Cold Case, Hot Bodies. Jule McBride
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Beppe.
“Patrons of the arts?” whispered Eliana. “By contributing to a sex museum?”
“Shush,” commanded Bianca.
“Of course Mr. Donato wants to sell!” Brice Jurgenson burst out, rising to his feet and shaking his fist. “On behalf of the few remaining tenants, I’m here to say the place is unlivable! Overrun with mice! Every Donato slumlord has renovated it, breaking it into ever smaller rental units, and now it’s full of architectural oddities and tenants can’t—”
“I’m no slumlord!” said Beppe in shock. Noticing how his father’s liver-spotted hands were starting to shake, Dario felt a surge of protectiveness. His folks had wanted a son desperately, so they hadn’t quit having kids until Dario came along; he’d been a late baby, behind seven sisters. Now his dad was too old to keep up with a rental property full of disgruntled tenants.
“There are strange sounds in the hallways late at night,” Brice pressed on. “Very strange sounds. Loud music. Footsteps. Some tenants believe the place is haunted, and—”
“It may well be!” added Luther. “That’s exactly my point. We must preserve this piece of history.”
“This isn’t about history!” protested Beppe. “Just mice. And that’s why my son, Officer Donato,” he emphasized, “has agreed to move in, starting tonight. He says he’s going to take care of everything.”
Inwardly, Dario groaned. “What?”
“I already told them,” assured Beppe under his breath. “Before you came. You’re a police officer, so you can fix anything.”
He was hardly a miracle worker. “I’m on an arson case.”
“Nope,” countered Eliana. “I tried to call you earlier, and wound up talking to Pat. He said you got bumped down to desk duty because you were dating criminals, and I told Pop.”
Chalk one up to sibling rivalry, but Sheila Carella wasn’t exactly a felon. “She forgot to pay her parking tickets,” Dario reminded in a hushed tone.
“A hundred of them?” returned Eliana.
Then Luther captured their attention. He was speaking again. “Gem O’Shea may have been the madam of Angel’s Cloud, but no one’s sure. We do know that her death in a carriage accident was rumored to have been a murder. She was believed to have a son, but he vanished, the father unknown. We have found a record of his son, however. He married a maidservant named Bridget in 1910. She had a daughter, Emma, who had Fiona, who had Erin, who—”
“Should be none of my business,” Beppe finished.
“Not so,” countered Luther. Erin is the mother of Cassidy Case.” Approaching the bench, he showed a letter to Judge Zhang. “Cassidy forwarded a copy of this letter to the museum. As you can see, it indicates that a will existed, giving Cassidy’s ancestor, Gem, all rights to the property in question.”
Beppe gasped. “Who wrote the letter?”
“Clearly, the owner of the property,” said Luther. “But it’s signed only, ‘your beloved.’”
“The property has been in the Donato family for over a century,” countered Beppe.
“Cassidy will be in town next week, with part of the actual will, as well,” Luther went on. “Legally, Mr. Donato may have only squatter’s rights to this property, Judge Zhang.”
“You say…” Judge Zhang stared down at his notes “…Mr. Case is going to be here next week, with the documents?”
“On Tuesday,” Luther confirmed.
“We’ll reconvene then,” said Judge Zhang. “Ten o’clock.”
“There’s just one problem,” said Chuckie Haswell, speaking for the first time. “Because my firm, Haswell Realty, had hoped to make Mr. Donato an offer on this property, we’ve been doing our own research.” Heading to the bench, he put a folder in front of Judge Zhang. “As these documents prove, the property was owned by my ancestor, Nathaniel Haswell. Even if Angelo Donato had wished to will the property to Gem O’Shea, it wasn’t his to give. He was a front man for Nathaniel Haswell. To protect his reputation, my ancestor only used Angelo Donato to conceal the true ownership of Angel’s Cloud—”
“Used Angelo?” Beppe shook his head. “The first guy wants to declare my building a landmark, so I can’t sell it, and now this one’s saying I don’t even own it.” Hearing his father’s disbelief, Dario winced. Beppe had hoped to use proceeds from a sale to pay for Eliana’s elaborate wedding.
“As you’ll see,” continued Chuckie, “Nathaniel Haswell willed the property to his son, Dirk, and his wife, Isme. The original records, of which you now have copies, are still on file at the courthouse.”
Judge Zhang said, “This is all the more reason to reconvene next week. Then we can take a look at whatever documentation Cassidy Case is bringing to town.”
“Next week!” exploded Brice. “On behalf of the tenants, I have to protest! We’ve already had a cold snap, and the boiler didn’t come on. And like I said, there’s something fishy happening. We hear music late at night. Sounds of dancing. I’m a reasonable man, Judge Zhang, and I don’t believe in ghosts, but—”
“Apparently, Officer Donato has promised to oversee the property during this upcoming week, as a favor to his father,” Judge Zhang said. “That means you’ll have on-site police protection until the matter is resolved.” The judge’s dark eyes landed on Dario. “Am I right?”
Dario bit back a sigh of annoyance. He hadn’t anticipated the dovetailing cases to entail him moving into an old brothel. “Absolutely, sir.”
“Then I’ll see you next week. Mr. Matthews, you may inform Mr. Case.”
A second later, Bianca said a quick goodbye and forced Beppe toward the door, clearly fearing he’d unleash his temper on Chuckie, Brice or Luther, and Dario took the opportunity to open the folder Luther had given him, feeling glad he wasn’t going to have to hunt for a cold case to work on. He’d never heard of Gem O’Shea, much less her possibly unsolved murder, but now it looked as if he could both help his dad and appease his boss by delving into the matter.
He surveyed a picture of the bawdy house, then a photocopied daguerreotype of his own ancestor, Angelo. His hair was wild, and his piercing dark eyes held a devilish glint. Often, Dario had been told he was the spitting image of the man. When he moved on to the next picture, his heart missed a beat. Gem O’Shea, he thought, feeling a tug at his groin. God, she was hot. Untamed waves fell over her shoulders, and the ends of the curls looked like flaming tongues. They licked an ample chest that spilled from a laced-up dress that was sexy as hell. Lots of cleavage.
The picture was black-and-white, of course, but Dario would bet her hair was flame-red. Her eyes would be blue or green. But which?
Eliana chuckled. “And they say normal men only think about sex sixty times a day.”
Dario blinked. “Huh?”
“What’s this for you? Six hundred?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she chuckled. “Since you’re going to be staying in Dad’s building, maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe Brice will introduce you to that woman’s ghost. But be careful, little brother.”
“Because?”
“Sheila Carella might get jealous.”
“Who?” he teased, still staring at Gem O’Shea’s picture. “I don’t remember any woman named Sheila.”
“You’re incorrigible,” his sister muttered, rising on her toes to peck-kiss his cheek. “But be forewarned. When guys like you fall, they fall hard.”
Dario held up Gem’s picture. “Let’s just hope when I fall, that it’s right on top of a woman