Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“Um, good.” I exchanged a quick glance with Joey. “We’re all well. And you?”

“I’m well too, thanks.” She dropped a hand to her stomach. “Just exhausted.”

“Go home, Marie.” Joey set his coat on the back of the sofa and took the dishtowel from her. “I can take it from here. I don’t have any plans tonight, and I promised Tiny a decent meal. As you can see, she needs one.”

“Shush, Joey Lupo. She looks just fine.” She winked at me, and I wondered if she thought there was something between us.

He turned to me. “Let me just go see how she’s doing and then I’ll fix us something. I haven’t eaten either.”

“And I’ll say good-bye to Ma and be on my way.” Marie attempted to undo the apron strings at her back.

“Here, let me.” I untied them for her and she slipped it over her head.

“Put it on, Tiny,” said Joey, grinning as he backed through the arch. “I’ll give you a cooking lesson. God knows you need one.”

I glared at him as Marie dropped the loop around my neck. He was right, I did need a cooking lesson, but I certainly didn’t feel like one tonight. I couldn’t stop thinking about that opium sitting in the boathouse. Could I convince Enzo to meet with Joey w

ithout telling him about it? What would he do if he knew it was there, unguarded? The boathouse was locked and Joey had my key—the rotten thief—but locks were never a problem for Enzo. A smile crept onto my lips and I tried to wipe it off. Quit thinking about him. Joey will wonder why you’re blushing.

Left alone, I looked around the apartment. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d visited here. The wood floors were clean but creaky, and the furniture was Victorian style, with curvy backs and sides and faded burgundy upholstery. Floral-patterned paper covered the walls, on which hung family photos and religious paintings. A crucifix hung over a Brunswick phonograph in the corner, and a porcelain statue of the Blessed Virgin rested on a side table. Sidestepping away from it like a skittish pony, I perched on the edge of the sofa. A photo album rested on the coffee table, and it was open, as if someone had recently been looking at it.

Glancing back at the doorway to the hall, I sat back with the album on my lap and turned to the front of the book. Photographs of the Lupo family were fastened at the corners onto black pages, beginning with a wedding portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Lupo. I studied Joey’s father. He looked a lot like Joey, actually, and I wondered how old he’d been when he married. Twenty? Twenty-one, like Joey was now? He and Vince had worked for the Scarfone family, and they were killed the same day, victims of an ambush on the boss, Big Leo Scarfone, right outside the police station. Neither Bridget nor Joey had fully recovered, although more than two years had passed.

I perused photos of the Lupo family as it grew, quirking a lip at babies in a frilly white baptismal dress and chuckling aloud at the photo of Joey in knee pants, looking miserable and yet adorable in his First Holy Communion portrait.

“Cute little devil, wasn’t I?”

I jumped at his voice over my shoulder, and stiffened when he leaned down over the back of the sofa to look more closely. His jaw was so close to mine I could smell his aftershave. If I tilted my head just the right way, my cheek would rest against his. “Devil being the operative word.” I scooted sideways and stood up. “But I like the outfit. You should wear knee pants more often.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think that suit fits me anymore.” He grinned as he straightened. “It’d probably fit you, though. You’re about the size of an eight-year-old boy.”

“Very funny.” I pulled the apron away from my white blouse. “Do I really have to wear this? You’re not actually going to make me cook anything, are you?”

“I thought you wanted a lesson. Here, I’ll tie it.” He motioned for me to come forward and turn around, and I felt his hands at the small of my back as he tied the strings. A funny ticklish feeling fluttered through my belly. “There. Now at least you look like you know what you’re doing.”

I faced him. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

Joey looked skyward. “Now she figures it out.”

#

“Is that spaghetti?” I peered over Joey’s shoulder at the large copper pot full of boiling water, into which he’d thrown two handfuls of some kind of long noodle.

“No, it’s fettuccine. Please tell me you at least recognize the vegetable.” He gestured toward a second pot.

I peeked in. “Green beans.”

“Thank God. Now go slice the bread and set the table.”

While I did that, Joey warmed up some meatballs in the oven and poured some red wine. When supper was ready, we sat across from each other at one end of a table meant for eight, and I quickly devoured the meal in huge, blissful bites. The meatballs and noodles were lightly coated with a savory tomato sauce, and the green beans glistened with butter and lemon. “Oh my God, it’s so good.” I forked my last bite of meatball and shoved it in my mouth.

“I’ve heard that about my meatballs.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and was about to make a sharp-tongued remark when a face appeared in the hallway leading off the dining room to the bedrooms.

“Ma, what do you need?” Joey jumped up from his chair, throwing his napkin on his empty plate. “Why didn’t you call me?” He led her into the dining room by the arm as she took small, unsteady steps in battered house slippers. It was as if she’d aged twenty years since I’d last seen her, perhaps only a year ago.

“Mrs. Lupo, hello. It’s nice to see you again.”