“We have some questions for Geno, Salvatore, Lucca and Amaranthe,” Patrick said.
Geno gut clenched at the inclusion of Amaranthe. He glanced at Stefano and then his brothers.
Amara, don’t answer a single question without Raffaele’s consent or input. Something is going on here other than a follow-up to the death of the woman at Miranda’s.
Amaranthe didn’t make the mistake of looking at him. She smiled at Nicoletta and indicated the bowl of fresh-baked sourdough bread. Nicoletta passed it to her immediately.
Raffaele glanced at his watch. “This late? Must be important.” He went from handsome, cocky young man to serious lawyer in the blink of an eye. “Is it so important they should stop eating with their cousins, or can you ask your questions while they eat hot food?”
That put the detectives on the spot. Patrick and Terence had come up to Geno, clearly hoping to appear casual with their questions. If they insisted on a separate room, taking the couple from their hot meal, it would look more like an interrogation.
Terence waved Geno and Raffaele toward the table.
Geno pulled his chair closer to Amaranthe. “Our engagement party is once again interrupted, Danzatrice Ombra. I’m not certain what else we can tell you, if anything, about the woman at Miranda’s, Patrick. Or who might have wanted to kill her. She was a complete stranger.”
“That investigation is ongoing, Geno,” Patrick said. “This has to do with another matter altogether. Apparently, there was some incident that happened in a dance studio you own. All of you were present.”
Geno’s brows drew together. “Incident?”
Raffaele waved him to silence. “You’ll have to be more specific, Detective. I’m sure many incidents happen in a dance studio. Did someone file a complaint against one of my clients? What are we talking about here?” Although he was helping himself to food from the warmers, he sounded very serious.
“Was there a problem with a teenage girl named Jennifer Porthman?” Terence asked.
Lucca sighed. “She was very disruptive and made the younger girls cry. We were there to talk to Amara for a minute. The way she kept interrupting class and disrespecting the instructors was too much for me. I went outside and waited in the car so I didn’t have to watch her pathetic little show.”
“Lucca,” Raffaele cautioned.
Lucca put his hands in the air. “That’s my statement. He wanted one, I gave it to him.”
“Jenny believes her parents can pay her way out of any trouble she gets into,” Salvatore concurred. “She was asked to call home, and she escalated her behavior rather than comply, believing the studio would accept money rather than have her leave.”
“Where were you when this happened, and what did you do?” Patrick persisted.
“Before I allow him to answer,” Raffaele said, waving a forkful of lasagna so the aroma permeated the air, “has this girl or her family brought charges or a complaint against any of my clients?”
“No,” Terence said, his gaze on the fork. “We would like these statements.”
“I was leaning against the bank of windows at the street entrance. Lucca had been next to me before he left. Neitherone of us went farther into the studio because they were conducting classes, and there were a lot of little girls in there. I didn’tdoanything. It wasn’t my place to do anything. Technically, I own the business with Lucca and Geno. So yes, I concurred with the decision to have the girl permanently removed from the class when she refused to cooperate, but I didn’t do anything other than observe her bullying, swearing and trying to take a punch at Amara.”
The moment he admitted the teenager had taken a punch at Amaranthe, Salvatore was stricken with guilt.I’m sorry, Geno. Amara. I shouldn’t have said that to them.
They already have that information, or they wouldn’t be here to confirm it. We had to admit it to them, or they’d believe we’re trying to hide it, Geno said.But, Amara, you don’t say one word without Raffaele’s consent until we know what this is about. Who knows what that hideous little girl has done now.
“Ms. Aubert, would you tell me what happened?” Terence asked. He wandered over to the sideboard and lifted the lid on the lasagna, inhaling the aroma.
“Amaranthe, don’t answer his question,” Raffaele interrupted. “We’ve been more than cooperative. Put the lid back down, Detective. Why exactly are you here? I’m not allowing my clients to answer any further questions until you let us know what is going on.”
“It’s odd that neither Lucca nor Salvatore mentioned Ms. Marchel as being part of the problem,” Patrick observed.
Geno sighed. “Seriously, Patrick? Detective Laker asked if there had been a problem with a teenage girl named Jennifer Porthman, not if Ms. Marchel was involved. Had that question been asked, it would have been answered.”
“Did Ms. Marchel file a complaint against any of my clients?” Raffaele asked.
“No,” Terence assured them.
“Spit it out or we’re done,” Raffaele snapped. “We’ll make an appointment to meet with you at the station if you want any other questions answered.”
“Geno.” Patrick ignored Raffaele. “Who the hell has it in for you? Who wants you implicated in murder? Every time I turn around, someone you know is either robbed or murdered and your name comes up.”
