Krystal's Bodyguard

by Molly Rice

  “What do you want us to do? We couldn’t find anything to follow up on. No physical evidence at the crime scene, no threats made prior to the shoot, no witnesses, no—

  “Ah,” Dana interjected, cutting him off midsentence, “but how do you know there were no witnesses? Did you question the neighbors, do a door-to-door?”

  For a moment Joe Lake looked blank, and then he leaned forward, a flush reddening his neck and face. “That’s standard procedure, Dana, of course we did,” he said, his jaw clenched with anger.

  She took her hands off the mug and sat back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. She shook her head.

  “Where were you when the investigation was going on, Joe?”

  “What? I was…I was…” His expression changed as he suddenly remembered.

  Dana nodded. “You were very shook up over your partner’s death. They sent you home, had you go through debriefing with the department shrink.”

  They stared at each other across the span of the desk.

  “You didn’t even get on the investigation until after the funeral, as I recall,” Dana reminded.

  “Yeah.” Lake’s voice was hoarse, as if his throat was clogged with remembered pain.

  “So you don’t really know what went down during that first, most important phase of the investigation.”

  “Dana, I read the reports when I came back on the team,” Lake said.

  She laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “And we both read The Celestine Prophecy, and I still don’t know how much was fact and how much fiction. Do you?”

  “You’re saying you think the investigation was dirty, that cops, Zack’s co-workers and buddies, dumped the case?”

  Outrage deepened his flush to mauve.

  But Dana was in too far, emotionally, to back out now and she plunged on.

  “Joe, Lieutenant King said the stakeout was about to be pulled, that the reports indicated a lack of criminal activity. But people I’ve spoken with tell me there’s still suspicious movement in and out of there at all hours.”

  Lake appeared to mull that over, a puzzled expression replacing anger, and then said in a low voice, “Dana, are you accusing Zack of covering for the Caprezios?”

  Her jaw slackened as the words echoed across the room and Dana’s mind received them. Zack involved in a cover-up for Minnesota’s first family of crime? Not likely. A flush warmed her face and the threat of tears burned behind her eyes and in her throat.

  “Of course I know that’s impossible,” she said, clearing her throat and shaking her head. “Zack was one of the most honest cops I’ve ever met.”

  “Exactly.” The single word spoke volumes. They had reached an impasse and as if to underline that, Lake stood and set his mug on the desk. It was still nearly full.

  “Believe me, hon, if there was anything to go on, we’d have stayed on it indefinitely. But look—” he leaned forward, his palms flat on the desk “—if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll pull the paper on it and see if we missed something, maybe go out on my own time and ask a few questions.”

  Dana stood, also, walking around the desk to give her long-time friend a hug. “Thanks, Joe,” she murmured as his arms closed around her.

  “I just want you to be happy, Dana, you know that, don’t you?”

  She nodded and stepped back to smile up at him. “I know, Joe, and I’m sorry if I seem a little strung out on this subject.”

  “Hey, who knows better than me what it would mean to you to put the perp away.”

  He drew her back and kissed her cheek and then moved his lips to her mouth.

  Dana accepted the kiss in the spirit of friendship, expecting it to be only that, but Joe, ever the opportunist, deepened it, demanding more.

  An image of Nico flashed across her mind. She jerked away, a feeling of guilt warring with the honest affection she felt for her old friend.

  “My next appointment’s due any sec,” she mumbled, covering her feelings with a forced smile.

  Joe looked down at her for a moment, his eyes sad.

  “I wish you could feel the way I do,” he said.

  Dana decided it was a moment for supreme honesty. She nodded her head. “I know. You’re the dearest friend anyone could ask for, and you’ve been the perfect godfather to Krystal and she loves you. It would have been so nice if it had worked out for us. But I don’t love you that way, Joe. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Hey, I’m thickheaded but I’m not dense, Hon. You gotta go with your feelings.” He gave a short laugh. “And speaking of going, I’m late for a meet with a snitch.”

  He was almost at the door when an impulse triggered by regret made her say, “Joe, come to dinner next week, Krystal’s missed you.”

  “I’ll give you a call,” he said, waving a hand as he left the room.

  She wondered if he would. She hated to lose the friendship but if Joe’s feelings for her were as deep as he professed, maybe it was too painful for him to hang out with her, and in that case, she’d have to let him go. She’d be sorry, for Krystal’s sake and her own. “But fair’s fair,” she said out loud, returning to her desk with a sigh.

  Memories of times they’d shared, as a makeshift family, rose in her mind as she sat down. Dana, Joe and Krystal celebrating Krystal’s first piano recital at Divanni’s for pizza and pitchers of rootbeer; an all-day trek through the Minnesota Zoo; many trips to Valley Fair. The three of them at Mass together once. She chuckled as she recalled how Krystal had shamed Joe into accompanying them to church that Sunday. It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes to see that church just wasn’t his thing and that he was truly uncomfortable there.

  The next time Krystal tried to harass him into joining them, Dana had intervened, telling Krystal that Joe had already made other plans. They’d met him for lunch afterward at Perkins where Krystal had given him a blow by blow of the service and Father Kevin’s sermon.

  She was still smiling when the policemen arrived for their appointment with her. Quickly she put on her professional face and got down to business.

  From then on she was busy every moment until four o’clock when the secretary announced that Dana had a personal call on line three.

  She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. It was low and melodious, with a faint accent she couldn’t quite place.

  “This is Rose Scalia,” the woman said. “Nico’s mama.”

  Dana’s heart lurched. “Is Krystal all r—”

  ‘Fine, fine, Mrs. Harper, Krystal is fine,” Mrs. Scalia quickly assured her. “I called only to give you a message from Nico.”

  Relief flooded through her. Her voice was breathless with it. “Yes, Mrs. Scalia,” she said.

  “Nico says to tell you that he’s unable to get away from where he is for maybe another hour and would you mind getting Krystal for him. But, Mrs. Harper, Krystal is having such a good time with my grandchildren, I was wondering if you would come here for dinner, instead, and that way she could also stay a little longer.”

  “Well…” Dana was floored. The invitation was so unexpected for one thing and for another, the idea of dinner with strangers was awkward.

  “We’d like it so much if you’d say yes,” the older woman pleaded.

  “Well, but really, we don’t need to intrude on your dinner, that isn’t necessary,” Dana insisted.

  “Not necessary, but you would honor us-if you’d come. Even though we don’t know each other, I feel as if we do because Krystal just fit in here so easily. We love her already.”

  Later, on the drive over there, Dana realized she’d accepted the invitation mostly because she was so curious about Nico’s background. It had occurred to her that though sexual awareness had risen between them almost immediately, they were veritable strangers beyond the basic professional résumés.

  Not quite true, she corrected as she eased her car into the traffic moving east on 194. She knew he had learned how to cook from his mother, that he respected both his p
arents, that he was good with kids, and that he had changed careers in the last five years with reasons that pointed up his integrity.

  That he was totally masculine, vaguely mysterious, and sexy as hell were his most obvious traits, and would have been enough to intrigue most women, she realized as she took the Lexington exit and turned right off the ramp.

  She found the Scalia house with ease, partly due to Mrs. Scalia’s good directions and because she knew St. Paul, especially the Crocus Hill area.

  The Scalias lived in a huge, Victorian frame that sprawled across a double lot on Lincoln. Dana skirted a fallen trike on the sidewalk and a pair of plastic, toddlersize roller skates on the cement walk to the porch steps and as she went up the first step the sound of children’s voices came to her from around the side of the house. The shouting and laughter implied great merriment. She recognized Krystal’s voice among the others, and she smiled in response.

  Mr. Scalia answered the door, welcoming her with a flourish and a smile that echoed Nico’s so totally that it was scary.

  “Come in, come in, Mrs. Harper, please,” he crooned in a voice that was also reminiscent of his son.

  The interior of the house was cool and inviting. The fragrances of foods cooking immediately beset her sense of smell.

  The aromas grew stronger as Mr. Scalia led her back to the kitchen where his wife wiped her hands on a towel and rushed to give Dana a hug as if they were old friends.

  “It is an honor, Mrs. Harper,” Nico’s mother said, releasing Dana from her arms and stepping back to look her over with a beaming smile.

  “I’m honored that you invited us, and please, call me Dana,” she responded with sincerity. “I love your house,” she added, spinning around to take in all the little inviting quirks of the kitchen.

  “Forty years in one house,” Mr. Scalia said from behind her, “gets a real lived-in look to it.”

  “Dinner smells wonderful,” Dana said, her mouth watering from the fragrance of spices, and baking bread, that permeated the air.

  “We eat as soon as Nico and Jonno get here,” the older woman said, “but you come, sit, there’s wine and some crackers to hold us.”

  Lily, Nico’s youngest sister, and her husband, Carmen, were introduced as they came through the kitchen holding hands. They were very warm in their acknowledgment of Dana’s presence but quickly left the room after they’d each retrieved a beer from the refrigerator.

  “Newlyweds,” Mr. Scalia proudly announced in a stage whisper as he filled a glass with dark red wine from the carafe on the table. He set the glass in front of her and passed her a basket of wafer-thin crackers.

  Dana’s next question was prevented by the onslaught of half a dozen children who pushed through the back door, all of them talking at once.

  Without raising her voice, her expression serene, Mrs. Scalia brought the group to order and made introductions, her arms around Krystal and another little girl.

  “This is Maria and this is Chianne,” Mrs. Scalia said, pointing to the two girls who appeared to be close to Krystal’s age.

  Annette, Petey, Rosy and Joey ranged from kindergartner down to toddlers. Myranda, the little girl cuddled under Mrs. Scalia’s arm, lived next door, but was apparently as welcome in the household as any of the grandchildren.

  Krystal grinned at her mother from under the older woman’s other arm and waggled her fingers. “I’m Krystal,” she said when Mrs. Scalia had named the last of the children.

  Everybody laughed and Mrs. Scalia gave Krystal an extra hug before letting both girls free as she headed back to the stove.

  “Do they all live here?” Dana asked.

  Mr. Scalia looked surprised at the question. “No, no.” He shook his head. “They live with their parents, our children. We’re just lucky they live close by.”

  Dana offered to help, but Rose pointed out that she had all the help she needed, gesturing at the girls who were scurrying in and out of the kitchen, carrying things to the dining room. Krystal seemed to be as much a part of the group as if she’d been there every day of her life. When she came over to ask, in a whisper, if sometime her three new friends could come to their house to play, Dana agreed without hesitation.

  Krystal had just run off to tell the others when Dana looked up to see Nico standing in the doorway.

  His eyes found her instantly and they stared at each other, oblivious of the roomful of people, for a very long moment.

  “I like your family,” she whispered when they were seated side by side at the dining room table, minutes after Jonno, a college student and the youngest, had completed the group.

  “They like you,” Nico said, grinning down at her as he handed her a basket of the bread she’d smelled baking when she’d entered the house.

  The children were fed at the long table in the kitchen and their laughter and bubbling conversation could dimly be heard through the connecting door.

  The conversational tenor was similar among the adults. They were a teasing group; the junior Scalias’ favorite target, their parents. Rose and Dom Scalia took it in stride, giving as good as they got

  Dana sat back with a sigh of contentment, sipping espresso and smiling around at the others. “Do you eat like this every day?” she asked.

  “Only when we eat here,” Lou, Nico’s oldest brother said. “At home we mostly live on TV dinners.” He tousled his wife’s red curls and jumped away as she elbowed him in the stomach.

  “I didn’t promise to love, honor, and cook,” Jenny said airily. “Besides, that’s how you got me to marry you, you said you’d do all the cooking.”

  They all laughed at that. And then, as the conversation turned to various stories of cooking disasters or triumphs, Dana whispered to Nico, “How did you make out with the interviews?”

  Nico shook his head. He had an arm across the back of Dana’s chair and leaned toward her to speak in her ear. “I’ve got plenty to tell you but let’s wait till we get home.”

  At the end of the table Rose watched her son and his lady. This was more than a working relationship, she thought, and exchanged a contented smile with her husband who was always attuned to her thought waves.

  It was time. Nico had dodged the responsibilities of a family for long enough. Time for him to settle down as the others had and make a real home for himself. And Rose Scalia felt that she couldn’t have handpicked a better family for her son than Dana Harper and her adorable little Krystal. Okay, maybe it wasn’t an absolute yet, but as she watched Dana laugh at something Nico said to her, and saw the way her son’s eyes glowed with pleasure, she was sure it was only a matter of time.

  As she bid them good-night an hour later, she whispered to Dana, “Call us Mama and Papa, it’s better, more like family.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nico carried the sleeping child up to her room and laid her on her bed. “I’m going to shower while you’re doing that,” he whispered as Dana bent to undress Krystal. “Meet you down in the study.”

  She could hear him whistling under his breath as he went down the hall to the guest room and she smiled to herself. It had been a fun evening. And so enlightening. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever seen such a large family, and the way she and Krystal fit right in was nothing short of amazing. Dinner at her parents’ home had always been more formal, the conversation dictated by the politics of the day but never allowed to become heated or punctuated with the kind of merriment that exemplified mealtime at the Scalias’.

  For that matter, she couldn’t recall ever seeing her own mother in the kitchen except to give orders to the cook. Like herself, Zack had been from a small family, both of his parents dead before Dana had married him. He and his two brothers had grown up in separate states, each farmed out to a different relative.

  Dana’s and Zack’s efforts at making a home had always been a little self-conscious, as though they didn’t quite have the hang of it.

  It occurred to her that in just a few days Nico was more at home here th
an Zack had ever been. She knew now that he’d learned that ease from his family, almost as if by osmosis.

  Was that why Zack had been such a workaholic? Was he more comfortable at the precinct or out on the streets than here at home? The thought saddened her.

  She pulled a nightgown over her daughter’s head, pulling the little girl back as Krystal tried to roll to her side, mumbling in her sleep.

  It took her a few more minutes to get the covers pulled up, Krystal’s clothes retrieved from the floor and placed in the hamper, the lamp turned off. She’d have time for a quick shower herself, she thought as she slipped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  She was about to turn in the direction of her own room when Nico stepped into the hall and her breath caught in her throat.

  He was wearing only a towel around his waist, his body damply glistening, his wet hair slicked back from his forehead.

  Dana licked her lips in an attempt to banish their sudden dryness, and her hands clutched at the wall behind her.

  “Hey,” Nico called softly, not the least self-conscious about his state of undress, “finished already?”

  She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice. If she even still had a voice. Her throat seemed filled with the beat of her blood pounding there. She couldn’t take her eyes from him though at some level she knew she ought to be running as fast and as far as her legs would carry her. But her legs were barely holding her up as it was. She leaned into the wall for support.

  Nico took a few steps toward her, a frown of concern on his face. “Dana? Are you all right?”

  Muscles rippled in the arm he held out to her. His broad chest and legs were darkly haired, his thighs well muscled, the planes of his face stronger with his hair, made darker by water, pulled straight back. She took mental inventory as if assessing him for a magazine layout and realized he’d easily qualify for centerfold of the year. And there he stood, in her hallway, in the flesh. And too much of it, she told herself.

  “You’re not dressed,” she croaked. Inane, immature, naive.