“Your doctor said not to smoke anymore,” I reminded him.
He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind, Kavanaugh. And no, Lou did not have direct deposit. Rosalie needs the cash now, to help pay for the funeral.”
“How’s she doing?”
Jeff shrugged. “They were married for ten years. He beat the crap out of her for most of that time. How do you think she’s doing?” He tried to keep his tone light, but the anger seeped out underneath his words.
“Did you know her before your mother met Bernie?”
“No. I didn’t meet her until a few weeks ago. She and Lou brought Bernie over to the shop to meet up with my mother. I could tell from the get-go that Lou was bad news.”
Interesting. “How?” I prodded.
“He dominated the conversation; she stood there with her head down, and only spoke when he looked directly at her. She laughed at his stupid jokes. Bernie hated him, the way he treated her.”
“So he’s not too broke up about his death, huh?”
Jeff cocked his head and looked at me sideways. “What are you getting at, Kavanaugh?”
“I don’t know.” And I really wasn’t sure. “Seems pretty convenient for Rosalie that Lou’s dead now.”
“You think she had something to do with it?”
“No, guess not. Sounds like whoever did this did her a favor. It’s probably the same guy who killed Ray Lucci and also tried to run down Will Parker.”
“Who? Oh, yeah, the guy you were making eyes with yesterday.”
Making eyes with? What century did he live in?
I chose to ignore him. “I’m just saying that I think somehow someone wants to kill off these Dean Martin impersonators.” Something Will Parker had said to me yesterday poked my memory. “You know, Will said that the Elvis chapel across the street keeps stealing the Dean Martins.”
We both instinctively looked over at the larger-than-life Elvis, dancing over the white wedding chapel. It was too much, but almost everything in Vegas was too much. You get used to it after a while.
Jeff laughed. “You think there’s some sort of Elvis- Dean Martin war going on here?”
It did sound ridiculous, but then again…
“Maybe,” I said.
Movement in the corner of my eye made me turn. Uh-oh. Anthony DellaRocco, owner of That’s Amore, was scurrying toward us, a big smile on his face, his arms outstretched.
“You’ve come back!” he said. “Have you gotten over your cold feet?”
The latter was directed at me, because, of course, I walked away yesterday.
Before I could say anything, though, Jeff put his arm around my shoulders and said, “We decided a church is the way to go.”
We did, did we?
“I’m afraid we’re here for a sadder occasion, though,” he added.
DellaRocco frowned, confused.
“Lou Marino’s widow is my sister-in-law,” Jeff continued. “She asked if I could pick up Lou’s paycheck.”
DellaRocco’s face registered recognition. “Jeff Coleman? She called to tell me you were on your way. Come with me.”
Jeff held on to my shoulder, steering me behind DellaRocco. I was glad I now had the excuse to get back in that building, but I wished I didn’t still have to pretend I was going to marry Jeff Coleman to do it.
DellaRocco led us inside and down the hall, turning into an office to our right. It was neat as the proverbial pin. A file cabinet stood against the far wall, a big metal desk sprawled catty-corner to it, an expensive big leather swivel chair behind the desk. The top of the desk held a wire basket with some paperwork and a pencil holder with three sharp pencils, and a stapler sat next to that. A framed photograph of a pretty brunette with laugh lines around her eyes faced the swivel chair.
A brown parcel perched on the far edge of the desk.
Anthony DellaRocco sat in the chair and swiveled so he could pull out his top drawer. He slid out a white envelope and handed it to Jeff, who was also looking at the package.
DellaRocco noticed.
“Came for Ray Lucci yesterday,” he said. His eyes moved from Jeff to me and back again. “Some tattoo place.”
Jeff and I exchanged a look.
“You two look like you know your way around a tattoo parlor,” DellaRocco said with a wide grin, his big voice booming.
“What are you going to do with it?” I asked, ignoring him.
DellaRocco looked startled for a second, as if he didn’t get that I was referring to the package. “Oh, you mean this,” he said, tapping it.
“Did you make sure it’s not ticking?” Jeff asked; his tone was ominous, as if it might really be ticking.
DellaRocco’s eyes widened, and he pushed back in his chair, away from the desk. “Didn’t even think to. You think it might have something to do with his murder?”
I was the only one who knew what was in the package, and I knew that it didn’t, but I shrugged, as if it could be the bomb Jeff suggested.
Jeff was leaning down, his ear now close to the box. He shook his head. “Don’t hear anything. You’re lucky,” he said to DellaRocco. “You know, you should tell the cops about this.” He cocked his head at me. “Her brother’s a detective. Why don’t we take this and she can give it to him?”
DellaRocco’s eyes narrowed. “A detective?”
“He’s with the Las Vegas police department,” I offered. “I’m sure he’d appreciate getting the package. It might be a clue to his murder. You might actually be responsible for solving it.” The last bit was a bit much, but he was nodding as though I was telling the truth.
“I see what you mean.” He paused. “They wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t call them myself?”
Jeff chuckled. “She’s practically a detective herself.”
He didn’t see the dirty look I threw him.
“And even if it’s not ticking,” Jeff added, “remember the anthrax that went through the mail and killed that woman in Connecticut after 9/11?”
That did it. DellaRocco pushed the parcel over to Jeff. “Okay, fine. Get it out of here.”
Jeff picked it up and swung it under his arm. He threw his other arm around my waist and started steering me out. “Thanks, Tony,” he said.
“Thank
Jeff was pushing me so quickly out the door that I tripped over my feet. “What’s the hurry?” I said. “Do you really think there’s a bomb in that package?”
“Maybe I want to get my fiancee home,” he said with a leer.
I squirmed to get out of his grasp, but he was too strong.
“A few more minutes, Kavanaugh, and you’ll be a free woman again.”
“I’m already a free woman.”
Jeff chuckled. “Why is it so easy to get to you?” His words were light, but there was something underneath his tone that made me take pause.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He pulled me over to the Pontiac.
“I’ve got the Jeep,” I said.
“Just get in, okay?”
We’d barely gotten into the car before Jeff started opening the package.
“Why are you opening it?” I asked.
“Because I’ve done business with Tattoo Inc. And this isn’t their logo, even though it’s got their name on it.” As he spoke, he ripped the cardboard box open.
I peered over the top to see what was inside.
It was the biggest gun I’d ever seen.
