Authors: Jack Parker
"Custom made." Tessa smiled at a memory. "Maria was quite proud of them, but so? I doubt Darla was killed for Gino's windows." She waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing his idea.
"How can you be so sure?" Scott stared at her for a long moment, then turned his attention to the newspaper clippings. He riffled the stack, apparently looking for something. "Construction around here is big money. Competitive bidding may or may not figure in. Labor in New York is largely controlled by unions, but raw materials are at a premium. Alliances tend to form between builders and suppliers. Glass in particular—difficult to make and even more impossible to ship." He paused and looked towards the closed drapes, "Shoot, this place is half glass and the construction almost stopped with a strike. Millions in lost revenue. Glass is one of those things that you want under firm contract."
With a satisfied smile, he passed another article to Tessa. "Within the last year, two of the main glass factories in the state of New York went under. Common creditors. That just leaves one in easy access to the city. It's located in Harlem and called Novus."
She chuckled. "'Novus' is Latin—not Italian. Nice try."
He shrugged, "I don't know, maybe they were trying to fly in under the wire, not be obvious? They're owned by the Xenex Corporation." He pointed to a line on the page, "That's the same company that sent money through Northwest Credit Union to bankroll our Barton Malone in Chicago, who owns four city blocks requiring redevelopment."
"But you knew that already," Tessa complained. "That link is why you came to Chicago in the first place…or so you said."
Some of the wind went out of Scott's sails, "But now you show me that Cy was on-site at one of those plant closings. Directly involved."
Shaking her head, she said, "You're grasping if you think Darla, her kidnapping and death, is linked to construction or political corruption." Tessa was getting tired of the subject; she didn't want to waste time on why her friend was killed but rather who was going to pay for it.
Edgy, Tessa tried to remember that she and Scott were on the same side; at least, she hoped they were. The world that she was familiar with had no set ground rules or boundaries. At times, it was hard to tell friend from foe.
Scott scratched his head, looking confused. "If this was simple ransom, why was Darla taken 1,000 miles away, and someplace busy? Why not find a cabin by the lake or a campground?"
Tessa shuddered at his cold thought process. "Revenge is a funny thing."
"I thought you didn't believe it was a vendetta?"
"I don't. Not really."
"If this is about the Mob, and Aeillo succeeded, why keep killing?" Scott asked.
"His November takeover was complete with DeMarco's death in January. No need to keep chipping away at DeMarco's supporters."
"But they did keep killing. There are three women dead."
She didn't look at him "Have you ever considered that not all the pieces belong to this puzzle?"
Scott looked at her but didn't know what to say to that. "Let's move on. Maybe we missed something else everyone had in common," Scott said, standing. He bent forward and adjusted the quilt on the bed, snapping the folds into a sharp crease. "I mentioned St. Joseph's before."
Tessa put the last strip of newspaper back on the stack. "Religion could be a theme." A note of sarcasm laced her words. "Next thing you're going to tell me is that churches have stained glass windows."
Even before she finished the thought, Scott jumped on it. "St. Joseph's is famous for them. That could explain the Bible verses." Her look was enough to squash the sparkle in his eye. "You have a better theory?" he prompted.
She sighed. "My head hurts."
"You're hungry."
"You know me a little too well. That scares me."
Scott extended a hand to help her stand. "Let's get you something from the mini-bar, supper's not for a little while."
"Oddly enough, that's what I was thinking of doing when I came out of the shower," she said wryly.
"Did you get a chance to look at the information Marlayna sent?"
"No," Tessa said, "you have it."
"I do?" Scott seemed a bit surprised, but then shrugged. He didn't say more about the potential that their friendly driver had not been all he pretended to be. "I'm going to call Marlayna. I told her I would when I got to town."
"Why don't you go to dinner without me?"
Scott chuckled and laced his fingers with hers in a symbol of union. "Gunman I can handle. Time alone with Marlayna Reed—I need a bodyguard."
"I'm hardly..."
Tessa could feel his fingers wrapped around her hand. It was a bold reminder that she was straddling a line. She didn't want to be arm candy for Scott, but the idea of being on his arm had a certain appeal.
"Who's going to protect me?" she asked, her lower lip pushed forward in a soft pout.
In one smooth motion, Scott pulled her closer and stepped in at the same time, one arm wrapping gently around her waist so they stood face to face. He lowered his head at the exact moment she looked up, bringing them only inches apart. With no clear intention, her free hand instinctively rose to his chest to claim some piece of personal space or to halt her own advancement; it was left unclear. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and the sound of his whispered, "me" sent a small shiver through her.
Letting out a sigh that crossed between frustration and resignation, Tessa pulled her gaze from his, her raised hand staying for the moment. In the silence, she studied her fingers as they touched the soft wool of his sweater. "I better dress to impress," she finally said.
He squeezed her other hand and let her go, his tone light. "Pack up your stuff. After dinner I'll take you someplace where strangers won't riffle your underwear."
"Promises, promises," she muttered while snatching up an errant unmentionable from the corner of the desk.
"I am a man of my word," he pledged. But what exactly he was promising was yet unclear.
Cooking
Snap.
The front entrance to New York's hotspot, Amici's, was bright with flash and music. Standing next to Scott, Tessa blinked and smiled blankly while some woman she didn't recognize zoomed in and took her picture before moving on to the next arrival. Scott seemed to be oblivious to having his photo taken, and continued to discuss their reservation with the maître d'.
Tessa played with the folds of her dress, two nervous fingers making sure the sequin fringe was in place. Scott was wearing a suit, so she was glad she
'
d packed something worthy of the classy venue. The foyer was packed with people, waiting to see and be seen, but the maître d' grabbed a stack of menus and signaled for Scott and Tessa to follow, leading them across the marble tile into the main dining room.
Scott offered his arm to politely escort her through the crowded restaurant. The move didn't surprise Tessa. Knowing he'd grown up with three sisters, she suspected he may have learned a thing or two about manners. Suddenly she wondered, having been raised by her father and with only brothers, if that explained anything about herself. A few heads turned to look at the handsome couple as they passed.
As if the topic was still fresh, Scott said, "I still think we should have made the hotel security aware of what happened."
"It would only make things a lot more difficult," she maintained.
A violinist played and the restaurant was steeped with romance. Why Scott selected this place when he wanted to give his boss the brush-off was beyond her, but she easily slipped into the mood of low light, satin and roses. Her arm wrapped a little tighter around his as she leaned in and finished her thought. "It will be faster if we take care of this ourselves."
"Oh yes," he pulled at his navy blue tie absently, "that's what we want, speed."
"Well, I don't want to spend a lot of time explaining myself to the authorities. Better to just handle it."
"Assuming we can."
They took their seats at a round table set for five. Scott looked confused as the host placed the menus before them and left. "I invited Marcy and Marlayna," he explained, "one of them must be bringing a date."
Tessa counted the number of forks. "Considering everything, doesn't it bother you to not know who you're having dinner with?"
"Makes it fun," Scott said, but at the same time his eyes did a quick scan of the room. Still the picture of cool, Scott flashed a little-boy smile. "Besides, nothing's going to happen in such a public place."
Tessa wanted to caution him, but instead she picked up the menu, unwilling to be caught smiling herself in response.
Scott seemed to sense some of her trepidation. He added, "I trust Marcy and Marlayna. But if you need it, there's an exit out the kitchen and into an alley. You can run through the double doors there and out to the left if anything funky happens."
She didn't smile. "I'll be on the alert for the funky," Tessa quipped dryly. She stared at the oversized menu and it struck her as curious that all the finer restaurants felt the need to offer small billboards. She tried to relax and pointed to an item on the menu. "How about fried squirrel?"
"Bet it tastes like chicken."
"Actually, that's a common misconception."
"That answer shouldn't surprise me. Any other unusual tastes?"
"Maybe."
He closed the menu and checked his watch. "Looks like we have a few minutes; enlighten me. I bet there's a good story behind it."
"Stories about me are boring. Besides, you know everything important."
"Really? I've still got seventeen questions," he said, considering their game on the airplane.
"Sixteen, but who's keeping track."
"We were playing on the plane, and you got me distracted with the window. You're not one for heights yourself." She'd shown her own fear both at the Ferris wheel and by wanting a lower hotel room floor. "How come?"
"I was in an accident."
"Oh?"
Without once looking directly at Scott, finding the patternless tablecloth a little less intimidating, "I was fifteen," she said, "my mother was driving. The car flipped over an embankment and I was tossed out. I spent what felt like forever clinging to a cliff ledge."
"And your mom?" Scott asked, his voice soft with concern.
"Both the car and her went into the river. They never did find her body."
Scott didn't have a chance to offer his sympathies. A waiter stepped up next to the table with a bottle of wine in his hand. He didn't say anything, but efficiently began opening the bottle and poured a small amount to taste. "For the lady, compliments of…"
Detective Marcy Finch chose that moment to arrive, effectively cutting off the wine-sender's name. "Not exactly my usual sort of place," she complained. "I was looking forward to something a bit more casual."
Deciding it was maybe better not to make a big deal out of the unordered beverage, in front of his latest guest, Scott discreetly told the waiter that the lady wouldn't be having any spirits tonight.
Scott stood and offered his hand across the table. "You're going to love the food here, Marcy. Please have a seat. You remember Tessa Morgan?"
The officer cleaned up well. The woman's earrings were simple gold studs and her dress was the basic black staple that most women could claim. For some reason, the lack of wealth displayed comforted Tessa and eased a mind that always looked for multiple loyalties. She'd grown up distrusting the police. Maybe Marcy could prove things different.
A tiny ripple of conflict flitted through her as Scott reintroduced her to the detective with her adopted name. The first sigh brought a second; but some things are for the best. Already she knew what her real moniker would say to the woman who sat on the quilted seat across from her.
The sound of her sigh caused Scott to look her way. Green eyes flitted over her face in silent question. Tessa was hesitant for good reason, knowing that anything she said would only bring forth more questions, each one having the possibility to tear down the walls she built so nicely for herself.
Scott didn't allow Marcy time to study the menu. "Have you made any progress on that case I mentioned on the phone?"
"The Christmas Delivery? I looked it up," the Detective said.
"And?"
Marcy glanced from one reporter to the other. "You two flew all the way from Chicago to investigate…?"
"Well, actually..."
"You always do this, Scottie." The detective crossed her arms over her chest. "You expect me to tell you everything. Uh-uh, this time quid pro quo."
"I share," Scott said, glancing at Tessa like she was supposed to back him up.
Tessa just raised her eyebrows. The silence grew uncomfortable.
Finally, Marcy said, "Romanoski worked the case before he retired. And I'll be honest with you, I haven't had time to do much since it landed on my desk along with everything else about two months ago."
Scott blinked, "What do you mean, Marcy?"
"The murder of a hit-man is not exactly the crime of the century. Kill one, another takes his place." the detective said. "It looks like typical Mob stuff."
"Hit-man—sounds like the man didn't have a name," Tessa said to herself, though clearly loud enough for the table to hear.
Scott tried to take back control of the conversation, "So are you saying there's no evidence to try and find the killer?"
"Not exactly." Marcy looked at Tessa for a long moment, then turned back to Scott. "One, he was shot at point blank range, if that matters one way or another, but to me it suggests the victim knew his assailant. And a suspicious matchbook was found. The pros say because of the angle of the strike marks, it was used by a lefty. The reports from forensics also say, the victim was not a smoker. Any chance he was a hit-man slash arsonist?"
Not surprisingly, Rhen was a lefty, as were all the Morgano children. And Tessa was not surprised to hear that the results of the autopsy said that he was a non-smoker; for all his faults, he was a health freak. But something about the matchbook nudged hard, as if it was pointing a finger directly at her brother's killer.
The sound of Scott asking another question pulled her back to the present. "Any suspects at all?"
"They did bring two guys in for questioning. Local thugs. But having no witnesses makes things that much more difficult."
Scott seemed pleased to add, "Something else we've been looking into is, three missing women. We had a suspicion they might be going for four."
Tessa bristled. "They're dead, Scott. Darla is dead. This is no longer a story about
missing
women," her tone almost mocking his naivety. She cast her eyes down, and playing with the two-pronged shrimp fork, physically clenching her jaw shut, not to say more.
"Okay," Scott's sarcasm matched hers, the earlier warmth in his voice long gone with his patience, "then no more pussy-footing around-what do you know about Anthony Aiello? Know anything about his comings and goings these days, Marcy?"
Color flooded Tessa's cheeks. "Sometimes it's better to keep the waters murky," she hissed. Lessons learned, were not so easily forgotten. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought that Scott may have raised his voice as he dropped the mobster's name. Years of experience caused Tessa to then scan the room, looking for subtle clues: a furtive look, a raised glass, anything to indicate that they were not alone in waiting for Marcy's answer.
She straightened in her chair. Was there something, along the wall, nearer to the kitchen. Tessa craned to see two dark-haired men huddled together, one with his back to her, the other head down, neither recognizable from that angle.
Marcy said, "You think Aiello has something to do with the murders last year, or these women….or both?"
"No comment."
Tessa snapped her attention back to Scott and Marcy. "You shouldn't be talking like this in public."
The detective's eyes narrowed. "Scottie's a big believer in the power of the press. Considering that he still has all his body parts, I suspect he may be right."
Scott said, "All paths seem to return to New York."
Marcy looked at Tessa. "When you said Darla—did you mean Darla Perelli?"
"Yes," Tessa said, voice low.
"Man, why didn't I see it before?" The policewoman waggled a finger and shook her head. "The fire earlier today, where you just
happened
to be wandering around, there was another body found…." She leaned forward towards Scott. "you got a name you want to share?"
"You got a cause of death?" he countered.
"So all things must balance, is that it?"
"Maybe."
"Aiello doesn't work this town anymore," Marcy insisted, "He has..."
"Good evening," a woman's voice interrupted.
Icy blue eyes glanced up to see a beautiful blond, dressed to kill. Marlayna Reed, for it couldn't be anyone else. Tessa raised an eyebrow; the red low-cut designer number would have cost at least a month's salary.
"Ms. Morgano…"
The salutation hung between the dining companions for but a moment. Tessa didn't acknowledge the woman; it was all she could do not to become physically ill. The flush that filled her cheeks a moment earlier, returned, this time accompanied with a fierce pounding in her chest and a twist in her stomach.