The Betrayed_A Newport Murder Mystery Read online

  Kelly frowned. “I’m surprised the money hasn’t been used up.”

  “Well, it seems Winston’s dad was some kind of Wall Street wizard. He brought the family’s dwindling millions back up to billions. He’s retired but he still manages the family money.”

  Kelly leaned closer to Maddie. “From what I’ve heard James definitely has a passion for control and a knack for making money; where Winston seems to have a passion for leisure and a knack for spending money.”

  Maddie shrugged her shoulders. “All I know is that we spent hours in that bar, sharing stories. When he finally walked me to my car I felt good but I knew I would feel better if I could see him again.” Maddie sat up a little straighter and steeled herself before she continued. “Yes, and because of what happened with Joe I’m trying very hard to keep things casual and moving slowly.” She knew this was the right thing to tell Kelly. Kelly, who was always so strong and in control. Kelly would never allow herself to emotionally depend on anyone, man or woman. Which is why it was so hard to talk to her sometimes. Months of sleepless nights led her to the next words she uttered to Kelly. “I don’t want to jump into an exclusive relationship that I get lost in, and then it destroys me, again.” There I said it aloud, she thought letting out an audible sigh of relief.

  Kelly’s shoulders shifted in a quick shrug as she said, “Well it’s good that you’re keeping your options open.” Unaware of the milestone Maddie had just reached by admitting she was ready to explore dating. “I can’t believe I didn’t put together Winston is a Cooper; although his dad is usually the one to monopolize the media. Just be careful. Winston’s family isn’t just rich; they’re powerful. As much as you wouldn’t want to be on my bad side, I wouldn’t want to be on their bad side.”

  Maddie took another long drink of wine. “Enough about me. What’s going on with you and Jack? Have you set a wedding date yet?”

  “Turns out setting a date is part of a chain reaction. Right now Jack is up for a promotion, so we’re waiting to see how that will play out with his hours and vacation time.”

  “What kind of promotion? I mean as long as I can remember Jack’s been a cop.”

  “Yeah, he loves being on the streets. But now that we’re settling down, and someday hope to have children, he’s thinking a few steps ahead. You know he’s always had great instincts, he’s smart, and a position has opened up for a detective on the squad.”

  “Wow! Congratulations!” exclaimed Maddie. “How do you feel about this?”

  “I’m thrilled! Even though we live in Newport, not New York City, I still worry when he goes out on his shift. I mean, you just never know what might happen out there. At least this way the plan is for him to investigate crimes after they’ve happened not be a part of them in progress. Again, there are no safety guarantees anywhere in his line of work, but it does give me some peace of mind. Besides the position change comes with a pay raise,” Kelly added with a smile. “The other piece of the wedding puzzle involves trying to get a date at the church. We’re really hoping to get married at St. Mary’s, given that it’s the oldest Catholic Church in Rhode Island. But, since President Kennedy married Jackie there, it’s always in demand and the church books way more than a year in advance. In fact, there’s a link on their website dedicated to all the restrictions and rules that need to be followed in order to have a ceremony there.”

  “Restrictive rules for the Catholic church, you don’t say?” Maddie commented facetiously.

  “Hey, I am a practicing Catholic and my Irish ancestors literally laid the bricks and stones to build that church,” Kelly scowled.

  Maddie sincerely apologized. “I’m sorry. You know I’m not very religious but I should be respectful.”

  Kelly nodded an acceptance then suggested, “Maybe we should have our wedding at your new house? It’s pretty posh living up there among the mansions, with a view that I’ll never be able to afford.”

  “Kelly, if you and Jack need help with money-”

  “Oh no!” Kelly interjected. “I was just kidding. You are such a good friend. Jack and I know we can always count on you, but we really are okay. Besides what if the situation was reversed, hmm?”

  “You’re right,” Maddie conceded. “We were both raised to be self-sufficient and proud of it. I think that’s one of the reasons I’m having such a hard time figuring out what to do next.” She wanted to tell Kelly the other reasons she was having a hard time. Like how the quiet of living alone made her jump at every noise. How she had taken to napping in the afternoon because she couldn’t sleep at night, convinced someone was lurking in the dark. Or the dreams that woke her up either gasping for air or smothered under a pall of loss and death, the only release coming from a good, hard cry. She felt she was on a balance beam of emotion. Putting one foot in front of the other required constant concentration. Her feelings teetered from guilt for giving up her career to happiness for having it all. And way down there was fear. Fear she would lose everyone close to her and have no one to share it all with. But she had told her friend enough. Kelly was strong, and any more talk of paranoid, overthought, or squishy feelings from Maddie would have Kelly slapping her on the arm and telling her to ‘move on!’

  “Maddie, things happen for a reason. This is your time to do all the stuff we always talk about doing. And until now, you haven’t looked at a man since Joe. Go out with Winston. Be open to meeting new men. Have fun. Spend money. When you’re ready, you will find something you can refocus your energy into and you’ll have some perspective.” Maddie bobbed her head up and down in agreement. Kelly signaled for the check. “Come on let’s go over to the Clarke Cooke House and see what’s going on over there.”

  They made the short walk, cutting through the brick alley that linked Sayers Wharf to the adjacent Bannisters Wharf, and joined the sophisticated but rowdy crowd gathered inside the Cooke House.

  FOUR

  Bob Lackey had always been a good-looking kid and he used it to his advantage. He had his father’s Irish blue eyes and his mother’s dark brown, almost black, thick Sicilian hair and dark olive skin. Even in elementary school girls wanted to be around him. He quickly figured out how to use his charm to get girls to give up everything from the pudding cup in their lunchbox to their babysitting cash. As a small boy, he lived in Cranston until his parents divorced when he was ten. After that, he saw little of his dad. His mom, Marie, moved them up to Federal Hill to live with her mother.

  Just like Rome, the city of Providence is built on seven hills; Federal Hill being one. Also like Rome, Federal Hill, or The Hill as it is referred to by locals, is populated by Italians. Between 1900 and 1930 a wave of immigrants invaded The Hill, turning the area into Providence’s own “Little Italy.” Atwells Avenue, the wide main corso, street, of The Hill was lined with mostly three-story wood and brick buildings. The grid of adjoining structures was divided into narrow streets and small alleyways. Just like in The Old Country, business was conducted on the street level and the upper few floors of the buildings were used as residences.

  As Bob walked along Atwells Avenue he glanced into the many restaurants, boutiques, and small Italian food markets; waving to a couple of older paisans standing outside the market where his mother used to work. Although the neighborhood had changed little since he was a kid, his relationship with the people in charge here certainly had.

  When he got to the liquor store he paused and looked up at the windows above a dark green awning; surveying the apartment where he had spent most of his life. His grandmother had long since passed and his mother was now in a condo down in Florida. But twenty-two years ago this is where he began his association with the organization. An organization that now put a nauseating knot in his stomach.

  FIVE

  Boom- boom- boom- boom, Maddie’s head was pounding like the music from the night before down in the appropriately named Boom Boom Room on the bottom level of the Clarke Cooke House. Her hands went to her forehead as she realized that her tongue was
bound to the roof of her mouth. She forced it to peel away with a twacking sound. She probed her tongue around to be sure she hadn’t actually slept with a roll of gauze in her mouth. Maddie dragged herself to the bathroom and slurped directly from the faucet, then swallowed down three aspirin tablets. Now I remember why Kelly and I don’t do this more often. Next time one wine, one water, one wine, one water. And God bless Jack for showing up so Kelly could drive me home. That girl must have a hollow leg!

  She gingerly walked to the kitchen, holding her head again to be sure her brain didn’t thump out. She looked over her K-cup packs next to the coffee maker, hoping there was a brew named Hangover Strong. Slowly, she eased onto a tall leather chair, rested her elbows on the kitchen island, sipped her coffee, stared at the ocean, and waited for part one of her hangover cure to kick in.

  SIX

  On the surface, it seemed the only means of financial support for his family had come from his mother’s part-time job at the market. Yet she never seemed worried about money. Growing up, Bob always had name brand clothes and the latest high-end sneakers. Marie pampered herself with regular manicures, pedicures, and spa treatments. Every weekend she would go out wearing lavish outfits. Bob, rightfully, attributed their good fortune to his mother’s friend, Frank Armondetta. Often, he would come home from school to find Mr. Armondetta sitting at his mother’s kitchen table. Frank had a soft spot for Bob. He would ruffle Bob’s hair and tell him he could make a little money for himself delivering and picking up envelopes around the neighborhood and returning them to Marie.

  Bob was no stranger to violence. He worked to keep his always hot temper tamped down to a simmer. Mr. Armondetta made sure Bob never took any real heat for the street scuffles he got in as a teen. He kept him from doing any time when he was twenty-one, despite choking and beating a man in a bar fight. Bob seemed to have garnered value around the neighborhood partly because that was the nature of the Federal Hill community. It was a place where everyone was connected by family, by business, or both. In fact, it was the connection between his mother and Mr. Armondetta that allowed Bob the illusion of respect. Frank Armondetta ran this town.

  Mr. Armondetta was the capo, head, of his family’s powerful organization. Although Bob was never a true part of the business, Marie saw to that. Not for lack of trying, Bob was never a Made Man. He never ran with a crew. He was considered an associate, a friend of the family, and as such he was afforded certain privileges. Like being able to run his mouth off in bars about sleeping with a buddy’s girlfriend and not getting popped, or borrowing money for the almost bi-monthly benders down at the Connecticut casinos. Mr. Armondetta even bought Bob a condominium on Newport Harbor, and a tricked out thirty-foot power boat. A purchase Bob was convinced would get him even more ‘ass from da ladies.’

  But life had changed drastically in the last five years. It started when Frank was given a terminal sentence from lung cancer. Frank gave Marie a hefty retirement sum and sent her to Florida. Then he prepared to pass the family business to his nephew, Cosimo DeCastelleri; also known as Mr. D. Mr. Armondetta assured Bob he would still be considered a friend of the family.

  Bob continued his trek up the avenue. His hands were hot and damp but not from the summer heat. He wiped the moisture building on his palms along the sides of his charcoal grey trousers. Yes, Bob was confident his charisma would work on the ladies but he was not at all sure his charm would work with Mr. D.

  Sounds of accordion music wafted through the hot, gritty city air. When he reached the middle of Atwells Avenue, Bob turned to his left and walked into an Old World cobblestone piazza. In the center of the piazza was a large stone fountain. Water was bubbling, flowing, and spilling over the sides of its three round tiers. The sound of the splashing water offered a cool respite from the stifling heat of the day. Tourists and locals strolled around, some sitting on the edge of the fountain eating gelato, many lounging under umbrella-shaded tables at outdoor cafes and restaurants that lined the perimeter of the piazza. Enormous embellished stone urns surrounded the piazza, vibrant with magenta flowers. DePasquale Square was the heart of Federal Hill.

  Bob passed the traditional Italian marketplace which anchored a corner of the square and continued toward the rear of the plaza. He snaked his way through the lively action of De Pasquale Square toward a small black door between two popular eateries. As he pressed a button on the door he looked around at the visitors in the square, most of whom were unaware that just above their heads, behind a center window overlooking the picturesque pinecone fountain, was a dark and dangerous domain.

  The door buzzed open and Bob stepped inside. The air felt cool but still smelled of herbs and grease from the surrounding restaurants. The light radiating from a large glass chandelier hanging over the middle of the staircase in front of him was much dimmer than the bright sunshine outside. He let his eyes adjust for a second and then ascended the steep steps. As he passed under the chandelier two men rose up from spindle-backed wooden armchairs atop the stair landing. From a distance they looked much like him, well-groomed Italian gentlemen with dark, slicked-back hair and dark fitted suits. But as Bob drew closer he could see their faces showed evidence of broken noses and scars from fights that no gentleman would be in. The men moved aside the lapels of their jackets to reveal their shoulder holsters. Bob gave his name and appointment time to the two men guarding a door set at the back of the hallway. One of the men picked up a clipboard from a small table between the chairs. Bob noted the chairs were not designed for comfort, just convenience for the men stationed outside of Mr. D’s office.

  “What’s ya numbuh?” asked the Clipboard Guard in a heavy Rhode Island accent, void of the letter ‘r’ at the end of a word.

  “Oh, yeah, ah, two, three, fowah,” Bob answered the guard, in his own Rhode Island accent. The number he gave identified him and allowed him access to the office, not a trip to the hospital.

  “Mr. DeCastelleri is expecting you. He should be finished in a couple minutes,” was the gruff confirmation from the guard with the clipboard.

  While they waited in silence, Bob looked back down the stairs. He hoped he would walk back down those steps and not be thrown down them once Mr. D found out he was not here to pay but to ask for more time to get the money.

  Bob was used to slipping in shit and landing in gold. Right now standing in the hall outside of this office, waiting for what was on the other side, he knew he was pretty deep in the shit.

  The office door swung open. The blonde man exiting the office still had his hand on the knob with his head turned over his shoulder calling into the office. “Thanks, Cosimo, I’ll let you know when it’s done.” The blonde man turned and walked out the door brushing past Bob as if he were just another sentry, then swaggered down the stairs.

  One of the sharp dressed men standing between Bob and the door announced, “Mr. Lackey is here to see you now Mr. D.”

  “Send him in,” replied Cosimo DeCastelleri.

  Bob stepped through the door. Showtime.

  SEVEN

  Two cups of coffee, three glasses of water, and one hot shower later Maddie was ready for the final step of her hangover cure--fresh air. She strolled off the grounds of her home onto Narragansett Avenue and glanced around. Not too many tourist cars parked here today, she thought. Before going down the Forty Steps access point to Newport’s famed Cliff Walk she wondered how much of a hike she could handle. To her left it was a fairly short, and easy, shot to the start of Cliff Walk; overlooking Easton’s Beach, also known as First Beach. Perched high above First Beach was the elegant Chanler hotel and restaurant. A little hair of the dog could be had at the outdoor bar of this mansion hotel by the ocean. No, no, the thoughts of a cool glass of wine caused her temples to twitch. Not her usual reaction to that idea. Better turn right and go the longer route. The narrow path from start to finish was three and a half miles long. Most of the trail was paved but if she made it far enough she knew the pavement would give way to a dirt path then t
o a scramble over large, sometimes slippery, rocks.

  Maddie nodded a friendly greeting to some visitors admiring the view of the ocean framed by the abundant thorny thickets of beach plum roses. As she approached The Breakers, the largest of the mansions open to the public, she thought of Winston. He had mentioned the Gilded Age, a time when the extremely wealthy, including his family, had built these stone palaces as monuments to their egos, creating tangible foundations for their legacies.

  Cliff Walk passed before sixty-four private residences. Protective iron fences, often with a hedgerow as an added buffer, kept visitors on the path at a respectable distance. Her romantic mind churned as she wondered if Winston was like one of these Gilded Age manors; keeping his distance from me with a virtual emotional wall. Although he seemed engaged in their conversations, and she enjoyed spending time with him, she still did not feel connected to him. Perhaps it was the exclusive setting he was brought up in. She suspected he did not subscribe to the idea that character is something you build, not something you are born with, and perhaps his upbringing might make it very difficult for him to share his inner fears and hopes. Or maybe it’s me? I haven’t been on the dating circuit for a few years. Maybe I’m the one putting up a fence? I should have a fence around me, probably some padded walls too. I remember being spontaneous and carefree. I think I just need to--Maddie’s internal musings were brought to a halt by a loud plea.