“Nope.” He shook his head. “But I pegged her. Did you ever see the old film Fatal Attraction?”
I nodded.
“That woman at the nature park had bunny-boiling stalker written all over her.”
She didn’t strike me that way, but I decided to defer to Tony’s experience as a ladies’ man.
We sipped for a while in silence. Finally, I broached the topic of his background.
“About your family …”
“Here it comes.”
“Sorry, but people in Himmarshee have some pretty wild imaginations.” I wasn’t going to get into which people. “Those criminal cases involving your family and the restaurants up north definitely have people talking.”
“And what are people saying?” His voice was level, but his jaw was tight.
“Do you really want to know?”
He nodded.
“Well, that Ronnie was in the catering business and that all of a sudden your aunt shows up, and then you do, with plans to go into the catering business.”
“Event planning.”
“Which includes catering,” I said. “Which makes Ronnie a rival. And then Ronnie ‘The Rival’ very quickly ends up dead.”
All of a sudden, I retrieved a fact that had been floating around in my brain since I trapped that snake for the newcomer. “Not only that, but somebody saw your green Lexus in town the day before you said you arrived. The day Ronnie was murdered.”
He let out a long breath. “Wow. You don’t pull any punches with your friends, do you?”
I shook my head.
“First of all, who said they saw me? Because I wasn’t here until that morning I met you at the diner. And second, I guess I’d rather hear about this crap from you than from that cop, Martinez.”
“So?” I said.
“So, what?”
“Did you have anything to do with Ronnie’s murder?”
“Jesus, Mace!” The words exploded from his mouth. “You invited me into your house. Your life. We ate; we drank. Are you really telling me you think I’m capable of killing that man?”
I shrugged. His face settled into resignation; more sad than angry.
“It’s typical. You know a little bit about my family, and you think the worst of me. Most of the stuff the feds and the newspapers say isn’t true, by the way.”
“I’m sorry, Tony. I’m just telling you what people are saying.”
He twisted the bottle in his hand, staring at the beer as it sloshed against the sides. “I’ve been to the best schools. I’ve studied, and worked, and tried as hard as I could not to become my father.” His voice was a whisper. “And yet, whenever anyone looks at me, The Family is all they see. I’ll never be able to get out from under that.”
“Tony, I …”
The ring of the telephone interrupted me. I’d finally broken down and ordered caller ID for moments just like this. I glanced at the readout.
“Sorry, I have to take this.”
Head lowered into one hand, he waved me away with the other.
“Hey, Carlos.”
I walked with the phone the few steps to my bedroom, closing the door. Privacy would still be minimal. The walls of my little cottage were solid cypress. But the interior doors were cheap, made of hollow wood.
“Hey, yourself.” His voice was warm, caressing. Then he switched to his business tone. “I’ve got some information I’d rather you hear from me than the Himmarshee Hotline.”
“Is everything okay?” My heart began to race. “Nothing’s happened to Mama or my sisters, has it?”
“No, no,” he quickly reassured me. “It’s about C’ndee Ciancio.”
I instinctively turned my back to the bedroom door. Either I was shielding Tony from bad news, or trying to prevent him from eavesdropping. I wasn’t sure.
“I’ve got her down here at the police department.”
“Is she under arrest?”
“No. I just told her we’re going to have a little chat, like you say in these parts.”
“And she didn’t ask for a lawyer?”
“She says she has nothing to hide.”
She was either telling the truth, or it was the bravado of a big-city girl in what she thought was a hick town police station. It wouldn’t be smart of C’ndee to underestimate Carlos.
“Well, thanks for telling me,” I said.
“I need your help to spin this, Mace. Word is naturally going to spread …”
“I’m not a gossip.”
“We’ve been through that before. Let’s just say word will spread. I want you to play it just like I’ve told you: ‘C’ndee’s in for a little chat. She may be of help to the investigation.’ Can you do that for me?”
“Sure.”
His voice changed back to a lover’s tone. “What are you doing right now?”
I immediately felt a rush of guilt, and tried to make my voice sound normal. Carlos had a lie detector hard-wired into his brain. “Nothing much. Finishing up dinner.”
“Well, I’m thinking of you.”
“Right back at ya.” I imagined Tony listening in. “I know you’re busy; I’ll let you get back to work.”
We said our goodbyes and rang off, and I returned to the living room. Tony sat upright, the defeated posture was gone.
“What was that all about?”
I hesitated for a moment. He’d find out one way or another. “Your aunt,” I said. “She’s down at the police department.”
I repeated what Carlos had told me to say, but Tony seemed to barely hear me. He’d already yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and started punching in numbers. The look on his face was frightening in its intensity.
“Yeah, Arthur. It’s me. We’ve got a little trouble in Himmarshee,” he said into the phone. “Who do you know in Florida who can get here quick?”
His speech was rapid-fire, the cultured cadence slipping into New Jerseyese.
“Goddammit, Arthur! That is not what I want to hear. What do you think I pay you for?”
He stood up and walked to my front door. “That’s unacceptable, Arthur. We’re talking about my family.”
He turned his back and walked outside. But not before I’d seen the hard set to his jaw and the ice in his eyes. I felt like I was watching The Godfather, at the moment when a young Michael Corleone makes his transition from nice college boy to cold-blooded killer.
“Mama’s social merry-go-round is making me motion sick.”
That was the closest Marty would come to a complaint. But as we gathered at the Speckled Perch to decorate for Mama’s party, Maddie ranted enough for the three of us.
“The whole thing is unseemly,” she huffed. “Drinking in the middle of the day. A bachelorette party, at her age! And this is marriage No. 5. Mama’s no blushing virgin.”
“Maddie!” Marty looked around to see who might have overheard, but the place was dark, quiet, and empty.
We’d arrived early as the appointed decorating committee. The Perch was normally a dinner and night spot, but the owner agreed to open for the lunch gathering as a favor to Mama. The party would begin at noon.
The manager, dark smudges under his eyes, clip-on tie askew, looked like he climbed off a cot in the back to come let us in. He’d disappeared after unlocking the door, but not before I noticed specks of toilet paper on the spots where he’d cut himself shaving. We waited in the dimly lit dining room, but he hadn’t returned.
“I don’t think that manager’s a morning person,” I said. “I’m going to find him, and see if I can get him to at least turn on some more lights.”