Majoring in Murder

Chapter 25

A week passed since the meeting at the warehouse without any word from either Carlo or Leo. I'll admit, I began to worry. In the past, I considered not hearing from them a good thing, but my growing paranoia had convinced me that my neck was next on the chopping block and that's why they were so evasive. Was Carlo considering killing me because I knew too much? It seemed doubtful, but that was just an attempt to convince myself everything was all right. I wondered if Pauly had similar suspicions before he bought the farm. Although I had connected most of the dots myself, Carlo wasn't aware of what I knew. I was sure of that and I wasn't going around blabbing to anyone about what I knew.

Carlo made it clear to Pauly why he was mad, that Pauly had screwed up by being careless and brought the Feds snooping into their operation. I hadn't done anything like that, but convincing myself that I wasn't on Carlo's hit list was still difficult to do. It was easy to convince myself that Carlo was aware of my drinking, which made me a liability. I had to get a grip on my problems.

When I went to my parents' house that Friday, my mom walked into the kitchen when I entered from the garage door. She had an envelope in her hand. When I first saw her holding it, my heart stuttered. The envelope looked too familiar. I had burned all of my previous assignments. Carlo hadn't sent my next job information here, had he? That was ridiculous.

"You got some mail today," she said. Her voice sounded normal enough, but her expression showed curiosity.

I accepted the envelope and read the address written on the front. It was highly unlikely that Carlo had sent the letter because it would have been a risky move. The address was in a nice cursive script that you almost never see anymore. There was no return address on the front. I turned it over, thinking it might be on the back where some people choose to put it. There was nothing there either. It was postmarked from Atlanta, but that didn't tell me anything other than that it was sent locally.

"Thanks, mom." I tucked the envelope into my back pocket, set my clothes bag down, and went to the refrigerator where I removed the orange juice carton and took a refreshing drink.

"Don't drink from the carton!" my mom said. "Get a glass. We didn't raise you like that."

I rolled my eyes and replaced the carton in the refrigerator. I was too curious about the envelope to do my laundry. When I picked up my bag and started for the stairs, my mom said, "Aren't you going to open it and see who it's from?"

I stopped and looked at her with slight indignation. "Yeah. Up in my room. When did you get so nosy?"

I could've sworn that she blushed before turning to go back to the living room.

I closed my door and tossed my bag beside the bed. I pulled the envelope out of my back pocket and quickly tore it open. Normally, I don't receive much mail, but when I do, it's junk mail. I was anxious and concerned at the same time to find out who had sent me a personally addressed letter. Inside was a sheet of plain white paper folded into thirds. Aside from the elegant penmanship on the outside of the envelope, it was looking more like one of my assignments from Carlo.

I unfolded the paper. Instead of the usual printed name, photo, and addresses, there was more of the same neat handwriting. Before reading any of the words, I just admired them noting that the penmanship appeared to be a man's. The loops and curls of the cursive letters were not large and loose the way most women tend to write them. Instead, the letters were tight and neat. It read:

Mr. Mashburn:

I hope this letter finds you well. I am someone who knows of your work and I am in need of your services. I would like to meet with you to discuss a proposition. The address where we can meet is below. If you agree to the meeting, please call this number, 404-555-0658, and leave a message indicating that you will be there on the following Saturday at 2 PM. I hope to use your services regarding a certain matter.