Diamonds, Pies & Dead Guys Page 3

  The cop at the door holds it open for me, and I'm halfway across the hall when I realize Sanchez is on my heels. Both of the other apartment doors are open, and a woman stands in each of them.

  An older woman wearing a pink bathrobe and slippers, with her hair in a blue silk scarf, is at the one marked B. She shares a wall with Hilary and Kevin. Her dark eyes follow me as I hurry along and stop long enough to grab the bannister at the top of the stairs.

  The woman just inches from me is young, with her white blonde hair loose in waves. I get a quick glimpse of her black miniskirt and red halter top as I pass.

  I'm on the third step down when I realize Sanchez is not following me but has stopped and is talking to Bathrobe Woman.

  "Miss, did you hear or see anything tonight?" he asks her.

  "Yes, sir, I heard it all. Those two argue all the time, and tonight was no different."

  Sanchez turns and looks at me and then Halter Top.

  I turn and practically run down. As much as I want to hear what's said, I want to get the heck out of here. If Sanchez finds out that the neighbor heard what really happened, then I won't be under suspicion anymore. That's great. And if it turns out that the killer is Kevin, then I'll never have to worry about whether seeing him means I get Old Kevin or this new, nicer version. There's nothing wrong with that. Right?

  Two birds and one stone and all of that.

  So why do I suddenly feel like my world has been turned topsy-turvy and that I'm going to be in the middle of the chaos?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Four faces, with expressions ranging from mildly interested to stunned, stare at me as I tell about my night.

  Ma fills up Julian's mug while watching me with her mouth slightly agape. I expect her to burn the poor man, who looks only mildly less surprised than she does. Luckily, she catches herself before he's permanently scarred by the hot, brown liquid.

  My brother, Enzo, is the one who doesn't look as fazed as we huddle around the stainless steel table in the deli's kitchen. He's on his way to work, and I suspect he's already caught the news through his partner or some other cop grapevine.

  My sister, Izzie, has her fingers curled around the handle of her cup of herbal tea, her other hand holding her bagel with cream cheese that she brought in with her, and she's chewing on a chunk with her eyes so wide that I'm surprised they're still in her skull.

  When I got home from Hilary's, I still couldn't sleep. I paced, watched some boring TV, and waited for the sun to rise. When I knew Ma would pull into the parking lot, I raced downstairs, already hopped up on caffeine, and saw Izzie in her own car behind our mother. Apparently my sister couldn't sleep either.

  Ma opened her car door, worry etched into every line and wrinkle, and she asked, "What's wrong?"

  I said, "You'll never believe who's dead," and before I got the answer out, Ma and Izzie were calling their homes, checking on their husbands. Did they really think I'd say that Pop or my brother-in-law, Paulie, died in that manner? I may be more nonchalant about this ghost business than they'd like, but I'm not insensitive.

  When they hung up, I got a text from Julian asking if I wanted anything special from the bakery, so I told him to come around the back to the deli, and then Enzo pulled into the parking lot. We must've looked like we were having a drug deal.

  And here we are now.

  "I can't believe Hilary is dead," Ma says.

  I'm having a weird time wrapping my brain around that one too.

  "I dropped by the station for a few minutes, heard, and came by to see if you're okay," Enzo says to me.

  Aww, he's concerned about me. That's so cute. My big brother.

  Ma has adoration toward him in her eyes too.

  "What did you hear?" I ask Enzo.

  "Just that you found her dead body and that Kevin wasn't home," Enzo says.

  Ma, Izzie, and Julian all turn their heads and look at me in unison. If I had more sleep than that nap before all of this happened, their robotic movements probably wouldn't be this creepy.

  "No, he wasn't there. The place was empty except for Hilary on the kitchen floor."

  Ma grimaces and fills up my travel mug.

  "Do they think Kevin killed her?" Izzie asks and sips her tea.

  "It sounded like it last night, but it also sounds like Sanchez suspects me."

  Ma gasps. Izzie's eyes widen to the point of her looking like a cartoon character, and Julian's brow furrows.

  "Kevin walked into the station this morning as if nothing had happened," Enzo says.

  Is that possible? If he didn't go home, where was he all night?

  I tug on Enzo's arm. "What else did you learn? Was the pie pan the murder weapon? How long had she been dead when I found her?"

  I may not want to help Hilary, but these are common questions anyone would ask. Right?

  He shakes his head and gently pulls out of my grip. "Sorry, I can't talk about an ongoing case."

  I scoff and frown. "So unfair."

  You'd think having a cop brother meant I'd get all the juicy intel. Well, I thought that. He's helped some in the past, but my vision of us combing over case files at his dining room table, like Sherlock and Watson, is not coming to fruition.

  The corners of his mouth rise, and he finishes the coffee in his mug. "I need to get back."

  Ma comes around the table and kisses his cheek. She walks him to the back door, and Julian glances at his phone.

  "I should get across the street. I'm meeting a client in a bit," he says.

  I stand up straight from my slumped and leaned position. "Should I go over with you?"

  "No, finish your coffee. It's still early." He smiles at Izzie and then says bye to Ma at the door.

  When it's just the three of us, Ma shakes her head. "Poor Mrs. Porter. I can't imagine what she's going through."

  My stomach knots. I completely forgot about Hilary's mother. And her brother.

  Ma busies herself with the empty coffee mugs, and Izzie continues eating her bagel.

  "You should've bought enough to share," I say while staring at the last bite in her hand.

  She moves her hand out of my line of sight as if I'm going to leap forward and take it out of her grip with my teeth. "I didn't know you'd be telling us ghost stories."

  Fair enough.

  "So what does Hilary say happened?" Izzie asks. "Did she name Kevin as her killer?"

  I shrug. "She didn't utter a peep. She disappeared, and I haven't seen her since."

  Ma looks at the giant clock above the sink. "I need to open up, but don't say anything interesting while I'm gone."

  Izzie and I smile. Like either of us will be able to keep quiet.

  Ma ties an apron around her waist and neck and hurries out of the kitchen, into the store part of the deli.

  "How are you feeling?" Izzie asks me.

  "It's weird. I don't know if I feel anything. I don't think I'm in shock. It's almost as if I don't care." That sounds awful because there was a time when I felt as close to Hilary as I do to Iz. Hilary and I were almost sisters growing up. I just haven't felt that way in so long that all of those feelings faded, and anger took their place.

  Izzie slips off her stool, comes over to me, and gives me a hug. It's awkward with her belly bump.

  "What's that for?" I ask when she's returned to her seat.

  "Hilary is dead," she says.

  Did she hear me? "I just said…"

  "No, I'm not hugging you because you're grieving. I'm doing it because you're gonna have to deal with her ghost. Good luck. You're gonna need it."

  "Ha-ha, hilarious. Don't worry. I have no intention of helping her," I say and bring my travel mug to my lips.

  "Gianna, you can't ignore her. It's your ghostly duties. You are the Long Island Ghost Whisperer." She can barely contain herself and starts laughing.

  "You're loving this, aren't you?" I ask.

  She rubs her belly. "I need to get my entertainment somewhere. All laughing aside though, y
ou won't help her if she asks for it?"

  "She won't ask."

  Iz cocks a brow while tilting her head and giving me a hard stare.

  I think for a moment. Maybe it's the mixture of caffeine overload and no sleep, but I'm simply not feeling the need to help Hilary.

  "Nope, not a bit."

  * * *

  Winnie lives ten minutes away, northwest of the deli. It's a quiet street with one-story bungalow style houses dotted along it. Quiet and crowded. There isn't much space between each home, and privacy must be an issue. No arguments without the neighbors hearing. No streaking across the bedroom because you forgot your towel for the shower if your shades are up. And definitely no passionate lovemaking on a quiet spring night with the windows open.

  I park in front of her address and sit there for a moment. I should've canceled with all that's going on now. I could still do it. Just call her from the car and tell about the murder. But I know Hilary's death is an excuse. I don't want to be here because I'm afraid that my secret will come up.

  After I left the deli, I changed into a black pencil skirt and a ruffled, off-the-shoulder top. It may not be the most professional for the office, but it's cooler than a blouse and not as casual as a tank top. Julian doesn't care what I wear. I'd like for clients to not walk out of the building because his office manager is dressed for the beach.

  I step out of my car with my keys and purse and stare at Winnie's house.

  It's a very pale shade of light blue with white trim and a cute flower box in a front window. The dark blue front door has a heart-shaped wreath on it, and a couple of porcelain frogs sit on the stoop. One wears a pink bonnet and is holding matching tulips, and the other is in overalls with a hoe. Winnie certainly has a whimsical style. I like it.

  I softly rap on her door. I'm super nervous, and if she doesn't answer because she can't hear me, then I can leave, right?

  Unfortunately, she must have the hearing of a dog 'cause the door opens, and she stands there in another floral outfit. This time a yellow, white, and pink sundress. A smile grows on her face, and she takes a step back.

  "Welcome, Gianna. I'm so glad you could make it."

  It's a good thing she can't read minds, or she'd know how I really feel about being here. I step inside and have to blink at the dimness. It's a short foyer with two archways facing one another. The one to my right looks to go into a living room while the one to the left appears to be another hallway, probably leading to bedrooms and a bath.

  She shuts the door and leads me to the right.

  I'm not sure what I'm expecting the interior to look like. Perhaps as whimsical as the exterior. The living room, however, is boring. Black leather furniture with beige walls and carpeting. A giant TV takes up an entire wall. It puts the fifty-inch one my siblings and I bought Pop to shame.

  "Lunch is just about ready. I figure we can eat in the sunroom," Winnie says while walking toward the back wall, where two more archways are. One leads to a kitchen, where the aromas of chicken and pie mingle, and the other to a narrow dining room with just enough space around the six-chair table to pass. There's an open French door at the back of the room.

  We enter, and I feel like I've stepped into another world.

  The sunroom must be the entire width of the house, including the bedrooms, and it's wide enough for a round oak table with six chairs in the center. There's another set of French doors that lead into the kitchen, and in between the two are shelves of plants. There are more on the other side of the kitchen doors and even more in pots in the two far corners.

  Two ceiling fans whirl above, and at the other end of the room is a wicker loveseat and a couple of armchairs. This is what I expected.

  "Please sit down," Winnie says and shuts the dining room doors. "I'm going to grab something to drink and be right back."

  She enters the kitchen, and I pull out a wooden chair with a yellow, tie-on cushion and sit down. Despite the heat and humidity of the day, it's pleasantly cool in here. It has to be the fans.

  I toss my keys into my purse and set it on the floor beside me. I glance past the screened mesh and see that her backyard is bare and tiny. A line of shrubs separates her property from the next one. She probably spends more time in this room then out there. I would.

  She returns holding a gold-rimmed tray with a glass pitcher of lemonade and two tall glasses of ice with sprigs of mint. Oooh, fancy. My stomach is suddenly pleased I came.

  She sets everything down and fills each glass. "I wasn't sure you'd come, so I haven't set the table yet."

  I bow my head and stare at the green leaves floating in the pale yellow liquid. I can't meet her gaze in case my expression gives away my guilt.

  "But everything is ready. I hope you're hungry."

  "Always." I laugh.

  She reenters the kitchen and comes back with a larger tray.

  I start to stand. "Do you need any help?"

  "No, no. You are my guest." She places the tray down and sets the food in the center of the table.

  I was right about the chicken. It's roasted and already sliced. There's a salad bowl with mixed greens, cucumber, tomato, black olives, and feta cheese, another bowl with watermelon, pineapple, and honeydew chunks, and a basket of biscuits.

  I am never leaving.

  "Please help yourself," she says while placing the tray on an empty chair and sitting two seats over from me.

  "This looks and smells delicious," I say and grab a biscuit. It's thick, fluffy, and still warm.

  "There's also pie. I hope you like blueberry."

  I nearly sigh out loud. "Yes, ma'am."

  She grins and piles her plate with food.

  I don't want to seem greedy, but when in Rome…

  "Do you have a big family?" Winnie asks.

  I nod. "Yes, although we don't all live in this town. In my immediate family, I have two siblings, and my sister is married with a daughter and a baby on the way."

  "Oh, that's lovely. Babies are so fun," she says, and I wonder if she's a parent. I didn't see any family photos in the living room.

  "My mother's sister lives in Connecticut with her family, and my dad has relatives upstate. Do you have family?" I place a bite of chicken in my mouth and nearly moan at how tender and juicy it is.

  "I have cousins scattered here in New York, as well as down south, and an uncle in New Jersey, but everyone else has passed on."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It happens."

  "Are you from South Shore Beach?" I ask.

  "Originally, no. I moved here when I married. My husband was a teacher at the middle school."

  I widen my eyes. "Mr. Styles? Yes. I had him for social studies."

  Her smile is wide and proud. "He loved his students. I wonder if he ever mentioned you."

  It's a nice thought that makes me feel warm and happy.

  "He passed away two years ago," she says.

  I set my fork down and lean toward her. "I'm sorry. He was a great teacher. He was nice, never mean."

  She nods but says nothing at first. She takes a moment and then says, "He's the reason I got into parapsychology."

  Crap. Here we go.

  "Oh," I say and stuff my mouth with salad. There's a light vinaigrette on it that mixes well with the thyme and oregano on the chicken.

  "I couldn't bear the thought of living here without him. It was so hard those first few months. The living room had been his domain while this sunroom was mine. For at least six months, I'd have to run through it to get into the kitchen. It's still mostly how he left it."

  Well, that explains the difference in style.

  "I can now watch TV and remember him fondly, but it took a while, and what really helped was believing he was still out there and that I could possibly communicate with him."

  Oh no, is this why she asked me here? She wants me to talk to her dead husband. Surely he's not still lingering after two years. I know that some ghosts do, so while I hope he's moved on, I won't be surprised
if he suddenly appears either.

  I fidget in my seat, no longer comfortable being here. It was silly of me to come. I knew better. I set down my fork and lift my purse. I don't want to be rude, but I've become uneasy. The worst part about this is no pie.

  "Gianna, wait. Please don't go," Winnie says. "I understand that you don't want to talk about this, but I've never met someone with your energy level. It's so strong."

  I'm not sure what that means, but it doesn't change how I feel.

  I push back my seat and stand up. "Thank you for lunch."

  I glance down at my practically full plate and turn. I open the French doors that lead into the dining room and take one step before I see her.

  In the corner by the living room archway is a woman with long auburn hair. She's pale and heavily wrinkled with vibrant blue eyes. She's thin, appears frail, and wears a flowing white nightgown, like something from the olden days, with a tiny pink bow at the neckline.

  I don't even have to look at her feet to see if she is floating. She is definitely a ghost.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Winnie steps up behind me. "Do you see it?"

  I glance back at my hostess before stepping into the dining room to get closer to the visitor.

  The ghost sees me staring and narrows her eyes. She floats toward me, and the surrounding air becomes frosty. This rarely happens. Yes, ghosts bring the temperature down, but it's only when we touch that I feel this extreme level of coldness.

  Winnie must feel it too because I hear her shudder.

  "You can see me," the ghost says.

  I nod, not sure how much I should say in front of Winnie.

  The ghost rushes toward me and stops an inch in front of my face. "Tell her to get out. This is my house!"

  And just like that, she's gone, and I go back to being warmer than I like.

  I stand there for a moment with my mouth open, unsure how to react.

  I've dealt with one other ghost that was aggressive. He had come out of the freezer after he passed on. He only needed to resolve some old issues, but he was loud and scary at first. Much like this woman.