The Helium Murder by Camille Minichino Read Free Book Online Page A

my glide rocker.
    The only thing that could make this worse , I thought, would be if Peter Mastrone were here also .Peter had expressed great displeasure at my new career. At least Rose’s nagging was from her genuine concern for me. Peter’s, I felt, stemmed from his desire to control me, as if our thirty-odd-year separation was but a long weekend.
    “What’s the big deal?” Robert asked, from the matching rocker on my right. Knowing that his parents were in my apartment, Robert had made an innocent trip upstairs to visit. He probably wanted a cup of coffee and a simple chat, I thought, and not this imbroglio over my volunteerism.
    I’d been watching them and listening to the three of them discuss me as if I were an employee applicant, sitting miles away. I decided to enter the debate, with only a slight exaggeration of the truth.
    “Matt didn’t think it was a problem,” I said. “I’ll just wander around, checking on things, and be as inconspicuous as possible.”
    “What things?” Rose asked. “You’ll be cross-examining and asking for alibis.”
    “Cool,” Robert said, sounding like his fourteen-year-old son, and the Galigani’s only grandchild. Rose shot him a look that would have sent him to his room in his preteen years.
    “And what were you looking for in the Journal’s morgue anyway?” Rose asked me.
    So that’s it , I thought. John squealed .
    “Are you looking into Al’s crash?” Frank asked. I was grateful that he tried to sound matter-of-fact, as if it were normal for someone to split town when herfiancé dies, then come back three decades later to investigate.
    I lifted my chin in an act of self-confidence and caught a glimpse of my San Francisco poster on the wall opposite my rockers. The cable car in the print appeared to wobble around its perch at the top of a steep hill.
    “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I said, turning away from the image of the gravity-defying trolley. “I’m working on this case now, and I need to get to know the people involved.”
    Frank slapped his knees and stood up.
    “Why don’t we have some coffee and make a little plan that makes everyone happy? Luberto’s can have cannoli here in fifteen minutes.”
    Frank picked up the phone and pushed Luberto’s number, apparently from memory. He doesn’t go to seminars for nothing , I thought. And, trim and fit as he was, Frank used the time-tested method of easing tension—food and drink.
    “I’ll grind some fresh Vienna roast,” I said, “and I even stopped at Happy Farms today. There’s fruit here, and cheese and crackers.” I recited the list of food, thinking of Josephine, whose refrigerator and kitchen shelves always overflowed with tasty leftovers and deli cold cuts and cheeses. Having enough to feed friends and family at a moment’s notice was a lifetime commitment for my mother, but a landmark event for me.
    An hour later, the four of us had reached reasonable agreement. I tried to assure Rose that I wouldn’t takeany risks. For all we knew, I reminded her, Congress-woman Hurley’s death was a random hit-and-run and no one attending the wake would be the least bit dangerous.
    Robert and Frank came up with some chores for me. My life was turning into a series of limited duties, I thought. I’d wear a small black ribbon with STAFF in silver letters, like the other Galigani employees, and help people find their way around the rooms. I’d watch for Father Tucci and take care of his hospitality. This would free up Martha to stay in the second-floor office and take phone calls. And—this was my major victory—I would make sure the immediate family had water or tissues or whatever they needed.
    I promised Rose I’d always stay within sight of Tony or Sal, the two largest men I’d ever seen, who were called in whenever crowd control might be needed.
    Alone in my apartment, I rubbed my hands together in satisfaction and checked the time—5 P . M . I cleared the remains of