Authors: Nancy Martin
Mrs. Stossel had been glaring at me, but her deafness prevented her from hearing our conversation. Finally she piped up: “That dress is disgusting, Roxana Marie. I can see your nipples.”
“I can see your dentures,” I said. “They’re slipping.”
Irene suddenly grew a backbone, because she said, “You can’t talk to my mother that way.”
“Irene, I’ve had a really bad week. If you want to try stopping me, be my guest.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I could pop you right here.”
“You have your gun in that ugly purse?”
“Of course I do.”
“The same gun you used to kill Clarice Crabtree?”
The Frank Sinatra look-alike was urging all the wedding guests to find their seats, and people began to jostle past me. I could see Gino and Carlene heading to the microphone to make their welcome speeches. Gino’s face was brick red. I imagined his dick was pretty hot, too. He was probably terrified that he’d caught a venereal disease overnight.
Irene stared at me.
I said, “You did a lousy job, Irene. Did you shoot Clarice by accident the night you kidnapped her? Or you just couldn’t resist?”
“You—,” she said, still not blinking.
“Just tell me this much,” I said. “How come you tried to shoot Mitchell, too? Did the kid ask you to do that? Or were you freelancing?”
“I don’t have to listen to this.”
Irene got up from the table. She was wearing a shapeless dark dress with big buttons that ran from her chin to her knees. Which put her squarely in the nonlaid category for the evening.
She said to me, “If you were good to your uncle, he’d never need me. But you turned your back on him.”
“Maybe because he deserved it.”
“Bitch,” she said through gritted teeth.
She put her hand on her weapon inside her bag and shoved it against my belly. I could feel the snout of the gun.
“You’re not going to shoot me here,” I said to her. “With all these witnesses? That would be colossally stupid. But then, that’s your trademark, right? Stupidity.”
“I don’t have to listen to you.”
She jammed her gun deeply into her purse and turned for the door. I followed, weaving my way through the tables of guests. People called my name, but I stuck on Irene’s tail. We passed the waiters in the hall, all standing ready with the trays of wedding soup help aloft, ready to carry them into the ballroom.
Outside, she cut to the right on the sidewalk, heading for the Incline and walking fast.
Nooch was standing outside, a few feet from the parking valets. He had dressed himself in the clothes Richie Eckelstine put together for him, and he looked great. Clearly, however, he was debating with himself about whether or not he should go into the wedding reception. “Rox!” he cried, relieved to see me. “Where you been?”
“I can’t talk, Nooch. I need you to call 911.”
“No kidding? What for?”
A minivan pulled up, and the valets surrounded it. The passenger door opened, and Marie Duffy put a shoe on the pavement. From the driver’s side of the minivan, Bug emerged, digging into the pocket of his suit trousers for a tip.
He saw me, and my expression must have registered immediately in his brain. He forgot about the valet and came straight for me. “What’s up?”
“Irene Stossel,” I said. “She killed Clarice.”
“Who?”
I pointed. “That’s her. She’s armed.”
Someone came out of the restaurant behind me. “Roxy?” Flynn’s voice.
Bug cursed and turned toward his wife. A valet was helping her get out of the minivan, and I could see that Bug was going to use precious seconds explaining to Marie why he had to dump her to chase a killer.
So I took off after Irene myself. Nooch in hot pursuit. Flynn not far behind.
We ran up the dark sidewalk and skidded through the door of the Incline’s ticket office. I could see Irene already making her way onto the car, so I vaulted the turnstile and clattered after her. Irene turned in the doorway, pulled the gun from her purse, and fired.
Instantly, Nooch said, “Hey!”
He clutched his arm. “Hey, that
hurt
!”
I could have stayed with him. Maybe I should have. But seeing him take a bullet made me nuts. I went down the ramp and shoved my shoulder through the door of the car just as it began to slide shut. The door slammed, pinning me against the side of the Incline car and forcing a cry from my throat.
“Hey!” Nooch shouted louder. He sounded panicked. “Hey, stop!”
Behind me, Flynn arrived. He jammed his shoulder against the sliding door. His impact was just enough to bounce it back so I could slither through.
“Rox,” he said. “Wait—”
He thrust himself through the door, too, but his momentum sent him sprawling on the floor.
The door banged shut, leaving us alone in the car with Irene.
I caught my balance just as the car lurched and began to descend the cliffside. Flynn rolled clear, staying down. He’d seen the gun. Unsteady, Irene backed away from me and pulled the trigger again. The gun went off—incredibly loud in the small cable car—and a bullet slammed into the wooden door frame beside me.
I threw myself at her arm, and we grappled, stumbling over Flynn as he tried to get out from under us. The gun went off again. Glass shattered. Irene fired once more, and this time I felt the weapon recoil against me. I used my body weight to slam Irene against the hand railing. Together, we crashed onto the wooden bench seats, wrestling for control of the gun.
“Are you crazy?” she panted. “I’ve got a weapon!”
I elbowed her in the teeth. Flynn came up and seized her gun hand.
“Where’s your gun when we need it?” I demanded of him.
He gasped for breath. “I didn’t think I’d need it at a wedding!”
“Clearly, you haven’t been to enough weddings!”
Irene was strong, and fought us hard. The three of us rolled sideways, fell off the bench, and dug at each other on the floor.
“I’ve had a
really
bad week,” I grunted. “Let go before I hurt you, Irene.”
It was a pretty good catfight, I was told later. With the lights turned on in the cable car, everybody at the wedding could see us kicking and scratching and otherwise showing our panties. One of Irene’s bullets went through the window of the restaurant and hit an ice swan. It keeled over onto the cookie table and ruined twelve dozen lemon tarts, anisette-flavored butter cookies, and some peanut butter meltaways made by Grandma Martinelli, which was a tragic loss. I love peanut butter meltaways.
But somehow I ended up with the gun. Irene lay on her back on the floor, and Flynn was on top of her, facing me, too. He put his hands in the air, eyes wide on mine.
I stepped on his thigh, put the muzzle of the gun against his chest, and gripped the weapon with both hands. Irene froze and stared up at me from beneath his body. Her eyes were wide open, too.
Breathing hard, I said. “If I pull this trigger, the bullet will go through both of you, right?”
“Right,” Flynn said.
“Then don’t move, either one of you. All I need is one tiny reason to shoot you both.”
When the car reached the bottom of the mountain, two police officers were waiting there, service weapons drawn.
The cops grabbed the gun from me and pounced on Flynn. It took only seconds to sort out who was who, and then they had Irene cuffed and it was all over.
“Damn,” I said, glaring at Flynn. “I had my chance and blew it.”
“Roxy?” one of the cops turned on me. “Is that you?”
I hoped he recognized my face. I pulled my skirt down.
At the hospital, while Nooch was bandaged up, I stole myself a set of scrubs with pants, and that made everybody happier, I think. It certainly made Nooch stop blushing, and Zack quit staring at me like I’d fallen from the planet Venus.
Later, eating cookies in Sage’s bed, I apologized for making a scene that got my family kicked out of the Martinelli wedding.
“I heard there was going to be a band for dancing,” said Sister Bob wistfully. She had changed into her fluffy bathrobe and sat in Sage’s desk chair with her feet propped up on the bed. “I love to dance.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry,” Sage told me. She had admitted to hiding some wedding cookies at the back of the freezer and had fixed us a tray to nibble. “You were really brave, Mom. Even Zack said so.”
“It was stupid,” I said. “But I couldn’t help myself.”
Sister Bob chose a mini cream-filled cannoli. “You were really something, chasing that woman down. Who could have imagined? Irene Stossel a killer! Just goes to show, she should have kept that cashier’s job at the bakery.”
“Right,” I said. “Without a college education, what other choices did she have?”
Sage groaned. She lay flat on her back, having changed into her basketball jersey and sweatpants. “All right, all right! I’ll start filling out applications tomorrow, I promise. I just wish my boyfriend hadn’t seen my mother’s butt.”
“Zack’s back to being your boyfriend?”
Her dimple popped as she tried to smother a smile. “Maybe. Kind of. For the moment.”
“He’s okay,” I said. “Not a bad kid.”
We heard the doorbell downstairs, and Loretta’s voice called up to me. I went down to see who’d come calling.
Bug Duffy stood inside the front door. When Loretta disappeared into the kitchen, he said, “My wife’s not speaking to me. That wedding reception was supposed to be a big date for us. And because of you, I ended up working tonight.”
He didn’t look mad, though. Tired, maybe, but smiling.
“Tell you what, Bug, I’ll babysit the boys for you next weekend, and you can take Marie out for dinner.”
“Forget it. I’m not letting you near my children.”
I thought he was going to say good night and leave, but he lingered. I said, “Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I just wanted to tell you that you were right about Sugar Mitchell. She did hire Irene Stossel to kidnap her mother.”
Bug sat on Loretta’s couch, and I perched on the arm of the recliner. I said, “So she didn’t plan on her mother getting killed?”
“From what we pieced together, sounds like Sugar contacted Carmine to do a kidnapping only. She wanted her mom to be threatened into giving her more money. The kid has amazing Internet skills. That’s how she found Carmine, made the arrangements. When you turned down the assignment, Carmine hired Irene. But Irene lost control of the situation and killed Clarice by mistake.”
“Irene was no match for Clarice.”
“Then Irene started worrying Mitchell knew about the plan, and she decided to kill him, too, to keep him quiet. She thought she’d pin that shooting on you, by leaving your glove at the scene.”
“Kinda clumsy planning.”
“Killers aren’t usually brain surgeons.”
“What’s going to happen to Sugar?”
“I don’t know yet. Here’s the kicker. Know what she’s telling us? That her mother hired Carmine to kill
her
mother, twenty-some years ago.”
“Clarice had her own mother killed?”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
I shrugged. “Mothers and daughters, that’s a complicated relationship sometimes.”
“Looks that way.” Bug eyed me for a while and finally stood up to leave. “We’re trying to build a case on Carmine now. We’re going to take our time, though. We want to get it right.”
“Good luck.”
“You’re not worried? About your uncle?”
I got to my feet, too. “He gets what he deserves. And me? I haven’t done anything I’m ashamed of.”
Bug smiled. “Not even the public catfight?”
“You saw it, too?”
“Who could miss it? You were just lucky the television helicopters didn’t show up in time.”
“Get out of here,” I said, giving his arm a punch. “Go home to your wife.”
Without warning, Bug gave me a hug. It actually felt kinda nice. “Take care of yourself, Roxy.”
I let him out the front door, and Loretta came in from the kitchen. She was drying her hands on a kitchen towel, still dressed in her wedding finery, but with an apron.
I leaned against the front door. I was too tired to explain everything Bug had told me. But I said, “Flynn told me today. About you sending him off to the marines.”
Loretta’s hands went still. “I didn’t send anyone anywhere. I suggested, that’s all.”
“You interfered.”
She folded the towel carefully, not looking at me. “What did you do for Sage this week? With Brian and Zack?”
“I…”
“You protected her,” Loretta said. “Because you love her.”
I wrestled with my emotions for a while, struggling with the words. But there, in Loretta’s warm house, I finally said, “I love you, Loretta.”
I heard her voice catch. She tried to speak, but couldn’t.
I went across the room to her and wrapped her in my arms. I said, “You’ve been wonderful to me. You still are. You’re the mother I should have had.”
ALSO BY NANCY MARTIN
Foxy Roxy
(previously published as
Our Lady of Immaculate Deception
)
Murder Melts in Your Mouth
Crazy Little Thing Called Death
Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too
Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die
Some Like It Lethal
Dead Girls Don’t Wear Diamonds
How to Murder a Millionaire
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
STICKY
FINGERS
. Copyright © 2011 by Nancy Martin. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Martin, Nancy, 1953–
Sticky Fingers / Nancy Martin.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-57373-7 (alk. paper)
1. Single mothers—Fiction. 2. Pittsburgh (Pa.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3563.A7267S75 2011
813'.54—dc22
2010041089
First Edition: April 2011
eISBN 978-1-4299-6694-8