Deep (Pagano Family #4)(6)
“Ten days. Near Danbury.”
“That’s a long way from home. Not our neighborhood.”
“Take it to The Council. Ask for help from the Marconis. It’s in all the families’ interest to shut Church down. We’re already taking heat from the others for not getting control of it yet.”
At that, Ben’s eyes returned to Nick and blazed, but Nick was undeterred. “It’s true, Uncle. Eighteen months, Church has been biting at our ankles, and he’s done us real damage. Innocents are getting hurt. Our businesses are taking hits. My father is dead, and they shot up his funeral. The other families are watching, and they know that if Church wins, if he takes down the biggest family in The Council, it changes their games, too. The families have been at peace and allied for more than ten years. They are our friends. We need to ask for their help before they become our enemies.”
Nick could feel Fred’s tension, but he didn’t turn to him. He kept his eyes on his uncle. But Ben didn’t speak. When he sat back in his deep desk chair, his eyes still locked with Nick’s, Nick tried once more. “Uncle Ben. You have my love and deepest respect. Always. I know it hurts you to see that the world is not what it was. But I know you know I’m right. I know this is why you brought me to your side. Because I see. I’m telling you now what I see. We have to fight the war we’re in.”
At last, Ben nodded. With a heavy sigh that told Nick his uncle was finally beginning to crack under the pressure of the life he’d made, the don turned to his consigliere. “Fred. Make the calls. Ask to convene The Council.”
2
Beverly Maddox glided, stretching one arm and then the other past her head, kicking her legs to propel herself through the water, turning and lifting her head at steady intervals to take swallows of air. As she got to the wall of the pool, she rolled, twisted, and pushed off, headed back the way she’d come. She loved the sensual perfection of swimming laps—the slide of the water over her skin, the heat coursing through of all of her muscles as they worked in perfect sync, the centering rhythm of breath and movement.
One of the draws of the condo she’d bought at the end of last summer was this pool—not Olympic-size, but rectangular, laned, and deep. It was heated, and the condo community opened it in April and kept it open through September. Since they’d opened it this season, Bev had enthusiastically started a new regimen. Four days a week, she got herself going out here, doing at least thirty laps.
Her ‘courtyard’ unit, substantially less expensive than the ‘seaside’ units, overlooked this pool, so she always knew when it was empty and free for her to come down and do her thing. And sometimes, when she was home alone in the evening, she’d sit on her balcony and stare down at the illuminated water, letting the rippling blue glow send her into a contented trance.
As she reached the wall again, she took hold of the side and pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the pool and catch her breath. As she lifted her goggles off her head, she heard the yip of a small dog and blinked her eyes clear to see Carlotta walking down the sidewalk, past the fenced pool. Jester, her little white puff of a dog, pulled happily on his leash.
“Morning, Carlotta.” Bev stood and walked to the fence, picking up her towel from a lounge chair as she did.
“Hi, Bev. I hope we weren’t too loud last night.” Carlotta and her husband lived in the unit below Bev. They’d had a party the night before.
“Nope. I could hear some, but I went to bed with an audiobook, earbuds in, and it was fine.”
Carlotta smiled. “Thanks. Mrs. Greeley kicked up a fuss.”
“Mrs. Greeley likes to fuss.” Every neighborhood had its old biddy. The Oceancrest had Mrs. Florence Greeley, elderly widow, snoop, and malcontent.
“She really does.” Jester barked and scrabbled on the sidewalk, tugging as hard on his leash as his little body could. “Well, I better get him to the dog park. Have a good day.”
“You, too.” Bev looked up at the cloudless blue sky. “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful spring day.”
oOo
She went to work a few hours later with her sense of contentment intact, and that was good. She liked her job, for the most part, but it required a level of patience that she didn’t necessarily possess by default. She meditated, did yoga, and swam because those activities gave her peace and focus, so when people were jerks, she could let it roll off without leaving a mark. It had taken a lot of training to get to that place. She’d had to clear a lot of emotional hurdles.
She liked her job because she liked the people she worked with, not because she liked the work. There wasn’t much to like about being a waitress. And no, she was not a ‘server.’ She was a waitress, in a silly, peach-colored polyester uniform, styled to look vintage and suit the décor of Sassy Sal’s Diner, a faux-Fifties place done in garish pastels and all the Happy Days trimmings.
During the off-season, the clientele was mostly townies, and mellower. Almost everybody who lived and worked in or near Quiet Cove knew each other, or at least looked familiar, so the proportion of jerks was lower. Summer people, though, were a mixed bag. It was only April, but the days had been turning warm, and people were beginning to stream in from the cities.
Bev came in the back, dressed as usual in street clothes, her uniform and white leather Keds tucked neatly in her rucksack. Bruce Grady, the diner’s owner, and Dink, a busboy and dishwasher, were in the kitchen, prepping for lunch.