All Murders Final! by Sherry Harris Page A

through my thin walls and a bit of swearing as someone occasionally bumped something against the wall.
    I dialed Stella and paced as the phone rang.
    â€œYou let a mobster move in next door to me,” I said when Stella answered.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œMike ‘the Big Cheese’ Titone. Vincenzo got him off racketeering charges.”
    â€œHmmm. I’m sure he’s fine. Vincenzo asked me to do him a favor and let Mike move in for a few days. That’s what we do here. Help each other out.”
    I was all for being a good neighbor, but this carried it a bit too far. “I Googled him. It says he killed a man with a hundred-pound provolone. That if you’re on his bad side, he leaves a slice of cheese on your doorstep as a warning.”
    â€œDon’t believe everything you Google. Besides, it will be nice to have someone around after what happened to you yesterday.”
    â€œIt’s your building,” I said and hung up. I felt a bit bad, because Stella and I hadn’t had a cross word since we became friends last spring. Having someone around might be nice, but I wasn’t sure this was the someone I wanted it to be.
    A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I answered, and Mike stood there, holding a large cellophane-wrapped gift basket full of cheese and wine. Two big, burly guys stood behind him. He thrust the basket into my arms.
    â€œThis is for any inconvenience the presence of me and my family might cause,” he said.
    I felt a little color drain from my face when he said family .
    Mike laughed. “Not that kind of family. These are my two brothers. They’ll be around a lot.”
    Then I noticed the resemblance, the full heads of dark hair; the startling blue eyes, all the same shade; the variations of the same build, broad shoulders, thick chests, and long legs. The tallest brother, who stood in the back, obviously lifted weights more than the other two, as his neck muscles bulged and his black T-shirt strained around his biceps. He had a thick dark mustache that made me think of Tom Selleck.
    â€œThank you,” I finally managed to say. “It wasn’t necessary.” I wondered if accepting a basket meant I owed them something. “Let me know if you need anything.”
    â€œWill do,” Mike said. “I stuck my card in the basket with my cell phone number on the back. Call if we get too noisy. These two”—he jerked his head toward his brothers—“can be rambunctious.”
    The biggest brother winked at me as they turned almost in unison to go.
    I took the basket into the kitchen and set it on my small kitchen table. The vintage tablecloth on my table made me think of Margaret More. I unwrapped the cellophane and put the ten blocks of various cheeses in my almost empty refrigerator. I took the Brie back out and set it on the counter. The basket was full of crackers, olives, dry salami, and a couple bottles of wine. I’d have a feast tonight. I called Stella back and asked her to come up and share the feast.
    Stella showed up at seven. I heard her talking to someone in the hall and popped my head out the door. The biggest of the three brothers sat on a folding chair outside the door, working on the Boston Globe crossword. I waved and pulled Stella into the apartment.
    â€œWhat the heck is going on with them?” I asked her, jerking my head toward the other apartment.
    â€œI don’t even get a glass of wine first?” she asked.
    â€œUgh. Sorry. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry I hung up on you.”
    â€œYou’ve had a stressful few days.”
    â€œIt’s no excuse.”
    Stella followed me into the kitchen. I opened a bottle of wine, and she poured while I arranged part of the contents of the basket along with plates on a tray. We carried it all out to my living room and put it on the trunk before settling on the couch. We filled our