Burke stepped out of the car, glanced at the crowd, but as a mourner today, not a politician, she ignored the press and made no move to greet anyone. Security enveloped her and Wong and the group moved up the stairs. At the top, just before they entered, Burke acknowledged Corelli with a brief nod.
A checkpoint for mourners arriving on foot was set up to the side of the entrance. A picture ID was required to pass through. Nardo’s coworkers from the Italian delegation were amongst those who entered that way. They acknowledged Corelli as they moved up the steps. Men, alone or in pairs, drifted in. Scott Sigler arrived with a friend on either side and seemed not to see her when he walked past. It took her a minute but she did recognize a dressed-up Miranda Foxworth, looking beautiful, on the arm of a man Corelli assumed was her partner, John.
“Detective Corelli.” Miranda spoke softly enough that no one standing nearby could overhear.
“Ms. Foxworth.” Corelli nodded.
The next car announced contained Ms. Simone Corelli and Mr. Nicolas Gianelli and their bodyguards. Nicky got out first and reached in to help Simone. They seemed stunned to be in the spotlight. As soon as their guards gave the word, they hurried up the steps into the cathedral. Nicky gave a little wave when he spotted Chiara and whispered into Simone’s ear as they stepped inside.
Then the voice in her ear whispered: “Ms. Brett Cummings and Mr. Nelson Choi.” She tensed as the limousine drew to the curb and waited as Detective Forlini, the driver, came around to open the door. First out was Parker, followed by Charleen Greene. The three detectives scanned the crowd and then Parker leaned in to help Brett out of the car. She looked pale and lovely and dignified in black. If she was frightened, she didn’t show it. She searched the crowd and finding Corelli, held her eyes for a few seconds before saying something to Parker, who nodded to Greene, standing at Brett’s left. The three of them moved up the steps into the cathedral. Corelli let out the breath she was holding and watched Nelson Choi and his partner Jeremy, accompanied by Ron Watkins and another detective, follow Brett up the steps.
Finally, the last limousine arrived. Somehow the crowd knew it was the del Balzos, even though the windows were tinted so it was impossible to see inside. Conversations stopped and the crowd surged forward. Except for the swoosh of buses and cars on Fifth, the whirl of cameras, and the murmur of voices speaking softly into microphones in several languages, it was quiet, like a collective holding of breath. The chauffeur moved around to the passenger side and opened the front door.
Andrea Sansone, dressed totally in black but without his cowboy boots, jumped out of the front seat of the extra-long limo, faced the cameras, and then donned a black hat. Sansone opened the back-passenger door and helped Nardo’s sister Antonia out. She took his arm. Nardo’s brother-in-law Emilio followed and reached back for his wife, Flavia. Like everyone else in front of the cathedral, the four of them stared at the front passenger door of the limo. Carla del Balzo, looking very glamorous in black with a large black hat and a black veil covering her face, assisted by Sansone, exited as gracefully as one can from a limousine.
Last, the very distinguished and handsome Ambassador Leonardo del Balzo emerged, brushed his pants, and murmured something. Traffic seemed to slow. Cameras flashed and the crowd surged forward. The police line held and pushed back as the four younger people started up the steps. Sansone’s eyes settled on Corelli, and while he didn’t acknowledge her, she thought she detected the beginning of a smirk. She disengaged and moved her eyes to Nardo’s parents, the ambassador with his hand at Carla’s elbow, escorting her slowly up the steps behind Sansone and their daughters and son-in-law. The ambassador looked straight ahead, but it was impossible to know where Carla looked with her face behind the thick black veil. Corelli followed them into the cathedral.
The dimness, the smell of incense, the coughing and nose blowing, and the gentle whisper of conversation in the cathedral were familiar and comforting to Corelli. Heads turned as the del Balzos moved slowly toward the front pew and sat. She scanned the crowd again and noticed Darla and several other members of the media standing off to the side, speaking quietly into phones or small recorders. After a minute or so, the organ began to play. The Ave Maria soared. The mourners stood, faced the rear, and watched the priests greet the beautiful rosewood casket, sprinkle it with holy water, and chant as they followed the coffin down the aisle.
At the front of the church, the priests walked around the coffin swinging the censer or incense burner. Corelli moved down the side aisle and leaned against a giant column with a clear view of her five charges and their guards. With her hand on her gun, she scanned the crowd again. Brett whispered in Parker’s ear. Parker nodded but never stopped surveying the area around them. The Mass started. And lulled by the music, the incense, the dimness, and the sleeplessness of last night, Corelli struggled to stay alert. She forced herself to breathe deeply, and she paced until the adrenaline kicked in again when the mourners lined up in the aisles on the way to the altar to take communion. She panicked; she couldn’t see the seven and their guards behind the communion takers. She moved quickly toward them and shoved her way through the double line to the pews that held them. Everyone looked up. She apologized to the people she had pushed aside, smiled weakly at the guards and the guarded, but remained standing near the two pews while the line curved around her. She was thankful none of the five took communion. At last everyone was seated again and she moved back to her post.
Finally, it was over, and the coffin rolled toward the rear of the church, followed by the ambassador and Mrs. del Balzo, their daughters, son-in-law, and Andrea Sansone.
The crowd was huge but orderly and, as usual, the pews emptied into the aisles from front to back, allowing the people sitting up front the opportunity to exit first. Corelli stood to the side then fell into place behind the group of friends as their row moved into the aisle. Nardo’s body was being flown to Italy for burial, so once they were out of the church her detectives would whisk the five friends away to Brett’s place and Corelli would breathe again. But the line inched forward and Corelli became more and more agitated. “What’s going on out there? Why are we moving so slowly?” she whispered into her mouthpiece.
“It’s the del Balzos,” the voice in her ear replied. “They’re doing a receiving line in the vestibule so everyone is stopping to talk to them.”
“Oh, great.”
When they reached the vestibule she stepped to the entrance, trying to keep an eye on what was happening outside, stay away from the del Balzos, and still keep a close eye on everyone. Finally, the seven, with their guards standing close, were at the front of the line. Corelli said, “Bring their cars around. They’ll be out in a minute.”
Simone and Nicky stopped briefly to offer condolences in Italian. Corelli was amused to see both the del Balzos frown, probably trying to figure how they knew these two youngsters who looked enough like her to be taken for her twins.
Kate and Abby hugged Nardo’s sisters, squeezed the hands of both parents and murmured something, then walked out, followed by their security detail. Nelson and Jeremy also hugged and spoke to the sisters, but when they reached the ambassador, he flushed and nodded, then turned away from them; neither del Balzo offered them a hand. The two men hesitated and moved out with Ron and his associate on either side. The prejudiced bastard couldn’t even control himself at the funeral. It probably never even entered their little minds that Kate and Abby were lesbians, but they got it about Nelson and Jeremy. Brett hugged Antonia and whispered something that made the young woman sob. She grasped Flavia’s hands and kissed her cheek. Flavia dabbed at her eyes when Brett moved on to the parents, who were waiting and watching her with interest. Brett’s voice was soft so Corelli couldn’t hear what she said, but it sounded as if she were speaking in Italian. Corelli edged closer.
“Nardo and I were very close friends,” Brett said. Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t believe it. I just spoke to him Tuesday night.”
/> The del Balzos responded in Italian. Carla took Brett’s hand in hers and leaned in close to say something Corelli couldn’t hear. Brett removed a pen and a card from her bag and wrote something on the card before handing it to Carla. They hugged and Brett moved on. Neither of the del Balzos seemed to have noticed Parker standing just past them waiting for Brett. She smiled. Darla had somehow managed to be right behind Brett. The del Balzos turned as Darla offered her condolences. Corelli spotted Spencer Nickerson’s parents and Hillary, his business partner, farther back in the line. She wished she could stay to watch that interaction, but this wasn’t the time to feed her idle curiosity.
Standing on the curb, she breathed a sigh of relief when Parker handed Brett into the limousine and slid into the seat facing her. All safe, she felt the tension start to leak away. One down, two to go. But she couldn’t relax with the killer still out there. She focused on the crowd filing out of the cathedral hoping to spot someone who raised the hair on her arms.
“Detective Corelli.” Brett’s throaty voice, made rougher by all the crying, pulled her attention back to the limo.
“Yes?” She crouched at the window to hear Brett over the noise of the crowd.
“I expect to see you at my apartment with the rest of the team. Simone and Nicky are coming too.”
That was a command not a question. Brett definitely must be studying with Gianna. “Probably not. I’ll be here for a while and then I have a lot to do at the office.”
“You have to eat. Just come for lunch. Please.” Brett smiled through her tears. “Don’t worry, I’m too sad to attack you. You’ll be safe,” she said softly.
Corelli found herself smiling. “Well, if you promise.” Might as well. She felt drained and she had to eat. Besides, she’d probably spend the time thinking about Brett anyway.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Wednesday – 1:30 p.m.
Corelli groaned. She had expected a small gathering, just the five friends, her sister and nephew, and the detectives guarding them, but it looked like Brett had invited half the people who’d attended the funeral at St. Patrick’s, including Darla North. So much for security. She searched the crowd for her people and felt a little better. Although they were eating like everyone else, they were on duty, spread out around the room, eyes vigilant, jackets open, ready for action.
“It can’t be that bad, Detective.” Brett appeared out of the crowd, Parker and Greene behind her but with enough distance to give them privacy. She put a hand on Corelli’s arm. Her eyes were swollen and red, her nose dripping and red, her face pale and drawn, and still she looked beautiful. “I’m glad you felt safe enough to come,” she said, her voice gently mocking.
“You promised to behave, there’s plenty of police protection and I have my gun, so I thought I’d take a chance.”
“Aha, do I detect a sense of humor under all that seriousness?”
Corelli’s lips quirked. “No way. I’m always serious, especially when I’m on duty. And speaking about duty, who are all these people? How can we protect you all in this crowd?”
“Our friends, Nardo’s friends, Spencer’s family, other families. Calm down. I didn’t invite the murderer. At least I don’t think I did.” Her voice broke and the tears flowed. “Sorry. I’m on an emotional roller coaster. One minute I remember my friends are dead and the pain and sadness overwhelm me, and then something like your being here makes me happy and I get all silly and playful and outrageous.” She sniffed and smiled.
Corelli smiled back and instead of giving in to the impulse to wrap her arms around Brett, she handed her one of the clean white handkerchiefs she bought by the dozen. Their hands lingered a few seconds longer than necessary to make the exchange. Then Brett looked into her eyes and kissed the white cloth before applying it to her now sparkling and mischievous eyes. “See what I mean,” she said. “I can’t help myself.”
She moved to Corelli’s side so they both faced the room. “Anyway, don’t worry so much. Your guys are on alert. P.J., um, Detectives Parker and Greene try to stay close.” She raised her voice. “I’m a slippery character. Right, Detective Parker?”
“Yes. But between us, we have you on our radar,” Parker said. She looked at Corelli. “Can we leave Ms. Cummings with you while we get something else to eat?”
Parker looked innocent enough so why did Corelli feel like she was conspiring with Brett? “Sure, take a break.”
“I really haven’t given them much time to relax.” As Parker and Greene melted into the crowd, Brett moved closer to Corelli. “You look exhausted, Chiara. Come in and relax while I make you a plate.” She put a finger on Corelli’s lips to still the protest. “Don’t worry, I won’t put my secret love potion in the food.” She removed her finger.
Corelli didn’t fight it. She was exhausted and the easing of the tension at the funeral had left her feeling light-headed. “I’d love it, but I’ll be circulating. You’ll have to find me.”
Brett squeezed her arm. “Rest assured, my dear detective, you won’t lose me so easily. I’ll find you wherever you are.”
Brett walked in the direction of the table and Parker materialized out of the crowd and followed.
Corelli touched her lips. A love potion might just be the thing, take away her volition.
A waiter appeared and handed her a drink. “Ms. Cummings said you needed a glass of San Pellegrino water.”
“Thanks.” She reads minds too.
Corelli moved around the room, making eye contact with her people, listening in on conversations, nodding at the people she recognized. She stopped to confirm Darla was off the record, just a guest, then lightly touched Simone and Nicky on their arms as she passed them standing in a group with Nelson Choi, his partner Jeremy, and Spencer’s parents. She overheard Spencer’s mother say Nardo’s parents bristled when she introduced herself and almost pushed her along. Nelson commiserated, saying they had been rude to him and Jeremy. No wonder Nardo hated them. She moved on. A group that included Meg Lerner’s friend Amelia Freestone, Kate Burke, and Abby Wong was discussing Meg.
“Her paintings are worth a fortune. What will happen to them now?” asked a woman Corelli didn’t recognize.
“Ask Brett. She’s the executor of Meg’s will,” Burke said.
Brett appeared with a plate piled high, took Corelli’s hand, and led her to a quiet space near the windows. She took an olive as she handed the dish to Corelli. For a second Corelli thought Brett was going to try to feed her and was relieved when she popped it into her own mouth.
She dug in. She hadn’t realized she was hungry. She and Brett stood side by side, bodies touching lightly. Corelli felt her body heat up and wondered if Brett felt it. She wanted to touch her, comfort her. She swallowed. “I heard Kate say you’re Meg’s executor. From what you’ve all said about Meg, I’m surprised she had a will.”
“Meg might have been absentminded and out-of-touch when she was painting, but she was no airhead. She knew the value of her paintings and worried about her legacy. Even though she didn’t expect to die so young, she took steps to ensure her artwork would be managed properly after her death. She also wanted to make sure her alcoholic and abusive mother, father, and brothers didn’t get a dime. You’ll probably get to see the four of them at the funeral. They’ve already contacted her attorney about her will. I’m sure they’ll challenge it.”
“Who inherits then?”
Brett scrutinized her face. “Me. At least most of the paintings. Friends of hers like Kate, Abby, Nelson, Nardo, Spencer, Amelia Freestone whom I believe you’ve met, and other friends whom you probably haven’t met will have the opportunity to choose a painting, or in some cases several paintings.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Corelli nodded. “Most of these,” she nodded at the paintings on the wall, “look like her early work. Gifts, or did you buy them?”
“My, my, you’re familiar enough with her work to recognize it’s early?” She smiled through her tears. “You are full of co
ntradictions, my dearest detective. Years ago I met Meg at a studio she shared with another artist. I had gone to see the other artist’s collages, but the minute I saw Meg’s paintings, I lost all interest in the other artist. Meg was unknown, struggling to make ends meet, and so hungry to sell, for the money, of course, but also for the recognition, that she considerably underpriced the work. I bought the three big ones on the wall and paid her much, much, more than she asked. She was stunned and we became friends. She gave me the two small ones some time later because she thought of them as one piece with the three I purchased. Over the years I bought her work; occasionally she gave me a painting she thought I should have. Some of her later paintings are in the bedrooms and the study here, a couple are in my new office at Winter Brokerage, and the others you’ll see when you spend the weekend at my place in Sag Harbor.” Her eyes met Corelli’s. “You will, won’t you?”
“We’ll see.” Corelli cleared her throat. “She’s given you quite a gift. And quite a responsibility, guarding her legacy.”
“Yes,” she said, staring into space. “And since Nardo and Spencer predeceased her, my first decision is what to do about the paintings she wanted them to have. I’ll give Spencer’s to his parents, but Nardo was so angry at his parents that I’ll probably give it to his sister Antonia, whom he adored.” She shrugged and said with a mischievous smile and a voice that seemed right out of Gone with the Wind, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
Corelli had eaten more today than she had in quite a while. Perhaps Brett had added an appetite potion to it. Or maybe she responded to personal care from a woman with a beautiful spirit. She handed the now nearly empty plate to a passing waiter. “Speaking of Nardo’s parents, had you met them before today?”
Blood Runs Cold Page 28