Debby Giusti - Killer Headline

He stepped toward her. Did the woman have no fear?

“Everything’s under control, Violet. No need to worry. The police have the perpetrator. They’ll get to the bottom of what he was doing on your street.”

“And what was he doing, Clay?”

He heard the sharpness in her response. Probably due to the late hour or maybe the number of folks who were watching and wondering about her involvement in the drama.

“He appeared to be casing the neighborhood. Officer O’Reilly’s checking on any ties he might have with Chicago and the mob.”

“The mob?” She stared into the patrol car, squinting her eyes against the flashing light. “He looks like a kid.”

“The mob isn’t comprised of only old men. They recruit teens whenever they can.”

Her mouth pursed as if she didn’t appreciate his condescension, then her expression softened. “Have you been out here all night?”

He nodded, noting the confusion that instantly clouded her face.

She hugged her arms. “It’s got to be below zero.”

“Actually, it’s a bit warmer. The weatherman on the radio mentioned five degrees above zero about an hour ago.”

She let out a long sigh. “Then I should offer you my thanks.”

“A cup of coffee would help.”

She smiled and the night warmed.

“One cup and I promise I’ll let you get back to sleep,” he said.

“Come on, then.” She turned about-face and slapped her slippers up the steps and into the house.

Clay followed, noting the scent of vanilla as she lit a candle on the coffee table and hurried toward the kitchen. Working quickly, she poured coffee into the basket of the dripmaker. The smell of fresh grounds mixed with the candle into a rich blend as he pulled a straight-backed chair from the table and slipped into the seat.

He eyed her makeshift attempt to secure her back door with one of the chairs. For all her external bravado, the earlier break-in had bothered her.

Violet placed cream and sugar on the table and poured two mugs with the hot brew.

“Thanks.” He raised his mug and eyed her through the steam. Her lips were swollen with sleep and her cheeks puffy. Sitting across the table from her, Clay felt that Violet had lowered some of her earlier barriers.

“You think the second guy had ties to the mob?” she asked, her voice filled with question.

Clay shrugged. “Hard to say. But he didn’t belong on this street. Plus, he was packing an automatic.”

Her eyes widened. “A gun?”

“That’s right. A gun.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Missoula’s had problems, Clay. A bad element has infiltrated the city, and the police are struggling to handle the increased crime.”

“They responded both times we needed them tonight,” he said in their defense.

“Well, it’s been a problem.”

“How’s Stu feel about law enforcement in the city?”

“He thinks they’re handling the situation the best they can, but—” She hesitated.

“But you don’t?”

“I have a natural concern about the tactics they use.”

“What kind of answer is that, Violet? You’re either for the cops or you’re not. Has there been graft or corruption?”

She shook her head.

“What about racial profiling?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Sounded as if the main problem with law enforcement was Violet.

Clay took a sip of coffee, allowing the stillness to settle around them. “When I left you earlier, I saw a scrap of paper outside your back door.”

She cocked her brow.

“The words Back off were typed on the note. The guy may have dropped it as he ran away.”

“Wouldn’t Officer O’Reilly have seen the paper when he was checking outside the house?”

“Easy enough to miss a scrap of paper.”

She looked down and nodded. When she glanced back up at him, her face was pulled tight with concern. “So, you think the break-in was a warning from the Martino family?”

“They may have contacted someone local to put pressure on you. As I mentioned, Violet, my advice is to stop making any inquiries into mob activity. Lie low until things die down.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to be frightened off from doing my job.”

“You’ve got to use some common sense. Let the FBI and the cops handle the mob. They’ll bring the Martino family down, but it will take time and good investigative skills.”

“Which you’re saying I don’t have?”

“Of course not.” He wasn’t getting anywhere tonight. He glanced at the wall clock. Four-fifteen. Violet needed to crawl back into bed, and he needed to head over to police headquarters. He wanted to learn what O’Reilly found out about Jamie Favor. The cops would keep watch over Violet for the rest of the night. Besides, dawn would be here soon enough.

He placed the mug on the table and pushed back his chair. “Coffee hit the spot. Thanks.” He glanced at the chair wedged against the doorknob. “As I said earlier, might be a good idea to have dead bolts installed.”

“I will.”

She followed him out and waved goodbye as he walked down the front steps. Violet Kramer was stubborn and from what she’d said tonight, evidently, she didn’t like cops.

That didn’t put him in good stead. He wasn’t one to let things bother him. But for some reason, Violet’s opinion was important.

Violet was still thinking about everything that had happened the next morning. A break-in and another man apprehended in her front yard. Were both incidences tied with the mob? Surely not, no matter how much Clay West tried to convince her they were.

The Chicago FBI wanted her out of the picture, and Clay was determined to scare her into backing down. He’d learn soon enough that she didn’t scare easily.

Violet finished writing a short article on the Missoula Women’s Circle and their philanthropic work, which Stu had requested last week. Hopefully, he’d find the information to his liking.

Task completed, she checked her old college Web site where she kept hoping someone would leave a comment with information on Aunt Lettie’s long-ago murder. But just as always, that in-box remained empty. Violet opened her working e-mail and found it void, as well.

Her phone rang.

She pulled the receiver to her ear, wondering if she’d hear Clay’s voice. Not that she was interested, of course.

“Hey, Vi, it’s Ross Truett. I got my hands on that photo you requested. Should arrive in your e-mail momentarily.”

She smiled. “I owe you.”

“Let me buy you dinner and we’ll call it even. I’ve got business in Missoula on Friday.”

“Sounds great. Call me when you get to town.” Violet hung up and drummed her fingertips on her desktop, waiting for the incoming e-mail.

Ross was a college friend from a moneyed family who had rapidly worked his way up to assistant editor of the Yellowstone County Reader. The young editor had everything going for him. At least that’s what her mother would say. She’d also say how happy she’d be if Violet connected with Ross on a permanent basis. Correction. Her mother would be thrilled. But as far as Violet was concerned, he wasn’t Mr. Right.

Clay West came to mind.

Talk about Mr. Wrong.

Hopefully, he’d be heading back to Illinois in a few days. Cute as he was, the detective had a cocky, smug attitude. She’d teach him a lesson or two about trying to change a woman’s mind when she had her course set. Once she had gathered enough evidence to complete the Mafia story, Clay would realize she played hardball.

Then she had another thought. What if she wasn’t the reason Clay had come to Montana? What if law enforcement suspected a third woman would be murdered? Made sense they’d want their undercover cop in place when surveillance learned of an another impending Mafia hit in the Treasure State. Perhaps this time in Missoula. The cops and the Feds wouldn’t want Violet snooping around for fear she’d interfere with their operation.