Free Cheddar Off Dead by Julia Buckley Page A

wasn’t joking—”
    â€œI am staying in. Do you mean this?” I pointed at the dress. “Serafina just asked me to try it on. And I got a new hairdo.”
    He was glaring now. “I told you not to leave; where did you go?”
    â€œWe didn’t leave the building. The salon is on the first floor. What do you think of my new look?”
    Parker’s eyes flicked away from me, but not before I’d seen some admiration. “Very nice. Tell Serafina you want to keep—that dress.”
    â€œThank you, I will. Come in. It’s just Fina and me for the time being.” I led the way into the little living room.
    Serafina emerged, smiling, and I said, “Do you two remember each other?”
    Parker nodded, giving Serafina a brief wave, then taking off his coat and hanging it over a chair. He looked from her to his little laptop bag, from which he took his ubiquitous computer. He did not glance my way again.
    His face had gone back to its scowling norm, and he said, as he opened up his computer file, “Now would you two like to explain to me how you ended up talking to the very man I suggested might be dangerous?”
    Serafina and I both rushed to explain, taking turns, how we had merely wanted our hair done, and how Fina had not realized that old Nonno, whom she knew only as a customer’s grandfather, was the man of whom Parker had spoken.
    Parker typed and glared. “It seems like more than a coincidence.”
    Fina shook her head. “He owns the salon; it is one of his many businesses. He has a home here in this building. He sits down in his place of business every two weeks, watching his granddaughter get her hair done. And some other times he goes down there, as well. He likes being around all the ladies, I think.”
    I leaned toward him. “I thought you said you were going to talk to some FBI guy. What did he say?”
    â€œIt was a she, actually. And she said that in fact, despite their suspicions of Donato, he seems to have retired from active involvement, shall we say.”
    â€œHe said that, too. He said he leaves these matters of gambling and money to the younger generation. I asked if he had a son, and he looked sort of disturbed. It made me think that if someone related to him did this, he was not aware of it. But it bothered him that I already knew his name. That really threw him.”
    â€œDid you tell him the police were investigating him?”
    â€œNo. I said I wasn’t going to tell him my source because he wouldn’t tell me his.”
    Parker’s lip twitched momentarily. Then he typed something.
    â€œHe told me I had nothing to fear from him,” I said. “I suppose I can believe that. He was just this little old grandfather. He was wearing slippers.”
    Parker’s expression said he wasn’t convinced that Donato was harmless.
    I was about to protest some more, but my cell phone rang. “Oh geez,” I said. “It’s probably Esther calling. I was going to call this morning.” I grabbed my purse, retrieved the phone, and clicked it on.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œLilah,
la mia bella
!”
    â€œAngelo?” I cried. My ex-boyfriend had not called me on the phone in more than a year. I wasn’t sure how I felt about hearing his voice. We had spoken briefly a couple of months earlier, when he came to my house to discuss the murder, and the fact that he was seemingly under police suspicion. His visit had been almost pleasant, and we hadmanaged to be civil to one another, almost like friends. Perhaps that was why he had felt emboldened to send me the article about his new television show. Perhaps we
had
become friends.
    Parker, upon hearing Angelo’s name, stiffened next to me, but continued to type.
    Angelo’s voice was relatively urgent. “I need to talk to you. You have some time now?”
    â€œUh—not really. I have the police here; it’s a long