MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 20

Death Is Forever

Wilmington—13 Years Ago

We had the funeral the next morning. The guys from the smoke shop really made me proud, driving their Caddies and Lincolns in the procession to the cemetery. Rosa insisted we take a different route home from the gravesite—to confuse the spirits. That was fine. It gave me time to think before everyone gathered at her house. 

Rosa had been cooking for two days. The rest of the neighborhood chipped in too, bringing foods of all types for the celebration. It seemed odd to celebrate someone’s death, but that’s what we did. At Italian funerals there was an unspoken hierarchy regarding the burden of entertainment. The primary job fell to those furthest from the deceased and moved forward in a downward scale. Friends were charged with telling humorous stories to keep the family laughing. After friends, the burden shifted to distant relatives, then to closer ones until it got all the way to the siblings. It was a magnificent, protective circle designed to keep the parents or the children of the deceased from feeling too much grief at once. 

Since I had no family, this burden fell onto my friends and Rosa. The problem was, there weren’t many funny stories about Pops. No one knew him well enough to have much to say; instead, they told tales of things I had done and talked about Pops’ reactions to them when I got caught. The stories made me laugh, and definitely helped. Mamma Rosa always said a pound of laughter cures ten pounds of grief. In hindsight, I think she might have understated it.

#

After the funeral I thought I’d have to move out of the house, but Rosa said Pops had an insurance policy. It turned out to be enough to pay off the house and give Rosa money to help take care of me. So I stayed at home, but pretty much lived with Tony. I wasn’t about to turn down Mamma Rosa’s cooking. Besides, Angie still came there twice a week, which made it convenient. 

For the next two years, I spent all my time with Angie. Tony still hung out with Bugs, Suit, Mick and Chinski, but for me there was only Angie. We were more than in love—we loved each other’s company. We went to the beach together, to dances, to the park. And when I wasn’t working, we went out on Saturday nights, sometimes just walking. 

One of my fondest memories was when we borrowed a car, hooked school and drove to Wildwood during a snowstorm. It was crazy, because the roads were bad, but Angie and I never had such fun. We walked the beach in the snow, waves crashing on the shore and us freezing our asses off. When we got too cold we’d go back to the car, turn on the heat and keep each other warm. Angie wanted to walk the boardwalk, so we did, letting the wind-blown snow sting our faces as we laughed and huddled together. Nothing was open; no one was there. It felt as if we were in one of those end-of-the-world movies, and we were the only two left. 

As we walked, I told Angie to close her eyes and pretend we could see the lights of the boardwalk. Soon we heard the pitchmen hawking their games and the screams of the people on the roller coaster. We even smelled the popcorn and pizza. We walked until we got too cold, then headed back. We made love in the car, then walked the beach one final time before leaving. It was a memory we would never forget.

#

Two weeks later, as I was dressing to go to work, I heard a pounding on the door. It was Frankie’s sister. “Hey, Donna. What’s up?”

She pushed in, nervous. “You’ve got to help them.”

“Help who?”

“Frankie. Tony. All of them.”

I took her by the hand. “What’s going on?”

“They’re fighting the Woodside gang. One of them was bothering me. I…” She started bawling.