“She has a wonderful aura, Vinnie.” Monica smiled sweetly and topped off her tea. “What’s been going on? Your own aura is dark today.”

  “My romance with Marcus has taken a turn and not for the better. I’m concerned for my Aunt Josephine, and now my parents are . . .” I sighed, “Well, never mind about that.”

  “Give me your hand.” Monica set her cup and saucer on the table and stretched her hand toward me, waiting for me to place mine in her palm.

  Reluctant, I couldn’t think of a nice way to refuse, so I did as she asked. Of course, Marcus chose that moment to round the corner of the house and say with a smirk, “Having your fortune told, Lavinia?”

  Monica’s eyes flew to mine and then she turned to Marcus. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he looked like any other Joe on the street. She stared at him, her eyes narrowed a tad, and she abruptly stood up and stepped away.

  “I’ll see you later, Vinnie,” she murmured and took off as though wild horses were after her. Monica passed Marcus with a wide berth. Maybe he frightened her, maybe she knew something I didn’t, or maybe I was reading too much into the situation.

  “Coffee?” I asked as he took the seat my mother had recently occupied.

  After he nodded, I retrieved a cup from the kitchen cupboard and poured from the carafe on the deck table. He sat with his legs crossed at the knee. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be soaking up the sunshine. I hadn’t expected this visit from him, but I figured I’d play things by ear.

  “What’s going on?” he asked after he swigged the coffee.

  “Nothing much, other than trying to figure out what your problem is.” There, I’d said it. No time like the present to get his issues with my lifestyle choices out into the open. I gazed at him and saw his eyes narrow as his expression grew hard. He sat up straight and turned his full attention on me. Okay then, this was it, the moment of reckoning.

  Facing him squarely, I took a long look at him, stared deeply into his eyes, and knew we were about to go our separate ways. My heart squeezed tight while I waited.

  Marcus took a deep breath, glanced away from me, and then back. “It seems we’re at an impasse. You refuse to change the way you behave, or maybe you can’t, I don’t know. What I do know is this, I can’t jeopardize all the years I’ve put into the State Police, no matter how I feel about you, Vin. I care deeply, but my job comes first, and you’ve always known that. If you weren’t continually mixed up with the mafia and their sort, my life would be easier, and I could handle the fallout from everything else you get involved in.”

  Stung by his words, anger threatened and my throat constricted. I studied the last bit of coffee in my cup and gave him a nod. I’d been aware that type-A personality folks thought life was all about them and their every wish should be fulfilled, but Marcus had never made it as clear as he had now.

  “I can’t change who I am, not for you, not for anyone,” I murmured as I stared into his hazel-green eyes. “We both know I’m beset with an overabundance of curiosity, which leads to crazy situations more often than not. If my actions stand in the way of your career, then we should consider ending our relationship. I realize my activities aren’t good for your career and your commander is up in arms over it. I understand completely.”

  I heaved a hearty sigh, and poured the last of the coffee left in the carafe into my cup.

  “I accept you, good or bad. I care about what happens between us, I simply have to put my job first,” Marcus remarked. “It’s my way of life.”

  “Let me ask this, then. If the tables were turned and I told you I had to put my job before our relationship, how would you feel?” The hurt I’d held in check roiled in the pit of my stomach, and I wanted an answer without starting a war.

  “Surely you don’t think your job is more important than mine?” Marcus said with a slight smirk and a look of disbelief.

  Oh, boy. His words fueled my angry fire and I snapped, “Oh, forgive me. No one’s job is more important than yours, right?”

  His cup hit the glass table with a bang when he set it down. Marcus stood up, his body tense, his attitude in place.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Fighting to make my voice come out soft, I said, “Why don’t you explain what you did mean?”

  “Listen, Vin, it’s not as if you save lives every day or that you have a command staff to answer to. I’m under pressure, from everyone at the barracks. I’ve turned a blind eye to the situations you get into, but with the changes in command, I can no longer do that.”

  “Right, well, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear, Marcus. On the rungs of a ladder, I’d say I’m at the bottom and you’re looking down at me. If I’ve not misunderstood you, what you’re saying is that if I were more compliant, the woman who would ‘yes, dear’ you to death, the one you’d be in command of, then there wouldn’t be a problem, right?”

  Anger laced his every word. “Why can’t you see things my way, just for once? I’m not asking for the moon, I simply want you to stop making poor choices.”

  I tipped my head a tad to the side and stared at the man who had no idea what I was really about. Marcus didn’t get it, he thought Italians were too dramatic, he resented the way we aligned in the face of adversity, he undoubtedly figured we were all mob related, and moreover, he’d put his job above our relationship.

  It came as no surprise, since all the cops I knew might have reacted in the same manner as Marcus. They were the most commonly divorced people I’d ever met. And not just once, but divorced again and again. Sad, really that it took a serious event such as the loss of a loved one to make these people see the error they had made. Marcus would someday see his poor judgment, but then, maybe he wouldn’t since he was sure he was right.

  I broke free of those thoughts. “That says it all, I guess. By the way, whether you believe it or not, my parents are not, and never have been, involved with the mob. Just so you know,” I remarked curtly and stacked cups and saucers on the tray.

  “That’s it? You have nothing else to say? We can’t work this out?”

  I straightened up and stared at him. “I’ll never be a timid, do-as-you’re-told woman. You should be aware of that by now, and I have to wonder why you aren’t. Did you think I would morph into something you found more palatable? Well, you can forget that. It’s never happening.”

  “That’s not fair, Vin. I haven’t tried to make you into anything. I strive to keep you safe, to be there when you need me, and this is what I get in return?”

  I gave him a wide-eyed gaze and said with sarcasm dripping from each word, “That’s what you get? Do you think life is all about you?”

  His hands open with palms up, Marcus advised, “Give this conversation some thought. Then call me when you take it all seriously.”

  “Don’t hold out hope,” I snapped.

  I watched him stride from the deck and around the side of the house. Moments later a car engine revved and Marcus was gone. Cups clattered, the teapot rattled, and I struggled to get the slider open without dropping the tray and its contents.

  The dishwasher ran while I paced the house muttering under my breath. A rap on the door brought me round in an instant. Had he come back to tell me how much more inept a human being he thought I was? Had he changed his mind and returned to admit he was wrong? Was this just foolish thinking on my part? I should be tired after all the jumping to conclusions I was doing.

  I wrenched the door open and was about to speak, but only gawked and backed away, instead.

  Chapter 10

  “W-what’s the matter?” I asked and gasped when he fell into my arms. The only thing that had held him up was the door casing. Something wet dribbled on my hands as I caught Tim Slaggard.

  “Tim, wake up,” I said while staggering backward under the weight of his body.

  “Monica,” I yelled loudly, hoping the woman would hear me and come running.

  The upstairs door opened, Monica skittered down the stairs with a wide-eyed, shocked expression on her face when she saw me. I flailed under the strain of holding Tim Slaggard upright. Seconds later, she’d joined in and helped me lay the man on the floor.

  “Isn’t this the preacher?” Monica asked as she straightened his legs.

  “Yes, and it looks like he’s in rough shape. Call for a rescue while I check him out,” I ordered.

  When she didn’t move, I looked up at her and followed her gaze downward to my blood-covered hands and shirtsleeves. My stomach heaved. I bolted for the bathroom and barely made it before my muffin and coffee made a return visit. Good God, puking is disgusting. I cleaned as much blood off my hands as I could and rinsed my mouth with water before returning to Monica. She was on the phone with the emergency people.

  She listened and stared at the preacher while I knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. When I found one, I breathed a sigh of relief and nodded toward her. Blood pooled around his head as I checked the rest of him for injuries.

  “He’s got a pulse, bleeding heavily, and doesn’t appear to be injured anywhere except his head,” Monica said into the phone. She nodded her head, as some of us do when in a phone conversation and think the person on the other end of the line can see the movement. I gave her a thumbs-up sign and kept looking Tim over.

  She hung up and set the phone on the kitchen counter. When she kneeled on the floor across from me, I said, “Help me turn him on his side.”

  I showed her where to place her hands and put mine under the edge of his back and shoulder. Monica hauled him toward her while I pushed his body in the same direction. Tim’s shirt was blood-soaked from the red liquid that dribbled from a wide scalp wound. Upon closer inspection, while I talked myself out of throwing up again, I peered at the torn fabric of his heavy shirt. I’d begun to lift the ripped cloth away when the outer door opened, slamming against the inside wall. Rescuers and fire fighters vied for entry into the hall.

  I signaled to the first man in and said, “Over here. He has a serious scalp wound, and his shirt is torn, too, so there might be an injury there.” I pointed to the spot and scuttled sideways for the rescuer to get closer to Tim.

  He cut through the fabric in no time while the crew brought in a stretcher and the rescuer worked on Slaggard. The peeled back material revealed a deep laceration that caused my stomach to revolt once more.

  After several deep breaths and some distance from the injured man, my stomach calmed. These guys knew their business, and I was thankful for it. No way could I ever imagine dealing with this type of problem alone. Monica stood next to me, her eyes on the workers while they loaded Tim into the rescue. The vehicle doors slammed and the rescue raced down the street, sirens blaring.

  Bewildered, Monica asked, “Does this happen to you often?”

  “More than I’d like,” I said with a sigh.

  The kitchen and hallway floors were covered with blood that had begun to dry. The sight of it gave me chills that sent shivers up and down my spine.

  Monica cast a sideways glance at me and said, “Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we? Do you have any rubber gloves?”

  There were two pairs under the sink. I cleaned the blood from my hands and arms, handed her one set of gloves, and I donned the other. We made short work of scrubbing the coppery smelling mess off the floors. I discarded my shirt and jeans, which immediately hit the trash. Out of all the things in life that can gross a person out, blood did it for me. The sight of it had an immediate and horrid effect on my senses.

  We tossed all the scrubbing materials into a trash bag and I secured it before heading to the garage where I kept the trash containers. On my way back to the house, a police car pulled to a stop in the driveway. Officer Harvey Bernard got out and I invited him inside.

  “You missed the action, Officer Bernard,” I said wryly.

  “It would seem so,” he remarked and withdrew his notepad from a shirt pocket.

  I motioned him forward. “Have a seat. Monica has brewed tea, would you care for a cup?”

  “No, thanks.” Bernard shook his head and glanced around, his eyes taking stock of the rooms within view. He sniffed and asked, “Been cleaning?”

  “Had to, the preacher bled all over the floor. That is why you’re here, right?” I asked.

  “Mmm, yes.” He scribbled, glanced up, and his eyes locked on mine. “What happened?”

  Mystified by the incident, I had no idea what to say to this man. Where had Tim come from? How had he gotten here? Who had attacked him? Why come to me? More questions without answers seemed to be my plight today.

  I held his gaze. With a shrug, I answered, “There was a knock at the door, I opened it, and Mr. Slaggard fell in. He became unconscious, so I have no idea what happened, where it took place, or who did the deed. Looks like he was struck, or someone tried to stab him. You might want to speak with the rescue personnel when they return from the hospital.”

  Bernard wrote furiously before he gazed at Monica. “Do you have anything to add?”

  In silence, Monica shook her head. I hid a smirk and wondered what was running through her mind.

  The notebook secured in his pocket, Officer Bernard said he’d call if there was anything else he thought I might know, and took his leave. I watched from the front window as he backed out of the driveway and drove away.

  “Here’s your cup of tea,” Monica called from the kitchen.

  I returned, took the mug she proffered, and slugged the now cool, strong brew down like it was a glass of beer. “Thanks, I appreciate your help. I couldn’t have handled this all alone.”

  “Vinnie, you’re brave to live in such an unexpected and dangerous way. I don’t think I could do it. What’s your secret to dealing with all that happens to you?”

  Motioning her into the living room, I slouched into Lola’s favorite chair and said, “Truthfully, I have no idea how these things happen to me or how I manage to deal with it all. I just do.”

  She shook her head, her face the picture of amazement. I laughed aloud and said, “I might ask how you deal with all that you glean from people, whether you want the information or not. How do you get rid of it all, especially when you learn something about a person that you’d rather not know?”

  She shrugged a slight shoulder. “I toss those oddments into the wind and let them float away, sort of like white puffs from dandelions. Keeping a clear mind is of great importance to me. Otherwise I might lose myself to the perils of others.”

  I chewed on that answer for some time before it occurred to me that I sort of did the same thing. What I kept from others and discarded as useless information could be tantamount to whatever bombarded Monica’s senses.

  “I think I understand, though aren’t you curious about what you let go?”

  “Not at all, to bear deep secrets people possess is a heavy burden. A burden I have no way of carrying or any reason to do so. Unlike you, my curiosity ends quickly. I share what I must, but free the rest, especially if what I see is hurtful to others.” She’d gotten a faraway look in her eyes, which caused me to wonder if she tossed all the flotsam away, or if it was neatly locked in a box in her head. Suddenly, she smiled at me and rose from the edge of the sofa where she’d perched.

  “If I can be of assistance, once again, just yell, and I’ll be right down.” Her chuckle, like soft bells chiming, sounded sweet.

  “Before you go, tell me why you responded to Marcus the way you did earlier. You couldn’t have left faster than if you’d been shot from a cannon.”

  “I-I’m not certain what you’re asking. He appeared serious and I wanted to give you two space to discuss whatever he’d come to say.”

  I pressed her for a better answer. “I don’t buy that explanation for a moment. You were frightened, left in a hurry, and I’d like to know why.”

  “Vinnie, what happens between you and Marcus is no business of mine. I don’t wish to interfere in your matters of the heart, which is what I’d be doing if I said any more.”

  I gaped at her, and then remarked, “There is no longer a matter of the heart, as you so nicely put it. We realize our relationship can’t withstand the pressure I bring to it. Marcus put his job first and rightly so. I won’t turn into someone that I can’t be. That’s all there is to it.”

  A sad-eyed look came my way and I smiled. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m certain this has been coming for a while now. I just didn’t see it clearly until this past week. Nonni, my grandmother, always says things happen for a reason. Sometimes I think she’s wrong, but not this time.”

  “I’m sorry, Vinnie. I can’t say what triggered my reaction to Marcus earlier, mainly because I don’t know. I felt I had to leave you two alone. Can you work out your differences?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We might remain friends, though, maybe distant friends,” I said and smiled.

  “You’re okay with that idea?” Monica had a doubtful look on her face and again I smiled.

  “I think so,” I answered. I thanked her again and watched Monica walk out of the room, closing the kitchen door behind her.

  * * *

  Dinner with my parents was always yummy, interesting, and often volatile. Tonight was no different than most. I’d dressed in jeans, boots, and a heavy boucle sweater over a skin fitting jersey.

  Snug in my cold-weather wear, I rushed into the house, followed briefly by a bitter wind that had been blowing since late afternoon.

  My father, in his usual spot at the stove, stirred the bubbling pot. I sniffed appreciatively and said, “Ah, pasta e fagioli.”

  A silent chuckle shook his shoulders as he turned to me and asked, “You brought a good appetite, didn’t you?”

  “I certainly did.” My gaze travelled the room. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s upstairs digging out a gift your grandmother knit for you. She forgot to bring it to you this morning.”

  Oh my, Nonni was knitting again. Good golly, she never got the size right. She’d knitted slippers for all of us last Christmas, none of which fit anyone in the family. They were too large, too small, or too misshapen. Mostly misshapen. I wondered what this new creation consisted of and smiled as images raced through my mind like a freight train out of control.

 

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