Madness in Brewster Square Page 8

  Whatever the reason, now was the time to find out.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Janine looked startled. “Okay?”

  “Yes, okay.”

  “Oooo-kaaaayyy.” She drew the word out, looking at me as if I had just grown a new body part.

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I said.

  “You’re going to ask him how he became a widower?”

  “No, I’m going to ask him what he’s learned about the case. Giuseppe wants help, you want help, so help is what I’ll give you, especially if you think there’s a safety issue and you and baby Danny might be at risk.” I might think Janine was a little flaky, but there was no way I was going to ignore what might be mother’s intuition on her part. Like any good Irish-Italian girl, I knew better than to ignore a hunch. Plus, it really meant that I would get a chance to investigate being an investigator, to see if I liked doing this kind of work.

  Janine stood, ready to go now that her mission was complete. “So what are you going to do first?”

  I would be logical in my approach. “I’m going to see Detective Rialto first.”

  “You going later today?”

  I shook my head. “No point in waiting. I’m going right now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Right now doesn’t really mean right now when it’s first thing in the morning. By the time I’d showered and decided what to wear, it was already seven o’clock. My choice of outfit was important. I knew I needed to look intelligent and serious to offset the impression the detective had of me being just another ghost-hunting wacko.

  Rather than drive my old Honda that sat mostly unused in the garage behind my house, I walked to the police station. It was only a few blocks, and I was still tired enough to know I probably wouldn’t focus well on the road. Not that that was different from any other time I drove, it just seemed important not to show up at the police station after having knocked down a few pedestrians along the way.

  Brewster Square was Saturday morning quiet. When I came out of my front door, I walked around the Green down Elm, Church and Academy Streets and took a right onto Pine Road. I had dressed in layers, meaning I had on two T-shirts under my fleece pullover with a pair of jeans. I suppose I should have worn sneakers for my walk, but my shoe weakness dictated I wear something cute. I’d pulled on a pair of short black boots, reasoning that they’d keep my feet warmer than sneakers anyway. The heels were small, so it wasn’t as if I was walking in high heels for several blocks.

  Although, if I had to walk a long way in heels in order to avoid wearing sneakers, I would.

  As I walked I noticed there was still a small amount of snow covering the ground. For the most part it was dirty and gray, lingering in patches on lawns, the type of snow that everyone can’t wait to get rid of because winter is too long, and the snow no longer holds any appeal. I counted the number of steps I took down Church Street, noticing that both the Episcopalian and Catholic churches were shuttered and locked, a symbol perhaps for the changing times. The doors were open now only on Sundays or by invitation.

  Kenny’s coffee shop, Big Beans, was open for business and already had a few customers. The bakery next door was open, as well, and as I took a left onto Academy Street the delicious smells of coffee and baked goods wafted around me. I might not like Kenny, but he sure knew how to brew a good cup. I started my step-counting again and made a mental note to stop at the bakery on my way home for something sweet. I wanted to visit my parents this weekend, and I thought it might be nice to bring them some pastries.

  After passing the bakery I turned right onto Pine Road, where the police station was housed a block farther down. The building was one floor, square and ugly with stern angles and a utilitarian look. I knew that lawbreakers were held in the basement jail, and I always wondered if anyone was in there when I went past.

  Next door was a building that mirrored the police department. I sometimes wondered if the town got a discount for using up all the ugly materials to create these two unattractive structures, but I guess the police, dispatch and social services didn’t really need to be housed in anything fancy. It would have been nice, though, for people who had to visit these buildings to find a little corner of comfort. Not all of us were criminals.

  Usually when I took a relaxed walk, I spent time looking at the details around me, the houses, yards and decorations that created the look of the place. This time, in addition to counting my steps, I couldn’t stop my mind from spinning in circles around last night’s events.

  The suspicious circumstances of Ethel’s death were almost a cliché. True, lots of people didn’t like her, so the suspect pool would be large; but nobody deserved to be killed, and I couldn’t get the sight of her bloodied head and crooked body out of my mind.

  Marching through the door of the police station, I approached the front window where a large male police officer sat. I guessed he was the keeper of the gate, letting only innocent people and employees through. The window was shielded by glass, which must have been bullet proof, and there was a small, vented opening to speak through. I didn’t see any buttons, so I guessed I just had to lean down and talk through the thing.

  Feeling idiotic, I hunched over and spoke loudly into the opening. “I need to see Detective Rialto immediately. Now.”

  “He’s not in,” the officer behind the window answered in a normal tone.

  “You can hear me?” I asked, surprised. I’d assumed the glass was so thick that it deadened sound.

  “Loud and clear,” he said, deadpan.

  Well, geez, he should have told me before I made myself sound like a fool. I hesitated, wondering about my next step. I should have called the number on the detective’s business card, but I’d assumed that with last night’s big case he’d be working around the clock. After all, that’s how they did it in the books I read.

  “Can’t you call him at home or something? This is important.”

  “It always is,” the officer said. “I can take a message and make sure he gets it.”

  A door to my left opened, making me jump. The combination of finding a dead body and not getting any sleep was making me jittery. When I saw Rob, relief washed through me. Rob is my friend, Rob can help me.

  He walked over, not smiling. “Ava, is everything okay? Why are you here?”

  “I came here to see Detective Rialto,” I said.

  “He’s not here.”

  “That’s what the officer told me. Maybe you can help me.” I was hopeful that this wouldn’t be a wasted trip on my part.

  Rob took a step backward as if trying to distance himself from me. Raising his arms in front of him, he said, “I don’t know nothin’ about what happened last night. I don’t think I can help you.”

  “Rob,” I said, edging closer to him, “I’m not looking for you to tell me anything. I just …” Suddenly I was lost. I had planned on using a little harmless flirtation to get information out of Rob, to try to see if they had any clues or suspects or information, but I couldn’t. I was overwhelmed with a sense of loss. This macabre death was a grave injustice, and the fact still remained: Ethel was dead. There were no more second chances for her, no more opportunities for anything. She was gone, left the building.

  Dizziness washed over me, making me wish I’d gone back to bed instead of marching over here. Rob grabbed my arm, a steadying force against the tide of sadness I was feeling.

  “Let’s step outside,” he said.

  The sharp March air made me feel better. “Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Rob studied me for a moment before speaking. “Ava, you’ve never witnessed this type of crime before, so it’s only natural that you’re going to have a reaction. You saw someone who died as a result of a violent event, and that’s not an easy thing to deal with. This might take some time to get over.”

  I looked up at him, the Rob I’d known for practically my entire life, and saw a different person. I saw someone
who was sweet and brave and willing to put himself out there for the sake of helping others.

  “Do you see a lot of this type of thing?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not murders, not in this town, at least. I see other things though.” Taking a deep breath, he seemed to collect himself before speaking again. “I see all kinds of people, kids, babies, hurt or dead in car accidents. I see women beaten and bruised because their husbands use them as punching bags. I see kids hurt the same way.” He stopped, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to say more or didn’t trust himself to speak. He looked genuinely upset.

  “There are lots of bad things to be seen, even in a great little town like this, Ava. The important thing to hold onto is that there are lots of really wonderful things here, too. You’ve got to remember that every time you close your eyes and see Ethel.”

  I never really thought about crime in Brewster Square, but as it did in any other corner of the world, I suppose it had to exist. People don’t live side by side in harmony, despite what some might wish. My respect for my old friend went up even more.

  He knew, without my telling him, what was happening when I closed my eyes. Suddenly I couldn’t imagine living the life he lived.

  “Thanks, Rob. I don’t know what to say.” My eyes were filling with tears, and I was worried I would become a blubbering mess.

  “Don’t mention it. Come on, I’ll walk with you for a little bit.”

  “How did you know I walked?” I asked, suspicious. Did they have cameras where they saw everyone coming and going from the parking lot?

  “Because I know you don’t drive much, and that’s a good thing,” he said.

  I decided to leave that comment alone, since it did not dignify a response. “Don’t you need your car?”

  Rob’s face turned a little bit red. “I’ll come back and get it. I’m only going as far as the coffee shop.”

  It took me a minute before I realized why he was blushing about going to the coffee shop. “Rob Genova, do you have a date?”

  “This early in the morning?” he asked. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re going to see someone there.” I don’t know how I knew, but I did. “Who is she?”

  “Nobody,” he said. I leveled a look at him, not about to listen to his denials.

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  I smacked him on the arm, but not too hard. After all, he did have a gun. “You just admitted it, so you might as well tell me.”

  He shrugged. “There’s a waitress that I’ve kind of been seeing a little bit. I told her I’d stop by this morning and say hello, that’s all.”

  I was so happy to hear this. Rob was the nicest guy I knew, and I wanted him to find someone equally nice. He deserved to have everything he wanted, especially since he had just become a sort of crime-fighting hero to me.

  “So you really ticked off the new detective last night, you know,” he said in an obvious effort to change the subject. A woman ahead of us on the sidewalk was shuffling along, head and shoulders hunched. I wondered if she was cold. She must have heard our approach, because she turned to look at us.

  “Hi, Mindy,” Rob said.

  Her eyes grew large, and she held her hands up in front of her as if to ward off an attack.

  Rob stopped. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s only me, Rob,” he said, clearly trying to placate her. The woman had started trembling, and it was clear that she was terrified. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  She nodded once, looked at the street and took off running without speaking. “Poor thing,” I said. “She probably thought we were going to mug her or something. After what happened last night I’m sure people are scared.”

  “Um, yeah,” Rob said, sounding as if he weren’t really listening to me. “I’m sure she was scared, but that was weird. She always talks to me.”

  I knew I had a limited amount of time with Rob, so I took a deep breath and plunged ahead with a question as we kept walking. “I was wondering what you might know about Detective Rialto.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “He’s a little bit of a mystery, that’s all,” I said. I knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth, but I didn’t think it was worth it to mention Janine’s theories of thin men being widowers. “So what’s his story?”

  Rob shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that he’s good at his job, and we’re pretty lucky to have him here. I don’t think he’s from Connecticut, I think he’s from out west somewhere.”

  By this time we’d walked to the front of the coffee shop, Big Beans. I knew Rob was anxious to get inside.

  “Thanks, Rob.”

  “Listen, Ava, let the police handle this, okay? We know what we’re doing, and we’ll let you know how it all turns out. I don’t think it would be good for you to get involved.”

  I knew he meant well, but I never take that kind of advice. As soon as someone tells me not to do something, it’s the first thing I want to do. Obviously, I have no experience investigating a homicide, but it couldn’t hurt anyone if I helped. Just a little.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I didn’t notice anything around me on the walk home because I was so focused on Ethel’s murder. I didn’t even count my steps. After seeing the body last night, I knew she’d been killed. As much as I hated thinking about it, I mentally summoned an image of her at the bottom of the stairs.

  Body slightly twisted, awkward. Definite head injury. Remembering the head injury convinced me. That did not happen from a simple fall. I tried to picture the basement steps and the railing and remembered them both as being wooden and painted white. No sharp edges or tools were near the steps, and the railing was a typical hand rail. Heads don’t cave like that on an ordinary staircase.

  By the time I reached my front steps, I’d formulated half a plan of action. Half was a good start, and I decided I’d figure it out as I went along. Some things were hard to plan and needed a sense of spontaneity. I considered myself a resourceful woman.

  Clearly, I needed to think like a detective, and just as clearly, I had no authority to act like one. In fact, I had a feeling I could be in big trouble with the law if I poked my nose into this situation.

  But my real reason for wanting to do this had nothing to do with my brother or his wife asking me to help. Because really, what’s more important, truth and justice or playing it safe? The truth, I realized, is that I have a very safe life, actually bordering on innocent. My world is made of close family, good friends, and a low-crime town. Compared to others, I live a fairy tale life.

  Maybe it was my talk with Rob that morning, but I felt an urge to step outside my circle of safety. After all, if I wanted the world to be a better place, if I wanted to keep my town secure, I had to do my part.

  Climbing the stairs to my apartment, I tried to think like a detective. What would Oliver do? Obviously, his first step was to interview all of the people that were there. After that he’d probably look for someone with motive and work backward from there. At least, that’s what I would do if I were him.

  Despite my incorrect assumptions last night, it was very possible I was destined to play some sort of role in law enforcement. I had a momentary vision of getting my private investigator’s license and opening my own place, working to keep Brewster Square safe. Of course I couldn’t be part of the police department, since that type of work didn’t really appeal to me. I would take on cases that had merit, I would help people who were struggling, and I would charge enough money for all this to be able to support myself comfortably.

  Before I got too carried away with this fantasy of mine and started Google-ing PI license requirements, I grabbed a plastic platter and started loading it with cookies from my freezer.

  My aunts had taught me well, and I always kept my freezer stocked with cookies and treats that could be taken out at a moment’s notice and brought to someone who needed sustenance in their time of grief. My favorites to keep on
hand were chocolate chip walnut bars, as well as the chocolate chip coconut bars. Not only did they freeze well, they also defrosted quickly on the drive over to someone’s house.

  When someone dies, people tend to gather at the house of the deceased. Although Ethel had no husband or children, I assumed there would be relatives at her house to start going through her belongings and arguing over who got what. After wrapping a layer of plastic wrap and another of foil around the platter, I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. This time I was going to have to drive.

  My old Honda Civic was generally left parked in the detached garage behind the house. Our yard was fenced in, and the detached garage easily held three cars plus an assortment of lawn care junk and stuff that wouldn’t fit in the attic. The building wasn’t in the best of shape, and I made a note as I unlocked the garage door to check some of the boards and make sure they weren’t rotting.

  Since my aunts were generous enough to let me live there at a significantly reduced rent, I was in charge of maintenance and repairs. I would be derelict in my duties if the garage fell down, so I should probably start caulking and repairing.

  After I backed out of the driveway, the car lurched onto the street and knocked over the neighbor’s garbage can.

  You’re supposed to take that in at the end of the day on Friday. It’s not my fault I knocked it over.

  Heading back down Elm and onto Church Street, I then went the opposite direction from the police station and took a right onto South Main and another right onto Chartres Drive. I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through me when I drove past the house we’d been in last night, but I kept going.

  The new development was just past the old McAllister house. Turning left onto Sunshine Circle, I couldn’t help shivering again, this time for a completely different reason.