The Gift Read online

  Summary

  The dead do speak. You just have to listen.

  Homicide Detective Catania “Nia” d’Giovanni is the only daughter in a large Italian family of six children. The backbone—a position not applied for nor wanted—she continues to create new glue to hold the dysfunctional group together. For Nia, family time feels more like herding cats than spending time with her brothers and feisty, aging parents.

  Her heart has always been in her career with the Pueblo Police Department, especially since it will never be okay with her very Catholic mother to openly give her heart to any woman, until she meets a secretive waitress who has her at, Can I take your order?

  And then it begins…

  Three murders that are so gruesome, so horrible, they rock the small town to its core. Nia and her partner Oscar are left to piece together a deadly puzzle to find the key to unlock the monster they hunt.

  Or, are they the hunted?

  As they dissect the murder scenes where not one shred of evidence is left behind, more bodies begin to show up, each cleaner than the last, the shadowy specter that is the killer vanishing without a trace, making the woman Nia loves disappear right along with it.

  When there is no evidence to follow, Nia must trust her instincts…or, is she being guided?

  the gift

  the gift

  kim pritekel

  Sapphire Books

  Salinas, california

  The Gift

  Copyright © 2018 by Kim Pritekel. All rights reserved.

  ISBN EPUB - 978-1-948232-48-7

  This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without written permission of the publisher.

  Editor - Heather Flournoy

  Book Design - LJ Reynolds

  Cover Design - Treehouse Studio

  Sapphire Books Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 8142

  Salinas, CA 93912

  www.sapphirebooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – September 2018

  This and other Sapphire Books titles can be found at

  www.sapphirebooks.com

  Dedication

  For Her

  Acknowledgments

  For the women and men in blue who do what most of us would never have the courage to do.

  Chapter One

  The images on the Super 8mm film were fuzzy and jumpy with flat colors and the pop and sizzle from inferior technology. The patches of grass the kids ran around on were an olive green, their clothing vivid to the human eye but dull and grainy on film. The lake beyond was a muddy blue, the waves lapping gently at the wooden dock.

  Suddenly a little girl with long dark hair in braids popped up in front of the camera, her five-year-old self making funny faces, her little brother waddling up beside her, trying to copy whatever she did.

  Out of nowhere, an older boy ran across the yard, tube socks pulled up to his knees, shaggy black hair hanging in equally black eyes. A Beagle yapped at his heels. The black, brown, and white tail wagging like crazy. The young teenager disappeared out of the shot followed by both the dog and a young girl of similar age with short dark hair, denim-covered knees pumping as she ran after him.

  The little girl turned to her brother, and with a gentle touch helped him waggle his fingers on either side of his head like she was, as the toddler was struggling with the finger coordination.

  “You’re such a good big sister, Kitty Cat,” a disembodied voice praised from behind the camera. “You two look at me now! Matteo!”

  The siblings turned back to the camera, the little guy slowly waggling his fingers. Like a flash, the older boy ran into the frame again, the toddler swept up into his arms, a blood-curdling scream following behind.

  “Damn it, Jason! You know he doesn’t like to be touched!” the same disembodied voice yelled out, the picture turning into a wedge shot of a sideways close up of the grass and sneaker-covered feet running past and out of frame.

  ****

  Catania d’Giovanni glanced over at the bedside clock and groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “Okay!” she yelled at the second round of knocks at her apartment door.

  Pulling herself out of the soft comfort of her bed, she tugged on a T-shirt and mesh shorts before padding down the hall past the empty second bedroom and bathroom, through the nearly equally empty living room where the clothing from her prior shift was still strewn across the hardwood floor, and finally the narrow hallway which led to the back door of the eleven-hundred-square-foot apartment. She passed what was touted as a laundry room when she’d first been shown the place, but it was actually not much more than a closet with a washer and dryer inside.

  Disengaging the locks, she pulled open the oversized metal door that led out to the parking lot behind the old brick textiles factory. She was not remotely surprised to see her mother standing on the other side.

  “Why you not answer my knock?” the older woman asked, Catania certain her hands would be on rounded hips had they not been filled with an overloaded paper sack.

  “Obviously I did answer your knock, Mamma. You’re looking at me.”

  “Take this,” Antonia d’Giovanni said, waiting for her only daughter to grab the bundle from her hands before delivering a light tap to the younger woman’s cheek. “Don’t talk to your Madre that way. Now, let me in, too cold out.”

  Catania rolled her eyes once her mother passed, then cradled the heavy bag in one arm as she used her other hand to shut out the cold early November afternoon.

  “Catania!”

  “Crap,” she muttered, engaging the locks before turning to hurry inside to see what her mother was going to start with first. She mentally counted to five as she headed toward the kitchen. Right on cue, the barrage began.

  “Why clothes thrown everywhere? Why your hair sticking up all over your head? I did not raise my daughter to look like a rooster!”

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Catania rested the paper bag on the butcher block island in her kitchen. “Mamma, I got home from work about forty-five minutes ago. I was far more interested in sleep than hanging up my pants.”

  “So I see,” Antonia muttered, using forefinger and thumb to pick up Catania’s service pistol from the counter like it was the tail end of a mouse.

  “Okay. Give me that.” The detective sighed, snatching the weapon from an inexperienced hand. “Be careful with that.” Though the 9mm was secured, she went ahead and placed it inside a nearby cabinet to keep it out of grabby hands. “Mamma, can we do this later?” she asked, fatigue gripping her in an iron fist.

  “Do what?” Antonia had the fridge door open and half-empty milk carton in hand. She sniffed the contents before wincing and dumping the souring milk and carton into the sink.

  “Whatever this is,” Catania said, watching as item after item was tossed from her fridge. “I just bought that sour cream Tuesday!”

  “Of what year?” Antonia asked dryly. “Besides,” she added, tossing the plastic tub into the sink. “You have nothing to put it on. It is a condiment, not a meal.”

  Keeping her patience in check as well as she could, Catania decided to distract herself by removing the contents from the paper bag. “What’s all this?” she asked, peeking into the Tupperware dish with the pink lid.

  “Well, since you missed Sunday dinner again,” she said with a pointed look to her daughter. �
�I brought you leftovers, again.”

  Though her mouth was watering with thoughts of her mother’s famous spaghetti sauce and her father’s meatballs, she wasn’t about to give her mother the satisfaction of showing it. So, she responded with the incredibly witty, “Oh?”

  “You should be there with your family and not running around playing cops and robbers, Catania,” Antonia admonished, pointing a banana at her that was a bit too browned as it had been lounging forgotten in the fruit basket on the counter.

  “Mamma,” Catania said. Though irritated and tired, she kept her voice calm and understanding as she knew her parents, immigrants from a different country and a different time with a very different mindset, did not understand a woman wanting a career. “I’m sorry I missed Sunday dinner,” she began, handing her mother the covered dishes of food so she could load them into the fridge. “What I do is important. It gives families closure and peace for their loved ones.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew they had been chosen poorly.

  “And, what about your family, hmm?” Antonia asked, hurt and accusation evident in her voice and dark brown eyes.

  “Mamma, I know, but—”

  “You should be home with your brothers and your father and me,” she continued. “You’re unmarried, no business, living…” Antonia looked around the messy apartment with dismay. “Alone.” With the angry crunch of the emptied paper bag, Antonia glared at her daughter, tossing the paper bag into the trash can. “You need a husband! You are nearly forty years old. I give up on grandchildren from you, but not a husband!” She waggled her finger at her. “You play games long enough.”

  “I know, Mamma,” Catania said with a conciliatory nod of her head to the weekly indictment. “I promise I’ll do all that I can to be there for Sunday dinner this week, okay?”

  “And your time with Matteo?”

  “Yes, and my time with Matteo. I’ve got his towel and juice boxes all ready to go.” Catania lied with what she hoped was a convincing smile.

  The older woman met her daughter’s eyes for a long moment before turning away, nodding. Catania knew her mother felt she’d won the battle but would never stop fighting the war. “I go now and let you rest.”

  Catania accepted a kiss and hug from the shorter woman and, with a promise to clean her apartment after some sleep, walked her unwanted guest to the door. Left alone, she considered making herself a small plate before going back to bed, but when she nearly fell asleep leaning against the open fridge door, she decided bed first, food second.

  ****

  The bathroom filled with steam, Catania stepped out, using a fluffy green towel to dry off her body as she padded to her bedroom. She’d ironed her blouse for her shift before her shower, so now she focused on moisturizing. As much as she loved her home state of Colorado, fall and winter could be murder on the skin.

  Smoothing the fragrant goop onto her arms after she’d finished with her freshly shaved legs, she walked over to her dresser and pulled open the top two drawers. She eyed her options before snagging green silk panties and a pair of socks.

  Carrying those and her bra to the bed, she tossed the garments down and grabbed the comb she’d left there before heading to the shower and after making her bed. She hadn’t bothered making the antique four-poster in weeks; she’d been so busy and tired with work. But, her mother’s earlier scolding made her feel guilty so she’d made it nice and pretty, just as she’d been taught.

  Looking around the room, she took in the furniture. The bedroom set had been the only things she’d taken with her after her last relationship, four years before. They’d been willed to her by her beloved grandmother, and as much as Lydia had tried to get at least the stand-alone mirror from her, Catania had stood her ground.

  The comb glided through the wet strands of her dark hair, snagging on a small tangle at the back of her head which made her wince slightly. She’d had long hair her entire life, but the first time she’d had to spend hours washing blood and brain matter out of the long strands after a domestic call that had gone terribly wrong during her days as a beat cop, she’d cut it off. She wondered if part of that had also been to forget about the horrific events of that night.

  By nature, she was a quiet person. She was introspective and had turned self-analysis into an art form. The problem was, once she had the answers, she didn’t often talk it out, get feedback, or make a post on social media. She filed the information away to make a different choice the next time, then would do something physical to mark the inner change, such as chopping her hair.

  She supposed that ability to analyze, recognize, then file it away for when it was needed was what made her so good at her job.

  Padding over to the mirror, she took in her naked body as she absently continued to comb her hair back away from her face. Once all the tangles were out, she’d do a quick finger comb and the drying strands would fall into place.

  She definitely held the Italian features of the blood that ran through her veins, but she had the stone-gray eyes of her father. Out of her immediate family of two parents and five brothers, she and her father alone shared the unique eye color. Her fifth-grade teacher had called her Stormy all throughout that school year, and to this day if Catania ran into her in town.

  She was happy enough with her physique, though her mother constantly told her she was too thin. Part of that was she’d gone on a dieting and exercise mission with her partner at work. Afraid he’d drop dead of a heart attack, she’d made him a deal: they’d both give up caffeine, give up sugar, and had to walk at least two miles a day. She’d lost weight she hadn’t needed to, but it had helped him to drop seventy-five of the one hundred and ten pounds he needed to, so it had been worth it. Truth be told, she was pleased that she could once again drink fully-leaded coffee and have the occasional sweet treat.

  Tossing her comb to the dresser top, Catania dressed, applied light makeup, and headed out of the bathroom, nearly walking out with the light still on. She stopped long enough to hit the light switch, then hurried down the hall to the living room.

  She stopped, looking around at the mess that still met her. In truth, she didn’t like it, either, but they were working on a tough case and home was an afterthought most days.

  “Tomorrow,” she said with a nod of commitment. “I’ll clean tomorrow.”

  Walking to the coat closet, she grabbed her long black coat and shrugged into it, reaching into the pockets to make sure her black leather gloves were in the pockets. Gathering her gear and everything else she’d need for a long shift, Catania made her way to the door and out, the frigid evening air taking her breath away.

  She pulled the heavy metal door shut and locked it before scurrying down the short staircase from the small perch that led from the handful of cement stairs up to the door. Hers was the only apartment in the old building that had two entrances, one outside, the other inside, though it led down to an inner, treacherous staircase that was narrow and nearly vertical to climb, so it was the rare event that she used it.

  “Detective!”

  Catania smiled when she saw Mr. Horvat near her 1976 army-green Jeep. “Hey, Mr. Horvat.” She greeted him warmly, walking up to him. “What are you doing out in this cold? You should be up with Mrs. Horvat,” she added, pointing up to the top floor where the retired school bus driver and his wife lived.

  “Not before I make sure you get out okay,” he said, reaching up and adjusting his flat cap. “S’posed to snow again later. But,” he said with a grizzly smile. “All’s clear.”

  Catania smiled, noting he’d already scraped her windows for her and had cleared a path for the large tires of her vehicle. “Thank you, Mr. Horvat.” She gave a peck to his chilled cheek, amused at the little blush that colored his cheeks every time. “I’ll bring you and the missus potica. Randy’s just started making it for the holidays.”

  “Oh, yes!” the older man crowed, clapping gloved hands together. “I’ll tell Esther.”

  Catania s
miled and climbed behind the wheel of her Jeep. She raised a hand to wave at the older man who stood on the sidewalk, snow shovel in hand. In her mind’s eye, it was easy to switch the original farmer out of the famous Grant Wood painting American Gothic and place Josef Horvat in the frozen tundra version.

  The streets of Pueblo were quiet, the cold pushing people inside far more than the evening hours. Pueblo was a town of a hundred thousand people, give or take, a steel town at one time. When the mill had gone under in the early 1980s, the town had pretty much gone under with it.

  The d’Giovanni family had barely hung on. Catania’s father’s plumbing business was not even bringing in enough to feed the large family. As the two oldest that lived at home, Catania and her older brother Paul watched the younger three as their parents disappeared into the night cleaning office buildings for extra income, though the siblings were barely out of the stroller themselves.

  Now, she drove through the streets of her hometown, taking the turn slowly so as not to spin out on potential ice beneath the packed snow as she pulled into the small parking lot of the small diner called Randy’s. It was a dive, and most of the food sucked, but their waffles were crazy good, and Catania and her partner couldn’t get enough of them.

  Walking into the greasy spoon, Catania looked around, noting a few of the dozen tables or so were occupied, but overall it was quiet. The diner was something out of the past, though it wasn’t trying to be trendy. There was lots of chrome, as well as a long breakfast bar with a scarred Formica top, light blue with little sparkles in it. The waitresses wore the uniforms of their predecessors, replete with knee-length light gray button-up dresses with white piping around the collar, sleeves, and single breast pocket.