A Stitch to Die For (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Book 5) (12 page)

I studied the firm set of his jaw. “I’m not going to win this battle, am I?”

“You’re a stubborn woman, Anastasia Pollack, but in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m an even more stubborn man. I’m buying you a new phone. End of discussion.”

I mentally added a trip to the AT&T store to my already long weekend to-do list. “Why didn’t you call me at the office when you couldn’t reach me on my cell phone?”

“I did. The moment the plane touched down in Newark but you’d already left for the day.”

“What about earlier in London?”

“No time. I raced through the terminal to make my connection. The plane literally began taxiing down the runway the moment I clicked my seatbelt. By the time I listened to Flora’s message, then called your cell phone, the plane was about to take off. The flight attendant threatened to have the pilot turn the plane around and call security if I didn’t power down my phone.”

Given the events of the last few months, I can only imagine what was going through Zack’s mind during that nearly eight-hour flight across the Atlantic. “I’m sorry I worried you. As for Mama, you do know she’s prone to hyperbole.”

He placed both hands alongside my cheeks, tilting my head toward his. “Are you saying there were no murders on your street?”

I bit down on my lower lip. “Not exactly.”

“So there
is
a serial killer on the loose?”

“Not exactly.”

He huffed out his frustration. “How about if we go inside, I pour us both a glass of wine, and you define ‘not exactly’?”

“I have to make dinner. The boys will be home from soccer practice any minute.”

“No, you don’t. I ordered pizzas. They’ll arrive in about twenty minutes. I left a note and money on the kitchen table for the boys to pay the delivery guy. You have plenty of time to explain everything to me.”

“Don’t count on it,” I muttered under my breath. Zack shook his head again before linking the fingers of one hand through mine and leading me up the stairs to his apartment.

As I suspected, twenty minutes wasn’t nearly long enough to explain the events of the last four days. Along with the two homicides on my street, I had to fill him in on Pablo’s murder. I began chronologically, first catching him up on the investigation into Cynthia’s death. I had just started telling him about Betty and Carmen when Nick knocked on the apartment door to announce the arrival of the pizzas.

“The police see no connection between Betty’s death and Carmen’s,” I said as we followed Nick down the garage steps and back to the house.

“Why is that?”

“Betty was targeted. The list of people who hated her is quite long, and her killer was a pro.”

“How do you know that?”

“I found her body.”

“
You
found the body? Talk about burying the lede!”

I quickly explained how I came home Tuesday evening to discover Betty’s front door ajar. “She was killed by a single gunshot to her eye. Given the position of her body, it was apparent the killer pointed the gun at her from the hallway, never entering the living room where she sat in the dark watching television. She never knew what hit her.”

“And Carmen? Did you happen to find her body, too?”

“No. I learned about Carmen’s death when Detective Spader showed up at the house last night and told me. She was probably the victim of a burglary gone wrong. I don’t have many details. He said she’d been stabbed multiple times and suspects the guy was a drug addict looking for a quick score. Betty didn’t suffer but poor Carmen…” I shuddered at the thought of what she must have endured the last few minutes of her life.

“So you see, we definitely don’t have a serial killer targeting the neighborhood.”

“No, just a hit man and a psycho burglar. What a relief!”

Wait until I told him someone had hacked into the surveillance cameras on the street. He’d toss me over his shoulder and carry me all the way to Ira’s home if he had to. Maybe I’d save that topic until after a few more glasses of wine—or a far more potent potable.

I waited until Nick had stepped into the kitchen, then stopped and turned to confront Zack. “Don’t you dare jump on the Mama and Ira bandwagon. Do you have any idea how difficult and complicated our lives would become if the boys and I had to commute each day from clear across the state? Not to mention you’d have to visit me in prison because there’s no way I wouldn’t wind up strangling his three brats.”

“You’d rather put your lives in jeopardy?”

“We’re not in any jeopardy! Besides, we have police protection on the street. There’s a squad car parked at each end of the block.”

“They didn’t do such a bang-up job of protecting Carmen.”

No they hadn’t. I couldn’t argue with that. It takes a burglar with a heck of a lot of chutzpah to target a house with a police presence on the street.

“There is one other option,” said Zack, “given that I don’t relish the thought of you in an orange jumpsuit.”

“I’m listening.”

“I move into the house until the killers are caught.”

“You and Mr. Sig Sauer?” I’d recently learned Zack owned a gun after I became the victim of a stalker. He claims he needs the gun to protect himself from poachers and drug lords while on location in certain dicey areas of the globe. I saw it as yet another checkmark in the Zack as Government Agent column.

Prior to the stalking incident, I stood firmly in the anti-gun camp. Now I’m quite happy to know a kick-ass guy, who may or may not be a spy, is protecting me with his semi-automatic badass weapon. “What if you have to go out of town on assignment?”

“I’m not going anywhere until both of these guys are caught.”

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you for keeping me out of prison. I look ghastly in orange. You’ll be amply rewarded.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Zack had ordered three pizzas for the five of us. Lucille had already devoured one slice of mushroom and spinach and made a serious dent into a second slice by the time we entered the dining room. Mephisto sat at her feet, gnawing on a discarded pizza crust. My sons, displaying better manners, had waited until Zack and I joined them at the table before they helped themselves to slices.

Mushroom and spinach pizza is my favorite. Lucille doesn’t prefer it above pepperoni or bacon and onion, the two other pizzas on the table. Rather, she derives extreme pleasure in depriving me of my favorite toppings. Zack grabbed the box she’d commandeered and placed three slices of pizza on my plate. Then he took the remaining three slices for himself.

My mother-in-law’s hostile glare spoke volumes. In a not-so-subtle way I answered her by saying, “Lucille, wasn’t it nice of Zack to buy pizzas for dinner tonight?”

Ignoring me, she shoved the remainder of the mushroom and spinach slice into her mouth and reached across the table for two slices of pepperoni.

“Why bother?” asked Zack.

I sighed. “Because hope springs eternal.”

The best part of dinner that evening, aside from Zack’s homecoming, was not receiving a visit from Detective Spader. No further homicides had occurred on our street in the past twenty-four hours. Hopefully, the trend would continue.

Of course, that didn’t prevent Mama from continuing her campaign to have us move in with Ira. She and Lawrence arrived shortly before seven o’clock. Mama strode into the dining room, took one look at Zack and said, “I hope you’ve talked some sense into her.”

Then she headed into the kitchen. A moment later she returned with two plates, handed one to Lawrence, and the two of them proceeded to divvy up the remaining slices of pizza between them. So much for thinking I’d have one less mouth to feed once Mama and Lawrence tied the knot.

“Aren’t you both lucky we had leftovers,” I said. “Had I known you planned to drop by for dinner, we would have waited for you.”

My sarcasm flew right over their heads. “Oh, we’ve already eaten,” said Mama, “but it’s a shame to let good pizza go to waste.” She turned to Zack. “Now, Zack, dear, tell me you’ve convinced my stubborn daughter she needs to move in with Ira.”

“What!” Lucille nearly toppled over backwards. Zack reached out to steady her chair, but she jumped to her feet, and the chair fell to the floor. “I am not moving into that man’s house.”

“Then stay here and get yourself killed,” said Mama.

“Mama!”

“What? The woman is an idiot. If she’d rather risk death at the hands of a serial killer than accept Ira’s hospitality, that’s her decision.”

“We’re not moving in with Ira, Mama.”

“No way I’m moving out there,” said Alex.

“Ditto that,” said Nick.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mama. “Of course, you are. It’s for your own safety. Tell them, Zachary, dear.”

All eyes turned to Zack. He cleared his throat. “We’ve come up with a solution that doesn’t involve anyone moving, Flora.

“What’s that?”

“I’m moving into the house until the killers are caught.”

“And what if you’re targeted as well?” asked Mama. “How do you plan to keep my family safe if you’re dead?” Mama turned to her husband. “Would you please help me convince them to listen to reason?”

Throughout the exchange Lawrence had concentrated on consuming a slice of pizza, never saying a word. He finished chewing, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and turned to Mama, placing his hand over hers. “Flora, you’re blowing these murders completely out of proportion.”

She gasped, pulling her hand away. “How can you say that when a serial killer is targeting people who live on this street?”

“There is no serial killer, Mama.”

“Two people were murdered!” she shrieked two octaves above her normal voice. “Why can’t any of you see what’s going on here?”

“Confer with me of murder and of death,”
squawked Ralph from his perch atop the breakfront. “
Titus Andronicus
. Act Five, Scene Two.”

Mama glared at Ralph. “Someone should murder that filthy bird. Really, Anastasia, how can you allow him in here while we’re eating?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead she turned back to Lawrence. “Tell her she needs to move out of here.”

Lawrence shook his head. “Anastasia is right. Yes, two people were murdered but in two unrelated incidents. There’s no connection. No serial killer.”

“Says who?”

“The police.”

“You heard a discussion about the murders on your scanner?” I asked.

“I did.”

“And you’re willing to accept that?” asked Mama. “What if they’re wrong?” She burst into tears. “I can’t believe all of you! How can you do this to me?”

“This isn’t about you, Mama.”

“Of course it is! How could I live with myself if something happened to you and the boys?”

I never got a chance to answer Mama because at that moment someone rammed open my front door, and a dozen men dressed in SWAT gear and armed with assault rifles swarmed into my house.

NINE

Lucille screamed.

Mama gasped. All the color drained from her face. Then she fainted dead-away into a slice of half-eaten bacon and onion pizza.

“Hands behind your heads,” said one of the team members.

We all complied except for Lucille who reached for her cane, which somehow hooked her plate, sending it and uneaten pizza crusts flying in the direction of the SWAT team. The next thing I knew, several SWAT members had her pinned to the floor, her hands cuffed behind her back, a gun pointed at her head.

I held my breath, waiting for Lucille to let loose a string of profanity about police brutality, but for once in her life, my mother-in-law kept her mouth shut. Ignoring the commotion, Mephisto made a beeline for one of the pizza crusts, and Ralph swooped in for another. Luckily, no one panicked and shot at either of them.

Several officers fanned out throughout the house. Intermittently they’d call out, “Clear.” After several minutes they all regrouped in the living room. A moment later Detective Spader joined them.

“Nothing, sir,” said the team leader.

“Stand down,” he ordered. Spader glanced at Lucille’s prostrate body. Her mouth set in a tight line, her one visible eye speared him with a laser-like glower. “You! I should have known you’d have something to do with this.”

Spader pointed to her and said, “Release her.”

This time my mother-in-law didn’t hold back. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” She proceeded to hurl every four-letter word ever invented and possibly several new ones at Detective Spader and the SWAT team. “Every single one of you,” she continued. “I demand all your names.”

Exhibiting more restraint than I’d ever have given him credit for, Spader remained silent while stooping to assist her to her feet. Surprisingly, Lucille didn’t yell at him to take his hands off her. He then retrieved her cane and offered it to her. She snatched the cane from his hand and hurling curses in her wake, lumbered off in the direction of her bedroom.

Spader indicated to the SWAT team that they could leave, then turned to me. “My apologies, Mrs. Pollack. I’m afraid you’ve been the victim of a swatting.”