchen table, a huge pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on the tip of her perky, upturned nose. She was studying the phone book and frowning.

“What?” I asked.

She looked up at me, held her index finger to her lips and motioned me over to the table.

“I think you were right,” she whispered. “I don’t think they’re who they say they are.”

“Okay. What’ve you got?”

I stepped closer to the table and looked over her shoulder. Nina pointed to the phone book. It was opened to the page listing pest-control services.

“There is no Spaznatz Pest Control company listed here, and this is the new book, too. Furthermore,” she said, raising her head to meet my gaze, “did you notice there’s no sign on the van? They don’t even have their names embroidered on their uniforms!”

I felt a current of alarm run through my body. My throat tightened and my heart began trying to pound its way out of my rib cage.

“Where are they?” I whispered.

Nina pointed to the basement. “Down there.”

I could hear them moving, tapping the walls and shifting furniture. As I listened, I heard the sound of wood splintering and knew without hesitation that I’d have to investigate. No one disturbed my uncle’s workshop; it was all we had left of him. I couldn’t wait for help or wonder what they were looking for; it was time to do something.

“Here,” I said, reaching into my pocket and handing her my cell phone. “Go outside where they can’t hear you and call 911.”

I reached into my waistband and pulled out the Glock. Nina’s eyes widened and every bit of color drained from her face.

“Stay outside and wait for the cops,” I instructed. “I’ll keep them busy.”

“But there’s two of them…” she began.

I smiled and caressed the barrel of my gun. “Yeah, but I’ve got my little friend here, so that makes us even.”

I didn’t believe they were unarmed for one second, but Nina didn’t need to know that. All that mattered was her safety. I wanted her out of danger and out of my way.

I stepped silently to the top of the basement steps, wrapped my fingers around the old milk glass knob, turned it and motioned for Nina to get moving.

“Go! Now!” I mouthed silently.

She stood up and moved to the back door as I turned toward the basement.

“Hey, guys?” I called down into the dimly lit room. “I think I found a bug!”

I began walking down the steps, my gun held out of sight and snug against my waist. I was aware that the sides of the staircase were open and there would be no way to take them by surprise. I could only hope they weren’t expecting trouble from me. Somehow that didn’t seem at all likely. As much as I hated to admit it, my best shot was to stall the intruders until the police could arrive and take over.

As I continued down the stairs, I leaned forward, peering out in front of me. I could see a set of legs in white coveralls. Worse, I could see boots, dusty, black, alligator-skin boots, definitely not at all part of the standard-issue exterminator’s uniform, but very much like the boots I’d seen jumping out Uncle Benny’s office window. So Jake hadn’t broken in to my uncle’s study after all!

I turned my attention back to the danger at hand and looked for the other man, Mr. Clean. I couldn’t see him, which meant he was probably behind me, nosing around Aunt Lucy’s laundry nook. I was caught between the two men, leaving me no way to corral them into one manageable position without drawing my weapon and being obvious.

“A bug?” the phony supervisor repeated. “Where, ma’am?”

His voice was politely cool and impersonal. Who were these guys and why were they here? What was everybody looking for in Uncle Benny’s house?

I heard furniture move behind me and the quiet sound of a spray pump. Mr. Clean was continuing to play out the part of bug man somewhere in the back corner of the basement.

“Yeah,” I said. “It looked like a large triangle with six feely things poking out the top of its head.” I looked at the man’s feet. “Nice boots. Buy ’em around here?”

He smiled, but it was a quick smile that disappeared almost before I caught it.

“Won them in a card game,” he said evenly. “Now, where’d you say you found that bug?”

I turned, checking out Mr. Clean’s whereabouts, and found him standing in front of the paneled wall. Behind him I could see splintered paneling, pried off the wall with a screwdriver.

I reached behind my back and brought out the gun without being conscious of anything other than the slight movement of the man in front of me. The feel of danger raised the hairs on the nape of my neck.

I swung the gun back and forth between the two, as I stood on the bottom basement step.

“All right,” I said, motioning with the gun toward the ruined paneling. “Who the hell are you guys and what are you doing here?”

Mr. Clean had a buzz cut and wore brand-new high-topped sneakers. He stood coiled and ready, like ex-military, like someone accustomed to tight places and tense situations. Neither man’s face betrayed any emotion, not fear, not anger, not hostility.

The phony supervisor moved, just barely, but enough for me. I fired and the Glock exploded in the contained space, hitting my target at the top of his right arm. The impact blew him backward into Uncle Benny’s worktable.

He screamed, grabbing his arm as blood began to stain his immaculate white jumpsuit. I whirled back to face Mr. Clean. He was gone, nowhere to be seen, and then, suddenly he was back. Moving. He rushed the stairs, reaching behind his back for something, probably his gun.

I fired in his direction, caught movement in my peripheral vision and knew his partner hadn’t been wounded badly enough to keep him from coming after me. I backed up the stairs, spraying cover as I went, and praying I could make the top landing before they started shooting.

A bullet whistled past my head, narrowly missing my left ear and crashing into the door frame. I dived through the opening, rolled and slammed the thick wooden door shut. I reached across and shot the dead bolt home.

I turned and ran for the back door, hoping the police wouldn’t waste time getting to us, and bumped right into Nina. She was standing on the back porch, her face a pale, ghostly shade of white, her eyes huge, dark orbs of panic.

“Your battery’s dead,” she whispered, holding the cell phone out to me. “Should I call from the kitchen phone?”

“Shit, Nina!”

We both turned and looked at the basement door. They were coming, pounding up the stairs toward the kitchen.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Look, I’ll cover the door while you run past. Grab the phone and call, quick!”

Nina gulped and nodded. I shielded her as she slipped inside the kitchen, darted past the basement door and dashed to the telephone. I turned my attention to the door again as I saw her pluck the phone from its receiver on the wall and punch in the numbers.

The men were at the top of the stairs now, but silent, probably standing on either side of the doorway and plotting their next move. I thought about what I would do in their situation, made sure I was out of the line of fire, and then lifted my gun, training it on the narrow opening.

Nina was yelling into the phone, too hysterical to make sense. “The bug men aren’t real!” she screamed. “They’re going to kill us! Help!”

None of this information was going to be as useful as our address, or even the words “home invasion.”

I turned to tell her this, but at that moment, the door frame exploded. The exterminators had eliminated Uncle Benny’s dead bolt.

“Nina, run out the front door!” I cried.

No answer from Nina. Another blast of gunfire from the pest-control impersonators. I kicked the kitchen table over onto its side, took cover and fired two rounds back, keeping the goons at bay for the moment. I turned to look for Nina as a stream of liquid arced over my shoulder, missing me and landing in front of the shattering door. Nina stood behind me, clutching a bottle of liquid in both hands and squeezing as hard as she could, oblivious to her vulnerability as a target. What in the hell was she doing?

“Okay!” she cried. “Let ’em get past that!”

“Get out of here!” I screamed.

Nina had a maniacal glint in her eyes and she was actually grinning. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Blood sticks with blood!”

“Yeah,” I said, firing back in the direction of the basement doorway. “Well, brains splattered all over the kitchen is still a damn mess, so better a one-headed mess than a two-headed disaster, honey! Get out of here and go get me some help!”

A burst of gunfire erupted again from the basement doorway. I shoved Nina back toward the dining room as a figure charged out of the doorway and into the kitchen.

I prayed Nina made it out of the house before a stray bullet caught her. I eased back behind the table and hoped I could get a clear shot off before the two men got into a good firing position.

“Aaaahhh!”

The scream echoed through the kitchen, followed by a loud crash, swearing and a second loud thud. I peeked up over the table edge. Behind me Nina giggled.

“Told you,” she crowed. “Go get ’em!”

I reached down and pulled a fresh clip from my ankle strap, dropped the old magazine and popped in the fresh ammo.

“Floor wax?” I asked.

“Fucking A!” Nina answered.

In the distance I heard sirens.

I jumped from behind the kitchen table, ran to take cover behind the butcher-block cutting island in the center of the room and surveyed the sight on the floor in front of me. The two goons were down, struggling to stand, and finding themselves unable to get their footing, but they were both still armed.

“Adapt and overcome, boys,” I murmured softly, taking aim. One shot, one gun jumping out of Mr. Clean’s hand and sliding across the floor out of his reach.

“Want me to get the other one the same way?” I called out. “Or would you rather toss it yourself?”

The boss looked pained. Mr. Clean glared at him as the Pillsbury Dough Boy tossed his gun across the room to land beside the other weapon.

I rose up slowly from my position behind the island, the Glock trained carefully on Mr. Clean’s crotch.

“Don’t think I’m stupid enough to assume a couple of sweethearts like you would come to the party with only two guns. Keep your hands out on the floor in front of you where I can see them.”

I heard Nina run to the front door as the sirens screamed to a stop in front of the row house. The front door opened and I heard Nina call out to the advancing officers. My victims heard her, too, and their shoulders slumped in a grim acknowledgment of their impending arrest.

I smiled down at them. “Don’t feel so bad, gentlemen. It’s just one of those times where it doesn’t all go like you’d planned. Some days you’re the windshield, and some days you’re the bug.” I chuckled. “Funny, huh, you being pest-control imposters and all? Bug? Windshield? Get it?”

They got it, all right. A second later, Detective Poltrone burst into the kitchen, weapon drawn and held out in front of her ample, Kevlar-covered bosom. Her face was flushed, her hair wildly out of control, and the run in her pantyhose had widened into a river of ladders, but to me, she was suddenly a welcome addition to my team.

She stood there, staring at the two men lying on the floor in the pool of liquid wax, then looking over at me and the Glock I still held trained on my captives. Behind her came most of Glenn Ford’s on-duty police force, all with weapons drawn and fierce frowns on their faces.

“Put the gun down!” Poltrone demanded.

“Cuff ’em first,” I said.

“She said drop your weapon!” A young recruit stepped out from behind Detective Poltrone, his weapon now centered on my chest.

I regarded him with all the cool distain I could fake and raised one eyebrow. “And I said I’ll wait until they’re secured, thank you. I’m not deaf, little man, just very cautious.”

“Drop it! Now!” he yelled.

Detective Poltrone reached out one hand and slowly turned the young boy’s weapon away from me and toward the men lying on the floor.

“Jeff,” she said in a soft but no-nonsense tone. “It’s all right. She’s a cop. Let me handle it. You and Brice cuff those two.”

Her voice and manner sharpened when she turned her attention back to me. “That’s why I wanted you to put the gun down, Valocchi. These guys don’t know you. It’s easy to make mistakes. We had it covered.”

I lowered my weapon as Jeff and another officer approached the two men lying on the floor.

“These guys aren’t amateurs, Detective. I wasn’t about to take a chance on them pulling a fast one over on the boy genius,” I said, nodding toward the red-faced and glowering Jeff.

“Check ’em good, gentlemen,” I said. “If I don’t miss my guess, they’ve got more friends in low places.”

“What?” Poltrone looked confused.

“It’s a country song,” I said. “‘Friends in Low Places.’ In this case I meant our friends are probably concealing a few more guns and miscellaneous items on their lower extremities.”

I was rewarded by seeing the two uniforms begin a more thorough search of the two intruders. This search yielded four ammo clips, two additional guns each and an assortment of knives and other weapons, including one stun gun and a nasty-looking, Mace-like canister that bore no label. My guests had meant business.

Detective Poltrone looked at me. “Who are these guys?” she asked.

I shrugged. “No idea. I think they’re the same men who broke in this morning. They were looking for something, and whatever it is brought them back again this afternoon. You got the guy waiting in the van, I guess?”

Poltrone gave me a blank stare.

I shrugged. “Well, two out of three ain’t so bad, I guess. They had an accomplice driving a white van. It was parked out front.”

“Not when we pulled up,” she said. “I’ll put it out on the radio. Did you get the tags?”

Okay, we were even. She didn’t get the driver and I didn’t get the tags. Great.

At Poltrone’s signal, the two officers pulled their captives up off the floor, leading them with sticky-footed caution out the back door and into police custody.

I surveyed the damage to Aunt Lucy’s kitchen. The basement door was ruined, the furniture was riddled with bullets and there were broken dishes and glassware scattered everywhere. It would take days, maybe even weeks, to undo the damage and put everything back together again.

Nina stepped up behind me and stood leaning against the dining-room doorway for support. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “This is just going to kill Aunt Lucy!”

Yeah, I thought, unless somebody already had.

Chapter 11

After the police left, I tried to make some sort of sense out of the day’s events. Uncle Benny was dead, murdered. His house had been broken into twice in one day. Jake Carpenter had every penny of our uncle’s retirement money, and now he had vanished, leaving his business in a smoldering shambles. Another woman, possibly Uncle Benny’s mistress, was dead, blown to bits when Carpenter’s Auto Body exploded. On top of everything else, Aunt Lucy had disappeared and had to be in danger.

“She wouldn’t leave without him,” Nina said, gesturing toward Lloyd. “I swear she really believes that dog is Uncle Benny!”

I looked up at the kitchen clock. It was almost nine-thirty. Aunt Lucy had been gone since a little after one. Where was she? Was her disappearance connected to Jake’s? Maybe Aunt Lucy’s memory and ability to function were even worse than we’d thought. Maybe she’d wandered off and couldn’t remember where she lived or how to call us. Elderly people did that all the time, didn’t they? By my calculations, Aunt Lucy was almost 80.

“If she isn’t back by morning, we’ll have to file a formal missing-person report,” I said.

Nina’s eyes widened. “But you told the cops, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah, but because she hasn’t been gone longer than twenty-four hours, they’re not making it an official missing-person case. They’re doing everything by the book and that’s getting us nowhere. We’re going to have to find her ourselves.”

Nina’s eyes widened. “But we tried! We can’t find her by ourselves!”

I shook my head. “Oh, they’ll get around to looking for her, but they’ll do it by the book. We don’t have that constraint.”

This didn’t seem to reassure Nina at all so I said, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll go down tomorrow and give them a current picture and file the formal report. We have to do everything we can, but I’m not counting on them to find her. I’ll go through the motions with them. Besides, I want to find out what they learn about the bug guys.”

Nina pulled a beer out of Aunt Lucy’s overflowing refrigerator and twisted off the top.

“I don’t want to know anything about them!” she said with a shudder. “I just want it all to go away!”

Of course she did, I thought. She wanted the nightmare to be nothing more than a bad dream. Who didn’t want that? Everybody always wanted the bad things to be erased like chalk on a blackboard. They wanted to turn it over to the police and feel that Big Brother was taking care of them, but I knew it rarely happened that way.

Our nightmare wasn’t going to stop until we knew why the bad things were happening and caught the person or persons behind it. I couldn’t wait for the local police investigation to take its normal, impersonal course. My intervention might make the difference between finding Aunt Lucy alive or finding her dead.

“Nina, think about it! Those guys breaking in here twice in one day and Aunt Lucy’s disappearance, they’ve got to be connected. We find out about them and maybe it leads us to her.”

Nina frowned. “Oh, I didn’t think of that,” she said.

I bent down to sweep broken glass into the dustpan so Nina wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. Finding Aunt Lucy was up to me, and right now, I didn’t have a plan. I inched my way around the kitchen, sweeping up glass and wood shards and trying to figure out our next step.

When I finished, I found Nina sitting on the back-porch steps, smoking. I joined her, too tired to lecture about the hazards and evils of cigarettes. Instead I sat beside her, shivering and staring up at the one or two stars bright enough to shine through the streetlights. Suddenly Nina stiffened and turned to peer out into the darkened backyard.

“Listen!” she commanded. “Hear that?”

I listened hard and heard someone walking across gravel, then the sound of men’s voices murmuring. The steps seemed to stop in the alley behind the garage. A moment later the gate into the backyard creaked in loud protest as it was pushed open. Nina clutched my arm.

“Shh!” someone hissed.

I pried Nina’s death grip loose, stood up and held my index finger to my lips. Nina’s eyes widened as she ground her cigarette out against the brick wall and prepared to meet our next threat.

Two forms were making their way quietly past the garage, slinking in the shadowy darkness toward the house.

I flattened myself against the wall and tried to size up our new visitors. I reached back behind my shirt for my gun and realized with a start that I’d left it lying on the counter in the kitchen. If I moved to go get it, I’d give myself away.

“The lights are still on,” someone whispered. “I bet they’re up.”

“Weasel, will you shut up? Of course they’re awake! Wouldn’t you be with robbers breaking in and people getting whacked left and right? I’d be up. I’d be thinking, who’s next, me?”

I stepped away from the side of the house and into the pool of light that spilled from the kitchen window.

I saw the thinner shadow grab his friend by the arm and then watched as both figures froze.

“Paint Bucket!”

“Who’s that?” Weasel demanded.

Paint Bucket moved away from Weasel and stepped forward, shielding his cowering companion.

“Stella? Is that you?”

Nina rose up from the steps and walked into the light to join me. “Aren’t those the EMT guys?” she whispered. “What are they, stalking us?”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Nina, they’re harmless.”

We stood and waited for them to reach us.

“Isn’t it a little late for a social call?” I asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Paint Bucket whispered. “We don’t want anybody seeing us here.”

He reached the shelter of the back-porch wall and stepped back into the darkness. The dim yellow glow from Aunt Lucy’s kitchen window shed enough light to make it clear to me that Paint Bucket was frightened.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Weasel echoed. “What’s wrong? Your uncle’s dead. People break into his house, shoot the place to hell and you gotta ask what’s wrong?”

“Weasel, shut up!” Bucket commanded. He turned to the two of us and nodded toward the kitchen. “Listen, go inside. Turn that light out! We can’t be taking no chances on being seen.”

I gave Nina a tiny shove and was rewarded with a pouty why-me? frown before she turned and flounced inside to flip off the offending lights. Weasel and Paint Bucket watched her go with appreciative leers, their eyes firmly focused on her rear end. I figured whatever news they had to impart couldn’t be too frightening if they still took the time to scope my cousin’s ass.

Paint Bucket turned his attention back to me as soon as Nina disappeared from view.

“I thought you should know about this, on account of it don’t seem right, what they’re doing and all.”

“Bucket, what are you talking about? What’s not right?”

Paint Bucket turned his head, looked from side to side, then over his shoulder, as if afraid he was going to be overheard.

“You know them two guys they arrested here tonight?” he whispered.

“What about them?”

Weasel popped up over Bucket’s shoulder. “They’re gone!” he said, his voice shrill with excitement. “Two guys came in one of them black sedans with the tinted windows. Five minutes later, they was gone!”

I looked to Paint Bucket for a translation.

“It was more like thirty minutes,” he said. “Two guys in black government suits, with flattop heads. They went into the P.D. Ten minutes later, Slovineck pulls up in his wife’s minivan and goes inside, walking like he’s pissed and in a hurry.”

“Oh,” Weasel interrupted. “You thought he was pissed? I thought it was his hemorrhoids. You know he’s got ’em, don’t you, Bucket? Remember him asking you what to do for…”

“Weasel!” Paint Bucket’s patience was shot. “Anyway, Slovineck goes in and ten minutes later them two come out with the other two guys, the ones the cops brought in earlier. And wasn’t no handcuffs on nobody!”

“How do you know about the break-in here?” I asked. “And how do you know it was the same two guys?”

Weasel smiled knowingly. “The fire department is right behind the police station,” he said. “We got scanners. Besides, we know all them guys. It’s a freakin’ brotherhood, Stella. We know everything they know, and they know everything we know.”

Frightening, I thought, and looked to Paint Bucket for confirmation. He nodded.

“This shit is the biggest crime wave Glenn Ford has ever seen! I don’t even remember the last time somebody got murdered around here.”

“So who were the guys in the black sedan?” I asked.

Weasel rolled his eyes. “Don’t you watch TV?”

I ignored him and focused on Paint Bucket. “So, who were they?”

Paint Bucket stroked his goatee and nodded, reminding me for a moment of a wizard. “Weasel’s on to something,” he said. “I think the men in black took ’em off because they’re probably…”

He paused, looked both ways and over his shoulder before leaning in to finish his statement.

“They’re probably government agents! Something big must be going on in town.”

“Shut up!” Nina breathed.

“No shit!” Paint Bucket confirmed. “What else could it be?”

“Whoa!” Nina said. “Wait till Spike hears this!”

I looked at the three of them and shook my head. “Call Spike,” I said. “Get him here. Now!”

There had to be someone who could help me get some answers. I figured Spike Montgomery, former assistant district attorney turned performance artist, was just the man for the job. I was desperate.

Nina began to stutter again. “I—I gotta tell you something about Spike first,” she said. “It’s not like you think. There’s complications. I mean, Spike and me are in love and people might not…”

“Nina, just do it! Just do one thing I say without busting my balls about it!”

Weasel tugged on Paint Bucket’s arm, whispering something into his ear, probably speculating on whether I actually had balls or was just being metaphorical. I stared at the three of them, wondering what it would take to get Nina moving and the other two out of my hair.

“Nina, whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it now. This is a family crisis! We can deal with love and personal problems later. Get him here!”

Without another word, my cousin spun on her heel and stalked off to make the call. I looked at my watch. It was 3:00 a.m. on the East Coast, and midnight in California. With any luck, Spike Montgomery would be on the job by late afternoon.

The acrid, sweet smell of pot smoke filled the air behind me. I turned around just in time to see Weasel inhale deeply, choke and pass the joint to Paint Bucket.

“Bucket! What are you doing? Put that out!”

He had the good sense to look sheepish. “It’s better for you than alcohol,” he argued.

“Guys, go home. It’s late and we’re all tired.”

“We ain’t tired, are we, Bucket?” Weasel squeaked. “We just got off work. It’s time to party! You should try it, Stella. It’ll relax you. You’re so wound up!”

I shot him a withering look and he shrank back behind Paint Bucket. If one more person told me I was uptight, I’d scream.

“Weasel, I am not wound up! Anybody would be upset given these kinds of extenuating circumstances.”

Weasel rolled his eyes and smirked at Paint Bucket. “See?” he said. “Always with the big words!”

Paint Bucket grabbed his buddy’s arm, spun him around and shoved him gently toward the alley.

“I just thought you should know, Stella,” Bucket said in a wounded tone.

I reached out and touched the stocky man’s shoulder, squeezing his arm with affection that suddenly felt genuine.

“I’m sorry, Bucket,” I said. “I really am glad you came and told me. I guess Weasel’s right. I am on edge a little, what with all that’s happened.” I tried for a smile, knowing it came off as more of a painful grimace. “Tell you what, when this is over, I’ll buy you guys a beer down at the Crossroads, like old times!”

Paint Bucket looked even sadder. “The Crossroads closed down three years ago, Stella.” He shook his head slowly. “There just ain’t no times left like the old times. The past is dead and gone. All’s we got now is real life.”

“Yeah,” little Weasel added. “Ain’t that a bitch!”

He handed the joint to Paint Bucket, who inhaled deeply and choked, holding it in as long as possible before belching a gust of smoke out into the early-morning air. The two wandered off out of sight beyond Uncle Benny’s garage. I heard the squeak of the back gate, a deep, choking cough from Bucket and the sound of footsteps dying away.

“The past is dead and gone,” I whispered to their retreating figures. “Thank God!”

I walked up the steps, through Aunt Lucy’s screen door and back into the kitchen. Nina had vanished, either to bed or to her room to talk to Spike in private. I sank down onto a kitchen chair and lowered my head onto my arms. The last thing I remember thinking was how good it felt to close my burning eyes, if only for a moment.

I awoke hours later to the realization that I couldn’t face the rest of the day without knowing if what Paint Bucket had told me was true. I showered, dressed and slipped out of the house without waking Nina, drove my Camaro to the nearest convenience store and gulped down coffee in an attempt to organize my approach. I arrived at the police department just as morning roll call was ending and the day shift was leaving for their tour of duty.

I sat in the lobby cooling my heels for half an hour before Detectives Slovineck and Poltrone decided to wander out and take me into their inner sanctum. The first thing I noticed was their attitude change. They were suddenly thicker than the Great Wall of China, and just as impenetrable. They escorted me past their tiny cubicles, down the hallway to an interview room, where they sat like statues across from me at a battered wooden table, their expressions blank and their answers painfully repetitious.

“I’m sorry, we can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“Since when?”

Poltrone looked as if she wanted to say something, but bit her tongue at a glance from her partner.

“It’s complicated,” Slovineck answered. He looked uncomfortable and kept tugging at his tie, struggling to loosen the knot that seemed to be choking him.

“So be a pal and tell me anyway,” I said.

Slovineck shook his head. “No can do.”

The interview room door swung open. A young patrol officer stuck her head in and, at the nod from Detective Slovineck, entered and crossed to his side.

“Got it?” Slovineck asked.

The officer nodded, handing a thin sheaf of papers to the big detective. “He wants you to call him later,” she said.

“Will do,” Slovineck said, but his attention was already turned to the papers.

“Is that about the men who broke into our house?”

Poltrone gave me a look, as if she’d enjoy it if I made a move to grab the papers so she could finally take out her frustrations on me in a physical manner.

I growled at her and focused on Slovineck. “Have you found my aunt?”

The longer he stayed silent, the more my stomach churned. I had the sudden vision of Aunt Lucy, dead and lying on cold ground somewhere. “What is it?” I demanded.

Slovineck looked up at me and smiled. “It seems there’s papers out on you,” he said. He studied his new information with elaborate care, slowly bringing his eyes up to meet mine. “Seems a Pete O’Brian has charged you with stealing his dog, communicating terroristic threats and assault with intent to kill.”

“No fucking way! That son of a bitch!”

I was on my feet and charging Slovineck before I could stop, but not before Poltrone could come up behind me, her arm stretching out to hook my neck and connecting instead with my left temple.

“Sit down!” Slovineck thundered.

I froze, suddenly aware of the trouble I could be in if I assaulted a fellow police officer. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I just don’t think you’re playing straight with me here.”

Slovineck’s face was red, but Poltrone’s was a black thundercloud of barely contained rage.

“I took the liberty of contacting the Garden Beach Police Department after receiving a fax requesting that we ascertain your whereabouts,” Slovineck said, his eyes boring into mine. “Imagine my surprise when I find that not only are you no longer on the job but that there’s actually a warrant out for your arrest.”

“I can explain all that,” I said. “It’s not what it seems. I think right now you should be focused on looking for my aunt, not pissing around with some penny ante bullshit trumped up by an old boyfriend.”

Slovineck’s eyes hardened. He gave me the thousand-mile cop stare that means it don’t matter what you say, ain’t nobody gonna listen to you. He didn’t believe me. The fax he held in his hand had managed to throw him completely off the more important issue and right on to me.

I stood up again. “Forget it,” I said. “I don’t need this shit.” I turned to leave and saw Poltrone rise and block the door.

“I’m afraid we won’t be letting you leave,” Detective Slovineck said. “There’s the small matter of an arraignment and extradition back to Florida to face charges. And then we’d like to know more about the timing of your trip up here.”

I couldn’t believe it! They were looking at me as a suspect in my uncle’s death. They were going to arrest me!

I turned and looked at Slovineck, my mouth dropping open, eyes wide.

“This is a joke, right?”

Thirty minutes later I was in a cell, black smudges on my fingertips, and the images of Detective Poltrone smirking through the whole procedure still fresh in my mind. I sank down onto the hard metal bench and buried my head in my hands. I started drawing up a hit list with Pete and Lou Ann at the top of the most-wanted category. I was going to kill the two of them just as soon as I got out of this godforsaken hellhole, caught Uncle Benny’s murderer, found my missing aunt and kicked some local po-lice ass.

Chapter 12

The road to hell is not paved with good intentions. I was well on my way to that particular destination and I knew my intentions were most definitely not good. My evil thoughts were probably the reason that on my personal highway to hell I was picking up speed and zooming downhill at a breakneck pace.

To start off with, Nina wasn’t home and wasn’t answering her cell phone, either. That meant my one phone call to the free world was a bust. The way my luck was going, Nina would never retrieve her messages, and I’d be forced to spend eternity with a three-hundred-pound, tattooed woman named Little Vicious.

To further grease the on ramp to the Satanic Speedway, I had company. Paint Bucket and Weasel arrived to pay their respects just as the jailor circulated through with lunch. They were dressed in full EMT regalia, white shirts with multiple patches, navy-blue pants with thick black rubber-soled shoes and stethoscopes tethered to their necks by bright yellow cords.

“Hey,” Weasel cried. “We heard you were in here, but Paint Bucket didn’t believe it, so we came by to see for ourselves.”

Paint Bucket’s eyes were wide and he shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Gus told me they’re holding you on attempted murder,” he whispered. “That can’t be true. Is that true? You tried to whack somebody?”

What the hell? I met his gaze and smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “And I ain’t sorry. Dem suckas will never take me alive!”

Weasel’s eyes popped out of his ratlike face. “Aw, man!”

Paint Bucket shook his head again, catching the sarcasm but unable to stop himself from believing it anyway. “Stella,” he muttered. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they’ll take you alive. They already got you! You don’t say that kind of stuff from the inside. You say it when you’re holed up in your hideaway, like Butch Cassidy and the Sun-dance Kid.”

Bucket looked over his shoulder and leaned in closer. “You keep talking like that and word will get out you’re a flight risk. Let me tell you, that ain’t a good thing. They won’t give you no bail. You’ll be somebody’s bitch before you know it!”

Weasel frowned. “She can’t be somebody’s bitch if she’s a girl, right? I mean, that’s only in men’s prison, isn’t it? Over here she’d be what, somebody’s old man?”

“I believe the term you’re searching for is husband,” I answered.

Paint Bucket groaned. “Stella, Stella, Stella! When are you going to wake up and smell the coffee here. This is some serious shit! You gotta set these people straight. Tell ’em it’s a conspiracy.” Paint Bucket gave me a serious look. “Listen, Stel, I know we didn’t hang out a lot in school, but you were always nice to us. Let us help out if we can, all right. It’s not like you have too many options, you know?”

I looked around my cell, then back out at my two jail-house attorneys. Bucket was absolutely right. I needed them and I should be grateful for their help.

“All right,” I said, resisting the temptation to be a smart-ass. “I need you to do something for me, okay?”

Weasel and Paint Bucket nodded vigorously. “Anything,” Weasel said. “You just say the word.”

“Find Nina and tell her I said to get me out of here!”

“You got it!” Weasel said. “We’re on it!”

“She’ll be here within the hour,” Paint Bucket added.

I shrugged. “I don’t know how you’ll pull that off. She wasn’t home and she isn’t answering her cell phone. You’re gonna have to find her first.”

Bucket smiled. “Not a problem. I ran into her this morning in the Jiffy Mart. She was getting gas on her way to the airport. She said she was going to pick somebody up.” Bucket glanced at his watch. “I figure she’ll be home any time now.”

Weasel glanced back at the door leading into my cell block, straining to see something just beyond my line of vision.

“Being in the lockup give you a case of the heebie-jeebies?” I asked.

Weasel shook his head and gestured toward the thick metal. “No, it’s not that. I just stuck my hand in my pants and found a joint in there. I don’t want one of them drug-sniffing canines to take a chunk out of my ass.”

Paint Bucket grabbed Weasel and spun him around toward the exit door. “You idiot!” he growled. “You got any idea what’ll happen if you get caught with that thing?”

“Bucket, it ain’t like I did it on purpose or nothin’! It’s not even mine! I fell asleep watching TV last night and the next thing I knew it was morning. I was already late, so I just grabbed my brother’s pants ’cause I thought they were clean. How was I supposed to know?”

Wasn’t that just the way the world went around? Everybody tells you to wear clean underwear in case you wind up in an accident. Of course, it never occurred to us to question the hygiene of the EMTs who ride to the rescue.

I walked back to my cold metal bench and sat, watching as Paint Bucket tugged his friend through the door to the freedom of the outside world. Nothing made sense to me. I never figured that Pete would actually press charges. Was this why the local police suddenly thought I had something to do with my uncle’s murder?

I was still puzzling it over in my head and coming to no conclusions when the jailor came for me. He shuffled up slowly, a round bowling ball of a man with a wrinkled, ill-fitting uniform and no personality.

“Time to go to court,” he announced in a low monotone. He didn’t look at me; instead he focused on the square tiles of linoleum in front of his feet.

“But I haven’t—”

The little man interrupted me. “Your lawyer just got here and the judge says hurry it up, they’re working you in to get you out.”

“I don’t have a lawyer. That’s the problem.”

He held the iron-barred door open, motioning toward the long corridor before us.

“Yeah, you do,” he said. “That’s how come you’re up first this afternoon.”

“I do?” I sputtered. “I am?”

“Keep moving,” he barked.

“Why didn’t I get to talk to my attorney before court?” I demanded. This seemed to further irritate my escort. For the first time since he’d approached my cell, he looked up at me and frowned.

“Do I look like your social secretary?” he groused. “It’s not a requirement, you know. Maybe your attorney was busy. Maybe he had hemorrhoids and didn’t feel like sitting on a hard wooden chair and chatting. Maybe you didn’t pay him enough. Maybe they don’t pay me enough to keep up with who sees who, when or why. Maybe I just don’t give a shit.”

“Let me guess,” I said, coming to a halt in the center of the hallway. “You didn’t receive enough affection as a child, so now as a defense mechanism, you have foresworn all humanity.”

His nametag read Gus. His face, as well as his bald head, was glowing a dusky, angry red and he seemed ready to explode.

Gus took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. “Like I said,” he said, “they don’t pay me enough to take this abuse.”

He grabbed my arm and pushed me none too gently forward. A uniformed officer stood in front of a door at the end of the hallway, waiting. When we reached him, he opened the door to the courtroom and suddenly there I was, center stage. We walked in front of the bench and headed toward my place behind a long wooden table. I didn’t look out at the spectators, instead keeping my focus on the two women seated and waiting for me.

Nina, dressed in a charcoal-gray business suit and looking nothing like her funky self, hopped to her feet as I approached. The statuesque brunette beside her also rose to her feet. The suit she wore screamed money and prestige, but there the nod to courtroom conformity ended. Her hair stood out in short, molded tufts. Her left eyebrow was pierced and sported a diamond that I put at two carats, easy. It was the real thing, too, sparkle, cut and clarity. She had the attention of every man in the room and I was fairly certain she knew it.

“Stella,” Nina chirped. “This is Spike!”

Nina was beaming, practically hopping up and down with pleasure.

“Spike?” I echoed. “But I thought…”

Nina’s face clouded for a brief moment. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen!”

“Uh, pleased to meet you,” I said, sticking out my hand and trying to wipe the surprise off my face. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Great, I thought. Well, Nina had tried to tell me.

Spike grinned. Her eyes were a brilliant green. “Well, I guess you didn’t hear everything about me,” she said. Spike turned to a sheaf of papers on the table in front of us, her expression becoming serious. “The judge is giving me a few minutes to talk to you before we start. What’s going on?”

I looked around the courtroom, making sure we weren’t overheard, and told her about Pete, Lou Ann and Slovineck’s questions about the timing of my trip and my alibi for the time of my uncle’s murder.

Spike listened, taking careful notes and nodding. “Why do you think he’s decided to press charges?” she asked.

Before I could answer, a door opened to the left of the judge’s bench. The bailiff cried out, “Oy yea, oy yea!” and Spike stopped smiling.

“I’m assuming you’re not guilty?” she whispered.

I nodded. Spike smiled again, and the race was on. Nina shuffled papers and file folders. Spike looked over her competition at the next table, and the judge stared at all of us, a bored expression on his face, at least until he realized who was representing me.

“Spike Montgomery, is that you?” he cried.

“The walking one and only, Your Honor,” she answered. “Miss me?”

The new D.A. frowned.

“Your Honor,” he protested.

The judge raised one thick eyebrow and the D.A. backed off. Spike smiled softly and the formal proceedings began.

The judge looked out at me and spoke. “Ms. Valocchi, I’m assuming you know why you’re here?”

I nodded.

“Good,” he rumbled. “Then you also know that this is just a preliminary hearing. We’ll hear the formal charges, see if there are grounds for extradition and set bail if that’s appropriate.” The last few words were aimed at the D.A., a small man with thick, curly hair and a snarly attitude.

The little man jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, representatives of the Garden Beach Police Department have come all this way.…”

Spike turned to the D.A.’s table and watched her opponent coolly. From my vantage point I had a clear view of the D.A. but could only see Spike’s profile. The D.A. puffed out his chest like a bantam rooster and turned around to look out into the row of benches behind him.

I turned in my seat, my heart in my throat, trying to catch a glimpse of the Garden Beach P.D. representative. I wondered who’d been elected to escort me back to Florida.

There was movement on the far left side of the court-room. My former partner, Lou Ann Ross, slowly rose to her feet, ignoring our side of the room, her thousand-watt smile aimed at the judge.

“May I see the warrant?” Spike asked. Her voice was as thick and sweet as honey, but I saw the tip of one stiletto heel begin to tap impatiently.

LouAnn ignored Spike and waited for an order from the bench. I searched the rows of spectator seating, knowing LouAnn wouldn’t have come alone. I must have gasped, because Nina reached out for my arm and followed my gaze.

“Stella, what is it? What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look away.

“It’s Pete,” I whispered. “He’s here. With her.”

Nina frowned. “Pete who? Her who? What is it, Stella?”

The judge directed Lou Ann to produce the papers, and without another word she leaned down and reached into a slim brown leather portfolio. Then she reached deeper, her hair falling across her shoulders like a waterfall and hiding the frantic intensity of her search.

The D.A. cleared his throat. Pete leaned forward in his seat, and Spike seemed to be the only calm person in the cramped courtroom. She was smiling softly and humming a wordless little tune. The longer Lou Ann took, the happier Spike seemed.

Finally a red-faced Lou Ann was forced to look up, her eyes meeting the D.A.’s in a mute appeal.

“I don’t understand,” she said in a strangled Southern accent. “It was right here when I left Garden Beach. I know it was.”

I had a sudden mental image of Pete and Lou Ann stopping at some cheap motel for the night. I could just imagine Lou Ann saying, “Wait, I brought a little surprise, Petey!” She’d cross to the thin briefcase and root through it, emerging triumphantly with a blindfold and maybe a small leather whip.

“Here, Daddy,” she’d coo, not noticing that the warrant had slipped out as she tugged the toys free. “I’ve been a bad, bad girl!”

I shut my eyes and felt a grin begin to grow along with my overactive imagination. Lou Ann and Pete, wrapped up in their night of illicit sex, probably drinking on top of it, would oversleep the next morning. In their hurry to make the court date on time, the little manila envelope would remain behind, stuck between the motel air conditioner and the bed. Yeah, that’s how it happened. At least, that’s what I was praying for, a cozy little cosmic accident.

“No warrant, no charges,” Spike said. “Surely you can’t deprive my client of her freedom on the basis of a he-said, she-said attempted-murder charge.”

“Wait! Wait!” Lou Ann cried. “I just know it’s in here somewhere!”

She was on her feet and through the swinging gate that separated the legal eagles from the unwashed masses. She walked right up to the judge’s bench and without stopping for due process or permission, upended the portfolio right under the judge’s nose.

Out rained papers, envelopes, pens, a packet of tissues, a pink lipstick tube and a long silver cylinder that fell onto the table with a loud clunk. This was followed by a low-pitched hum, unmistakable to most of the women and half the men in the room.

“Jesus!” I heard Pete moan.

“Oh, my God! Give me that!” Lou Ann cried.

The judge, staring at his desk in disbelief, started to reach for the tube.

“Don’t touch that, Judge!” the bailiff shrieked. “It could be a bomb!”

At the word bomb, the unenlightened broke into a frenzy of panic, jumping up from their seats and attempting to flee before Armageddon. Those of us who knew a vibrator when we saw one were laughing too hard to prevent their escape.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” the judge swore.

“I’m coming! Look out!” the bailiff yelled.

With a mighty lunge, the brown-uniformed bailiff scaled the witness box and launched himself into the air. He soared for a moment like a misplaced basketball before plummeting down and landing on top of the judge’s bench with a smacking belly flop. He lay there, stunned and panting, eyes wide as he absorbed the vibration of the silver rocket, clearly waiting for his imminent demise.

“Joe,” the judge thundered. “Get the hell off my desk! It’s a vibrator, you fool! Women use it to create and enhance sexual pleasure! It is not a bomb!”

Joe raised his head, looked out at the riveted spectators and decided to save his pride at all cost.

“You know how it is these days, Your Honor!” he said. “I was just being cautious.”

Joe pushed up into a sitting position, grabbed the offending vibrator and clutched it to his chest.

“Keep your seats, please,” he barked in a commanding voice. He looked toward the back of the room, saw one of his fellow officers guarding the door and said, “False alarm. I’ve got the situation under control now.”

He hopped off the bench and made a rapid exit. His colleague, faced now with a panicked crowd, opened the doors and stepped back. Within seconds the room was cleared of spectators, leaving only Nina, Spike, the judge, the D.A., Lou Ann, Pete and myself behind.

The judge looked at Spike. She smiled. “Motion to release Ms. Valocchi on her own recognizance until such time as a warrant can be produced, Your Honor.”

“So granted,” he answered.

“I object!” the D.A. screeched.

“On what grounds, Alvin, stupidity?” the judge asked.

“I just had that fool paper last night!” Lou Ann wailed.

A side door to the courtroom opened, and another officer appeared. He went to the D.A.’s side, whispered something and then, when the D.A.’s face reddened, shrugged.

The D.A. turned to Lou Ann. “What’s going on here, Officer?” he growled. But Lou Ann was already moving, fast, toward the rear doors.

“I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. “Just hold on!”

Spike Montgomery looked at Nina and me. “Let’s get while the gettin’s good,” she murmured.

Without another word, Nina gathered up the file folders and papers, shoving them quickly into a briefcase. Spike took my arm and ushered me through the gate and down the hallway to freedom.

As we passed Pete, I heard him call my name. There was a pleading quality to his voice that I secretly relished.

“Baby,” he said, “I just want to talk to you.”

I ignored him, walking by as if I hadn’t seen him and certainly hadn’t heard him.

“Oh!” I heard Nina breathe behind me. “That Pete! Gotcha!”

Spike didn’t miss Pete, either. “Pathetic,” I heard her whisper, but her stride never slowed. We were making a quick but dignified getaway, knowing that in all likelihood, it would only be temporary.

Spike was humming again, but this time I caught the tune and smiled. She was doing a slightly off-key rendition of “Catch Us If You Can.”

Chapter 13

Spike accompanied us to the parking lot, but the farther away she got from the police department, the slower her steps became. When we reached our cars, Spike stopped dead.

“Nina, baby, run down to Tony’s, pick up a couple of cheese steaks and come back for me, okay? I need to see if I can find out what’s going on.”

Nina’s face clouded momentarily, only to be replaced by a here-comes-the-sun grin.

“I guess I can wait a little bit longer,” she said.

The look that passed between the two women smoldered of promise and a delayed reunion. I sneaked another look at the two reunited lovers and felt the seeds of envy blossom into full flower. How come I never found passion like that? Damn! I made a mental note to reevaluate my sexual orientation, just in case I’d overlooked the true source of everlasting romance.

The image of Jake bending close to kiss me jumped unbidden into my head. I looked at my cousin and her girlfriend, then held Jake up for comparison. I had to admit the potential I felt every time Jake looked at me was a close runner-up to the heat I saw reflected in Nina’s eyes. I shivered and looked away. This was no time to be thinking about that.

“Well, if you two don’t need me, I think I’ll go on back to the house. I want to spend some time looking around Aunt Lucy’s room. Maybe I overlooked something. Maybe she left a note.” I knew my voice sounded as hopeless as I felt.

Nina and Spike seemed to return to reality, and Nina tried to comfort me by patting my shoulder. Spike seemed to sense my mood and left us to talk as she headed back inside.

“We’ll find her, Stella,” Nina said.

I tried to smile but couldn’t. “This is all so crazy,” I told her. “Just when I think it can’t get worse, it does. I can’t figure out why Pete and LouAnn are here. What do they want?”

Nina shook her head. “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later,” she muttered. “Go home. Take a shower or something.”

I left her, sliding behind the wheel of my car and slowly driving away from the police department. The events of the day crowded into my head, tumbling over and over in a riot of vignettes that left me feeling more unsettled than ever. Maybe that’s why, when I got back to the house, I mistook the voices I heard for the TV. I was distracted and exhausted.

When I walked into the kitchen, I didn’t notice the smell of a recently prepared meal, the waft of Aunt Lucy’s cologne or Lloyd, still sitting in Uncle Benny’s chair, gobbling fettuccine Alfredo in a frenzy of doggie ecstasy. But when I heard a door slam somewhere in the house, its retort cracking like a gunshot, I woke up and smelled the proverbial coffee.

“Aunt Lucy?” I called.

The voices went silent. The house was tomb quiet except for Lloyd’s unabashed gobbling.

“Where’d she go, Lloyd?”

The dog looked up briefly, cut a glance toward the basement and resumed eating.

I headed for the steps, not even conscious of the fact that I was now assuming Lloyd heard, understood and was capable of answering me.

“Aunt Lucy?” I called, fumbling for the basement light switch. I smelled her cologne. I knew she was down there. Why wouldn’t she answer me? I hit the light switch again. Nothing.

My heart was pounding. I stopped in midstride, realizing I’d left my gun in the glove compartment of the Camaro.

“Not a problem,” I muttered. “It’s not like my body isn’t a deadly weapon. This is, after all, what I do for a living.” But that didn’t stop me from wanting a nice piece of hardened steel in hand, complete with bullets. I didn’t feel whole without my Glock.

I stood, listening for any tiny sound in the darkened basement. Off to my left I heard movement, the slight scuff of a shoe, the barest click of a door closing.

“Shit!” I breathed. It was pitch-black. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t see anything. I closed my eyes, inhaled and cleared my mind of all emotion, just as I’d been trained. I envisioned the basement filled with light, saw the furniture, the windows and, finally, the cellar doorway leading up to the backyard. I counted the remaining stair steps and began to move, eyes closed, toward the room below.

As I stepped down from the last riser, I opened my eyes. The room seemed somewhat brighter now that I’d adjusted to the darkness. I listened for a moment, heard nothing and walked swiftly toward the cellar exit. I reached it, found the padlock hanging loosely by one hinge and swung the wooden door open.

Sunlight flooded the room, spreading in a circle that took in everything but the remote corners of Uncle Benny’s workshop and the laundry area behind it. It was empty. No Aunt Lucy. No dead bodies. No intruders.

“What the hell is going on?” I muttered. “I heard voices. I smell you, Aunt Lucy. I know you’re in here!”

No answer.

I searched the place, upended the sofa, wrenched open cabinet doors, even went so far as to fling open the dryer and stick my head inside the cavity. It was as frustrating as searching for an Easter basket hidden by Aunt Lucy’s sister, my mom, all those many years ago.

“Come on! I know you’re in here somewhere. How else could Uncle Benny be eating fettuccine?”

This brought a response. I heard a muffled creaking sound and strained to catch its location. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.

“All right,” I said loudly. “Two can play this game. I’m going to sit right here on these steps and wait. I’m not leaving until you come out.” I had the bizarre urge to issue a stronger threat. Like “Nobody move or the dog gets it!” But I could not do this to my aunt. She was too fragile emotionally. So I settled for the Boy-are-you-gonna-get-it-when-your-father-gets-home variety of threat and said again, “I’m really not going to leave this room until you come out and explain yourself!” Young lady!

This brought absolutely no response, except from Lloyd. I heard him belch, jump down from the table and pad over to the kitchen door. He whined softly and scratched the screen. A few minutes later he yipped twice. He moaned a short while after that. I was not at all surprised by the next sound, the soft splash of liquid hitting linoleum. Damn!

“You hear that, Aunt Lucy?” I called out into the darkened basement. “You made Uncle Benny wet his pants!”

When in doubt, we Catholics are prone to using guilt. Shamelessly.

I sat absolutely still, waiting for someone to forget I was there, or to think I’d given up. My back began to ache. My butt was sore from sitting on the hard wooden step. It was a blessed relief when I heard Nina and Spike pull up in the driveway. If someone was in the basement, I hadn’t seen them. They certainly wouldn’t reveal themselves now, not with three of us in the house. I could leave my sentry post with the relative assurance that any intruders were gone for now. And if Aunt Lucy was somewhere hiding in the house, she’d reveal herself in due time, with or without my interference.

The porch screen door creaked open as Nina and Spike made their way inside.

“Shit!” Nina cried. “Lloyd! Bad dog!”

“What?” Spike said. Then, “Damn! A dog did all that?”

“Stella!” Nina called. “Your dog wants you!”

I leaned my head back against the wall and sighed. “That’s not my dog,” I said wearily. “That’s Uncle Benny.”

“Whatever,” Nina groaned. “He left you a present.”

I stood up, relinquishing guard duty in favor of something more productive. “Aunt Lucy, you should be ashamed of yourself, leaving Uncle Benny alone like this!” I didn’t have the heart to do more than whisper the words, but it made me feel better.

“I’m coming,” I called out, and walked slowly upstairs.

Spike and Nina had bypassed the smelly pile that waited for me by the back door and were in the process of making coffee when I reached the top of the steps. Lloyd was nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” I said, heading for the paper towels and Pine-Sol, “What’s the poop?”

Nina rolled her eyes. Spike walked to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. She sat down and ran her long fingers through her closely cropped hair. I looked up, noticing how pale her face was and how red-rimmed her eyes had become. I wondered how long she’d been up. She would’ve left L.A. in the middle of the night in order to arrive as early as she had. The woman had to be exhausted.

“You’re not going to like what I found out,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone at the police department likes it much, either.”

I stepped out onto the back porch, lifted the lid to the trash can and made an odiferous deposit. When I rejoined them, Nina was bringing Spike a cup of coffee and indicating that mine was on the way.

“Okay,” I said, joining Spike at the table. “Shoot.”

Spike took a long sip, closed her eyes for a moment and then delivered the news.

“First off,” she said, “Bill Slovineck is a good guy, a stand-up detective who doesn’t bullshit.”

“And his partner?”

Spike shrugged. “She has her moments. For the most part I try to ignore her.” Spike read the impatience on my face. “That’s really neither here nor there,” she said. “The problem is this—the case has been taken away from the department and handed over to another government agency. This agency, which no one would name, which means CIA or National Security Agency, has claimed an interest in it and has therefore claimed jurisdiction over your uncle’s murder case, as well as any and all issues surrounding said investigation. This includes the break-ins here and strangely enough, the explosion at Carpenter’s Auto Body.”

“What?” Nina and I cried simultaneously.

Spike nodded, raising her hands in mock defense. “I know, I know. It’s crazy. It doesn’t make sense, but nothing I could say or do would get them to say anything more than that. They just don’t know any other details, or if they do, they’ve been warned about talking.”

“Can they, like, do that?” Nina asked. “I mean, it is murder, right?”

“It’s your American dream coming slap up against the American nightmare,” I muttered. “It’s Roswell, New Mexico, meets the conspiracy theory. If the government says it didn’t happen, well then, sister, we ain’t seen nothin’ and we ain’t done nothin’. No, sir! They have ways of making you talk, but you ain’t seen nothin’ till you see how they keep you quiet!”

Spike nodded. “Now you know why I quit,” she said softly. She looked at me. “And you also know why I came back. This isn’t right, and you’re not going to get anywhere without someone who knows the ins and outs of this business.”

“I love you!” Nina sighed, her eyes glowing as she smiled up at her girlfriend. “I knew you’d know just what to do!”

Spike frowned. “Well, baby, I love you for thinking it, but I have no idea what’s going on. I just know how to keep your cousin out of jail.” She looked at me. “If you want, I can call an old friend of mine in the Justice Department. She might know something, or at least know where to look.”

Nina frowned. “Old friend? Like, how old? Like, a squirrel friend?”

I didn’t know the term squirrel, but I could tell by Nina’s tone that this was an argument as old as time. The green-eyed monster had made an appearance at the sign of a potential threat from an ex-girlfriend.

“Baby,” Spike cooed. “That was a long, long time ago.”

“Yep, that’s what I’d say if I was you,” I murmured.

“Huh!” Nina huffed.

“Ladies,” I said, standing. “Save it for the honeymoon. We’re missing one aunt and one murder suspect. I believe those issues take precedence over any and all personal squabbles.” I looked at Spike. “Call your friend and find out what’s going on.” I turned to Nina, hesitating as I tried to come up with a task that would take her mind off Spike’s ex-lover.

“Nina,” I said, “it’s crunch time and I need your help.” My cousin turned to look at me, suspicion written all over her face.

“What?”

“I’ve been going back over everything I know, and it seems to me I could’ve overlooked something.”

I had Nina’s attention now. “What?”

“Jake said his wife left him for a guy who worked for Tony Manello, Donna’s father. He said she and this guy had been steadily stealing from the shop. On top of this, Uncle Benny lends Jake money, but he denies it now and says he doesn’t have any money. Add to that the fact that Uncle Benny was killed at Jake’s shop and Jake’s now missing and what do you got?”

Nina’s mouth dropped into an open O of surprise. “Jake killed Uncle Benny?” she gasped.

I nodded. “Maybe. And maybe there’s a connection between the Manello family and Uncle Benny’s death—either they killed him or Jake’s working for them. Either way, I’m thinking we should see if anyone knows anything about Donna Manello, like did she really leave Jake for another guy, or does anybody know where she is?”

Nina frowned. “But I don’t know those people. How would I find out anything?”

“Didn’t you waitress at St. Anthony’s Lodge before you moved to L.A.?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t leave there on such good terms,” she said. “After they turned down Spike’s band, I lost the vision. I just couldn’t see my karma meshing with their corporate mission anymore.”

Somehow I doubted that an Italian social club really had a corporate vision, but I worked with it anyway.

“Well, don’t you still have friends there? I mean, couldn’t you go visit and ask around a little?”

Nina seemed to mull this over for a long moment. “Hey, I know! I’ll go get my crown back!”

I was lost. “What?”

“Didn’t Aunt Lucy send you the newspaper article about it?” she asked. “She sent one to everybody!”

I shook my head, puzzled. “What were you crowned?”

Nina straightened in her chair, beaming. “Miss Chocolate Pudding!” she cried. “I won the women’s Pro Am mud wrestling competition. I only gave up the title because I moved to L.A!”

“So if you show back up, they give you your, um, crown back?”

Nina snorted. “No, dummy! I’d have to fight for it!” She looked at me with a very serious expression on her face. “I don’t care about the title anymore. I’d just do it to find out what people are saying about Jake and Donna. You know Tony Manello sponsors the competition, don’t you?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know, but it seemed fitting somehow.

“Don’t get too wrapped up in this contest thing,” I warned. “Get what information you can and get out. Manello’s a bad guy, and if he’s wrapped up in this…”

The eyes rolled again. “Stella, shut up!” she said. “When you’ve got the touch, concentration doesn’t even enter into it! I can win my title back and find out about the Manellos without even breaking a sweat!”

She stepped away from the table, head held high, already the queen of chocolate pudding, and made her exit.

I sat there for another five minutes, aware of Spike talking on the phone in the next room and the sound of running water upstairs where Nina prepared to meet her destiny. I was busy thinking over the latest turn of events, wondering why the government would take an interest in my uncle’s death and Jake Carpenter’s shop explosion. The bottom line was the two events had to be connected. Everything was interrelated in some way that just hadn’t become clear to me yet.

I was still sitting at the table thirty minutes later when Spike and Nina left for St. Anthony’s lodge, thinking there had to be some clue to my aunt’s disappearance in the house. Eventually I stood up and headed down the hallway to the bedroom Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny had shared for over forty years.

I stepped into the room, flipped on the dim overhead light and found Lloyd up on the antique double bed, his head resting squarely on Uncle Benny’s pillow, snoring.

“Dog, what are you doing?”

At the sound of my voice, Lloyd opened one eye, noted my presence and resumed his nap.

“Fine,” I said. “Be that way!”

I inspected the room carefully, taking time to do a thorough search, looking for a sign that Aunt Lucy had returned or perhaps planned to disappear. Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny hadn’t seemed to care much for change. The same white chenille bedspread I’d known as a child still covered their bed. The dressing table held a jewelry box I remembered from years ago. The stool was covered in now-faded cabbage-rose chintz. The only change was a TV, hooked to a cable box, and sitting on the ancient walnut dresser.

I lifted the mattress and ran my hands over the sheets, feeling for lumps. I felt the backs and bottoms of dresser drawers, looked behind the pictures mounted on the wall, methodically searching in an attempt to find any overlooked clue.

I stepped into the adjoining bath and snooped further, opening the medicine cabinet and lifting out bottle after bottle. Suddenly life got more interesting. Instead of the usual and customary jars of aftershave and mouthwash, I found an assortment of containers all labeled in my aunt’s precise handwriting.

Arthritis Salve, read one, followed by what appeared to be a formula. Miracle Grow Hair Restorative, read another. No formula on that one, just a number. A spray bottle rested by the foot of the tub. Lucy’s All Purpose Total Cleanup. Again, no formula, just a number.

I smiled to myself. Aunt Lucy hadn’t been able to give up her day job to become a “normal” parent. She’d always mixed up her own concoctions, favoring her formulas over those found on the grocery store shelves. I’d wondered about her sometimes, about how she’d been able to walk away from such a successful career as a chemist to become my surrogate mother.

I left the bathroom and moved to the walk-in closet Uncle Benny had built at one end of their bedroom. I fumbled for the light switch, tripped over a pair of shoes and fell headlong into a rack of dresses that covered the back of the closet. The more I tried to catch myself, the worse it became. I spun past something furry, was enveloped by mothball-scented wool and landed in a heap on the floor.

“Shit!”

I sat, trying to untangle the mass of clothing that had jumped to ensnare me and feeling distinctly sorry for myself. What kind of detective gets herself arrested, is overcome and subdued by winter clothing and loses not only the witnesses to a murder case, but the chief suspect, as well?

I inhaled, this time catching a whiff of Uncle Benny’s aftershave. A wave of nostalgia and loneliness swept over me. I felt tears burn the back of my eyelids and suddenly missed every one I’d ever lost, Mom, Dad, Uncle Benny, Pete, Jake and the series of pets and people who’d moved in and out of my childhood. When I reached my second-grade teacher, I stopped.

“Damn,” I muttered. “This is pathetic!” I yawned. “I must be way too tired.” In the outer room, Lloyd snored rhythmically. I started to pull myself up, reaching out to steady myself against a row of narrow shelving and was rewarded by a rain of my aunt’s accessories that fell as the shelf gave way.

“No!” I cried, trying to catch the purses, hats and belts. “This is so not my day!” I bent down and began picking up the mess. In the midst of the pile, torn shreds of paper poked out of an empty pocketbook. Uncle Benny’s agreement with Jake lay scattered among my aunt’s accessories.

I sat on the floor, piecing the papers back together, then reading the document over and over again, trying to figure out what my uncle and Jake had been up to, and why it was now torn and hidden in one of my aunt’s old purses. Had Aunt Lucy been the one to take the papers and tear them up like this? She must have, but why? Had she known about the arrangement all along? I stayed there, thinking and reading, until my joints began to stiffen from my cramped position.

Lloyd’s low growling broke my concentration. He jumped down off the bed and trotted to the closet door, the hackles rising on the back of his neck.

“What is it, boy?” I asked him. Lloyd growled again, low and menacing. I looked at my watch, trying to focus on the glow-in-the-dark numbers. I’d been in my aunt’s bedroom for well over an hour.

Then I heard what Lloyd heard, voices, low, muffled and angry.

“I will not give it to you, not ever!”

I leaned closer to the floor and realized the sounds were coming from the basement.

“Bingo!” I cried softly. “I gotcha this time!”

When a woman screamed, my stomach flipped over. My heart began to race and I moved, running through the darkened house toward the basement. This time when I reached for my gun it was right where it belonged.

I slipped down the basement stairs, trying to run silently. I stopped for a second at the base of the staircase, searching the darkness for signs of life and once again finding none. I moved deeper into the dank room, heading for the laundry room. I felt the wall by the doorway, both sides, and found no switch. I flung my arm out into the air above me, feeling for a cord, anything, but came away empty-handed.

“Okay, okay,” I instructed myself. “Go slow. Feel the back wall.”

I inched toward an eerie glow that seemed to radiate out from behind the clothes rack bolted to the back wall. My fingers searched every inch of the wall until I found the crack between the clothes rod and the wall where light escaped. I examined every detail of the smooth-surfaced wall above and below it. There was no door, only a crack in the foundation that let the tiny bit of light out.

Behind the wall the voices started up again. There were two voices, one an angry, male voice I didn’t recognize and the other frightened but insistent, my Aunt Lucy. I grabbed the rod and started to tug on it. There had to be a way into the room beyond. As I pulled, the crack in the wall began to give, silently opening outward to reveal a narrow passageway.

I hesitated but when I heard a moan, followed by a gasp of pain, I moved. Someone was hurting Aunt Lucy.

“Tell me where he put it,” the man demanded. “Give it to me!”

I edged my way down the narrow steps, my stomach tightening into a knot as I envisioned the scene unfolding below me.

“All right,” the man continued, “I could’ve made it easy on you, but you won’t cooperate.” He laughed. It was a short, cruel bark that echoed against the thick concrete walls. “Actually, I don’t mind how you die, old fool. It could’ve been quick. Now it’ll take days. Either way the results will be the same. I’ll know where he hid it before I leave and you’ll be dead.”

I stopped thinking and reacted. All I felt, breathed or knew was that Aunt Lucy needed me. I had no objectivity. Years of training flew out the window as I tore toward my aunt and ran headlong into a brilliant white light.

For an instant, I was blinded. I heard a gun explode, felt the bullet whistle past my head and slam into the wall behind me. I hit the ground, rolling and seeking cover as I moved. Aunt Lucy screamed. I came up into a crouch, half-hidden behind a long metal table. I was in a lab, a room I’d never seen before deep in the basement of my uncle’s home.

Across from me, I saw Aunt Lucy, tied to a straight-backed metal chair. Blood oozed from a cut at the side of her mouth.

I heard a sound coming from behind me. Before I could turn, a black-and-white blur flew past. Lloyd, teeth bared, launched himself at a target. The gun exploded again. Lloyd yelped, fell to the ground and lay still, blood quickly matting his thick fur.

I followed the sound of the gun and found myself staring into the small, dark eyes of Ron the mechanic. He was holding a cannon, slowly taking aim and preparing to blow my head off.

I jumped sideways, rolled and landed this time behind a narrow rack of test tubes nestled in a stainless-steel carrier. I made an easy target and as I met the killer’s gaze, I saw we both realized it.

I saw his finger tighten on the trigger, saw a tiny jaw muscle tighten and held my breath. The world slowed down into still-action shots. The muzzle flashed. I flattened myself against the wall and felt the bullet whisper past my head. Ron’s face registered surprise as a red hole blossomed in the center of his forehead.

The force of the bullet exploded, blowing him backward against the wall. He slid down the white plaster surface, leaving a trail of brain matter and blood behind him.

The second gunman stepped from his hiding space, gun drawn and still pointed at the dead man. The acrid smell of smoke and blood filled the space between us. I held my breath, waiting for him to turn and recognize me. But when our eyes met, I realized he’d seen me long before he’d killed his wife’s lover.

Chapter 14

Aunt Lucy moaned, galvanizing the two of us into action. I crossed the room, knelt by her side and began struggling to free her from the silver duct tape that bound her arms behind the metal chair.

Jake brushed past me, moving behind Aunt Lucy’s chair and sliding a thick serrated knife blade between her wrists. With a practiced slash he sliced the tape away. As the pressure gave, she slid forward. I caught her, pushing her back against the chair and cradling her in my arms at the same time.

“Oh, honey,” I breathed. “Are you all right?”

“Benny!” she cried. “He shot my Benny!”

Jake moved, limping the short distance to the spot where Lloyd had fallen. He knelt by the injured dog’s side, his face contorting briefly with pain as he bent his bandaged left leg. I watched as he carefully inspected Lloyd’s wound.

Jake bent forward, putting his head close to Lloyd’s chest. He sat back and pried Lloyd’s jaws open. He turned the dog’s head, extending his neck, and closed the jaws again, this time pinching Lloyd’s nose shut. Jake Carpenter was about to give Lloyd canine CPR.

Aunt Lucy shoved me in Jake’s direction. “Help him!” she cried. “Do the compressions! Quickly!”

I did as she said, even though I was thinking, I’m in an underground laboratory, with a dead man on the floor not ten feet away, and my aunt wants me to do CPR on a dog whom she believes to be her reincarnated husband. Now what is wrong with this picture?

I reached Jake Carpenter’s side, noting the SIG-Sauer by his left foot. I watched as he carefully blew air into Lloyd’s unresponsive body.

“Okay,” he said, looking up at me. “You know CPR?”

“On people, yeah.”

Jake didn’t waste time. “The ratio is one breath, three compressions. Count up from the sternum to the fifth rib. You know the drill. Let’s go!”

He blew. I counted ribs, intertwined my fingers, and quickly pushed three times on Lloyd’s left side. We worked on him for a full minute before Jake stopped and pulled up one of Lloyd’s eyelids.

“Good. Pupils are constricting. That means we haven’t lost him yet.”

I felt Aunt Lucy come up behind us. She knelt by Lloyd, tears streaming down her cheeks, and felt with trembling fingers for the source of the bleeding.

“I’m here, honey,” she said. “Don’t worry, Benito. I’ve got you.”

Lloyd’s tail twitched slightly, and his lungs filled as he took his first unassisted breath.

“Damn!” I whispered.

Aunt Lucy stuck a gauze pad on Lloyd’s right haunch and looked up at Jake. “Apply pressure. I’m hoping it’s not the femoral artery, but given the blood loss, it may be. I just don’t know with canines.”

“We need to get him to a vet,” Jake murmured.

Aunt Lucy worked on fashioning a bandage while Jake applied pressure to Lloyd’s injured leg. Neither one of them so much as looked at the dead man, but I did. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the lifeless body.

There was no doubt that he had died immediately. I stared at Ron and wondered what brought him to my aunt’s house, what he could’ve been looking for and how valuable it must’ve been to make him take such risks. I thought of the woman who’d come to see Jake, insisting that my uncle had something for her. Were the two things connected?

I let my examination drift away from the body for a moment as I surveyed our surroundings. How long had this secret room been a part of my uncle’s and aunt’s lives? Why hadn’t they told me? How did Jake know about it? What was he doing here? Who’d bandaged his leg?

“Stella!” Aunt Lucy’s voice brought me back with a start.

“What?”

“I said I’m calling 911. We have to get your uncle upstairs!”

“You called 911 for Lloyd? What about him?” I cried. “There’s a body on the floor behind you. Aren’t you going to see if you can do something for him?”

Aunt Lucy and Jake exchanged glances. Neither one seemed inclined to look at the mechanic.

“It’s too late for that,” Jake muttered. “I’ll take care of him later.”

I frowned and shot him a skeptical glance. He wasn’t going to get off that easy. “Yeah? Well, just what are you going to do?” I said, nodding toward Ron.

Jake shrugged. “Bury him, I guess.”

“You need to call the police!”

Jake looked at me with cold, dead eyes. “We can’t, Stella. The police can’t ever know about this.”

“But you killed a man,” I said. “It was self-defense. Aunt Lucy and I will tell them so.”

“No,” Jake answered. “You don’t understand.”

“All right, then, help me understand.”

Aunt Lucy intervened. “Stella, we can explain all this later. Right now we must take care of your uncle! Stella, you have to trust me. Wait for the ambulance upstairs, please!”

Aunt Lucy was no longer the woman I’d risked my life to save. She was not rattled or shaken or even uncertain. She was a smooth operator, my aunt. Gone was the ditzy-old-lady act and in its place was a levelheaded commandant. What in the hell was going on here?

Lloyd whined, his tail wagged briefly and I felt my heart clutch. Aunt Lucy was right. Ron was past our help, but loyal Lloyd, who’d put himself between Ron’s gun and my aunt, needed us.

“Let’s move it!” I snapped.

Jake and I knelt by Lloyd’s side. I stroked the fur on his muzzle and looked into his buttery-soft, dark brown eyes.

“Easy,” I soothed as Jake slipped one arm under the dog’s back and I applied pressure to his wound. “We’re trying not to hurt you, baby,” I soothed.

Lloyd whimpered and my heart broke.

Aunt Lucy walked ahead of us, hit a button in the wall and as I watched it slid open. We stepped from the bright light of the lab and into the dingy, half-lit laundry area behind Uncle Benny’s workshop.

“Take him out through the cellar door,” Aunt Lucy directed. “That’s the quickest way. We can put him on the back seat of the Buick until the ambulance gets here.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening, or that I was participating in the cover-up of a shooting, but I did as my aunt instructed. After all, who else did Lloyd have to care for him? Hadn’t he just saved my aunt’s life? Pete didn’t want Lloyd, not really. And if Pete’s ex-wife, Tracy, had cared anything about her dog, she would’ve come back for him long ago.

I shuddered and looked down at Lloyd. “I got you, boy,” I whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you and I won’t let you die.”

He smiled softly and passed out.

Jake and I gently lowered Lloyd onto the back seat of the Buick. Nina, Spike and Uncle Benny’s ancient Cadillac were long gone. Aunt Lucy was putting the finishing touches on a pressure bandage while Jake waited beside me, his face pinched and white from exertion and pain.

“How’re you going to take care of the body in your condition?” I asked. “Your leg looks like it hurts.”

“I’ll manage,” Jake said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The wail of the ambulance prevented any further discussion. It rounded the corner and swung up into the driveway, lights flashing a strobe across the three of us as we waited.

Paint Bucket hopped out of the vehicle and walked toward us.

“Mrs. Valocchi, did you call in a gunshot wound?” he asked. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyebrows raised into a disbelieving question. “It don’t look like anybody’s been shot to me.”

Weasel hadn’t wasted time with questions. He’d wandered over to the open car door and was staring into the back seat, his mouth dropping into a surprised O as he leaned in closer.

“Bucket! Knock off the chatter,” he called softly. “Looks like we’ve got a customer.”

“Listen,” I said, “I’ve gotta get Lloyd to the emergency vet. I can drive him. I know you can’t…”

Weasel cut me off. “Bucket, get the kit. I’m getting very shallow and rapid here. Call Louie on the cell. Let’s give him the vitals and see if he wants to start a line.”

I felt my throat close tight on unshed tears. Weasel and Paint Bucket were no longer in la-la land. They were moving and talking like real EMTs, only I knew they’d spent most of their youth in a vast wasteland of ether, pot and gasoline fumes. What in the hell was with the idiot-savant act? And who was Louie?

“Guys,” I said, finding my voice. “Aunt Lucy only thinks he’s my uncle. In real life, Lloyd here is a dog. He’s dying. I’ve got to get him to the emergency clinic in Malvern!”

Weasel poked his head up briefly over the car roof as Paint Bucket handed him a stethoscope and opened up a huge red metal box full of equipment.

“Stella, this dog won’t make it to Malvern. He don’t have time. We’re taking him to Louie.”

Paint Bucket was on the cell phone, stripping square packets open and pulling wires out of the metal box.

“Uncle Louie,” I heard him say. “I’m guessing forty pounds. Gunshot to the left rear haunch. No exit wound. You want me to hook him up?”

Weasel had slipped on a pair of latex gloves. As he worked, a marked police car pulled up and a woman in uniform stepped out. My heart began pounding harder in my throat, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the questions started flying.

“Whatcha got, Bucket?” she asked.

Weasel looked up. “We’re transporting to Louie’s on Sheeler. You wanna escort?”

The cop looked down, saw Lloyd and wasn’t fazed.

“Sure,” she said. She looked at me. “Who shot him?”

I didn’t know her; therefore she didn’t know me. I gave her a frightened, shocked stare and gasped. “I don’t know. We were taking a walk around the block and this car drove by. It was full of kids. I heard a sound like pop! and…”

Bucket interrupted. “Gina, can we do this later? I don’t wanna lose him, all right? Let’s get to Louie’s.”

Officer Gina nodded. “I’ll be back and we’ll get a full report,” she said. She was heading for her car to radio in as she spoke. I had been dismissed in favor of running lights and sirens across town.

“Who is Louie?” I said, thinking if he was Paint Bucket’s uncle he couldn’t be a legit anything other than maybe a bartender.

But Paint Bucket was busy attaching pads to Lloyd’s chest while Weasel went to the back of the ambulance and pulled out a stretcher.

Once again I’d landed in the twilight zone of my old hometown, where dogs are treated like humans and some humans are treated like dogs. I was on the positive end of the spectrum tonight, and Lloyd was one very lucky canine. As I watched Paint Bucket and Weasel work, I began to realize that I didn’t have to know who Louie was or wonder if Lloyd would be in good hands. My old friends had issues, certainly, but when it came to their work, they were pros and Lloyd and I were very lucky.

“Uncle Louie says transport 10-39,” Bucket barked.

The cop steadied the gurney. Weasel climbed into the back seat of Aunt Lucy’s car, and Bucket leaned across to meet him. Like a father lifting his sleeping infant, Bucket reached under Lloyd’s pain-racked body, gently pulling him up into his arms as Weasel supported Lloyd’s head and shoulders.

They moved quickly then, carefully placing Lloyd on the stretcher, strapping him in and then bolting for the back of the waiting ambulance.

The cop stood beside her car, blue lights flashing and radio squawking as Weasel and Bucket closed the rear doors.

Bucket had just waved the okay to the waiting cop and was turning to open the driver’s side door when their walkies exploded into a series of long tones. Everyone froze, listening as the communicator’s voice began to give the call.

“All units, West Bradford Avenue and Carter. Please respond to a 10-32. Shots fired at 2230 West Bradford Avenue. EMS-1, please start your unit toward that area, as well, but don’t attempt to enter the building. Stand by until the scene is signal 50.”

Weasel keyed his mike. “EMS-1 en route to deliver a patient to 114 Sheeler. We’ll proceed from there.”

“EMS-1, 10-4.”

The young cop was gone, spinning out of Uncle Louie’s driveway and into the road with lights flashing. As she pulled onto Lancaster Avenue, I heard her start the siren. This was a big-shit call. Shots fired in Glenn Ford—now, how often did that happen?

Weasel and Paint Bucket were already inside the ambulance and starting to back down the driveway when I called after them.

“What’s up?”

“Something at St. Anthony’s Lodge,” Bucket called. “Don’t worry. They’re still shooting it out over there. We’ve got time to get Lloyd to Weasel’s uncle.”

It took less than a second for their words to register. Nina was wrestling at the lodge. Spike was there with her. Who’d been shot?

The ambulance roared off out of the driveway, and I turned back to see Aunt Lucy and Jake hastily conferring.

“Take my car. It’s the last in the driveway. Go see about your cousin,” Aunt Lucy said. Her face was so pale it scared me.

“How do you know she’s—”

Aunt Lucy interrupted. “The house is wired for sound, honey. I heard every word you said. I just couldn’t answer you. I was tied up.”

I nodded, knowing there was no time for explanations, and ran for the car. As I passed Jake, I grabbed his arm. “Take care of her,” I said. “She shouldn’t be dealing with all of this.”

Jake nodded, his expression unreadable, and turned to my aunt. “Let’s get you something to drink,” I heard him say. “How about a cup of tea?”

I rolled down the driveway and started toward the social club. I spent the next ten minutes weaving in and out of blocked streets and alleyways, trying to get close to St. Anthony’s and finding every access blocked by police or volunteer firefighters.

Finally I spotted Paint Bucket and Weasel’s ambulance and pulled up behind it. They’d come to a dead halt on Bradford Avenue. Before us lay an undulating sea of moving light bars, and beyond that stood barricades and uniformed officers.

“Holy shit!” I muttered under my breath. I jumped out of the Buick, disregarding a young patrol officer who scowled and started moving toward me. When I reached the ambulance, he backed off and watched.

“Yeah, that’s right, sport, I’m a doctor,” I muttered under my breath.

Paint Bucket and Weasel were out of the vehicle, being briefed.

“I’ll let you in after we’re sure it’s clear,” a plainclothes officer was saying. “We know there’s at least one victim, but who can tell? The word is, when he pulled out his gun and announced he was robbing the place, every goomba in town started shooting. What kind of idiot would rob St. Anthony’s?”

I looked toward the club. Maybe the guy had a death wish. Maybe he wasn’t Italian. Maybe he didn’t know the code name for an Italian social club, and maybe he didn’t know we take care of our own, connected or not.

“So he’s dead?” Weasel asked.

The officer shook his head. “No, it’s a fuckin’ nightmare. He grabbed some woman like a shield and now he’s got hostages.”

Bucket looked back and saw me. He crossed the short distance between us, frowning.

“What are you doing here?”

I nodded toward the lodge. “Nina and Spike are in there,” I answered.

“Oh, man!”

Weasel was still asking the cop questions. “So, you got people in there yet? What’re you doing, sending in doughnuts? Did you send in a cell phone? What?”

The cop shrugged. “Hey, we’re a small department. We called the SBI. I got a guy trying to get the idiot on the phone, but so far he’s refusing.”

“Sharpshooters,” Weasel said. “You got sharpshooters on him?”

The cop gestured toward the lodge. “You see a shot, Weasel? All’s I got are concrete walls and people. Ain’t no shot in there.”

That was all I needed to hear. They didn’t have jack for help, and the clock was ticking. I walked back to the Camaro, felt under the driver’s seat for my Glock and tucked it into the waistband of my jeans. I reached again and brought out my ankle holster, my Lady Smith .38 revolver and a Spyderco knife, vicious with a serrated double-sided blade made for sawing through seat belts and bone.

The young cop who’d been waiting to chew my ass about parking behind emergency vehicles saw his opportunity and moved.

“Ma’am,” he started, “you need to move your vehicle.”

I stared at him. Hard. “Go screw yourself, junior. I’m a cop and you’re a Twinkie.”

His face reddened right up to the top of his bottle-brush haircut. His right hand inched toward the buckle on his holster.

“Why I oughta…”

“What, cupcake, you think you can take me?”

He started for me and I turned my back, but I was ready if he had the balls to make the move.

Bucket saved us both.

“Yo, Freddie!” he cried. “Wait! Don’t you know who that is?”

I looked back over my shoulder and saw the young recruit stop, momentarily thrown by Paint Bucket’s question. He looked at me, then back at Paint Bucket.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize her,” Bucket continued. “Picture her in uniform, with them chromium, double-striped bars.”

Freddie got that deer-in-the-headlights stare that all new recruits get when they haven’t yet memorized the command staff pictures. He gulped.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, Captain, ma’am. I didn’t know it was you!”

I gave him a curt nod. “Just see it doesn’t happen again,” I said sternly. I winked at Bucket, spun on my heel and started walking the perimeter.

I hadn’t gone ten yards when I heard footsteps pounding up behind me. Freddie, the recruit, was back.

I stopped, waited for him to catch up and raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Officer?”

Freddie, red-faced and out of breath, brought himself up short. “Ma’am, I was just coming along to assist you with…” He stopped, maybe noting the look on my face or the Glock in my waistband. “Well, you know, with whatever you may need assisting with, maybe, but not like you really would or nothin’.”

I almost bit his head off before realizing that it would be a lot easier to go behind the yellow crime-scene tape if it looked as if I had an official capacity. Freddie, being uniformed, was my ticket to go wherever I wanted. It was brilliant.

“Okay,” I said.

I tried to relax my face into an expression that would frighten the young guy less, but that seemed impossible. He stuttered and stumbled along behind me. He’d dash ahead whenever he saw an obstacle in my path and make such a fuss over its removal that I usually passed by unnoticed. Freddie was a great diversion. Everybody was too busy watching him trip and bumble to worry about me.

I slowly cased St. Anthony’s Lodge. The front entrance was covered over with cops, all waiting for direction. I studied the long, concrete-walled sides of the rectangular building. An alleyway led down either side of the club, back to the parking lot and the service entrance to the building.

“Freddie,” I asked, “is it just one shooter, or do they think there’s more?”

Freddie, too new to realize a captain would know this information long before a street-level officer, puffed out his chest importantly.

“They’re thinking two guys, at least,” he answered.

Okay, two, maybe more. I eyed the building and tried to think like a moron, because only a moron would rob an Italian social club in full swing. If it was just me, I’d take a hostage and try to work my way out of the building. I’d go out through the kitchen and hope to boost a car, or have one already in place. If I pulled the job with another guy, it would likely be the same plan, only there’d be backup.

I walked down the alleyway, noting the roof of the building next to the club. No sharpshooters. The SBI would send a team, but until then the place was wide open. I kept on going, walking as if I belonged on-site, nodding now and then to Freddie or any other officer who made eye contact.

I spotted two cops in the back lot, positioned behind parked cars, just waiting for the order to storm the back entrance. I knew they were itching to throw in tear gas or any number of evil and deadly tactical grenades they’d been trained to use. Trouble with that was, they’d never been on a live scene before, never had to face the consequences when a good move went way wrong. I had. I’d seen it, done it and thanked my lucky stars for the number of near misses we’d had on the Garden Beach Special Response Team. Glenn Ford was too small to have done much more than watch training films.

I studied the back entrance for a full three minutes, noting the absence of a lookout. The door led into the commercial kitchen and was propped open by a metal milk crate. At the sound of the first gunshot, I imagined every employee had fled through that door to the relative freedom of the parking lot.

I looked back at the two cops in the lot. I figured they’d been instructed to wait for the SBI backup to arrive before moving forward and possibly getting themselves and the hostages killed. I applauded the wiser head behind that order. It was good work on somebody’s part to recognize what they couldn’t handle and wait for help.

I kept watching the kitchen door. Nina and Spike might not have the kind of time it took for a SWAT team to mobilize and respond. I knew what to do and I knew how to do it. The first step was to lose Freddie the Cop.

I shrugged out of my sweat jacket, tossed it to the boy and said, “I’ll be right back. Cover the back door from here, and tell those other guys I said to stay put. Got it?”

I didn’t listen to the stammered protest. I was off, sprinting toward the kitchen. I took the three steps up to the back door in one leap, then slipped into place beside the entrance. I pulled the Glock and took my first fast peek into the kitchen. Empty, just as I’d thought.

I eased through the door, ducked sideways into an open pantry and waited for my heart rate to slow down. The adrenaline was surging through my body. I was aware of nothing other than the task before me. Take out the obstacles. Get Nina and Spike to safety. Everything else was irrelevant.

I looked at the open metal shelving, scanning the bottles of olive oil and the cans of tomatoes and vegetables before I found what I wanted. A green apron with St. Anthony’s neatly embroidered in raised white letters lay on the bottom shelf. Bingo.

I tied the apron around my waist. My heart was still pounding hard against my rib cage, but to my mind, the rush only made me sharper, more alert. I liked to think that with that much excess energy flowing, I had superpowers. My vision and hearing were more acute. My response time was faster. I was strong, and because my cousin was in danger, I was fearless.

I slipped out of the pantry and moved toward the swinging doors that led into the main body of the social club. I stopped just short of the doorway and listened.

“Bastard,” I heard one man mutter. “Just let me get a clear shot and he’s mine.” A woman sobbed, deep, shuddering cries that served as a muffled backdrop to other voices, all muted. The threat was very real.

I eased up to the door and pushed gently. It opened just a crack so I could look out into the room and try to get a feel for the layout and location of the gunman. I reached back, pulled out my gun and shoved it deep inside my apron pocket.

I pushed the door another two inches, trying to get a good look at the room.

I froze, feeling stale, hot breath on my neck and a cold ring of steel against my side.

“Don’t fucking move!”

The man behind me reached up, snatched my hair in one hand and pushed me forward against the swinging door, shoving so hard that my face slammed into the wooden panels and tears sprang to my eyes.

So much for sneaking up on the situation. Where the hell had he come from?

“Ouch!” I cried. “Let me go!”

With another jerk, he brought my head up and pulled me back against his thick chest. I saw the people lined against the far wall, held at bay by a second gunman.

“Look, Stan,” my captor cried, “Is this not one of them, too?”

His accent caught my attention. He spoke in thick, guttural syllables that quickly identified him as a foreigner, perhaps central European. I wasn’t an expert on foreign language.

I didn’t move. I let my body respond the way it wanted, with quivers and tears and any accessory I could release to make me look like frightened kitchen help. It wasn’t hard to look scared. Straight ahead, maybe twenty feet away, stood a small blond man. In front of him stood my cousin, coated in chocolate pudding except for the tear streaks that ran unchecked down her face.

The little man held an ugly black military knife to Nina’s throat. A thin trickle of blood ran down her neck and across her captor’s hand. She looked terrified. Ten feet off to the man’s side, at the edge of the crowd, stood Spike, her eyes riveted on Nina’s face, her own expression tortured as she watched her lover being held hostage.

“Well,” Nina’s captor said, “I think she is looking familiar. Good. Now anybody tries the monkey business, they lose.” He turned his attention to me. “What is your name, please?”

I swallowed the bile that rose up in my throat. “Margie,” I lied.

“I believe that is not true,” he said calmly.

I stared at the little man, puzzled.

“Do I know you?”

The man behind me tightened his grip around my neck. He smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. I wanted to gag but instead forced myself to look out at the room in front of me. I figured there were close to one hundred people in the room, mainly men, and they all looked homicidal.

As I studied the group, I noticed five men who stuck out because there wasn’t a glimmer of fear in their eyes. They weren’t scared; they were angry. They stood, positioned defensively, around an older man with white hair. Tony Manello. Tony wasn’t scared, either, in fact, he seemed to be giving Nina’s captor a silent promise. Tony Manello had issued a death sentence, and all that stood between him or his men and Stan the gunman’s demise was opportunity.

It was a very volatile situation and the only thing keeping our captors alive was the fact that each man held a female hostage. If anyone figured they had a shot, and I prayed they didn’t, the place would erupt like a volcano.

“What do you want with us?” I asked.

Nina’s head whipped forward and her eyes widened. The good news was she was still with it enough to know better than to cry out.

“Keep your gun on her,” Stan instructed. He glared at me, motioning with his head toward the bar behind him. “Come pour me a shot of Stoli. Perhaps we talk.”

I nodded, looking for all the world like a shaken schoolgirl. “Is that vodka?” I asked innocently.

Stan ran the tip of his knife blade down Nina’s neck, and a thin trickle of blood appeared. My captor’s grip loosened. With a shrug I was free and running toward the bar. No more questions. These men weren’t playing.

I had a plan, but working it and keeping the three of us alive was going to take some doing. I studied my main target. On any given day, with one arm strapped to my side, I could’ve beaten him. He’d only evened up the odds by taking Nina hostage.

He was bony, with a paunch that was only half-hidden by Nina’s slim body. He looked to be in his midfifties with pale watery eyes and pasty white skin. He was dressed in khaki pants, a plaid shirt and low-cut boots. What was he doing here? Surely he hadn’t come to rob the club? He had to be an outsider to risk robbing a known Mafia hangout. What a fool.

I stepped closer, noticed the tremor in his hands and prayed he didn’t slip and slit Nina’s throat.

“Straight up?” I asked. “Or on the rocks?”

Stan looked in my direction for a brief second. “Straight up, a double.”

Nina squirmed slightly in Stan’s arms and he gripped her tighter around the waist.

“I told you not to move!”

“I can’t help it! The chocolate pudding’s starting to dry and it’s making me itch.”

Stan swore softly, words I couldn’t quite make out, but definitely not English.

I stood behind the counter, pretending to search for vodka and looked into the bar back mirror. The other gunman had his weapon aimed at my body. I could also see Spike slowly inching closer to Stan and Nina.

“What is taking so long?” Stan demanded.

“I’m sorry. I had a little trouble finding it.”

I poured the shot and walked down the bar to come up behind him, hoping I might be able to squeeze a round into his head without hitting Nina.

Stan was the cautious type. “Not that way,” he growled. “Come around front.”

I did as he said, holding the glass of vodka out in front of my body at arm’s length. Time for Plan B.

When I reached him, my script abruptly changed. Nina squirmed slightly and Stan reacted.

“You itch? I’m gonna scratch it.” His forearm tightened slightly and I knew he planned to slit her throat.

He started to take the shot of vodka from my hand, maybe intending to drink it as false courage. But before he could grab it, I flung the glass, aiming for his eyes, knowing the gunman behind me would take a shot but having no other option. There was no time to pull out my gun. I had to disarm him before he stabbed Nina.

I sprang forward and slipped both hands up, inside and behind his wrist. I pulled as hard as I could on Stan’s arm. Nina ducked down, screaming. I jerked Stan’s hand toward my body, using both hands to roll his knife hand down and back, twisting it painfully against his wrist. Shots rang out. Behind me something fell heavily to the floor. Stan’s wrist snapped, and the knife fell free.

Spike leaped, grabbed Nina and jerked her out of the way. Stan wasn’t finished fighting. His uninjured left hand came up in a fist and cuffed my ear with a nasty punch that made stars swim before my eyes. Behind me, all hell was breaking loose as the members of St. Anthony’s went on the attack. Stan, taking advantage of my temporary disorientation, spun me around to shield his miserable body.

“That was a mistake,” he whispered. “I have this also.”

I felt the cold metallic ring of a gun’s muzzle jab hard into my side.

I saw Spike shove Nina behind her and watched as the small group of Manello’s men slowly moved in to hide the two women with their massive bodies.

“Everybody get back!” Stan cried, waving his Ruger. “I will kill her if you move again!”

The crowd froze. For the first time I noticed the body lying on the floor. Stan stiffened.

“Who did this?” he yelled. “Who shot him?”

I eased my hand into my apron pocket, pulling out the Glock as I simultaneously brought my left arm up and inside his with a quick, sharp thrust. For a moment, Stan’s hold on my neck was broken. I spun, out and away from my captor and turned to face him. I held the Glock up even with his body and smiled.

Stan reacted without thinking. He held the Ruger in his uninjured hand, slowly turning it and edging the gun into firing position.

“Don’t do it!”

As his finger tightened on the trigger, I fired.

Stan screamed and crumpled to the floor in front of me. The room exploded into a chaotic frenzy of Italian testosterone. Cops and SWAT team members blew in through the front and back doors simultaneously.

In the resulting pandemonium, I dropped my gun arm to my side, slipped the Glock back into my apron and backed away.

A man brushed past me, bent over Stan, then looked up past the surrounding crowd and out toward the door.

“I think he’s still breathing,” he yelled. “Get the EMTs!”

One of the few women in the room stepped forward and sighed heavily. “I’m a doctor. Let me look at him.”

Weasel and Paint Bucket were making their way through the crowd of onlookers, bags in hand. The doctor knelt, ripped away the shredded clothing surrounding Stan’s wound and began CPR.

A voice, low and male, murmured in my ear. “Get out of here.”

I swung around to face one of Tony Manello’s men. He nodded slightly toward the back door and turned away from me. I felt the pressure of Spike’s hand on my arm, turned and realized she had heard him, too. Nina, her face ashen, seemed oblivious to anything other than Spike’s instructions. Without another word, the three of us used the chaos of the crowd to make our escape.

“What the hell happened here?” I asked.

Nina said nothing. She was trembling despite Spike’s jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Spike shook her head.

“I think Nina stumbled onto something gone wrong. It happened so fast. One minute she was going back to the dressing rooms to take a shower—the next she was a hostage. I don’t know how it happened!”

We stepped out into the parking lot where Freddie the recruit spotted us immediately.

“Captain,” he called, waving. “I got your jacket!”

“Captain?” Spike echoed softly.

“Just go along with it,” I muttered.

I straightened up and stepped away from Spike and Nina. I took the jacket Freddie held so willingly and smiled at him. “Thanks, Officer,” I said. “I’ve got to get these two checked out at the hospital. Listen, do me a favor?”

Freddie was only too happy to do anything his newly beloved captain requested. “Yes, ma’am?”

“How about clearing a path behind my unit so I can get the hell out of here?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he answered, setting off at a trot.

“Oh, no, you didn’t!” Spike gasped.

“Oh, no, I didn’t,” I answered. “He just made a couple of assumptions, that’s all.”

Nina looked up at the two of us, her eyes wide. “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she cried, coming to a dead halt in the middle of Bradford Avenue. “Really, I mean it! Stop!”

“Nina,” I soothed, “Shh. We’re not going to the hospital. We’re going home. I’m just playing a game with that guy. Don’t worry.”

Nina’s eyes were frightened, dark pools. “We won’t be safe there, either!” she whispered. “He’ll find us.”

“Who, honey?” I asked, but Nina clammed up then, refusing to say another word. She buried her head in Spike’s shoulder and started crying.

“Let’s get her home,” Spike said. “I think she’ll be all right if we can get her back in her normal surroundings.”

I turned around and kept on walking toward Aunt Lucy’s Buick. I was mentally shaking myself. I should never have sent Nina to St. Anthony’s. I hadn’t seen the potential danger. I’d thought she’d ask a few simple questions, listen to the gossip going around town about Tony Manello and come home safe and sound. What had gone so terribly wrong? Who were the two dead men? What was their part in all this?

Freddie had completed his assignment by the time I reached him. The street behind Aunt Lucy’s Buick was cleared of vehicles and his patrol car was positioned in front of it like a lighted beacon.

“Okay, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll get us to the hospital.”

Shit.

“No, Officer, that’s not necessary,” I answered. “I need you here. Start a log. I need the names and addresses of all the people inside the club, as well as those who were here waiting when you arrived.”

Freddie’s face fell. “But, ma’am, that’ll take all night.”

“Officer, do I hear reluctance in your voice?”

Freddie stiffened, instantly remorseful. “Oh, no, ma’am!”

I nodded. “Good,” I said, “because this is not a task I would entrust to just anyone. Usually I’d use an officer with more experience, but you’ve proven yourself to me. I’d hate to think my trust was unfounded.”

“Oh, no, sir—ma’am!” Freddie snapped. “I’m on it, Captain!”

I heard Spike snicker softly behind me.

“Thank you, Sergeant, er, I mean Patrolman!”

I let the slip linger between us just long enough for Freddie to feel the lure of promotion in the air, then turned away and climbed into Aunt Lucy’s car.

Some days are just easier than others, I thought.

Chapter 15

I wasn’t sure it was at all wise to return to Aunt Lucy’s house, but then I started thinking. Even if the cops showed up looking for me, they’d never suspect my aunt’s tiny row house of harboring its subterranean grotto. If I hadn’t been there and seen it with my own eyes, I would never have thought to seek it out. Nina and Spike were equally incredulous when I told them about it.

“Let me get this straight,” Spike said. “You opened up a hidden door in the laundry room. You then proceeded into a state-of-the-art laboratory where you witnessed your ex-boyfriend killing his estranged wife’s lover? Do I have that right? Is that really what happened?”

I looked at her in the rearview mirror and smiled weakly.

“Something like that, yeah.”

I went back to thinking about our current trouble. Even with one hundred witnesses swearing it was all self-defense, I was developing quite a history with my hometown police department. It wouldn’t take them long to show up at the house, asking questions. In the meantime, Aunt Lucy had a million and one questions to answer.

“Tony Manello was at a table in the back room with those two guys,” Nina said suddenly. Her voice, strong and clear, showed no indication of the shell-shocked girl she’d been minutes before.

“What?”

“I was headed to the locker room when I saw them. They were arguing.”

I pulled into the elementary school driveway and rolled to a stop in the darkest corner of the parking lot. I turned the car off and swiveled to face her.

Nina tried to smile and failed.

“I thought I’d act like old times. You know, walk in the room, say ‘Hi, how you doin’, Mr. Manello,’ and thank him for letting me compete again.”

Spike nodded encouragement and Nina swallowed hard, a tear snaking down her cheek.

“It was a big mess. The little guy said he wasn’t paying any more than Donna asked, especially since she hadn’t shown for the meeting. He said he wanted proof Donna had what was promised. Mr. Manello got mad. He said he was in charge now and the rate had changed. That’s when I walked in. I swear, my hand to God, all’s I did was say ‘Hi, Tony! How ya doin’?’”

Nina smeared a chocolate pudding swirl across her cheeks as she swiped at the runaway tears.

“Mr. Manello says, ‘Sorry for your loss.’ The little guy looked at me, and I looked at him for a second and then I looked again. I was trying to figure out where I’d seen him before.”

“Where had you seen him, Nina?”

“That was the problem,” she whispered. “I didn’t know at first, but then I remembered and he knew I remembered. I stared at him too long, huh?”

“Who was the guy, Nina?” I could feel impatience surging through every nerve ending.

“Remember the bug guys?”

I nodded.

“He was the guy driving the van. I never forget a face, especially if I’ve seen it more than one time, and I saw him twice!”

“Twice?” Spike and I echoed.

“Yeah, remember when those guys broke in and you found them in Uncle Benny’s study?”

“Of course.”

“Well, when I was leaving that morning, there was a car parked across the street. He was the driver. I remember because I went to the mailbox first, to put a card in for Spike, and he had his window open, smoking a cigar. It smelled all the way across the street, and so I gave him a look like, hey, that stinks, and he just grinned at me. He was like, a dirty old man or something!” Nina shivered and huddled closer to Spike.

I couldn’t make sense of it. The men who’d broken in, the ones who’d come to play exterminator, they all had smooth American accents. The two men in St. Anthony’s were definitely not homeboys. How did it all fit together?

“What happened when he knew you’d made him?”

Nina’s eyes closed for a moment, reliving the next scene. “It got crazy then. The little man said something in a foreign language. The next thing I knew, it was like, chaos! That Stan guy came up behind me and grabbed me. The little guy pulled a gun and aimed it at Mr. Manello. He said he didn’t need Mr. Manello now. He figured he had something to bargain with. That’s when he took me and started backing out of the room. Tony’s men were right behind him, but nobody could do anything without shooting me.”

Nina exhaled loudly. “I guess they didn’t want to shoot me, huh?”

Spike gave Nina a hug. I reached into the back seat and touched her knee.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I didn’t ever think there’d be any danger in asking a few questions.”

Nina shook her head. “But I didn’t even get to ask anybody anything! I totally blew it!”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” I said. “You found out way more than I expected.”

Nina frowned. “I did?”

“Yeah. Tony Manello is trying to sell something that his daughter had. He’s trying to sell it to people who want it so bad they’ll take big risks to get it. Must be important, whatever it is. I’m thinking it might be best for us to lay low for a little while,” I said. “Maybe stay down in the basement until we figure out what’s going on.”

Spike twisted in her seat, turning so she faced me.

“I don’t know who’s breaking in to your aunt’s house or what they want, but I know it’s not over with. And I’ll tell you another thing—I don’t trust Jake Carpenter. I don’t know the guy. I’m just basing this on what you’ve told me and the fact that he’s hands off to the police. I’d watch your back when you’re around him.”

I laughed, but not because I found the concept funny. Jake was one hell of a frightening prospect. I’d seen the way he’d looked into my eyes right before his shop exploded, when he’d been about to kiss me. In that one moment, he was all about me, all about the passion, desire, and raw heat that surged between us. But I’d also seen the look in his eyes after he’d shot his wife’s lover. There had been nothing but cool killer instinct mirrored there then. What made him the kind of human being who could kill without hesitation or remorse? Who had he become in the eleven years I’d been away?

It was after midnight when I rounded the corner onto Aunt Lucy’s street, slowed to a crawl and looked for signs of trouble. The row house looked just as it always did, neat and tidy, no more or less of a home than any of the other Mary Street row houses. There was no evidence that anyone was lurking outside, waiting for our return, no sign of intruders and no signs that anything inside was out of the ordinary. The light was on over the kitchen window, another spot gleamed over the back stoop and Aunt Lucy stood waiting in the kitchen door as we pulled into the driveway.

I wasn’t the only one looking over my shoulder as we hustled toward the house. Spike and Nina both cast worried looks back toward the street.

Aunt Lucy mirrored our anxiety, but for different reasons I supposed.

“We need to go downstairs,” she said before we’d even crossed the threshold. “The cops’ll be coming any time now.”

I braced myself for more bad news. “Why?”

Aunt Lucy’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you just shoot someone?” she asked.

The three of us stared at her in amazement.

“Aunt Lucy,” I said. “How do you know that?”

Nina touched Aunt Lucy’s plump arm. “You really do have psychic powers, don’t you?” she breathed.

Aunt Lucy shook her head impatiently. “No,” she snapped. “I am not an alien. I do not have extrasensory powers. What I do have, in case you’ve forgotten, is a police scanner and good friends who keep me informed. Jake’s grandmother called.”

Spike smiled. Nina nodded and Aunt Lucy held open the basement door. “Let’s go, ladies,” she said.

Aunt Lucy was not the same woman I’d left leaning on Jake’s arm in the driveway. She seemed taller, probably because she even seemed to be standing straighter, and she walked with a decisive stride that left no doubt she was in complete charge of our situation.

We followed her like soldiers following a platoon leader, down into the basement, through Uncle Benny’s workshop and behind the panel in the laundry room wall. When we emerged into the well lit lab, Nina and Spike both gasped.

Jake was gone. Ron’s body was gone also. Gone, too, were the signs of death, the blood and spattered brain matter on the wall and the heavy cloying scent of blood. The room smelled of bleach and disinfecting cleansers. The only remaining sign of the violence was a nicked area in the cinder-block wall where the bullet had lodged, but even the spent slug had been removed.

It was almost as if I had imagined the entire scene, and for a moment I wondered what it would feel like to erase the videotape of Ron’s death that seemed to play in a continuous loop inside my head. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I forced myself to inspect the entire room, focusing on everything but the spot where Ron had died.

“Where’s Jake?” I asked.

“He should be back any time now,” Aunt Lucy answered. She forced a small smile, a mere shadow of the carefree aunt we knew, and gestured toward a table at one end of the room. It was made of the same gleaming stainless steel that made up most of the lab’s shelving and countertops. Six chairs, also stainless but padded with white vinyl cushions, sat around the table, perfectly positioned with evenly measured spacing between each one.

“Have a seat, girls,” Aunt Lucy said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“No shit,” I muttered under my breath. “There’s a whole lot you need to be telling us!”

I wanted a drink, but in this sanitary shrine to stainless steel I doubted we’d find much more than denatured alcohol or some other tasteless, odorless fluid that would probably kill us before we swallowed. The place just had that kind of feel to it.

I couldn’t imagine sitting a bottle of Wild Turkey in the middle of that shiny table, then pouring shots. Somehow the brown of the bourbon clashed with the sanitation factor. I figured I might spill a drop of liquor on the table only to have it vaporize instantly in a loud, offended sizzle of steam. No, there would be no Wild Turkey here, just cold, hard reality dispensed clinically in unimaginably large doses.

We were sitting on either side of the lab table with Aunt Lucy taking the lead spot on one end. I saw Nina’s arm move slightly toward Spike and knew they were holding hands.

“You’re probably wondering about this place,” Aunt Lucy said, gesturing to the lab and its contents. We all nodded and she continued. “Well, it’s a little bit complicated, but to make a long story short, it was a gift.”

“Whoa,” Nina sighed. “You must’ve really squirreled some money away to give Uncle Benny a present like this!”

Aunt Lucy shook her head. “No, I didn’t give it to your uncle, honey. It was a gift to both of us, from the government.”

“Shut up!” Nina cried. “I heard accountants at the IRS only get watches when they retire! I knew this guy, he was there like forty-five years and all he—”

Spike patted Nina’s knee. “Honey,” she whispered, “let your aunt tell her story, okay?”

Aunt Lucy ignored the two of them.

“When you came to live with us, Stella, you know I retired from my job, but I guess I never could really stop being a chemist.”

I thought about the bottles in Aunt Lucy’s bathroom and smiled. Of course she’d continued her work.

“What kinds of things did you make?” Spike asked.

Aunt Lucy shrugged. “Cleaners. A formula for hair growth that worked pretty well, but it had a couple of side effects that made it impractical.”

“Side effects?” I asked. “Like what?”

Aunt Lucy’s face turned bright red, and she stared down at her reflection in the stainless-steel table. A tiny grin popped out and I watched her bite her lip for control.

“Let’s just say it killed two birds with one stone,” she said. “Think Viagra for bald men.”

“Oh. My. God!” Nina gasped. “Uncle Benny?”

Aunt Lucy frowned. “Is there a problem, young lady?”

“Nothing,” Nina said. “Not a thing. I’m not saying another word!”

I interrupted. “I don’t see what that has to do with all the chaos around here or Uncle Benny’s death. Why was Jake’s mechanic here? What was he trying to get you to give him?”

“Like I said,” Aunt Lucy continued, “I kept inventing little things, nothing very earth-shattering or important, until three years ago. That’s when I stumbled on something I knew would be very dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“What was it?” Nina asked.

“Well, it was supposed to be fish stink.”

“What?” the three of us exclaimed in the same breath.

“Yep,” she nodded. “Fish stink. You know how your uncle loved to fish. Well, I was trying to help him develop a scent that would fool fish into thinking his artificial bait was the real thing, and irresistible to boot!”

The three of us stared at her. Fish stink? Not a cure for cancer? Not a nuclear missile? Not a device to detect alien life-forms in other galaxies? Fish stink, pure and simple.

Aunt Lucy seemed embarrassed. “At the time I didn’t realize what I’d done. You see, it turns out that the byproduct of my fish-stink spray is that it caused rapid, short-term loss of memory and removed all but the most basic brainstem functioning in humans.”

“Aunt Lucy, how did—?”

She cut me off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Really, dear, looking back on the process, it was quite simple, I mean, for a chemist. I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand. Besides, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She chuckled at her own joke, but the rest of us weren’t at all sure she was kidding, not this new and improved version of our Aunt Lucy.

“It scared your uncle half to death,” she said. “He came in to the kitchen and found me babbling like a baby. The first three times it happened he took me to the emergency room. They thought I’d had a stroke, but of course they never found a thing. It was just the spray,” she said. “Eight hours later, I was back to my old self. I just couldn’t remember how it happened, that’s all!”

“So how did—?”

“Stella, you are so impatient! Just let me tell you!” Aunt Lucy paused long enough to take a sip of water from the glass sitting beside her, then went back to her story.

“Your uncle and Jake were the ones who figured it out.” She looked at me apologetically. “I know you don’t like him, honey, but Jake and your uncle were very close. You know, he was the one who found out Jake was going to el—” She stopped, midword, and flushed. “Anyway…”

“Aunt Lucy, you and Uncle Benny knew we were going to elope?” I felt my heart leap to my throat. No one knew. I couldn’t stand that they knew I’d planned to betray them.

She looked at me, read the feelings on my face and smiled gently. “Oh, honey,” she said. “Young people do foolish things—it’s part and parcel of growing up. Jake’s grandmother found a note you’d written in Jake’s book bag so she called your uncle. When he couldn’t find you, he talked to Jake and…”

“But nobody ever talked to me!” I cried.

Aunt Lucy’s face clouded over for a second. “I didn’t see the point in embarrassing you,” she murmured. “When your uncle talked to him, Jake said you called it off. He said you’d broken up with him the day before. He said it was all his fault and you wouldn’t have it.” She sighed. “I figured you’d talk about it if you wanted to and we should leave you alone until then.”

“Shut up!” Nina breathed behind me.

I swallowed, hard. Why hadn’t Jake told me this? Had he been embarrassed, or covering for my uncle? As much as I wanted to, this wasn’t the time to deal with Jake. “What happened with your invention?”

Aunt Lucy nodded slightly, as if we had a silent agreement to continue the other discussion later.

“I’m still working on it. We’re working on a uniform method of delivery now. Every so often, Benny gives—I mean, gave—a report of my progress to his liaison, and they’d either ask for a modification or tell me to keep on going.”

Nina’s eyes were saucers. “You’re a spy?” she gasped.

Aunt Lucy frowned. “Oh, hell no, Nina! I’m just a scientist.”

“Then what…”

Aunt Lucy gave Nina a rock steady stare that discouraged any further questions.

“Like I said, it was and still is, highly classified.” We all got the look, and one by one, we each nodded our acknowledgment. When she was satisfied, Aunt Lucy continued.

“I didn’t think anyone would ever find out. We were so careful. Your uncle even pretended to go into business with Jake so no one would question our extra cash flow.” Her face fell. “Of course, Jake trusted Donna. He never thought she’d try and steal the formula.” Aunt Lucy sighed. “She was just so hungry to please that awful man!”

“Who, Jake?” I asked.

She shook her head impatiently. “No, honey, her father. Donna’s spent most of her life trying to be the son he never had, and look where it got her! It’s obvious to me she told Ron and her father about the formula. A spray like mine is very valuable, especially if sold to the wrong people.”

Aunt Lucy looked down at her hands, twisting the ring on her left hand in anxious circles. A look of unbearable sadness crossed her face. “I wish I’d never discovered that formula,” she murmured.

“You can’t blame yourself, Aunt Lucy,” I said. “You didn’t mean to have this happen. It was an accident.”

“Honey,” she said, “accident or not, don’t you realize what a spray like that can do? What use our military or undercover operatives could make of such a spray?”

None of us answered her.

“If that stuff is developed for large-scale administration, you could spray an advancing army,” she said. “In a single moment they would forget their mission, their names—they would be reduced to intellectual infancy. There would be chaos without a single shot ever being fired. Or suppose an undercover mission went wrong and an agent was discovered by a civilian, or worse, an enemy. You have the capability to remove all traces of your existence from their mind.”

“Like Men in Black?” Nina cried. “They look at your pen, and bada-bing, you’re a vegetable?”

Aunt Lucy frowned. “Not exactly. It’s a spray, an odorless, colorless mist. It can be delivered in a way that prevents anyone from knowing it’s been used.”

“Damn!” Spike cried. “That is so dangerous!”

“Exactly,” my aunt answered. “That’s why it was so important that the formula not be discovered by other countries or found by criminals or terrorists.”

I jumped ahead. “But Donna Manello found out about the formula and decided to steal it, didn’t she? Why did Jake ever trust her?”

Aunt Lucy shook her head. “None of us thought she knew,” she said softly. “We didn’t tell anyone, not even you, Stella. Jake said we shouldn’t. He said it would put us all in further danger.”

“Jesus, Aunt Lucy!”

I couldn’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. If I’d known earlier, perhaps I could’ve averted some of the recent dangers. I didn’t know what Jake’s role had been, but it was obvious he’d dropped the ball.

“Jake knew and we didn’t?” I blurted.

Aunt Lucy nodded.

“Why did you turn to him and not me?” Then I had another thought. “Oh, don’t tell me. He works for the CIA, too?”

Nina, Spike and I all held our collective breath, waiting to hear the explanation for Aunt Lucy and Uncle Benny confiding in an outsider before trusting family.

“No,” Aunt Lucy said. “We came up with Jake on our own.” She sighed. “You know, girls, it’s not like you think. Your uncle Benny worked in a CIA lab for years. He knew the way things worked, and believe me, it wasn’t as glamorous or exciting as you think.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought he worked for the Agriculture Department.”

Aunt Lucy smiled. “Honey, do you actually think your uncle would go around saying he worked for the CIA? It may not have been a glamour job, but it was still highly classified.”

“Did you work for them, too?” I asked.

Aunt Lucy laughed. “No, honey. I really did work for the Agriculture Department. I’m the reason cows don’t get athlete’s foot,” she chuckled and corrected herself. “Well, whatever the cow equivalent is for athlete’s foot. I developed a fungicide to treat their hooves.”

Spike brought us back to the subject at hand. “Why were you still working on the formula?” she asked. “Why didn’t they take over?”

Aunt Lucy’s serious expression returned. “I told them the formula wasn’t finished. I needed to develop it into a more uniform and reliable agent and refine the method of administration. Since I was the original chemist, and since Uncle Benny already worked with the agency, they agreed to let both of us finish the initial study.

“They thought it would be in everyone’s best interest if I worked here. It was easier to keep the discovery a secret that way. I mean, who would think to look for a top secret weapon here?”

She smiled at us and seemed to realize how overwhelmed we were with this new reality. Our aunt was not a dingbat; she was a brilliant chemist who’d discovered something absolutely terrifying.

“What about Jake?” I asked again. “What do you mean, he was your idea?”

Aunt Lucy nodded, clearly relieved to be able to tell us what she could. “Well, we knew Jake was having a tough time of it at the shop. We didn’t know why. I mean, we all knew he and Donna weren’t getting along. We didn’t know she was skimming money from the business, but we knew something was very wrong. I guess it made sense.”

“What made sense?”

“Well, that your uncle, knowing Jake had been in special operations in the service and needed the extra money, offered him the job.”

“What job?” I felt as if I would lose my mind if it took much longer to get to the bottom of Jake’s relationship with my uncle.

“Why, your uncle asked him to be our security. I mean, he asked Jake first, then got the agency to hire him on. He was strictly freelance. Benny figured it would attract less attention than having agents involved. I know they try to be surreptitious, but a government agent is a government agent.”

I thought about Weasel’s description of the two men who’d come to rescue the bug guys from jail, then thought about the phony exterminators. Of course, the shiny shoes, the flattops, the dark suit, it was the stereotypical government spy uniform. Aunt Lucy was right; Jake looked nothing like that kind of agent.

“But wouldn’t you and Uncle Benny have been safer with someone who had real training?”

Aunt Lucy’s face registered surprise. “Honey, Jake is as trained as they come! He was Delta Force, you know. He can kill a man fifteen ways and him not know he’s dead!”

Spike smiled behind her hand.

Aunt Lucy looked sad again. “We thought we were being so careful. We just didn’t think Jake’s wife would turn on him like that. We didn’t think she could find out. Now your uncle’s dead.” She stared up at us. “This is all my fault.”

“No, Aunt Lucy,” I murmured. “You couldn’t have seen this coming. How did Jake’s wife find out anyway?”

Aunt Lucy shrugged. “We think she overheard Jake and Benny talking, or maybe Valerie aroused her curiosity. We just don’t know. Jake didn’t want to think Donna was involved at first, but after what happened tonight, I guess…Well, I doubt that man knew about the formula without Donna telling him.”

“Who is this Valerie you keep mentioning?” Spike asked, recapturing my attention.

“She was the liaison agent between us and the CIA,” Aunt Lucy answered.

I thought of the woman in Jake’s shop, the one I’d imagined as my uncle’s paramour, and felt like an idiot. I should’ve known Uncle Benny wouldn’t have an affair! I pictured Ron and Donna, running off together with their big plan to steal the formula and sell it to the highest bidder. Ron was dead now, but where was Donna?

I leaned forward, waiting to capture my aunt’s attention, but got distracted when a bell began loudly ringing.

We all froze, listening. My aunt, finger to her lips, got up and moved silently to a small TV discreetly positioned on a corner wall mount. She picked up a remote, pushed a series of buttons and in a few moments we were presented with the image of Detectives Slovineck and Poltrone at the front door.

“What should we do?” Nina whispered. “Should we mist them or something?”

Aunt Lucy frowned and shook her head. She hit another button on the remote, and the room was filled with the two detectives’ voices.

“The car’s still warm,” Detective Poltrone was saying. “You know she’s in there.”

Detective Slovineck sighed. “Well, I guess one of us goes to get the warrant while the other one stays here at the house.”

As we watched, the two detectives suddenly held out their hands. “Rock, paper, scissors,” Slovineck intoned somberly.

Poltrone lost and headed for the unmarked Crown Vic. “I’ll be back as soon as I wake up the judge,” she called over her shoulder.

“Better you than me,” Slovineck answered. He turned and started down the stairs, then stopped and lowered himself down onto the top step of Aunt Lucy’s stoop. “Rock, paper, scissors, my ass,” we heard him mutter under his breath. “You always stick out two fingers, Poltrone. You’re like the sun, predictable.”

“Aunt Lucy,” I said, “When is Jake due back?”

The last thing Jake needed was to run into the cops. The last thing any of us needed at this moment was the police.

Aunt Lucy smiled grimly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “He’ll know about them long before he reaches the house. Even then he wouldn’t have any trouble working his way inside.”

I was going to ask her how, but another bell sounded, a high shrill tone that seemed to emanate from a bread box on the counter. Aunt Lucy turned slightly, her attention still on the screen showing the front steps, and hit a button on the remote. The voice that filled the lab was unmistakable.

“Lucia?” Mrs. Cozzone’s voice filled every crevice of the cavernous room.

“Si,” Aunt Lucy answered.

I looked at my watch. It was now really late. What was that old witch doing calling my aunt at this hour?

“I am sorry for your loss,” she said, her voice softening into an almost tolerable grind. “I will light two candles for you, one at noon and one at 7:00 p.m.”

Aunt Lucy nodded, fingering the buttons on the remote. “Si, bene.”

“I should tell you,” Mrs. Cozzone continued. “Tony Manello is going around town spending money like he has it. I will pray for him, too. He was never a good man, but now he is too happy. He told me he’s betting on a long shot to win and asked me to pray for him. I will pray, all right, but not for him!”

“Grazie,” Aunt Lucy murmured.

Above our heads, the TV screen split into two scenes, the front stoop and the back porch. I thought I saw shadows move just beyond the back-porch light and squinted in an attempt to see better.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Mrs. Cozzone murmured. “Another casserole perhaps?”

My aunt refused her in an overly polite speech and hung up. Without hesitation she crossed the room to a stainless-steel freezer, pulled open the door and withdrew a tin foil square, Mrs. Cozzone’s casserole. She pulled back the foil, reached into the dish and withdrew a long black gun and two clips of ammunition. She looked at me.

“You know how to use this?” she asked.

“Holy shit!” Nina exclaimed.

“Jesus!” Spike breathed.

“I have my own gun.” I reached into my waistband and withdrew the Glock. Aunt Lucy watched with approval.

“Good,” she said, turning to the others. “Can either of you shoot a gun?” she asked.

Nina’s eyes were wide. “Oh, we are, like, totally against the use of force in a confrontation, I mean…” Her eyes met mine. “Unless it’s totally necessary, of course.”

“I can shoot,” Spike said softly.

We all looked at her and she shrugged. “Well, I was a district attorney,” she said. “Sometimes it got a little hairy, but it’s even worse in L.A.”

Aunt Lucy handed her the frozen weapon and the accompanying magazines.

“Mrs. Cozzone was in the OSS during World War II, she likes talking in code and playing secret agent now and then. Jake says she never quite got over the adrenaline rush of being a spy for the Resistance. Jake uses her to watch the house now and then.”

“That old woman?” How could he seriously think Mrs. Cozzone was even close to sane?

“She’s his grandmother, you know,” Aunt Lucy said in an aside to me. I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know she was his grandmother?”

“Mrs. Cozzone says we’ve got company coming up from the backyard and I don’t think the police are aware of it. We might need to protect that nice detective.”

“From who?” I asked.

“Them,” Aunt Lucy said, pointing to her monitor.

We looked at the right side of the TV screen and saw two heavyset men dressed completely in black. As we watched, they crept silently forward, making complicated gestures with their hands.

“Plan?” Aunt Lucy asked me.

“You take the front door,” I said. “Holler ‘Help!’ and tell him you think we have prowlers.” I turned to Nina. “Use the phone in the kitchen. Stay low. Call 911 and tell them you have a burglar. Tell them they’re breaking in the back door and to hurry.”

I turned to Spike. “How good are you with that?” I asked.

She was struggling to fit the magazine into the butt of the gun and blowing on her fingers to keep her hands nimble enough to move.

“I’m a little rusty,” she admitted, “but I used to be fairly good when the targets weren’t moving.”

Okay, I thought, better than nothing. I nodded. “Then you back me up. Just do what I say and try to stay behind something bullet resistant.”

“Do you know them?” I asked my aunt.

“I never saw either of those two before,” she said. “But Mrs. Cozzone thinks Tony Manello’s involved, so maybe they’re his men. Anything that smells like money would get his attention. He’s got connections and deals going all over the world. It would be just like him to be behind all of this, working his own daughter like a puppet!”

I studied the surveillance screen and looked back at Aunt Lucy. “That one guy has a flattop. You sure you’ve never seen him before?”

Aunt Lucy shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t recognize him and I don’t think he’s ours, but he could be theirs. Who knows who the Manellos tried to bring in on the bidding? That guy could be Russian mob for all we know!”

I took a final glimpse at the TV monitor. The first man was slinking up to the back-porch screen door. He was dressed completely in black, right down to his black combat boots and black face paint. He wore a leg holster strapped to his thigh and carried a knife. I turned to the others.

“Let’s do it!”

Aunt Lucy and Nina split off from Spike and me as we left the lab. They took the steps up to the kitchen while Spike and I headed for the cellar exit. I stopped when I reached the ancient door, my fingers clutching the wrought-iron handle, praying the hinges didn’t squeak when I pushed it open.

“Stay back,” I told Spike. “Come out only if it looks like I’m in trouble. If it sounds like they’re in trouble upstairs, go to them. I’ll be all right.”

Spike nodded. No questions.

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“If you gotta shoot, shoot to kill. Don’t try for an arm or a leg. Shoot the son of a bitch dead, because I can assure you, that’s what he’ll do to you, given the opportunity.”

Spike nodded and swallowed hard. “No problem,” she murmured.

I pushed on the door, felt it give and began moving out into the cold night air. Above us I heard the sound of Aunt Lucy’s footsteps moving at a brisk trot toward the front hallway. I looked back at Spike, winked and took off at a crouching run.

I slipped around the side of the house and saw I was not alone. Flattop’s partner waited in the shadows, watching his buddy’s back.

I crept silently forward, turned my gun around in my hand and brought the butt down as hard as I could on the other man’s shiny, bald head. He dropped like a bad apple. He fell so fast that for a moment I thought he was faking it. So I hit him again for good luck.

I looked around the corner and saw the point man slip a knife between the screen and the wooden frame of the back-porch door. There was no time for subtlety or finesse. I ran, lacking the element of surprise, pointed the Glock and yelled.

“Police! Freeze, motherfucker!”

All cops yell that same exact phrase during every high-intensity arrest. We don’t learn it at the academy. We see it on TV and think it’s put on, but then, there we are, with our adrenaline pumping and that’s when we find ourselves mimicking our television colleagues. It gives the bad guy little room to doubt our intentions. We’ve said all we need to say, and yet, I still find myself adding extras.

“Drop your weapon! Put your hands up where I can see them!”

And unless I have my suspect cornered, they always run. It’s as if I’ve said, “On your mark! Get set! Go!”

There I am, holding a gun trained on their miserable criminal torso, telling them in no uncertain terms that I am the po-lice, and they are still running. Go figure.

This time was no exception. The son of a bitch whirled around, grinned and took off like a jackrabbit.

I started off after him, still yelling, as if maybe he hadn’t heard me or something. He ran through the backyard, vaulted the fence and sprinted down the alley. In the distance I heard sirens and thanked God for Nina’s brain cells.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I cried.

I thought I heard the fool laugh. I guess he’d watched COPS enough to know we never shoot while running.

I fired.

The bullet hit the ground by his heels, kicking up dust and probably scaring the shit out of the idiot.

“There,” I panted, “laugh now!”

We kept on running. I felt a stitch grow in my side and struggled to take tiny gasps of air. I was closing in on him, which is saying something because he was setting a good, tight pace and looked as if he could run forever.

“Don’t make me shoot your ass!” I yelled in a breathy growl. “You don’t want to die over something stupid, do you?”

Again I heard the laugh, an easy, deep chuckle. He didn’t believe me, but he had a point. I couldn’t keep up with him and squeeze off a round that had any chance of hitting the target. Besides, I was beginning to think I wanted him alive. Dead men don’t give up names. They don’t tell you all you need to know.

I settled for studying his ass as we ran. It was a tight, compact package. It would be a shame to ruin such a nice…target by shooting it with a .40-caliber bullet. I was doing womankind a favor by taking him down in a humane manner.

In addition to the humanitarian aspect to my pursuit, there was another, more important factor to be considered in this chase. I was not the police and I had absolutely no business shooting a fleeing intruder. The law clearly states that citizens may not shoot interlopers unless in imminent danger. The fact that Bozo was running away from me made the case for shooting his ass rather weak.

So I kept on running, right out onto Bradford Avenue, heading for the park and First Lake. I was six feet behind him when we passed under the granite entranceway. I was thinking I’d tackle him somewhere around the tennis courts.

He got to me first. He didn’t wait for the tennis courts. He hit the basketball courts, rounded behind the rest rooms and spun on his heel just as we disappeared from sight.

He hit me like the tight end I figured he’d been in college, if there were colleges in whatever country he’d come from. He crossed his arms, brought them up in front of his chest and used them like a battering ram. The blow took me from a C cup down to an A and a half.

I fell back onto the ground, the air fleeing from my lungs like a leaky balloon. I started to bring up the Glock. He stepped on my wrist, and the gun went flying out of my hand. I screamed, rolled toward him and used my left leg to kick his kneecap, knocking him to the ground and releasing my arm.

I thought I’d shattered the bone. I waited for the cry of pain, heard none and was completely surprised when he sprang on top of me, his hands wrapping around my neck.

I brought my arms up inside his, punched outward and felt him give. He fell on top of me with a thud. I raised my hands and felt for his eyeballs with my thumbs.

“Laugh now, big man!” I snarled.

I hit my target, but he rolled, taking me with him. We struggled. Every time I found a vulnerable spot, he twisted it to his advantage. Eventually perseverance won out. I hit him square in the throat with a blow that made him choke and gasp for air.

I followed this with a move that I’m sure sent his stomach lurching up behind his nasal passages. I finished by rolling away from him, springing to my feet and kicking him dead center in the solar plexus. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.

“Welcome to la-la land, Banana Breath!”

I retrieved the Glock, knelt by his inert form and searched his body for any sign of identification. There were no markings in his clothing, nothing in his pockets and no way to tell where he’d come from. I rocked back on my haunches and studied him, humming “Who’s Sorry Now?”

“Okay, Brutus,” I whispered. “Wake up!”

I slapped his cheeks, called his name and finally scooped mucky pond water out of First Lake and threw it at him, all without any luck. He was down for the count, and nothing I did seemed to revive him.

“Damn,” I swore under my breath. “I didn’t fracture your skull, did I?”

I lifted his eyelids and studied his pupils. “Equal and reactive,” I said. The phrase sounded good, even if I wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “I’m not a doctor,” I whispered to the sleeping man. “I just play one on TV.”

I needed to make sure the others were safe, but I didn’t want to leave my captive. I wanted to know who he was and who’d sent him.

“All right,” I muttered. “This is getting us nowhere. How’s about you wait here while I go get the car and someone to help haul you in.” Flattop slept on. “But first let’s make sure you stick around. I got a few questions that need answering and I’ll bet you sing like an angel if I find the right key.”

I unlaced his boots, knotted the strings together and hogtied my quarry. He never moved. I knelt, worried, felt his neck for a pulse and was reassured by the steady, throbbing beat.

“Guess I don’t know my own strength, huh?” I murmured. “Bet Jake won’t believe this little small-town cop caught the big one, huh?”

I stood up and walked away. It was an easy mile back to Aunt Lucy’s, but I wouldn’t be taking the direct route, not with every cop, criminal and wise guy in Glenn Ford on the lookout. No, I’d be ducking down alleyways, skulking behind trash cans and jumping fences.

“And to think I wanted to be a nurse,” I muttered. “Where was my head?”

Chapter 16

In times of trouble, I find there’s nothing like an old song to make you feel worse. I huddled behind a broken trunk in Aunt Lucy’s garage, humming “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To” and feeling very sorry for myself. The adrenaline rush had long since worn off, leaving me shivering in my sweat-soaked T-shirt and jeans. It was, after all, November, and I was still stuck with the few pieces of clothing I’d been able to borrow from Nina or salvage from the trunk of my car.

To cap it all off, my ankle hurt again, probably because I’d run a mile in my attempt to capture Flattop. I thought about my hostage and hoped he was at least as uncomfortable as me. Who the hell was he anyway? I rose up and stared out the grimy window at my aunt’s house. I didn’t want to just walk inside if the cops were still there. After all, I’d shot a guy, albeit in self-defense, and I had impersonated an officer in order to accomplish this feat. Then there was Pete and Lou Ann, materializing out of nowhere to arrest me on charges that just couldn’t be genuine, or could they? What if they returned with a real warrant for my arrest? Where would that get me?

No doubt about it, the cops were looking for me and now just wasn’t a good time to be discovered.

“This really sucks!” I muttered.

I studied my surroundings. Uncle Benny had used the garage as a catch-all for junk and broken appliances. He wouldn’t have been able to put a car inside the narrow building if he’d wanted to; it was full. Baskets hung from rafters. Boxes lined the shelves. Broken bicycles, bed frames, a rocker with a missing seat, flower pots and storm windows completed the collection.

I could just hear Uncle Benny. “You never know when we’ll need something like that,” he’d say. “We’d better stick it out in the garage.”

I was intently studying a bassinet when three boxes in the middle of the floor began to move, shifting to the side as a trapdoor slowly opened. A dim light spilled out into the darkened garage, and Aunt Lucy stood framed in its glow, looking for all the world like an avenging angel.

She was carrying a frying pan and a squirt bottle.

“Come on!” she whispered. “Before someone sees the light in here!”

I stood up and moved toward her, every joint in my body stiffly resisting her instructions to hurry.

Aunt Lucy stepped over to a can opener that hung on a hook by a set of shelves and turned to make sure I was watching.

“If you ever need to get back without me, just tug on this twice and the door will open.”

I didn’t have time to respond before she was once again moving toward the steps and disappearing from view. I followed her, finding myself in yet another tunnel.

“Those CIA people don’t mess around, do they?” I asked.

Aunt Lucy kept moving, calling her answer back as she walked briskly through the tunnel. “They didn’t think I should wind up trapped with only one exit.”

Aunt Lucy was hurrying, rushing to reach the big lab. She didn’t speak as we navigated the tunnel and seemed relieved when we closed the door behind us and were at last back in the sterile room. Nina and Spike were waiting for me at the table. They looked grim.

“What happened?” I asked.

Nina was sipping from a large white mug, her eyes red-rimmed with fatigue or perhaps from crying, I couldn’t tell.

“The police took away the man you hit,” Spike said. “He was still unconscious when the ambulance came, so I imagine he’s at Chester County Hospital. Then they searched the house, presumably to make sure no one had gotten in.”

“They even looked in my underwear drawer!” Nina cried, clearly distressed. “I told them no bad guys were in there, but they still looked. ‘Just a precaution, ma’am!’” Nina mimicked. “Can you imagine that? What’s my underwear gonna do, bite them?”

She looked as if she were about to cry. Spike reached over and patted her knee.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “They were probably just curious.” Spike looked up at me. “I thought they were looking for you, but when Detective Slovineck got here he gave me the real scoop. That body they found at Jake’s?” I nodded. “It was his wife, Donna. Slovineck wouldn’t say he thought Jake did it. He only said he wanted to ask him a few questions, but it was pretty easy to read between the lines.”

I sucked air into my lungs and tried to calm my runaway heart. I thought about the expression on Jake’s face after he shot Ron, how empty and remorseless he seemed. Surely he wouldn’t arrange his wife’s death, would he?

“Have they notified the family?” I asked.

Spike shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think they know what kind of hell that’ll unleash. They won’t wait long, but I think they wanted to try and find Jake before Tony Manello did.”

Aunt Lucy set a steaming mug of coffee in front of me and patted my shoulder.

“The police won’t bother us any more tonight,” she said in a soothing voice. “Besides, things are looking up.”

The three of us stared up at her. I didn’t think I was the only one wondering if she’d been sniffing her own concoction. Looking up? Who was she trying to fool?

“The vet called,” Aunt Lucy continued. “Benito’s out of surgery and he’s going to be okay!”

I think my jaw dropped.

“You mean Lloyd’s okay?”

Aunt Lucy frowned. “No, I mean my Benito, just like I said!” A look of dawning realization crossed her features and was quickly replaced by an angry scowl. “Oh, I get it,” she said. “You think because I had a few memory lapses I’m crazy, is that it?”

“Oh, no, Aunt Lucy,” Nina hastened to reassure her. “Reincarnation is a fine thing to believe in. I guess it’s just that Lloyd is such a…” She hesitated, uncertain about continuing.

“Such a what, dear?” Aunt Lucy asked dangerously.

“Well, a dog,” Nina finished. “Lloyd was Stella’s dog first. I thought if you were reincarnated you got a new body, not a used one.”

“Well, I guess that just shows how little you know then, huh?” Aunt Lucy huffed.

“Where is Jake?” I asked.

Aunt Lucy frowned. “He should’ve been here a while ago,” she murmured. “I wonder what’s taking so long?”

Spike’s head had been sinking lower and lower as we talked. Now she was resting it on her folded arms, and if I didn’t miss my guess, she’d be fast asleep in the next few minutes. The clock on Aunt Lucy’s wall said it was almost 3:00 a.m. No wonder Spike was giving out. She’d probably had no more than a few hours sleep in the past twenty-four hours. As I stared, she opened one very bloodshot eye and met my gaze.

“They did ask about you,” she muttered, “but I said I didn’t know where you were. I said they had no grounds for searching your room. I told them they had to produce a warrant. Slovineck said he wants to talk to you about St. Anthony’s. I said take a number.”

She closed her eye and appeared to be sleeping. Nina stood up and reached down to pull the sleepy Spike to her feet.

“We’re going to bed,” she announced. “Whatever needs doing can be done in the morning.” She yawned. “Right?”

I looked at Aunt Lucy and realized that exhaustion had drained all the color from her face.

“I think you should go to bed, too,” I told her. “I’ll wait up for Jake.”

Aunt Lucy nodded. “I was going to suggest that you stay down here anyway,” she said. “Those police officers could come back any time and decide they want to search the house again. Someone has to warn Jake.”

None of the others seemed to have any energy left at all. We moved like robots. I took the quilts my aunt offered, pulled the chairs from around the table and made myself an uncomfortable pallet. I had to wait up for Jake. I didn’t look forward to telling him about Donna, or the police wanting to talk to him. And even though the timing could’ve been better, I needed his help to retrieve my prisoner of war from behind the park rest rooms. I closed my burning eyes and told myself I was only resting long enough to think of a plan.

Hours later I jerked upright, stiff, cramped and cold, startled awake by a persistent buzzing that stopped as soon as I opened my eyes. The clock on the wall wanted me to believe that it was 6:00 a.m. This was impossible. I’d only closed my eyes for a second, so how could—? The buzzing noise started again, but this time I recognized Aunt Lucy’s security system and reached for the remote.

Aunt Lucy joined me, her eyes bleary, her flannel housecoat wrapped haphazardly across her torso.

“What is it now?” she asked. Her voice was thick with fatigue, and she moved in slow motion to take the remote from my hand. She punched a button. As we watched, a familiar figure waited on the front stoop, staring at a piece of paper in his hand and looking back up at the front door as if to confirm the address.

Pete, minus his new girlfriend, Lou Ann, took a deep breath and jabbed at the doorbell with his right index finger. We watched him stab the bell over and over again, look at the paper in his hand and repeat the process all over again. He wasn’t going to leave. I knew Pete, and I knew how stubborn he could be.

“What the hell does he want?” Spike asked, entering the lab and echoing the very question I’d been asking myself. Nina stood behind her dressed in baby doll flannel pajamas and looking very sleepy.

“Maybe he’s sorry,” Nina said, yawning. “Maybe he wants to visit Lloyd. After all, he has paternal rights, doesn’t he?”

“Lloyd belonged to Pete’s ex-wife. She abandoned him. So that makes him a free agent,” I said.

“He’s my husband!” Aunt Lucy insisted.

We all stared at her, wondering if this was somehow part of her dingbat act, and were surprised to see the tears welling up in her eyes. She was rooting around in a drawer, digging through papers and searching frantically.

“Ah-ha!” she cried.

When she turned back to us, she had a long-barreled revolver in her hand. “See, I told you I had a gun!” she crowed. “Now let’s go get rid of the son of a bitch!”

I stepped in between her and the door. “No, Aunt Lucy, we can’t shoot an innocent man!”

Aunt Lucy and the others spoke like a Greek chorus. “Innocent!”

“Okay, innocent isn’t the right word. But still, unless he tries to shoot us first, you cannot shoot him. Besides,” I added, grabbing the gun from my aunt’s hand and opening the chamber, “this isn’t even loaded! When was the last time you fired this weapon?”

Aunt Lucy looked horrified. “Fired it? I never fired that thing! It’s your uncle Benny’s!”

“Oh, shit,” Spike muttered.

Pete continued to lean on the front doorbell. After another minute of incessant ringing he yelled, “I know you’re in there, Stella. I just want to talk to you!” Jab, jab, jab. His finger punched the button like a junkie punching a morphine drip. “Stella! Please!”

“Oh, shit!” I moaned. “Why fucking now?”

I stared up at the former, not quite love of my life, and sighed. What did he want? I handed the gun back to my aunt.

“Cover me,” I said wearily. “I’m going in.”

“But it’s not loaded!” Nina cried.

“Yeah, I know,” I answered. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh,” she said. “I get it!”

Of course she did not, but I couldn’t be bothered with explaining it to her, either. Not now. Instead I walked through the basement and up the stairs, through the kitchen, down the hallway to the front door. When I pulled it open, I think Pete was actually shocked to see me standing there.

“Get in here,” I said, grabbing him by the shirt lapels and dragging him across the threshold.

Pete apparently thought I was overjoyed to see him and perhaps feeling amorous, because he threw his arms around my neck and attempted to maul me with his lips.

“Ick! Get off of me!” I cried, pushing him away. “What is wrong with you? Do you know what time it is?”

Pete looked like a big, overly frisky hound dog who’d lost his favorite bone.

“I just thought—”

“Now, see,” I interrupted, “that’s the problem. You had a brain fart and thought you were actually thinking. No, Pete, you didn’t think. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, you wouldn’t be in the mess you were in when I left and you for damn sure wouldn’t be playing who’s-your-daddy? with Lou Ann!”

“Damn, Stella, you just can’t let anything go, can you?”

I glared at him, the fury lashing through me like a hurricane.

“I don’t know, Pete. I’m thinking if the situation was reversed and you’d found me playing bury-the-hot-dog with your partner, you might be a little irritated, especially if I then went on and dragged him up here and arrested you!”

Pete put his hands out again and I backed away. “Stop it, Pete, I’m warning you! If you so much as breathe on me, I will bury you under this house! What in the hell are you doing here?”

“Baby,” Pete said, his voice pitched to a soft, wheedling plea, “I came to tell you I was wrong, dead wrong, and I am profoundly, deeply sorry for putting you through so much pain.”

He looked down at his hands, then back up at me.

“I would do anything, anything, to erase the past week of trauma in your life, but I know I can’t.” Again he stared down at his hand, squinting as he held it at an angle. “I can only ask you to forgive me and let bygones be bygones. Baby, I want you to come home. Lou Ann don’t mean nothing to me. It’s you I really love.”

With a shriek I jumped forward, grabbing his meaty paw and pulling it up and away from his body. When he realized what I was doing, he attempted to snatch his hand back, but he was too late. I took the offending arm, pulled it up against my side and turned, pinning him against me as I flipped his hand over and stared at his ink-smeared palm.

The salient points were detailed in order.

1. Tell her you’re wrong. 2. Tell her the warrant wasn’t real. 3. Beg for forgiveness. 4. Ask her to come back. 5. Get her to promise she won’t tell Lou Ann’s husband.

I shoved him aside and turned to glower at his reddened face. “You forgot to mention number two. The warrant wasn’t real?”

Pete had the decency to look shamefaced. “I thought if I got you back to Garden Beach, you’d see that you belong with me.”

I stared at him, incredulous. How could he have been such an idiot?

“Lou Ann went along with this?”

Pete looked down at the floor. “Well, I told her that maybe if we agreed to drop the charges, you’d agree not to tell her husband about us. You know, kill two birds with one stone.”

My ears were ringing. I was a hairsbreadth away from snatching Pete and kicking his ass all the way back to Garden Beach, Florida.

“So, Pete,” I said, “you were going to publicly humiliate me in the sad hope I’d come back to you? You thought this up all by yourself? I’m amazed. I bet Lou Ann was the one who wrote the directions on your hand, huh?”

Pete’s face was scarlet. “No, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget anything,” he said. “Lou Ann didn’t have a thing to do with it. In fact, I sent her back home.”

“Without you?”

Pete nodded miserably. “Stella, she was just a pain in the ass. Don’t you see I love you?”

I dropped my face into my hands. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I so didn’t need this, not now.

“Pete, I’m not coming back.”

“I understand,” he said. His change of attitude surprised me.

“You do?”

Pete nodded. “Sure do. You need time. I understand. How about two weeks?”

“What?”

Pete smiled, started to reach for me, but pulled back when he saw the homicidal glint in my eyes.

“Honest, honey, you and me can work things out. I know you didn’t really want to leave Garden Beach or quit being a cop. That’s why I had that idea to come up here and get you. I just knew you’d see reason if I had you alone for a while to think about it.”

“You were going to stick me in jail? How’d you pull that off, Pete, huh? You get the guys back at the station to cover for you? You thought this was a workable plan?”

Pete frowned. “Stella, I didn’t know what else to do. I know you want me, but your pride is standing in your way. I thought if I got you off away from here, just me and you, and I guess Lou Ann since she rode up with me…Well, I thought I could make you see how much I love you. I’m ready to take you back, Stella. Lloyd, too.”

“Pete, you’re insane! This may come as a shock to you, but I think you’re a complete asshole! If your guts were on fire, I wouldn’t spit on you to put them out! Pete, not only am I not coming home, but if you stick around just another minute, I’m going to kick your ass!”

Pete ignored everything but “kick your ass.”

“Honey, I’m six-five. I outweigh you by a good eighty pounds. You can’t kick my ass!”

I guess the stress snapped me. I lunged forward, ducked under his arms and elbowed him in the stomach, all without thinking. In the far distant reaches of the basement a faint cheer went up.

Pete grabbed me by the shoulders and held me out at arm’s length.

“Still think I can’t kick your ass?” I asked, even though I couldn’t reach him and hadn’t really done any damage.

Pete’s eyes slowly closed and he shook his head.

“Stella, Stella, Stella,” he sighed. “You are so damn feisty. That’s what I love about you. It makes you a good cop, too.”

I stopped struggling and looked him in the eye.

“You think I’m a good cop?”

Pete looked surprised by the question. “One of the best,” he said softly. “I told you that a thousand times, didn’t I?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, you are. Stella, don’t leave me. Please, baby, come home.”

Of course, then he had to go and start crying, not big sobbing crying, but tears welled up in his eyes, and I knew that in his way, he really did think he loved me. I started thinking about how we’d met, how he used to make me laugh, how he took me under his wing, smothering though it was, and trained me to be a pretty damn good officer. I remembered all the good times, the passionate times, and then I remembered Lou Ann.

“Pete, come on! Don’t cry. Let ‘us’ go, honey. We didn’t work out. We can still be friends. I mean, you’re a hell of a cop. Out on the street I’d be proud to have you as my partner. We just suck at romance—that’s all.”

Pete was still sniffling.

“The good ones keep getting away!” he wailed. “I don’t know what it is about me!”

Well, I thought, if you wouldn’t keep poking your night-stick where it didn’t belong, these things might not keep happening.

“I really love you, Trace…Stella!”

Too late, I heard the start of his ex-wife’s name and froze. Pete didn’t love me, not half as much as he loved the idea of being in love. I stared at my broken-hearted lover and realized he’d be fine, just as soon as another girl came along.

“It’s the dog, isn’t it?” he cried. “You both loved the dog more than me! What is it about that damn dog?”

“Pete, Lloyd has nothing to do with this! Tracy didn’t even take Lloyd with her when she left. I took him because I knew you didn’t love him, either. After all, I did find you in bed with LouAnn. That’s not the behavior of a man in love.”

Pete wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his plaid flannel shirt.

“Stella, please!” he begged. “I’m not leaving until you forgive me! I want us to be a family again!”

I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have any more time to deal with my past. I had to find Jake. I felt the knot of tension in my stomach balloon into a watermelon of distress. I needed to get to Flattop and grill him before he escaped. I didn’t have time for Pete.

“Stella, I mean it!” Pete cried. “I’ll prove I’m a good guy. Let me show you I love you. Baby, let me make it up to you!”

“Oh, brother,” I muttered. “Pete, really, this is not a good time for me. I’ve got more trouble on my plate than you can shake a stick at and I just can’t…”

“I’ll help you!” he said. “Stella, please, after all we’ve been to each other! Just let me help you! We can work out the rest later! Come on, baby! What is it? What’s wrong?”

I looked at the man standing before me and felt the familiar tug of my heartstrings. I swear dogs and men can play me like a violin.

“I don’t want to give you false hope, Pete. It’s over between us. I can never be your girlfriend again. That part of our lives is in the past.”

I cringed as the words left my mouth. I was starting to sound like a soap opera, but judging from Pete’s reaction, I was a hit on his station. He sprang to his feet as the phone on the hall table started to ring.

“All right, whatever you say, but let me at least help you out of whatever jam you’re in. It would make me feel better about leaving you.”

He gave me the pitiful look. I didn’t believe a word he was saying, but that pitiful thing, he does it so well I almost forget he’s not a stray dog needing a home.

“All right. Whatever,” I said.

The phone continued ringing, and it was a relief to answer it.

“Hello?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aunt Lucy demanded.

“Buying insurance,” I answered. “I need professional coverage and he can provide it.”

Pete was gazing at me with a dopey smile on his face.

“Look at that man,” Aunt Lucy said, obviously watching from the recesses of the Bat Cave. “Does that look like a professional anything? Wake up! That man’s here to steal Lloyd!”

“Then he’s barking up the wrong tree,” I said. “That choice isn’t available here, and I wouldn’t give it up if I had to.”

There was a long sigh at the other end of the phone line.

“Fool me once, shame on you,” she muttered and hung up.

I replaced the receiver and turned back to Pete. “All right, here’s the deal. A friend of mine, well, a former acquaintance—” I hesitated “—a person of interest to me in my current investigation is missing. I need to interview a guy and get him to tell me where my friend is.”

Pete nodded. “No problem. Let’s go.”

“I should tell you, we won’t be following police procedure here. If that’s a problem for you…”

“Stella, I’m shocked!” Pete fell back in mock horror. “You?” He straightened up, still smiling, but his eyes had changed. The tough cop had replaced the sorry-assed boyfriend. “I’m proud of you, honey. Now let’s go get what you need!”

I turned and led him into the kitchen. “I’ve got to take care of a couple of things before I go. Just wait here and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Pete nodded, not about to argue with me, and took his place at the table. I left him there drinking a cup of stale coffee and reported back to my comrades in the basement.

“He’s kind of cute,” Nina said when I reached her. “I mean, when he’s not all drippy-nosed and stuff. Is he really a cop?”

Spike looked up at the monitor she and Nina had been watching, took a look at Pete and shook her head in disgust.

“You want us to come with you?” she asked me.

“No. I need you and Nina to stay here with Aunt Lucy, just in case Tony Manello or anybody else decides to come nosing around.”

I looked over at Aunt Lucy. “How many of those loaded casserole dishes do you keep in the freezer?” I asked her.

She frowned, deep in thought. “I believe I have four or five down here and two or three upstairs,” she answered after a few moments. “And this,” she said, picking up Uncle Benny’s old revolver. “I think there are a couple of bullets in the junk drawer upstairs.”

I nodded. “Oh, goodie, that should take care of things nicely,” I said.

“That’s enough attitude, young lady!” Aunt Lucy snapped. “I have been around forty more years than you’ve been alive. I have managed, somehow, without your help, to survive these many years and I can certainly take care of business when I have to, especially when I know it’s coming my way!”

There was silence for a moment as we all thought about Uncle Benny and how the situation certainly hadn’t been handled in his case.

“I know you’re worried, Stella,” she said softly. “I appreciate your concern, but I know now that we’re in danger and I have taken steps to protect myself. You go on and find Jake. He’s the one I’m worried about.”

I smiled inwardly. My elderly aunt was more worried about Jake than she was about her own safety. Go figure.

“Okey-doke,” I said. “I’ll find Jake and you guys stay here.” I looked at Spike. “Make sure one of you covers the surveillance cameras at all times.” She nodded. “Don’t answer the door for anyone.”

“What if the police come back?” Nina asked.

“Don’t answer the door.”

“What if it’s someone we know?”

“Nina,” I said impatiently, “do not answer the door! I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Just stay put, okay?”

They all nodded, but I knew that where Nina and Aunt Lucy were concerned, anything could happen. My only hope was Spike. Maybe she could keep the other two in line.

“Can we order pizza later?” Nina asked.

She was just a walking minefield of objections and exceptions to the rule.

“Nina, no!”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever! I was just trying to think about meals and all. You don’t need to bite my head off. Geez!”

I left the three of them knowing there would be a backlash of comments, sidebars and criticisms wafting after me, but having faith that they would somehow manage until I returned. After all, it was a simple assignment to just stay put in the secure room of the basement until I returned with Jake and settled everybody’s hash.

If only life were really that easy.

I trudged up the steps and found Pete waiting at the kitchen table. When he saw me, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning and I felt suddenly worse.

“Okay,” I said, opening the freezer door, “let’s get started.” I pulled out one of Mrs. Cozzone’s illegal casserole dishes, tore back the foil and handed Pete the frozen contents, a .40-caliber SIG-Sauer semiautomatic pistol and two magazines.

“You people keep your guns in the freezer up north?” He was clearly amazed at the strange characteristics of Yankees.

“Well, you good ole boys keep your guns under your pillows,” I answered. “What makes this any stranger?”

“Yeah, but that’s on account of I can always reach my gun if someone comes into the bedroom.”

I smirked. “Well, up north, we stop ’em before they ever reach the bedroom. Surely you’ve heard the expression to ‘ice’ someone?” Pete nodded, uncertain. “Well, where do you think it came from?”

“So everybody up here does this?”

I shook my head. “Not everyone,” I said. “Just the ones with good hearing.”

Pete was trying to push the magazine of frozen bullets into his gun and having trouble. I reached over his shoulder, grabbed the weapon and cartridge from his hands, and quickly slapped the gun together.

When Pete looked offended I said, “I’m used to the cold. I was born up here. Now let’s go.”

I walked over to the back-porch door and looked over my shoulder at the kitchen clock. “Is it clear?” I asked.

The long hand toggled back and forth. Pete’s mouth dropped open.

“The alley, too?” I asked.

The long hand wiggled again.

“Okay, we’re gone,” I said, and started out onto the back porch.

Pete remained rooted to the spot, staring up at the clock. I turned, tugged his arm and said, “Come on!”

“Was that clock talking to you?”

I frowned. “A clock? What’s wrong with you? Clocks don’t talk!”

I pulled him away from the door. “Let’s go. I’ll give you more details when we’re on the road.”

Once we hit the street, Pete leaned back in his seat and sighed heavily. “What’s going on here?”

I rounded the corner onto the street that rimmed Kerr Park, looked for cops and saw nothing.

“Long story short,” I said. “My uncle got murdered because someone wanted something he had.”

“So it was a robbery?”

“No, they didn’t get what they came for, so now they’re after my aunt.”

Pete shifted in his seat, his attention suddenly focused out the window.

“You got one at two o’clock,” he murmured. “Six-two, white male, bottle-brush hair…”

“Shit!”

I pulled the car over and watched my hostage loping across the lawn in front of the Kerr Park duck pond.

“That’s him!” I cried, and the two of us took off running, just like the old days.

Flattop was the worse for my having worn him out earlier, but when he saw us he gave it his best.

“Get the car,” Pete called over his shoulder. “Cut him off!”

I raced back to Aunt Lucy’s Buick and jumped the curb. The sky-blue Buick sailed across the frozen grass, bearing down on our quarry. He was running hard with Pete on his heels. I circled close, bringing the car to a halt ten feet in front of him. When he cut right to avoid me, I opened the driver’s side door, right into his body.

“Oofff!”

The air rushed out of Flattop’s lungs and he stumbled backward. He staggered, recovered and was starting to run again when Pete tackled him. Flattop struggled, but Pete was on his back, cuffing the sides of his head and quickly subduing him.

I bent down, turned his head to face me and smiled. “I’m back,” I sang.

Flattop dropped his head to the ground and groaned softly.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered.

“I know, buddy,” Pete said. “She has that effect on me, too.”

“Put him in the car. Let’s go to the pump house. We won’t need to worry about anyone hearing us there.”

Pete nodded, hoisting Flattop up by the waistband of his pants and plopping him down unceremoniously onto the back seat. I slid behind the wheel and started driving. When I reached Third Lake I realized the pump house had been torn down. I turned left and started out into the farm country surrounding town. No pump house, no problem. I knew a lovely and long-deserted stable that would fit the bill just fine.

“Where are you taking me?” Flattop asked. “This is police brutality! I demand a lawyer. I know my rights!”

I looked over at Pete. Without a word he turned and slapped the shit out of Flattop.

“You have the right to remain silent,” I said, “but I wouldn’t advise it. We’re not cops.”

I checked the rearview mirror. Flattop’s mouth was bleeding and he looked frightened. I thought about Uncle Benny and how terrified he must have been when the killer shoved nitroglycerine down his throat. Slapping Flattop didn’t seem so bad when I looked at it from my uncle’s point of view.

“You guys are spooks, huh?”

Pete and I didn’t answer him. Government agents were way scarier than cops. Flattop could believe whatever he wanted. I pulled the Buick into a field and stopped.

“Get him out,” I said. “And bring the extra gun.”

Pete nodded and opened the glove compartment. Flattop panicked.

“Don’t do that!” he cried. “Let’s talk about this. We can work something out.”

I looked at Pete. He shrugged as if he didn’t care which way the deal went. I turned to Flattop and said, “Where’s Jake?”

“I don’t know anybody named Jake.”

I shook my head sadly. “Take him out.”

Pete slammed Aunt Lucy’s empty glove compartment with a loud snap, made a show of stuffing an imaginary extra gun inside his jacket pocket and opened the passenger door.

Flattop almost wept when Pete opened his door. “I don’t know any Jake, really I don’t!”

He was appealing to Pete, who smiled back sadly at him. “I’d go ahead and tell her what she wants to know,” he said. “She’s going to find out anyway—she always does—and believe me, it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Who do you work for?” I asked.

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. I swear to God, I don’t know her name. Honest!”

I looked over at Pete and shook my head. “Slam him!”

Pete picked Flattop up and was about to bounce him off the ground when I said, “Last chance. What does she look like?”

Flattop opened up like a zipper. “She’s blond. Not too tall, maybe five-three, maybe midthirties.”

Donna? That wasn’t going to help me find Jake. Donna was dead.

“When’s the last time you saw her or talked to her?”

“Two days ago.”

The day before she got blown to smithereens. Then Ron showed up the following day in Aunt Lucy’s lab and died trying to continue their plan.

“How’d you get hooked up with her?”

Flattop looked down at the ground. “She got a friend of mine out of a jam one time. When she needed a couple of guys to help her out with something, he called me. I needed the money so I said sure.”

Flattop read the displeasure on my face and quickly added. “It’s hard getting a job when you got a record.”

I ignored the plea for sympathy. “How’d you communicate with her?”

Flattop looked worried. “She gave my buddy a cell phone. She called when she had something to tell us or wanted us to do something.”

Damn, another dead end.

“What were you doing at my aunt’s house?” I asked.

For a moment Flattop was silent. He stood by the side of Aunt Lucy’s car, sucking in air. The sun had popped up over the horizon, illuminating a fine sheen of sweat that glistened on his forehead.

“We were supposed to get your aunt to tell us where your uncle’s project was. If she didn’t, we were to bring her back with us.”

“Where?”

“Red Top Inn on I-95 in Chester. Room 212. But we weren’t gonna hurt her or nothing.”

No, that would’ve been Donna’s job, I thought.

I walked up to Flattop and stood inches from his face. “I’m going to put you somewhere safe, someplace where nobody can find you. That way if I find out you’re lying I can come back and take my time killing you. Now, you sure you don’t want to change anything you’ve told us?”

Flattop shook his head violently. “That’s all I know, honest!”

“Okay.”

I turned to Pete. “There’s an abandoned stable at the bottom of this pasture. We can cuff him inside one of the stalls.”

Pete nodded and headed off with Flattop in tow. I walked back to the Buick and sat behind the wheel thinking. Nothing seemed to make sense. Why would Ron break into Aunt Lucy’s lab hours before Donna’s hirelings arrived to do the same thing? Had she not told him? Had they been working separately? And what was Tony Manello’s role in all this? Did he even know his daughter was dead?

Pete trotted back up the pasture a few minutes later and joined me.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” he said. “What now, go pop the chick in the hotel?”

I shook my head. “She’s dead. Her partner is, too.”

Pete’s eyebrows rose. “Damn, bad break. Got any other leads?”

I thought about it as I pulled the Buick out onto the road and started heading back toward town.

“Well, I got a couple of mobsters to talk to. One was the girl’s father.”

Pete whistled softly. “Does he know his kid’s dead? Those guys don’t like it when you mess with their family members. I’d hate to see what happens when he finds out.”

Tell me about it. I gripped the steering wheel and imagined Tony Manello, grief stricken and enraged. Interviewing him would be suicidal.

“Well, I shot a guy last night that might’ve been looking to do a deal with Donna or her father, but he’s in the hospital. If I showed up there the cops would crawl all over me.”

I could feel Pete staring at me, probably wondering what happened to nice, gullible Stella.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Maybe we should just go check out that hotel room and see if by some off chance she left something behind.”

Pete exhaled slowly. “I think that would be an excellent idea. A nice, empty hotel room beats tangling with the Mafia any day.”

We drove in silence for almost five minutes, during which time I felt Pete squirming, full of unasked questions that had to be gnawing away at his ego. My new demeanor was killing him. Gone was the by-the-book good girl. In her place was an avenging angel on steroids.

Finally Pete gave in to his curiosity.

“Hey, Stella, does this Jake guy know you killed somebody last night?”

I smiled.

“Yeah, Pete,” I said. “He likes me when I’m homicidal.”

From the far side of the car I heard a soft groan, then a whispered “Damn!”

Chapter 17

The Red Top Inn rented rooms by the day, week, month or, apparently, by the hour. In the two hours since we’d arrived and set up surveillance, I’d seen a woman in a pink sequined dress personally escort three different gentlemen to and from three separate rooms. I’d seen four big rigs pull into the oversize lot in back and discharge tired drivers. I’d watched as six cars of varying ages and conditions drove up carrying passengers who seemed destined to view their futures as long past might-have-been’s.

No, the Red Top Inn was not a happy place and not at all the sort of place for families and innocents. The Red Top Inn was for losers and those looking to make an illegal buck or two in the shortest amount of time possible.

“I say we give it ten more minutes and then we go in,” I said. “It’s pretty obvious to me the room’s just as empty as it should be. Donna and Ron are both dead. Why wait?”

Pete, always the cautious cop, gave in. “All right. I just thought maybe we’d get lucky. Besides, with the characters you’ve been talking about, we couldn’t be too careful.”

I nodded and kept my eyes glued to the upstairs floor and room 212 in particular.

“Stella,” Pete said, “who is this Jake guy you’re looking for? I mean, what’s he to you? You interested in him or something?”

I took a sip of cold coffee and looked over at my ex-boyfriend. A week ago, I would’ve said I still loved him, not in a permanent, all-encompassing way, but in a good-enough-for-now way. My relationship with Pete was like six-week hair color, great when you first try it, but after a few weeks you find the color’s dulled and the glow has vanished. I wondered how I’d ever conned myself into believing he loved me.

“Pete, I’m only in this to protect my family. I have a few questions for Jake, but it’s Aunt Lucy who really wanted me to find him. He’s like a son to her. Besides, I think maybe if I find Jake, I’ll find whoever’s behind all this.”

“Have you considered the possibility that Jake might be the one behind it?” he asked.

I frowned and stared out the windshield at the dingy hotel in front of us. “Maybe,” I answered. “That’s a possibility, but I like his wife and her family more for it. I think Jake’s ex and her father hooked this plan up. I’m not stupid enough to rule out any possibilities,” I conceded. “But Jake doesn’t seem like the type. He doesn’t have the connections to sell Aunt Lucy’s formula to the kinds of people who might buy it. Donna and her father do. He’s Mob connected.”

An electric thrill of tension ran up my spine. As we watched, a blonde wearing a black suit and widow’s veil emerged from the back staircase and started walking quickly toward room 212.

Pete followed my line of vision. “She’s a blonde,” he whispered.

“Yeah, but the woman we’re looking for just got positively IDed as dead,” I answered.

When she stopped in front of room 212 and fumbled with her keys, we stopped making assumptions based upon the evidence. We were out of the car and moving without exchanging a word. That’s the way it is with good cops; sometimes you just feel the plan and put it into play without ever having to say a word. As a man, Pete had a million faults, but as a cop, he had very few. I knew he’d cover my back and do a damn good job of it, that is, as long as no pretty women appeared to distract him.

Pete trotted toward the staircase leading up to the second floor of the Red Top Inn. I slipped around to the back of the building, found the second set of stairs and began climbing up that way. Somewhere in between, with a little luck, we’d run into her.

I felt the familiar surge of adrenaline begin to course through my bloodstream as I took the iron steps two at a time. My Glock rested securely in my waistband, a constant reassurance, a lifesaver in case of trouble.

I reached the second floor, took a quick glance in either direction and started moving. Pete, already in place ahead of me, held one finger to his lips and motioned me forward.

“She went inside,” he whispered. “I listened outside the door, but I don’t hear voices. I’m guessing she’s alone.”

“Okay,” I said. “We don’t have enough time to wait forever. Jake could be in there. I don’t want her to kill him.”

“You mean if she hasn’t already,” Pete clarified.

“Yeah, if she hasn’t already,” I said, and felt the world grow darker at the possibility.

“Chances are the guy’s alive. I mean she might be planning to use him like a bargaining chip with your aunt. He wouldn’t be worth shit dead. I say we hang back, give it five or ten minutes and see if she comes out again. It would be a lot cleaner if we could get her to come to us. We wouldn’t risk her killing Jake that way, if he’s even in there.”

Pete had a point. “All right, but no more than ten minutes, then we go in no matter what.”

I didn’t give Pete the option of arguing with me. I settled in by the ice machine, careful to keep an eye on any activity that might happen in the hallway, focusing on room 212.

Pete felt his pockets for a cigarette, saw me scowl at him and gave up. After eight minutes, I had to move.

“Come on,” I said brushing past him and starting down the hall. “Time’s up.”

I slipped off toward room 212, edged the gun out of my pants and motioned Pete past me to the other side of the door. We stood there, listening, aware that we were standing in broad daylight with guns drawn, exposed to the curiosity of onlookers who might alert the real police.

There was no sound coming from inside the room. I looked up at Pete. He gave me a short nod, and I reached out with my hand, rapped twice on the door and then drew back.

No answer.

Pete looked at me, eyebrow raised, head inclined toward the door. He wanted to move. I wanted to try one more thing first. I shook my head and smiled. I knocked again, this time louder.

“Baby!” I called, pitching my voice higher and slurring it slightly. “Come on, baby, let me in!”

Pete smiled his approval. I thought I heard rustling inside the room and held my breath waiting.

Thirty seconds passed without another sound. Pete looked at me again and I nodded.

“On my count,” I mouthed. “One…two…three!”

Pete brought his foot up, hit the door hard, but it bounced back. The deadbolt held.

“Shoot that thing!” he cried. “Quick, before somebody…”

I fired before he could finish his sentence. The door flew inward, twisted metal the only remaining sign of its resistance, and we stood there in the entrance trying to believe the scene before us.

“Jesus!” Pete swore. “Who’s that guy?”

Tony Manello, dressed in a charcoal business suit and red tie, lay on the floor in front of us. The back of his head was missing. At his side, an ice bucket spilled cubes that were quickly melting into the dark green carpet or were scattered like small pink-and-red prisms in the blood that pooled on either side of the man’s body.

“Shut up,” I muttered, kneeling down to feel for a pulse. “This isn’t a gunshot wound. Somebody smashed his skull in from behind.”

I pressed my fingers harder into Tony’s thick neck. I wasn’t getting a pulse. Pete knelt beside me, raised one of the man’s eyelids and then dropped it.

“Dead as a hammer,” he pronounced.

I looked past Pete, scanning the room for any sign of the black widow.

“Check the bathroom. See if she’s in there.”

Pete crossed the room in three quick strides, his gun held out in front of him. “Nothing,” he called.

I leaned back on my haunches, studying Tony’s body, and trying to figure out what in the world had just happened.

“She-it!” a female voice cried.

I jumped, looked over my shoulder and saw the prostitute in the pink sequined dress standing in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face.

“Oh, baby!” she gasped. “You done killed him dead! Oh, shit! What them po-lice gonna say when they see this mess? Honey, you best run!” She looked back out into the hallway, scanning the open corridor, and turned her attention back to me.

“Baby, this is exactly why you get the money up front first! Honey, it ain’t good for business, you killin’ off the clientele!”

“I didn’t…”

Pete walked out from the bathroom, gun drawn, and clearly surprised to see our visitor.

“What the—?”

The pink lady held up her hands and backed away. “I didn’t see nothin’! I didn’t hear nothin’!” she said. “I’ll just be on my way!”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Pete said.

I stood up and did a quick scan of the room. The place was littered with fast-food bags, an empty pizza box and beer cans. Both beds were rumpled but the covers had not been pulled back. There was no sign that Jake had ever been in the cheap motel room.

“Let’s go!” Pete called.

“Wait a second,” I said. “Look, here’s how she got away.” I pointed to an adjoining door. “Come on!”

I pulled the Glock and shoved open the unlocked door with my foot. Pete stood just behind me, so close his breath felt hot on my neck.

“Empty,” he said, looking over my shoulder.

I saw a small cylindrical object on the floor, bent down and picked up a blue ballpoint pen. Carpenter’s Auto Body it read.

I felt my heart sink. Jake had been here and gone. Had he dropped the pen as a way to make contact or had he dropped it by mistake? Had he killed Tony Manello?

“Look what somebody done did!” a loud female voice cried. “He’s daid!”

The pink lady, accompanied by someone else, had returned. Pete shoved me farther into the vacant adjoining room and quickly closed the door behind us.

“With any luck,” he whispered, “they’ll rob him. Let’s go!”

We moved toward the door, slipping it open and checking the hallway for more potential witnesses.

“Clear!” I whispered.

We moved silently out into the corridor, away from room 212 and toward the back stairs. A minute later I was behind the wheel of Aunt Lucy’s Buick and we were almost airborne on the access road leading to I-95.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Pete demanded.

“Me?” I didn’t look at him. “I just want to find out who killed my uncle. The cops here are too inexperienced to do justice to the investigation. At least I know I’m getting closer than they are.”

“Who was that guy?”

“Tony Manello, Donna’s father, the Mob boss.”

“So then was that his daughter we saw? You think she whacked her old man?”

I didn’t know for sure what I thought. Detective Slovineck told Spike he had a positive ID on the burned body in Jake’s shop, and it was Donna Manello. They would’ve used dental records or other solid identifiers. How could Donna still be alive?

“I don’t know who she was,” I answered. “The police say Donna’s dead.”

“Mistakes can be made, even by a cop.” Pete sighed. “Guess you don’t know any other homicidal blondes, huh?”

I almost let it go by, another flip Pete remark, but then stopped. I did know another blonde, and she’d been plenty mad in Jake’s office, moments before the entire place went up in a fireball at the pumps. The CIA liaison, Valerie, was a blonde. What if she—?

“So, what now?” Pete asked, interrupting my thought process. “You hungry? Baby, I’m starved.”

I just shook my head. “I’m sure there’s something at my aunt’s. I need to get back.”

Pete nodded. “She make good tea?”

I shook my head, irritated. “No, Pete, up here we do not drink sweet tea.”

“Damn, what do you people drink, then?”

I rolled my eyes and kept driving. What had I ever seen in him?

“Aw, now, baby! Don’t start gettin’ all huffy on me. I was just playin’ with you. I was trying to get you in a better mood, that’s all.” Pete reached over and patted my knee again.

I shoved his hand away. “Pete, I am not huffy. I am thinking about what we need to do next. Why don’t you just sit there and enjoy the scenery?”

I heard the lecherous chuckle and moved to amend my statement. “The scenery outside, Pete. For pity’s sake. Is that all you ever think about?”

“It’s that time of the month, isn’t it, babe?” he said. “Well, don’t you worry, I’m not taking offense where none is intended. If you don’t have a plan, I do.”

Oh, right, I thought. You who knows almost nothing about the situation now thinks he can solve it with a plan. This should be rich.

“What’s your plan, Pete?”

“As soon as I get something to eat, I’ll go down and visit the local boys. I’m sure they’ll help us out.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. What part of they-want-to-question-me-about-a-shooting did you not get?”

“Oh, now, baby, that was just you being a woman. I’m sure I can—”

“Pete, shut up!”

I gripped the wheel, gritted my teeth and swore to dump him on the side of the expressway if he opened his mouth again. I pressed the accelerator harder and prayed no cops decided we were worth stopping. By the time we reached Aunt Lucy’s, my fingers were cramped and my jaw was terminally frozen shut.

“All right, you root around in the refrigerator and I’ll go check in with everybody,” I said. I wanted to ask Aunt Lucy about Valerie. I wanted to know how close Jake was to her. Had they put on an act in Jake’s office because he knew I was eavesdropping? Did Valerie know my uncle was dead before Jake told her?

Pete nodded. “When you get done checking in, we’ll make a plan you like, right?”

I just looked at him.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “You make the plan. I’ll do the muscle work.”

We were walking up the back steps, heading for the kitchen, when the hairs went up on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right.

I stopped and Pete bumped into me.

“What is it?” The cop in Pete returned instantly on the alert.

I looked around, checking for signs to confirm my vibe and finding nothing unusual. I looked back out toward the driveway and found the trigger instantly. Uncle Benny’s car was gone. Someone had disobeyed the order to stay put, which could only mean that there had been an emergency, something so desperately wrong that Spike had seen fit to override my instructions.

My heart quickened. Pete picked up on the tension and for once didn’t ask questions.

I slipped the key into the back door, stepped into the kitchen and paused once again, listening, feeling with my senses for any signs of danger.

Pete stood absolutely still, watching me and waiting.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, heading for the basement.

“No, I’m coming with you.”

I turned to argue and saw that he’d drawn his gun, his face hardening into a cop mask. He felt the same thing I did. Without another word, I started down the steps, drawing my Glock as I walked. I reached for the light switch and was surprised when the lights came on just as they usually did. Everything seemed so normal on the surface, so why was I so suddenly sure that something was so terribly wrong?

I led Pete through the workshop, back into the laundry area and up to the paneled back wall. When I pushed the panel, exposing the hidden door, Pete whistled softly under his breath.

“Shit. Leave it to a Yankee,” he whispered.

We stepped into Aunt Lucy’s gleaming lab. There was no sign of a struggle, no overturned chairs, no note of explanation, nothing. Aunt Lucy’s remote control sat in the middle of the table, away from the cabinet where I’d seen her place it every time we left the room.

I studied the black rectangle, reluctantly picking it up and turning it over and over in my hand. It was literally covered with buttons, but not one said anything I could use to figure out its operation.

“You gonna watch TV now?” Pete asked.

“No,” I said, sighing. “This thing runs the lab. It’s out of place. I figure Aunt Lucy left it for me, so I could figure out where she is or what made her leave, only trouble is, I don’t have a clue how the thing works.”

“Let me see it,” Pete coaxed. “I’m good with electrical stuff.”

He pulled it out of my hand and punched two buttons. The television screen slid down from its hiding place and the front stoop was suddenly in full view.

“Cool,” Pete breathed. “Wonder what this does?”

He punched a rectangular button and the bread box began to beep.

“What the fuck is that, a bomb?”

He crept slowly over toward the stainless-steel counter, his eyes fixed on the beeping bread box.

“No, the phone’s in there,” I said, half sorry to relieve him.

Pete slid the lid up and studied the phone silently. He looked back at me and gestured toward the blinking red light that lit up the left top side of the receiver.

“You got a message,” he said. “See?”

He hit the button and I heard a mechanical voice say, “You have one new message.”

“This is Dr. Mattioni’s office,” a female voice said. “I’m calling about your dog.”

“Lloyd?” Aunt Lucy cried, picking up the phone. “I’m here. Is he ready to come home?”

“No, ma’am,” the attendant said. “I’m afraid we have some rather bad news. Lloyd is dying.” I heard my aunt gasp. “We don’t think he’ll last another hour. The doctor wanted me to tell you. He says if you want to say goodbye, you’d better come down now. I’m very sorry.”

I heard Aunt Lucy begin to sob, and listened as Spike took the phone from her. “Thank you,” Spike said softly, and hung up.

“Can you tell when the call came in?” I asked Pete.

He studied the digital readout on the phone set. “About an hour ago.”

“Lloyd’s dying?” Pete asked. “What happened?”

I looked up, surprised to see a stricken look on Pete’s face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve told you. Lloyd got shot, but the vet thought he’d make it. Aunt Lucy talked to him this morning and the vet said he was fine, considering.”

He looked like he was going to cry and I felt sorry for him. “Come on. Maybe there’s still time.”

I led Pete through the back tunnel, up into Aunt Lucy’s garage and back out into the driveway. If the secret passageway surprised him, he didn’t mention it. Instead he seemed lost in thought, a worried frown creasing his forehead and pulling his usually impassive face into a deep expression of sadness and loss.

I slid behind the wheel, biting down hard on my lip to keep from crying myself. “Thank you for keeping my family safe,” I prayed. “But in case you didn’t know, Lloyd’s family, too.”

I drove on automatic pilot, remembering images of Lloyd from the past few days, Lloyd sitting in Uncle Benny’s place at the dinner table, a big white napkin knotted around his neck and Aunt Lucy patting his paw as he wolfed down pasta, or the grin on his face as he allowed Aunt Lucy to slip Uncle Benny’s fishing cap over his ears, all so he could enjoy eggs and bacon for breakfast.

“Please don’t let Lloyd go,” I whispered, unaware that I’d spoken aloud until I heard Pete’s whispered response.

“Amen.”

We pulled into the Mattioni Veterinary Clinic and stopped just behind the bumper of Uncle Benny’s Cadillac. No, I couldn’t blame them for ignoring my order to stay put, not when Lloyd was dying. No one, not even a dog, should die alone.

I felt tears burn my eyelids and was aware of Pete reaching over to pat my leg.

“Come on, honey,” he said. “Let’s go be strong for Lloyd.”

I followed Pete for once, out of the car and down the walkway to the clinic entrance. I was following Pete’s broad back and praying, one more time, for Lloyd.

We stepped inside the clinic, rang the bell at the front desk and waited. When no one answered immediately, I reached for the door that led to the examining rooms and tugged at the handle. Locked.

“Damn,” I muttered. “Where is everybody?”

I stepped back to the bell and rang it, harder and louder this time. A moment later a brassy blonde stepped up to the window, slid it open and said, “We’re closed for the afternoon.”

“My aunt is here,” I said. “Our dog is dying.”

The woman seemed not to get it. “So, you want to wait for her, or what?”

I resisted the urge to reach across the counter and slap her.

“No, I do not want to wait. I want to go back and see my dog!”

She nodded. “I figured you would,” she muttered. “Wait a sec and I’ll unlock the door.”

She vanished, stepping out into the hallway. A moment later the bolt slid back and the door opened.

“You might as well join the others,” she said, stepping out to meet us. “I think your aunt could use a little support in her time of trouble.”

We stepped through the door and started down the hallway with me leading the way and the blonde following us.

“When did his condition take a turn for the worse?” I asked.

“About the time I arrived,” she answered.

Something in her voice was familiar. It made me stop and turn around to face her. Pete reacted as if he, too, had sensed the menace in the woman’s tone.

She stood in the middle of the hallway, smiling at our sudden discomfort. In her hand was a shiny Smith & Wesson 9 mm semiautomatic pistol.

Chapter 18

“You must be Valerie,” I said. “I’ve only seen the top of your head, but I never forget a voice.”

For some reason this seemed to please and amuse the blonde because her smile grew wider and her watery blue eyes seemed to glitter with pleasure. I found myself sizing her up, thinking the same thing that I supposed Pete was thinking. Give me an opportunity and I know I can take her.

“I’m sure you have guns,” she said softly. “Take them out, place them very carefully on the floor and then kick them toward me. And I’m warning you, if you try anything at all, I’ll shoot you both.”

She was shorter than me, maybe ten years older, and thin, but in a wiry, athletic sort of way. She watched us like a wildcat studies its prey, with caution and intent. She kept herself out of reach as we removed our guns, keeping her semiautomatic trained on Pete’s midsection. She was watching every minuscule move we made, prepared for one of us to break out.

“Where are the others?” I asked. “Where is my aunt?”

The blonde cocked her head slightly to the left, nodding as her eyes momentarily slid toward a closed door.

“Why don’t we join them?” she said softly. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate the company. After all, they’ve assured me over and over that you’d be coming to save them. Maybe now that you’ve arrived you can set them straight.”

I spun on my heel and practically ran into the examining room. My mind was humming with a billion possibilities. If she’d killed Lloyd or harmed anyone in that room with him, there would be no mercy. I never entertained the idea that she could kill me. It was simply not an option. I was more than the sum total of that bitch and her gun. I was the only chance my family had for rescue and recovery, and that made me superhuman and invincible.

I pushed the door wide and stepped inside the small room. Lloyd, dead or alive, lay on his bed, an IV hooked to his foreleg. I couldn’t tell if he was even breathing because my aunt lay beside him, shielding him with her butter-ball body. She huddled against him, her shoulders shaking as she gently rocked back and forth over him. It was frightening to see her like that, so oblivious of her surroundings and our arrival.

Against the wall, Nina and Spike were duct-taped to hard vinyl chairs. Their wrists were bound behind their backs, and their mouths had been taped shut. Nina’s eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, but like Spike’s, they glittered with unexpressed rage.

Pete’s mouth fell open as he took in the scene before us. He swung around, fists clenched and jaw tightened to face our captor. As I watched he worked to control himself, knowing that any display of aggression could only lead to his death or the death of another hostage.

The blonde leaned against the door, taking it all in as if she could sense or read our feelings. It pleased her to see us squirm. She grinned like a cat lapping up a bowl of cream, glanced at my aunt’s back and then at me.

“I told her to give me what I came for, but she wouldn’t,” she said. “Perhaps I hit her a little too hard. What do you think?”

“No!”

I fought the instinct to kill at all cost and went to my aunt instead. Gripping her shoulder, I tried to turn her over, but she fought me, pulling closer to Lloyd and whimpering like a dazed child.

“Aunt Lucy? Honey? It’s me, Stella.”

A moan, but no other response.

“Aunt Lucy, I need to turn you over. I need to make sure you and Lloyd are all right.”

She moved then, whipping her head around to glare at me. “All right? How could we be all right?” she cried.

I gasped involuntarily and bit down hard on my lower lip. Aunt Lucy’s left eye was blackened and swollen. A trickle of blood had dried in the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, my God!” I cried.

I lunged toward the blonde and felt Pete’s arms close around me. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Not now. Later.”

“I’ll kill you!” I swore. “I will kill you, trust that, remember that and look forward to a slow, agonizing death.”

The blonde’s smile broadened into a grin of delight. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said. “Bring on the best you’ve got.”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

I sheltered my aunt’s body with my own and faced her tormentor. I was going to rip the blonde’s arms off, but only after I’d broken each stubby little finger on both her bony hands.

“Benny trusted you,” my aunt moaned. “We both trusted you.”

I stared at the woman in front of us. Who the hell was she?

The blonde shrugged. “He would not have died if he’d given me what I wanted. None of you would have to die if you’d cooperate with me.”

“I told you, it wasn’t ready,” Aunt Lucy said.

I looked over my aunt’s shoulder, trying to figure out if Lloyd was dead or alive. I thought I saw the merest flicker of movement from his tail, but couldn’t be certain.

“It was ready—the others knew it was ready.”

“What others?”

Valerie glared at me. “Your old boyfriend’s wife, for one,” she said. “She and her father were planning to steal it. You think I’m too stupid to know when amateurs are plotting something?”

My aunt shook her head slightly. “Benny said the agency was pressuring you to make us hurry. He never thought you…”

“He said he had something for me,” she said. “But when I got to him, he changed his mind. The old fool saw me talking to Tony Manello and decided we were up to something. Then he tried to pretend you weren’t finished. I knew he was lying!”

Aunt Lucy turned and struggled into a sitting position beside Lloyd.

“You’re wrong,” she insisted wearily. “It wasn’t ready. Please, let them go and I’ll give it to you. But if you hurt any of them I’ll die before I give it up.”

I looked at my aunt. She seemed frail and old, as if a puff of air might blow her to bits. My heart broke to see the loss and grief in her eyes.

“This is stupid,” I said. “You could’ve had the formula if you’d just waited. They would’ve handed it to you and never dreamed you had betrayed them.”

Valerie frowned. “Even if I believed that, I couldn’t risk it being stolen by that stupid woman and her father.” She turned to my aunt. “Enough talking. Let’s go.”

When my aunt moved, I felt her left hand touch mine.

“Wait a moment,” she said weakly. “I feel sick. Let my head stop spinning.”

I felt a small plastic cylinder slide from her trembling hand into mine and was careful to keep my attention focused on the woman in front of us.

“Take me with you,” I said. “My aunt can’t walk without help. Besides, then you’ll have a guarantee, a built-in victim in case my aunt changes her mind.”

I slid the canister into the palm of my hand, my gaze never wavering from the woman in front of me. Good old Aunt Lucy. Now how did this stuff work?

Aunt Lucy began to gasp and clutch at her chest. Pete and I moved toward her, but Valerie brought the gun up higher.

“Freeze,” she barked.

Pete stopped dead, but Aunt Lucy reached up and clutched my shoulder. She pulled my sweatshirt, yanking me down into the crook of her neck and crying out in pain.

“Help! My heart pills!” she cried.

Heart pills? What heart pills?

Aunt Lucy whispered. “Pump bottle. Hit her face.”

Valerie sprang forward and gripped the collar of my sweatshirt. “Get back, I said!”

“My pleasure,” I answered, letting my body work with Valerie’s own momentum. I fell back, almost knocking us both over, clutching at Valerie’s arm. She moved to avoid me. I faked a stagger and came up with the tiny bottle in my hand, pointed dead center at Valerie’s smug smile.

I depressed the button. If this had been a made-for-TV movie the spray would’ve shot out, perfectly targeted at Valerie’s face, but instead it discharged into the palm of my hand.

“Shit!”

I flipped the bottle, hit the top again and this time scored a direct hit, dead center into Valerie’s eyes and mouth. She screamed, but only for a second. She stopped, her arms falling limp to her sides as she stood staring at me, confused and disoriented.

The world slid into slow motion. I could almost see Valerie’s brain impulses saying “What’s happening to me?” and then, as I watched, all thought died from her features. Her expression went completely blank.

“Pete, grab her gun!” I directed.

He reached for the weapon. Valerie suddenly moved, bringing the gun up and firing, an evil leer replacing the vacant stare.

“No!” she screamed.

Pete fell backward, hitting the floor with a sickening thud, his right arm spurting pulsing arcs of blood.

Valerie swung her pistol out, aiming at each one of us as she twirled. “Who’s next?” she cried.

Aunt Lucy looked stricken, her eyes wide with panic and fear.

“What happened?” I mouthed.

I saw her right hand finger the pocket of her dress, close around another cylindrical object, and knew. Aunt Lucy had handed me the wrong canister.

“The dog!” Valerie shrieked. “Let’s kill the dog!”

She raised the gun, her finger tightening on the trigger as Aunt Lucy screamed and moved to shelter Lloyd with her own body. I launched myself into the space between my aunt and Valerie, knowing she would shoot me and anticipating the bullet’s impact as it tore through my chest.

The door behind Valerie blew open, hitting her square in the back. The gun exploded, its bullet ricocheting off the wall and burrowing deep into the wood trim surrounding the ceiling.

I reached out, grabbed Valerie’s gun hand and wrenched it hard until I felt it bend backward into her body. The weapon fell as the bones in her wrist snapped with a sickening crunch. She screamed as I grabbed the hair on either side of her head and yanked her down hard. Her nose connected with my kneecap. My fist slammed into the side of her face and she slumped sideways. I kicked her hard, my foot connecting with ribs and sending her mercifully to lala land.

Jake Carpenter, better late than never, burst past me into the room, gun in hand. An ugly bruise darkened the left side of his face. His clothes were dirty and ripped. Blood had dried into a crusty patch on the side of his head, but at that moment I couldn’t recall ever being so happy to see him.

“Mmmmm!”

Nina, eyes wide, was demanding release from her duct-tape bondage.

“What a fucking mess,” Jake muttered, surveying the chaos before him. “I thought I’d never get out of the trunk of her car! Damn!”

Valerie lay sprawled on the floor, knocked cold, blood oozing from a cut in her scalp. Pete, also unconscious, would have been slowly bleeding to death next to her if Spike’s foot hadn’t been firmly pressed down on his wounded arm. She’d inched her chair forward and applied pressure to save his life.

“Who’s this?” Jake asked, bending over Pete.

“I never saw the man before in my life,” I lied.

Jake’s left eyebrow shot up as he studied Pete, then looked at me.

“You seemed mighty familiar with him back at the Red Top Inn.”

“You were there?”

“Mmmm!” Nina groaned.

I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to Jake. “Call an ambulance, then see what Valerie did with the vet. I’ll try and stop the bleeding.”

Jake nodded and left as I turned my attention to Pete’s wound. When I knew I had his bleeding under control, I bound Valerie’s wrists and ankles with adhesive tape. She moaned once and stirred as if coming around. Without thinking, I leaned over, hit her with the butt of her own weapon and breathed a sign of relief as she slumped back into a stupor.

“Stella,” Aunt Lucy whispered.

I looked up to see her standing unsteadily by my side, another plastic canister in her hand.

“Aunt Lucy, you should sit down.”

“Spray her with this,” she said. “It’s a fresh bottle. That other bottle must’ve been too old.” She frowned. “It has such a short shelf life. I told you I was still working on it!”

I took the little spray bottle and studied it carefully.

“Why spray her now?” I asked.

Aunt Lucy sighed impatiently, a shadow of her familiar self reemerging. “Always with the questions!” she huffed. “You spray her and that one lying next to her. You think I want them knowing what just happened?”

“But Valerie will remember she was after the formula tomorrow,” I insisted.

Aunt Lucy nodded patiently. “But she won’t remember how close she came. She won’t know what happened here so she’ll be forced to believe what she’s told. And,” my aunt added, “she won’t be able to answer the questions the police ask her.”

Aunt Lucy looked at Pete. “I don’t think he should know, either,” she said. “Did you tell him?”

I shook my head, reached out with the spray and pumped it vigorously. A mist settled over Pete’s face and I smiled.

“I don’t know that it’ll really change anything,” I said. “He always was clueless about certain things. I hope it doesn’t have the opposite effect. I’d hate to see him wake up smarter.”

“It makes you forget your recent past, Stella. It doesn’t work miracles.”

I sprayed Valerie, careful to hold the bottle at arm’s length.

“Aunt Lucy, that stuff stinks, even from here!”

She smiled. “You know, that stuff worked great on bass. Your Uncle Benny caught a twenty-four-pound large mouth the first time he tried it. Of course, he didn’t remember a thing about it! I had to tell him how he almost had it in the boat when the line broke. Kind of takes the fun out of it, don’t you think? Guess it was a good thing I was with him, huh?”

“Mmmm!” Nina said.

With a guilty start, I turned my attention to releasing my cousin and Spike, while Aunt Lucy returned to Lloyd’s side.

“I think he’s coming around,” she whispered.

Outside the sirens wailed, filling the air as they tore down Sheeler Street. Moments later Paint Bucket and Weasel rushed into the room, their faces pinched with anxiety.

“What’s wrong? You got two down?”

Paint Bucket quickly surveyed the room, doing a mental triage, and directed Weasel to Pete’s side while he began opening up his red metal emergency kit.

“Is your uncle all right?” I asked.

Weasel looked up. “Sure, he’s the one who pointed us in this direction.”

“What about Jake? Didn’t he tell you what happened? Why didn’t he show you where we were?”

But I knew the answer. The questions only popped out of my mouth because I wasn’t ready to accept the truth. Jake Carpenter was once again missing in action.

Chapter 19

Nina sat at the kitchen table, a makeup mirror propped up in front of her as she leaned in close and examined the pink skin that surrounded her mouth. She looked like a clown without the white face and curly red wig.

“Oh. My. God!” she squealed. “Look at me! Oh, my God! Who knew? Two days ago I thought I’d be scarred forever, but now I look just like Angelina Jolie!”

Spike appeared to be seriously considering this, cocking her head from one side to the other and smiling softly.

“Better,” she murmured. “I think you look better. For one thing, you don’t have tattoos.”

“Oh, totally not!” Nina exclaimed. “They are like, so tacky.”

“Well, at least you weren’t seriously hurt,” I said. “I think you were very brave, Nina. I think we all were. We caught Uncle Benny’s killer and kept her from killing Aunt Lucy. I’d say we make a pretty great team.”

Spike frowned. “But what’s to stop others from coming after your aunt?” she asked. “I mean, could other groups know about your aunt’s work? Could the Manello family have other potential customers we don’t know about?”

I felt Spike’s question sink deep into my heart. It was the unspoken worry I’d been avoiding ever since the big blowup with Valerie. My aunt was a valuable commodity to people who would use her work to their own benefit. And what if she invented something else?

Aunt Lucy, her head neatly bandaged in white gauze, wandered into the room wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe and bunny slippers. Einstein, the female version, was oblivious to almost everything but her work and her family.

She shuffled over to the counter, took a wineglass down from the cabinet above her and proceeded to uncork a bottle of Uncle Benny’s homemade Chianti. We watched as she poured the red wine into her glass, her white corkscrew curls somewhat tamed by the bandage that wrapped around her head like a schoolgirl’s headband.

“What?” she asked. “You got nothing better to do than watch an old lady drink wine?” She sighed. “It’s not enough I got your uncle to care for—you think I should wait on you, too?”

I saw the smile creep out momentarily from the side of her mouth and knew she was once again herself, playing with us.

“Well, I was thinking it was getting late. I was wondering, personally, what you were making for dinner.”

“Stella!” Nina lost interest in her makeup mirror, a shocked expression on her face. “How could you think Aunt Lucy…in her condition…?”

Aunt Lucy turned around to glower at her niece. “My condition? And just what exactly is my condition?”

“Well, you know,” Nina stammered. “You were pretty messed up by that woman…”

Aunt Lucy smiled. “Yeah, but we gave as good as we got, too, eh?”

“I was only kidding, Nina,” I said. “I’ll make dinner.”

Aunt Lucy’s frown returned. “What, so now you cook? I didn’t think you could boil water!”

Pete, his shoulder bandaged, chose that moment to come into the kitchen from his temporary, very temporary, resting place on the pull-out sofa in Uncle Benny’s den.

“She can’t cook a hot dog in the microwave,” he groused. “I had to teach her to make tea, and half the time she screws that up. You don’t ever, ever, let that water come to a full boil!”

Pete’s hair stood out in tufts all over his head. He had a two-day growth of stubble on his face, and he wore a pair of Uncle Benny’s flannel pajamas, which were too big around the waist and far too short at the ankles and wrists. He looked definitely the worse for wear, but leave it to Pete not to know.

“Ladies,” he said, smiling broadly at Spike and Nina.

I rolled my eyes and bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Pete, the man who prided himself on knowing everything about women, had no clue about Spike and Nina.

Aunt Lucy plunked the jug of wine down in the middle of the kitchen table.

“It’s happy hour,” she said. “Knock yourselves out. I gotta go tend to your uncle before I put dinner on the table.”

Pete caught my eye. “Your uncle?” he mouthed.

I shook my head slightly.

“I’ll cook dinner,” Spike said.

My aunt smiled. “That won’t be necessary, honey. I got it covered.”

“But Aunt Lucy,” Nina protested, “you shouldn’t be cooking in…”

Aunt Lucy silenced her with a look. “Who said anything about cooking? I said I had it covered. At six o’clock you people better have the table set and be sitting down waiting.”

We all stared at her, trying to figure out what she was up to. My stomach churned. Mrs. Cozzone, perhaps? I could just imagine a meal produced and delivered by that old bat. We had as good a chance of being assaulted as we did of eating anything.

Aunt Lucy took down a small bowl, walked to the table and poured a small amount of Chianti into it.

When she saw our raised eyebrows, she said, “It’s good for his blood. It puts the iron back in.”

“Aunt Lucy, Lloyd is a dog. Dogs shouldn’t have alcohol.”

Pete’s eyes widened, but by now he knew better than to open his mouth.

Whap! Aunt Lucy’s hand flew out, connecting with the side of my head.

“What, you think I don’t know your uncle?” She crossed herself. “It is a miracle. I thank God for the gift he has bestowed upon us all.” Whap! The hand struck again. “You should get down on your knees and thank the Blessed Virgin.”

Had the blow from Valerie’s gun caused brain injury after all? The doctor in the emergency room had assured us it hadn’t, but who knew?

“Aunt Lucy, I thought we covered this. Lloyd was Pete’s ex-wife’s dog. As long as I’ve known him, he’s been a dog. That’s not Uncle Benny. You don’t have to put on the crazy act anymore.”

My aunt fell back, clutching at her chest as she staggered. “Stella Luna, I do not believe you! When the Bible said God works in mysterious ways, were you not paying attention?”

It would’ve been pointless to tell my aunt that you can’t believe everything you read, or that I now thought God was a woman or that organized religion just didn’t cut it for me. That would’ve brought on a storm I wasn’t ready to handle.

“Now,” Aunt Lucy said, again calm and smiling. “You may sit here for the next hour until dinner, drink your wine and talk about what a crazy old woman I am. But,” she said, glaring at us, “there will be no more discussion about Lloyd and your uncle Benny. Got it?”

We all nodded, almost afraid to look her in the eye. She grabbed her glass and Lloyd’s bowl, sailing from the room as we stared after her.

“Handled that one well, didn’t you, Valocchi!” The familiar male voice startled me. I turned in my seat to find Jake Carpenter standing in the back doorway.

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

He stepped into the kitchen, a hint of a limp and a small beige bandage at his temple the only leftover signs that he’d ever been injured.

“Taking care of a little unfinished business,” he said. “You left a guy in a barn, remember?”

“How did you…?”

“I have my ways. And then there was his friend in the hospital. I had to find them appropriate…accommodations so they wouldn’t become a burden to the locals.”

“You killed them?” Nina gasped.

Jake smiled. “No. I assure you, I found them good homes in federal facilities.”

He turned back to me and seemed almost unaware of the others. The look he gave me smoldered all the way through to the very core of my body. I felt my internal temperature rise from oblivious to too damn aware as parts of me woke up and stirred. Damn that man! What gave him the right to do this to me?

“Don’t force too much reality on your aunt,” he said softly. “Believing that mutt is your uncle keeps her sane. When she’s ready, she’ll let it go.”

“So, since when have you become the psychological expert on my aunt’s mental capacity?” I asked.

Jake’s expression softened. “Since she and your uncle took me in and made every bit of their lives and survival my business.”

I saw a sudden painful awareness leap into Jake’s eyes. He hadn’t been able to keep my uncle safe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I stood up, walked over to him and took his hand. “Come on,” I said, “Sit down and have a glass of wine with us.”

He started to hesitate, but I pulled him toward the table saying, “We need to figure out what to do about Aunt Lucy.”

Jake stuck a hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, pulled out a thick manila envelope and tossed it onto the table.

“That should be a start,” he said. “That’s your uncle’s will, and all the papers that have to do with his estate are in there. I figured you’d want to take it over.”

“Take it over?” I echoed.

Jake’s eyes burned into mine. “Well, isn’t that what you want?”

“I am like, so totally confused!” Nina wailed.

She picked up the jug of wine and began pouring it into Aunt Lucy’s thick tumblers. Jake watched her with a speculative eye.

“Don’t you have anything a little…”

“Stronger?” Pete finished. He smiled what I knew he believed to be his lady-killer smile at Spike and Nina. “I mean, certainly wine is fine for the ladies, but…”

“Shut up, Pete,” I said.

I caught Jake’s amused expression and smiled. “There is some of Uncle Benny’s Wild Turkey left downstairs,” I said.

Pete snorted. “Trash! You don’t have Southern Comfort?”

“Can’t handle the good stuff, huh?” Spike asked. Her eyes glittered dangerously.

“Set ’em up, bartender!” Nina cried. “I’ll get the glasses—you get the juice!”

I started down the steps to Uncle Benny’s workshop and was aware that Jake was behind me.

“You might need protection,” he murmured.

“From what?” I asked. “The big bad wolf?”

We’d reached the bottom of the stairs and I turned to face him, waiting for his answer.

Jake was so close I could feel the heat of his body radiating into mine, the spicy scent of him filling my nostrils.

He reached out and stroked my jaw with his finger. “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?” he whispered.

“Not me,” I whispered, but my heart was pounding hard against my chest. For a moment I felt my knees go weak and knew as well as he did that we had unfinished business, all right.

I took a deep breath and two big steps backward. The days of leading with my heart were over. Jake wasn’t getting off the hook without answering a few questions.

“Where have you been the past two days?”

Jake reached into the pocket of his leather coat and withdrew a sheet of folded white paper.

“This is coming out tomorrow in the Ledger,” he said. He opened the paper, smoothed the creases and slid it onto the table. “Local Man Killed In One-Car Accident. Body Recovered.”

I looked up at Jake. “Ron? But, Jake, you shot him.”

He nodded, his eyes flattening into dark, hard discs. “Sometimes car wrecks are messy,” he said. “It was better for everyone this way.”

I shivered involuntarily.

“And Valerie?” I asked. “What’s going to happen to her?”

“She’s already been taken from local custody and moved to a federal facility,” he answered. “You won’t be hearing from her again, trust me.”

“But all those people who kept breaking in here,” I said. “Who were they? What’s to keep them from coming back?”

“When Donna found out about your aunt’s formula she decided to steal it. Unfortunately she was an amateur. She talked too much, to all the wrong people, and that was her undoing.”

“I thought her father had contacts?”

Jake looked grim. “He had names. He didn’t have a working relationship with any of them. Tony was a smalltime thug. Once the sharks gathered, it was a feeding frenzy. Nina apparently walked in on a deal going bad at St. Anthony’s.”

“Why did Valerie kill Donna and her father?”

Jake nodded. “I got caught off guard with that one. Valerie didn’t trust anyone, not me, not your uncle, nobody. Apparently, she wired the shop and tapped the phones. She knew exactly what Donna and her father planned to do long before I did.”

“Jake, you couldn’t have known Donna would…”

“Stella, it was my job to see things like that.”

“You were one man working alone on something that should’ve been easy. You weren’t a trained CIA agent, that’s why my aunt and uncle trusted you.”

Jake’s face looked pained at the mention of my uncle’s name, so I changed the subject. “What happened after you shot Ron?”

“I followed procedure. I called my CIA contact. I knew she’d call in people to take care of the cleanup, you know, to arrange a likely scenario for his death and take me out of the equation.”

I nodded.

“Valerie showed up, told me she’d have her people take care of it and asked me to help her get the body in the trunk. She asked if your aunt was safe and I said as long as I was around she was.” He shook his head. “She popped the trunk of her Volvo, I hoisted Ron into the trunk and that’s the last thing I remember.”

Jake rubbed the back of his head gingerly. “When I woke up I was locked in a trunk with a dead man.”

“But you got out?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, in time to see her whack Tony Manello. He thought he was coming to set up a deal to sell the formula. Poor bastard never saw it coming. Valerie was very, very good.”

I cringed at the thought of one rogue agent doing so much damage.

“I figured she’d be gunning for you or your aunt next, so I crawled back into the trunk of her Volvo and waited.”

I smiled. “So that’s how you got there!”

He nodded. “Only I couldn’t get the lock undone. It froze on me and I almost didn’t get out in time.”

“Good thing I was already there,” I said. “It’s always easier when you have backup.”

“Good thing indeed,” he whispered. “We make a great team, huh?”

I saw the heat in his eyes and retreated to the safety of our business relationship.

“Jake, I know Aunt Lucy needs protection. I mean, who knows what she’ll decide to work on next? What if someone comes after her, thinking she’s a walking brain trust and wanting her secrets? We have to make sure nothing happens to her.”

Jake didn’t miss much.

“We have to make sure?” he asked. “Sounds like you might be planning to stick around.” He grinned. “Who could blame you? I mean, there’s a lot of opportunity in Glenn Ford. The town’s growing. Your uncle and I even talked about opening a convenience center out where the new highway’s being built. Maybe you—”

“What is taking you two so long?” Nina called, interrupting him.

“Coming!” I didn’t take my eyes off Jake.

“Well,” Nina said, advancing down the first two steps toward us. “So, like hurry!”

I sighed, turned away from Jake and walked to Uncle Benny’s workbench. The bottle of Wild Turkey was half-full with another unopened one behind it.

“Think this’ll do it?” I asked, holding both bottles up for inspection.

“Absolutely,” he murmured. He never took his eyes off me.

I swallowed hard, grabbed the bottles and ran up the basement steps. His deep, throaty chuckle followed me.

I reached the kitchen, breathless, and handed the bottles to Nina. She poured with practiced experience, setting small juice glasses before each one of us. I stayed standing, with Jake just behind me. When each of us had a glass, I raised mine.

“To Uncle Benny,” I said.

We tossed the shots down and Nina quickly refilled our tumblers.

“To Aunt Lucy!” she cried.

Again we drank. The bourbon sped through my already burning body like liquid fire. Nina refilled the glasses, and this time Pete rose from his seat to make the toast.

“To beautiful women,” he said with a flourish, “and the men who know how to satisfy them!”

I heard a stifled snort behind me. Spike exchanged a knowing glance with Nina.

“Here it comes,” I heard Jake whisper.

Spike was standing, the bottle of Wild Turkey in her hand. She smiled dangerously at Pete, refilled all our glasses and raised hers.

“Pete,” she said. “Nina and I are partners.”

With a quick toss, Pete swallowed the contents of his glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched.

“Outstanding!” he cried. His grin was positively ear to ear. He bowed solemnly, and straightened to regard them both with another lecherous grin. “I assure you, I am man enough to satisfy the both of you!”

“Pete, like, you so do not get it!” Nina cried. “What Spike’s saying is we don’t need you to satisfy us. We’re fine just being the two of us!”

Pete smiled like an understanding father. “But ladies,” he said, leaning in close to the table, “I have something you don’t, and trust me, it just isn’t the same without it!”

I heard a soft moan of male pity behind me.

Nina burst out laughing and grabbed Spike’s hand. “Does he not get it or what?”

“Pete,” I said, “Mr. Happy isn’t the only game in town.”

Pete, startled, turned to me. “You mean you, too?”

I smiled. “You wish,” I answered, “but no.”

Pete turned scarlet. “Well, to each his own, I guess.” He put his glass down and turned to leave the room. “I think I’d better go lie down. I don’t feel so good.”

I watched him leave, feeling just the slightest bit sorry for him, but only until I remembered that Pete had a lot to do with his own unhappiness.

When I was sure he couldn’t hear me, I turned to the others. I looked around the table, making eye contact with each one of them. “You know Aunt Lucy needs protection. We have to take care of her and we can’t leave this all to Jake.”

Nina’s eyes widened. “But Spike and I live in L.A,” she said. “Spike’s an artist. She can’t come back here!”

Spike smiled and squeezed Nina’s hand. “Well, actually, sweetie, I was going to talk to you about that.”

“You were?”

Spike nodded. “Don’t you ever miss it here?” When Nina didn’t answer, Spike went on. “I didn’t, I mean, before I came back this time. I didn’t miss it at all. But honey, in the past few days we’ve done more to save the world than my band’s done in months. We made a difference!”

Spike was on a roll, sounding as if she were making a summation in court and appealing to the jury.

I watched Nina listen to Spike, saw her realize that it was okay to be homesick, and saw her feel the pull of family and hometown. I felt the pull to protect Aunt Lucy, but how was that going to make a life for me? I couldn’t see going on the government payroll.

Nina smiled at Spike. “Okay,” she said. “Fine by me! I was kind of sick of all the phonies anyway. But what would we do here? I mean, aside from take care of Aunt Lucy?”

“Maybe we could come up with something,” I said tentatively.

“I’m going to need some meditation time,” Nina said solemnly. “I have to listen to my inner feelings.”

“Sometimes you need to talk about your feelings, don’t you think?” Jake asked. His eyes said he’d already given the idea a lot of thought and developed some very horizontal-type solutions involving him and me, and not much else.

I cleared my throat, wishing I could clear the fog from my brain as easily. “Well, sure, sometimes talking is good.” Little quivers of anxiety started dancing in the pit of my stomach as my internal alarm system started blaring “Danger! Abandon ship!”

“Well, I’m a ‘now’ kind of person,” Jake continued. He gestured toward the basement steps and said, “Shall we?”

“Now?” I heard my voice squeak and could’ve kicked myself.

Nina whispered loudly to Spike, “I told you they have chemistry!” as we walked away. I ignored her and continued down the steps, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe and walk at the same time.

I led the way to the sofa, sat down at the far end, and thought about the possibilities. A former Delta Force operative turned auto mechanic, a mud wrestler, an attorney and a former cop. Together we had some rare and powerful abilities; paired up with the right customer at the right price, we might be a hell of a team. A regular bodyguard or detective agency would have nothing on us.

On the other hand, Jake Carpenter and I had tried another sort of partnership before and where had that gotten us?

“You stood me up, and then you just dropped me. That doesn’t sound like a good business partner to me,” I blurted.

Jake frowned, clearly thrown off track. “What? When?”

I glared at him. “In Elkton, at the justice of the peace’s house.”

“You’re still hanging on to that? We were kids.”

“Why didn’t you tell me my uncle found us out?” I demanded.

Jake closed his eyes for a moment, probably wishing I’d turn into a bad dream and be gone when he opened them.

“I couldn’t,” he said. “Your uncle caught me just as I was heading for my car. He talked to me for over two hours. I couldn’t leave. There was no way to reach you.”

I wasn’t going to let him off with that. “What about later, the next day or the next or the next? You never even called me!”

Jake flushed. “Well, I tried! Your aunt said you couldn’t come to the phone. Then you wrote the note saying you hated me and hoped I died. Don’t say you didn’t, I knew your handwriting. What was I supposed to do?”

“I never…” I stopped. But I had written the letter. I’d written the letter and never given it to him. I’d shoved it into the back of my underwear drawer. Come to think of it, it hadn’t been there later when I’d packed to move. How in the world had he gotten it?

I frowned. “How…who gave it to you?” But I was beginning to realize I already had the answer. Holly Phelps, a cheerleader “friend” who’d disappeared after the breakup along with all my other new “friends.” She was the one who’d encouraged me to write it. “It’s closure,” she’d soothed. Damn her! She must have stolen it from my drawer! Hadn’t she dated Jake all the next summer?

“Never mind,” I muttered. “I know.”

Jake’s expression was unreadable. “So, maybe we could let high school go, huh? I never meant to hurt you, Stella. I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving you alone.”

I felt a huge lump swell in my throat, making words impossible. What happened between us all those years ago lived in my memory like a snapshot. I held on to it because it was the only way I could keep him alive. I held on to Jake’s memory just as I had my parents’, and for the same reason. I didn’t want to lose them.

Years had passed and we had grown up, but my view of Jake hadn’t changed because I wouldn’t let it.

He reached for my hand and gripped it in his, squeezing gently until I looked at him.

“Hi,” he said softly. “My name’s Jake Carpenter. Welcome to Glenn Ford, Pennsylvania. I think you’ll like it here.”

I smiled, suddenly shy. “Hello, Jake, my name’s Stella Luna Maria Valocchi. You can call me Stella.”

He turned my hand over, palm up, and gently traced the lifeline of my palm with one work-roughened finger.

“I see a long lifeline here, with lots of—”

“Stella!” Nina interrupted. “Lloyd wants to go out!”

I ignored her, waiting for Jake to continue.

“A long lifeline with lots of…family,” he said chuckling.

Upstairs I heard the abrupt scraping of chairs and a disgusted “Lloyd, bad dog!” followed by “Stella!”

“Coming!” I yelled. “We’re coming!”

I stood up and reached for Jake’s hand. “Come on,” I said. “I’ve got a dog you’ll just love!”

“Housetraining a problem?” Jake murmured.

I grinned. “No, he just has a few identity issues. You see, he thinks he’s human.”

“Ah,” Jake said, nodding. “A common problem among dogs, I hear.”

“Jake Carpenter, is that you?” Aunt Lucy met us at the top of the stairs, wearing her familiar black dress and sensible shoes.

“What kind of nonsense is going on around here? Did you not call and say you were bringing dinner?”

“And I did,” he answered, charming her with his grin. “It’s in the car. I’ll get it.”

Aunt Lucy looked around at the rest of us. “Well? Set the table! Pour the drinks, and I don’t mean alcohol! Spike, go call Pete, he needs to eat something.”

We moved, slow and unsteady on our feet, to do as she commanded. It was a ritual, as old as I could remember. Every night we set the table, poured the drinks and said grace over our meals. It was always at the same time, in the same seats, at the same table. Now there were new faces, Spike, Jake, Pete and Lloyd in my uncle’s old place. But the ritual of family continued.

Jake returned carrying a cooler. He pulled out foil-wrapped pans, grabbed serving spoons from drawers without asking for directions and brought dinner to the table.

“You cook?” I asked.

“You don’t?” he answered. He grinned. “Actually, I only made the tiramisu. My grandmother made the rest.”

I looked at the familiar foil rectangles and then back at Jake.

“Your grandmother,” I said.

Jake’s grin broadened. “Sylvia Cozzone,” he finished. “The one and only.”

“The blessing!” Aunt Lucy commanded. “Can’t you see your uncle is waiting?”

Lloyd, sitting at Uncle Benny’s chair, was indeed waiting. His plate had been served, but the dog was not wolfing it down. I stared at him, looking hard into his doggie eyes.

“No way,” I muttered to myself. “You’re just a dog.”

Lloyd bowed his head and barked twice.

“Amen!” Aunt Lucy said and crossed herself.

I looked back at Lloyd and crossed myself twice.

The entire family was probably nuts. Aunt Lucy believed my dog was my uncle. Nina was the queen of mud, looking to save the world. Jake was Sylvia Cozzone’s grandson, which made him crazy by virtue of his heritage. Spike loved Nina. Surely you had to be crazy to both understand and love my wacko cousin, so I guess that made me technically insane, as well.

I sat there eating good pasta and feeling the warmth of my family swirl around me like a soft sweater. This was where I belonged. I knew that with a certainty that made my confusion over the details irrelevant. So I didn’t have a job. Okay. But I did have a future.

I looked up and found Jake watching me.

I had a future, all right, filled with unfinished business, possibilities and promises. Now, how could a girl complain about a life like that?

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5768-3

STELLA, GET YOUR GUN

Copyright © 2004 by Nancy Bartholomew

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