Calamity Jena Read online

  “Can you have him kicked out of town? Maybe deported?” She tried not to sound too hopeful.

  “Possibly. If I know the truth.”

  Jena bit her bottom lip as she shuffled foot to foot.

  “It will be okay.” The cop’s soothing brogue almost undid her. “Tell me what the problem is. Trust me, Jena.”

  Jena felt herself cave. She took a shaky breath, grateful she was telling her stupid story from behind a door where she couldn’t see the judgment in his eyes. “Frank and I lived together for a while. He cheated on me with a series of strippers. I’m pretty sure they were all called Candy.” She couldn’t keep the snide tone out of her words, which made her feel ashamed. She was better than that. She was better than Frank Di Marco. “Anyway, when I found out about the strippers, I lost the plot a little. I kicked Frank out of the house, sold everything we owned and used the money to move here.”

  She took a deep breath while waiting for his reaction.

  “Okay, so far I’m not hearing anything that has me worried. I don’t see why the man would come all this way to get revenge over you selling his stuff.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I also sold his perfectly restored 1966 Chevrolet Chevelle. He loved that car more than anything. Definitely more than me.”

  There was a pause. “You sold the man’s classic car?”

  Jena frowned at the door. “Should I have hit it with a baseball bat and set fire to the seats instead?”

  “Point made. Carry on.”

  Jena rolled her eyes. Men and their cars. “That’s all there is to tell. Once everything was gone, I surfed the net looking for a new place to live. I remembered my mom talking about Invertary—she’s a huge Josh McInnes fan and gives me updates on what he’s doing. Next thing I knew, I was looking at the town website. Then the town’s real estate site. After drowning my sorrow in a bottle of tequila, I bought a house.” She paused. “And here I am.”

  There was silence for a minute. If it wasn’t for the sound of his breathing, she would have thought he’d left her.

  “Let me get this right. You sold everything the guy owned, without his knowledge, and bought a house in Scotland with the proceeds?”

  She felt her cheeks burn. “I had a holiday in Paris too. But bear in mind that he isn’t really a guy. He’s a scum-sucking man-whore.”

  For a moment she heard nothing, and then deep laughter echoed throughout the room.

  “Remind me never to piss you off,” the cop said between gasps.

  Jena frowned at the closed door, wondering what the correct response was to that statement.

  “Am I going to be arrested for selling his stuff?” It had been worrying her.

  “You didn’t do it in Scotland, Jena.”

  “Will they extradite me?”

  The cop started laughing again. “I only talked to Frank for a couple of minutes, but I figure the cops in Atlantic City will give you a standing ovation rather than charge you with theft. I don’t know much about American law, but in Scotland if you live with someone for a couple of years you’re considered to be in a common-law marriage and your property is shared. Over here the stuff you sold would have legally belonged to you too.”

  “I did put a lot of money into our relationship. I kept us afloat for years while Frank tried to make it big.”

  “Well, there you go, then. Can you come out of the toilet now?”

  “I can’t leave here, Matt. Frank must be here for revenge. He’ll want his money back. Along with his car. And I don’t have either.”

  “Come out of the toilet, Jena. I’ll deal with Frank.”

  She cracked the door open and peered up at him. Instead of the usual disapproval, his eyes were sparkling with amusement. It wasn’t an improvement.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said.

  She shook her head. “He has to know where I live. I can’t go back there.”

  “Are you afraid he’ll hurt you?” His features turned to stone. “Has he ever hurt you?”

  “No.” He didn’t look convinced. “No, he’s never lifted his hand to me.”

  “Then why are you afraid? Why not just talk to the man?”

  “Didn’t you hear me in there?” She gestured to the toilet stall where she’d spilled her guts to him. “He’s here with Vince Rizzoni’s boys.”

  Matt held up his hands in exasperation. “So?”

  “They’re the mob. Frank got into bed with the guy about a year ago—along with every other skanky woman in stilettos on the East Coast.”

  His huge hands clasped her shoulders. “Focus, Jena.”

  For a few seconds she was too mesmerised by his perfectly squared jaw and deep-set eyes to focus on anything other than the man in front of her.

  “You were telling me about Frank and the mob,” he prompted.

  Jena felt herself blush. “Yeah, he started hanging with Vince’s men. He changed. Became harder, more cagey. He kept secrets, other than the women. I didn’t like the men who started to visit. Some of them scared me.”

  “Those guys here today, were they the ones visiting?”

  She shook her head. “Other guys. Rougher. I felt like I didn’t know Frank anymore. I was worried and he wouldn’t listen to me. He’d get angry. Real angry. I would like to think he isn’t capable of harming me, but he changed, and I don’t know for sure what he’s capable of now.”

  Matt let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. There’s no need to worry. You aren’t in America anymore. The mob doesn’t have a lot of pull here. I’ll deal with Frank and find out what he wants.”

  “I think it’s best if I stay here until you have a chat with him.”

  “You can’t hide in here.”

  Jena disagreed. She wasn’t proud. She could definitely hide. Hiding was exactly what she needed to do. She took a step back into the toilet stall and slammed the door shut.

  “Thank you for helping me. I really appreciate it, and I hate being rude like this, but I think it’s best if I stay here until you sort out Frank.”

  “Jena.” Matt’s tone was a threat.

  Jena swallowed hard as she put her earbuds back in place. She’d do something nice for the cop later as a thank you. Something that didn’t involve money, as she had none. She’d bake him cookies but she couldn’t cook. Maybe she’d teach him to dance? Everybody could use some dancing skills. Yeah, that was a great idea.

  She sat on the toilet lid, tuned out Matt’s shouting and let Taylor Swift’s voice calm her racing heart.

  2

  After informing a disgruntled vicar that he had a temporary resident in the ladies’ loo, Matt headed down the high street towards the town’s only pub and hotel. If the wannabe Sopranos weren’t staying there, he’d eat his hat.

  “Hey,” Josh McInnes called as Matt entered the restaurant area. “We thought you weren’t going to make it. We already ordered.”

  “I’m not here for breakfast, guys. I’m dealing with another Jena Morgan mess.”

  The men grinned.

  “Who did she date this time? Is the poor guy still alive?” Josh said. “Dougal, get the board. Jena’s at it again.”

  There was a murmur of delight amongst the breakfast crowd as a grinning Dougal flipped the smaller of the two chalk menu boards over. The pub owner rubbed out the name of the last guy Jena dated and poised ready with his chalk for the next.

  “Who’s the latest victim?” he said.

  “I don’t care who it is,” one of the old guys at the bar said. “I’ll take ten to one on a concussion. We haven’t had one of those for a while. We’re about due.”

  “Concussion it is.” Dougal marked the board.

  Matt took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and frowned. “You do realise you’re running an illegal betting pool right in front of a cop?”

  Dougal grinned, making him look even more like Father Christmas than usual. “You’ll be wanting to place your usual bet on a broken leg, then?”

  “Not this time.” Matt le
t out a sigh. “This latest mess isn’t about her love life. I’m looking for some American guys. They’re in town asking after Jena. She ran away from them and claimed sanctuary in the church.”

  There was a disbelieving pause before the room was filled with laughter. Dougal flipped the board back over after promising the old guy he could still bet on the next of Jena’s victims getting concussion.

  “You look stressed. Tell Uncle Joshy all about it.” Josh patted the empty bench beside him. “You might as well eat now you’re here.”

  Matt shrugged. Jena wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, she didn’t want to go anywhere. Suddenly, he didn’t feel such an urgent need to sort out her latest mess. He plopped into the seat beside Josh.

  “For the record,” he told the American singer, “that whole Uncle Joshy thing is seriously creepy.”

  “Told you.” Mitch pointed at his friend.

  Lake Benson, the retired English soldier, poured a mug of coffee and handed it to Matt. That was what Matt appreciated most about Lake—he was a man of action, not chit-chat.

  “So, what’s the story?” Josh was bouncing around on the seat beside him, reminding Matt of an overgrown puppy. A really annoying puppy. “Is Jena on the run from the law? She killed someone she was dating in the States, didn’t she? But then, that would only be manslaughter. Do they extradite for manslaughter?”

  The men gaped at the hyper singer for a minute before Mitch confiscated Josh’s coffee mug. “That’s it. We’re cutting off your caffeine.”

  “Hey, not fair. I'm sleep deprived.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Last I heard it was Caroline getting up through the night to deal with the baby, not you.”

  “Yeah, but she disturbs my sleep when she gets up.”

  Lake laughed. “I'm telling her you said that.”

  Josh grimaced. “Don't even think about it. What happens in the breakfast club stays in the breakfast club.”

  They all groaned.

  “We keep telling you,” Mitch said, “this isn't a club. It's food.”

  “It could be a club. I got us matching T-shirts. If we all wear the shirts it will feel more like a club.”

  “You can wear your T-shirt if you want. We can't stop you. But we aren't a club.”

  “We could be.” Josh stroked his hand down the front of his vintage Breakfast Club T-shirt. “This is a great shirt. It was a great movie. Iconic.”

  The men ignored him.

  “There they are.” Matt pointed to the Americans coming through the door that led to the upstairs hotel.

  Before he could get up and approach the men, Mr Suit spotted the group. He grinned widely and headed straight for them.

  Frank Di Marco stopped in front of their booth, flanked by his bodyguards. “If it isn’t Atlantic City’s favourite crooner. How you doing, Josh?”

  “Good, Frank, good.” Josh and Mitch both stood to shake hands with Frank.

  “It’s been what?” Frank spread his hands. “Twenty years? You were just a kid, working the clubs.”

  “If I remember rightly”—Mitch sat back down with a grin—“you were working the clubs too.”

  Frank laughed. “True. Too true.” He shrugged. “Talents lie in different areas, eh, boys? You did what you were good at and I did what I was good at. Such is life. And here we are, in our prime, men of influence.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Josh mumbled.

  “Did you move up in the world, Frank?” Mitch arched an eyebrow at the man.

  Frank shrugged. Matt assumed it was supposed to look humble. It just looked fake.

  “Got myself a club. Remember Legs? Acquired it a year ago. I’m turning it around. Also got myself a partner. You mighta heard of him.” He paused for effect. “Vince Rizzoni.”

  Mitch let out a low whistle. “I hope you know what you’re doing, man.”

  “I told you when we were kids,” Frank said, “we were destined for greatness. Now look at you two—Josh here is setting underwear on fire all over the globe and you’re watching his back, making sure that talent of his earns the money and respect it deserves. Now I have someone watching my back too. It’s taken a lot of work, but now I have the capital and the backing I need to implement my plans. Legs is just the beginning. I’m aiming for world domination, boys.”

  Matt watched as Joe, the guy wearing the goon T-shirt, turned a laugh into a cough.

  “Tell me, officer,” Frank said. “Did you manage to get Jena out of the church? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Matt studied the guy before speaking. “No. She’s still in there. She doesn’t want to talk to you. Or see you. She’s wondering why you’re calling her your fiancée. I’m kind of wondering the same thing.”

  Frank chuckled, like the whole conversation was deeply amusing. “What can I tell you? We lived together for four years. She’s been here a while; you know what she’s like. Kooky. Isn’t that right, Grunt?”

  Grunt grunted. Helpful guy.

  Matt felt his jaw clench. “She’s worried you might be here for payback.”

  Another fake laugh. Matt was getting seriously sick of Frank’s we’re-all-guys-together routine.

  “Now why would she think that?”

  “Maybe because she cleared out your house, sold everything that wasn’t nailed down and when she was done there found a buyer for your car.”

  Frank wasn’t smiling now. Matt stood. Pleased to see he had a couple of inches on the guy. “A 1966 Chevelle, wasn’t it? Perfectly restored, I hear.”

  Josh let out a low whistle.

  “Ouch,” Mitch said with a wince.

  Frank’s fists clenched. “A misunderstanding. That’s all, officer. This is a domestic issue. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He tugged at his cuffs, flashing gold cufflinks that would have cost Matt more than a month’s salary. “I’m here to take Jena home. She belongs to me.”

  “Don’t you mean with you?”

  Frank shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto—isn’t that how the song goes? Jena and me, we got history. She’s the girl for me and I’m taking her home. Where she belongs.”

  “I think it’s best if you leave Jena alone. You two have nothing to talk about. Your relationship is over. The fact she moved country without telling you should have clued you in.” Matt took a step towards Frank, invading his space. “There’s nothing for you here. I suggest, strongly, that you go home.”

  Frank’s eyes hardened. “It’s a free world. No law against me visiting with my woman. No law against me persuading her to come home with me. No law against seeing the sights while we’re here. Last time I checked, this town welcomed tourists.” His smile was cold. “I’ll be seeing you around, officer.”

  Matt clenched his teeth as he watched him go. Apart from warning him off, there was nothing he could do. Once the door closed on the men, he sat back down and glared at Mitch and Josh.

  “Talk,” he ordered.

  A plate loaded with a cooked breakfast appeared in front of him. The smell of sausages, black pudding, baked beans and potato scones made Matt’s mouth water. There were even locally grown mushrooms and home-baked soda bread. It was heart attack heaven. Dougal, the pub owner and the town’s unofficial mayor, clasped his shoulder. “Thought you could use that, son.”

  Matt half expected the man to hang around and insinuate himself into the conversation, but he left as quickly as he’d arrived. Matt suspected it was the murderous look he knew was in his eyes that deterred Dougal.

  Josh and Mitch shared a look. Matt read it loud and clear: trepidation.

  “Looks like Frank got what he wanted,” Josh said.

  Mitch rubbed his chin. “No kidding, if he’s in bed with Rizzoni, he’s on his way to being a made man.”

  Matt held up his hand. “Explain. From the beginning.”

  Mitch sighed. “We were teenagers when we knew Frank Di Marco. He was a hustler back then. A guy trying to make a buck and a name for himself. He talked big, but was harmless. He wa
s decent enough, funny, entertaining. He had a code. You could trust him.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the guy we just had a chat with,” Matt said.

  “No.” Mitch glanced towards the door Frank had disappeared through. “He’s changed. He’s managed to get into bed with the big boys.” He looked back at Matt. “Vince Rizzoni is well connected; he’s high up in the Rizzoni family. We’re talking Jersey mob. I don’t know where Vince sits in the structure of things; we’re out of touch. But he’s definitely mob.”

  Matt felt a throbbing start in his temple. “What’s this club he’s talking about?”

  “Legs? It’s a strip club. Used to be the strip club. Sounds like Frank’s got plans to take it to the top again.”

  Matt relaxed slightly and forked some baked beans into his mouth. It took a lot more stress than this current fiasco to ruin his appetite. “So, he’s not mob, only connected to the mob. American mob, which is far, far away.” He looked at Mitch. “I don’t have to worry about him, then?”

  Mitch was grim. He shook his head. “No, it means you have to worry more. Sounds like he’s trying to impress the Rizzonis to get in deep with them. It doesn’t look good if his woman ran out on him.”

  “Especially if she cleaned him out beforehand,” Josh added.

  Mitch nodded. “Something like that will make a man lose face. Trust me. If you want to impress the mob, you sort that crap out pretty damn quick. I saw this a lot when I was studying law. Mob guys up on charges over something that started out as a loss of respect and ended with violence, and bodies with cement shoes.”

  Everything within Matt stilled. “Is Jena in danger?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Mitch said. “With the Frank I used to know I’d say no, but that Frank didn’t make deals with the mob. I don’t know what this Frank is capable of.”

  Matt didn’t like that answer one bit.

  “I wouldn’t trust him,” Josh said. “His image has taken a hit. For a guy like that, image is everything. A good image promotes respect. I would guess that’s why he hooked Jena—she’s gorgeous. That kind of woman gives a man status. It’s also probably why he’s pissed about his car as well. A pristine Chevelle is nothing to sneeze at. They sell for what? A hundred grand?” He looked at Mitch , who nodded.