Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [93]
There was no time to spare—just take care of business and get the hell out. Well, he’d done that. He’d taken care of business, all right.
He clung to the dark as he hurried back to Luigi’s, and less than ten minutes after he’d first mentioned that his stomach was upset, he was sliding back into the booth.
“Vinnie, are you all right?” Dolores placed a hand on his forehead. “You’re all flushed and sweaty.”
“Oh, you know, you get like that when you get sick sometimes.” He took his napkin and wiped the sweat from his face. “But to tell you the truth, I’m starting to feel a little better.”
“Look, we’ll just get the check and leave.”
“No, no. You finish your dinner. I’m serious, I’m starting to feel a little better. I’ll just drink a little water here, and that’ll help.”
“Ginger ale,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Ginger ale. My mother—”
Vince mentally crossed himself and added, God rest her soul.
“—she always gave us ginger ale when we were sick. It helps.” She signaled for the waiter. “Could we have a ginger ale here? My boyfriend’s a bit under the weather.”
“Actually, I’m okay now.” He eyed her plate and the leftover ravioli. “You gonna eat that? I’m starting to get my appetite back. . . .”
“Miss, I’m sorry, but the street is blocked from here down to Price Avenue.” The young police officer held up his hand to stop Dolores from making the turn on the side street that would lead to the parking lot behind the Cut N Curl.
“But I need to get into the parking lot,” she told him. “I need to get to work.” She gestured in the general direction of the strip mall.
“Where do you work, ma’am?”
“The Cut N Curl.”
“The beauty shop there?” He pointed toward the small shopping center.
“Yes. I’m the owner.” Well, one of the owners, she added to herself.
“Ma’am, would you mind pulling over to the side here?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Just pull over to the side of the road, please.”
What the hell? she thought, annoyed that she’d stopped. Should have come in the way she usually did, from Market Street. But she hadn’t had time to make coffee that morning, and she and Vinnie had overslept. . . .
“Ma’am, your name?”
“Dolores Hall. Officer, what is this all about?”
“Ms. Hall, I need to ask you to come with me.” The officer stepped aside to give her room to get out of the car.
“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a . . . a situation at your shop.” He took her arm and led her around the back of the restaurant where she and Vinnie had eaten just the night before.
“A situation? What the hell does that mean? Is the place on fire?”
Once around the corner and into the parking lot, she stopped in her tracks. The lot, usually empty at this hour of the day except for the guy who arrived to open the dry cleaner at seven, was filled with police cars.
“What the hell is going on here?” she asked, a cold fear growing in the pit of her stomach.
“Chief?” the young officer called to a tall, thin, balding man in uniform. “This is Ms. Hall. She owns the shop—”
“Well, I own it with a partner. I have a partner. Connie Paschall.” She looked from the chief to the officer and back again. “Is someone going to tell me what is going on here?”
“I’m afraid there’s been a break-in at your shop,” the chief told her. “Looks like a robbery.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Something in his eyes told her there was something more. “And . . . ?” She motioned for him to get on with it.
“And I’m afraid that your partner—”
“Connie?” The fear clenched around her heart. “Connie? Is Connie all right?”
“I’m afraid not, Ms. Hall. I’m afraid—”
“No. She can’t be. There has to be a mistake.