Follow the Money (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 3) Read online

  Russo reached over, landed a kiss on my cheek. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I have always wanted to be a cop,” I said. “From the moment I got my first plastic squad car. My mom offered to buy me a pink jeep when I was four, one of those motorized things that scoots around, but I asked for a police car instead.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “I wanted to be like my dad,” I murmured. “Then he went away to prison when I was five. My parents divorced. I didn’t understand it.”

  “How could you? You were so young.”

  “I give my mom credit. She didn’t bad-mouth my dad, never tried to convince us he was bad. She always told us that he loved us very much, but he just couldn’t handle being a full-time dad for the moment.”

  “Your mother is something else.”

  “She is. I give her a hard time, but she’s the strongest woman I know.”

  “It’s easy to see where you get it from.”

  My lips flickered into a smile. “It was middle school when I finally realized that my dad was the ‘bad guy’.”

  “Kate—”

  “I was in line for hot lunch in the cafeteria. A boy two grades older budged in front of me, and I—uh, well, I gave him a piece of my mind.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t like that.”

  “He didn’t. But when he saw who it was, he just handed over his lunch money and walked away. My dad’s reputation had preceded me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, but it wasn’t yours either. I thought Angelo Rosetti went away for corruption, money laundering, that sort of thing.”

  “He did, but kids at that age liked to glorify things. My last name’s Rosetti. The Bellinis are my cousins. There were all sorts of stories that my dad was wrapped up in the mob, a hit man, you name it. None of that’s true as far as I know, but still. It’s a more interesting story than the fact my dad didn’t report a few stacks of cash from drug busts.”

  “It’s understandable that you don’t want to talk about him. I apologize if I came on too strong. I really do just want to understand Kate Rosetti—what makes her tick, what makes her smile, what makes her frightened.” Russo raised a hand, stroked his thumb over my cheek. “You fascinate me. I don’t expect you to share everything with me, and definitely not right away.”

  “No, I should talk about it.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve kept everything inside for a long time, and I’m sure that’s not healthy.”

  “We all process things differently.”

  “Maybe.” I gave a glimmer of a smile that didn’t feel genuine. “But to be honest, I haven’t had a relationship for a very long time. I’m pretty sure it’s my fault—that something’s wrong with me. But I was okay with it because I’m happy enough alone.”

  “Give yourself some credit. Nothing’s wrong with you. You just hadn’t found a person capable of understanding you.”

  “Is that person you?”

  Russo tipped my chin upward. “I’d sure as hell like the chance to find out.”

  He pressed his lips to mine again, and the now-familiar rush of endorphins coursed through me. The tips of my fingers trembled, and my muscles clenched with anticipation. For the first time, I wondered if it might be time for me to really try my hand at this love business.

  My phone buzzed, rattling annoyingly loud against a stray butter knife on the table.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Please hold that thought. Let me silence this.”

  Russo relaxed back into his seat, sliding his arm lazily around my shoulder. “You can take it if you need.”

  “Nah, I’m off this weekend. It’s probably Lassie calling for an update on my dress,” I said. “Work won’t call unless—”

  I stopped, felt my face go pale. Russo’s arm around my shoulders felt frigid cold instead of warm and welcoming. My stomach constricted, and the glass of wine I’d consumed churned in an unpleasant way.

  Russo brushed my hair behind my ear. “I’m guessing this is an unless sort of situation?”

  I recognized the chief’s number. “I think so.”

  “Answer it,” Russo prompted. “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry.” I grabbed the phone and sat back, only vaguely aware of Russo’s fingers trailing lightly over my shoulder. “Rosetti.”

  “I need you,” the chief said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m going to let you try that again.” I hissed into the phone. “I’m off this weekend. I told you that three hours ago when I left the office.”

  “It’s an emergency.”

  “Can’t Jimmy handle it?”

  “I think you’ll want to be there yourself.” The chief made a noise of discomfort. “There might be a somewhat personal nature to the case.”

  “Is it Jane?”

  “Not that personal,” he said quickly. “Your family is safe. Well, I’ll just tell you—there’s been a murder at Bellini’s.”

  My blood ran cold. “Angela?”

  “No, the victim is not a Bellini. I figured I’d give you a call, let you decide for yourself if you want to be involved. I’m fine letting Jimmy take this one along with Dunkirk, but I wanted to give you the option.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I thought you might feel that way. I’m sorry, Rosetti. I know this was supposed to be a big weekend for you.”

  “Duty calls,” I said dryly, then hung up.

  Russo already had the check in hand. “The server’s bringing some boxes. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “You really don’t need to do that. If you’ll just drop me back at home—”

  “I’d like to take you there,” Russo said firmly as the server dropped off several cardboard boxes. “At least let me drop you off. Let the wine digest. You’re frazzled.”

  “I’m not frazzled. I’m—” I stopped, realizing I’d boxed up an entire jar of parmesan. “Okay, I’m frazzled. You can drive me, thanks. I’m really sorry about this.”

  “I’m in town for a few more days,” Russo said. “I came to visit last minute. Plus, I knew this might happen. Neither of us exactly work a nine-to-five.”

  I gave him a grateful smile as he signed the check and stood, helping me into my jacket. “I appreciate this. I’ve scared away more than one first date by a ringing phone.”

  “Lucky for you,” Russo said, sliding an arm around my back and pulling me tight against his body, “I don’t scare easily.”

  Chapter 2

  “Call me when you’re done,” Russo said. “I’ll pick you up.”

  I already had one foot out the door. “You really don’t have to do that. I’ll get a ride with Jimmy or take a cab.”

  “Just call me. If I don’t answer, that means I’ve fallen asleep and you can walk home for all I care.”

  I barked a laugh. “Fine, I promise. But don’t wait up. It might be a long night.”

  Russo waited until I made it inside the old-timey Italian restaurant owned by none other than the Bellini family, the very cousins of mine that had been known to be mixed with the wrong side of the mob.

  Ever since I’d become a cop, it’d been a tricky balance to strike. My cousin Angela, a bartender at Bellini’s, was one of my closest friends. Several of her closest relations, however, were on the top ten most wanted list in the Twin Cities.

  After my dad had left behind a tainted legacy at the local police precinct, I’d been cautious to veer as far away from his footsteps as possible. I took pride in following the rules—most of the big ones, at least. It was my greatest fear to be wrapped up in my father’s muddied history. Yet somehow, I couldn’t help the feeling of dread creeping up in my stomach, wondering if this case would pull me deeper into the past than I cared to dive.

  I took a breath, checked in with the officer outside, and pulled open the door I’d passed through hundreds of times before. This evening, however, there was no subtle rumble of music in the background, no happy b
ustle of servers as they dropped pitchers of margaritas or bottles of prosecco off at tables buzzing with loud and happy customers.

  Instead, the sounds of a crime scene filled the space. Uniforms swarmed the perimeter and men and women with CSU emblazoned on their jackets made their way through the restaurant. Cameras flashed, voices murmured, and the soft sounds of sobbing came from one side of the room where it looked like the staff and witnesses had been sequestered.

  I made my way directly toward the medical examiner who was standing inside a giant refrigerated room to one side of the bar. Dr. Melinda Brooks stood tall in a pair of heels far more glamorous than mine. In fact, her entire outfit looked more glamorous than mine, which was ironic considering I’d been on a date, and I was fairly certain she’d only just rolled out of bed.

  Melinda looked up when I arrived next to the body, flicked long blond curls over her shoulder and scanned me from head to toe. She merely raised an eyebrow. “Of all nights for this to happen.”

  “What exactly is this?”

  “Well, we’ve got a dead body. And while you know I don’t like to guess about cause of death, I think it’s safe to say our vic didn’t shoot himself in the back of the head.”

  “Yikes.”

  “There’s more.” Melinda paused, giving me a moment to scan over the body.

  The man lay face down in a pool of his own blood. The refrigerated room was closed off from the rest of the bar and restaurant. A bullet had left a hole in the back of his head, and I was pretty sure his face wasn’t going to look much better when he was flipped over.

  Though the walls were thick, it was hard to imagine that someone could have been shot without the entire room hearing it, but we’d have to find out what the witnesses reported. What people saw and what they repeated to cops were two different things.

  “There’s more,” I repeated slowly. “Go figure. Any witnesses?”

  “No. None that have come forward.”

  “Must have used a silencer,” I mused. “Or else how could he have been shot with nobody else noticing?”

  “I don’t know,” Melinda said diplomatically. “But I can tell you that he was shot at close range.”

  I stepped back and scanned the walls, the angle of the victim’s fall. I carefully stepped around the body and bloody floor to mimic his actions. “Looks like he came back here, reached up for a stick of butter. Didn’t quite make it.”

  I moved through the motions, trying to rework the movements he’d made just before his death. Pulling my arm back, I looked across the room and found some aprons stashed on hooks.

  “That’s odd,” I said. “Who keeps aprons in the fridge?”

  Melinda raised her shoulders.

  “They’re at sort of the right height...”

  “For?”

  I made my way across the room, shifted my body behind the set of aprons that had been spread across several hooks. It didn’t hide my body entirely, but it was close enough. Someone could have easily hidden for a brief period behind the aprons—just long enough to surprise an unsuspecting visitor.

  “The shooter could’ve stepped out, and...” I raised my arm, mimicked firing a gun. “Surprised our victim. Do we know if our victim worked here?”

  “That’s the odd thing,” she said. “He didn’t.”

  “Well, then why the hell was he reaching for a stick of butter?”

  “We don’t know that’s what he was doing.”

  I glanced at the wall, at the rows of cans, jars, and other perishable items commonly used in the restaurant business. Nothing surprising, nothing out of place at first glance.

  “Okay, say he was reaching for the sodas, or the... whatever. It doesn’t make a difference,” I said. “If he wasn’t an employee, why was he in the refrigerator?”

  “That’s a great question for you to answer.”

  “Do you have an ID? Have you flipped the body?”

  “We found a driver’s license on him. Antonio Colombo.”

  “Peg Leg?”

  Melinda’s gaze was rightfully confused. “Excuse me?”

  “I know Antonio Colombo. He used to run in the same circles as my...” I hesitated. “Let’s just say that I’ve heard of him. People call him Tony ‘Peg Leg’ Colombo.”

  The doctor frowned down at the body. “I don’t understand his nickname. He doesn’t have a peg leg.”

  “No,” I said. “But he does have a parrot.”

  “Oh-kay.”

  “It’s a mobster nickname,” I said. “They don’t have to make sense. You make fun of Peg Leg, you won’t be around long enough to tell the story.”

  “Tony is a killer?”

  “Depends on who you ask,” I said. “But I have a bad feeling we could be dealing with a mob hit.”

  “At Bellini’s?”

  I stared at Melinda. “Don’t tell me you live under a rock. I’m related to the Bellini family, and even I can’t deny that it was the first thought that crossed my mind. The bigger question is why Tony was here tonight. Meeting someone? A staff member, maybe? Some random person? But if a random person, why meet in the refrigerator?”

  Melinda took a deep breath. “I’ll let you think on that. In the meantime, I’m going to finish up here and get some sleep. I’ll get you the results in the morning.”

  “This sucks,” I said. “I was supposed to have the weekend with Russo.”

  “Let Jimmy take the case,” Melinda said. “He’s already here questioning witnesses. He didn’t want the chief to call you, but there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “You mean my gene pool.”

  “That’s part of it.”

  “Well, the good thing is that Russo understands.”

  “Unlike Gem.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying, you had a choice, and it seems to me like you made the easier one.”

  “Russo is not the easy choice! He lives across the country.”

  Melinda flicked her pen against her paper. “Okay, then.”

  “I’m not discussing this now. I’ve got to find Jimmy and see what he’s up to. Let me know if you find anything.”

  “I always do.”

  I made my way out of the refrigerator, turning over both the identity of Tony ‘Peg Leg’ Colombo and Melinda’s words about making the easy choice as I walked. I scoffed internally. From the very beginning, Melinda had wanted me to go out with Gem. Meanwhile, Lassie had a thing for the ‘hot FBI agent’ Russo. The fourth member of our group, Asha, just wanted me to make up my mind and shut up about it.

  Was Russo the easy choice? It certainly didn’t feel easy, but it did feel right. The thought slipped a bit uneasily through my subconscious, however, as I recalled Gem’s words at his Valentine’s Day party. He’d insinuated a very big L-word that I had been all too eager to ignore. Since then, our relationship had consisted of... pretty much nothing. Which had left the road wide open for Russo.

  “Rosetti, I thought you were supposed to be eating a fat steak tonight.” My partner, Jimmy Jones, glanced over at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was eating a pizza, and it’s in a box at a hotel waiting for me.”

  Jimmy raised his eyebrows. He was a large African-American man counting down the days to retirement like a kid counted down to Christmas. The last time he’d ever chased a criminal on the job had been ten years and a hundred pounds ago. He wore his extra weight like a badge of honor.

  “It’s not like that,” I growled. “It’s just a pizza at the hotel room. I didn’t have time to go home before coming here. What did you find?”

  “Nobody saw nothing.” Jimmy looked down at a nearly blank sheet on his notebook. “We’ve interviewed most of the patrons and let them go. Uniforms are working through the staff now. I’ve taken a crack at a few, but I’ve gotta tell you, it’s not looking great.”

  “It’s looking like a mob hit.”

  “I was gonna say the same thing,” Jimmy said. “Did you hear the name?”


  “Yeah, it’s Peg Leg,” I said. “Tony Colombo.”

  “I figured you might be familiar.”

  “Family ties,” I said. “Distant. I’d say Tony was a family friend, but I’m not sure the word ‘friend’ qualifies when Peg Leg is involved. He wasn’t known for being especially generous and kind.”

  “Hence the reason the chief pulled you in,” Jimmy said. “It’s personal.”

  “It might not be,” I said. “But I owe it to the Bellinis to figure out why someone was dead in their refrigerator. If he wasn’t a staff member, why was he in there?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure, and nobody’s talking.” Jimmy thumbed over his shoulder. “There is one lady who wants to talk to you. A woman named Angela?”

  “My cousin,” I said. At Jimmy’s expression, I shrugged. “So, it is personal, I guess. Let me know if anyone starts talking.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  I found my cousin sitting on the opposite end of the bar from the refrigerated room. She hunched over a glass of ice water like it was a cocktail, staring into it as if it held the answers to the universe. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, her expression blank.

  “Hey, Angela,” I said, sliding onto a bar stool next to her. “How are you holding up?”

  “How do you think I’m holding up?” She turned bleary eyes toward me. “They won’t let me have a cocktail. There’s a dead body on the floor of my family’s restaurant. That sort of night deserves a cocktail.”

  “They’ve just closed the bar to grab statements from all the staff and witnesses.”

  “I heard it’s Peg Leg Colombo in there,” she said. “Ain’t nobody heard nothin’ if that’s true.”

  “Well, that’s about the extent of it. But it would be super awesome if you did have something to share with us.”

  “Honestly, Kate. I’ve got nothing,” she said. “I wish I knew. For now, I just want all these people gone, I want my cocktail, and I want there to be no more dead bodies in my place of work. That’s unhealthy working conditions.”

  I considered. “Then my working conditions are fairly unhealthy, considering I’m a homicide detective.”