“Well, I see my neighbor pick up a small vial. She tap, taps it over a wine glass.”
At this point, I have to stop this ridiculous tall tale. “You saw all this through your window, ma’am?”
“Night vision CFGH4 government-issue binoculars. Top of the line.” She glares and pauses, no doubt waiting for the shock to wear off.
Hell, now she’s got my attention. “Sorry to interrupt. Proceed.”
“No problem. I should have mentioned that to begin with.” Tilting back her head, Martha belts back her whiskey and swallows.
I guess she figures I’m done interrupting because she leans in and lowers her voice. “So, after my neighbor poisoned the drink, she handed the glass to a man who took one sip, grabbed his chest, and keeled over.”
She shakes her head, the diamonds on her ears glitter, and Cat zooms across the room to pounce on the reflections.
“Oh my.” Standing, Mrs. Rossini walks across the room, pats our playful kitten, then twists our vertical blinds shut.
While Sam reaches for a lamp, I wonder why the old woman’s so jumpy. “What you witnessed is hardly evidence of foul play, ma’am.”
“Agreed. That’s why I need you.” Our new client reaches into her purse and comes out with a pen and checkbook.
My partner’s eyes glitter, no doubt seeing dollar signs but I’m nowhere near as eager. I don’t fleece old ladies and I’m not convinced there’s anything to investigate. “Did you see this woman remove a body?”
“No. I watched all night and into the next morning, as long as I could.” She sighs. “That poor, poor man. I couldn’t make out his features but I have to assume it was her husband.”
Samantha pulls out her laptop and her fingers fly across the keyboard, no doubt taking detailed notes. “Do you know your neighbors names?”
“Oh yes.” Martha digs back into her leather bag and hands me an index card. “Here’s her name and address.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Gallo. Hmm.” As I read the perfect cursive, I whistle through my teeth. “That neighborhood is one of Bensonhurst’s most expensive.”
Upon hearing my appreciation, Mrs. Rossini nods. “My house has been in my family for several generations. I decided to move back with my daughter when I retired. It’s very safe… generally.”
I glance over at Sam, again wondering if we should take the case. A crime seems unlikely and if the police wouldn’t believe her, why should we?
How the hell do I politely back out of this job?
Mrs. Rossini senses my hesitation because she turns her back to me and hands a dog-eared, business card to my partner. “My contact information is here.”
Ignoring all my nonverbal warnings, my reckless sugar-pie smiles broadly. “Our retainer is five hundred and we charge by the hour.”
Mrs. Martha Rossini writes us a check and stands. “That sounds very reasonable. Thank you. I should be going.”
“Can I call you an Uber?” Sam reaches for her cell phone.
“No need. Bye-bye. I look forward to hearing from you.” After her footsteps echo down the stairs and the outside door slams shut, Catrina scratches the couch.
“Bad kitty!”
“Meow.”
“I mean it, no claws.” Sam points and Cat, thinking it’s a game, pounces on her hand.
Standing, I open a drawer, unwrap a favorite feather toy, and bounce it in front of Cat’s nose. She’s not interested until I did it in my glass.
“Sebastian. You’re not helping.” Samantha’s beautiful brown eyes narrow yet she can’t help but laugh when Catrina flips in the air.
“I read online we need to keep her amused or she may start breaking shit.”
“Well, try to do it without the beer. I’m not at all convinced she doesn’t have feline fetal alcohol syndrome.”
