Mrs Jones Read online

  MRS. JONES

  Book 1 of the Adelaide Henson Mystery Series

  by William Cain

  Disclaimer

  Mrs. Jones is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments or locales are intended only to give this work of fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, and all are used fictitiously. All other characters, places, dialogue and events are the product of the author's imagination.

  Copyright © 2019 by William Cain Stranges

  ISBN: 9781072239543

  for joanne, my wife

  Character Outline

  Chicago

  DiCaprio Crime Family

  Gennarro (Biggie) Battaglia – retiring overboss – aka Ken Jones

  Elsie Jones – wife to Ken Jones

  Vincent Battaglia – overboss

  Alberto Gangi – retiring underboss, best friend of Gennarro

  Michael Seppi – cleaner

  Benito DiCaprio – retired overboss

  Consuela DiCaprio – daughter

  John (Skip) O’Hare – underling

  Spadaro Crime Family

  Anthony Spadaro – Boss, nemesis of Gennarro

  Mitch Conti – retired Consigliore

  Helen Richter – cleaner

  Victor Spadaro – deceased brother

  Miami

  DiCaprio Crime Family

  Joseph Riggoti – underboss

  Daisy Fuendes – cleaner

  Asheville

  Asheville P.D.

  Commissioner Bill Evans

  Captain Keith Leary

  Detective Adelaide (Addie) Henson

  Detective Robert Hardin – partner to Addie

  FBI

  Senior Special Agent David Juvieux

  Agent Chris Forsyth

  The Thomases

  Reggi (Virginia) Thomas

  Joseph Thomas (deceased husband of Reggi)

  Frank Thomas – son

  Frédérica Thomas (divorced wife of Frank)

  Frank Jr. (Frannie) – son

  Agatha Winslow – fiancé to Frannie

  Charlotte Bouknight – daughter

  Edwin Bouknight – husband to Charlotte

  Madison – daughter

  Haley – daughter

  Megan Thomas – daughter

  Patrick – son

  Connor – son

  Other Players

  Jericho Henson – Adelaide’s father

  John Paulson – Reggi’s first husband, and Frank’s natural father

  A “friendly” woman

  Junior - Michael Seppi's torture machine

  Author's Note

  This book is one in a series of ten books. A series that is best read in order. Each two books are closely related, meaning Book 1 and Book 2, for example, complete that main story. A story which is part of the bigger picture of all ten books. This is the reason I publish the two close together, and make them available, as an eBook, for free on some days.

  I myself am a slow reader. So I explain this to others as 'I like to digest the material. I'm not trying to read as many books as I can, and then forget about them.' I like reading and going over what the author has written years later. I can still, on this day, remember C. S. Forester's character Horatio Hornblower and that he began as a conflicted, insecure, unhappy and suicidal young man, and ended as a confident, decorated Admiral. Most people can relate. It took me a year, I think, to read the series, and I felt at a loss to see it end.

  On the other hand, I've had reviewers finish both of my Books 1 and 2 in a day and a half. One even reread the two. Go figure.

  So, don't rob yourself. Read them in order, and enjoy!

  PROLOGUE

  August

  Gennarro Battaglia finishes the knot and stands up, admiring his work in the pale moonlight as he rocks gently from side to side aboard the Family’s Contender in the middle of the vast waters. From where he stands, land is barely seen, it is so far away. It has taken them over an hour to arrive here. Looking over to Alberto Gangi, Gen nods, and the short, rear deck door of the boat is opened.

  Gangi checks the knot, giving his approval as he approaches and stands near the hooded man in front of Gen. He takes the man’s left hand. Startled, the man jerks away, but Gangi is strong and holds tight. Gen removes the black bag on the man’s head, stares into the soulful, frightened eyes before him, and shakes his head, flashing a malevolent smirk. Pushing his index finger into the man’s chest, emphasizing each word, he tells him, “You didn’t take my advice.”

  Gangi unsheathes his short utility knife with his free hand and severs the victim’s ring finger at the joint above the man’s wedding ring, who then makes a feeble attempt to scream in pain against his gag. Gangi then glances at Vito, who steps to the back of the boat with a large, black, round weight and drops it overboard, careful not to be caught by an errant loop. The attached chains rattle loudly, ringing out as they slither heavily behind the iron load, and with a sudden, violent jerk, the man disappears.

  Gen and Gangi look over the stern like two little boys, eyes wide toward the ripples that are quickly replaced with windswept waters, and the Michelangelo affair is over. Their source of annoyance is gone. No more irritation. He has met his end, and business will return to normal.

  “Drink?” Gen asks, still staring into the lake.

  “Sure,” Gangi answers passively, also staring.

  The boat’s outboards flex their muscles. Vito, at the helm, turns the boat around and they begin the lazy trip back.

  Later, alone at the rail, the lake is passing underneath. Gen regrets the business they just finished. But it had to be done. It’s tough to be king, and his final thought on it is,

  “I hope Elsie doesn’t find out about this.”

  ◆◆◆

  Back in Chicago, Anthony Spadaro puts the call through to his retired Consigliore, Mitch, now living in Heritage Hills in North Carolina. As Mitch picks it up, he knows what it’s about. What they’ll be discussing is dangerous territory. Anytime you try to move on another player in the organized crime business, it heightens the game. People will die.

  This time it’s different, and personal. Anthony’s greedy, and Mitch is just waiting for payback. Payback on Gen. Payback on Elsie. Anthony is lining up support for this huge coup. And he finds support almost too eager to join him.

  Once Gennarro Battaglia retires, then it’ll be the perfect time to move. It will start with a hit. Then the disinformation—the spin—will be delivered, and then minor movements of conflicting interests. Backstabbing, brother against brother. It’ll be delicious.

  Then the DiCaprio Family will be vulnerable.

  ◆◆◆

  In the Blue Ridge Mountains, you can lose yourself, forget, run away. A thrill grips you when you approach the seemingly unexplored high hills and deep valleys. Danger mingles with excitement.

  At an entrance to the vast park, a visitor station displays a sign on its exterior that reads:

  If you encounter a bear, do not make eye contact.

  Slowly back away.

  If it follows you, you’re in trouble.

  Sobering words. And, sometimes, who that bear is following doesn’t even get the chance to back slowly away.

  Asheville, North Carolina

  Tragedy lays all things bare and drives us collectively. It makes us truthful with ourselves and focused on what’s important, in spite of the outcome. Frank Thomas

  September

  The piedmont section of the American countryside is, at times, overrun by tourists. It’s found in westernmost North Carolina, at the southern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway. This is where the city of Asheville is located, and its affluent residents boast a median age of thirty-nine. Quite the art scene, the city has a lot to be envi
ed. It’s relatively new-ish, but with impressive historic holdings, like the Biltmore Estate, the largest privately owned home in the United States.

  George Vanderbilt, the grandson of shipping tycoon Cornelius, first built a brick kiln and woodworking factory, onsite, in Asheville. These were then used to create the Estate on a vast tract of land pieced together from smaller parcels purchased largely from farmers. He went on to lay tracks for his railcars to carry his family, friends, and friends of friends from wherever they lived to his estate in Ashville. Next, he began the development of his private golf course and this, along with his fortune, was used to entertain his many visitors.

  Generations later, the surrounding land and golf course were sold to developers, and the township of Biltmore Forest was founded—a town within a city. The homes constructed there followed the new building codes of Biltmore Forest, and one of the most desirable and wealthiest enclaves in the country was created.

  The Heritage Hills private community is a natural by-product of Biltmore Forest, as is the current-day nature of Asheville itself. Developed in the hills nearby to Asheville, around forty miles northeast, Heritage Hills became a largely spring-summer-fall home to wealthy, retired couples. The rolling hills surrounding the gated community are part of the Smoky Mountains. The landscape is covered with naturally occurring, flowering azaleas and rhododendron, and pine trees. Western North Carolina is lined with raging rivers, surrounded by national park systems, and dotted by waterfalls, thousands of hiking trails, private communities, and Country Clubs—Heritage Hills Country Club within Heritage Hills being one of the most exclusive, even more so than Biltmore Forest Country Club.

  ◆◆◆

  Reggi Thomas remains standing at the door to the kitchen, spying on her husband Joe, watching him hold the phone in one hand, pressed to his ear. His other hand pauses before the keypad, confused again. His glasses lay on the bridge of his nose, mouth slightly agape.

  She backs up a few feet and then calls out for Joe to let him know she’s entering the kitchen. When she does, she sees he’s replaced the phone into its cradle.

  “Something is wrong with that phone,” he tells her, pointing to it. If it weren’t so sad, his simple expression would be comical, what with that silly, guilty grin.

  “Let’s have us some lunch,” Reggi suggests.

  And immediately Joe forgets about the phone, nods his head, and enthusiastically replies, “I could go for that!”

  After they finish eating, Reggi takes Joe to the front door and asks him to put his walking shoes on. Joe’s agreeable, and the two of them walk out to the sunny skies over Heritage Hills, where they’ve lived for over two decades now. A privileged community with spacious homes, spacious properties, and hilly, winding, manicured roads just northeast of Asheville.

  As they plod along, her mind wanders to the doctor’s appointment Joe has this week. It’s with a neurologist Joe’s been seeing to help with his dementia onset that began recently.

  Reggi’s not expecting good news.

  July two years later

  In Heritage Hills, over 400 homes have been developed to date, each of 5,000 square feet minimum. And in one of these homes, Agent David Juvieux is looking through his scope. His object of interest is a reddish-brown, sprawling home in a small private valley.

  David is an FBI senior special agent, Atlanta office, running the surveillance operation of the owner of that home. The United States government has directed the FBI to track the owner and recover the many millions—perhaps billions—of dollars that he and his “Family” have hidden. If that can be done, federal prosecutors can develop a case and begin to assign these leeches of society to welcoming penitentiaries. This is long overdue.

  The home they're watching is owned by the retired mob boss of the notorious DiCaprio Family based in Chicago. Like most organized criminals, they have a hand in everything that makes money the easy way, from sex trafficking to insurance fraud.

  “David,” an agent nearby says, “Look at this.” Together, they focus on the feed looking directly towards the front of the house in the valley, positioned around 200 feet away. A woman walking her dog is staring at the house from behind a tree.

  “What do you think she’s doing there?” the agent asks.

  Juvieux looks at the agent as if he has two heads, and, laughingly, tells him, “Looks like she’s walking a dog.”

  “She does this almost every day, from behind the same tree,” the agent continues.

  Juvieux presses his fingers to his head for emphasis and says, “A, everyone up here has a dog, and B, the dog is house trained and needs to go out. Listen, she’s not connected, so forget it.” But Juvieux takes notice anyway; it's just his nature. He watches for a few moments, watches her staring, trying not to be noticed by anyone in the house. Then he turns and gets back to business.

  David looks at his phone and sees it's 11 am. “Get the stationhouse on the line, it’s time to check in.” The agent dials the by now familiar number.

  “Detective Henson, Asheville 100 Court,” Detective Adelaide Henson answers.

  “Detective, this is our daily heads up. Agent Juvieux speaking. Everything is status quo and we’re on the job today,” he explains.

  Addie deadpans, and Juvieux isn’t alarmed by the nature of her acerbic tone; he’s heard it before. “I know who you are, you don’t have to announce yourself every time you call. Got it. Brass wants to know if you need anything.”

  “More money,” and, Juvieux adds, thinking out loud, “the operation always needs more.”

  Henson wraps it up with, “In the mail. Ok, I’ll put this into the log. Same time tomorrow then,” and hangs up.

  Juvieux, staring at the phone, wonders if she ever developed any social skills at all. In the same breath, he considers asking Henson out for dinner sometime when this is over, but they could be very old people by then. In any case, it's a dumb idea. She’s not his type. She’s smallish, but pretty, with an attractive figure and soft, curly brown hair. She also has a mean mouth. She’d probably reduce him in size by a couple of feet. So, he returns his attention to the home. Their job is to track the continual visitors and follow the owner, find a pattern or other guest list feature to exploit, and complete their job. He is watching, always watching.

  The home is owned by the retired kingpin of the DiCaprio crime Family, Ken Jones—formerly known as Gennarro “Biggie” Battaglia—and his wife Elsie.

  ◆◆◆

  The group of four golfers pulls up to the Heritage Hills clubhouse in their electric carts and hop out, leaving them with the rangers to clean their clubs and stow the carts away.

  Ken Jones shakes hands with his fellow players, turns, and then walks through the doors of the club. He's all smiles as he heads toward the locker room, and the club staff greet him with the ingratiating servitude he is due. He is their newest member, as well as the wealthiest, with a “speculated” net worth of over one billion.

  Staff and members envy his wealth and stately posture, sporting salt and pepper hair atop his solid, six-foot frame. He is darkly tanned with friendly looks - engaging, well-liked, and smart, too. They demurely watch him pass by as he pulls on the door and ducks inside.

  After having stepped into the locker room, Jones begins to reflect on what has transpired in the last six months. since his retirement. He assumed a new name to use when he moved to North Carolina. “Ken” closely resembled his own short name of “Gen,” and he chose it in order to make him look as vanilla as possible and blend in, and one that Elsie wouldn’t slip up on. He passed his leadership role to his nephew Vincent, and that was approved by the Chicago Family Syndicate. His remaining responsibilities are to transition the leadership and mentor a few rising stars in the Family.

  ◆◆◆

  These days, after Joe's passing, Reggi spends the majority of her time alone and self-isolated. Her daughter Charlotte lives thirty miles away in Asheville, but it might as well be a thousand. Charlotte thinks of hersel
f as a trophy wife to her older husband, Edwin. They are way too busy for Reggi, what with their wine cellar and two dimensional life, spending time at Biltmore Forest Country Club, where they are members.

  Reggi’s son Frank lives in New York City, and has been for thirty years plus. Her other daughter, Megan, spends her time as a political activist and running for office. She rarely sees Megan, which is fine since she doesn’t have much of a relationship with her anyway.

  Reggi and Joe never should have moved to Heritage Hills, with its assessments, homeowner fees, club dues, and maintenance. They just didn’t have the money. Ironically, at one time they were both the most popular and also the poorest members.

  If having lost what little money she had, restricting her options in life, wasn’t bad enough, half of Reggi’s friends have passed away. The others are on the whole not as healthy as she is and don’t have the same mobility. In other words, they are old. Either that or they spend half of the year in Florida or some other warmer location. As time moves on, she has fewer and fewer friends and more and more time to herself. It doesn’t help that she lives in a mountain community where if you’re not a member of the club, you rarely socialize.