It felt as if someone had defaced Lucia’s grave. Ugly and vicious and very personal. She shuddered.
Liam’s hand tightened. “Want to go outside? Get some air?”
She snapped herself to attention. Shook her head.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “It really was a beautiful thing.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes, exactly. A thing. On the one hand, it’s a precious heirloom. On the other, it’s just a thing. Made out of old, carved oak wood. That’s all. I don’t know how to feel about it.”
“You don’t have to choose. Both things can be true at once.”
She was startled and moved by the comprehension in his eyes. She looked away quickly, but discovered that there was noplace to rest her eyes in that room that did not hurt to look upon.
“I, uh…” He stopped himself, looking doubtful.
“What?” she demanded.
“I could try to repair it,” he said slowly. “I’ve done a lot of furniture restoration. My mother was into antiques. I wouldn’t expect payment for the labor. I’d consider it a privilege to work on that thing. But even so, you might be better off contacting a specialist.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I accept,” she said.
“Not so fast,” he warned. “I couldn’t make guarantees. It’ll never be the same as before. There’s a lot of damage, and it would take a while. With something like this, I’d go one splinter at a time. You’d better talk it over with your sisters and see if you—”
“Yes,” she said, with flat finality. “I want you to do it.”
He studied her face. “Well, whatever, then. I won’t hold you to it, though. Not until you talk to your sisters.”
“I’ll hold
you
to it.” She glared, daring him to rescind his offer.
“Uh, okay,” he murmured. “Whatever.”
She was clutching his fingers with all her strength. Heat flooded into her face. She whipped her hand away. “Sorry.” She headed toward the kitchen. His light footfalls came after, crunching broken glass.
The kitchen was just as bad. Cupboard doors had been torn off their hinges, the cupboards’ contents hurled to the floor with a violence that had shattered the floor tiles. The table was upended, the chairs were tossed, every dish was smashed. The garbage they’d forgotten had been dragged out from under the sink, the plastic bag slashed open, its contents spread wide.
“Well. Guess I won’t have to go looking for any packing boxes,” Nancy said, her voice thin. It was such a silly thing to say. She clapped her hand over her mouth, stared down at the floor.
That was when she saw it. A crumpled piece of white bond paper, and something written on it, in Lucia’s elegant, slanted antique handwriting. She snatched it up, heart thudding. Some helpful soul had swept up the garbage for her, and thrown away this as well.
“Nancy, hey. You’re not supposed to—”
“Yes, I know.” She shook coffee grounds off the paper. The page was covered with scribbled handwriting, marked up with small edits, some words crossed out, others scribbled in:
will come as a shock to you girls, and no doubt you think me Machiavellian and foolish for creating this elaborate system of checks and balances, but after what happened to my father, after what this thing did to my marriage, I feel I cannot be too careful. Just please know this: I made these arrangements not because I do not trust you, but because I love you, and because you love each other. Love, like any precious thing, should be protected by every means possible. The older I get, the more I understand that it is the only thing worth protecting.
Then a couple of lines, both of which had been savagely crossed out, as if Lucia had been frustrated, searching for the right words:
The necklaces are the key to
You must use the necklaces together to discover the secret of
The writing continued with a new paragraph:
You are each in your own unique way great lovers of beauty—music, literature, and the visual arts, and so I devised the
And the page ended. She could hear Lucia’s soft, accented voice echoing in her head.
“What is that?” Liam picked his way across the rubble.
“It’s a letter.” Her voice cracked, broke. “To us. From Lucia.”
She held it up for him. He scanned it rapidly and met her gaze, his mouth grim. “Wow,” he said. “That’s very weird.”
“A draft,” she whispered. “It’s a first draft of a letter to us.”
“Right.” He paused, thoughtfully. “But if this is the draft…”
“Then where the hell is the finished version?” she finished.
They stared at each other. She wanted to grab his arm, for balance. The ground beneath her was just a thin crust of apparent normality, and beneath it, an abyss of dark, shifting possibilities.
“Why didn’t we find the finished letter?” she demanded. “Why?”
He pondered it. “Could she have mailed it to you?”
“Eight days have gone by. It takes two, four at most, for a letter to get to the city. It was an important letter. She was putting a lot of thought into it. This did not get forgotten, or lost in the mail. No way.”
He finished the thought. “You think it got lost in some more sinister way.”
“‘After what this thing did to my marriage’?” she quoted softly. “What thing? What the hell is this thing that she’s talking about?”
“Maybe it’s what she installed the safe for,” he suggested.
She glanced up at him, startled. “Safe?”
His eyes widened. “She didn’t tell you?” Nancy’s blank face answered his question. He whistled silently. “A few weeks ago, she hired me to install a hidden safe. In her closet upstairs. That’s how we met. Sorry I didn’t say something before. I assumed you knew.”
The woman from the forensics team came into the kitchen and frowned at her. “Miss, I asked you please not to touch anything.”
“I found something.” Nancy held out the letter. “The investigating officer needs to see it. Please, be on the lookout for more pages.”
The lady twitched the sheet of paper out of Nancy’s fingers with her own gloved ones. “I’ll bring it to her attention. Since you can’t keep your hands to yourself, could you wait outside until we’re finished?”
The lady sternly escorted the two of them out onto the stoop, and they looked at each other, feeling abashed as naughty children.
“I want to look at that safe,” Nancy said fretfully. “Not that I could open it. I don’t have the combination. I don’t imagine you…?”
He shook his head. “Lucia had to choose the combination herself.”
Nancy chewed her lip. “I wish I had a copy of that letter. God knows when they’ll let me see it. I wanted to show it to Nell and Vivi.”
“One second.” Liam went to his truck and pulled a paper from his dashboard. He plucked a pencil from his shirt and scribbled against the hood of his truck. He handed it to her. It was the text of Lucia’s letter, written out in a bold, angular cursive script.
“It’s maybe not word for word, but that’s the gist of it,” he said.
“That’s incredible! Do you have a photographic memory?”
“Not really. In an hour, I wouldn’t be able to write more than a rough paraphrase. And it has to really interest me. Otherwise I don’t retain a damn thing.”
Nancy broke eye contact and busied herself folding the paper into a pocket-sized square. “Well, thanks for being so interested, I guess.”
“Anything to do with Lucia and you interests me. Don’t thank me for something involuntary.”
“Involuntary?” She let out a self-conscious snort. “Like sneezing?”
“More like breathing.”
His low, quiet response abruptly halted that very bodily function to which he was referring. She shoved the square into her pocket. “Um, great. Thanks. Since they’re not going to let me in, I might as well—”
“The investigating officer’s going to want to talk with you,” Liam said. “I told her you were on your way. She should be back soon. You haven’t had breakfast, have you?”
She floundered, thrown off course. “I…um…huh?”
“Breakfast?” His subtle smile gleamed. “First meal of the day? Familiar with it?”
“Ah, I’ve…I’ve had coffee,” she offered.
“You’ve got me beat, then,” he said. “There’s a diner up there on the main strip. We could get some food before you talk to the cop.”
She started groping for excuses.
Calm down, birdbrain. At mealtimes, normal people get food without reading any big, hidden meanings into it. Lighten up.
Her stomach wasn’t in line with the lecture, though.
“Lunch would be great,” she said faintly.
N
ancy regretted her decision when she was seated across from Liam in the pink, madly mirrored interior of Luigi’s Diner. She wished she’d left her hair loose, worn contacts instead of glasses. Something low cut. Not that she had any cleavage to speak of.
He just waited, sipping his tea, and after a couple of minutes of that, her control snapped. “What is it?” she demanded. “What the hell are you waiting for? What are you looking at?”
He discreetly looked away. “I was looking at you. You look…”
“What?” she snapped. “Unapproachable? Unfeminine?”
His mouth twitched. “No, not at all.”
“What, then?” she almost shouted.
“You look good, Nancy.” His voice was velvety, soothing.
Nancy wrapped her arms across her chest. “Sorry. Those long, significant silences of yours are making me twitchy. I appreciate you being nice, but tell me the truth. I look like hell, don’t I?”
His eyes narrowed. “You look stressed and scared. But that doesn’t keep you from looking good. I’m sorry about the long, significant silences. They’re hardwired into me. I’m not much of a chatterbox.”
“That’s okay.” She stared down into her coffee and fished Liam’s copy of Lucia’s letter out of her pocket. “I am scared. I’m scared that things didn’t happen the way the cops said they did. She wrote this letter, but we didn’t find it. And your classic butthead burglar looking to trade a TV or a diamond for a hit of crack or meth—that guy is not going to take this letter. That guy does not give a shit about this letter.”
Liam nodded. “No. You’re right. He doesn’t.”
His quiet agreement rattled her even more. She realized she’d been hoping that he would talk her down from this terrifying line of reasoning. “So who did take it? And what the hell is this ‘thing’ she’s referring to, and what’s the deal with these pendants? And if she had this great big hairy family secret, why did she not tell us before?”
Liam cleared his throat. “Maybe she was—”
“And what did it do to her father? And who the hell knew she was ever married? I mean, married? What kind of mom just sort of forgets to mention that little detail to her daughters, even if they are adopted?”
Liam waited patiently. People were starting to peek. She was making a scene. She hunched down over her coffee cup. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Flipping out on you in public. The breakfast date from hell.”
“You’re a great breakfast date,” Liam said. “We’re talking constant entertainment. I’m in no danger of boredom when I hang out with you. It’s just one humdinger after another. I can’t wait for the car chase.”
She exploded in shaky, snorting giggles that splattered coffee over the table, and to her horror, over her blouse as well. But when she peeked up from sponging her collar, he looked pleased with himself.
“You know what freaks me out the most?” She tried to keep her voice down. “It’s the responsibility”. I have nothing to help the cops. Just hints about a secret, and some mysterious, sinister ‘thing’ that I’ve never heard of. I don’t know what or where it is, just that somebody appears to want it. And that somebody might have…might have killed my mother.”
There it was. She let out a long, shaky breath. She’d said the unsayable, and Liam just accepted her words calmly, without reacting to them or negating them. She hid her face with hands that shook. “If somebody hurt Lucia, I have to do something about it. I can’t just lie down, let it go. But what? And to whom?”
He was quiet for a long time before he spoke again. “What’s with the necklaces?” he asked. “Do you know what she’s referring to?”
Nancy held up the pendant that glittered at her throat. “I assume she’s referring to these. They came the day before yesterday. Special hand delivery from the jeweler’s shop. Evidently she’d commissioned them for us before she…before it happened. Mine’s an
N
, for Nancy. Nell has an
A
, for Antonella, and Vivi has a
V
, of course.”
He leaned forward, peering at the pendant, and she unclasped it and handed it to him. He examined it from every angle and passed it back to her. “Very pretty,” he commented.
“Thank you,” she said, reclasping it. “That’s what I thought. It’s just pretty. No mysterious keys that I can see. And it was probably expensive, but not outrageously so. Several hundred dollars, maybe.”
He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “It might be worth a try to talk to the jeweler,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes. I most certainly will. Today.”
“I’ll take you,” he said.
“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” she said quickly. “I have my car, and you must have all kinds of things to do, so—”
“Nope. Nothing. I was going to work on Lucia’s house today. I can’t, so I’m just kicking my heels. And I wouldn’t miss it. So really. Don’t fight me on this. Trust me. You’ll lose.”
Whew. There it was, a naked challenge. Right out there in the open. She blinked as she looked at his set jaw, his narrowed eyes. Ahem. There he was, Mr. Alpha Dog. Woof. This was the part in the script where she crisply gave him to understand that he was not the boss here, and that he was not dealing with a fluttery pushover, and that her decisions were entirely her own, thank you very much. Buh-bye.
The words just didn’t come out. A strangled silence took their place. Having company today would be so very nice. Having big, tough, hard-muscled, keen-eyed protective company would be even better.
So. Maybe…just maybe she would let him have this one. A chunk of meat for a hungry wolf. Just this once, mind. Never again.
“Um. Let’s…let’s talk about something else,” she said.
He lifted his teacup, eyes smiling at her over the rim. Pleased with himself. “Whatever you like,” he said magnanimously. “Be my guest.”
His expression made her squirm on the plastic cushion.
“So what do we talk about, then?” she demanded.
His lips twitched. “Anything you like. You were the one who wanted to change the subject. I was fine with the subject.”
“Don’t start with me,” she warned.
“I’m not,” he said. “Try to relax.” He reached out, pausing as she flinched, and touched her forehead with the tip of his finger, massaging the anxious crease between her brows as if trying to erase it.
“Oh, that. That’s always there. That’s just part of my face,” she said with a shaky laugh. His boldness made her feel…naked.
Weird. She hadn’t known there was a good side to that feeling.
“So, Liam,” she said briskly. “Tell me about yourself. Lucia told you all about me, and that puts me at a disadvantage.”
His smile vanished. She felt a flash of regret for killing the moment. She hardened herself. She had to be tough, and careful.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
“Whatever is relevant. You’re not married, engaged, or seriously involved. Lucia wouldn’t have thrown me at your head if you were.”
“True enough,” he agreed.
“So what’s wrong with you?” she demanded.
“What do you mean?” He looked mildly curious, not annoyed.
Nancy shrugged. “You’d think a guy like you would’ve been taken by now. You must be, what, thirty-seven? Thirty-eight?”
“Thirty-seven,” he said.
“Thirty-seven,” she repeated, in a wondering tone. “How have you escaped the noose for so long?”
“I don’t see it as a noose. But I haven’t met the ideal woman yet.”
Her cell phone rang as the waitress arrived with their food. The manager of the venue in Indianapolis where Peter was performing in three weeks, calling to postpone the date. Nancy made a note and promised to get back to him as soon as she had checked the artist’s availability. She hung up and gave Liam a thin smile. “So, back to this ideal woman of yours. What’s she like?”
“You really want to know?”
“Hell, yes,” she assured him. “I’m fascinated. I’m all agog.”
Liam swallowed a mouthful of omelet and washed it down with tea. “Okay,” he said. “My ideal woman is a great cook. She likes to bake bread. She wants lots of children. Would consider being a stay-at-home mom. She’s relaxed. Likes flowers. Loves to hike and garden.”
Nancy’s heart sank.
Cut it out, loser.
She had no designs on the guy, so why should it matter if she was the opposite of his ideal woman? She couldn’t tell a pumpkin from a hollyhock. Lots of children? What a concept. Although she hadn’t completely given up hopes of maybe at least one, someday. And cooking? Bread? Hah.
Liam went relentlessly on. “She puts home and family first. She’s content with simplicity. She’s sincere, and genuine.”
Nancy tried for a breezy tone. “I get her vibe. Earth mother. Dips her own candles. Makes her own soap. Carves her own toothpicks.”
His lips twitched. “Uh, that’s the general idea, I guess.”
She forced out a brittle laugh. “Well, good luck. I didn’t know they were even still making that brand of female. I bet you’d have more luck shopping for used and vintage models.” Her cell rang again. A presenter of a concert series in Portland, Oregon, wanted Mandrake’s promo packet. She took down his data in her organizer.
“You know, that thing has an off button,” Liam informed her.
Nancy gazed at him blankly. “What’s your point?”
He sighed. “Never mind. You haven’t touched your sandwich.”
Nancy looked down at her turkey club. “I’m not really hungry.”
Liam examined her face with a frown. “Try to calm down a little,” he said. “See if you can get down at least half of your sandwich.”
“I don’t want to argue about my sandwich. I want to know more about this ideal—”
“You’re not going to find out a damn thing worth knowing if you come at me with that attitude.”
She set down her coffee, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. I’m pissed off. There’s a difference.”
She stared down into the puddle of coffee while Liam finished his omelet with undiminished appetite. Finally, she looked up. “I’m not sure what just happened,” she said. “But I have a feeling it was my fault.”
“All I know is, one minute I was talking to you, the next minute I had an uptight, bitchy stranger in my face, wearing a Nancy mask.”
“Sorry.” She blinked back a startling rush of tears.
“Don’t be,” he said. “Come on, Nancy. Indulge me. Eat some of your sandwich. Please.”
Oh, for God’s sake. What did she have to lose by obliging him, anyhow? She picked it up and took a bite. His dimples flashed.
They talked, carefully and politely, about neutral subjects. She managed to eat almost three quarters of her sandwich, which made him happy. When the bill came, he snatched it from her hand and looked personally offended when she tried to pay. Wow. She’d never met one of those guys before, although she’d heard that they existed in the wild.
After they left the diner, Liam opened the truck door for her, climbed in, and started the engine. “So where’s the jeweler?”
The paperwork was buried in the rubble at Lucia’s house, but the name, Baruchin’s Fine Jewelers, was burned into her mind. A consult to her BlackBerry located it as a couple of towns away. The time it took to drive there was spent in conversation that was calculated to keep her calm. It wasn’t working. She got more distracted as they drew nearer.
They pulled up in front of the storefront. The metal sliding doors were down. Closed, on Saturday at noon. Prime shopping hours. Everything around was open and bustling. Odd.
Nancy’s neck prickled unpleasantly as she got out of the truck. There was a small restaurant, Tony’s Diner, next door. Nancy headed in and slid onto a stool at the counter. Liam joined her.
A middle-aged lady sporting a high red bouffant came over with a coffeepot. Nancy smiled and held out her cup. “Yes, please. I have a question. I need to speak to the jeweler next door about a delivery. I was wondering how long they’ve been closed. Is he on vacation?”
A splash of hot coffee slopped out of the pot and onto Nancy’s thumb. She jerked back with a gasp. The bouffant lady’s face crumpled. She set her coffee down, covered her face, and fled into the kitchen.
Nancy glanced at Liam. He was frowning. She sucked on her scalded thumb. “That’s not a good sign,” she said.
“Sure isn’t,” he agreed.
After a minute, a bent, scowling elderly man with bushy white eyebrows, wearing a paper cook’s cap, came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. He scanned the counter and headed straight for them. “You folks was askin’ Donna about Sol Baruchin?”
Nancy nodded. “I don’t actually know Mr. Baruchin personally,” she said, a little nervously. “I needed to ask a professional question—”
“Old Sol’s dead,” the old man said heavily. “He got murdered.”
The cold, weighty silence seemed to grip the whole room. Everyone was frozen, listening. Not a spoon clinked.
“M-m-murdered?” Nancy echoed, in a tiny, shaking whisper.
“When?” Liam asked.
“Last night, sometime. Him and his wife and his mother-in-law, all three. Christ, the mother-in-law was bedridden. Musta been ninety, ninety-five years old. Goddamn animals. I got this cop buddy, comes here for breakfast. He tipped me off about it. Frickin’ horrible mess.”
Nancy covered her mouth with her hands and tried to process this information. It wouldn’t seem to go in. Everything was blocked.
“Sol’s been having breakfast and lunch in this joint every day for the last thirty-five years,” the old man said dully. “Donna’s all broke up. Christ, it’s hard enough at my age, with friends dropping like flies from heart attacks and strokes, without some sick bastard murdering ’em. So, anyhows.” He shook his head, his wrinkled mouth compressed into a grim, bluish line. “Sol’s shop ain’t gonna be open anytime soon, miss.”
She tried to answer him politely. Nothing came out.
Liam smoothly filled the gap for her. “Thanks for the information,” he said. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”
“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” The old man turned and shuffled back toward the kitchen, his shoulders bowed.
Nancy lurched out into the street, desperate for a gulp of air, but it was even worse out there, with the murdered Baruchin’s shuttered shop staring at her morosely from behind heavy, gray, metallic eyelids. The effect was chilling. “Let’s get away from here,” she gasped.