Simple. “You look for the best in people?”
Michelle laughed. “Now, that’s harder. With the ornery ones especially. No, I just see whatever they want to show me and love them right there.”
“And if they don’t love you back?” Her voice had almost broken, but she caught it without showing the pain behind the words.
Michelle shrugged. “Some people are so holed up inside they can’t reach out.”
Rese studied her face, but if she’d meant that personally, it didn’t show.
“Others are searching so hard they can’t see what’s in front of them. But we’re all just doing the best we can.”
Rese nodded. “Right.” She’d spent all her energy doing the best, being the best. But it obviously wasn’t enough, and now she wondered if it ever had been.
“Lord love you, Rese. I’ll be back with Baxter.” Michelle waved the leash.
And Lord love you, too, Michelle, because someday when you’re not looking someone might just let you down so far you won’t be able to love them no matter how hard you try.
————
The file held a meticulous account of Paolo Borsellino, his sons, Leon and Matteo, several cousins, a nephew, and two cohorts. The crimes and dirty dealings were detailed and dated, though probably past the statute of limitations since the information was over twentytwo years old and none concerned murder.
The one murder he knew of, Nonno had not recorded. Hard to do when you’re the victim.
Lance sat with Rico on the fire escape, shielding the pages from the slight breeze with his body. The sound of a Harley several blocks away brought Rico’s head up, but not even that broke Lance’s focus. With the information in the envelope, Nonno could have put them all away, but he’d kept the truce. Why? His family connection? Some sense of honor, or guilt for betraying Don Agosto to his death? Possible, given the guilt he’d carried over Vittorio’s. He and Nonno were alike in that, bearing the weight of other people’s choices.
If Nonno had turned this information over and revealed the threat against his family, surely something could have been done. Or had he believed the risk too great? How could he protect them all, and for how long? Knowing his enemy too thoroughly, Nonno had assessed the risk and sacrificed himself to protect the ones he loved.
But he had left this so that justice could be served if the crime was committed. He must have expected someone to bring it to the authorities. Nonna’s letter would have spurred a search, and maybe the folder had been easily accessible until someone boxed it up with Nonno’s other things.
Tony—had Tony read the file? He was NYPD. Without the letter, he would not have connected it to Nonno’s accident, but even a rookie cop would recognize evidence of crimes. Lance didn’t know how long it had been in the box, but Tony had never shown him. Had Nonno told him the Borsellinos were hands off? Could Tony have known?
Rico’s stomach growled. “Want to get some food?”
Lance shook his head. Nonno might have expected Tony to put it all together. How could he know his grandson would be dead before the letter was found? Twenty-two years ago, they might have investigated, built a case. But what chance was there now of proving anything? He sighed. Hopeless as it seemed, he had to start somewhere. He gathered the papers into the envelope and stood up. “I’m taking this to the cops. You can’t come with me, Rico. I don’t want them knowing you’re involved.”
Rico didn’t argue. Going to the NYPD with anything was not for him. Tony, sure, who hadn’t loved Tony? And Rico knew Juan deserved each trip he took, but beyond that, he had a basic distrust of the system.
“I don’t see them taking you seriously. What can they do with that?” Rico nodded at the envelope.
“Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. But I have to try.” Lance climbed in through the window and left Rico shaking his head.
He could have gone somewhere in the Bronx precinct, but he took the train into the city to Tony’s old station. He approached the officer at the desk and asked for Tony’s former partner, Seabass.
The officer raised his brows at his use of the nickname and directed him to Sebastian Gamet’s office. Lance knuckled the doorframe and walked in.
“Michelli!”
“You made detective.”
“Last year.” The man stood up from behind the desk and gripped his hand. Half a hoagie piled with onions ripened the air between them. “How are ya? Stayin’ out of trouble?”
Right. “I try.”
Gamet’s ginger brows pinched together beneath the comb-over that was truly scary. “Sure miss ribbing Tony about his felonious kid brother.”
“Not felonious. I was never charged.”
Gamet cocked his head. “You doing okay? You look a little … gaunt.”
Where did he begin to answer? “I’m fine. But I want to show you something.” He held out the Borsellino file and the last page of Nonno’s letter as well.
Gamet read it over carefully. “Marco Michelli’s a relative of yours?”
“My grandfather.”
“That’s right. Tony told me that. He was with the force.”
“Later on. FBI to start with. Worked undercover through some tough times.”
Gamet nodded. “All times are tough undercover.”
“He infiltrated the Borsellino Camorra family. Sent the don up the river, where the Mafia took him out.”
“That happens.”
Lance sat on the edge of the desk. “The Borsellinos made it a vendetta against Marco. One of the sons, Carlo, followed him to Sonoma, killed his contact, and tried to kill him. Marco shot Carlo in self-defense.”
Gamet swigged his Diet Coke, listening, but not necessarily buying it.
“The next son, Paolo, made a truce with Marco. They’d leave each other and their families alone. Paolo needed to establish himself, and Marco had seen that they would kill.”
Gamet took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“Years later Paolo got fingered and convicted. As it says in the letter, he must have thought Marco was part of it and ordered the hit from his cell in Ryker.”
Gamet frowned. “We got a file on that killing?”
Lance shook his head. “We thought it was a car accident. It looked like an accident.”
Gamet studied him. “But now you think your grandpa was offed in this vendetta.”
Lance nodded. “The letter was written the day Marco died. Read the page. He received a threat in a phone call and went to meet it.”
Gamet pursed his lips as he ran his gaze over Marco’s letter. “That is a possible scenario. It’s also possible his car crashed before he got there, or that he had his meeting, settled things, and crashed on the way home. Believe me, these kinds of ironic things happen.”
Lance hadn’t thought in those terms and didn’t believe it, but gave the detective his due.
Gamet set the papers down, came around the desk, and gripped his shoulder. “If it’s true, you’ve wrongly lost two people who mattered. You know Tony mattered to me. He wasn’t even on shift that morning, just doing a favor for one of the guys.”
It had tormented him to think of the man who should have been in that place at that time. But now he didn’t believe that either. God knew what had to be. “Is there anything you can do with this?”
“I won’t dismiss it right off. But it’s pretty slim.”
“But you’ll look? Search out Marco’s record, anything he might have left in the files or … anything?”
“I’ll look, Lance. No investigation on the accident?”
He sighed. “I don’t think so.”
“And it was twenty …”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“And no record of a crime. Not even a cold case.”
Lance shook his head.
“That’ll be pulling a rabbit out of a hat. What am I supposed to use for evidence?”
Lance sagged. “I know. It’s just …” A vendetta. His head spun, and he pressed his fingers to his e
yes.
“Are you okay?”
He swallowed. “Guess I need to eat something.”
“Well, here.” Gamet reached behind him for the half hoagie.
Lance waved him off as his stomach turned over. “Thanks, no.”
Gamet set the sandwich back down. “Lance, we lost some good men, but you have to stop looking in the shadows to cast blame.”
“I didn’t look for this.” It was given to him. He turned toward the door. “Let me know what you come up with.”
Gamet eased back down in his chair and picked up the sandwich. “I will.”
But Lance could tell by his tone there wouldn’t be anything. “Look up the Borsellinos, will you?”
He rocked back in his chair. “And what?”
“Just see if they’re still in business.”
“Police files are not public domain.”
“And tell Sara hi for me.”
Gamet cocked his head with a sigh. “Get outta here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I’m very excited,” Dr. Jonas said. “Her failure to respond to Thorazine and other treatments made controlling Elaine’s psychotic breaks nearly impossible. But the Clozapine has shown marked effectiveness. It’s beautiful to see.”
Rese looked into Dr. Jonas’s Santa Claus eyes, still unnerved by the bottlebrush brows that topped them. “So she’s doing better?”
“She’s doing remarkably.”
“Does she want to see me?”
His bristly mustache stood out when he smiled. “I’m sure she does. Sometimes her negative symptoms—that is, her inappropriate expressions—make it hard to determine her desire for things. We have to look at the whole picture, agitation, sleep patterns, how well she eats and communicates. She was much calmer whenever Vernon visited. After his death, her delusions reappeared until we adjusted her dosage. It’s not an exact science, but you learn what to look for.”
“But she is communicating?”
“Some days she’s quite talkative and moderately lucid.” He laced his fingers across his chest. “And the important thing is that, in the absence of delusions, I don’t believe she is dangerous to herself or to you—as long as she stays on the medication.”
Rese digested that. It was what she’d been hoping to hear, wasn’t it?
He leaned forward. “Her condition is not healed, but controlled.
You understand the difference?”
She nodded. Walter was blocked by the drugs, as Star’s fairies had been blocked by prayer. “So if I maintain her medication, she could come home with me?”
“It’s probable. You have to decide if it’s feasible. It would be a major life change.”
She almost laughed. As though anything in her life was the way she had wanted it. “The only thing is, I’m working now. When I started this process, I thought I’d be there, at the inn. But I’m back in renovation. I work at home for some of it, but most is on site.”
He lifted his hands from his chest. “She’ll need someone with her. If not immediately attending, at least on the premises. The insurance benefit could provide home care, or—”
“I have a friend there. She mostly paints in the garden. Mom could sit with her.”
He nodded. “She’d like that.”
“I’ll talk to Star.”
“Good. Have you heard from the county?”
“I had the home study, and they checked my credit and determined I have no criminal record. Now they have to make sure I’m not drumming up dependents so I can defraud the state or rip off the insurance company.”
He laughed. “Establishing your competency as guardian.”
Her throat tightened briefly. “Am I competent?”
His eyes softened so much that fifteen years ago she’d have climbed into his lap. “I think you’re extremely competent.”
The words almost brought tears, but she was conditioned to block them.
He said, “I’ve put that into my report, though these next few years might show us something.”
She didn’t need the reminder. “I guess I’ll deal with that as it comes.”
“You have a good deal of your father in you.”
She smiled bleakly. “The best of both of them?”
He reached across the desk and closed her hands into his. “I do believe that.”
Her throat had closed, but she forced her voice through it. “So I’ll wait to be approved, then …” A thought suddenly occurred. “Should I ask Mom if she wants to live with me? She’s been here so long it might be hard to …”
“Let’s go see, shall we?”
They walked together to the visiting room, and Rese looked up when the nurse brought Mom in from another door. She tried not to hope for too much. The nurse seated her mother, while Dr. Jonas stood near. Rese drew a breath and sat down. “Hi, Mom.”
She looked up. “Because it’s a very bad feeling, a very bad feeling.”
The doctor nodded his encouragement, so Rese reached across the table and touched her hand. “Mom? It might be possible for you to live with me in Sonoma. Would you like that?”
She turned until her eyes found Dr. Jonas. “Do I know this one?”
It felt like something had sat on her chest.
“What do you think, Elaine? Do you recognize this girl of yours?”
Rese could barely stand the gaze that came back and scrutinized her, then slid away. “I told the truth. I told. But he’s gone, gone, gone.”
Tears stung. Okay, she was human. It hurt that Mom didn’t know her, but she had to get past that. Maybe in time …
“What have you done with my little girl? They put her somewhere I can’t find, and the feeling is very strong now; it’s very strong, and if you wait, you’ll see, they’ll take you too.”
“I’m right here, Mom. It’s Rese.” At least she knew she had a daughter.
“Theresa?”
It was like sunshine to her soul—and what better gift for her twenty-fifth birthday? “That’s right.” She could hardly be expected to recognize her after so few visits. But they would change that. “Do you want to come live with me?”
“Yes.”
The word was clear and unencumbered by nonsense. Even though it might be no more than something pulled out of the air, she wanted to sink to the floor and lay her head in her mother’s lap.
“Well, if you keep doing so well, and I pass everyone’s scrutiny, we’ll do it, okay?”
Mom’s finger had not ceased its flicking motion since she sat down. She didn’t answer. Twice would be asking too much. Rese looked up at the doctor, then back. “I’ll see you soon, Mom.”
She thanked the doctor and drove home, hardly containing her emotion. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was happening. She swallowed back the tears. Fifteen years of loss being restored one day at a time.
Star was in the attic assembling a jigsaw puzzle on the floor. The design was a heap of multihued snails almost identical in size and shape with only shade variations to distinguish them.
An effective torture, Rese thought as she stopped above her. “Star, it looks like I might be able to bring Mom home.”
In the past that would have been enough to send Star spiraling out of sight for days, but Rese was hoping the connection she’d witnessed between them at the center might make a difference. Star had projected a lot of her own issues onto Mom, but when she saw her again after all the years in between, they had shared a moment of understanding and recognition.
Star looked up. “You mean here?”
Rese nodded. “Her medication has made a big difference. Dr. Jonas thinks she’s no longer dangerous.” To a little girl with no defense but the mysterious presence who wouldn’t let her die. “She said she’d like to live with us, and … I hoped we could give it a try.”
Star blinked. “ ‘Then ’twere well it were done quickly.’ ”
She seemed to mean it, but that wasn’t the biggest thing. Rese knelt. “Now that I’m working, I can’t be here all t
he time. Would you be up for watching her, just being with her when I’m not?”
Star blinked. “You’re asking me to take responsibility for Elaine?”
Rese swallowed. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. But I thought—”
“Yes. I’ll watch your mother when you work.”
Rese sat back on her heels. “You will? You don’t mind?”
Star shook her head. “I’m here anyway.” She hadn’t left the property since they’d come back.
Rese pressed her palms to her thighs. “That’s great. I mean, you can say no… .”
“I said yes.” Star picked up a piece. “What color would you say this is?”
Rese considered the puzzle piece. “Mostly blue.”
Star stared across the length of the attic. “Elaine saw the colors.”
Rese nodded. “Yes.”
“I wonder what she’ll see now.”
“She’ll see you, Star.”
Star set the piece with a dozen others of similar hue.
Rese watched for any sign of resentment. Her throat tightened. “And here’s the other thing. If I start having psychotic episodes, you’re in charge of us both.”
Star looked up. Rese braced herself for a flippant or caustic remark, but Star said, “Why did you go back to work?”
She hadn’t expected that, but it must be her day to feel everything. It had been three weeks since they’d talked, but it might have been that morning. “Because Lance isn’t coming.”
“So we’re not running an inn?”
She shook her head. “More like a shelter for misfits.”
Star’s face flashed with acute delight, then she tossed her head back and laughed. Rese laughed with her, and it caught them both up until they were holding their stomachs and lying on the floor. When they had nearly recovered, Star rolled her head to the side and their gazes met. “Do you hate him?”
“I don’t know. Right now it just hurts.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Now you do.”
————
In the month and a half since they’d finished the letter, Nonna’s room had become a shrine of flowers and cards, prayers and novenas. People came by, leaving small tokens of love and respect, and though Nonna paid no attention, Lance found each face sweeter, purer than he’d seen it before. As they came to sit or say a few words, to bathe or feed or change her clothes or bedding, he observed an essence in each person that had never seemed so bright.
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