there — not for years, not since my mother died. If it weren’t for his obsessive work on that stupid mural, he would have retired, gone back to Italy to be with his sisters. He could have found some peace instead of lying in that hospital bed. God knows if he’ll ever wake up again.”
The woman’s eyes were glistening now, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her charcoal liner began to run. I glanced at Matt again. He stepped up to offer her a handkerchief.
“Thanks.”
Lucia sniffled. As she wiped her eyes, her makeup smudged. She looked like a sad raccoon, and I felt like a heel. Still, I had to ask...
“How am I supposed to believe anything you say? You lied about Glenn, didn’t you? You claimed you were engaged to him.”
“Glenn and I
“Then why are you sleeping with Oat?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Glenn hasn’t given me a ring yet. He keeps saying he wants to find the right one, but I think he’s stalling... not so sure about me yet.”
Lucia shook her head, glanced in the direction of the firehouse. “Oat and I were hot and heavy once. When he started hanging around Dad’s caffè again, I decided to have a little fun with him, a last little fling. I needed a break from the hospital today, and Oat’s the kind of guy who can make a girl forget her troubles...”
“So you have no interest in Oat? You’re just leading him on?”
“Oat doesn’t want to get married.” She waved her French tips. “He’s a confirmed bachelor, just like his captain. He knows I’m just playing around, waiting for my stupid boyfriend to get off his ass and marry me. I’m actually hoping Glenn will get wind of what’s going on. Nothing like a little jealousy to get a man off his behind and make him commit.”
“Some
Matt tugged my arm. “Let’s go, Clare.”
“Wait,” I said. “One more thing, Lucia.”
“What?”
“The arsonist threatened to burn down my coffeehouse. An unmarked package was left for me with a box of wooden matches inside.”
I closely watched Lucia’s reaction. Her raccoon eyes widened; her glossed lips parted. She looked genuinely surprised.
“I don’t know whether you’re telling me the truth or not,” I said. “But I want you to know: I’m going to
“I hope you do, Ms. Cosi,” she said. “As long as you leave
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
Matt tugged my arm again, harder this time. “Let’s
As he pulled me away, Lucia returned to her Corvette and slammed the door. I watched her drive away, then I faced my ex.
“I’m not giving up.”
I half expected a lecture or at the very least a smirk. Instead, Matt put his hands on my shoulders and said —
“I know you won’t.”
The guy always did come through when I least expected it.
Twenty-Nine
Hours later, the bake sale over, the Village Blend kiosk packed up and put away, I found myself back in Queens, sitting across from Val Noonan in the shamrock green booth of Saints and Sinners.
The Irish pub had all the traditional trappings: darkly paneled walls, a long bar, authentic Gallic hops on tap, and shiny brass fittings everywhere you looked. (I would have given half my New York lottery winnings for a
Val, who preferred a darker brew, was now nursing a pint of Guinness, eyes riveted on the front door, while I finished up my cell phone conversation.
“Say that again? You’re going to be late because of... ?”
“A pizza delivery,” Mike replied. “We got a last-minute tip. A delivery is scheduled for tonight. The
“I do.”
I was happy for Mike. I was. Sergeant Franco had ferreted out a solid lead in their current case. A pizza car was the method of delivering the buffet of club drugs to key players on the construction site — at least Mike thought so. His squad still had to prove it.
“I’m sorry, Clare. I wanted to be there with you tonight, but this is the break we’ve been waiting for...”
I heard the regret in Mike’s tone, followed by the barely suppressed excitement. I didn’t mind. I knew how he felt — and in more ways than one.
My confrontation with Lucia left me feeling like Don Quixote again, although I wasn’t kicking myself for charging a pair of stiletto heels instead of a fire-breathing beast because I’d seen Mike make the same kind of run. He and his squad would spend days, even weeks, racing after some lead only to find their well-meaning lances lodged in a windmill.
“So I won’t be seeing you at all tonight?” I said, banishing any timber of disappointment.
“If this turns out to be bogus, I’ll be there in an hour or two. But if we make an arrest — ”
“I won’t see you until morning, I know. Okay, well... good luck, Mike. I hope you nail them...” I cringed, remembering Lucia’s threat to use
“I’ll miss you,” I added, “but I understand.”
“Thanks, Clare.” Mike paused. “You know how much I appreciate what you just said, right?”
“I know...”
The man’s ex-wife never would have been so understanding (that’s what he meant). Every time Mike had to cancel, delay, or let me down because of his job, I always heard the same tension in his voice, as if he were bracing for a Leila-like tongue lashing. But he never got one. Not from me. I wasn’t Leila.
“Be careful, okay?” I whispered.
“I always am.”
I sighed as I hung up, not because I was left dateless for this post-bake sale shindig. I’d hoped Mike’s skills would help me loosen up James Noonan, get him to explain what he’d meant earlier today when he’d declared Bigsby Brewer was murdered. Now it was up to me alone — if James ever showed.
I glanced around the pub. The place was jammed with firemen and their wives or significant others. I’d already said my hellos to everyone I knew. Many of the faces still packing the place included guys from Michael Quinn’s house: Manny Ortiz and the flirtatious Mr. Elfante. The veteran of the company, Ed Schott, was here, too... but no James, no Oat. Not even Captain Michael had shown — although for that I was profoundly relieved.
In the corner, an acoustic band played: singer, fiddle, frame drum, tin whistle. The scent of beer saturated the air, the cacophony of laughter and lyrics making it hard to concentrate, which was, of course, the point.
We were young then, having a night out downtown, but I couldn’t relax. I was too worried about our
