Brooklyn Wars by Triss Stein

Author:Triss Stein [Stein, Triss]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press, Inc.
Published: 2017-04-27T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Mrs. Pastore hustled me in and downstairs to the kitchen at the back of the house. We would be well hidden from the street.

“Nicole?” someone called. It was Annabelle Conti, visibly disappointed to see it was only me. Jennifer was there too, looking as out of place in the old kitchen as Annabelle looked comfortable. They both had small wineglasses and large slices of cheesecake in front of them.

“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Pastore urged. “Dessert wine or a coffee? And biscotti or cheesecake? From the bakery,” she added apologetically. “I didn’t have time to bake today.”

I sat as commanded, still wondering why I was here. Annabelle moved her chair to make room for me and passed the cheesecake, so I guessed she was no longer angry.

When the doorbell rang again, Mrs. Pastore brought in a woman dressed in leggings, boots, and a coat that was a confection of fluffy pink mohair and lavender fake fur trim. Her long blond braid was threaded through with strands of magenta hair. Her clothes were of equally extreme style, the boots expensive soft magenta suede, the velvety tunic adorned with bright appliqué. She flicked Jennifer’s overhanging fur coat off the remaining chair.

So that’s what Mrs. Pastore meant by the Conti women. Two wives and a daughter.

“Nikki, it’s cold tonight. How can you be warm enough in that flimsy jacket?”

“Well, Mom, this flimsy jacket came right from the designer’s studio and cost more than you’ve spent on all coats in the last decade. Believe me, it is quite warm enough.”

“Still going for the art student look, I see,” Jennifer murmured, but loudly enough so Nicole heard. As intended, I was sure.

“And you are still wearing fur? Animal skins are so last century.”

Annabelle slammed her glass on the table.

“This is not what we are here for.”

“Mom, you started it. I don’t need your comments….”

Maybe this was not so different from my life with Chris after all, except for the better clothes. Annabelle was saying, “You are still my daughter and I still worry.”

Jennifer leaned forward and patted Annabelle’s hand. “You are right, dear. We are who we are, but bickering is not the reason we are here.”

Annabelle sucked in a deep breath. “We are here to share our information about Michael and make a plan to deal with the harassment by the police department.”

I started to say, “But he was murdered. The police have a job to do.” I was immediately shut down.

“Not your turn to talk.”

“We will get to you in good time.”

“You be patient.”

Only curiosity kept me in my seat at that moment. My desire to walk out in a huff was at war with my desire to know what the hell was going on here.

“Everyone coming to order?” Jennifer looked around the table, resting her eyes in turn on her stepdaughter and her…what do you call a husband’s ex-wife? Predecessor?

“Let’s get to it. Michael was a first-class bastard. Pardon my language about your father, Nicole.”

Nicole muttered, “Not what you used to think.”

“Yes, dear.

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