Out of Circulation, page 18
“How did you know Fred Rawlins didn’t get the bank money when he killed your friend Luke?” I asked.
“I know Luke. At least, I used to. He was sneaky that way. He’d never keep all that money in his apartment. Somehow Rawlins figured out that shed behind Luke’s parents’ house was a possible place where Luke might have hidden the money.”
“When did the Boss contact you?” Dylan asked.
“The day after Luke was killed. He called me and said I needed to hand over the money from the bank job on Saturday afternoon or I’d be joining my two friends. I told him I had no idea where the money was. He said maybe that was true, which was why he was giving me a few days to find it. He had no intention of waiting any longer than that. When I asked about my cut, he said he’d let me know after I delivered the money.”
“I can’t believe this guy, supposedly the brains behind the heist, wants to meet you after all this time he’s kept his identity a secret,” Dylan said.
“Oh, he doesn’t want to meet me. The guy calls me every morning to find out if I’ve made any progress. When I tell him I’ve found the money, he’ll say where to drop it off.”
“Careful, isn’t he?” I commented.
“He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty,” Dylan said. “No offense, Tino, but he picked the wrong thieves for the job.”
“And now he’s gonna kill me if I don’t come up with the dough.” Tino began to sniffle, and I hoped he wasn’t about to break down and sob. “Maybe kill me even if I do. That’s why I figure my only chance is to find the money and leave town. Albi says I won’t be able to make it on my own.” He covered his face with his hands.
Dylan and I looked at each other.
“You’re sure you don’t want to tell all this to the police?” I asked.
“No! I wouldn’t have come today if I thought you’d say something stupid like that.” Now his face was flushed with anger.
“Easy there,” Dylan said calmly. “We’re just looking at all the alternatives.”
“Well, going to the cops isn’t one of them,” Tino growled.
“Is there any other place where Luke might have hidden the money?” I asked.
“Yeah, there is. But I’m not saying till I go there and see for myself.” He smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. “And I’m going there right now, while the police are questioning Fred Rawlins and he can’t beat me to it.”
“How do you know he’s being questioned?” I asked.
“I saw him being brought in as I was leaving the precinct.”
“I’m glad they caught up with him since he’s a suspect in Luke Rizzo’s murder,” Dylan said.
Tino let loose a neighing laugh. “And maybe another murder too.”
My pulse began to race. “What are you talking about, Tino?”
“I’m pretty good at tailing people, if I do say so myself. Since I knew where Fred Rawlins was holing up, I stayed on his tail. And guess where he led me to last night? Turns out he parked and got out of his car half a block from where that old lady was murdered.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We have to tell John that Rawlins was seen near Winnie’s house last night,” I said as soon as we left the diner.
Dylan laughed. “Tell John something he probably already knows?”
“How could he know what Tino just told us?
“Could be he brought Fred Rawlins in to question him regarding Winnie’s murder because someone else saw him there last night.”
“Really?” I scoffed. “This must have been after Sally had been to see Winnie.”
“Carrie, people walk their dogs late into the night. Other people go running at all hours. Someone might have seen Rawlins. Or seen Tino skulking about. Besides, we don’t know if Tino is lying about seeing Rawlins near Winifred’s house. He has a particular grievance against Fred Rawlins, who he thinks murdered his friend Luke.
“At the same time, Tino’s probably pissed at Luke for not sharing the money from the heist with him after he killed Billy and grabbed the loot. For all we know, Tino himself killed Luke before he could get his friend to tell him where he’d hidden the bank money.”
“And what about Leslie Thompson?” I said. “Tino didn’t mention seeing someone with Fred Rawlins.”
“No, he didn’t, though Leslie could have stayed in the car when Rawlins went inside to talk to Winnie. Or not. Maybe Leslie had nothing to do with what happened to his mother.”
I sighed. “Too many possibilities.”
“Which is why I think it’s best to wait until Tino calls us once he’s checked out that last hiding place,” Dylan said.
“I suppose. This way we’ll be honoring Tino’s request not to bring in the police, and giving him a chance to find the money. It will look better if he shows up at the police station with the stolen money,” I said. “Also, he’ll have protection against the Boss, whoever he is.”
“Yes.” Dylan pulled me close. “I only wish this wasn’t going down the weekend of our wedding.”
We drove back to the cottage, both of us deep in thought. I ran through our conversation with Tino and was left with the definite feeling that, although he was convinced he was telling the truth, he was strung out—either from drugs or not eating and/or not sleeping—and driven by fear and anger. Tino had given us the bare facts, but there was more to the story.
The only way we could help him was to let him go ahead as he’d planned and take it from there. We’d explained we had our wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner and couldn’t speak to him until later that evening, around ten and no later than eleven. Tino said he understood and might even get in touch with us the following morning.
I hoped he wouldn’t run into any danger in the meantime, but there wasn’t much chance of that. Fred Rawlins was down at the precinct being questioned, and the mysterious Boss always called in the morning for a report. Maybe Tino would be lucky for once and find the heist money. Then we could meet him tomorrow morning at the precinct and put in a good word for him—if he agreed with our plan.
It was a little past two when Dylan and I arrived home, which gave me an hour or so to finish packing before I got dressed for the evening’s activities. The wedding rehearsal at Victor’s house was scheduled for five o’clock, but Dylan and I planned to get there a half hour earlier. I called Victor to find out if the rental chairs had arrived, and he assured me that everything was going as planned. In fact, the crew that had delivered the chairs was now setting them up to our specifications.
My mother called to let me know that she and Tom were in their rental car and en route from the airport to their motel.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said.
“That’s good. I was nervous for days before both my weddings. I hardly slept a wink or ate a morsel of food.”
Before she could elaborate further, I told her I couldn’t talk because I had to take care of a few things before the rehearsal.
“Carrie, please tell me how we get to your friend’s house. I seem to have misplaced the directions.”
I tamped down my exasperation. “The directions are up on the wedding website. Have Tom check it out if you have a problem. I’ll text him the URL.”
I disconnected and sighed as I sent Tom the link to our wedding website. My mother was in town.
“I told the maître d’ at Due Amici we still needed the three tables for ten that we originally planned for,” Dylan said. “He said the boss told him our guests can order whatever they like as a main course for the same price we’d agreed on.”
I grinned. “That was kind of him,” I said.
I finished packing, showered, then slipped into the silk fit-and-flare midi dress I’d bought to wear to the rehearsal dinner. It had tiny red, yellow, and blue flowers adorning a white background. I stepped into my navy slingbacks and twirled in front of the mirror. It was finally happening! Our wedding weekend was about to begin!
As we were leaving, Smoky Joe sensed something important was brewing and kept weaving around my feet.
“Sorry, boy, you can’t come with us.” I picked him up and held him close.
He meowed. I started to set him down, but he clung to me.
“I wish I could bring you tomorrow,” I told him, “but a wedding is no place for a cat. Besides, I don’t think Raspi would be happy to find a cat roaming through his house.”
“Rasputin won’t be at our wedding either,” Dylan said. “He’ll be at the house while we rehearse, but not tomorrow. Too much of a commotion for him, even if he were kept in a room upstairs, Victor said. He’s boarding him overnight.”
I smiled. “Victor has been such a good friend to us, letting us have the wedding at his house. We must find something very special for him while we’re in Greece.”
“I’m thinking a painting,” Dylan said. “We’ll search the galleries until we find one that he’ll love.”
I wrapped my arms around Dylan’s neck. “You’ve come up with the best idea for a gift. One of the many reasons I love you.”
His lips met mine, and for a moment I wanted nothing more than to stay in his embrace. But now wasn’t the time to dillydally. Hand in hand, we left the cottage to begin the rituals and festivities of our wedding.
* * *
Victor, Babette, and Raspi greeted us at the front door with hugs and a tray bearing four flutes and a bottle of Cristal champagne. Victor led us into the kitchen, where he popped the cork with a flourish, poured, and toasted Dylan and me first in Serbian, then in English. Before we could take another sip, he ushered us into the living room, to survey the room where our wedding rehearsal would soon take place.
“As you can see, the chairs have been arranged so there’s an aisle wide enough for everyone’s comfort and adequate room for the ceremony in front of the bay window,” Victor said.
“The flowers are arriving tomorrow afternoon,” Babette said. “I’ll make sure they’re placed exactly as you want them—in this room and on the tables inside the tent.”
A surge of excitement coursed through my body. Tomorrow evening, in less than thirty hours, I was becoming Carrie Singleton Avery. Everything was going to happen exactly as we’d planned because Victor and Babette would make sure that it did.
“Thank you both.” I hugged each of them.
“They’re coming at nine tomorrow morning to set up the tent,” Victor went on. “And the caterers will be arriving no later than five.”
“The musicians will arrive half an hour before we all go into the tent for dining and dancing,” Babette added.
“It sounds like the two of you have everything under control,” Dylan said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t tell you how much this means to Carrie and me.”
Now it was Dylan’s turn to embrace our hosts.
“We’re so lucky, aren’t we? To have such wonderful friends,” I said.
“It’s been our pleasure,” Victor said.
Babette grinned. “And what fun we’re having managing your wedding.”
Have you made any plans for your own wedding? I wondered but didn’t say aloud. We returned to the kitchen and finished our champagne.
I’d deputized Rosemary, Angela’s mom, to send people down the “aisle,” so to speak, during the rehearsal, as she’d recently overseen Angela and Steve’s wedding a year ago. Babette’s friend Danielle, the high school music teacher who also played the organ in her church, was handling the music for our ceremony, playing a tape she had made and used for several weddings.
My mother and Tom, her handsome younger husband, were the first to arrive. Dylan and I had no sooner introduced them to Victor and Babette, when my father and Merry made their appearance. Jim grabbed me in a bear embrace, and I held on to him for what seemed like minutes before greeting Merry. Then I watched as Jim introduced Merry to my mother and Tom while my mother simpered, and Merry, elegant and composed as always, said she was happy to finally meet them.
Great-Aunt Harriet and Great-Uncle Bosco joined us, followed by Angela and Steve and Angela’s parents; my cousins Julia, Randy, Tacey, and Mark; and Gary Winton, Dylan’s young associate. Dylan embraced Mac and his wife, whom I’d never met; and finally Mayor Al Tripp, who was performing the ceremony, arrived with his lovely wife, Dolores.
But where was Danielle? She came flying in at twenty past five, her hair disheveled as she apologized profusely, babbling about an accident on I-95 and how she should have exited sooner. We assured her there was no need to worry as this was only the rehearsal. Babette spoke to her, and minutes later Danielle had the digital recording going and we were ready to start.
The stirring notes of Pachelbel’s Canon sounded, and I felt a surge of emotion as Al made his way down the aisle to the makeshift altar in the bay window. My matrons of honor and Dylan’s groomsmen took their places.
“Walk slowly,” Rosemary instructed, her whisper loud enough for all of us to hear. Though we were walking the length of the living room, the aisle was still considerably shorter than any place where weddings were routinely performed.
Great-Aunt Harriet and Great-Uncle Bosco followed, then my mother and Tom. Mark was solemn as our ring bearer, but Tacey couldn’t stifle her excited giggles until her mother left her place to speak to her.
The music changed to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” My father put my hand in the crook of his elbow and beamed down at me. “Ready?” he asked.
“Oh yes!”
We hugged, knowing what we were really saying. Rosemary prodded me, and slowly Jim and I started down the aisle.
When the rehearsal was over, everyone took turns embracing Dylan and me. We were surrounded by the people we loved and who loved us. Victor served flutes of champagne to the adults, and soda to Mark and Tacey. Then suddenly there was a flurry of activity as we raced from the house and headed to our cars to set out for the rehearsal dinner.
Luigi, Due Amici’s maître d’, had set up the tables for our party in the far corner of the restaurant, a good distance from the other diners. As soon as we arrived, two waitresses placed a bottle of red wine and a bottle of white wine on each of the three tables. I directed our guests to their seats. In addition to our wedding party, we’d invited Victor and Babette and John and Sylvia to the dinner. My parents and their spouses, Harriet and Bosco, and Mac and his wife were sitting with Dylan and me.
When everyone was seated, my father stood and toasted Dylan and me. Luigi and Dom, the restaurant’s owner, joined in drinking a glass of wine to our health and congratulated us while Tacey and Mark sipped soda. Our waitresses brought out baskets of warm rolls and tricolor salads, then went around with large pepper mills.
Spirits were high as we ate and chatted. As the salad plates were being cleared, Dylan and I visited our guests at the other two tables. Victor was holding court at his and Babette’s table, where Sylvia Mathers sat beside an empty seat.
“John’s on his way,” she said before I could ask. “He’s busy with the latest case.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “You must be upset. Poor Winnie.”
“Yes. Poor Winnie. She seemed to be going off the rails these past few weeks. Carrying on about that diary as if she deserved to own it because Verity Babcock was her ancient relative.”
“She did seem obsessed by it,” I agreed.
Sylvia looked around and lowered her voice. Though no one was paying us any attention, I knew what she was about to say had something to do with the Wise Women. “We’ve decided to go ahead and write to the state legislature again to seek exoneration for Verity. We’re also setting up a scholarship to honor Verity and Winnie. After all, Winnie was an important contributor to our group for many years”
“I think that’s fitting and will be appreciated by Winnie’s friends and family.”
Sylvia smiled. “Sally’s told me your thoughts about joining us. I know how busy you’re going to be these next few years, but I’m hoping you’ll change your mind eventually.”
“It’s a possibility,” I agreed.
When Dylan and I returned to our table for our next course, a serving of pasta, we found my parents and their spouses in an active four-way conversation. I’d placed my mother and Tom next to my aunt and uncle, who were excellent conversationalists, if not especially fond of my mother; and Jim and Merry next to Mac and his wife because they knew each other quite well.
My mother reached past Dylan, who was talking to Uncle Bosco, to touch my arm. “Merry was telling me that she and your father are planning a river trip up the Danube. That’s just what Tom and I have been thinking of doing.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
To my surprise, she tightened her grip. “Carrie, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that you and Dylan are getting married.”
My surprise must have shown on my face because my mother burst out laughing.
“I know I haven’t been the mother you must have wanted, and I’m sorry for that. But never doubt for one minute that I love you very much and want you to be happy.” She lowered her voice. “As happy as Tom and I are.”
I got up and hugged her. “Thanks so much for saying that.”
“I mean it, Carrie. From my heart.”
John came over to our table while we were eating our main course—Pesce Misto over angel hair for me and Chicken Scarpiello for Dylan. He exchanged greetings with Dylan and my father, and bussed my cheek.
“Sorry to get to your shindig so late but I’ve been busy interviewing witnesses and persons of interest.”
“Regarding Winnie Thompson’s homicide?” I asked.
“That and other cases.”
Billy Carpenter and Luke Rizzo? I felt a pang of guilt for withholding information, but it was only until tomorrow morning, I reminded myself. Even so, Dylan and I knew nothing concrete about those murders.
I stood and looked around for one of the waitresses. “I’ll have someone take your order.”
John put a hand on my shoulder. “Please sit down, Carrie. My lovely wife is waving to me. She’ll see to everything.”
