27
Before she went home, Reena decided she’d swing by and have an overdue sit-down with her mother.
She spotted the shiny new blue truck outside Sirico’s, and put two and two together. She pulled in behind it, did a quick walk-around, and concluded Bo had gotten himself a solid piece of equipment.
Business was light—too early for dinner, too late for lunch—and she found Pete running the show, with his daughter, Rosa—home from college for the summer—waiting tables.
“Out in back,” Pete called to her. “A whole gang.”
“Need help in here?”
“Got it for now.” He poured sauce generously over a meatball sub. “But you can tell my boy we’ve got a delivery, so to get his butt back in here. It’s nearly ready to go.”
“You got it.” She moved into the prep area and out the employees’ exit. Her family, including a couple of cousins, her uncle Larry, along with Gina, her mother and her two kids, were all scattered around the narrow backyard.
The fact that everyone was talking at once didn’t surprise her.
There were some x’s marked on the scrubby grass with orange spray paint.
Even now her father was pointing in one direction, her mother in the opposite. Bo appeared to be caught between them.
Reena stepped out, and up to the little table where Bella sat sipping fizzy water.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh.” Bella waved a hand. “They’re measuring, marking, arguing about this summer kitchen, terrace dining deal Mama’s got a wild hair over.”
“Why a wild hair?”
“Don’t they have enough work to do as it is? They’ve been shackled to this place for thirty years. More.”
Reena sat, looked into Bella’s eyes. Something’s up, she thought. Something. “They love this place.”
“I know that, Reena. But they’re not getting any younger.”
“For God’s sake.”
“They’re not. They should be off enjoying this time of their lives, seizing the damn day or whatever, instead of making more work for themselves.”
“They are enjoying this time of their lives. Not only here, working here, seeing their work rewarded every day, being with family, friends. But they travel, too.”
“What if there’d never been a Sirico’s?” Bella turned in her seat, lowering her voice as if she were blaspheming. “If there hadn’t been, if Mama and Dad hadn’t met each other so young, had this place to lock themselves to, she might have gone on to art school. She might have become a real artist. Experienced things, seen things. Done things before she jumped into marriage and baby making.”
“Let me first state the obvious and say if she had, you wouldn’t be here. And second, she could have chosen art school. She could have chosen Dad and art school. What she did was choose him, this place, this life.”
Reena shifted her gaze now, studied her mother, slim and lovely with her hair slicked back in a shiny tail, laughing as she drilled a finger into her husband’s chest.
“And when I look at her, Bella, I don’t see a woman with regrets, a woman who asks herself what if.”
“Why can’t I be happy like that, Reena? Why can’t I just be happy?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry you’re not.”
“I know you went to talk to Vince. Oh, don’t put the cop face on with me,” she said impatiently. “He was angry. But he was a little shaken up, too. Wouldn’t expect my little sister to get in his face. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It was impulse. I couldn’t stop myself. I was afraid you might be irritated I waded in.”
“I’m not. Even if it hadn’t changed a thing, I wouldn’t be irritated that you stood up for me. He’s cut things off with his current mistress. At least as far as I can tell. Maybe it’ll last, maybe it won’t.” She shrugged, looking back at her mother. “I’ll never be like Mama, part of that kind of team with a husband who adores everything about me. I’m never going to have that.”
“You have beautiful children, Bella.”
“I do,” she agreed, smiling a little. “I have beautiful children. And I think I’m pregnant again.”
“You think—”
But Bella shook her head quickly, cutting off the conversation as one of the kids ran to the table.
“Mama! Can we have ice cream cones? Just one scoop. Nana said to ask you. Please, can we?”
“Sure. Sure you can.” She brushed her son’s cheek. “Just one scoop. I love them so much,” she told Reena when he ran off to spread the good news. “I can’t talk about this now. Don’t say anything.” She popped to her feet. “Sophie! Come help me make the cones.”
Bella swung into the building, with the younger kids whooping as they raced to follow. Sophia brought up the rear.
Sulking, Reena noted, but obedient. And still young enough to secretly lust after a scoop of ice cream.
“I don’t see why she needs me to help. It’s always me.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Reena demanded. “You get put on the front line, who’s going to notice if you have two scoops instead of just one?”
Sophia’s lips twitched. “Want one?”
“There’s lemon gelato in there. What do you think?” Reena reached over, pinched Sophia’s cheek. “Be kind to your mother. Don’t roll your eyes at me. Just do it. Just twenty-four hours of kindness. I think she could use it.”
She gave the cheek she’d pinched a kiss, then walked to her own mother. Bianca wrapped an arm around Reena’s waist. “You’re just in time. Your father has realized what was obvious. That I was right.”
Reena watched, as her mother did, Bo, Gib, Larry and some of the others as they walked to the corner of the building. Bo gestured with the spray paint, got a shrug from Gib, and began to spray a gently serpentine line on the grass.
“What’s he doing?” Reena asked.
“Laying out the idea for my walkway from the corner. People will be able to stroll around from the sidewalk out front and come right back to my pergola. Maybe they don’t want to walk through the restaurant like they have to now if they want an outside table. Maybe they’re out for a walk, hear the music—”
“Music?”
“I’m putting in speakers. There’ll be music when we have the pergola. And lights along the path. And big pots of flowers.” She slapped her hands on her hips as she circled around, the gesture of a satisfied woman who knows how to take charge. “Ornamental trees. Lemon trees. And in the back corner there. A little play area so the children won’t be bored. And—”
“Mama.” With a laugh, Reena tapped her hands to her own temples. “My head’s spinning.”
“It’s a good plan.”
“Yes, it’s a good plan. A big one.”
“I like big.” She smiled as Bo began to gesture, tick points of some sort off on his fingers while Gib frowned. “I like your Bo. We had fun today. I brought tears to cousin Sal’s eyes, so that was fun, and Bo bought me a hydrangea.”
“He . . . he bought you a bush?”
“And planted it for me. Either you marry him or I adopt him, because I’m not letting him get away.”
The kids came running out with ice-cream cones, Gina and her mother wandered over, and Bo caught Reena’s eye and grinned at her.
It wasn’t the time to talk about serial arson and murder.
She couldn’t stay, though her excuses to go home were met with protests.
“I just want to lay as much of this out as I can for your parents,” Bo told her. “So they can hash it out overnight, be sure this is what they want. If you can wait a half hour, I’ll go with you.”
“You’ve got your own ride. Big burly one, too. I’ve got files I need to read over. An hour of quiet and thinking time’s just what I want.”
“Want me to bring you dinner?”
“That’d be great. Anything. Just surprise me.”
Xander caught up with her as she followed, for curiosity’s sake, the path betwee
n the curvy orange lines. “I’ll walk you around.” He tugged her hair, an old habit.
She poked an elbow in his ribs in the same spirit.
“Why don’t I go home with you,” he began, “hang out awhile? We never get to—”
“No. I’m working, and I don’t need my little brother playing guard.”
“I’m taller than you.”
“Barely.”
“Which means I can be the younger brother, but not the little brother. Either way. Catarina, he could come to your house.”
“Yes, he could. He knows where I live. I’m prepared for that, Xand. I can’t have someone with me twenty-four hours a day. I want you to be careful.” She turned to him, laid her hands on his shoulders. “Joey Pastorelli. If I’m right, he wants payback. You—nearly three years younger—took him on, beat him back. I can promise you he hasn’t forgotten that. I want you to be careful, to take care of your wife and baby. Don’t worry about me, and I won’t have to worry about you. Deal?”
“The son of a bitch comes anywhere near An or Dillon—”
“That’s right.” Her eyes held his in perfect understanding. “That’s exactly right. Keep them close for now. You and Jack, you look out for Fran and Bella, the kids. Mama and Dad. I’ve got some extra patrols, but nobody knows the neighborhood, the feel of it, like we do. Anything, anything seems off, you call me. Promise me.”
“You don’t even have to ask.”
“It’s hot,” she said after a moment. “It’s going to be a hot night. Summer’s starting to kick.”
She got in her car and drove home. But when she got there, she sat, studying the house, the street, the block. She knew several people who lived on this row, had known them all or most of her life.
She knew this place, had chosen to live here. She could walk in any direction and pass half a dozen people who knew her name.
Now neither she nor they were safe.
Gathering her files, she got out, locked her car. She studied the dents and scars pocking it, little reminders of how much worse the explosion on Bo’s truck could have been.
How long would it take him to light up her car? she wondered. Two minutes, three? He could do it while she slept, while she showered, fixed a meal.
But that would just be a poke in the ribs. She thought he’d go up a level now.
She walked to her door, waved to Mary Kate Leoni, who was washing the white marble steps three doors down. Housekeeping, she thought. Life went on with simple things like housekeeping, waiting tables, eating ice cream cones.
She unlocked her door, set the files aside. And unholstered her weapon. Whatever she’d said, or told herself, about handling things, wanting an hour of quiet and solitude, she was jittery enough to do a full walk-through of her own house. With her gun in her hand.
Satisfied, if not settled, she went downstairs for the files and a cold drink. It was time she made good use of the office she’d only begun to set up on the third floor. Time she did what she did best: organize, study and dissect.
She booted up her computer, then turned to the board and easel she’d hauled up shortly after she moved in. From the files she selected photographs, newspaper clippings, copies of reports. She brought up and printed out copies of photos and reports from her own computer.
When they were arranged, she stepped back, looked at the board as a whole. Then she sat at the keyboard and wrote out the sequence of events beginning with that day in August when she’d been eleven.
It took longer than the hour, but she barely noticed the passing of time. When the phone rang she swore, and was so deep in what had been she nearly forgot what was. Her fingers were an inch away from snatching up the phone when she stopped herself. Looked at the readout.
She let it ring a second time as she drew herself in. Though she knew the phone was tapped, and there was a cop somewhere with recording and tracking equipment, she engaged her own recorder before she answered.
“Hello, Joey.”
“Hey, Reena. Took you long enough.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I think I did pretty well considering I haven’t given you a thought in twenty years.”
“Thinking of me now, aren’t you?”
“Sure. I’m remembering what a little asshole you were when you lived on the row. Looks like you’re a big asshole these days.”
“Always had a mouth on you. I’m going to make use of that mouth, real soon.”
“What’s the matter, Joey? Can’t you get a woman? Is your method still knock them around and rape them?”
“You’ll find out. We’ve got a lot to settle, you and me. Got another surprise coming. It’s all picked out for you.”
“Why don’t we ditch the crap, Joey? Why don’t we hook up? Give me the when, give me the where, and we’ll get down to business.”
“You always thought I was stupid, always thought I was less than you, and your holy family. Who’s still living in the neighborhood, slinging greasy pizzas?”
“Oh now, Joey, there’s nothing greasy about a Sirico’s. Come on, meet me there—I’ll buy you a large.”
“Too bad the guy banging you now wasn’t in that truck when it blew.” His breath came quicker now, puffing out the words.
Getting under his skin, Reena thought. Poking at a cobra with a stick.
“Maybe next time. Or maybe he’ll have an accident at home, in bed. Shit happens, right? He smelled like pig cooking. The first one. Remember him, Reena? I could smell you where you’d come on the sheets I used to fire him up.”
“You son of a bitch.” She doubled over when the pain hit her belly. “You son of a bitch.”
He laughed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone’s going to burn tonight.”
It took Bo closer to two hours than one to pull away from Sirico’s. The job was going to be an interesting one, to say the least. In addition, he’d fielded a half dozen other inquiries about repair, remodeling, cabinetry from people who’d wandered out while he was measuring the site. He’d given out twice that many cards before he’d gotten the takeout chicken Parmesan.
If even a third of those turned into actual work, he was going to have to seriously consider hiring a full-time laborer.
Big step, he decided. Big, giant step from taking on a part-time helper, or just shanghaiing Brad when a job was too big for one man or he was in a time crunch.
This would be commitment time for a man who’d been perfectly content to work alone. He’d be cutting someone a regular paycheck—someone who’d depend on him for that paycheck. Every week.
Definitely needed to think about it.
He ran a hand over the hood of the truck as he skirted it. A nice piece of machinery, he admitted. And he’d gotten it for a better price than anyone could expect. Bianca had all but stolen it for him.
But damn, he was going to miss his old horse.
He reached for his keys, glanced across the street, up the block a little when he heard a quick, signaling whistle.
He saw the man standing with his thumbs in his front pockets. Ball cap, jeans, sunglasses, hard grin. Something about him was familiar enough to have Bo lifting his hand, keys in it.
Then it clicked. Flower guy, buying supermarket roses to get out of the doghouse.
“Hey,” he called out, opening the door of the truck. “How’s it going?”
With that tooth-baring grin still in place, the man walked to a car, got in. He rolled down the window, leaned out. He mimed shooting a gun with his index finger. Bo heard him say bang as he drove by.
“Weird.” With a shake of his head, Bo slid the takeout bag onto the seat, climbed in behind the wheel. He glanced up the street, down, then pulled out, making a quick U-turn to drive to Reena’s.
He let himself in, called out to let her know he was back, then took the bag into the kitchen. Because he caught a whiff of something other than the chicken, he decided a nice, cool shower was the first thing on his agenda.