Dmitry's Closet Nelson, S. (best reads TXT) 📖

The large clientele list would be extremely disgruntled when they received notice, but Dmitry evidently didn’t care.

“And I’m still going to get paid, even though we’re closed?” Renée inquired.

“That’s what Dmitry said. Evidently, Royal is a little under the weather, and Dmitry has hired a contractor to come in and do a big overhaul. He would have told you himself, if you had answered the phone first.” He batted his eyes and turned off the lights to the boutique.

“I don’t see why he wants to change it. He just opened. Seems like a waist of an investment,” Renée continued.

She slipped her cell phone in to her purse and headed for the back door. “Maybe I should stop over and see Royal.”

“Not today,” Cory insistedas he followed her out of the store. “She’s got a doctor’s appointments.”

“Oh,” Renée was disappointed. She had not seen Royal since she left for Russia nearly three weeks prior. “Well, I’ll just stop by tomorrow since I’m off with pay.” She looked at him and raised her eyebrow.

∞♥∞

Sorrello closed the door to the squad car and walked up the steep driveway of Agosto’s Central Avenue home. He looked around the property suspiciously, wondering how a young detective could afford such a pricey neighborhood.

Agosto had a stereotypical,luxury southern home, com-plete with large white plantation-style posts on the front of the house and four very old rocking chairs on the porch; ivy vines grew up and down the sides of the house leading from a well-manicured lawn and garden that was at least a half-acre or more. Patriotic in stature, a large American flag hung from one of the posts, waving in the icy wind.

The dark brick house was three stories tall with huge white shutters on every window facing the front yard. Two large oak trees with swings attached to the large limbs stood on either side of the lawn along with an array of toys that lined the porch.

Sorrello was bemused. Agosto either married into money or was from money. Either way, his style of living far exceeded any lifestyle that Sorrello was used it.

As he stepped on the porch, he heard the dog in the back yard barking. Before he could ring the doorbell, a beautiful black woman in gray business suit with her hair pulled up in a soft ponytail and her neck adorned with pearls opened the stately white door and stood behind the screen door.

“May I help you?” she asked, her silky voice and bright smile warmed Sorrello’s freezing body for a moment from the winter weather.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Agent Sorrello. I’m here for Agosto, I think. Hell, I might be at the wrong address.” He took in more of the mansion from door, instantly recognizing the large chandelier a few feet above her.

“No,” the woman opened the door. “You’re at the right address. He’s in the kitchen having breakfast. Are you hungry?” She moved out the doorway and allowed him to come inside.

“No. I just ate some McDonalds.” He passed her and came in contact with the fragrance of her Chanel cologne.

“McDonalds?” The woman snickered. “Agent Sorrello that is not a hearty southern breakfast. Why don’t you come on in and have a seat. I’ll fix you a plate, and you can eat with Nicola.”

“Well, since you’re gonna twist my arm,” Sorrello said shocked.

The large diamond ring blinding him on her wedding finger confirmed it. Agosto had never mentioned that his wife was black, even after all of the snide remarks that he had made about Royal and Dmitry. He was terribly embarrassed.

Mrs. Agosto escorted Sorrello down the long corridor to the kitchen where Detective Agosto was reading the newspaper and talking to two little boys, who sat in front of him obediently answering their father. He looked up as his wife came through the door. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he stood up and took off his reading glasses.

“Hey, man,” Agosto said,pulling out a chair. “You’re early.”

“Yeah.” Sorrello looked down at the handsome twin boys, who watched him curiously.

“My boys,” Agosto confirmed, proudly acknowledginghis two-year old sons. “Baby,” he looked over at his wife. “Can I get another plate?”

“Sure,” she said, going to cupboard.

“I really don’t want to be a bother, man,” Sorrello in-sisted.

“No bother. Ivy always cooks too much. It’s good to have someone to help me and boys out.” He smiled and took the plate from his wife. “Thanks, baby.”

“Honey, I’m late.” She reached in and kissed Agosto’s lips quickly. “Boys, put your plates away and let’s go.”

“Okay,” they said in-sync, pulling away from the table and grabbing their small plates.

“Agent Sorrello, it was pleasure to meet you. You’ll have to come by again sometime,” Mrs. Agosto said, grabbing her briefcase.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Ma’am.”

Agosto saw them off then returned to the kitchen where Sorrello sat at the table.

“Alright,” he said as he made his way back over the counter. “You want some coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sorrello said, looking around the large brightly colored kitchen. “How old is this house?”

“Over a hundred years old.”

Agosto sat the coffee cup in front of Sorrello. “Ivy made us move into it from down the street when she found out she was pregnant again. We needed more room.”

“Pregnant? She doesn’t look pregnant.”

“She is. Couple months now.”

“You guys are a baby factory, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“Well, your place is sure nice.”

“Thanks.” Agosto smiled.

“Look, it may be a little too late to say, but I’m sorry if I ever said anything to offend you…now that I know that your wife’s black…African-American.” He stumbled over his words.

“It’s cool, man. You didn’t know.”

Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“You have to learn to pick your battles,” Agosto sat down in front of him with his own cup and scratched his stubby beard. “I don’t work for the NAACP; I work for the MPD. More often than not, people in this city and on this force are going to have something negative to say about race. You can’t always be