standing on the pavement, anticipating that she would follow. He could hear crickets as he walked up the driveway. The sound was pleasant and homey, and a quiet contrast to the high-rise, downtown living he was used to. If he looked to his left he could see the etching of the Chicago skyline. They weren't as far outside the main part of town as the chirping would make one think, but, for some reason though, he was thankful for the sense of isolation.
He opened the front door and glanced around the interior, making sure nothing was unexpectedly waiting for them and then waved Tessa inside. "Make yourself at home," he said, waving a hand towards the living room.
"I take it you haven't had time to unpack," Tessa said, as she hovered on the threshold.
"Five weeks, yeah." Looking at the room through her eyes, he had to laugh. A couch and a couple boxes cluttered the small space. He was using them like coffee tables. "It's not like I have much. I'm just lazy."
She blinked. "It's weird—almost like you don't intend to stay."
Maybe she'd just said the first thing that came to mind, but Scott once again admired her perception. "I consider myself a minimalist. Now as for the fridge, I keep it stocked—juice, soda, iced tea?"
"Sure, anything is fine."
He pointed to one box as he turned towards the kitchen. "Books," he said, thinking she'd look for that Bible she desired above all else, "If you don't find one in there, we could look it up on the net."
Popping open the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of soda and poured a glass. Considering the hour, and lack of dinner, he grabbed a bag of potato chips and a second glass before returning to the living room.
He didn't think he'd been gone long but when he returned, Tessa was seated on the sofa with the Holy book open, and a notepad on her lap. The papers she handed to him held the raw Bible verse. "What do you think?" she asked.
* * *
Matthew 5:17—Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill.
Matthew 2:14—"When [Joseph] arose, he took the young Child and His mother by night and departed for Egypt, and was there until the death of Herod, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying, 'Out of Egypt I called My Son.'
* * *
Scott passed the pages back. He wasn't going to try to get into some dead guy's head. "More importantly, what do you think?"
Tessa looked down at her writing. "St. Joe's received a donation of that window we saw at the museum, after DeMarco's death. Warning or prophecy?"
"So, you're looking for a motive for murder in stained glass and scripture?"
"Something like that," After a moment of consideration she added, "Okay, look," she said with a sharp sigh, "You ever hear of Anthony Aiello? In November of last year, he made a push in New York, capo di tutto capi", Italian slipping easily from her tongue. A small flush filled her cheeks, "to be boss of bosses," she quickly translated.
"Keeping up on Mob business?" Scott asked.
"I hear things. Aiello hated DeMarco but I couldn't tell you exactly why. Rumor had it that he thought the older man was getting soft." Tessa kept the conversation to the point, but looked a bit uncomfortable when speaking about the crime families. "You clip the Councilor and the Underboss, and the Boss is left quite vulnerable."
His voice was cooler. "Know that from the movies, do you?"
Her face was expressionless.
"Okay then, why does this guy…"
"Cy," she corrected.
"Cy," He repeated, slightly annoyed, "Why'd he take a shot at us?"
"Can't answer that. Why does Cy do a lot of things?" she muttered rhetorically.
She chewed on her bottom lip; her cell phone was open on the table in front of her, the picture of the window visible. One of her petit fingers reached out and pointed at the LCD screen "Logic dictates that this should be DeMarco," she said, referring to the prone figure in the center of the picture. "But this
He opened the front door and glanced around the interior, making sure nothing was unexpectedly waiting for them and then waved Tessa inside. "Make yourself at home," he said, waving a hand towards the living room.
"I take it you haven't had time to unpack," Tessa said, as she hovered on the threshold.
"Five weeks, yeah." Looking at the room through her eyes, he had to laugh. A couch and a couple boxes cluttered the small space. He was using them like coffee tables. "It's not like I have much. I'm just lazy."
She blinked. "It's weird—almost like you don't intend to stay."
Maybe she'd just said the first thing that came to mind, but Scott once again admired her perception. "I consider myself a minimalist. Now as for the fridge, I keep it stocked—juice, soda, iced tea?"
"Sure, anything is fine."
He pointed to one box as he turned towards the kitchen. "Books," he said, thinking she'd look for that Bible she desired above all else, "If you don't find one in there, we could look it up on the net."
Popping open the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of soda and poured a glass. Considering the hour, and lack of dinner, he grabbed a bag of potato chips and a second glass before returning to the living room.
He didn't think he'd been gone long but when he returned, Tessa was seated on the sofa with the Holy book open, and a notepad on her lap. The papers she handed to him held the raw Bible verse. "What do you think?" she asked.
* * *
Matthew 5:17—Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill.
Matthew 2:14—"When [Joseph] arose, he took the young Child and His mother by night and departed for Egypt, and was there until the death of Herod, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying, 'Out of Egypt I called My Son.'
* * *
Scott passed the pages back. He wasn't going to try to get into some dead guy's head. "More importantly, what do you think?"
Tessa looked down at her writing. "St. Joe's received a donation of that window we saw at the museum, after DeMarco's death. Warning or prophecy?"
"So, you're looking for a motive for murder in stained glass and scripture?"
"Something like that," After a moment of consideration she added, "Okay, look," she said with a sharp sigh, "You ever hear of Anthony Aiello? In November of last year, he made a push in New York, capo di tutto capi", Italian slipping easily from her tongue. A small flush filled her cheeks, "to be boss of bosses," she quickly translated.
"Keeping up on Mob business?" Scott asked.
"I hear things. Aiello hated DeMarco but I couldn't tell you exactly why. Rumor had it that he thought the older man was getting soft." Tessa kept the conversation to the point, but looked a bit uncomfortable when speaking about the crime families. "You clip the Councilor and the Underboss, and the Boss is left quite vulnerable."
His voice was cooler. "Know that from the movies, do you?"
Her face was expressionless.
"Okay then, why does this guy…"
"Cy," she corrected.
"Cy," He repeated, slightly annoyed, "Why'd he take a shot at us?"
"Can't answer that. Why does Cy do a lot of things?" she muttered rhetorically.
She chewed on her bottom lip; her cell phone was open on the table in front of her, the picture of the window visible. One of her petit fingers reached out and pointed at the LCD screen "Logic dictates that this should be DeMarco," she said, referring to the prone figure in the center of the picture. "But this
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