“I guess we should.”

“How about a rowboat?”

“Can’t afford it.” She stretched, yawned, and said, “This has been an exhausting day. But you know what? I feel like someone has taken a thousand-pound weight off my back.”

“Actually, you’re about a quarter million dollars a year lighter.”

She stayed quiet a moment, then asked, “Were you… surprised when he offered you money?”

“To tell you the whole truth, he offered that to me the first night they were here.”

“He did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, why ruin the week?”

“You need to tell me everything in a timely manner.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“How about sex?”

With that opening, I should have told her that her father tried to save me from marrying a loose woman, who happened to be his daughter. But there are rules, spoken and unspoken, and that would really cross the line and serve no purpose other than making Susan think even less of her father than she already did. And yet I despised him so much, I actually thought about telling her. But that would raise other issues that didn’t need to be part of our future.

“John? Hello? Sex?”

“Didn’t we do it this morning?”

“No, you had sex with a seaman’s wife.”

“Right.”

I stood, locked the door, and took off my blazer.

Susan slipped off her panties, hiked up her skirt, and whispered, “Hurry, before my father comes home.”

So, recalling those half-clothed quickies we used to have in Stanhope Hall before we were married, I stripped from the waist down and lay on top of her, and she rested her legs on my shoulders.

One of the joys of sex with Susan Stanhope was knowing that I was also figuratively fucking her father. But this time, it was just Susan and me in the room, and it was great.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Susan and I had fallen asleep on the couch, and I was awakened by the ringing phone. It was dark outside, and the only light in the office was from a floor lamp that had been on when William and I had our talk.

I got up and made my way to the desk. The Caller ID showed Restricted, and the desk clock showed 9:32, though it seemed later.

I picked up the phone and said, “Sutter.”

Mr. Mancuso said, “Good evening, Mr. Sutter.”

I could hear noise in the background, men and women talking, but I had the feeling he wasn’t in his office or at home.

He said, “I have some news for you.”

I thought maybe they’d found Anthony eating spaghetti at Mom’s, and I said, “Good news, I hope.”

“News.”

I glanced back at Susan, who was stirring. I said to Mancuso, “Let me get Susan.” I put the phone on hold and said to her, “It’s Mancuso.”

She sat up, and I put the phone on speaker, then said to Mr. Mancuso, “We’re here.”

He said, “Good evening, Mrs. Sutter.”

She stood beside me and replied, “Good evening.”

He began by saying, “Just to let you know, Anthony Bellarosa did not show himself at his father’s grave, but his wife and kids did, and so did the rest of the family, including Anthony’s brothers and their wives and kids. They all had dinner at Anna’s house.”

Poor Megan. I knew, of course, by the tone of his voice that there was more news.

Mancuso continued, “At about 7:45 this evening, Salvatore D’Alessio was having dinner in a restaurant with his wife, Marie, and his two sons, who had flown in from Florida for Father’s Day.”

Well, I knew where this was going. I glanced at Susan, and she, too, knew what Mr. Mancuso was going to tell us.

He continued, “It is the D’Alessios’ habit, apparently, to dine at this restaurant, Giovanni’s, in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, near their house.” He added, “They always go there on Father’s Day.”

I observed, “That is not a good habit.”

“No,” he agreed. He did add, however, “It’s a nice old family restaurant. In fact, I’m there now.”

I didn’t ask him why he was there because I knew why, and I was fairly certain he wasn’t having dinner with the D’Alessios.

Mr. Mancuso returned to his subject and said, “So, at about 7:45, as the D’Alessios were having dessert, two men entered the crowded restaurant wearing topcoats, and they walked directly to the D’Alessio table. According to several witnesses, both men raised sawed-off double-barreled shotguns from under their coats, and one of them said, ‘Happy Father’s Day, Sally,’ then fired a single shot at point-blank range into Salvatore D’Alessio’s face.”

Susan took a step backwards, as though she’d been hit with the blast, and she slumped onto the couch.

I said, “Hold on.” I put the phone on hold and asked her, “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

I slipped on my shorts and pants, then took the phone off speaker, sat in the chair, and picked up the receiver. I said to Mancuso, “It’s just me now.”

“All right… so that’s the news.”

I took a deep breath, then said, “Well… I guess I owe you some money.”

“I never got around to placing that bet for you, Mr. Sutter.”

“Okay…” I sat there and glanced again at Susan, who didn’t seem to notice or mind that she couldn’t hear Mancuso. I asked him, “Anyone else hurt?”

“No. It was professional.” He suggested, “You can see it on the news.”

I asked, “Can you give me a preview? Or something I won’t see on the news?”

“All right…” Mr. Mancuso gave me his professional opinion of the hit. “So, it is Sunday. Father’s Day. And Salvatore D’Alessio is out to dinner with his family. And D’Alessio is very much old-school, and he thinks there are still some rules that won’t be broken. But he’s not stupid – well, actually, he is, but anyway, assuming it was D’Alessio who tried to have Frank Bellarosa killed at Giulio’s in the presence of Frank’s wife and two upstanding citizens, then D’Alessio understands that he himself has broken the rules. And he knows that Anthony does not play by many rules anyway. So, D’Alessio does have one bodyguard with him outside of Giovanni’s, and D’Alessio is wearing a Kevlar vest under his Big and Tall Man suit, and he’s also carrying a.38 caliber Smith amp; Wesson, and he’s got his family with him so he’s not expecting trouble, but he’s prepared for it.”

I commented, “Well, he should have expected it and been better prepared.”

“Correct. The bodyguard, who Marie D’Alessio described to us as their driver – though they walked to the restaurant – took a longer walk, and seems to have disappeared. As for the Kevlar vest, apparently the two shooters knew or anticipated this, so the first blast was aimed at D’Alessio’s face.” He reminisced, “Frank Bellarosa got very lucky that night, but Mr. D’Alessio’s assailants were not going to repeat the mistake of Mr. Bellarosa’s assailants.”

“No. That would be stupid,” I agreed.

Mr. Mancuso continued, “Well, that single blast to D’Alessio’s face knocked him onto the floor, whereupon one more shot was fired into his head, though he was undoubtedly already fatally wounded, according to what the medical examiner is telling me.” He added, “That second shot was… well, a personal message.” He explained, “There is no undertaker who could rebuild that head and face for an open casket.”

Too much information.

Mr. Mancuso continued, “As these two shots were fired, the second assailant pointed a shotgun at Marie D’Alessio’s head and shouted, ‘Nobody move or she dies,’ so the two sons sat there, frozen, according to witnesses, but Marie was screaming. Then the two men left and got into a waiting car.” He concluded, “From the time the two men walked in to the time they walked out was about fifteen seconds.” He added, “Marie, when she looked at her husband, fainted. One of the sons threw up, and the other son became hysterical.” He said, as if to himself, “Happy Father’s Day.”

I nodded. Well, that certainly put my stressful day with Harriet and the Stanhopes into perspective.