Authors: J. M. Griffin
A car had pulled to the curb. A door closed behind me, but I didn't pay attention to it. Instead, I stared aghast as two gallon cans of butter yellow crashed down the staircase bouncing against the wall. When the lid flew off one gallon, gooey color spewed over my body followed by an expletive from above, and a choke of laughter from behind.
Shocked as shit and mad as hell, I stood in the doorway covered in paint. Thick globs of color rolled down my arms, dripped off my chin, layered my dark hair and slid over my bare legs. It oozed into my sneakers and dripped from my fingertips. Only God knows how much area a gallon of paint really can cover.
Puddles spread over the floor. Horrified, I knelt to scoop it up with my hands, slopping it back into the dented container. Rising, I heard a deep guffaw behind me and turned.
With the widest grin ever stood a brute the size of the Rock, a former WWF wrestler. Toned muscles bulged on biceps, his chest size was larger than mine and he reminded me of Jimmy the Neck.
Jimmy, a mob enforcer from Federal Hill, knew my dad. They'd gone to high school together until Jimmy got expelled for extorting good grades from the teachers. He'd turned to real crime after that. Jimmy's neck was thick like a football player with shoulders to match, just the same as this guy.
Handsome to a fault, his rich dark eyes beheld my sad sack appearance.
Gosh, what a hunk
, I thought, as his chest heaved with laughter at my expense. I stood covered in paint. It was all over me. It had missed nothing.
What an impressive sight that must be
. I stared down my torso and wiped daubs of color from my face.
Feet thumped down the stairs. Lanky looked at me, apologized, stifled a giggle as his eyes widened, and scooted back up the steps.
"Excuse me, I think I need to clean up. Whatever you want will have to wait,” I said to the Hunk, as I swiped off more thick gobs of paint.
I turned and yelled up the stairs.
"You better hide up there, sport, because I'm gonna break your neck when I get out of the shower.” With that said, I left Mr. Luscious Hunk on the steps and went toward my bathroom by way of the back door.
The Hunk snickered as I rounded the corner of the house and strode down the driveway. With no idea what he wanted, who he was or where he'd come from, sort of like the mysterious package, I figured I had a right to know.
A while later, minus a couple layers of skin and a full bottle of shampoo, I headed back upstairs. This time, I took the rear staircase outside my kitchen entry. The two apartments were laid out nearly the same.
Entering through the door, I stood in the kitchen above mine. Larry chattered in the front room while deep laughter rumbled off the walls. The Hunk hadn't left so there'd be a chance to satisfy my curiosity. Lanky Larry was in the process of entertaining him, probably with his own interest in mind, I thought with a grin.
Wandering around the corner, I saw Larry glance at me as he wrung the towel out into a bucket of water. The paint on the walls had been cleared away and Lanky hustled down to finish the front entry, apologizing all the while. Before I closed the door, I managed some kind words and thanked him for the cleanup. After all, it was an accident.
My spirits lifted as I turned to stare into the broad smile that faced me. My eyes slid over The Hunk. With a grin, I apologized for my earlier behavior.
"The day started out fine, but has managed a blemish or two before noon. Sorry about the mishap, I hope you didn't get any paint on your clothes."
"It's likely you wore most of it.” He chuckled. “I wondered if I could speak with Vinnie Esposito. Is he around today?"
"What do you want to talk about?"
"I'd like to rent this apartment if it's available. Someone mentioned I might speak to Vinnie about it."
"The apartment won't be ready for awhile yet. There are two rooms that need work and the rugs will be brought in later this week."
"Uh huh, well, I can wait that long if it's necessary, but I still need to speak to Vinnie. Would you know how I can get in touch with him?"
My smile must have been the giveaway, because he stopped talking and just stared for a second.
With a hand extended, I shook his and said, “Vinnie Esposito, nice to meet you."
An odd gleam entered his eyes, as though he considered this might be a joke, but he recovered and said, “Aaron Grant."
"So Mr. Grant, why would you want to live here?” Don't ask me why I asked that question. Since Livvy's death and the parcel incident, I figured there was need for a certain amount of caution even though I was curious as hell.
"Aaron, please. Proximity to work is an issue and I thought this would allow me to have that. The village atmosphere has appeal and yet Providence is within ten minutes or so. What do you say?” Charm oozed and flowed over me like lava, while his pearly whites glistened.
"I'd like to think about it if you don't mind. Besides, these rooms still have to be done. The rent is high as well, and I'm not sure what you're willing to pay.” There was that procrastination thing again.
Dark eyebrows lifted a tad and Aaron asked what the rent was. I pulled a fictitious number out of my head and he smiled. Apparently it wouldn't be a problem.
"I have references if you'd like and Detective Bellini from the Providence Police Department said you might be in search of a tenant. I'm single with no encumbrances in case you're interested.” The gorgeous smile widened to a full-on grin.
"Uh huh, I'll take that into consideration along with the references.” My smile matched his as my brown eyes wandered over him while he stared around the room. He checked the fireplace, and then glanced out the windows.
Grant was impeccably dressed in cream colored trousers with a crease sharp enough to slice cake. Wavy dark hair lay trim against the collar of a lightweight material shirt that showed off a tan most women would kill for. A heavy gold watch rested on his wrist while deep rust-colored shoes appeared handmade. With the kind of money his attire screamed, I was curious as to why he needed to rent an apartment, especially this apartment. The need for answers niggled at me, but if Bellini had sent him, well, that was different. We had our differences, but Bellini was a good man.
Aaron wandered around the rest of the rooms, opened cabinets and peered inside closets. I watched him look under sinks and check out the laundry room. He appeared comfortable with the apartment, too large, but hey, who am I to talk, he was only a half head taller than me. I imagined him in a gorgeous home that featured vaulted ceilings and high peaked windows, not to mention a humongous fireplace and lots of imported marble. Okay, so my imagination was out of control again.
Hunky wrote the references on a snippet of paper I found in the kitchen drawer and left his cell phone number. I watched him head outside and fold his muscular frame into a black SUV. The license plate read “HIRLLR” as in High Roller maybe? Hmm.
I glanced down at the bit of paper. The script was bold and symmetrical, just like him. As I tucked it into my shorts pocket, Lanky scrambled through the door all goggle eyed. Gosh, I guess he thought The Hunk was special too.
"Did you check out those biceps?” he asked. “I could swing off those for days."
His delight brought a hoot of laughter from me. “You could, huh?” I chuckled. “What did you guys discuss while I was downstairs?” Curiosity, my major problem, always led to trouble, no doubt about it.
"Not much now that you ask. We talked a lot, but he didn't give any information away. Strange, now that I think of it. Huh.” His brows knit together as he glanced at me with a grin. “I'm ready for lunch, how about you?"
"Oh yeah, I've worked so hard this morning that I'm famished.” Guilt stole over his face, and I threw my arm around his shoulder. We headed down the stairs and out the door.
We strolled to the corner, crossed the street and entered the deli located on the opposite side. My friend, Lola Trapezi, owned The Salt & Pepper Deli and served scrumptious sandwiches with names like Thanksgiving Dinner or Trooper Special, silly things like that. The food was phenomenal so we ordered up and ate outside in the summer sun. Sidewalk tables were gathered in front of the historic structure surrounded by a picket fence.
Summer smells accosted my nostrils. Sweet honeysuckle grew over the fence of the storefront next to the Salt & Pepper. Plump bumble bees collected nectar while I sat back lazily watching their consumption. A light breeze ruffled the leaves on the vines.
The sunshine warmed my skin. My attention returned to Larry and I asked, “Why do you think this guy wants to rent the apartment?"
"Well, it's a nice location, you're gorgeous, and he may be telling the truth."
My right eyebrow cocked at him. “You didn't happen to have your ear to the door, did you?"
Unabashed, he chuckled. “Yeah, but it was only out of consideration for you."
Laughter bubbled up from my throat as this roly poly friend of mine made excuses for his deviant behavior.
"I'm glad to hear it, really I am. By the way, a mysterious package was left on my doorstep last night.” As my story unraveled, his face registered surprise.
"What do you make of it?"
"I don't know, but I have a lot of questions and no answers for them.” I said.
"Questions about what exactly?"
"Why the cops come around asking questions about Livvy's affairs. Why they are interested in what she did for a living, who her friends were, what kind of business she ran. Questions like that.” I shook my hair off my neck and glanced at Larry. “There has to be something about her death that nobody wants to share with us. It makes me more and more curious."
"You could always investigate, Vin. You must be good at that since you teach those techniques."
"I suppose so. My father would have a fit, but I need answers."
We finished lunch and returned to the house, enjoying the fresh air. Back in the apartment, Larry worked in one room while I worked in the other until my paint ran out. Scooping the empty container off the floor, I headed through the rooms. The paint store was about a half mile away.
I skipped down the stairs and left by the front door. The state trooper from the evening before strolled up the walk. Dressed in street clothes instead of a uniform, it was a sure bet he was off duty. Jeans clung to trim hips and long legs. Sneakers adorned his feet and a T-shirt that touted Jack Daniels Whiskey fit his upper torso like a glove.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I just wanted to let you know what the bomb squad found last night. Can we talk inside?” He asked as his eyes slid over me.
The look brought a rush of heat to my skin and my little internal voice started screaming
Beware! Beware!
Dismay filtered through me as hazel eyes checked me out. So I was covered with paint speckles from the roller, so what? And what if my hands were paint caked? I was working, after all.
Cops see worse than this, it's a fact. I teach law enforcement officials, wannabe's, security guards or two point five officers as their called, and real police officers known as Five O's, every day of the school year. They regale me with stories of their daily lives in the business. Some tales are funny while others are downright sad, but most are entertaining. These officers live on the seedy side of life, the side that most folks never see and would never know. My present appearance was nothing in comparison, I'm sure.
Settling the paint can on the front step, I backed into the first floor apartment and led the officer through to the kitchen. I gestured to a chair at the counter and watched his cop eyes travel around the apartment as he settled into place.
I asked in a solemn tone as I picked miniscule speckles of paint off my hands, “The box didn't contain a bomb, then?"
"No, it contained something else. Did you see who dropped the package off?” An intense gaze flicked over my features and settled on my eyes as I stared into his. I had a sudden urge to squirm, but held off.
"Not at all, there was a knock at the door. By the time I got outside, the package was on the step. I looked in both directions, but saw nobody. Why?”
Okay, you're scaring me now
.
"There was a note in the box attached to a black velvet bag of expensive loose gems. Any ideas on that?” His voice was calm and I admired his technique. He leaned back in the chair so not to invade my space. Relaxed, his hands lay folded on the counter. I knew that technique too, but I was unsure if he was aware of who I was and what I did.
"You've stumped me with that one. What does the note say?"
"Something that doesn't make sense."
"What are the words? They are words, right?"
"Yes, they are."
"Well, don't just sit there, spill it. My crystal ball is broken, thanks.” Cripes, what was I supposed to do, guess? I wanted to reach into his throat and rip the words out. My anxiety mounted with each passing moment.
He stiffened at the snappy response. I guess he still didn't like being addressed in a snippy manner. Oh well, too bad, I shouldn't have to drag the words out of his mouth. I had a vested interest in the damned box since it was addressed to my aunt, for gosh sakes.
"Crested Inn.” Piercing eyes raked my face as he searched for a sign that I knew what the words meant.
"Hmm, well I haven't a clue. I don't know who would leave that package for her either. It didn't have a postmark on it, huh? It would seem that this person doesn't realize she's dead."
Baffled, I stared at him as he stared back. I tried to read the man, but he was good, very good and handsome as hell, I might add. Guarded was the word I'd have used to describe his attitude.
He stood and waited for me to rise. We strolled to the door and as he stepped outside, I said, “Thanks officer. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name last night."
"Marcus Richmond. If you think of anything, Miss Esposito, call me.” He handed me a card, then turned away but hesitated. Looking back, the corners of his mouth tipped up and he asked, “Was Lavinia a tough name to deal with as a kid?"
Surprised, I stood in the doorway. “You have no idea, but it got better when my brother christened me Vinnie."