One O'Clock Hustle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 1) by Joanne Pence Page B
Authors: Joanne Pence
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to think about Richie!
She steered him towards the elevator where he waited, nervously rocking from heel to toe and jiggling the coins in his pocket. Rebecca moved closer to him to better hide the handcuffs from the doorman. If he spotted them, he'd most likely call 911. Then she would have to arrest Richie. And more than ever, she didn't want to.
The elevator doors opened and she shoved Richie on ahead of her so he wouldn't bolt and let the handcuffs be seen. As it began to move, his hand under the sweater tightened on hers. The higher they rose, the harder he squeezed until she feared she'd have crushed knuckles before the fifteenth floor, let alone the twentieth.
When it stopped, he leaped off faster than if fired from a slingshot. She tumbled out against him, her arm going around him, clutching him, to stop from falling. She quickly jumped back, but he seemed too busy deep breathing to even notice.
He quickly found 2001 and knocked on the door. A blond woman opened it and then stared at them with seriously curled eyelashes covered with gobs of mascara and eyebrows waxed and penciled into high, thin arches. The combination made her appear perpetually astonished.
“Richie? Where's Vito?” She stepped out of the apartment and glanced towards the elevator after giving Rebecca a quick once-over. Her features were pinched, her eyes small despite her tricks to make them seem larger, and even her teeth looked tiny and thin.
“I didn't feel like giving the doorman my name.”
“That's okay, Richie. You know how much I like seeing you.” Richie followed her into the apartment, half-dragging Rebecca with him.
Carolina Fontana wore a tight scoop-necked black knit top that showed off enormous round balls of silicone where her breasts ought to be, skin-tight black Capri pants that left nothing to the imagination, and sky-high black stiletto sandals. “Vito told me you might come by to see me, Richie. I tried to fix my face for you,” she said in a breathless voice as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks for coming. I'm worried about Danny! I'll do whatever I can to help you.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, holding her close with his one free arm. Her waist was tiny, and her behind so round and protruding Rebecca wondered if a little surgery hadn't been performed there as well. She stood beside them—unseen, unnoticed, and obviously unwelcomed.
Carolina took a half-step back, clutching the front of Richie's shirt. “I heard what they been saying about you, Richie,” she emoted, “but I didn't believe it. Not for a minute. Not Richie, I said to myself. That Richie, he's one of the good guys.”
“Thanks, Carolina. I was hoping you knew I'd never hurt a hair on a woman's head. Is Danny here?”
She broke into sobs on his shoulder. “I don't know where he is. You got to believe me.”
“Look, was something going on between Danny and the dead woman? I mean, I know he was always faithful to you. He loved you. But he had to have known her since she was killed in his office, right?”
Rebecca couldn't take much more of this. She could feel her gorge rising. “Her name was Meaghan Blakely, by the way.”
Carolina didn't bother to look at her. “I have no idea who she was, or what she meant to my Danny.” Her sobs, snuffles, and catches in the throat grew louder.
Rebecca turned away from Carolina's theatrics. Looking over the apartment with its beautiful bay view, French provincial furnishings, and tasteful artwork, she couldn't help but suspect that Ms. Fontana's tears were more over worry about what all this might mean for Danny's future—and ultimately her own. If Danny was involved in this murder, Carolina would need to find someone else to pick up the bill for her, and from the way she held on to Richie as he continued his one handed comforting—and Rebecca couldn't help but wonder just how thorough his comforting would be if she weren't attached to his other hand—it appeared Carolina
She steered him towards the elevator where he waited, nervously rocking from heel to toe and jiggling the coins in his pocket. Rebecca moved closer to him to better hide the handcuffs from the doorman. If he spotted them, he'd most likely call 911. Then she would have to arrest Richie. And more than ever, she didn't want to.
The elevator doors opened and she shoved Richie on ahead of her so he wouldn't bolt and let the handcuffs be seen. As it began to move, his hand under the sweater tightened on hers. The higher they rose, the harder he squeezed until she feared she'd have crushed knuckles before the fifteenth floor, let alone the twentieth.
When it stopped, he leaped off faster than if fired from a slingshot. She tumbled out against him, her arm going around him, clutching him, to stop from falling. She quickly jumped back, but he seemed too busy deep breathing to even notice.
He quickly found 2001 and knocked on the door. A blond woman opened it and then stared at them with seriously curled eyelashes covered with gobs of mascara and eyebrows waxed and penciled into high, thin arches. The combination made her appear perpetually astonished.
“Richie? Where's Vito?” She stepped out of the apartment and glanced towards the elevator after giving Rebecca a quick once-over. Her features were pinched, her eyes small despite her tricks to make them seem larger, and even her teeth looked tiny and thin.
“I didn't feel like giving the doorman my name.”
“That's okay, Richie. You know how much I like seeing you.” Richie followed her into the apartment, half-dragging Rebecca with him.
Carolina Fontana wore a tight scoop-necked black knit top that showed off enormous round balls of silicone where her breasts ought to be, skin-tight black Capri pants that left nothing to the imagination, and sky-high black stiletto sandals. “Vito told me you might come by to see me, Richie. I tried to fix my face for you,” she said in a breathless voice as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks for coming. I'm worried about Danny! I'll do whatever I can to help you.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he said, holding her close with his one free arm. Her waist was tiny, and her behind so round and protruding Rebecca wondered if a little surgery hadn't been performed there as well. She stood beside them—unseen, unnoticed, and obviously unwelcomed.
Carolina took a half-step back, clutching the front of Richie's shirt. “I heard what they been saying about you, Richie,” she emoted, “but I didn't believe it. Not for a minute. Not Richie, I said to myself. That Richie, he's one of the good guys.”
“Thanks, Carolina. I was hoping you knew I'd never hurt a hair on a woman's head. Is Danny here?”
She broke into sobs on his shoulder. “I don't know where he is. You got to believe me.”
“Look, was something going on between Danny and the dead woman? I mean, I know he was always faithful to you. He loved you. But he had to have known her since she was killed in his office, right?”
Rebecca couldn't take much more of this. She could feel her gorge rising. “Her name was Meaghan Blakely, by the way.”
Carolina didn't bother to look at her. “I have no idea who she was, or what she meant to my Danny.” Her sobs, snuffles, and catches in the throat grew louder.
Rebecca turned away from Carolina's theatrics. Looking over the apartment with its beautiful bay view, French provincial furnishings, and tasteful artwork, she couldn't help but suspect that Ms. Fontana's tears were more over worry about what all this might mean for Danny's future—and ultimately her own. If Danny was involved in this murder, Carolina would need to find someone else to pick up the bill for her, and from the way she held on to Richie as he continued his one handed comforting—and Rebecca couldn't help but wonder just how thorough his comforting would be if she weren't attached to his other hand—it appeared Carolina
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