Read Online The Boric Acid Murder by Camille Minichino - Free Book Online
Authors: Camille Minichino
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Police Procedural, Massachusetts, Detective and Mystery Stories; American, Boston (Mass.), Lamerino; Gloria (Fictitious Character), Women Physicists, Revere Beach (Mass.), Boric acid
Ads: Link
apart, arms folded, leaning against the doors, as if waiting to intercept us if we walked back into his side of the building.
I let out a big sigh.
“Whew,” I said, wiping my brow in an elaborate gesture, only half faking relief.
“Wow,” Andrea said, shaking her wrist, her eyes wide. “You sounded like you suspect Tony.”
“In my book everyone’s a suspect, Andrea. Except you, me, and John Galigani.”
SEVEN
AT FOUR O’CLOCK on Sunday afternoon, approximately seven hours and thirteen minutes after Rose had hung up on me, I stood on the lawn-green welcome mat of the Galigani home. I’d struggled over what to bring as a peace offering. Rose hardly ever ate candy, and as a nondrinker, I was hopeless at choosing wine. Flowers were out, since she had her own garden full of colorful blooms—we’d expect nothing less from the daughter of the late Mike Zarelli, at one time the owner of Revere’s biggest nursery.
To put another damper on my spirits and my opportunity to bear gifts, our favorite bakery was closed on Sunday.
I settled for a supermarket selection of bread, cheese, and fruit. I bought a basket and a bright yellow kitchen towel and did my best to arrange an attractive package. It looked as artistic as the graphics in my Ph.D. thesis, which I’d also designed.
I rang the bell, half of me hoping there was no one home, the other half wishing the moment were over. I surveyed the prize rosebushes, the beginnings of a lattice Frank was building, the new light fixture Robert and his fourteen-year-old son Billy had installed at the edge of the driveway.
After what seemed like hours, Frank opened the door. His smile cheered me. Rose was right behind him, her eyes puffy and without makeup. She held out her arms and I knew there’d be no need to discuss our first falling out in more than forty years.
“Gloria, we’ve been trying to reach you. John is home.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m so glad.”
I meant it in many ways.
JOHN SAT ON the sofa in navy-blue sweats I recognized as Frank’s. His longish hair was wet, and I imagined he’d gone straight to the shower when he’d arrived at his parents’ home after a night in jail. He’d agreed to stay as long as it took to answer their questions.
On the chairs across from John were the Galiganis’ lawyer, Nick Ciccolo, and a freckled young man introduced to me as criminal attorney Mike Canty. Both lawyers wore casual slacks and shirts and somber expressions. I’d experienced lighter moods at Frank’s wakes.
When John stood and gave me a silent hug, I felt I was bearing all his weight. From reflex, I patted his back as I’d done when he was a child.
Rose had resumed her role as hostess, serving iced tea and beer. She’d turned my haphazard fruit basket into an attractive tray of hors d’oeuvres, adding tiny hot meatballs with barbecue sauce. I figured she’d channeled her nervous energy into food preparation. But, unlike me, she didn’t eat everything she cooked.
“Matt called,” Rose said. “He’ll be here any minute. Robert and Karla went home to get Billy. They’ll be back. And Mary Catherine offered to fly in from Houston, but we told her she didn’t need to do that right now.” Rose waved her hand. “She can come when we’re all happier, when …”
She drifted off. We were all accounted for. Rose was keeping track of everyone close to her, as she usually did.
“Any news?” I asked.
Heads shook all around the room. “Matt said he’d tell us whatever he could when he got here,” Frank said.
Rose beat a path from the living room to the kitchen, refilling drinks and picking up crumbs. When the doorbell rang, she jumped.
Matt stood on the threshold carrying a large watermelon and I wondered if he’d also aggravated Rose today. “It’s hot out
there. Couldn’t pass this up.” He pretended to toss the heavy ellipsoid to John. I was happy for his cheerfulness, hoping it meant good, or at least neutral, news.
Rose
I let out a big sigh.
“Whew,” I said, wiping my brow in an elaborate gesture, only half faking relief.
“Wow,” Andrea said, shaking her wrist, her eyes wide. “You sounded like you suspect Tony.”
“In my book everyone’s a suspect, Andrea. Except you, me, and John Galigani.”
SEVEN
AT FOUR O’CLOCK on Sunday afternoon, approximately seven hours and thirteen minutes after Rose had hung up on me, I stood on the lawn-green welcome mat of the Galigani home. I’d struggled over what to bring as a peace offering. Rose hardly ever ate candy, and as a nondrinker, I was hopeless at choosing wine. Flowers were out, since she had her own garden full of colorful blooms—we’d expect nothing less from the daughter of the late Mike Zarelli, at one time the owner of Revere’s biggest nursery.
To put another damper on my spirits and my opportunity to bear gifts, our favorite bakery was closed on Sunday.
I settled for a supermarket selection of bread, cheese, and fruit. I bought a basket and a bright yellow kitchen towel and did my best to arrange an attractive package. It looked as artistic as the graphics in my Ph.D. thesis, which I’d also designed.
I rang the bell, half of me hoping there was no one home, the other half wishing the moment were over. I surveyed the prize rosebushes, the beginnings of a lattice Frank was building, the new light fixture Robert and his fourteen-year-old son Billy had installed at the edge of the driveway.
After what seemed like hours, Frank opened the door. His smile cheered me. Rose was right behind him, her eyes puffy and without makeup. She held out her arms and I knew there’d be no need to discuss our first falling out in more than forty years.
“Gloria, we’ve been trying to reach you. John is home.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m so glad.”
I meant it in many ways.
JOHN SAT ON the sofa in navy-blue sweats I recognized as Frank’s. His longish hair was wet, and I imagined he’d gone straight to the shower when he’d arrived at his parents’ home after a night in jail. He’d agreed to stay as long as it took to answer their questions.
On the chairs across from John were the Galiganis’ lawyer, Nick Ciccolo, and a freckled young man introduced to me as criminal attorney Mike Canty. Both lawyers wore casual slacks and shirts and somber expressions. I’d experienced lighter moods at Frank’s wakes.
When John stood and gave me a silent hug, I felt I was bearing all his weight. From reflex, I patted his back as I’d done when he was a child.
Rose had resumed her role as hostess, serving iced tea and beer. She’d turned my haphazard fruit basket into an attractive tray of hors d’oeuvres, adding tiny hot meatballs with barbecue sauce. I figured she’d channeled her nervous energy into food preparation. But, unlike me, she didn’t eat everything she cooked.
“Matt called,” Rose said. “He’ll be here any minute. Robert and Karla went home to get Billy. They’ll be back. And Mary Catherine offered to fly in from Houston, but we told her she didn’t need to do that right now.” Rose waved her hand. “She can come when we’re all happier, when …”
She drifted off. We were all accounted for. Rose was keeping track of everyone close to her, as she usually did.
“Any news?” I asked.
Heads shook all around the room. “Matt said he’d tell us whatever he could when he got here,” Frank said.
Rose beat a path from the living room to the kitchen, refilling drinks and picking up crumbs. When the doorbell rang, she jumped.
Matt stood on the threshold carrying a large watermelon and I wondered if he’d also aggravated Rose today. “It’s hot out
there. Couldn’t pass this up.” He pretended to toss the heavy ellipsoid to John. I was happy for his cheerfulness, hoping it meant good, or at least neutral, news.
Rose
Similar Books
