Penne Dreadful Page 18

  “Right.” Maybe not everyone knew about Anthony’s plan to sell my sauce. “Butchy, you know Anthony well. Vince too. They like and respect you. But desperate situations can cause people to do bad things. Do you think Anthony or Vince had something to do with my husband and Eric’s deaths?”

  Butchy’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about? Dylan died in an accident.”

  “Level with me,” I said. “Does Anthony have something illegal going on inside Slice?”

  He shook his head in confusion. “Illegal? I don’t understand what you mean.”

  This kid needed to wake up and smell the tomato sauce. “What’s really going on, Butchy? I think my husband was blackmailing Izzy and also angered Anthony in the process. Anthony has a lot to answer for. He’s been hiring people who were using drugs too. Did you realize that? I saw some white powder in the cooler and know it wasn’t sugar.”

  Butchy’s eyes widened in horror. “No, ma’am. You’ve got it all wrong. Anthony runs a clean business.”

  “Tell me the truth,” I implored. “My cousin is a cop. If you’re involved, I’ll ask him to go easy on you, provided you help us catch whoever is responsible. Dylan was involved too. Wasn’t he?”

  Frustrated, he backed away from me. “You’re wrong, Mrs. Esposito. Dylan wouldn’t have done something like that, and neither would Anthony. Please don’t worry about the job. You’re an awesome cook, and I know you’ll find another one soon.”

  His denial was starting to agitate me. “Talk to me.”

  Butchy climbed back into his car. He rolled the window down and spoke as his vehicle came to life. “Anthony’s like a father to me. The only one I have. He’d never do that.”

  “Listen to me!” I yelled to be heard over the rumbling of his engine. “You need to get out while you can. He killed Eric or had him killed. What if you’re next?”

  “No.” The sunlight from above glistened off a fresh tear that landed on Butchy’s cheek. “You shouldn’t tell lies like that, Mrs. Esposito.”

  With that, his car roared out of the parking lot.

  Eighteen

  I pulled into my driveway and shut off the engine, not even bothering to place the car in the garage. For several minutes I continued to sit there, despite the chilly temperature, and contemplated what to do next. I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that my husband had lied to me and embezzled. How many more bombshells did I have to endure?

  Time seemed to stand still while I continued to sit there, lost in thought. I might have blown my last opportunity to find out who had killed my husband. So far, I’d managed to successfully alienate several people—Butchy, Vince, and probably Matt as well. Anthony, who’d been a friend before, couldn’t wait to shove me out of his restaurant. Where did I go from here?

  The car was getting cold, and I eased myself out of the seat, my mind still in a blur. I fumbled with my keys. Don’t do this. You’ve come so far in the last few days. A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t even get out of bed. Don’t lose it now. I inhaled several gulps of fresh air, then inserted my key into the front door.

  Luigi greeted me with a perfunctory meow. I patted him on the head absently but made no attempt to pick him up. I needed something to calm my nerves. There was still some wine left from Sunday night’s dinner, and I poured myself a jumbo-size glass of merlot. Although not much of a drinker, I desperately needed something to dull the pain. I gulped down half a glass in one swallow and went into Dylan’s study. I stood in the doorway for several minutes, staring at the surroundings. I’d known this man intimately for nine years, but overnight, he’d become a stranger to me.

  My phone buzzed, and Gino’s name popped up on the screen. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you last night. Are you at work?” he wanted to know.

  “No. I just got home.”

  He must have sensed something was wrong. “Are you all right?”

  “Great. Never better. What did you want?”

  “I wanted to tell you that Ned Reinhart’s being brought in for questioning some time later today.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “For Dylan’s murder?”

  “Don’t think so,” Gino replied. “His alibi checks out. He was definitely in Michigan at the time of Dylan’s death. But a buddy of mine on the Albany force left me a message a little while ago. Sounds like it has more to do with the embezzlement at We Care. He promised to let me know when it all goes down.”

  “That snake. He swore he had nothing to do with it, but I knew he was lying. I want to be there when he’s questioned.”

  He snorted into the phone. “Sorry, Tess. It’s not my precinct, so I don’t call the shots. But I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Gee, thanks for that,” I said, not even attempting to hide my sarcasm.

  He paused. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ve got something on the stove. Talk to you later.” I hung up before he could say another word. I should have told Gino about being fired. It would have made his day, but I was annoyed with him. It was ridiculous of me to be angry at him about the questioning, but I couldn’t help myself. Right now, I was angry at the world.

  I scrolled through the contact information on my phone and redialed Dr. Logan’s number. I’d tried her before I left for work that morning but had only gotten the answering service. It was early enough in the afternoon that someone should be there now.

  Thankfully, a live receptionist answered. “Dr. Kelly Logan’s office.”

  “Hello.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Uh, I…would like to speak to Dr. Logan, please.”

  “She’s with a patient right now, ma’am. Is this regarding an appointment?”

  “No.” My mouth was dry as a stale cracker, and as a result, the words came out with difficulty. “I… My husband… He was a patient of hers.”

  There was silence on the other end. “Ma’am, HIPAA regulations prohibit Dr. Logan from discussing another patient’s condition.”

  “But my husband is dead,” I protested. “What does that even matter?”

  “I’m afraid that makes no difference,” the woman replied. “Unless there is something in your husband’s file to indicate Dr. Logan can consult with you regarding his medical state?”

  That was highly doubtful. Dylan hadn’t bothered to tell me he might be sick, so why would there be anything in his records to allow me to converse with his doctor? We’d never gotten around to healthcare proxies. “I just want some answers,” I whispered into the phone. “I need some answers.”

  The receptionist sighed heavily on her end. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I do wish I could help you. Now if there’s nothing else—”

  “Wait. One more thing. What type of doctor is Dr. Logan?”

  There was another pause. “She’s a cardiologist, ma’am. Have a nice day.” The receptionist clicked off.

  Blood roared in my ears. The secrets kept on coming. What more was there that Dylan hadn’t told me? He’d stolen money and been fired from his job as result. I was positive he’d been blackmailing Izzy over intimate photos of her and other men. Now he might have had a heart condition as well. How serious had it been?

  Dylan had always been fit and in excellent health. Then again, if he’d been sick, that might explain his attempt to control his weight in the past few months. Perhaps he’d stopped working out at the gym because he wasn’t supposed to exert himself?

  “Oh God,” I whimpered. How could I have slept next to this man for almost six years and never really have known him at all?

  If Dylan wouldn’t tell me—his own wife—that he was sick, was there anyone else he might have confided in?

  The answer was obvious. Justin.

  I sat there in silence, holding my phone. It pinged with a text message, but I tossed it onto the bed. I didn’t want to look at it, much less see or talk to any
one. I went into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of merlot I’d been drinking, and brought it into the living room with me. I sat down and flicked on the television, and Luigi jumped on my lap. I patted his soft fur absently as we both watched the screen. I refilled my glass.

  Emotions and the wine flowed freely through my veins, and I soon became sleepy. My face was still damp with tears as I stretched out and pulled the afghan off the back of the couch around me. Luigi snuggled next to me, purring away contentedly. I slept and dreamed about our wedding day, as Dylan promised to love me forever. He leaned down to kiss me, happiness shining in his sky-blue eyes. I sighed and wanted nothing but for the dream to go on forever.

  Someone was shaking me, and my eyelids refused to move. “Stop,” I mumbled, but the shaking continued. I opened my eyes slowly and saw Justin’s concerned face next to mine.

  “Tessa, are you all right?”

  I glanced at him through a foggy haze. “What time is it?”

  “After midnight. You look like you’ve had a rough night.” He was in jeans and a dark-blue Under Armour T-shirt. He always changed at the firehouse before coming home, and his handsome face was tired and drawn.

  “So do you.” I forced myself into a sitting position.

  His expression was grave. “I’m fine. I texted you hours ago to see if you wanted some company. When you didn’t answer, I got worried.”

  I let out a mammoth-sized yawn and stretched. Such a lady. “There’s no need. Sorry if I scared you. Everything’s dandy.”

  Doubt registered in his eyes. “Yeah, sure it is. I’m glad I stopped over before going home, because you left your key in the front door. Any psycho could have gotten in.” He eyed the bottle and empty wineglass on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

  “What does it look like? I was having a drink. I am an adult, you know, and can have a drink if I want to.”

  Justin sat down on the couch next to me and reached for my hand. “But you hardly ever drink, Tess. Did something happen?”

  As I stared into his smoky-gray eyes full of concern, I was afraid I might lose it again. “You should go home. I said I’m fine.”

  He ignored my request and instead put an arm around my shoulders, making it even more difficult to keep the tears at bay.

  “Come on,” he said. “I happen to care about you. Let someone help you for once, Tess. There’s no shame in that.”

  He smelled of smoke and sweat, with the faint aroma of his woodsy cologne mixed in. An odd combination but nevertheless strangely addicting. I clung to him, and he moved closer to me on the couch, wrapping his strong arms around me tighter. It felt good to have someone hold me, but at the same time, it made me miss Dylan even more, and I started to sob.

  Justin said nothing as I cried. He patted my back and stroked my hair at different intervals, then his soft lips connected with my cheek. They stayed there for several seconds.

  I gently released his hold and sank back into the couch cushion, exhausted from my pity party. He kept a protective arm around my shoulders. I reached for the wine bottle. There was still a little left.

  Justin placed his hand over mine. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea. How will you go to work tomorrow?”

  I hiccupped back a laugh. “That won’t be a problem. I got fired today.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Sorry to say this, but that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. I didn’t like the idea of you working there—especially after you had to watch your coworker get shot.”

  “They were getting suspicious of me. I’d been asking too many questions…and snooping. Must have put them on alert.” It was tough to keep my eyes open. “Something’s going on at Slice. Dylan was involved too.”

  Justin narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  My eyelids grew heavy, and I tried not to slur my words. “It looks like Dylan was blackmailing Anthony’s daughter.”

  Justin’s face was grim. “Tess, you’re not making any sense.”

  “It’s too much to take in right now.” Talking was becoming more difficult as the wine took over. I needed to ask him about the voicemail message he’d left for Dylan but couldn’t get the words out. Regardless, I reached for the bottle again. “He had a bad heart. M—my entire marriage was a lie.”

  He reached for my hand. “No more. The wine won’t solve anything, believe me. I’ve been there myself.”

  Angrily, I pulled my hand away. “Dylan was a hypocrite. Mr. Honesty, Mr. Stand-up Guy. All I ever did was brag to everyone about his squeaky-clean image. What a dope I was.” I didn’t even bother with the glass and instead drank right from the bottle.

  “I know how you feel, but don’t torture yourself like this.”

  “Dylan didn’t know who he was dealing with, and because of that, he managed to throw his life away.” I stared down at my hands, which had begun to tremble. “We had a good marriage. We should have had children and grown old together. And please don’t say you know how I feel because you don’t.”

  His face fell, and I winced. Crap. He didn’t deserve this treatment. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Justin rubbed a hand over the scruff on his chin. “No worries. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning, okay? We can have breakfast together. You need to sleep that wine off.” He rose.

  “Sure.” I attempted to get to my feet, but someone had moved the floor. I wobbled back and forth for a minute, trying to steady myself, and then giggled. “It must be something I ate.”

  “You never could hold your liquor.” Justin shook his head ruefully as he reached down and picked me up in his arms as if I weighed nothing. He carried me up the stairs to my bedroom, and I didn’t even attempt to stop him.

  After he deposited me on the bed and pulled the covers up around me, I yawned in his face. “Thanks for the lift.”

  He touched my cheek lightly with his fingers and smiled. “Anytime. Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Like an early morning mist, fear settled over me, and I found myself afraid to be alone. How ridiculous. I’d been alone for weeks, so what did one more night matter? For some reason though, it did matter. Despite what I’d said and the reassurances to everyone that I was fine, I needed someone—a friend to help me through this. Someone like Justin.

  “Will you stay with me?” I asked and reached my hand out to him, silently willing for him to take it.

  This time he brought it to his mouth. “For as long as you need me to.”

  Nineteen

  The smell of coffee and frying bacon woke me from a deep, dreamless sleep. Luigi was curled up on Dylan’s pillow, purring away. I opened one eye, and the numbing pain in my head would not be ignored. Tiny little men with hammers pounded away endlessly at the surface. This was why I did not—correction, should not—drink. Ever. I tried to remember the events from last night, but only bits and pieces came back to me.

  Someone was whistling downstairs. For one brief moment, I thought it was Dylan, then remembered that wasn’t possible. Justin had stayed here last night, but where? I turned to Luigi for confirmation. He opened one eye, stared at me, and then, presumably bored, closed it again.

  My cheeks burned when I thought back to my pathetic drunken state last night. I recalled Justin picking me up in his arms and feeling safe and warm, but the rest of the details were sketchy. There had been wine, crying, and more wine. I’d woken once during the night, and he’d been sitting next to my bed. Something must have startled me out of sleep because he’d been quick to put his arm around me and reassure me.

  “I’m here, don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you again. I promise.” My pulse quickened when I remembered how he’d gently stroked my hair until I’d gone back to sleep.

  Justin appeared in the doorway with two mugs of coffee. His T-shirt was wrinkled, and I was pretty certain it was the same one he
’d been wearing last night, which helped further convince me that it hadn’t all been a dream.

  “Good morning.” He handed me a steaming mug. “Cream and two sugars, right?”

  I gratefully accepted the drink. “Good memory.” The coffee was hot and strong, exactly the way I liked it.

  “How’s the head?” Justin sat down next to me on the bed.

  “Still attached.” I watched him sip his coffee and prayed I hadn’t made a total fool out of myself last night. There was only one way to find out. “You didn’t go home.” It was a simple statement.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

  “I was a mess,” I admitted. “It was nice of you to stay with me.”

  “No problem.” His face broke out in a wide grin. “Hungry? I made you some breakfast.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t cook.”

  Justin laughed and took another sip from his mug. “I can manage bacon and eggs, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. Oh, and I can boil water—sometimes.” He tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “Everyone needs a day off once in a while, and you’ve certainly cooked enough meals for me.”

  “But I love cooking,” I protested. “It’s not really work when you enjoy something so much.”

  “Well, it shows. You’re an amazing cook, even better than my own mother, and that’s really saying something.”

  “Thank you.” The room was too warm, intense, and suddenly, I felt awkward. In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I sipped from my mug again. Even though he’d seen me during my worst moments after Dylan’s death, I knew I was far from glamorous right now, with messy hair, no makeup, and red-rimmed eyes from crying last night. “I should take a shower and clean up. I must be a disaster.”

  His gaze didn’t waver from my face. “Far from it.”

  There was another awkward pause as I noted the truth in his voice and my face heated as a result. The only man who consumed my thoughts was my husband, yet here was Justin sitting next to me, and I suddenly realized that I needed him too, but in a different way. Justin was attractive, thoughtful, and kind, a wonderful man I’d loved and trusted as a friend for years, but I couldn’t think about him in any other manner. It was too soon and seemed disloyal to Dylan.