“Wrong. That’s not how I roll. And I am not your homegirl.”
Their relationship had been antagonistic from day one. The very first words he’d said to her were, “Hey, mama, can I get some fries with that shake?” Her very first words in reply: “How would you like to spend the rest of the afternoon searching the driveway for your teeth?”
And it had gone straight downhill from there. Augie was always trying to goad her. Part of him was just kidding around. But not all of him. His eyes, when he turned serious, were cold, forbidding holes. Augie had a definite problem with the likes of Des wearing a uniform. She didn’t know if it was because of her pigment, her gender or both. Didn’t care, actually. The man was an ass.
He started up the Gator, Ballantine in hand, and eased it over to the Farrells’ garage, which was open. Big, plastic tubs full of nickel deposit bottles were stowed in there next to their long, white Cadillac. On a Ping-Pong table there were a dozen or more black plastic trash bags stuffed with old clothing. Each bag had a label on it that read something like Women’s Sweaters: Petites, Men’s Shirts: Mediums or Goodwill. A cord of seasoned firewood was stacked against the back wall.
Augie began to fill the Gator’s box-shaped cargo bed with armloads of wood. “That skinny old bitch Mrs. Farrell accosts me this morning and tells me they must have firewood on their porch right away.” He paused to belch audibly. “I say to her, ‘Lady, it’s ninety effing degrees out.’ But her husband positively swears the weather’s going to turn sharply colder next week. And she says he chills easily. Must be that blue blood of his. Me, I’m a hot- blooded Mediterranean. I never get cold. Never screw people out of their life’s savings either. If it weren’t for that bastard, I’d be out fishing right now-maybe some nice, long-legged babe rubbing suntan lotion on my back. Instead, I have to put up with them and their crap. Get this-I was out sweeping the front walk this morning, maybe seven- thirty. I come back and I find that skinny old bitch in my apartment. You’ll never guess what she was doing.”
“Rummaging through your trash?”
“Exactamundo. She ain’t all there, you ask me. And, boy, does she have her nose up in the air. Her and all of the other rich old broads in this town. You say hello to them and they act like you just took a leak on their shoes.”
“Mr. Donatelli…”
“It’s Augie.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Working. Why, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“I mean here in Dorset.”
“Oh…” His face went slack. “My missus, Gina, always wanted to retire to a cozy little New England village. All those years in Mineola she kept saving brochures, magazine articles. It was her dream. But she never got the chance. The cancer got her.”
“Is that why you retired from the NYPD?”
“That is none of your damned business.”
She’d run a computer background check on him at the Troop F barracks. Detective Lieutenant Augie Donatelli had received four commendations for valor during his career. He’d been working out of the 24^th Precinct on Manhattan’s Upper West Side last year when he chose to retire after twenty-six years on the job.
“I’m here for the both of us,” he grunted as he toted one more armload of wood to the Gator. His gait was not entirely steady. He was at least a six-pack into the Ballantine. “The job was dead to me. The city was dead to me. House was empty. So here I am, sugar pie. You got a problem with that?”
“No, Augie, I don’t.”
He got back in behind the wheel of the Gator, grinning at her. “Good, because I think I’ve got a break in our flasher case.”
Des immediately felt herself tighten up inside. “I thought we had an understanding about that, too. You’re not on the job anymore. And I don’t discuss ongoing investigations with members of the public.”
He shook his head at her in disgust. “Drop the act, will ya? I’ll admit it-you’re walking around with one of the top ten cabooses I’ve ever seen in my life. And I used to work uptown, if you follow what I’m saying…”
“Actually, I’m trying really hard not to.”
“But I was busting heads back when you were still in kindergarten. So be smart. I’m a resource. And I’ve got one doozie of a theory. If I were you, I’d listen to it.”
“It’s been a long, hot day. How about tomorrow?”
“You blowing me off?”
“I’m saying how about tomorrow.” And hoping he’d forget that they’d ever had this conversation. Beery haze and all. “Have a good one, Augie.” She tipped her Smokey hat at him and started down the driveway toward her cruiser.
Augie turn the Gator around and eased along next to her. “What time should I call you?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Know what? You have got some attitude on you, homegirl.”
“I don’t have an attitude. I treat everyone with respect. Why don’t you give it a try sometime?”
“Wait, I got something else for you. I’m talking huge here. Has to do with our Beth Breslauer,” he confided, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of her condo. “She and your boy Mitch are real tight, you know. They met for smoothies at The Works this afternoon.”
“And you know this because…?”
“I have the lady under surveillance.”
Des came to a stop, hands on her hips. “You’re following her?”
“She’s quite some dish. I’d tap that in two seconds flat if it gave me a chance.”
“Um, okay, I’m guessing it hasn’t. Augie, are you aware that we have stalker laws in this state?”
“Who’s stalking? The Works is a public place. So’s the Mohegan Sun Casino in Uncasville.”
“What about the Mohegan Sun?”
“I drove up there a couple of weeks back to see Billy Joel. The Piano Man did ten straight sold-out nights there. And, believe me, he put on a show. Pounded those ivories for two and half hours, sang his heart out…”
“You saw Mrs. Breslauer at the Billy Joel concert?”
“Outside in the parking lot. She was working it.”
“What do you mean by ‘working it?’ ”
“Trust me, that lady is not who she pretends to be,” he explained, taking a long swig of his Ballantine. “This is one of the most fascinating characters I’ve come across in a long time. Ever hear of the Seven Sisters?”
“Sure, that’s what they called the ladies’ Ivy League back before the schools went coed. There was, let’s see, Vassar, Bryn Mawr, Wellesley, Smith…”
“No, not those Seven Sisters. Geez, don’t you hick troopers out here know anything?”
By now they’d reached the foot of the driveway. Des could see the Farrells seated on their screened-in porch. Dex Farrell was sitting in a rocker, reading a book. He was a severe-looking white-haired man with rimless eyeglasses. He didn’t look up at them. But Maddee did-and promptly got busy making space on the porch for the firewood.
Across the street, John the barber was locking up his little shop for the night. He and a couple of his fellow volunteers from the firehouse next door were gabbing. All three of them waved at Des.
She waved back at them, then took a deep breath and said, “Can I give you a piece of advice, Augie? If you want to remain employed in this hick town, you’d better stop tailing your tenants and start fixing their leaky faucets. And you might want to cut back on the Ballantine, too.”
“You are trying to get me fired,” he snarled in response. “Nothing makes you people happier, does it?”
“By ‘you people’ you mean…?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, you bitch! You know what I mean. Can’t stand having me around, can you? Afraid your little secret will get out.”
“What little secret?”
“That you haven’t got the slightest goddamned idea what you’re doing!”
The men across the street could hear Augie quite plainly. Were missing none of this.
“Get hold of yourself, Augie,” Des cautioned him quietly.
No chance of that. He climbed out of the Gator and charged toward her, staggering slightly. “They don’t know the truth about you!” he roared, stabbing her in the shoulder with his finger. “But I do! I know you stepped over a
