“The first? Oh, I get you, your ex, you mean. Nope. It was the kid lives across the hall from me. Vinnie Buttone, who’s always giving you such a hard time.”

I sat back on my heels. Vinnie the Banker. That’s how I always thought of him. I just never bothered to wonder which bank. It had to be U.S. Metropolitan Bank and Trust. I whistled through my teeth. Vinnie was tied to Todd and Chrissie. So that connected them to the bank.

I’d have to call to confirm it, of course. But say I was right—U.S. Met was connected to Diamond Head, owned by Jason Felitti, who also sat on the Met board. I could feel the two halves of my brain trying to come together, trying to juggle Chrissie, Vinnie, and Mrs. Frizell with Diamond Head Motors. I couldn’t do it.

I pushed myself upright.

“Where’re you off to, doll? Want to talk to Vinnie? You think maybe he’s a con artist trying to steal their money?”

I laughed. Vinnie was such an uptight, tight-assed little goober, it was hard to see him as a criminal mastermind. Anyway, I wasn’t going to face him until I had some unassailable facts to dangle in front of him. I was sick of getting burned from charging in on people without the ammunition to make them talk.

I explained this to Mr. Contreras. “I’m heading up to O’Hare. I’ve got to get out of town.”

“Where’re you going? Back to Pittsburgh?”

“I don’t know. The Cubs are in Atlanta this weekend. Maybe I’ll just head south and see if I can get a ticket.”

He didn’t like it. He hated letting me out of his sight. But if I stayed in town there’d be at least one more dead body on the police records and maybe more.

36

Last Will and Testament

Fulton County Stadium was a big place compared with Wrigley Field, and not nearly as many fans came out to cheer on the Braves. I had no trouble getting a ticket on Sunday. The Cubs won—in itself a miracle. The boys were having trouble figuring out what game they were suiting up for this summer.

I made a dutiful pilgrimage to Martin Luther King’s birthplace and drank a Ramos gin fizz at Brennan’s. Just separating myself from Chicago for two nights was a help, but I couldn’t get over the dull ache from Lotty’s misery: being estranged from her is like missing a piece of my own body.

I caught a noon flight back to Chicago on Monday. During the el ride back into town I tried to marshal my thoughts back to the work that lay ahead.