Cardiac Arrest, page 14
“Eduardo? You should have said something earlier. He’s my nephew.” Angelo jerked his thumb toward Manny, who was covering Ernie’s shoulders with a red drape as the two chatted away. “Manny’s boy.”
Dorothy hid her surprise. It was hard to imagine the aloof Eduardo as anyone’s son. “Oh, we didn’t expect any special treatment,” she said. “I’m sure Eduardo has many friends.”
“Eh.” Angelo shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“There was one young man in particular he mentioned, as I remember,” Dorothy looked thoughtful. “Vincent, perhaps?”
“Yeah, yeah, Vinny Russo,” Angelo said. “They grew up together, back in the neighborhood.” He pointed to one of the old photos on the wall. “That’s Vinny there, next to Eduardo, with their baseball team. Saint Cecilia’s. The kid wasn’t a bad ball player.”
Dorothy peered at the picture. There was no mistaking either boy. Young Dr. A was second from the left in the back row, with the same slicked-back hair, big dark eyes, and confident smile. Eduardo, a long stringbean even at eleven or twelve, stood beside him at the end of the row, his bat slung over his shoulder. Sulky as ever, Dorothy thought.
“How nice,” she said.
Vinny had somehow become Tony Amoretto—but why? And if he’d grown up in Brooklyn, then why had his family members traveled from Italy for the wake last night? They could have moved back to their homeland at some point, she supposed, but wouldn’t their English have been a bit better?
Also, Angelo hadn’t mentioned that Vinny—a.k.a. Tony Amoretto—was recently deceased. He probably wasn’t aware they were the same person, or perhaps he hadn’t heard the news yet. But surely Eduardo would have told him, or word would have traveled from Brooklyn.
On the other hand...it was possible Angelo did know, but he didn’t want to share that information and reveal Vince’s assumed identity. How should she broach this?
“It always fascinates me the way some friendships last a lifetime,” Dorothy said. “Eduardo spoke very highly of Vince. Does he live here in Milano, also?”
Angelo’s expression clouded. Oh dear, Dorothy thought. He does know about Tony/Vince. She’d gone too far.
“Sadly, Vinny passed away some time ago. Didn’t even get to finish medical school. Not that he was ever much of a student, but the kid had big dreams.” He pulled out a wrinkled gingham handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. “Drowning accident, they said. Broke his parents’ hearts. Both of them died a coupla years later, within months of each other. Sofia, then Jimmy. It was the grief, I tell ya.”
Sofia and Jimmy? Good heavens. If Vince’s parents were deceased—and surely Angelo was in a good position to know—then who were those people at the wake last night? The scene at the funeral home with the woman who had called Summer terrible names in Italian on account of her shoes was burned in Dorothy’s mind. Possibly forever.
“And there was no other family?” she pressed, as lightly as she could. “A brother, maybe?”
“No.” Angelo buried his face in the handkerchief and began to sob. “The Dello Russos back in the Old Country—that was the family’s name in Italy, capisce?—they disowned Jimmy when he left for America. And Vinny was an only child.”
She reached out to pat Angelo on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear all of this.” Not to mention extremely confused. Dorothy supposed she could very well be mistaken that Vinny and Tony were the same person, basing her theory as she was on a blurry childhood photo. But that man Summer and Dash had met with at the nightclub last night had been quite definite on that point. And if Angelo’s facts were correct, then who was the Italian family at the wake?
“Riposa in pace.” Angelo crossed himself, tears filling his eyes.
“I’ve taken so much of your valuable time, Angelo. But thank you for speaking with me.” Dorothy retrieved her pocketbook from the chair. “I really should go buy that lipstick. I saw such a lovely shade of pink the other day in the Eighth Street Drug and Sundries.”
With a wave to Ernie, whose chin and neck were now covered in thick, white lather, she hurried out the door. At least her friend was enjoying all the manly pampering, so the morning wasn’t a total loss.
Actually, Dorothy thought as she joined the throng of shoppers on Sixth Street, the visit to Manny’s Barber Shop had been extremely productive.
But why had such a prominent, popular cardiologist felt the need to change his name? And hadn’t Angelo said that Vince had never finished medical school?
Oh dear. Well, hopefully Anthony Amoretto had.
She needed to speak with Summer as soon as possible. At least they knew that Tony, a.k.a. Vince, was originally from Brooklyn, and for some reason, everyone thought he was dead. And, oh yes, his parents’ names had been Sofia and Jimmy. That would help narrow down their Internet search. As she and Summer had already learned from a quick check on Summer’s phone that morning, Vincent Russo was a common name for fortyish men in the United States.
Right now Summer was probably resting after her horrible ordeal on the way home from Aqua Marine. Her partner had dropped by for breakfast to tell her about everything that had happened last night, but by the time Dorothy left to meet Ernie at ten, the poor girl was fast asleep in her comfy chair. She had quite a nasty bruise on her forehead, too. Dorothy hadn’t had the heart to wake her.
The day was going to be a scorcher. Dorothy stopped to catch her breath. She hadn’t actually intended to buy any cosmetics at the drugstore, but it might be a good idea to freshen her look, in line with the new hairdo. Tonight, thanks to Gladys’s indefatigable networking efforts, she and a considerable contingent of residents from Hibiscus Pointe would attend Dr. A’s memorial celebration at the home of Mia Rivera-Jones.
It was the perfect opportunity for a bit more sleuthing—and, more importantly, to watch over Summer while she worked the party.
Clearly, someone had tried to frighten—or even harm—the poor girl last night, and Dorothy knew Summer was considerably more shaken than she wanted to admit.
It was up to her to make sure her partner stayed safe.
* * *
Summer had three laps to go before she clocked her daily mile, but she felt as if she could keep swimming forever. In the water it was always easy to forget any things that bothered her.
And lately, there were a lot of them.
Right now she was starving, though. If she got out of the pool and grabbed a few crackers with cheese, and maybe a couple of cookies, from the Welcome Buffet in the main building, she could jump right back in again and keep going.
Summer wrapped her beach towel around her dripping body, stepped into her flip-flops and padded down the concrete to the door. She usually peeked through the glass and waited until she was sure there was no one else getting food.
Technically, the weekly Welcome Buffets were set out for prospective residents only—a lure to ensnare buyers who weren’t sure they were ready to move into a retirement or assisted living community, or whether Hibiscus Pointe was the right solution for Mom and Dad.
Summer wished she could warn them. The buffet wasn’t really free. Because once people moved in, they rarely moved out. Alive, anyway. With her luck, that’s probably how she’d end up.
Unless Joy got sick of waiting for her to get her act together and kicked her out of this place, too. Maybe that would be a good thing.
But she would really miss Dorothy. And Ernie and Dash and Juliette-Margot. That was more people than she’d been close to in a long time.
Summer slid through the door and snagged a flowered paper plate from the end of the table. In addition to the usual spread, there was a fake-crystal plate of fresh shrimp with those cute little cellophane-topped toothpicks and a silver bowl of spicy red cocktail sauce. There had to be some serious high rollers visiting today.
She had just speared three fat, peach-colored shrimp onto one toothpick and stuffed them into her mouth when Jennifer Margolis appeared down the hall. The resident services director was extra-dressed up today, in a knee-length, navy pencil skirt and navy flats with clunky gold buckles. Old-school Pappagallo, Summer guessed. Ugh. Where could you even find those now? Goodwill, maybe.
Jennifer almost dropped her silver tray of pre-fab brownies. “What are you doing?” she said, with a slightly strangled gasp.
“Just, um, grabbing a bite,” Summer answered, trying not to talk with her mouth full.
The resident services director looked over her shoulder. “Those aren’t for you,” she whispered, with a hiss.
“They’re not?” Summer feigned surprise. “Sorry, I had no idea. Who are they for?”
“Guests and prospective residents only.” Jennifer set her tray down on the table and sighed. “Okay, fine, you might as well have a brownie. You’re sort of a guest.”
“Thanks.” Summer helped herself to one that looked extra fudgy. Jennifer must have heated them in the microwave, bless her PR heart. “Those shrimp are really good, by the way.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Take some more, why don’t you?”
“No, thanks, I’ve had enough.” Summer knew when she was pushing it. Plus, she was getting the carpet all wet.
“Ms. Sloan—”
“Hey, you can call me Summer.” She and Jennifer had to be about the same age, for cripes sake.
“Well, uh, Summer, as you know, I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Jennifer began.
Summer eyed the shrimp again. She had a feeling she knew what was coming, and she really, really didn’t want to hear it.
“The Board has received quite a few complaints that you are under age fifty-five. As you probably know, that means you’re not technically allowed to live here at Hibiscus Pointe.”
Yep, that was what she’d expected.
“According to our files, your dad in California owns the condo. He’s over fifty-five, I assume, so technically, that makes you his guest. But our guests can only stay for two weeks.”
“You can’t discriminate against people because of their ages,” Summer said. “That’s illegal.”
“Well, actually, it isn’t,” Jennifer said. “According to the Fair Housing Act, if restricted communities meet certain requirements, they aren’t breaking any laws. There are seven different protected areas, like race, religion, and gender, but age isn’t one of them.”
“Huh,” Summer said. “But not everyone in this whole place is over fifty-five.” She didn’t want to mention Dash and his family, of course, but she’d seen other younger people around Hibiscus Pointe, too. They couldn’t all be two-week guests.
“You’re right,” Jennifer said. “Our Hibiscus Villas section of single-family homes, which comprises fifteen percent of our total community, is less restricted.”
She sure was into the technical stuff, Summer thought. It was too bad, because Jennifer could actually be superpretty, if she loosened up a little. The bow tie-scarf things she usually wore had to go. And definitely the pilgrim shoes.
“So anyway, Summer, the Board needs to approve you as an exception to the Residents Contract, kind of a long-term guest,” Jennifer went on. “And from what I’ve heard, that’s not going to happen. How long, um, are you planning to stay, exactly?”
“I’m not sure,” Summer said, honestly. “I’ve kind of been checking out my options. I don’t have a whole lot of them right now, unfortunately.”
“Oh.” Jennifer seemed to be thinking over her next move. She probably wasn’t a bad person, Summer told herself. The girl just had a lousy job. And she certainly knew all about those.
“Well, the Board isn’t scheduled to meet for a couple of weeks,” the services director said. “That may buy us some time, unless they call an emergency session. But I did come up with an idea.”
Wow. Was Jennifer actually on her team? Summer didn’t really trust other women much, on the whole. They always had an angle, and they never said anything bad directly to your face—just behind your back.
“Let’s move outside, okay?” Jennifer asked. “I have two prospective residents showing up any second. It won’t look good if you’re dripping all over the Welcome Buffet.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” Summer said. “Sorry.” She definitely didn’t want to wreck Jennifer’s chances of a decent commission or anything.
“So here’s what I was thinking,” Jennifer said, as soon as they had stepped out into the wall of zillion-percent humidity. “Sandy, our Senior Sunshine volunteer, isn’t coming back.”
“The one who taught the chair yoga class?” Gladys must have permanently scared her off.
Jennifer nodded. “She also ran our aquatics program, including water aerobics and synchronized water ballet. Oh, and the Fabulously Fit program, which features low-level aerobics, weights and stretching.”
This girl was a talking brochure. “Got it,” Summer said. “So what does all that have to do with me?”
Jennifer bit her lip. “Well, I’ve noticed you’re pretty good at yoga and swimming and fitness stuff. What if you took over for Sandy? Just as a volunteer, I mean?”
She couldn’t be serious. “I’d really love to, Jennifer, but I’m job hunting 24/7 at the moment. I need to actually get paid so I can afford to live in this place, you know?” Or any place, she added to herself.
“I understand,” Jennifer said. “But maybe, if you volunteer, people will get to know you better and withdraw their complaints to the Board.”
Summer considered that. Jennifer did have a point. And most of the Hibiscus Pointe residents were nice enough. She wouldn’t mind teaching classes for people like Dorothy and some of the others. Besides, it wasn’t like she had that much else to do right now, except look for a j.o.b. And find out who killed Dr. A so she wouldn’t end up in j.a.i.l.
“We’d need to get approval, of course, but if we can’t get you paid, maybe we could work something out with your monthly maintenance and resident fees.”
Summer immediately perked up. “That would be great.”
“Uh-oh.” Jennifer glanced over Summer’s shoulder. “I think I see my prospects getting out of their car. And Mrs. Rumway is heading straight toward the parking lot.”
Summer followed her gaze. “Yep. You’d better beat her over there, or they’ll never sign up. We can talk later, if you want.”
“Thanks.” Jennifer took off at a run in her pilgrim footwear. “Answer next time I call, okay?” she threw over her shoulder.
Summer nodded, and gave the services director a little salute. This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Chapter Twenty
Dorothy nearly pinched herself as she stepped into the cathedral-like foyer of Mia River-Jones’s home. Even unfinished, it was far more magnificent than any she’d seen in the pages of Milano Design and Architectural Review.
Glass walls promised stunning daytime ocean views, and the magnificently carved columns and staircases completely took her breath away. Crystal chandeliers, lush plants, marble floors, Bali-style décor and priceless art lent the casual air of a summer palace.
“These digs must have set Dr. A back a pretty penny.” Even Gladys seemed grudgingly awestruck.
“Well, I heard the whole place was being built with Mia’s money,” another woman from Hibiscus Pointe chimed in.
“Oh, no,” Mary Lee insisted, shaking her blonde curls. Tonight they were tied up in a frilly black headband, lending her a Shirley Temple look. “Dr. A planned the whole thing as a romantic tribute to his bride.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He told me that himself.”
“It doesn’t matter who paid for what, ladies,” Dorothy intervened. “Either way, it’s gorgeous, don’t you think?”
“Kind of overdone, in my opinion.” Gladys adjusted her black, sparkly boa. “Some people have no taste. So which way to the bar? Let’s go, girls.”
Dorothy drifted in the opposite direction, admiring various rooms through the arched doorways. Occasionally she paused to view a painting or piece of sculpture that caught her fancy. In a state-of-the-art music room, a number of guests had gathered to hear a well-known pianist from the Milano Philharmonic.
“Hors d’oeuvres, Mrs. Westin?” Summer, dressed in a conservative but shapely black skirt and white blouse accented with freshwater pearls, appeared beside her with a tray of elegant canapés. The bruise on her forehead was well hidden by her side swept bangs. “You look really nice.”
“Why, thank you.” Dorothy smoothed the last-minute silk dress Ernie had helped her pick out for the occasion at The Chirping Cricket. “So do you.” She peered at the canapés. “These look very enticing.”
She selected a simple, open-faced cucumber and cream cheese sandwich, cut like a starfish. “So how are things going?”
“All right, I guess,” Summer said. “My background check must have gone through, so that’s a good thing.” She rolled her eyes, as a man leaned over the tray to grope several cheese popovers before making his choice. “I haven’t even seen Mia yet.”
“Oh, look, there’s Marilyn, over by that potted palm,” Dorothy said. “I should head over and say hello.”
“Try to keep her away from the silverware, okay? We need all the knives for the buffet.” Summer deftly turned with her tray as the grabby man returned for another popover.
“Quite an affair, isn’t it?” Marilyn said, as Dorothy approached. She stood alone under the palm, holding a glass of white wine. She seemed somewhat pensive.
“Yes, it’s a very...unique celebration.” So far, Dorothy hadn’t noticed anything of a memorial nature at all. “How have you been holding up, Marilyn?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Tonight she wore her dark hair in a chic French twist, and her black dress was simple, yet elegant. At her throat, a single diamond hung from a delicate gold chain.
