Mixed Up with the Mob

“In our line of work?” David snorted. “What I can’t figure out is the guys who go out there day after day without counting on God’s strength. Of course, I’m trusting Him.”

“So what’s next?”

“The grieving sister has a few questions to answer, don’t you think?”

“A few. That’s where I’m headed. And thanks for listening. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being paranoid.”

David drove toward Lauren’s old-money mansion. He wondered how a guy like Ric DiStefano had wound up with a place like that. Usually, those homes were handed down from one generation to the next. The few that ever came on the market did so because the last generation had failed to reproduce. Had that been the case? Or had DiStefano been mixed up with something more sinister than corporate finance shenanigans?

He parked on the street, right in front of the gorgeous old home. It had probably started out as the gem in the crown of a self-made man, maybe a doctor, lawyer, or even a politician—this was Philadelphia, after all.

He rang the doorbell, then he waited out front for what felt like an eternity. The weather was still rotten, and the icy drizzle’s needles stung his face.

Finally, she responded. “Oh!”

“May I come in?” he asked. “I’ve a couple of questions for you.”

She opened the door; her every motion shrieked reluctance.

“Hmm,” he murmured. “You could do a guy’s ego some harm with that kind of welcome.”

Her green eyes flashed. “You aren’t welcome, Mr. Latham. But since you came up with an official ID last night, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He shrugged, and stepped inside. The interior matched the exterior of the luxurious mansion. Gleaming wood floors, a sparkling chandelier, rich patterned rugs and a spectacular staircase spoke of old money for construction and new money for upkeep.

He had to find out how illegal the DiStefano money was.

Among other things.

He followed her into a grand living room, what must once have been referred to as a formal parlor. Now it housed a huge cream leather sectional, cushy ottoman, dark wood side tables, and a thick creamy brown area rug under it all.

“Hey, the only thing missing is the wide-screen plasma TV.”

She sat at the end of the sectional with the loungy part on the end, then shrugged. “Not me, Mr. Latham. All of this belonged to my brother. It’s—was—his home.”

“And now it’s yours.”

Her sigh held a ton of emotion, but David couldn’t identify it all.

“If I can hang on to it.”

He took note of her comment, and dropped into the curve of the massive couch. “How about if you give me a few more details. This sounds interesting.”

Again, her eyes sparked. “Interesting since it doesn’t affect you.”

“Oh, but it does,” he countered. “You see, you’ve become my new assignment. Or to put it better, last night’s hit-and-run is my business. I need to learn everything about it.”

“And that would be because…?”

“Because, Miss DiStefano, I witnessed something I can’t explain—something you couldn’t explain to my satisfaction. So why don’t we start at the beginning?”

“What do you want to know?”

For such a soft-spoken woman, Lauren DiStefano could put a sharp bite to her words when she wanted to. “How did you come to live with your brother?”

“He was widowed three years ago and left with a two-year-old son to raise. He didn’t want to deal with day care or nannies, and since I’m family and an elementary school teacher, he asked me to help. They’re the only relatives I have left so I moved in.”

“You gave up your own life to become his housekeeper and babysitter?”

Her eyes did their thing again, but her voice didn’t go up, it just took another nip with her words. “If that’s the way you see family, then I pity you.”

Ouch! “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but—”

“Then what did you mean, Mr. Latham? Your question was quite clear. As an educator, I can understand and carry on a conversation, you know.”

He felt his cheeks warm. He had come pretty close to what she’d understood him to say.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Then he cleared his throat. “How about we start this again?”

She shrugged.

He didn’t blame her.

But he still needed information. “Did you and your brother grow up in this home?”

“Not at all. Ric bought this place when his wife was pregnant.”

“So he’s had it for about four, maybe five years.”

“Just over five now. Mark turned five six weeks ago.”

“And you were willing to give up your work to care for your nephew.”

“Any day, Mr. Latham. I love Mark as if he were my own.”

“I could see that last night, Miss DiStefano. You saved him some serious injuries there. The car just glanced off you, but if it had clipped him, as young as he is, the impact would have done damage.”

She shuddered. “That was the worst part of it.”

“And how do you feel today?”

“I won’t lie to you. I’m sore. Every bit of me aches.”

“I was pretty sure you weren’t anywhere near as all right as you insisted last night.”

“I am all right. I just fell. Feeling sore is one thing, an injury that requires an ambulance and EMTs is another.”

“I’ll give you that.” He felt she’d eased up some, so he went in with another of his questions. “So your brother was quite successful. What kind of work did he do?”