J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 05 - Season for Murder Read Online Free Page B

why.
    “Yes, it does. I can’t let Mom be a scapegoat.”
    “Fine. I’ll do as you ask, then.” My father hung up.
    Wow, this was big. No lecture, no ranting or raving. It was a first in my sorry-ass life when my father didn’t tell me to mind my own affairs and let things take their own course.
    Ideas of how to proceed with the investigation took shape in my mind as I showered and changed my clothes to get the vomit stench off. I boiled water for the pasta. In a short time, the pasta was el dente. I strained it in a colander as the sound of footsteps rumbled down the stairs.
    A brief rap on the door announced Rafael. His dimpled smile brought one to my face as I greeted him. He eyed the pasta and licked his lips.
    “Is that your father’s cooking?” Rafe asked with a sparkle in his eye.
    “It is. Want some dinner?” I knew he did, but asked for the sake of it. He and Marcus occasionally ate with me.
    After my usual tenant, Aaron Grant, an undercover FBI agent had gone to Washington on a training stint, I’d rented the apartment to a friend of a friend. The departure of the WWF-sized man from my life had been difficult. I hadn’t wanted Aaron to leave, but knew he had to. It was a career decision for him that I couldn’t interfere with.
    Rafe’s grin widened. “I thought you’d never ask. Are those meatballs in the sauce?”
    “Yeah, my father gave me plenty. What brings you downstairs besides the thought of a free meal?” I asked, placing dishes and flatware on the counter.
    “I just heard the news of the death of a woman at the senior center your mother visits. Did you know about that?” he asked.
    “We were there when it happened.” I related the story of Mrs. Lindon’s demise, but left out the threats from Mrs. Galumpky and the police interrogation.
    “Does this mean you and your mother will be suspects?”
    A meatball bounced from the plate across the counter smacking my clean sweater before rolling down the leg of my slacks when the words hit home. I hadn’t considered that we would both be under suspicion. I wondered how stupid I was for not realizing it. I glanced at my clothes and then at Rafe.
    “I hadn’t thought I would be a suspect. After all, I had only just arrived when the incident happened.” I dabbed at the sweater and then excused myself. The cashmere top would hit the trash instead of the dry cleaners and this sweater would likely do the same. No way would all the stains come out.
    Changed into a sweatshirt and jeans, I strode back into the kitchen. Rafe had put the meal together in the meantime. I smiled at his handiness and we settled at the counter to eat.
    The outer door banged against the wall and another rap on the door announced Marcus. The way he always entered my home was similar to a buffalo stampede, especially when something bothered him. With an inward sigh, I realized he’d heard the news and came by to tell me. Sometimes it isn’t easy to be right.
    “Did you know a woman died at the senior center your mother goes to?” Marcus asked with a serious look on his face.
    “Yes, want to join us for pasta?” I asked as he took in the meal on the counter and then shifted a cool gaze to Rafael.
    “Sure, I can’t stay long, but I’m starving. Did your father make this?” Marcus asked. Rafe wasn’t in favor with Marcus most of the time. Their relationship was one of low tolerance, very low. I hadn’t been aware of what Rafe did for a living when I’d rented to him and that news drove Marcus off the deep end.
    “What makes you think I didn’t make it?” I asked.
    He snorted and grinned. “Lavinia, you are a great cook, but you usually bring home food from your parents’ house. So why would I think you made the sauce when a container of it sits on the counter?”
    He was astute, as always. I grinned at the two men.
    “My mother and I were there when Iva fell unconscious.” At Marcus’s now ominous glare, I added, “Don’t start barking at me, either. We