Gangs, Illegals, and a Rose Tattoo: a Lilly M. Mystery

By Kathryn Long

It's double the trouble, with tons more suspense, and steaming with lots of romance. The second novel in the Lilly M. Mystery series proves that Lilly Millenovanovich gets things done in the most entertaining, exciting, and often comical way.

Lilly Millenovanovich is an over forty, struggling author, trying to make financial ends meet by working as a night school instructor, teaching English to immigrants, while freelancing during the day for the Barton Gazette. When one of her students is shot, life goes from boring to frighteningly exciting as Lilly is thrown into chaotic turmoil of murder and mystery.

She begins making new friends; only they aren't all the nice kind. Diving into cultural waters, she can't refuse a heartfelt plea to help find a young Mexican boy, Luis Gallos, and reunite him with his mother. Of course, she will have to dodge the dangerous hands of the Mexican Mafia and it's ruthless but clever jefe, Carlos Ruido. Lilly finds her sleuthing will keep leading to the south side of town, appropriately named the Peligroso. It is home to many Hispanics, but also to the Mexican Mafia gangs and rampant crime. Barton authorities are preparing for the eventual showdown with the infamous Ruido, hoping to finally capture him. The only problem is who they're using for bait to lure him in. Luis Gallos, the crime leader's grandson.

If Lilly could just focus on helping to get Luis back together with his mother, her search might not be so frustrating. However, when the hot and handsome bad boy Latino, Nick Galina, pops into her life, Lilly's emotions kick into overdrive. She's hopelessly drawn to him, though it doesn't help that he might be working for the wrong side of the law. When Lilly finally decides she can handle her feelings and whatever Nick dishes out, another romantic ingredient is added to her life. Former fiancé, Jake Kline comes back into town.

The challenges are demanding and the dangers are increasing, but Lilly can depend on her cousin, Mona, as well as her crazy but loving team of aunts, Irene, Sadie, and Fran to lend a bit of help. The chase is on to save Luis before his grandfather can manage to dupe the authorities and steel Luis away. If all goes according to plan, Lilly and company are just the ones to accomplish the task and bring life a happy ending.

For more in this mystery series, read Whips, Cuffs, and Little Brown Boxes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathryn Long
• Release date: Aug 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476326733

Kathryn Long

Kathryn Long is a native Ohioan, born and raised in Barberton, the "Magic City". She is the youngest of five children, although the closest sibling in age is a brother sixteen years her senior. Being raised like an only child, Kathryn found reading and writing as favorable forms of entertainment. In high school as a member of the Writers' Club, she continued to nurture her writing talent.After high school Kathryn attended and graduated from the University of Akron with a BA degree in French. Before marriage and children the author managed a Waldenbooks store and continue writing short stories and song lyrics as a hobby. In 1987 she returned to school for a Bachelor's in Education. She has been an employee of the Green Local School system since 1990 and currently teaches SLD students at the high school.Writing took a more serious turn a few years ago as Kathryn completed her first novel-length work and discovered that mystery was her nitch. Early on, determined to improve her craft, she developed a habit of spending most of her free time in the summer and on weekends during the school year, writing story after story. Mystery merged with the color of Native American culture to create Oklahoma's Gold and A Pleasant View. Venturing into cozy mysteries and romantic suspense writing, Kathryn has created three novels with the cozy, Whips, Cuffs, and Little Brown Boxes; a romantic suspense, A Deadly Deed Grows; and the recently completed, Dying to Dream, another romantic suspense.Kathryn has also written short stories, two of which are published in The Piker Press: "A Good Man" and "Betrayal in a Letter". She also has ventured into the young adult genre, writing the modern-day fairytale, Cinderella Geek, under the pen name, K. Sean Jennkrist.Keeping connected is an important element of writing. Staying in tune with what goes on in the writing world and being visible are reasons why Kathryn is a member of Sisters in Crime and maintains a blogsite - Writers & Teachers as well as a facebook page.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Monday, September 26th:

"Yo muero, tú mueres, nos morimos, I clenched the chalk in my hand and with intense effort I scribbled on the board. I die, you die, we die." Keeping my back to the class, I vented by counting to ten. Manuel's constant diatribe in broken English had unhinged my nerves within the first ten minutes of the lesson. So what if Taco Bell didn't offer poppers and homemade tortillas? The issue didn't deserve a class debate. After a deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face and turned back around to see my class of students, all six of them.

Let's pick up where we left off with our letters to the President. I think it was Zuli's turn to read. I nodded at a small but curvaceous woman who liked to pile her thick mane on top of her head with bright-colored bows. This evening it was red. She wore earrings the size of hula hoops in a matching color, along with her red polish, red lipstick, and red high heels. She took a long swig on her cola, a sweet addiction I seldom caught her without, and then stood up to talk.

"Gracias. And I want to say before the letter I to read that Taco Bell make an okay enchilada." Zuli batted her eyelashes at Manuel and smiled.

I sighed and then noticed how Teresa Concerto seemed disconnected from all her classmates, missing her cue for that classic eye roll reserved for Zuli moments. She always sat in the front row close to my desk, intent on catching every word of instruction. But right now, her eyes focused somewhere out the window. I liked Teresa. We had clicked from the first day of class and helped each other make what could potentially be insufferable at least bearable.

I started teaching evening classes at Barton City Night School several months ago. My students comprised a group of adult immigrants longing to learn English. Several evenings a week, from seven to nine, I fought the international communication barrier by shoveling huge doses of my expertise at them. I decided this was the low point in my life. Only a year ago I, Lilly Millenovanovich, best-selling author, had reached the pinnacle. My career had finally made it possible to spend a vacation on the Riviera. I thought nothing of flying to L.A. for a day's shopping spree on Rodeo Drive, followed by dinner at Spago's. I'd even put up a for sale sign in my front yard, ready to trade in my cute little bungalow for a larger model. But then the economy hit bottom. Unemployment reached double digits while my income sank to barely five figures. So, here I was. Forty going on forty-one, destined to be single, and my new occupation? Teaching English to immigrants. Spago's traded for late night fast food at the Rooster Grill. Fate does have its sense of humor, I decided.

… and so, I say this, Mister President, you need the help of the Latinos. Your friend, Zuli Lota.

Everyone else in the room, all six of us, gave applause to the performance, which prompted Zuli to bob her head up and down while saying gracias, until the red bow on top nearly unhinged.

I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes. I sighed as Sigor raised his hand. A Romanian who knew a total of ten English words, Sigor loved to keep repeating them for lack of anything else to say. He seemed to be anxious about something with the way his arm was flailing. I didn't really pay much attention because right then Teresa began to sob. Not loudly, more like sniffling, but sitting so close, I couldn't help but hear it. I didn't even notice when Sigor became unusually silent.

Señorita Lilly. Señorita Lilly.

Another someone was speaking to me, but I still didn't notice since Teresa had increased the volume on sniffling, which quickly turned to sobbing.

"Nos morimos."

I recognized Manuel's voice and glanced up. We already covered that. It means we die, I said, and then returned my attention to Teresa.

No, Señorita. Look out the window.

I sighed once again, my patience clearly drained, and followed Manuel's eyes to see what seemed so important. I gasped. Two men outside the building, not more than twenty feet away, were pointing guns at the window and, I realized, in my direction. I heard an ear piercing scream that whaled on for several seconds until finally I recognized it came from me. In the next moment, I dropped to the floor as a bullet splintered the wood frame and cracked the glass, and then whizzed over my head.

"Hay Dios."

Still hunched on the floor, I heard someone from the other side of the room utter those words and then there was the thud. I dared to bring my head up and glance around, taking inventory of the class. Everyone seemed to be in a similar pose to my own, except for Manuel. He lay flat on the floor. My eyebrow shot up as I noticed how one hand clutched at his chest. And then Zuli screamed, her spilled cola making a brown trail on the floor beside her.

"Oh, my Manny. Oh no. No puede morir," she cried.

My mind did a quick translation, and then I scrambled on all fours over to Manuel and Zuli who by now grabbed hold of his arms and shook the still form of her Manny. When I laid a hand on Zuli's arm and spoke in a soft tone for her to stop the shaking, I tried to keep myself from giving into hysteria. I couldn't help but think how strange it was, how the stain growing and spreading across Manuel's chest matched Zuli's red ensemble. And his words echoed inside my head. Nos morimos.

Chapter 2

Tuesday, September 27th:

By day, I freelanced for the Barton City Gazette. As if teaching night school wasn't humiliating enough, my assignments at the Gazette weren't a whole lot better. My first call from senior editor, Teddy Lorenski, should have given me the hint, told me to run in the other direction. Teddy wanted me to cover the midget convention in town for the weekend. Who knew such tiny people could be party animals and destroy the entire second floor of the town's convention center? Despite the downside, I wrote the story, right after I showered to remove all traces of the silly string glued to my hair and some other unidentifiable matter.

What do you mean you won't do the story? Teddy shouted. This could be your break, the one you keep squawking about.

I nodded. I know, but … maybe Max could do it. He does a great job with murder. Remember the Halloween Clown Killer? His series on that was Pulitzer prize material, just priceless.

Teddy's brow formed a pointed arch. So, you're saying you can't write as well as Max? Why am I keeping you around, then? I thought a big time mystery author like you would eat this up, Teddy argued.

I squirmed in my seat. I couldn't tell Teddy the real reason for refusing. Teresa made me promise. Besides, I didn't know where to begin and explain how it most likely was Teresa, and not Manuel, who should have been the victim. I can help Max. Maybe give him a few ideas, but I can't write the article. I just … can't, I finished and walked out the door, leaving Teddy with his mouth hanging open.

Once outside the building, I hurried to my Mazda situated in the back row of the municipal parking lot. The damp air of autumn had sneaked up on the late September day, and the frost from last night gave that extra push to paint the leaves earlier than usual for Northeastern Ohio weather. I had forgotten to wear my heavier jacket. My state of mind stayed planted right where I left it last night. Whichever got to me more, Teresa's story or Manuel's death, I wasn't sure. Maybe it was both. Of course, no one could do anything about Zuli's Manny. He was dead and soon to be buried. I released a big sigh and started the car, easing out of my spot. Teresa, however, was another matter. Her confession was a weight on my rather tiny shoulders, something I promised to act on, but keep quiet about. I wasn't sure how that was supposed to work.

Hey, cousin. How you holding up?

Startled, I pressed down on the brake, giving the car and my back a jolt. Twisting around, I noticed the black Mercedes nestled close to my rear bumper. I smiled at Mona who by now got out of her vehicle and walked over to the window.

I'm trying not to think about it. I shrugged. What brings you out this early? Shouldn't you still be sleeping? I teased, hoping to steer away from all things serious.

Humph. Fat chance to do that when Ron never lets my phone be. If he's not calling about a recent shipment of tires, then he wants to know when his order from Chan's Cleaners will be ready. I really need another job and to work for someone without separation issues. I still can't believe he managed to plead temporary insanity and the jury bought it. You sure you're okay? You look beat. Mona frowned.

Ron Kinecki, car dealer and owner, not to mention dabbler in things not-so-legal, had managed to score a pretty high-rolling lawyer when needed, and most assuredly passed along a fat bribe to the judge just to sweeten the pot. A probable outcome of twenty years behind bars was reduced to twenty hours of community service and one year's commitment to psychological counseling. How does the world manage?

Seriously, I'll be fine. I shook my head and tried for a smile. At least you're working. And there's no way Ron Kinecki will get rid of you. He wouldn't know what to do. Say! Since you're up, you want to run by the bakery with me? I promised Irene I'd pick up the nut roll and Kifle before noon.

Mona sighed. And miss an opportunity to have Aunt Sadie tell me what a five-time loser I am? Of course, I'll come.

I stifled a laugh. The five referred to Mona Finetti's five failed marriages. It was just a matter of time before number six came along. Mona had to have a man in her life. No amount of insults from Sadie could stop that. Besides, as anyone in the family knew, Sadie was a bit off-center. Some said it was tipping the bottle that did it. I just figured she stuck her head in the ovens too often, an occupational hazard of sorts.

Then you can ride with me. I need to put some miles on the Mercedes before Ron takes it away. He says there's no point in calling it advertising if I don't keep the car on the street for everyone to see. Mona sniffed. I say he's dreaming if he thinks anyone in town can afford to buy a Mercedes from him.

Fine. I'll just be a minute. I pulled my car back into place and hurried to get into Mona's. I worried that Teddy might come outside and start badgering me again, which reminded me of Teresa. I wondered if telling a best friend and close cousin counted as breaking a promise. Well, I had to tell someone. This needed more than one brain to figure things out. So much for leaving my serious mood out of the conversation.

Mona. I want to toss something at you, a situation, and let's call it hypothetical, all right? I want to know what you think, I started.

What's on your mind? Mona gave me a curious glance before turning her eyes back to the road.

Okay. Let's say someone comes to you with a story. This person is a really nice person, and you trust her. So, she tells you that her young cousin is missing, kidnapped, and his dad's been murdered … at least that's what she thinks. But—now, here's the tricky part—she and the family can't go to the police about it because some of the family might happen to be illegal immigrants. I took a deep breath. The weight on my chest lifted a few ounces. I gave Mona a tentative smile.

Mona nodded but kept her eyes on the road. She must be one of your students, right? And being sent back to—Oh! The Mercedes swerved over and jerked to a stop, sending me into the window. This has to do with Manuel's murder, doesn't it?

I scowled and rubbed the bump on my forehead. It could be. Mona gave me that patronizing, all-knowing stare. Oh, all right. It has almost everything to do with it.

Teresa Concerto, Mona said.

How could you possibly know that? I felt the weight pile back on. When would I learn? Mona was the Social Radar Queen of Barton.

Mona reached into the backseat and grabbed the latest Barton Gazette. It's in the police blotter. I look at it every day, you know, Mona explained.

Of course she did. Okay then, what?

An adult male, unidentified Hispanic, approximately thirty years old, was found in the alley behind Fresca Café last Friday evening with a bullet hole in his head. Mona read from the paper and then looked up at me. And when I was ordering my espresso at Fresca yesterday morning, I just happened to overhear the owner talking about a tragic murder and how the widow, Marlena Gallos, had to move in with her cousin, Teresa Concerto. So of course, I remembered you talking about …

I grimaced and now rubbed vigorously at my forehead. Okay! I get it. You have the genes of Sherlock Holmes with that deductive ability of yours. But right now, I'm a mess. Teresa wants me to find Luis, but I'm not supposed to involve the police.

Then, you help her. In fact, I can work with you! Mona's eyes shined with her growing enthusiasm.

I moaned. Remember the last time? I don't think we should …

Of course we should! Mona argued. "You should. I should. We should do this, together."

I shuddered. Mona's words reminded me of night school and Manuel. I die, you die, we die.

When do you want to start? It needs to be soon. Who knows where Luis could be, and maybe even …

Don't finish, Mona. Don't even think it, I interrupted. Let's just get to Sadie's before she sells all the nut rolls to Clara Tapoulski.

We spent the next five of the ten minutes it took to get to Second Street in silence. My thoughts scrambled to make order of all that had happened since Monday's shooting. Less than twenty-four hours with enough activity to fill a week, but one detail kept shoving to the forefront. How was I supposed to help? Teresa expected too much, I realized.

I had done some of my own research in the past, whenever one of my mystery stories called for it. And I had friends at the precinct who gave me advice, tips, and occasionally let me do a ride-along. But I couldn't contact the police. Who else could I talk to about it? I slumped down lower in my seat and bit down on my thumb. Who else would know details about Timato's death and …?

Of course! I sat up straight and turned to face Mona. Change of plans. I need to go back to City Hall.

Chapter 3

"I'm not asking to see the document. You can read it and then tell me what it says, I argued. You would have to look at it anyway when you file it. Right? And then I promise to get you some of Sadie's best. A dozen Kifle and a black raspberry pie … Okay, I can see your appetite is asking for more. How about I throw in a poppy seed roll?"

Darlene worked as the office manager and clerk of files for the BPD. Captain Fortuna wouldn't know where to find anything if it weren't for Darlene. She had been his right-hand woman for nearly twenty years. And she happened to be one of Irene's best friends. It seemed reasonable to me that a friend of my mother's—even though Irene really was more like an adopted mom, but that's another story-- had to be a friend of mine. Or so I hoped. But the lingering smell of doubt seemed to rest under Darlene's nose. She knew a fishy story when she heard one.

I do love your aunt's baked goods, but you're talking about an ethical issue. I don't breach ethical issues. Darlene shook her head. It's not proper.

I sighed. Arguing with Darlene for over twenty minutes had tired me out. The amount of heel tapping going on behind me announced Mona thought enough was enough. Still, I tried once more. Okay. I can see your point, but what if this was your husband? And you asked someone to help figure out what happened, but that someone couldn't convince a compassionate, but very proud office manager to give her just a teensy bit of information. How would that make you feel? I posted the picture-perfect smile on my face and prayed.

Darlene shook her head once more. I'm not even going to ask how you know about this or why, Lilly. I know you're my best friend's daughter, but I can't give you that kind of information. It's not right. She stood up from her chair. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the ladies' room.

I frowned as I noted Darlene's fingers kept tapping the desk and guessed it had to annoy the other workers sitting nearby, if she did that all of the time. When the tapping stopped, I let my eyes drop to where Darlene's fingertips rested and I noticed the pile of papers. Looking up at Darlene's face, I detected the slight nod.

Once Darlene disappeared through the restroom door, I casually slid around to the other side of the desk. After a quick glance, I noticed the paper on top had Unknown Victim, gunshot wound and Hispanic male typed on some of the lines. I quickly glanced up to peruse the office and could see no one paying attention to me. I grabbed the paper and walked casually over to the copier.

What are you doing? Mona hissed as she followed closely behind me. If someone catches us … well, I for one can't afford to end up in jail. I have too much on Ron's business ventures. And I'd crack as soon as somebody started asking questions.

I turned, the look of annoyance playing across my face. Why would anybody start asking you questions about Ron's business? Wait. Don't answer that. I already knew. It was Ron we were talking about. Just let me make a copy of this and then I'll put the original back. We'll be out of here in seconds.

It took no more than a minute and the copy popped out, which gave Mona relief since the clip clop of heels walking behind us grew louder.

All right, Lilly. Slip the paper back into my hand and just smile while you walk away, Darlene said in a low tone.

I threw in a have-a-nice-day farewell and the two of us made for the exit. We can still make it to Sadie's before noon.

That's great, but you haven't told me why you need that document. How is the police and coroner's report going to help you find Luis? Mona asked.

I don’t know yet, but any information about Timato is better than nothing. It was the best I could come up with, even if the reason was rather weak, I decided.

Mona nodded. Then let's get to Sadie's.

I didn't comment. I had started reading over the report on Timato as we rode down in the elevator and then during the drive to the bakery. Nothing surprising, I decided, as my eyes traveled down the page. The bullet entered his forehead and exited the back, definitely fatal. I shuddered and remembered Teresa as her eyes didn't hold a tear for Timato's story. Only when she spoke of Luis and Marlena did she cry. Whoa! I exclaimed and jerked forward as Mona put on the brakes. I turned. No, not you. Keep going.

Mona sighed. Really, Lilly. You need some lessons in communicating. Despite the order, Mona pulled the Mercedes over to the curb.

Well, how's this for communication? The coroner's report states that besides the bullet to the head, Timato had several large bruises, mostly on his face, also, cuts and lacerations that could be a result of blows to the body, and a small swelling on the back of his head, which implies trauma from an impact.

And by that look in your eyes, I'm thinking you feel there's more to the story, Mona said.

I remained quiet for a moment to let the idea form in my head. I don't like settling on one explanation. You know how my mind works when I'm writing. I come up with a dozen ways to end the story or explain a murder, and then narrow it down to the most surprising, yet plausible conclusion.

Only this is real, Mona said.

Yes, but so is fiction, sometimes. Anyway, what if there was another reason for the bump, the cuts, and bruises?

Like?

Like during a struggle where he's beaten, and then he falls and hits his head, I started.

But that just means he put up a fight before the killer shot him, Mona argued.

Yeah, if the killer was the one he had the fight with, I finished.

The autopsy should explain if there was more to it, but I have to say …

That it seems most likely the killer and Timato struggled. Then, the killer shot him to end it, I said, tapping the report against the car window.

Mona laughed. You and your writer's imagination, always wanting that surprising twist.

I squinted at the glaring rays of morning sunlight coming through the window. Well, let's hope there's more to it. Otherwise, we might be coming to the conclusion that the killer, who shot Timato, also has Luis.

Chapter 4

Since when do you do Irene's shopping for her? Aunt Sadie stood there, with flour-covered hands on her hips, and glared with the vein above her right eye pulsing. She's a coward. Just because I won the argument and she hasn't got the guts to admit it. That's why she sent you. Stubborn cow.

Mona and I gave each other a hasty glance. Sadie and Irene, two of the Popovich sisters, had learned how to dig deep under each other's skin, tunnel down to where it hurt most. Or in this case, cause an explosive reaction.

That's fine with me. She can have yesterday's leftovers. If she wants fresh, she can come in and ask for it herself. Sadie shoved a couple of nut rolls in with the cookies.

I could see the crumbs popping out of the bag and wondered if Irene would end up eating a crumbly mess with a spoon. With no time for delving into family problems, I took the bag without comment.

We'll give Irene your message and I'm sure everything will be fine, Mona said, and then gave me an apologetic shrug.

Humph, Sadie muttered. So, what kind of trouble are you two managing today? Lilly looks like she's ready to wiggle out of her skin. Sadie started to laugh. I bet you're missing that young hunk you used to date. Makes you cranky when you have to do without all that bedroom action. I should know.

I groaned and squirmed even more; Sadie never missed a move.

We're … ah … we were just going to …um. Mona tried, but then grabbed one of the Kifle samples off the counter and began nibbling.

We just left City Hall, right after I stole a copy of a murder victim's death report, I added and heard Mona begin choking.

You need something to wash that down, Mona? Sadie asked before turning to face me. And I don't think you should go snooping around in business that's not yours.

Now you sound like Irene. Irene was my aunt, but also my adopted mom, since my real one died when I was a kid. Rita Millenovanovich and Irene Turkovic had not only been sisters; they'd been really close friends. I figure Irene and I turned out to be a logical match. We were able to console each other more than anyone else could. My dad had died of cancer a few years before. So, though I became an orphan, in some ways I hit the jackpot, gaining three new moms, Sadie, Irene and Fran, the three P sisters, where P stood for Popovich.

Irene had three other children, but adopting me didn't matter. In our clan, the more children, the better. And that didn't stop her from meddling in my life every chance she got. She had plenty of time and heaps of love to spread around.

Sadie scowled. She disappeared into the kitchen for a minute. When she returned, there was a glass in each hand. Here, take a sip of this.

Mona raised her eyebrow. I'm fine, Aunt Sadie.

I bit down on my lip to suppress a laugh. Even before noon, Sadie's beverage preference would more than likely have a kick to it. And she liked when company joined in.

Sadie shrugged. Suit yourself. She set one drink to the side and sipped at the other. Resting her glass on the counter, she nodded. All right then, what are you really up to?

Mona and I watched Sadie narrow her eyes and lean closer, waiting. The silence among the three of us sat heavily on the room, so much so, that when the tinkling bell of the door opening sounded, I jumped.

Good morning, lovely ladies, Clara Tapoulski greeted. The smile on her face was wide and generous.

Mona and I said a few words in return before trying to make a hasty exit. Sadie had another idea in mind.

Just you wait. I'm not done with you, she ordered. The speed at which she bagged and boxed Clara's many baked goods, enough to feed all of Barton on a Sunday morning, staggered the imagination.

I couldn't decide which surprised me more, my obedience to Sadie or how Clara managed to get only a dozen words of conversation in before Sadie shooed her out the door.

All right, let's try this again. What kind of trouble are you going to stir up that somebody will need to bail you out of? And how can I help? Sadie grinned this time, but it looked malicious, like the carved smile on a jack-o-lantern.

I laughed. I know your M.O., Auntie. And it's not going to work.

Oh, come on. It'll be like the old days. Millenovanovich and Popovich, the team that gets things done, Sadie announced.

I shook my head. There are no old days, Aunt Sadie. There have been some moments, all of them rather scary, when you, Irene, and Aunt Fran have stirred something up, all right. Not exactly what I'd call getting things done, though.

"Humph. In your opinion. I think we've been a great asset to