The Goddaughter by Melodie Campbell Page B

must have given the same answers to the important questions, because they let us go half an hour later. Pete dropped me off at my small condo. I had to stop myself from inviting him upstairs.
    â€œSo…” he drawled as he opened the car door for me. “About that never calling before. You free tomorrow night?”
    I hesitated. “I don’t think I can do tomorrow. But what about the night after?”
    Pete beamed. “Done. I know a nice place on James. Called La Paloma.”
    It was my turn to grin. “It’s good,” I said. “My cousin Vito owns it.”
    Pete rolled his eyes.
    â€œFalling for the Goddaughter. I must be nuts.” He laughed as he got back in the car. “Oh, and wear those shoes. I’ve got a thing for shoes.”
    â€œSo do I,” I said softly. “You have no idea.”
    I watched him drive off and wondered if it could be workable.

CHAPTER THREE
    A round nine the next night, I waited in a coffee shop, nursing a double cream, no sugar. Angelo came to the door, looked around and spotted me. He smiled in a crooked way and made his way over. The black bag he carried matched mine. He slung it to the floor.
    â€œAll in there, Gina. I’ll take your bag when I go. Dad says hi, by the way, and when are you going to come over for that shoe fitting. Red leather, with a stacked heel, just like you ordered.”
    â€œI’ll be over soon. Did you have any trouble?”
    Angelo grinned. “Nada. Place is so quiet—”
    â€œâ€”it’s like a morgue. I know. That’s getting old, sweetie.”
    He sat back. “No worries anyway. I’ll manage the switch.”
    I nodded toward the coffee counter. “You want anything?”
    Angelo shook his head. He had thick curls like the kind you see on those chubby angel drawings that seem to be everywhere. “Nah. Can’t sleep if I have caffeine at night. Besides, I’m just on a break. Gotta get back to the morgue.”
    I took a sip of coffee.
    â€œYou know why he got hit?”
    Angelo frowned and leaned forward. “Heard he slashed a hooker. I think he got too dangerous to keep around, and the New York people wanted him done out of the city. It wasn’t us.”
    I was thoughtful. That’s what Uncle Vince had told me this morning. It wasn’t us . Perhaps he knew I needed to hear it from someone else. Or perhaps it was even true.
    â€œCome around to this side and give me a hug,” I said. “Then you can pick up my bag.”
    Angelo got up and did that.
    â€œGive my love to Aunt Vera,” I whispered.
    â€œDone,” he said, and was gone.
    I waited two minutes to finish the coffee, picked up Angelo’s bag and went home.
    In the privacy of my study, I took the dead guy’s shoes out of the bag. Angelo would be taking a nearly identical pair back to the morgue.
    I placed the shoes on the worktable. A special screwdriver helped me to disconnect the heel of one shoe from the body. The cavity was packed with stuffing to keep the contents from rattling. I carefully removed everything and counted.
    Seven gemstones lay on the tabletop. Two were over two carats, and one was a beaut. A stunning pear-shaped sapphire, at least ten carats in weight. I looked through my loupe to see that it didn’t disappoint—no visible inclusions.
    They might strip-search you when coming through customs, but they don’t usually take apart your shoes.
    Which is a good thing, because we have a thing for shoes in our family.

CHAPTER FOUR
    S ammy the String Bean phoned at dawn. Sammy is Vince’s Jewish cousin and skinny sidekick. Yes, we can buy both our salami and mortadella wholesale in this family.
    â€œWe got a problem,” he said.
    I groaned. I hate it when they say “we,” especially—dammit—before seven in the morning.
    â€œThose rocks? They weren’t supposed to come to us.”
    â€œYou gotta be