Authors: Jack Parker
Tessa turned her sharp eyes on him. "Not if you don't like the answer."
He didn't flinch. There was a story here; he could tell by his tingling fingers that wanted to write. "Maria gave me a clue. Want to hear it?" he taunted.
"No. Don't you have some politician to dog? This is hardly your beat."
"I like a mystery."
"Butt out, Crawford."
The warning tone in her voice only sparked his interest. He stood to leave and the lazy grin reappeared. "You know me better than that," he said, before he offered a wave and walked out.
Psychology
Beep, beep, beep…
Tessa drew one of the half-dozen pillows, in the wrought-iron bed, over her ear. With the blinds drawn tight, a scant amount of early morning sun peeked through the slats, filling the bedroom with a hazy glow. Clearly it was morning to anyone who cared to look.
The annoying beeping continued. With a loud groan, Tessa hoisted herself up and slapped at the alarm clock, knocking it to the floor. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she wiggled her body into a comfortable position under the blankets. Her cheek caressed the satin of the pillow, and her heavy eyelids drifted closed, only to fly open at the sound of the doorbell. It continued to toll, making sure it was not ignored.
"This better be damn important, Dante," she grumbled, throwing off the covers. It was an educated guess. Few people ventured to her doorstep before breakfast other than her brother, who was notorious for arriving unannounced. Slipping her arms into her robe as she went, Tessa walked barefoot into the hall. The sunlight streaming in through the open windows caused her to squint and fumble with the lock.
She'd always thought the man who stared back at her from the threshold was handsome. Gino Jr. looked much like his father must have thirty years ago, with his dark Italian features and a sense of well-dressed style. Before coffee, however, she wasn't inclined to feel social or even worry about her own appearance—he could take what he got.
Mid-yawn, she greeted her visitor, "G.J., what are you doing here?"
"Don't worry, my dad didn't send me to lecture." He glanced over his shoulder before advancing into the apartment, taking the door from Tessa's sleepy hands and pushing it closed like he wanted to keep something from following him inside. Even his voice was conspiratorially hushed as he added, "How's the head?"
"I'll give him that, your dad can make a mean Manhattan." Sarcasm drifted into her tone, while her hand rose to her head, "I should have stopped after the first half dozen."
The young man left his leather jacket on and started prowling around the living room with a restless sort of energy. "I thought you gave all that up?"
"I thought you weren't here to lecture."
He had the grace to blush. "Sorry. It's all the talking about Darla. Makes me edgy."
Tessa raised an eyebrow. "We're talking about your sister? I sat at that bar for three hours last night, and I think I heard less than ten words from you."
"Well, after Dad laid into Mom for talking to that other reporter I didn't have much incentive to share."
It was obvious that things had changed. "I'll ask again—why are you here, G.J.?" She fiddled with the fringe of her robe, pulling the collar a bit tighter around her neck. Something in the man's body language made her want to protect herself from what he seemed so nervous to say.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a postcard. Taking a few steps forward, he pressed it into her hand. "This came about two days after Darla disappeared."
Before her hand closed over the paper she knew she didn't want it. She tried to give it back, but G.J. held one palm up and stepped away. Tessa looked down to glance at the writing; the penmanship rough and difficult to read. The postmark was the 19th of the March. "Why are you showing me this?"
G.J. shrugged, his broad shoulders moving casually beneath the leather jacket.
She flipped the card over and looked at the picture. Navy Pier was a popular tourist attraction in Chicago. "Do you know who sent this?"
His dark eyes locked onto hers. "You know better than to ask 'who'."
"I've heard this song and dance before." She pulled her gaze away and said, "Sorry, I can't help you. Go to the police."
G.J. was at the window, using two fingers to move the cloth drapes only enough to peer at the street below. After a second, he let the curtain fall back into place. Silently she agreed with his dismissal—three stories up, the view was hardly inspiring. He moved away from the window before he responded, "We need more help than the cops can give."
A look passed between them, rich in family history. Her voice was flat as she asked, "Is that what Gino said—did he send you?"
"My Dad would have a fit if he knew I was talking about this," G.J. said. "All he says is 'God is merciful.'"
Looking down at the Italian scrawl, Tessa said, half under her breath, "God didn't write this." The handwriting was sparse; its most notable trait, the writer's reversed 'e'.
The junior Perelli began to pace, distracting her. She was about to snap at him to sit down and keep still when he grabbed her hand, lifting the postcard up so that the sun hit it. Etched on the front was some writing in blue pen that blended with Lake Michigan in the photo. It stretched out along the bottom edge, appearing more like a stock number than a message.
24 17
A frown puckered her brow. "Who's Levi?"
"It's not Levi—it's Leviticus," G.J. snapped, becoming impatient. He marched over to her bookshelf. "All that time in church, didn't you ever pay attention?" Tessa could sense his frustration as he looked at the meager selection. "Where's your Bible?"
"Well, let me see…" Tessa refused to admit that she might not have one handy. Her salvation had been found in a music book—her time in church spent practicing the organ and only half listening.
"All good Italians are Catholic; all Catholics have Bibles." He ran a finger along the book titles, eyes intent on his quest. His next comment might have been innocent, but his tone was very serious. "How many of your neighbors know your name is Morgano and not Morgan?"
"Chances are good that number will go up from zero, if you're here because you want me to do something with this."
Looking over his shoulder, he cast a dark gaze on her. "But you'll do it if I ask?"
Tessa didn't quite like the emphasis on the personal pronoun. "Do what?" she hedged.
"You know people, Tessa."
"Not anymore."
"Call your father."
She blanched. The word barely came out in a whisper. "No."
"You can't deny your heritage. You can't deny the past."
Tessa wanted to debate and disagree. Five years ago she'd relocated and changed her name. The past was over.
She and G.J. were over. Their time as a happy couple was long gone.
G.J had other ideas. His smile was flirty, charming, the look familiar enough to remind her of her own weaknesses. "So why did you stick around the bar last night? Figured you were there long after closing, just waiting for—"
Something thumped against the front door. Tessa barely noticed the intrusive sound, but G.J. jumped like someone fired a gun in the room. His hand knocked a couple of books off the stand and he bent to straighten them, his body low to the ground.
"What's the matter with you?" Tessa asked. She turned and opened the door, retrieving the newspaper before turning to her guest again.
G.J. was suddenly close, nearly brushing her shoulder as he pushed his way out into the front hall. "I gotta go."
Perplexed, Tessa watched as he darted out and started jogging down the hallway towards the condominium elevators. Before she could call him back, he'd slipped through the steel doors and was gone.
Tessa looked up and down the hall. Perhaps some of G.J's paranoia remained as she stepped back inside her home and locked the door. Putting the postcard in the pocket of her robe, Tessa opened the newspaper and flipped through the local section in search of Scott's article.
* * *
Local police have linked the disappearance of two women in the Chicago Metropolitan area. Darla Perelli and Gail Lorence were reported missing by family members, one of whom confirmed kidnapping for ransom as a possible motive. The women were both waitresses who disappeared in the evening hours. Police will not disclose what evidence they may have in their possession, or if they are pursuing any particular suspects.
* * *
She couldn't help the small snort that slipped from her lips; the article was buried on page 4, far from headline material. "You're grasping, Crawford. I told ya, there's no story here," she muttered to no one present. The victory was minor, but it felt good. Life was back to normal; within the hour she would be dressed and on her way to work.
As the elevators at the Tribune opened, the corners of her mouth were forced into a small smile. Other than a hint of red in her eyes as outward evidence of the late night, it was Tessa's usual morning face; pleasant but not overly cheerful. Picking up the pace to her office, she rounded the corner of the cubicle and let out a small yelp. The sight of Scott sitting in her office was unexpected. "Jesus, you really should wear a bell around your neck," she snapped.
He leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, alert and waiting. If she'd been a bit more observant, she would have noticed he didn't offer her a smile.
"Excuse me," Tessa's voice was tired and rough. She reached alongside the monitor and produced a pill bottle. Taking two out she popped them into her mouth, only then realizing that she had nothing to wash them down with.
Her faced screwed up as the acrid taste reached her taste buds. "Ewww," she groaned, at the same time grabbing Scott's coffee mug from his hands and swigging back the lukewarm liquid. "Yuck, that's even worse," she said, passing the mug back to Scott. "How can you drink that stuff?"
"What are you up to?" he asked.
His voice was colder than the coffee. She'd never seen him without a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin. Now his face was flat and expressionless.
"Aspirin, headache," she said, holding up the pill bottle, then pointing at her head. She had sworn she'd be friendlier and cull less gossip. Tessa tried to be cheerful. "If there's a problem, I'll buy you another cup of java."
"I'm not talking about the coffee."
"Then what are..."
"Candice told me you went into my cubicle yesterday. What were you looking for?"
"Nothing," Tessa said, even though it wasn't the complete truth. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
"Spying on me."
"Why would I do that?"
"I'm not really sure." He shrugged in a casual way, but his voice held condemnation. "Maybe I shouldn't have thrown the gauntlet down in front of you, yesterday. Competition makes people do the strangest things."
Tessa was mad. There were a lot of things in life she didn't like, and being accused of something she hadn't done, was one of them. Her hands moved to lay low on her hips, and her head snapped in the direction of Candice. The nosy coworker was out of earshot but that didn't stop the woman from sneaking glances in their direction.
"Candice is a bitch," Tessa said, "I wouldn't listen to her."
Scott's eyes narrowed, "You haven't exactly vindicated yourself."
Drawing a deep breath, she let it out loudly before continuing. Her heart was pounding, making it that much more difficult to utter the confession, and yet, she spoke sure and to the point. "I
was
in your cubicle. I had no right to go in but I did
not
touch a thing…not a
thing
," emphasizing the pertinent words.
He appeared unmoved. She paused, and switched tactics. "Why? Is there something in your office I shouldn't see?"
Scott stood, peeling himself out of Tessa's office chair to tower over her diminutive form. "If there was," he said softly, "you'd never find it."