Dime a dozen, p.1
Dime a Dozen, page 1
DIME A DOZEN
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
DIME A DOZEN
First edition. July 28, 2024.
Copyright © 2024 Gina LaManna.
Written by Gina LaManna.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
DIME A DOZEN (Kate Rosetti, #12)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
EPILOGUE
This one is dedicated to Stacia, for driving over 5000 miles to collect a stack of books!
Special Thanks:
To Alex and Leo and Max and Beau—You boys have my heart! я тебя люблю!
To my family—I love you!
To Stacia—Not only my editor but a best friend as well.
Blurb
Detective Kate Rosetti is at the top of her career. She’s catching bad guys, thwarting crooks, and putting murderers behind bars. Not to mention, she’s finally in a committed relationship with her billionaire boyfriend. Kate’s next case is sure to be edgy and dangerous, filled with media attention... and located at a nursing home?
When a family friend is found dead in his bed, an autopsy is ordered, and lo and behold—the cause of his death wasn’t so natural after all. At the same time, Jack Russo is knee-deep in a huge federal case that’s bled into the Twin Cities. When he asks Kate for help, she’s reluctant because it will not only put her in danger, but Alastair Gem as well.
As the two cases wind their way to dangerous conclusions, Kate needs to put handcuffs on the men, or women, responsible before it’s too late. Otherwise, she won’t be the only one getting hurt: she could lose the people she loves the most.
Chapter 1
“Isee that side-eye.” Jimmy looked at me. “You can’t side-eye a nursing home, even if you are Kate Rosetti. It’s downright immoral.”
“I’m not side-eyeing anything!” I glanced at Jimmy, then back at the nursing home, which rose before us, all manicured lawn and bland brick. There had been a little side-eye happening, if I was being truthful. Not that I’d ever admit that to Jimmy. “It wasn’t a side-eye. It was a healthy dose of skepticism.”
“Do you really think your bald-faced lies work on me? I can read you like a picture book.” Jimmy smirked. “Is this case beneath Kate the Great? Isn’t that what they called you in the Tribune?”
“What’re you getting at, Jones?”
My partner, Jimmy Jones, and I stood outside of a nursing home. Though, if he kept up this sort of talk, he’d be my ex-partner pretty quick. Not really, but I liked to think a big game.
“The fame getting to your head?” Jimmy grinned broadly. “I knew it was only a matter of time. What with your explosive career and your new boy toy, I can see how this case might be beneath you.”
“The only explosive thing in this relationship is your stomach after your wife makes chili,” I shot back. “And Gem is not my new boy toy. Where do you even learn terms like that?”
Jimmy practically giggled. Downright tittered. The man didn’t often get under my skin, and he was giddy at how flustered he’d gotten me. I actually had to fan myself because I could feel my face getting all warmish under his early-morning barrage.
It was barely eight o’clock in the morning, and I felt like the sun was beating down on me in a desert. Really, it was the start of what was sure to be a beautiful fall day in Minnesota. The first week of September could be hit or miss when it came to the weather, but when it was a hit, it was a hit.
Temperatures in the seventies, sunny, crisp mornings that lent themselves to visions of apple picking and bonfires and hot cider. Evenings brimming with life as families returned from vacations, prepared for school, and packed in the last few days of summer vacation, spending every spare moment of time outside until the streetlights were on and dusk had well and truly slipped into night.
“I’m not side-eyeing anything,” I insisted again. “I’m just feeling a little awkward about being here. I’m only doing it as a favor to Jane.”
“So we poke our heads in, ask a few questions, call it a day.” Jimmy shrugged. “We’ll be out of here in time to grab McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches on the way back to the office. You got someplace else you need to be?”
“Ha-ha.” I nodded at the doors. “Let’s get this over with.”
I’d been woken this morning by a phone call from my sister. I’d immediately panicked when I’d seen her name on my phone at 6:00 a.m., considering she’d been so fatigued with pregnancy these last few weeks, she spent the better part of her free time sleeping. I’d been worried something had gone wrong with the baby.
The baby was fine, thankfully, but unfortunately, Wes’s uncle was not. Wes Remmington, Jane’s husband and my boyfriend’s best friend, had gotten a call that his uncle had passed away in a nursing home. The nursing home had shared that Declan Remmington had died peacefully in his sleep.
Apparently, Wes didn’t believe them. That was why Jimmy and I were standing outside of a nursing home at eight o’clock in the morning... with a healthy dose of side-eye.
“I’m sure it’s just one of them stages of grief,” Jimmy said, as if sensing my hesitation. “Wes is probably under a lot of stress. He works a big-time job for Gem. His wife is pregnant. He’s probably not sleeping well. Then he gets news that his uncle dies, and it’s the straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back. He can’t deal, can’t believe it’s true. So Wes convinces himself it was murder.”
“Because murder is easier to deal with than a peaceful, natural death due to old age?” More skepticism from me. “I don’t know. Wes is pretty levelheaded. He’s the logical one to balance out Jane.”
“Sure, normally. But when a person is stressed and gets emotional news, they don’t always react with logic. I figure that’s something you probably know already, seeing as you’re a homicide detective, and you see people reacting all sorts of ways to untimely deaths.”
I conceded his point with a shrug of one shoulder.
Jimmy pulled open the door to the nursing home and let me in first. The nursing home was obviously supposed to look like a sprawling, welcoming manor. The grounds were well kept, and green lawns rolled away from the building in every direction like fluffy green rugs. The building itself was all beiges and bricks, very inoffensive and unexciting.
I couldn’t help but think it felt more like a penitentiary. There wasn’t a lot of personality. People weren’t out wandering the grounds. Sure, it was 8:00 a.m., but it was quiet, eerie almost, despite the pretty sunshine, and I couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding rolling down my spine.
“Can we make a pact?” I asked Jimmy as we entered an almost sterile-white environment.
Jimmy lowered his voice, leaned in close. “If either of us end up in a place like this, we shoot each other?”
“I wasn’t going to go that far,” I said. “I was thinking, maybe you get Jane’s kid to take me in or something, but okay.”
Jimmy cracked a smile. “Don’t worry, Rosetti. I don’t plan on living that long. All that chicken and doughnuts gotta catch up to me sometime.”
“If you keep talking like that, I’ll consider shooting you,” I said. “Lovingly, of course. You’re going to live to a hundred and twenty years old—nonnegotiable.”
“I don’t know; retirement is looking pretty good right about now.” Jimmy sniffed, and I wondered if he was noting the scent of lemony cleaning products. “I might as well live my life before I get put in a home.”
“You’d be bored out of your mind if you retired,” I said. “Plus, the paper chain around your office is longer than ever. I had to practically swim through rings to get to my desk this morning.”
Jimmy muttered something that sounded like, “Trucking Russo.”
I snorted a laugh.
“You won’t be laughing when I burn those chains on my last day in the office,” Jimmy informed me. “Mark my words, Rosetti. You’re going to be crying at my paper chain Viking funeral when all of Russo’s work goes up in literal flames.”
“That sounds like a threat, Jimmy.”
“Damn right.”
We reached the front desk of Sunset Acres. The lobby was welcoming, but in a way that was trying a little too hard. Too much white, too little faux greenery. I got doctor’s office vibes, and that was being generous. I just didn’t feel right thinking the word “asylum”—and yet there I was, thinking that word “asylum” again.
A twentysomething Asian woman waited behind a sleek white desk. She patiently watched us approach, looking so pretty, so perfectly still, it was almost Stepford in nature.
Her black hair was cropped in a fresh bob, and she wore an all-black business suit. She smiled with rose-red lips, her nails long and clicking on the keyboard; she didn’t stop typing until we were leaning against the counter.
The only personal element in the whole p
I scanned for a name tag and found her name to be Amy Lee.
“Hi, Amy,” I said. “I think you got a call that we’d be here this morning. It’s related to Declan Remmington.”
Immediately, Amy’s smile faltered. “Oh, right. I’m so sorry for your loss. You’re here on behalf of Wes and Jane Remmington?”
It was still new, hearing my sister’s new last name. I was already rattled from my conversation with Jimmy, and it took me a beat longer than normal to reply as my brain filtered in the appropriate information.
Jimmy jumped in, pulling out his badge and nudging me to do the same. For the amount of time Jimmy and I spent ribbing one another and low-key offering to shoot each other, I could finally admit that I loved the man. Outright loved him, in a very, very exceptionally platonic sort of way.
We’d been partners for many years now. We’d been through cases that had just about killed one or both of us, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I could trust him with my life.
It was something I was learning not to take for granted. Partners like Jimmy didn’t come around every day, and even though we teased him about retirement, the thing was—he was getting close to it becoming a reality.
Technically, he was already there. I just didn’t want to believe it. I probably wouldn’t believe it until his desk sat empty, and that was a thought I simply couldn’t allow myself to have, or else I’d find it incapacitating.
“Thank you,” Amy said, studying our badges. She gave us a perfunctory smile. “Though, to be honest, I can’t understand what I can do for you. I’ve been informed that Mr. Remmington died peacefully in his sleep.”
“His next of kin are requesting an autopsy,” I said. “I thought we might ask a few questions, just to get a feel for Mr. Remmington’s life around here.”
I already had my “cooperation will look good on the part of Sunset Acres in the event of foul play” speech prepared, but to my pleasant surprise, it was unnecessary.
“Of course.” Amy’s smile turned up a notch. “At Sunset Acres, we pride ourselves on excellent care for all our residents. That care extends to their families, and if it will make Mr. Remmington’s family feel more comfortable, then we’d be happy to oblige.”
I nodded, glanced at Jimmy, wondering if he was getting those reverberating Stepford vibes too. One glance at the thin set of his lips, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.
Amy’s answer felt canned. She’d known we were coming. I wondered if she’d been coached on what to say and how to cooperate. It most certainly didn’t point to guilt. But it was an observation I’d pocket for later.
“Let’s start with you,” I said. “Is there some place we can talk in private?”
TEN MINUTES LATER, Amy settled into a seat in a small office offset from the lobby. She sat across the desk from me and Jimmy. On it, she set a tray of three coffee cups, along with sugar and creamer.
Normally, Jimmy and I didn’t take people up on their offers of coffee. Usually, it was proffered as a formality. Most people didn’t actually want to sit around and chitchat with two homicide detectives. It usually meant something untoward had happened, and a coffee date wasn’t exactly on their radar.
But Amy had gone through the effort of preparing a perfectly set tray, and since it was early, and the coffee smelled delicious and was steaming hot, we both accepted.
“Sorry I don’t have some munchies available,” Amy said with a frown. “I’d offer to run down to the cafeteria and grab something, but I imagine you both would like to get started.”
Jimmy was looking a little too tempted by the idea of a pastry and “some munchies” to accompany his coffee, so I shook my head and responded for the both of us. “Thanks, but we’d prefer to keep things moving. Can you tell me a little bit about Sunset Acres in general? Who lives here; what does a typical day look like?”
“Of course. I’ve been working at Sunset Acres for four years. I love it,” Amy said, taking a dainty sip of her coffee. “As for who lives here, our residents vary in age between mid-sixties and up. Right now, our oldest is ninety-eight.”
“Is it hard to get in here?”
“We do have a waiting list,” Amy said. “It can get quite lengthy at times, depending on resident... turnover.”
I cleared my throat. She obviously meant people dying. People like Declan Remmington.
“I’m not surprised this is a popular facility,” I said finally. “It seems like a nice place.”
“It’s really wonderful,” Amy gushed, seeming to crack her stoic façade for the first time. Her eyes lit up like she believed in what she was saying. “We have excellent staff, and residents here have the opportunity to engage in all sorts of interesting classes and activities.”
“Like?” I asked.
“We have cooking lessons, art demonstrations, and a swimming pool. We’re raising funding to get a pickleball court for some of our more active residents. All sorts of yoga and movement classes. Sometimes we take residents out for brief day trips or excursions if and when it’s appropriate.”
“It sounds lovely,” I said. “It’s no wonder there’s a waiting list. I wonder if people on the list might get competitive?”
Amy’s perfect skin wrinkled as she furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand what you mean?” Then she gasped. “You think someone killed Declan Remmington so there’d be an opening here? No.” Amy shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. The waiting list is confidential, anyway.”
“Sure, but the residents aren’t,” I said. “If someone has had a parent on the waiting list for a while, I’m just saying, it could be tempting to give someone else a nudge.”
“A nudge, like murder?”
“Trust me,” Jimmy said, “we’ve seen people killed for less. It’s definitely possible.”
“Then it is highly unlikely.” Amy seemed to have forgotten about her coffee cup. Her fingers tapped the tabletop incessantly. “Not to mention, we have security here. We have cameras on the exterior and even a few in the interior. There’s one that monitors the lobby and the main hall. There are not cameras everywhere, obviously. Not in patient rooms, in some hallways or movement rooms, restrooms, offices, etcetera.”
“If needed, would we be able to review the footage from those cameras?” I asked.
“I suppose so,” Amy said, biting her lip. “Though I suppose you’d need to go through the proper legal channels to do so. Like, a warrant or something.”
“Of course,” I said. “We’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“Autopsy,” Amy repeated. “I just don’t understand how could someone could have killed him.”
“Lucky thing that’s our job,” I said. “What’s security like around here besides a couple of cameras?”
“We have one main entrance, the one you came in this morning.”
“Are you full time?” I asked.
“I work eight to five, Monday through Friday. There are three other girls who work the front desk too. Danica has been out on vacation for a week, and Melissa is on maternity leave. So it’s mostly been me and Lucy covering the desk. She comes in for the evening shift and on weekends. Occasionally, we’ll trade off. You know, I’ll take a Saturday, or stay late, or vice versa.” Amy shrugged. “It’s only temporary that we’re so short-staffed, and who can’t use a little overtime?”
“Detective Rosetti is the queen of overtime.” Jimmy inclined his head toward me. “Sometimes I can’t tear this one away from the job.”
“Really?” Amy wrinkled her nose in a way that made her look almost adolescent. “Dead bodies?”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good homicide.” I looked down at the notebook I’d pulled out and set on my lap. “Is it possible someone could’ve slipped in unnoticed while you were on a bathroom break?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but usually I ask someone to cover the desk for me. One of the nurses on staff usually gives me an hour lunch break, along with a few fifteen-minute breaks throughout the day. So, while unlikely, it’s possible. The cameras would have picked up on that, though.”
