Little Secrets Big Lies: TRUTH Series, #1

By Ronald A. Feldman

Lindsay Riccardi, PhD, NYC clinical psychologist, has been having a bum year and it's about to get worse.

Her husband left for another woman and Lindsay was the last to know.  Since that fateful day, and after sleepless and lonely nights aplenty she developed a relationship with a handsome hunk of a jazz piano player who is much more than he seems to be.

Lindsay finds herself at the center of a murder investigation which leads to excursions into dark places in her mind and that of her new lover.

She struggles mightily with the same insecurities and frailties that her clients reveal to her. Human frailties must be overcome as Lindsay climbs a mountain of little secrets that are peaked by BIG LIES

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemini Book Publishers
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386377825

Book preview

ISBN 978-0-578-12465-0

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Prologue

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Ralphie Alessi almost reached orgasm with Gina Fischetti, Lou Fischetti's wife and Ralphie's oldest friend.  He would have reached a really fine orgasm if it weren't for the bullet which split his skull wide open and squirted bits of his brain and blood all over Gina's naked body at the Aku Aku motel on Bancroft Street in Toledo, Ohio. 

Gina screamed and howled and kicked Ralphie off her. It didn't take her more than forty-five seconds to gather her clothes, such as they were, for the clandestine meetings she had with Ralphie-once a month like clockwork-and slip out of the motel and drive to the interstate heading north to her hometown of Detroit.  She never saw the shooter, but she knew he hadn't come for her.  Ralphie had been caught doing the deed with her and he had paid with his life.  She would pay later when she reached Detroit.  Lou would see to it.

Part of her fascination with Ralphie had been his hatred of Detroit.  Too many mulignan, he'd said.  Me, I'm going to Miami where we can have fun in the sun, which always cracked him up and made him guffaw like a mule.  Gina wanted more than Lou would ever be able to give her.  Lou Fischetti had no ideas.  He settled for enough is enough; but, not Ralphie, he always wanted more.  It was especially good if the thing he wanted belonged to someone else; residual behaviors from the sneak thief he was as a kid.

By nine the next morning, Pamela Withers, one of the motel's cleaning ladies, who had the responsibility for cleaning room 127, Ralphie's room, had finished the rooms from 112 to 124.  She was in a hurry to finish early on her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.  Paul Withers, her husband, wanted to take her on a shopping spree with the bonus he received from Champion manufacturing.  Paul was the employee of the month and he wanted to give Pamela the best, now that the kids were out of the house.

So, Pamela moved on to room 125, foregoing her morning break with Cecilia and their fifteen minutes of gossip. 

Sorry, Ceecy, she had said, but I got to get out early today.  My anniversary you know.

Spending the day in bed with Paul? Ceecy chided.

Maybe later, she smiled good-naturedly and moved to room 125 only to find it was still occupied.  She shrugged and went to room 127.  She knocked and then when no one answered, she used her key to open the door.

The smell was awful, she'd remember later, but the sight of the heavyset naked man with his genitals exposed and his head split open caked with blood and bits of brain caused her to scream with such terror and intensity that Matt Holderlin, the day manager, came running at full tilt from his office.  Ceecy reached the room soon after and they both found Pamela collapsed near the opened door to room 127.

Gina's return to Detroit was equally wrenching.  Lou had come home for dinner about seven-thirty to find his wife in bed.  She was curled into a fetal position, fully dressed in the clothes she had worn to the motel.  Her eyes, seemingly locked on the ceiling were, in fact, focused on the memory of Ralphie Alessi as she had seen him upon closing the door to room 127 of the Aku Aku Motel in Toledo. 

His body had been pushed off hers when he was shot by pistol with a silencer.  His unspent genitals exposed.  Little bits of flesh dotted the pillow and a stream of blood had formed instantly from the right side of what was left of his head.  The picture was locked into Gina's memory.

Lou came into his bedroom and looked down at Gina.  He was tense and filled with controlled anger.  Even so, he bent down near her and whispered into her ear, What's the matter honey?  Have a bad day?

Gina lashed out a hand and scratched his face deeply.  You fuckin' bastard!  She didn't get a chance to land any more blows.

Lou's demeanor went from controlled anger to animal rage.  He punched her in the mouth loosening two teeth and sat astride her and pummeled her with open hand slaps when he became too tired to continue closed fisted punches to her face. 

Gina didn't die, but at one time during the beating she had prayed for death.  Her face needed plastic surgery which kept her in hospital and at home in bed for six months.  Lou broke a bone in his hand from the beating and wore a cast for two weeks until it got in his way and he ripped it off.  Fuckin' thing, can't do shit with this thing! he had bellowed.

Chapter One

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Hey, lady, open your freakin' eyes!  Bruno, the driver of a large black limousine, yelled from his open window as the rain pelted down and in on his new suit. 

Lindsay Riccardi, deep in a private reverie had just cut him off as she drove into Central Park, in the heart of New York City, going east in her white BMW.  She never heard his voice and never saw his middle finger salute.  Her mental, automatic pilot was in gear as her mind involuntarily returned to the first meeting with Jonathan Wilson.

It was almost one year after she and Andrew had split and only weeks after the final divorce was signed that she received a phone call from Pam Stoner, a college friend from her days at Northwestern University graduate studies.  While Lindsay studied for a Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology, Pam studied Journalism at the prestigious Medill School and became a writer and reporter for the Chicago Tribune after the requisite years at weeklies and smaller city newspapers.  Pam settled in Chicago, married and become hyphenated, Pam Stoner-Levine, Dr. Paul Levine's super-liberal wife.  They had a son, Peter, who attended Northwestern with no clear purpose in mind.  Lindsay Meyers married Andrew Riccardi, New York City partner with one of New York’s heavy hitter accounting firms.  They tried to have a child, but couldn't or didn't — neither made an effort to find out; perhaps, an omen of things to come.  During the years of marriage, they had thrown themselves into busy careers.  Andrew became a vice president and the money rolled in and he spent less time at home.  Lindsay, in turn, extended the hours of her practice.  Only days after her fortieth birthday did she get a bad feeling about Andrew's recent long hours at the office-sometimes until daybreak. 

Who is she? Lindsay had asked, hoping he would deny or be offended at such a question and announce his undying love for her.  Instead, he admitted to an affair with a client that had resulted in a relationship for more than nine months.  The end of their relationship had begun and Lindsay hadn't noticed.  Andrew moved out soon after and Lindsay grieved the death of their love; she survived and found strength she hadn't known.

When Pam phoned Lindsay to say she'd be in New York City and could they meet for a drink, Lindsay jumped at the chance to connect with her old friend.

They met in a jazz bar in the East Village.  Both had discovered the intelligence in jazz while at Northwestern and so it seemed like old times when they entered the bar, surveyed the crowd of jazz buffs, sans the younger set who were always looking for someone special, the two friends nodded approval, sat and ordered drinks.

Some friendships are timeless-some can span time and pick up whenever the friends meet by chance or by design.  Their friendship was such a friendship. They slipped easily into discussing intimacies; Pam had one solo extra-marital encounter with a man, a lawyer from Boston, while she was covering one of the presidential primaries.  It was purely physical and no big thing either. 

They laughed and enjoyed each other's company while listening to the small jazz combo as they played a mix of old favorites and original compositions.  The piano player was handsome, tall and wiry.  He looks like the guy from Boston, said Pam, sure wish I could remember his name.  They laughed while they were looking at the piano player and he smiled at them.

When the jazz set was finished, the piano player approached them,  Are you two having a laugh at my expense?  He smiled a liquid smile which dripped across the table and splashed into Lindsay's eyes.  She smiled back one of her college girl smiles—a smile which had no need to emerge during her marriage to Andrew; but, a smile which she had need to use on that evening. It was a winning smile—warm and inviting.  Jonathan Wilson, the piano player had fallen for her smile; he told her the first time they made love that evening.

Lindsay had no idea how she had gotten to LaGuardia Airport in Queens, New York; nevertheless, she took the correct turn-off and entered the drive to the terminals. Her windshield wipers moved rhythmically and she rocked her head in time from side to side humming softly. 

She was surprising Jonathan on his return from Florida, Got a gig in Miami for two weeks, he had said before he left.  You going to be all right without me?  And smiled his liquid smile.  She had laughed, but she hadn't anticipated the aching hollow that opened once he was gone for several days.  It was then that she had decided to invite him to live with her in her West Side apartment that Andrew pays for - a fitting scenario she believed.

The traffic at LaGuardia Airport was uncharacteristically light, especially for a Saturday night.  Lindsay pulled to the left lane and entered the restricted section nearest the arrivals area.  She wanted to get up close; the alternative was to park in the circular parking garage which was a long walk away and relatively isolated-it frightened her to walk through the expanse of empty parking spots, so she didn't.

Move your car lady, a short dumpy security man commanded matter-of-factly.

She had seen Andrew, in the same situation, disregard the command from a security guard at numerous such places and slip his hand into his jacket or pants pocket and, without looking, move to the security guard and press the money into the man's hand.  The scenario was always the same.  Their car would no longer be a problem.  Just make it quick, Pal. But that was before 9/11, things had changed completely.

Lindsay drove her car to the nearest parking area and got lucky with a space a short walk to the entrance.   Lindsay locked the car and entered the terminal's baggage area.  Arriving at Gate B, Flight 154 from Miami, the public address system declared.

Lindsay approached a terminal employee who was emptying a trashcan.  Excuse me, can you tell me where Gate B is?

The slight, little Latino man answered, Take those stairs to the top, pointing over his shoulder and never missing a beat as he tied the large trash bag snugly and tossed it with three others on his cart.

Lindsay walked the empty stairs to the top and found a security post with a baggage ex-ray machine and two blue coated airline employees.  They eyed Lindsay momentarily and turned back to their conversation.  A sign declaring, 'Passengers with tickets only,' was perched before the large ex-ray machine.  Above the machine was another sign that read 'Gate B.' Lindsay looked down the long corridor into the arrival areas and saw a crowd of passengers lining up to depart on the next flight; but there was no sign of Jonathan.

Lindsay moved close to the large window area and looked out into the darkened night.  Baggage crews were loading the departing plane.  She watched the rain sliding down off the large jet as it sat waiting to gather its passengers and take off.

Apprehension suddenly slipped into her thoughts.  Would he be angry that I came?  Am I being too aggressive?  Or is it desperate?  Oh God!  Am I such a fool that I can't be without a man for two weeks?  What the hell has happened to me?

Just then, a large jet rolled into view, and began to swing in toward the terminal.

Jonathan.

All thoughts of apprehension vanished and were replaced by a school girl's excited anticipation.  She turned toward the machine and the sign that kept her from running down the corridor to meet Jonathan as he exited the plane.

Lindsay didn't like the struggle she had been having since Jonathan left.  She felt, for the first time in years, maybe the first time ever, a streak of dependence that frightened her.  She needed Jonathan and for some strange reason it gnawed at her and at her training as a therapist.  She was a whole functioning person with a successful practice.  She had colleagues, friends and patients who regarded her highly and needed her.  So, what was the problem?  Was it his age?  He was thirty-five, a boyish thirty-five, and she was unmistakably forty-one and far from girlish.  She was proud of her figure.  At one hundred and twenty pounds her five feet five-inch frame was attractive and still firm.  Several miles a day running or in-line skating in Central Park kept her legs and her stamina in fine tune. 

There they are, a fat man bellowed to his wife as he pointed to a young couple with a baby in tow followed by the passengers from Flight 154 moving down the corridor.

Friends and family members jockeyed for position to see their arriving passenger.  Lindsay fell in and stretched on her toes to see Jonathan moving easily and athletically along the corridor.  As each waiting person saw their quarry they waved and called a name.  Now Lindsay felt foolish. 

What the hell am I doing here?  She felt an urge to melt into the rear of the crowd and leave.  Too late.  There was Jonathan and the need to see him and be held by him was too great.

Jonathan exited the corridor and saw Lindsay immediately.  For a split second it seemed as though he didn't know her and then he seemed annoyed; but, his usual smile flashed across his face and Lindsay felt better.  She stood before Jonathan, unsure what to do next. 

Come here and greet me properly, he said.

Lindsay moved next to him and Jonathan reached one long arm around her waist and pulled her close.  She felt fine.  All her anxiety slipped away as they kissed.  She smelled his cologne, the gift she bought him as a going away present.  Another foolish gesture she had thought.  Perhaps it wasn't so foolish - he was wearing it wasn't he?

Was I expecting you? he asked knowing full well that he wasn't.

No, she replied and searched his face for a sign of acceptance.

Glad you came, and he kissed her to punctuate the idea.

Can we pass, please? asked a flight attendant heading the line of the flight crew. 

Lindsay and Jonathan stepped aside to let the flight crew pass.

Let's get going, she said.  I have another surprise I'd like to discuss.

Really? What kind of surprise?

What kinds are there? she asked.

They walked down the stairs to the baggage area and he said, There are basically two kinds of surprises.

Two kinds?

Yes.

What are they? she smiled.

Good ones and bad ones.  Which is yours?

Good question, she thought.  Well, mine is good I think.  In fact, it's very good.  She forced an exuberance that was faked.  As they reached the bottom of the escalator to the baggage area, Lindsay felt Jonathan's body tense.

Apprehension stopped by one more time and she was unsure.  Suppose it was good for her to have him live with her, but bad for him to live with her?  What if he didn't want to commit to more than they had?  What did they have?  Six months of intimacies and lovemaking that eclipsed all the years with Andrew. She understood the difficulty patients had expressing a rush and jumble of emotions that were often in opposition to each other; now it was her turn to deal with the confusion.

Jonathan didn't respond. His eyes searched the area, darting from one place to another, taking in the lay of the baggage area and returning to a spot near the bank of telephones against the far wall.  His behavior was very disconcerting so Lindsay turned to look.  The baggage area was now full of people getting hand carts, talking with the arriving passengers and making plans to pick up luggage and leave.  Lindsay saw a lone man using a cell phone. He was big, dark and swarthy.  His conversation seemed animated.

Suddenly, Lindsay was spun around to face Jonathan.  Listen to me carefully.  Get the car and meet me out front.  I'll wait here for my bags.

My car is not far. I got a nearby spot in the parking area, she said as she searched his face for a clue to understand the quick change of his mood from relaxed to anxious.

Jonathan didn't look.  Great. Go out to the car and wait for me.  I'll be right out.

But, I can wait... she protested.

He interrupted her, Please, go.  He turned and moved toward the baggage carousel as it began to move.

Lindsay stood still, confused and feeling anger rise.  Jonathan never acted this way before.  He was gentle and generous in everything he said and did.  What is happening?  Maybe he is tired?  Maybe he is disappointed that I came?  Maybe someone else is meeting him?  Oh my God!  That's it.  She turned and walked away from the baggage area.  She felt betrayed.  She stopped at the large glass doors and scanned the area for a competitor-another woman.  There were no women who fit her fantasy.  A very attractive young blond woman met an equally attractive man and they hugged and kissed.

Lindsay left the terminal, crossed into the parking area and entered her car.  She sat with the engine off and the rain pelting the windshield.  She sat in the car as long as she could, but couldn't contain herself.  She darted from the car and re-entered the terminal and the baggage area where she left Jonathan. 

Something was not right.  The baggage carousel started up as she approached and the listing over the carousel was for another flight.  Where is Jonathan?  She searched the immediate area for Jonathan.  She looked over the heads of the crowd for Jonathan's mane of blond wavy hair.  Nothing! No Jonathan!  Where is he? 

Lindsay approached a terminal employee who was loading luggage on his cart for an elderly woman.  I'm looking for someone, a man, tall, about six-three, wavy blond hair.  Came in on Flight 154.  Did you notice him?

Lady, I only have time to notice paying customers.  He put the last of the woman's luggage on his cart and made for the exit doors with the elderly woman racing to keep up.

She saw the little Latino man who had given her directions to the arrival gate.  Excuse me, I'm looking for a man...

Didn't you find gate B, lady? he interrupted.

Yes. Yes, I did.  Lindsay was heartened by his pleasantness and apparent good memory.  I found him and then I lost him.  Trying to take the edge out of her voice.  He's tall, with wavy blond hair...

This guy is very popular tonight.

Popular?

Yes.

Lindsay swallowed hard and asked the tough question, Was there another woman looking for him?

Oh no, lady.  Not a woman, a man.

A man?

Yes, lady, a man.  A big man, he puffed out his chest and held his arms out for emphasis.  You know?

Yes, a big man.  Was he dark?

Yes, and not too friendly either.  If you know this man, tell him to be more friendly.  He smiled, bowed ever so slightly and moved along with his work.

Wait, please.  Did you see the tall, blond haired man?

Sorry.  I did not.

Lindsay's head was swimming.  Where is Jonathan?  Who is the big man asking for Jonathan? 

She leaned against a wall and surveyed the baggage area.

I don't get it.

Chapter Two

––––––––

Six months earlier, Lindsay had looked into Jonathan's eyes and said, Yes, I'd like to get something to eat.  What do you have in mind?

How about Wilson's omelet? he asked.

Never heard of it.

Really?

Really.  What's in it?

What's in it?  Well, there's eggs.

Eggs?  Good start, Lindsay was feeling playful.  Two Margaritas in one hour were more than she was accustomed to. She felt the effect as she rose from her chair.

Jonathan noticed her unsteadiness and held her elbow.

Lindsay looked down at his hand on her elbow; suddenly, she felt confused and embarrassed.

He sat her down and ordered coffee for two.  Jonathan smiled and waited for Lindsay to speak.

I don't drink—much, er, often, she said.  My friend, Pam, invited me here for a drink, she explained.

Okay.  He smiled and waited.

No really.  I haven't had a drink in months.

"Reformed