the top of her lungs about how she’s going to make a bow tie out of his balls. Unbelievable! Then she took off in a huff.”
“And what did you see last night?”
“Last night I was here in Boston,” Abby said hastily. “But… why are you asking?”
“Because someone else got murdered last night, that’s why.”
“Really, who?”
“Donna Durslag.”
“Oh, sure. She owned The Works with her husband.”
“You knew her?”
“By name. Jeffrey rents his space from them.”
“So you’re saying you weren’t watching his condo last night, am I right?”
“That’s right,” Abby said, lowering her eyes.
“Don’t disrespect me, girl. If you took your town car out of the hotel parking garage last night, I’ll know. If you rented a different car, I’ll know. If you so much as walked out that lobby door, I’ll know. I have the means. I have the skills. I have the-”
“Okay, okay, no need to get all huffy on me.”
“I do not get huffy.”
“I was at Jeffrey’s last night,” Abby conceded. “I was staked out just like the other two nights-from eleven till about four. I took the town car.”
“Why lie to me about it?”
“Because I’m embarrassed,” she wailed plaintively. “Wouldn’t you be embarrassed? I mean, God, this is so humiliating.”
“Who visited Jeffrey last night?”
“No one, I swear.”
“Did he go out?”
Abby shook her head. “He was there by himself all night.”
“Did you think about knocking on his door?”
“Not a chance.”
“Why not, was Frankie with you?”
“Look, I’d rather not involve Frankie in this, okay?”
“That’s not an answer.”
There was a tapping at the suite door now.
Abby let her breath out, clearly relieved by the interruption. “Would you mind getting that, cookie?”
Des got up and went to the door and opened it.
A frail young man with a concave chest and a two-day stubble of beard stood out in the hallway clutching a pair of battered metal carrying cases. “I’m here for Abby,” he announced.
“Come in, Gregory!” Abby called to him as she bustled over toward the desk. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this off now, Trooper. Gregory has to do my mouth.”
“That’s fine,” Des said. “I got what I came for. Where will you be tonight?”
Abby frowned at her. “Right here in Boston, why?”
“Just checking. You’re a happening little girl. Liable to turn up anywhere.”
“Well, I’ll be here. That’s the truth. And I always tell the truth.”
“Except for when you don’t,” Des said, smiling at her. “Right, I heard that.”
One of the doormen down in the lobby gave Des directions to theEast Coast Grill. Her cruiser was double- parked out front. She got in and called Yolie on her cell phone to tell her what she didn’t want to hear-that Abby Kaminsky backed up Esme and Jeff’s story.
“Did you believe her?” Yolie asked, sounding thoroughly dejected.
“Yolie, I honestly don’t know. She’s rich, wiggy, in love. Anything’s possible. What have you got?”
“So far, not a damned thing. None of the guests at the Yankee Doodle saw our boy come or go. And, Lordy, were they not happy to be questioned. Kimberly Fiore backs up her boyfriend, Rich Graybill. He got home from his late shift at The Works by midnight. Word, we are nowhere,” she grumbled at Des.
“Hey, we’ll lick this, Yolie. You keep that chin up for me, okay?”
“Girl, I am all about that,” Yolie vowed before she hung up.
Des started up her cruiser and glanced in her rearview mirror, spotting big Frankie. He was seated at the wheel of the black town car parked behind her in the hotel’s loading area, glowering at her with as much menace as he could muster. Definitely a yard face. The man had done time. She was positive.
As she pulled away, Des ran a check on him on her digital radio. She got her answer before she’d made it across the Charles into Cambridge on the Massachusetts Avenue Bridge. Frank Ramistella had wriggled his way out of two assault charges when he was in his late teens, then served three years of New York state time for armed robbery. As far as the law knew, he had been clean for the past six years.
All well and good, Des reflected as he steered her way toward Central Square. The man was still hired muscle. And he was way into Abby. He’d do what that little blond asked him to, even if it meant pushing Tito Molina off a cliff. But that still begged the question about Donna. What possible reason could Abby have for wanting Donna dead?
This question Des could not answer.
And it troubled her big-time. Actually, this whole case did. Because the more she learned the more confused she got. In truth, she wasn’t getting any closer to figuring this one out at all.
In truth, her damned fool head was reeling.
CHAPTER 13
“um, okay, tell me again why we’re sitting here like this?”
“Because I have a feeling, that’s why,” Mitch explained to her for the umpteenth time.
“You have a feeling,” Des repeated from next to him in the darkness. She was still in uniform, her collar opened, sleeves turned back.
“I do. I have a definite, undeniable feeling.”
“Oh, it’s undeniable, all right.”
They were sitting in his pickup a hundred yards up Turkey Neck Road from Dodge and Martine Crockett’s driveway, their bellies full of barbecue. Carriage lanterns framed the driveway entrance, bathing it in a dim, golden glow. Across the darkened meadow, lights were on inside the house. It was just past eleven. Warm, sticky air had moved in from the south as the afternoon had given way to evening, bringing low clouds and fog with it. Now it was humid and still and the cicadas were whirring. In the distance, Mitch could hear the foghorn on the Old Saybrook Lighthouse.
“What’s more, you need my help,” he added. “You’ve got two murders that don’t seem to connect with each other except for the simple fact that they must. And you’re totally flummoxed by it- you, Soave, Yolie, all of you.”
“Well, you’re not wrong there,” she growled at him.
“Would you like to know why you’re so flummoxed?”
“One way or the other, I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Because all three of you think inside the box. I’m not being critical, mind you. I’m just saying that you’re encumbered by the rules and procedures of your job, and I’m not. This allows me to function as a freer thinker. You might even think of me, well, as a visionary.”
Des reached over in the dark and squeezed his hand. “Baby, I’m not going to have to hit you, am I?”
“What you’ll be doing, before this night is over, is thanking me.”
“Mitch?…”
“Yes, Des?”
“What damned feeling?!”
