From Mangia to Murder (A Sophia Mancini ~ Little Italy Mystery) Page 15

  Sophia whipped Precious behind her back and backed away from the bed. She stood, arms behind her, and tried to ignore the squirming kitten’s tiny claws on her forearm.

  “How are we, Mr. DiMuccio?” The nurse stopped when she saw Sophia. She frowned. “Who do we have here?”

  For a split second Sophia thought the nurse meant the kitten. She glanced over at Mooch.

  “She’s my friend,” Mooch told the nurse. “Can you go away now?”

  The nurse’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She looked at Sophia and gave her a once-over.

  “Would your name happen to be Miss Mantelli?”

  “It’s Mancini.”

  “Ah, yes. I knew it was something Italian,” she replied, her tone speaking the disapproval her words didn’t dare give voice to. “That nice police captain told me that I was to keep your visits with Mr. DiMuccio short in the event you came around.”

  Precious chose the inopportune time to meow, a plaintive sound that echoed in the quiet room.

  The nurse jumped as if a cannon had been fired. “What was that?”

  “My stomach,” Sophia lied quickly. She struggled to keep a squirming Precious from escaping her grip.

  The nurse narrowed her eyes. She watched Sophia for a long moment, and then turned back to her patient. “I’ll give you just a moment more with your--friend--and then I’ll have to ask her to leave before the doctor begins his rounds.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Nurse Sunshine, Sophia dropped Precious into Mooch’s outstretched hands.

  “What’d ya do? Squeeze her?” Mooch demanded, examining the kitten for damage.

  Sophia rolled her eyes. She felt like anything but a successful private detective at the moment. Wrangling a kitten and being spoken down to by a nurse was hardly the job she’d envisioned.

  “Do you own a gray suit?” she asked Mooch.

  He nodded. “Why?”

  She ignored his question. She had more of her own. “Where is it?”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “At Bagatelli’s being mended. I ripped the sleeve.”

  “When?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Please just answer the question, Mooch. You’ll just have to trust me it’s important.”

  He hesitated only a moment. “Last week. I found Precious on the roof of a warehouse and I rescued her. I caught my arm on a nail and the sleeve near tore off.”

  Easy enough to verify with a quick trip to Bagatelli Brothers.

  “Mooch, do the doctors know what kind of poison was in your food?”

  He shrugged, and then looked up sheepishly. “Sorry. No, the doc didn’t say.”

  “Listen carefully. I need your help with two things. One, when Dr. Casterinni comes by today, I want you to ask him to write down what kind of poison he thinks was in the food. I’ll call you later to find out what he said, okay?”

  Mooch nodded, his face solemn.

  “Good. Now the second thing is even more important. I need you to tell me what Vincenzo knew about Frankie Vidoni that he thought Frankie would pay to keep quiet.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Mooch, you have to help me.” Sophia sat on the end of the bed. “I know you’re loyal to Frankie, and I respect that. But someone killed Vincenzo, tried to kill you, and Frankie might be next if we don’t do something.”

  She watched Mooch struggle with his conscience. Loyalty was a trait she admired greatly, but she needed something to go on and Mooch had information she wanted.

  “Everyone always talks about what Frankie is,” Mooch finally said. He coughed and then took a long sip of water. “No one talks about what he isn’t.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. Precious lay curled in his lap, batting a tiny paw at the blanket.

  Sophia sat quietly and mulled over that puzzling remark. It looked as if that was all she was going to get out of Mooch, and she knew it was far more than he wanted to say in the first place. She wouldn’t push him any further, at least not now.

  “Thank you, Mooch.” Whatever he’d meant by that cryptic remark, she and Angelo could puzzle it out later. At least it was something to go on. She scooped up Precious and plopped her into the bag. “Take good care of yourself, and don’t forget to ask Dr. Casterinni what he can tell you about the poison. I’ll call you this evening.”

  He grunted. Sophia opened the door and turned back to wave goodbye. His forlorn expression saddened her.

  “What is it, Mooch?”

  “Are we friends?” he asked. “Really?”

  “Really, really.” She held up the shopping bag. Precious was in the middle of a hissing fit. “I have to get your little fur ball out of here before we get caught. Rest well, my friend. I want you to get out of here and help me find Vincenzo’s killer.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So, sis, what was Frankie Vidoni so anxious to talk to you about that he had you hauled out of Carelli’s yesterday?”

  Sophia cast her gaze out over the baseball field, and waved to Luciano. She deliberately avoided looking at her brother, partially out of annoyance and partially out of guilt.

  “I’d hardly say hauled out,” she objected.

  “Okay, summoned if that suits you better. What’s the matter with you, Sophia? You sound awfully churlish.”

  “I don’t,” she snapped.

  “I heard about your meeting with McIntyre too.”

  Sophia turned and frowned at him. “If you know everything, then why are you asking me so many questions?”

  A pang of guilt stung her when she saw the hurt look on his face. Angelo needed to know that Frankie had fired them, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him the night before. The house had been full of relatives enjoying a lasagna dinner. It just hadn’t been the right time to drop the bomb on him.

  But he needed to know. She took a deep breath.

  “Hiya, cugina.”

  Sophia glanced up. Andrea had joined them for the game. She smiled up at him, grateful for the distraction his presence would provide. She patted the bleacher seat next to her.

  “Sit, Andrea. You’re just in time to see Luciano hit his first home run.”

  Andrea grinned. “You’re sounding awfully confident.” He leaned across her and shook Angelo’s hand before turning to Sophia. “So what did you want my help with?”

  Angelo shot her a confused look. “What’s he talking about? Did I forget something?”

  “No,” Sophia hastened to assure him. “I called Andrea this morning and asked him to help me with something after the game.”

  “What exactly?” Angelo asked. “I don’t like not knowing what’s what here.”

  She barely recognized the terse voice as her brother’s. She was saved from having to answer by the announcer asking the crowd to stand for the national anthem.

  “I know we need to catch up,” she said once they were seated again. A better brother she couldn’t have asked for; she never forgot that for a moment. Which would make seeing his disappointment when she finally told him the truth all the worse.

  “Fine, start with your meeting with Frankie yesterday.”

  “Wait until Luciano’s had a turn at bat,” Andrea interjected. He pointed to the line of young ball players. Luciano was next up.

  She joined her cousin and brother as they cheered and whistled when Luciano took his place at the plate. The first ball sailed past his bat. A second strike followed. Sophia bit her lip as the pitcher drew his arm back for the last throw. Luciano swung his bat at just the right moment, the sound of his wooden bat striking the ball elicited wild cheers from the stands.

  Sophia whistled and clapped wildly as her pride and joy ran toward and then past first base, then second, until he slid onto the home plate and disappeared in a cloud of dust. The parents and fans erupted in cheers.

  Angelo leaned over toward her once the crowd was quiet. “Makes everything worth it, doesn’t it? When he’s so happy.”

  His proud smi
le tore at Sophia’s heart. She couldn’t let him go on thinking everything was going well. Not after they had been fired from their first case. He deserved to know.

  “Hey Mancini, your kid did good out there.”

  Sophia waited while her brother traded proud parent comments and back slaps with a friend of his. Angelo looked happy. Relaxed even. Let him have his carefree moment, soon enough she’d give him something to worry about.

  She turned her attention out to the field to watch the ball game but her mind kept going back to the burning questions that consumed her. Who killed Vincenzo? Why?

  What was Frankie’s involvement in the murder? No one remembered seeing him leave the dining room the night of the murder, but that didn’t prove anything. People milled around the restaurant, eating, talking, and she doubted anyone would have noticed if Frankie went into the kitchen.

  The murderer had slipped into the kitchen in plain sight of a room full of people. Which made him, or her, very brave. And very dangerous.

  She watched as Luciano’s team took the field. Dom DiMaggio was one of Luciano’s idols, and she knew her nephew loved to play in the outfield. She returned his wave with a smile.

  Normally, she enjoyed these weekend ball games. Sitting and talking with the other mothers was just as enjoyable as watching the boys play ball. Perhaps chatting with friends was just the break she needed. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar face.

  Her breath caught when she recognized one. She squinted to make sure she was right. She was.

  She turned to Angelo, but he was in the middle of a conversation with several other fathers. She grabbed her handbag and made her way to the end of the row. She hopped down from the bleachers and ran after the retreating figure.

  “Mr. Lato,” she called when she was in hearing distance.

  He didn’t turn back. But now that she was this close she was certain it was the mailman she’d met at Quadrelli’s. She frowned. He hadn’t turned around when she’d called his name, but she could swear that he quickened his steps.

  “Marco Lato,” she called out. “Please wait. I want to talk to you.”

  He stopped and turned around slowly, his expression guarded.

  “Miss Mancini, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m glad you remember. Call me Sophia, please.” She took a moment to catch her breath, and then smiled brightly. “What good luck I ran in to you. I’d like to have a word with you.”

  Marco took a step backward. “I’m very short on time.” He looked around quickly. “I doubt I could help you anyway.”

  “I only need a moment,” Sophia reassured him. She laid a hand on his arm. “Please, it’s important.”

  He looked down at her hand and then into her eyes. Sophia was taken aback by the worry she saw there.

  “It’s about Vincenzo Moretti. And his wife, Stella.”

  “What about me, Sophia?”

  Sophia spun around.

  “Stella, I didn’t know you were here.” The look on Stella’s face was anything but friendly. She looked downright hostile.

  “Enough questions, Sophia. Leave me alone.”

  A fire burned in Stella’s eyes, warning Sophia that more than anger was eating at Stella. Could it be guilt? This definitely wasn’t the time to back off. It was time to push forward.

  “Your husband was murdered, Stella.” Sophia took a tiny step forward to show Vincenzo’s widow she wasn’t afraid and wasn’t going to be warned away. “Don’t you want to know who took his life? Who hated him enough to plunge that knife in his back? Someone who hated him, someone who--”

  “Stop. Stop it, stop it,” Stella shrieked, her hands balled into fists.

  Marco took a step forward to intercede, but Sophia held her arm out to stop him.

  “Did you kill your husband?” Sophia kept her voice low, but insistent. “What do you know that you don’t want to tell me?”

  Stella lifted her hands to cover her face.

  “I’m not going to stop until I find the murderer,” Sophia continued goading her. “I won’t rest until--”

  In a flash, Stella lifted her hand and slapped Sophia across the face. The force of it momentarily stunned Sophia. She touched her stung cheek. Good. Maybe she was getting somewhere finally.

  Not wanting to lose momentum when Stella was so close to snapping, she turned to Marco. “Where’s your son?”

  His eyes widened. “My boy’s playing ball.” He shot a nervous glance at Stella. “Why?”

  “Tell me about him,” Sophia said. “He’s how old exactly? Does he favor you or his mother more?”

  A strangled cry came from Stella’s throat. “Marco, would you please leave us alone so we can talk?”

  “No, no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “It is,” Stella assured him.

  The tender, caring look that passed between them wasn’t lost on Sophia. Stella appeared to genuinely care for Marco, and he for her, judging by the concern etched on his face. A man more different than Vincenzo Moretti, Sophia couldn’t imagine.

  “Please go and wait for Leo. I’ll be fine. Sophia and I need to have a little talk.” She nodded encouragingly and waited while he reluctantly headed back to the ball field. After he was out of sight, she wheeled back around to face Sophia.

  Sophia spoke first. “The only thing I’m after is the truth, Stella. I’m not trying to persecute you or anyone else. I want to find out who killed your husband. And you should want the same thing.”

  “I don’t care who did it,” Stella cried. “I didn’t do it. I told the police that, and now I’m telling you. So just leave me alone.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I just want this all to be over with.”

  Sophia decided to switch tactics. She’d pushed Stella hard and now it was time to soften up her approach, keep Stella on uneven ground.

  “It won’t be over until the murderer is caught,” Sophia said, her voice now soothing. She reached out and placed her hand on Stella’s arm in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “I’m on your side. I’m trying to find the person who did this. If you’ve got information that will help me, then I need to hear it.”

  Stella shook her head. “I don’t know who did it. And I don’t care. I’m glad Vincenzo is dead.” She began to sob.

  Sophia looked around. She spotted an empty wooden bench under a shade tree. “Come, sit here with me for just a few moments.” She guided Stella to the bench and sat beside her. She put her arm around Stella’s shoulders and waited.

  Finally Stella’s tears subsided. She pulled a white cotton handkerchief from her dress pocket and wiped her eyes. “Okay, ask what you want and I’ll try to help.”

  Stella’s voice sounded resigned, her earlier anger fizzled out.

  “Why were you crying?” The question seemed simple but both women knew the answers were anything but.

  “I hated my husband. But I thought I loved him the day I married him.” Stella looked beseechingly at Sophia. “Marriage is a sacrament and I tried, Sophia. I really tried to make Vincenzo happy. But it was impossible.”

  Sophia didn’t need convincing. But she did need answers.

  “How much money did you take from the restaurant the night of the murder?”

  Stella gasped and drew back as if she’d seen a snake. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Stella, it’s time to tell me the truth. I have witnesses who saw you that night.” That was a bald-faced lie. All she had was Angelo’s word that he saw Stella there. No one, not even Angelo, knew if he was remembering correctly. But Stella didn’t know that. “I think it’s better if you tell me now instead of having to bring the police in.”

  Stella rocked back and forth, apparently consumed with uncertainty.

  This wasn’t the time to let up. “How much did you take?” she prodded her again.

  “Two thousand dollars.” Stella’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Sophia sat back and digested this. Unbelievable that Vincenzo would ha
ve that much cash around. But perhaps not, she realized. If his blackmail victims were buying his silence, it stood to reason he’d have cash on hand. Plenty of it, by the sound of it.

  “Did Vincenzo catch you taking the money?”

  Stella nodded. “I thought he was going to kill me. But then that floozy came into the kitchen and they started arguing. They always argued. I ran out while he was paying attention to her.”

  She assumed the floozy was Maria Acino but she asked just to be sure. Stella nodded.

  “What was their relationship?” Sophia asked, wondering if Stella had any knowledge of her husband’s first marriage.

  “I don’t know, and I didn’t care. I’m not proud to say that I hated my husband, but I did. All I wanted was some money.”

  Money to run away with. She realized she didn’t blame Stella. She’d have wanted to run too.

  “Tell me about your son.”

  Stella drew back, a wary expression in her eyes. “Vincenzo and I never had any children.”

  “That’s not answering my question, Stella. Who is the mother of Marco Lato’s little boy?” Sophia sensed Stella’s indecision, sensed she was torn between wanting to lie and wanting to tell the truth.

  Stella shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “Tell me then. Help me understand. Do you and Marco have a son?”

  “No.” Tears filled Stella’s eyes. “Yes. No. I can’t explain it you.”

  “Does this child have something to do with Vincenzo?”

  Stella nodded. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I’ve never told anyone else about this before. How do I know I can trust you?”

  “I give you my word that I won’t use anything you tell me against you, Stella. I have a feeling I’ll understand better than you think. You may not know this, but Angelo and I are in the middle of a custody battle to keep Luciano from being taken away by my late sister-in-law’s parents. He’s not my son, but I’d do anything to protect him.”

  Just as she thought, her words had an effect on Stella. A look of silent understanding passed between them.

  “Vincenzo and I were married for years with no children. I know I should have considered it a blessing, because I knew he would make a terrible father. But still, the desire was so strong in my heart to have a baby that I prayed to the Virgin Mother every night for a child.”