Stealing the Golden Dream Read online

  “Charges? There won’t be any charges. He’s got an alibi. He was with me Wednesday night. All night.” Sofia gave Jordan a sly look. “That ought to cover him. Don’t you think?”

  While Jordan picked her jaw up off the Norwegian hardwood, Sofia strutted out the door.

  Jordan whipped around to face Eddie as he walked back into the room.

  “What the hell, Marino? You were with her?”

  He pushed his hands out defensively. “No, Jordan, if she said that ….”

  The doorbell rang. Eddie was literally saved by the bell, but Jordan had no intention of letting it slide. They would be discussing this later, in depth.

  Tank, Diego, Eddie, and Jordan all sat around his dining table drinking coffee, trying to come up with a plan of attack. There was so much to do, it boggled the mind: justice for Muggs, recover the Golden Dream coins, salvage the agency’s reputation—all of which would get Eddie out of hot water. As difficult as it was, the matter of Sofia Vercelli would have to be sidelined, at least for a while.

  Since neither Eddie nor Jordan seemed inclined to talk, Tank took charge of the meeting. Casting confused looks at them, he said, “All right, y’all. First things first. The knife. It is yours, right?”

  “It is,” Eddie said.

  Diego rubbed his jaw. “Eddie, when did you last see that knife?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I had it out of the bag. Months. Who keeps track of stuff like that?”

  Diego was thoughtful. “Muggs was a fighter. How did they get the drop on him?”

  Tank said, “There were no defensive wounds. Like he knew his killer.”

  Jordan put in her two cents. “I say we start with the Dahlonega coins. If we find them, we can trace them back to the killer.”

  “Makes sense,” Tank agreed.

  “You two guys,” Eddie began, “check pawn shops, fences and black market dealers here, Tucson, L.A., Vegas, Nogales.”

  “Luis Martinez. He’s my guy in Tucson, and he’s taken risks on merchandise like this before.” Diego stood and pulled out his cell.

  “Merchandise like this?” Jordan asked. “You mean stolen?”

  Diego nodded. “I’ll put him on notice right now.” He hit a button on his phone, put it against his ear then went to stand in front of the balcony door while he spoke in a low voice. When he came back to the table, he said, “I called my guys in Vegas, L.A., and Tucson. I’m emailing them what we have on the coin collection. They’ll let me know if anything shows up.”

  “What else should we be doing?” Tank asked.

  Eddie leaned back in his chair. “The minute we can, let’s get Muggs’s personal effects from the cops. Wallet, watch, and cellphone, all of it. Not likely, but maybe there’ll be something we can use.” He turned to Jordan. “Do you think Ann might let you into the museum before it reopens and everything gets wiped out?”

  Jordan shrugged. “Maybe, as long as I make it clear you’re not tagging along.” She paused. “Has it occurred to you this isn’t just about stealing the Golden Dream coins?”

  He looked at her, waiting.

  “Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make it look like you pulled this off. Who would take such risks, go to such lengths?”

  “A lot of people. I’m not all that popular.”

  “I was thinking about the job for the Brenners last year,” Jordan said. “You know when Owen Shetland was killed. What about his people? What if his family or one of his men wanted revenge—against you?”

  Eddie nodded. “Something to think about.”

  “Let’s do more than think about it. We need to take a serious look at people connected to Shetland. I mean, why not?”

  They had to get this handled, and fast.

  Shea Investigations’ reputation couldn’t take a hit like five million dollars worth of gold coins disappearing on their watch.

  Interruption came in the form of Eddie’s nineteen-year-old niece, Gina, who swung open the door and came in.

  They all turned and stared expectantly as she threw up her hands. The shake of her head tossed her ponytail. Her dark eyes, so much like Eddie’s, were apologetic. “What is it you’re always telling me, Uncle Eddie? Timing is everything.”

  From behind her, Eddie’s mother, Rose, swept grandly into the room, arms open, voice shrill. “Eddie. Eddie, my boy.”

  Eddie stood. A look of disbelief crossed his face before he smiled. “Mama? What are you doing here?”

  “Come here and give your mama a kiss.”

  He obeyed, bending down like the dutiful son Jordan knew him to be.

  Rose beamed and pinched his cheek.

  She turned and swept her intelligent eyes, the color of coffee beans, over Jordan. Seemingly satisfied, she held out her arms. Jordan walked into them and submitted to a proper squishing.

  “I was worried about you, young lady,” Rose said, referring, Jordan guessed, to the close encounter with the car bomb last year.

  Gina gave Eddie the eye. “I told Nonna you were all here working hard, planning a big party.”

  Rose squealed in delight. “An engagement party, Eddie?”

  Gina held up her hands. “Her idea, not mine.”

  “Mama Rose, we’re not—” Jordan began.

  Rose took Jordan’s arm, pulled her next to Eddie and put their hands together. “I’m so happy. This could mean grandbabies. A little Eddie or Jordan.”

  The color drained from Eddie’s face. Serves him right, the louse. Jordan crushed his hand and took pleasure in the effort he made not to wince. She made a quick sidestep to put a little distance between her and the object of her irritation while Rose continued, “You make such a beautiful couple. Aren’t they such a beautiful couple, Mark?”

  An older man wearing a red nylon jogging suit rolled into the room. The jacket was zipped up tight over his soft belly.

  “Marky, sweetheart, come on over here and meet my Eddie. Eddie, this is Mark Garrity.”

  Eddie stood, lasering in with suspicious eyes on the stranger—not exactly a warm welcome.

  The older gentleman didn’t seem to notice. He offered his hand. “Glad to meet you, son. Heard so much about you.”

  “Funny, Marky,” Eddie said, “I haven’t heard anything about you.” He glanced at his mother.

  She gushed, “Marky and I are here to get your blessing, since you’re the man of the family.”

  “Blessing?” Eddie swung back around to the older man.

  Mark seemed oblivious to the coming storm. He smiled. Enormous teeth gleamed in his mouth, dominating his face. “I’ve asked my Rosie, my Sicilian flower, to marry me.”

  Thunder rolled over Eddie’s face. Marky just grinned.

  Ah, the bliss of the ignorant.

  Chapter 6

  Eddie left with Mama Rose and her boyfriend to head toward the hotel across the way where they were staying.

  Jordan turned to Diego and Tank, who both stood stock still, their mouths hanging open.

  “What?” she asked.

  Tank’s southern drawl was always slow but even more so now. “I just want to tell y’all how, uh, happy we are, you know, about you and Eddie, uh—”

  “Oh,” she said. “No. We’re not. Not really.”

  It was hysterical how relieved they both looked. Jordan almost laughed.

  Gina explained. “Nonna Rose has a knack for jumping to conclusions.”

  Jordan blinked. “Jumping to conclusions? Sounds like outright fiction to me.”

  Gina grinned. “Well, she is a writer, after all.”

  Rose’s writing career was an irony in itself. At the age of sixty-five, she wrote and sold a gritty, sexy novella to Pulp Crime magazine. The issue in which it appeared sold a record number, and Mama Rose never looked back. Two years later, she was still going strong. Jordan always tried to be supportive and buy her work, but some of Rose’s stories made her cringe. Her tough heroes and heroines wandered mean city streets solving murders born of greed a
nd treachery. Yep, Mickey Spillane had nothing on Rose Marino.

  Jordan changed the subject. “All right, Tank, Diego, you know the plan, right?” They nodded as she continued. “Let’s get at it.”

  The men made quick work of leaving. She counted on those two, just as she always counted on Muggs. Inside something went queer, and her eyes stung for a moment. Eddie had to be struggling with the loss. It was an awkward time for Rose to show up, but in the end it might turn out to be serendipitous. Rose was a caring, nurturing personunlike some mothers Jordan knew. The trick would be getting Eddie to come clean as to how he felt about his friend’s death. When his father was killed, Gina had told her, the stoic young boy shouldered the responsibility of sheltering his mother from every storm. He’d been doing it ever since.

  “Gina, can you lock up when you leave? Eddie said he wanted to take Rose out to dinner tonight. I ought to go along even though I’m mad as hell at him right now.”

  “You’re mad at Eddie? How come?”

  “For one thing, I guess I’m engaged, and I didn’t even get a rock.”

  Gina laughed.

  “For another, just exactly who is Sofia Vercelli? And, more importantly, who is she to Eddie?”

  Gina’s eyes opened wide, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Jordan had the answer she needed. “That bad, eh? She was here earlier. Says Wednesday night she and Eddie were ….” She couldn’t say it out loud. “Well, just lock up, Gina, okay? I’m going home to shower, change and make nice for Mama Rose tonight. We’re about to hit the streets looking for Muggs’s killer, and now here’s your grandmother to deal with. I haven’t the vaguest idea how to manage both.”

  Her hand was on the knob.

  “Jordan?”

  She turned and gave Gina her full attention. “Yes?”

  “Eddie and Sofia? Ancient history.”

  “Hmm. I hope history isn’t repeating itself.”

  Diego was following up with his black market contacts, Tank was doing some checking on Owen Shetland’s people, and she and Eddie were waiting to hear from Detective Ann Murphy as to whether the crime scene would be available to them. That meant there was no reason Jordan and Eddie shouldn’t have dinner with Mama Rose and her beau, although it would be hard to keep up light chatter with their hearts so heavy.

  Jordan chose a copper-colored wrap dress. She ignored the stilettos purchased specifically to wear with that dress and went with Tory Burch ballet flats so she and Mama Rose wouldn’t look like Gandalf and Bilbo Baggins.

  Eddie came by and picked her up.

  She was ready and waiting at the front door. “Did you hear anything from Tank or Diego?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  She sighed in frustration.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Tell me about it.”

  Investigations hardly ever went quickly, and waiting on this case might just push them both over the edge—Eddie more than Jordan.

  They left in Jordan’s Pilot since Eddie’s Porsche wouldn’t hold everyone. Eddie drove and swung by to pick up his mother and Mark.

  Rose wore a Christmas-red Chanel suit and an odd little red hat over her frizzy salt-and-pepper hair.

  She looked like a petite Italian tomato, and she positively glowed. “Eddie, I’m so excited about you and Jordan.”

  “Me too, Mama.” He looked sideways at Jordan.

  She didn’t bat an eyelash. Go ahead, let’s see you fast-talk your way out of this one.

  He sighed and turned his head slightly toward the backseat. “So, Mark, what’s your gig?”

  Mark cleared his throat. “I”

  Rose interrupted. “My Mark is a big-time movie producer.”

  Eddie looked as if he were trying to remember. “Have I ever heard of you?”

  “I”

  Rose again. “Marky works abroad. You know, Eddie, like foreign films.”

  “Foreign films.” Eddie’s tone was drier than a good martini. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

  Jordan’s brother Alec—the blue-eyed spitting image of his handsome father, except with the golden brown hair of Ben’s youth—looked impressively fit in his dark suit as he greeted them at the front entrance. The new Scottsdale location of Welsh’s Steak and Chop House, owned by Jordan’s mother and father, had opened three weeks earlier. Reservations were already hard to get. The local paper called it a winner, as impressive as the original near the Miracle Mile in Chicago.

  Jordan had spent twenty minutes on the phone explaining to her mother that Eddie hadn’t told Rose of his arrest, and it was a taboo subject. It was Mary’s job to inform the rest of the family. Hopefully no one would bring it up.

  “Welcome to Welsh’s Steak and Chop House, Mrs. Marino. I’m Alec Welsh, Jordan’s brother.” Alec bent over Rose’s hand and kissed it gallantly.

  “How could I forget you, Alec? Oh, Jordan,” Rose giggled, “your brother is such a hottie! I think he’s even more handsome than when I met him at your mother’s Christmas party.” She turned flirtatious eyes to Alec. “We’re going to be family, Alec. Call me Mama Rose.”

  “Family?” Alec gave Jordan an inquisitive look as he shook his head. “Older sister, maybe, but you’re too young to call Mama.”

  Jordan smiled. Her older brother was such a class act.

  Alec moved his wife Caroline and their twin girls out from Chicago to manage the new location. And so far, he’d done a stellar job. The oldest of the Welsh brood, he’d been chief protector and bodyguard to both Katie and Jordan while they were growing up.

  Jordan would always be grateful for his support and compassion when she was studying at the Sorbonne and American University in Paris. Her lover Etienne had become controlling and possessive. Jordan was young, inexperienced, and had no real ammunition to defend herself. Eventually he grew tired of her, broke off their torrid relationship, and walked out. Jordan had never been in love before the older, arrogant Frenchman, and the break-up nearly killed her. Alec, attending the Cordon Bleu, was there for her, saved her. If not for him, she wouldn’t have been the same after such a crushing experience. She loved her brother unconditionally.

  For the Welsh’s new restaurant, the remodel of an older building in central Scottsdale had turned out perfectly—classic steakhouse décor. White tablecloths, heavy straight-backed chairs, mahogany paneling. The open kitchen allowed customers to watch the well-trained staff hustle their chow. A slate-faced fireplace provided as much atmosphere as it did warmth to the back bar area. The clatter of dishes and low hum of conversation provided a cozy soundtrack. The aromas sold the menu even before patrons had a chance to look at it.

  Alec led them to a circular table in the center of the restaurant. Ben and Mary Welsh sat waiting. From the extra empty glasses on the table, they’d been there a while.

  Mary was fairly animated, and Jordan surmised she’d had a couple. Mary confirmed by gushing, “Darling Rose, one of my favorite people. It’s been way too long since we saw you at Christmas. You must make the trip from Cleveland more often.”

  Rose reached down and hugged Mary. “Don’t get up, sweetie. I heard you have a bum ankle. How are you doing?”

  “Oh, thanks so much for your kind words. It’s been difficult.” Mary laid a fluttering hand against her bosom. “I’ve been managing, though.” She cut her eyes at the cane propped against the edge of the table.

  Jordan mentally rolled her eyes, but made it a point not to actually do it.

  Mary took Rose’s hands. “I’m so delighted to see you again. You look so …” Jordan caught her breath and sent a silent pleabe nice, Mother, “… festive.”

  Eddie leaned down and put his cheek beside Mary’s. She took it like a trooper. Good.

  Jordan released the breath. It might be an okay evening, although the jury was still out on whether she’d forgive Eddie. There would be time after dinner to bring up the subject of Sofia Vercelli, and Jordan had no intention of letting the occasion slide.

  After the s
teaks—top quality and done to perfection—Rose turned to Mary. “Have the kids set the date yet?”

  “The date? What date?” Mary pursed her lips.

  “What date?” Rose smiled. “The wedding, of course.”

  Mary nearly choked. “Jordan?”

  Jordan looked at Eddie, who turned an odd shade of green.

  “No.” Jordan hurried to avert the tempest. “We’re planning a long engagement.”

  Eddie added, “Yeah, like decades.”

  “Oh, Eddie, you’re such a tease.” Jordan kicked him under the table, hard.

  Mary stood so quickly she nearly knocked over her chair, the ankle obviously forgotten for the moment. “Oh, my God, wedding?”

  Jordan stood and took Mary by the hand. “Mother, weren’t you going to show me the new wine cellar?”

  Mary stared at her. “Wine cellar?”

  Jordan yanked. “Come on.”

  Apparently dumbstruck, Mary grabbed the cane and followed, barely favoring the “difficult” injured ankle. Milk it much, Mom? When they were a good distance from the table, she dug in her heels. “Jordan, something you’d like to tell your mother?”

  Jordan quickly explained how Rose and Mark had come to Scottsdale to let Eddie know of their own wedding plans, how she’d come to believe Jordan and Eddie were engaged, and how Eddie had been reluctant to dispel the fantasy.

  Jordan looked down into Mary’s hazel eyes, so like her own. One of the things she always wondered about but would never have the nerve to ask was if her mother resented having a daughter four inches taller than she. “He’ll tell her, Mother, when the time’s right. Hearing about Muggs will be hard on her. Eddie says she used to cook special meatballs for ‘all her boys’ every Sunday afternoon.”

  “I see.” Mary nodded slowly. “My lips are sealed. Eddie’s mother is a sweet woman. I wouldn’t want to hurt her. But I’m so relieved you’re not marrying him. He’s just not, well … you know.”

  Yes. She knew too well how conflicted her mother was when it came to Eddie Marino. She liked Eddie, thought he was a ‘nice young man,’ and spoke often of his many admirable traits. But she made it clear none of those traits made him a suitable candidate for son-in-law. It was a good thing she knew nothing of his history in organized crime. Jordan herself was conflicted about that.