Driven to Ink

Chapter 58

“Why?” Tim asked.

Me-I wanted to know how she knew, but he didn’t seem bothered by that at the moment.

“They got into an argument. Ray tried to kill him. He had a knife; Lou got all cut up.”

“So the story about the muggers-” I said.

“Wasn’t true,” Rosalie admitted. “The cuts he had were from the fight he had with Ray. He couldn’t tell anyone where he really got them.”

“But he told you,” Tim said.

Her lips quivered for a second, and then she whispered, “I was there.”

Tim and I exchanged a look before Tim said, “I think you should tell us what happened.”

We were still standing in her foyer, next to the table with the candles. The scent was starting to get to me, and I reached out and took Tim’s arm to steady myself.

“Come on in,” Rosalie said, leading the way into the living room. She gave a glance back at me, assessing my scrubs and tweed jacket. So I wasn’t ready for the runway. Not as though I didn’t know that.

I plopped down in a plush armchair, but as soon as I hit the seat, it was as if a million little daggers stabbed me in my back. I winced. Tim noticed.

“Are you okay?”

I blinked a few times to keep from crying. “I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to miss this.

Rosalie settled herself on the sofa, pulling her bathrobe close and crossing her arms in front of her chest. She had a sort of waifish look about her: long dark tresses cascading over her shoulders, large smoky eyes, and almost transparently white skin. I could see why men would want to protect her. Or overpower her.

She was quiet a few minutes, her eyes focused on the floor, her fingers fiddling with the sash on her bathrobe. Finally, she lifted her face and sighed. “I went over to the chapel that day, you know, to see my dad and Sylvia get married. I knew they were in the car and it wouldn’t be a normal type of wedding, but I was happy for him. Sylvia’s wonderful.” For a second, Rosalie’s face lit up with the memory, and then it faded. “When I got there, I thought I’d surprise Lou, too. So I went to the dressing room to see him. But he was really angry. He thought I was checking up on him. I tried to tell him I was there for my father, but he didn’t believe me.” She cast her eyes down into her lap. “He hit me.”

I was pretty sure where this was going. “Ray Lucci saw him do that, didn’t he?” I asked.

“Ray walked in right when Lou hit me,” Rosalie said, her voice still slightly more than a whisper. “Ray pulled me aside, asked if I was okay; I said he shouldn’t worry about me; he said something about how he hadn’t planned it this way, but circumstances called for it. He had a knife in a sort of sheath under his jacket, and he pulled it out. I screamed for him to stop, hoping someone would hear and come help, but no one came, and he nicked Lou a few times. But Lou knows how to throw a punch,” she said wryly, touching her eye again, “and he flattened Ray. At that point, I knew I couldn’t stop him. I just watched as he strangled him.”

Rosalie stopped, her eyes wide.

“Lou told me I couldn’t say anything. That if I did, the cops would come after me as some sort of accomplice. And then he’d have to kill me, too.”

“Accessory,” Tim corrected. “He lied to you, Rosalie. If you’d told the police what you witnessed, they would’ve been able to protect you from him.”

I could feel her fear, though. It was alive in this room, probably lurking under the sofa, the chair I was sitting in. She’d lived in fear of Lou Marino, and it wouldn’t have been too hard for him to convince her to keep quiet.

We all jumped when Tim’s cell phone started ringing. He took it off his belt, glanced at the caller ID, and stood, walking out of sight, down the hall and into the kitchen. I could hear him murmuring, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Rosalie shifted on the sofa, pulled her feet up underneath her. It looked as close to a fetal position as she could get into while sitting up.

“You really think I won’t get into trouble?” she asked softly.

I’d been trying to eavesdrop on Tim, so when she spoke, it caught me by surprise.

As did another thought I had. Something about her story didn’t add up. Something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, though. My head was all jumbled up like a jigsaw puzzle that had too many pieces missing.

Before I could question her, though, Tim strode back into the room, clipping his phone back to his belt. He cocked his head at me.

“We’ve got to go.”

I stood up, a little too quickly, because the little daggers were back. It had been okay while I was sitting, but too long in one position seemed to exacerbate the situation.

Tim didn’t seem to notice this time, however. He nodded at Rosalie.

“I’ll be back, probably with another detective, to take your statement. Make sure you don’t go anywhere.” It was not a request.

Rosalie, who was plainly very susceptible to direct orders from men, nodded meekly. But as Tim started to turn, she said, “What if my father calls? Shall I tell him you’re looking for Sylvia?”

Tim’s jaw tensed. “That would be a good idea,” he said curtly. “Come on,” he said to me.

I shrugged at Rosalie as I followed my brother out the front door and to the Impala. He held the door open, but it was clear if I didn’t get in quickly he might leave me here.

“What’s the hurry?” I asked when we were both settled and he started the engine.

“That was Flanigan. He’s over at that wedding chapel.”

“That’s Amore? Why?”

“Someone’s shooting at the cars driving up.”