“Not until Bill MacNert told me.”

  “Do you know any of his parishioners?”

  I glanced at Lola, and then back to Harvard.

  “What’s this about?” I asked him while my inquisitive mind raced out of control.

  “Please answer the question, Ms. Esposito.” His gaze was glued to me as he waited for an answer.

  “I have no idea who his followers are. Hell, I never met the man until today.”

  “Then your Aunt Josephine never mentioned him to you?”

  Aunt Josephine? My aunt? A member of a non-Catholic parish? Did my mother know? The concept threw me as I thought about her, her sons, and her long-dead husband. Man, the guy would turn over in his grave. The boys, now guests of the state penal system, would have a fit.

  Wary, I asked, “Are you sure my aunt is involved in this parish?”

  “So, you weren’t aware of it?” he asked.

  “Apparently not.”

  “Is anyone else in your family a follower of Mr. Slaggard?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” Bewildered, I gawked at Harvard Bernard.

  “That will be all for now, then. Thank you for your time ma’am.” Harvard nodded as he turned to leave. His gaze fell on Lola once again, and his cheeks turned pink as he smiled and bid her good night.

  “Officer Bernard, do you know how many people are in this so-called parish?” Lola asked.

  “Uh, we think Slaggard has over a hundred followers now. His parish is growing quickly.”

  “Are they simple folks, or are they wealthy people, um, people of means?” Lola smiled. Her charm flowed tide-like and Harvard responded to it in a trancelike state.

  I really wished I knew how to attain that response from men, but while my ability to lie well was my gift, Lola’s smile was hers.

  “The majority are well-to-do, yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Slaggard has been to my establishment on a few occasions. I wondered if that’s how he acquires his followers, you know, by engaging well-heeled people in conversation in an effort to lure them into the fold.”

  An intense expression covered Harvard’s face while he stared down at the floor. If this was his contemplation mode, then it was a good one. With his head bent downward it was difficult to see his face or guess his thoughts.

  “You wouldn’t be interested in joining his church, would you Miss Trapezi?” Harvard asked her.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering. Your menu must be quite wonderful if Mr. Slaggard travels to Scituate to eat. You do realize his parish is over ten miles away?”

  “I realize that, but the food at the Salt & Pepper is excellent, even if I do say so myself.” Lola smiled once again and donned her coat. “Make sure to stop by tomorrow for lunch. I’d be happy to cook you a delicious meal.”

  Standing back, I watched the two of them leave together. Neither one knew I existed, nor were they on Planet Earth for that matter. They seemed to have entered a different sphere altogether. I smirked when Lola suddenly glanced back and winked at me.

  I locked up and listened for the hallway exit door to close. When it shut with a thud, I scooted into the office and peeked out the window. Lola and Harvard strolled toward her car, deep in conversation. Her hands gestured the way most Italians’ hands do when they talk. Bernard smiled, mesmerized by her. I chuckled and left the room.

  Chapter 5

  Cops mingled with other students. Four or five pupils were in private security and one or two law students were in the class to fill their schedule. Why? I had no idea, because I worked them hard to earn a grade. I only graded on a curve when police departments pressured me into it or when I owed someone a favor.

  Once they’d all grabbed a seat and quieted down, I offered a brief description of the incident they’d be required to find clues and evidence for. I set the boxes of car parts and broken headlamps on the worktables with an invitation to team up and get started.

  The group sorted themselves into sets of three or four and began the process of crime scene investigation. I wandered about, listening in on various conversations. Some brought a smile to my lips, while others left me wondering if those students would be able to find their way out of a paper bag, let alone a crime scene. I finally leaned against the podium to watch.

  A light tap on the door caught my attention. I strode over to open it a crack and saw Marcus outside. Glancing over my shoulder at the students, I told them to keep working and left the room.

  He ran his hands up my arms, but he didn’t try to kiss me or hold me. Instead he smiled.

  “Did Aaron leave town this morning?”

  I stared at him for a second. “He left after we had coffee, why?”

  “No reason. I heard he was going to be away. Are you really letting his apartment to Monica Heartworthy?”

  “She needs a place to stay for a brief time. Aaron agreed, so I said it was fine. Why do you ask?”

  Marcus shrugged. “I’m surprised.”

  “Monica Heartworthy isn’t a dual agent for the FBI and the mob like Rafe was. Even Lola was shocked to find out her distant cousin played both sides of the law. Monica’s good people. Just a little unique, like more of a free spirit type with an ethereal quality. You could say she has the sight.”

  His slight smile turned into a cough as Marcus found the idea hard to believe. Why that response? Who knew? I knew there were unexplainable things in this world and people were given certain gifts.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked as I peered into the room to check on the students.

  “Nothing, I just thought about you living in close quarters with someone with those powers. It should be enlightening to say the least.”

  My hand on my hip, I asked, “So, why are you really here?”

  Hedging a bit, Marcus glanced around the empty corridor before he turned a solemn expression toward me.

  “It seems that your drowning victim is tied up with Frankie “Tomatoes” Sarducci. Are you aware of that?”

  “I am, Lola told me last night. Officer Bernard also dropped by with more questions. When I couldn’t answer them, he dropped a bomb that I need to check out after class.”

  His eyebrows hiked as I spoke, and I realized Marcus had no idea to what I was referring. Before he could ask, I said, “My Aunt Josephine is a member of Slaggard’s congregation. My mother will have a fit over this, but I have to find out why and how auntie got involved with him. She’s a Roman Catholic for goodness sakes.”

  A snicker met my statement. When I stopped to think about it, I had sounded kind of foolish. Maybe Marcus wasn’t Catholic and I knew he definitely wasn’t Italian. That could be why he didn’t understand my thoughts on the idea of Josephine being involved with Slaggard’s flock.

  Still grinning, Marcus said, “I’m not even going to ask for an explanation of that statement, but I will say this . . . stay away from Slaggard. I mean it.”

  I turned to peer through the slim window in the steel door and muttered, “I’ll take that under advisement. Now if you don’t mind, there’s a disagreement in the classroom I need to contend with.”

  “Kind of like babysitting, huh?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes, the difference being that these people are adults and most of them carry weapons.” I opened the door and glanced back at Marcus.

  Marcus grinned. “See you later. Watch yourself, Vinnie. You could be in danger.”

  I nodded and entered the room. Voices rose, an argument ensued, and the differences of opinion caused major dissent within the group. I yelled for silence and asked everyone to be seated. It took time for the class to settle down, but once it was quiet, I asked for results and findings from each team. When it looked like a disagreement over the evidence would break out again, I held up a hand and spoke to them as a whole.

  “It’s fine to have a difference of opinion, but as adults in this classroom, you’re required to do so with respect. Now, let’s hear what each team found that varies from the other teams.” And so the class proceeded. Did I mention that I often feel like a referee?

  Within an hour, the students had come to much the same conclusions. After assigning a paper on the subject, I released them and watched as they filed out of the room, joking and laughing with one another. I shook my head, snatched my cell phone from my pocket, and called my mother. She answered on the second ring.

  “Are you working at the shop today?” I asked her.

  “Yes, I was about to have lunch. Want to join me?”

  My mother’s good spirits caused me a pang of guilt, fleeting though it was. To tell her about Aunt Josephine meant the news would ruin her day, especially if she wasn’t aware that her sister had moved on to a new church, and religion.

  I agreed to meet her at my gift shop in Providence and wasted no time getting there. Parking a short distance from the shop, I hurried along the sidewalk. Mom joined me when she saw me outside the store.

  “You arrived quickly, Lavinia. Lucky I was ready and waiting for you.” Mom peered into my face, and her good-natured expression changed to one of concern. “Is everything all right? You haven’t become involved in another murder inquiry, have you?” she asked.

  Tucking her arm through the crook of my elbow, I matched her stride. We walked toward a sandwich shop squeezed between two high-end businesses farther along the busy street. I murmured that we would talk while we ate lunch, even though Mom kept darting curious glances toward me.

  In the sandwich shop, we ordered and settled in at a table at the back of the narrow room. Lawyers and business execs slurped soup, dipped rolls, gorged themselves on sandwiches, and talked nonstop. The counter help brought our order to the table while I perused the room and my mother stared at me.

  “Lavinia,” she whispered, “tell me what’s going on, you’re scaring me.” Her forehead creased into wrinkles and her mouth turned down in a frown.

  “Sorry, Mom, I’m trying to figure out an easy way to break the news to you. It seems the only thing I can do is to speak frankly.” I tossed my hair away from my face and off my shoulders, a sure sign of angst. “Are you aware that Aunt Josephine has left the Catholic religion behind her and has taken up with a new ministry?” I blurted and watched my mother closely.

  Wide-eyed, open-mouthed, my mother gaped at me. “She’s what?”

  “She’s found a new religion and has left the old one behind,” I repeated. Taking a deep breath I asked, “Has Aunt Josephine been acting strange? Like talking about signing her house over to someone or maybe withdrawing large sums of cash from the bank to donate to some cause or other?” I waited for Mom to grasp what I’d said. Her expression was bleak, and then she smiled.

  With a tsking sound, Mom said, “Lavinia, don’t be ridiculous. Josephine would never leave our church, or her religion. She’s devout. What you’re implying is silly.”

  I leaned back in the chair and fiddled with my sandwich crust. “Yesterday, I saved the life of a man drowning in the reservoir near Aunt Livvy’s grave. Come to find out, he’s a preacher of some new enlightened church. Among his followers are Frankie Tomatoes Sarducci’s wife and Aunt Josephine.”

  Mom blustered and wiggled around in the chair while gawking at me in silence. I waited, knowing I shouldn’t say something I’d regret. After all, this was my mother, the bake-sale queen and cookie-baker extraordinaire. A champion for senior citizen causes. She rarely said anything off-color about anyone and had faith that people were good at heart. It was a part of my mother that I found most endearing . . . naïve, but endearing.

  I reached out and grasped her hand.

  “Mom, I thought you might have known and were reluctant to tell the family about it. Aunt Josephine is in trouble. This man could possibly bleed her dry and then toss her aside like an old newspaper.”

  In denial, my mother remarked, “Lavinia, you can’t be serious.”

  “Sorry, Mom, but I am. A policeman came to the house last night with questions about the preacher man. He told me outright that Aunt Josephine was a member of the congregation. Lola was there and we were both stunned. Lola’s the one who told me that Frankie’s wife was involved with this church.”

  Just then, the door swung open. Frankie Tomatoes stepped into the sandwich shop and glanced around the room. Bending down to retrieve my purse from the floor, I kept my head bowed. I fumbled in my bag in search of a tissue. Finding one, I pretended to wipe my nose and obliterated most of my face with it as I looked up. With a sigh of relief, I noted Frankie Tomatoes was nowhere to be seen.

  Thoughtfully, Mom nibbled on a piece of bread. She glanced at me every once in a while, shaking her head when I opened my mouth to say something. I don’t usually do as I’m told, but in this instance, I knew my mother needed time to assimilate the news I’d dumped on her.

  Finished with our meal, we sipped our lattes. Unable to bear the silence a second longer, I threw caution aside, looked my mother in the eye and said, “Believe me, Mom, it wasn’t easy for me to tell you about Josephine. She’s been a bit off-kilter since the boys went to . . . you know, to camp. I would never have thought she’d end up involved in a situation like this.”

  “I’ll discuss it with her when I get home. For now, I want you to keep this to yourself. You’re not to say a word to her or your father about it, understand, Lavinia?”

  My father always issued orders, all of which I never followed, but my mother was another case altogether. When she ordered me around, I listened, mainly because she rarely did so. I nodded and we left the sandwich shop after paying the bill. In silence, we walked back to the gift shop.

  After my mother went inside, I lingered outside the front windows. Admiring the goods Angela and Gianna arranged to encourage customers to part with their money, I figured I was pretty darned lucky to have them on my staff. The window dressings were lovely, feminine, and chic.

  Upon entering, I made the rounds of all the displays. Angela had a flair for decorating. The entire shop looked like a spring garden, flora filled the nooks and crannies. From framed pictures to print handbags and gardener’s hats, colors flashed bright and beautiful, sucking the consumer deeper and deeper into the store.

  I heard Angela’s sales pitch long before I saw her. A few women browsed, sniffing fragrances imported from France, before joining their friends in the second half of the shop to listen to Angela. I stepped back, out of sight, until she was finished. She handed the merchandise and the shoppers over to Gianna and joined me near the rear windows.

  “Vinnie,” she exclaimed, “it’s great to see you. We’re having a wonderful day here in the shop. I can’t believe the amount of customers we’ve had.”

  “That’s good news,” I answered with a smile. Drawing Angela aside, I whispered to her. “Keep an eye on my mother, will you? I’m sure she’ll want to leave a bit early today. Let her go, if you can.”

  An inscrutable expression crossed Angela’s face as she nodded. I smiled, gave her arm a squeeze, and waved goodbye to my mother who had caught sight of us whispering.

  Traffic sped past and foot traffic was nil. I strolled toward the car when I heard footfalls behind me. My arm was suddenly grasped by a strong, heavy hand that propelled me toward the recessed doorway of a closed store. Without a chance to see who’d accosted me, I was shoved hard against the wooden door frame and held tight.

  A man’s harsh voice rasped in my ear as he pushed me deeper into the recessed space. “Next time, mind your own business, it’ll be healthier for you, know what I’m sayin’? You shoulda let the bastard drown.”

  It took time for me to react. By then it was too late. I’d lost any advantage I’d had of kicking the shit out of this guy, but I could still do some damage. Peeling his thumb back from the hold he had on me, I heard him grunt in pain. I bent it backward farther still, until the man swore. He gave me another hard shove and let go of me. His footsteps echoed on the pavement as he raced away.

  I rushed out of the entry, looked up and down the street for my assailant, and slumped back against the column in the entry when I didn’t find the culprit. Brushing back my hair, I straightened my jersey and stepped away from the column as if I had every right to be there in the first place.

  This part of South Main Street in Providence is part of a historic district. Back in the day, shipping magnates owned the waterfront and the slave trade. Alleyways cut through from South Main to other streets and haphazardly crisscrossed one another, making it impossible for me to catch sight of the creep who’d manhandled me.

  Disheartened and annoyed, I slid behind the steering wheel of my car and drove home. I expected to hear from my mother later in the day about Aunt Josephine. Sometimes it rots to be right.

  I’d finished grading submissions my students had posted to the website I’d set up when the phone rang. My mother’s voice whined across the line. It was apparent she’d let my revelation stress her to the max.

  “Your aunt just left, and to be frank, I think she’s lost her freakin’ mind.”

  My mother never used the word ‘freakin.’ Coming from her, it meant there had to have been a major issue with Josephine.

  “I guess you didn’t get very far then?” I asked.

  “Lavinia, she told me to mind my own business. She said she knew what she was doing, and the house and property were hers to handle as she liked. Imagine? She wouldn’t even explain why she felt the need to leave her own religion and follow this new one. I am so beside myself right now, you just can’t imagine.”

  My mother was wrong, I could imagine, and did so. There was more to this than Aunt Jo was telling. How had she gotten involved with Slaggard? Why? When? Where, and through whom? All these questions raced through my head as I listened to my mother rant on about her sister.

  “Does Aunt Muffy know about this?” I asked.

  A sharp intake of breath met my question. Mom answered me on a rush of air.

  “I don’t know if I should tell her. You know Muffy would tear her up one side and down the other.” Mom paused. “I’ll have to give this some thought. I don’t even know if I should tell your father.”

 

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