me for speaking ill of the dead.”
She paused, cupping her chin in a ring-laden hand. “Don’t know what she saw in Artie. Well, he was kind of cuddly and old fashioned. What’s that word? Like the knights and ladies? Chiv something.”
“Chivalrous?”
“That’s it. But I like what I got.”
“Your family?” Serena nodded to a dozen framed photos.
“My grandbabies. My husband now, Jimmy, we had five of our own. Artie and I didn’t have any. Let’s just say that my Jimmy has more energy in the romance department.” She winked.
Serena laughed. “I like a little energy in the romance department myself.”
“Artie, well, things were fine, but truth be told he was kind of shy”—Anne Marie lowered her voice conspiratorially—“in the romance department, if you get my meaning.”
Serena nodded encouragingly.
“I kind of liked that about Artie. He was never pushy or anything.” Anne Marie paused wistfully. “Not too adventurous. He even liked the lights off. Didn’t undress in the light either. But that Bunny didn’t look too spicy herself, so they probably worked out fine.”
* * * *
Serena pulled into the visitors’ parking lot of Oceanview Elementary School and slipped on sunglasses and a hat. After scanning Estelle’s files, she had called the office at Oceanview and asked for an interview with Miss Krystle Kawicki. She explained that she was a student at the university hoping to follow a fellow alumna’s footsteps into the guidance-counseling field and had a few questions. Fortuitously, Miss Kawicki had a few free minutes that afternoon.
A secretary directed Serena to the guidance counselor’s office. As Serena knocked, a pigtailed girl left while Krystle distractedly filed papers and waved her to a couch lined with worn teddy bears. Serena perched on the edge of the couch as Krystle resumed her seat. THE HUGS START HERE read a wooden sign on Krystle’s desk. “So what can I do for you, Miss DeMille?”
Serena took off the glasses and hat. “It’s about Artie.”
Krystle’s face remained frozen in mid-smile, but her eyes went blank and wary. “Artie who?” she asked brightly.
Serena pulled a still photo of Artie and Krystle at the Dutch Maid from her bag. She held it just out of Krystle’s reach.
Krystle bolted from her chair and yanked down the venetian blinds on her window to the hallway.
“What are you up to?” she hissed, her back pressed to the window.
Serena returned the photo to her bag, careful to keep her movements slow and smooth. Krystle panted with the tightly coiled energy of a cornered animal. Serena casually crossed her slim, long legs.
“Artie’s gonna rat you out,” Serena said. She could hear the surging murmur and muffled shouts of students changing classes in the hall outside Krystle’s office. “Let’s face it. You’re getting a little soft. Artie’s just using you to get all that wonderful money to himself. Sure he has a great job, but Bunny held the purse strings to the real money. And he’s gonna tell the cops that you did it, because…” She watched warily as Krystle picked up an oversized teddy bear, her fingernails digging into its soft, stuffed belly. “Because you’re the one who arranged the hit. Not Artie.”
Bull’s-eye, she thought, watching Krystle’s eyes narrow.
Krystle’s glossy red lips twisted. “You’re lying. Go ahead and show that picture to anybody. Artie loves me. An affair’s no big deal.”
Serena smiled comfortably. “Artie’s not your only problem. The guy you hired is. Not Acerman,” she explained quickly. “The hired gun. He’s a talker. You’d better take care of him. And in the meantime, you might want to give me some cash to keep quiet about your part in it.”
Krystle hurled the bear. “What I’m going to give you is a—”
Both women jumped when a little boy jerked the door open. “Isn’t it my Teddy Time, Miss Kawicki?”
“Just sit in the waiting chair, Timmy. I’ll be right with you.”
Serena was impressed by the cheerfully calm sing-song with which Krystle had addressed the little boy. Krystle was a good actress. Dangerously good.
“Let’s not hold up Timmy any longer.” Serena grabbed her bag. “I’ll see you here next week, Miss Kawicki.” Serena smiled slowly. “Thanks for the teddy time.”
* * * *
Twenty minutes later, Serena chuckled as she watched Krystle race into the parking lot. Like a kid after an ice cream truck, she thought. Serena sank behind the wheel of Estelle’s maroon Yugo as Krystle’s Jetta screeched into the traffic on Cliffside Avenue. It hadn’t been hard to convince Estelle to switch cars for the day. Morty said never tail the same subject in the same car. Serena let a couple of cars slip between the Yugo and Krystle’s Jetta. “Stay back, relax, keep subject in view. And above all, keep it simple,” she chanted. Her cell chimed. A text message from Morty: Founders Park. Serena smiled; she hadn’t known where Krystle would go, but she was pretty sure what she would do.
She followed Krystle to Founders Park and was gratified to note that Krystle had parked her car directly next to Artie’s Jag. Krystle scurried down the path to the lakefront. Serena scanned the parking lot. Minivans occupied the slots nearby. A minivan would be great cover, Serena thought. But the guy she was looking for would drive a—bingo! Serena pulled Estelle’s Yugo next to a hyper-masculine, custom Suburban. It was parked near the exit, out of the mainstream, ready for a hasty exit. Like a pro. She snapped a photo of the license plate and then strolled onto the path Krystle had taken.
“Kid,” called a voice from behind a newspaper. Serena joined Morty on a park bench overlooking the lake.
“Well?”
“By the paddle boats.”
Morty flipped casually through the sports pages of the Oceanview Observer as Serena pretended to snap photos of the ornate Victorian boathouse.
Through her powerful zoom lens, Serena focused on two men leaning on the railing overlooking the boat basin. One was Artie, holding a large, plastic Romantic Antics shopping bag.
“The bag’s a nice comic touch.” Serena focused on the man to Artie’s right. She whistled. “Big biceps.”
“Yeah.” The Oceanview Observer curled down. “The hit man. Name’s Donnie Urbanski. Works for State and National Transport. They’re a front for the DiNuzzo family. He’s Krystle Kawicki’s cousin.”
Serena watched events unfold through her camera like a silent movie. Urbanski leaned casually on the low railing, watching the paddle boats churn the calm lake waters. Like King Kong in a philosophical moment. Artie inched nervously to Urbanski’s side and pressed the bag into his hand. Irritation ruffled Urbanski’s bland facade.
A blond blur moved into Serena’s view. “Here comes Krystle. I think we’re gonna have a Jerry Springer moment.”
The Oceanview Observer and Morty stood to get a better look.
Krystle strode with tight control toward Artie, then whirled and sucker punched Urbanski. The big man’s arms windmilled as he bounced off the railing and staggered to regain his balance. Urbanski rearranged his sunglasses and smoothed his hair, then walked away as unobtrusively as a burly man carrying a lavender shopping bag could. Artie pulled Krystle toward him, stroking her towering blond hair. She slapped away his hand. She was too involved in her tirade to notice that two joggers had stopped Urbanski. Neatly bundled stacks of currency tumbled to the ground as Urbanski dropped the shopping bag and attempted to run, but was efficiently subdued. Two women sitting on a nearby bench then rose and flashed badges at Artie and Krystle. A police van and two cruisers screeched into the parking lot. Serena felt a fleeting stab of sympathy as Artie cringed.