Relatively Risky

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Ben looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it by the time Alex reached his stair. He might have eased past his brother with extra caution, or maybe he remembered what Alex had on him. Sometimes it didn’t suck to be the oldest. None of them had changed his diaper.

  Before he could decide to sit or not, he heard her coming. She rounded the corner and stopped, her eyes widening a bit, hair clinging damply to her head and face.

  “I stayed, too,” he said, giving her a grin that felt crooked.

  Her smile was a bit shy, maybe a little embarrassed. “Good morning.”

  Was that a librarian thing, the prim greeting? Did they learn that in librarian school? Did they know how hot—

  “You look—” he stopped. Was it bad to tell a woman she looked better? She’d donned long pants, probably to cover her banged up knees. Her tee shirt had Bazinga written across her chest. She looked fresh and clean. Smelled good, too.

  She smiled. “I am better, thank you.” She shifted her shoulders. “Still a bit stiff. You?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He grinned, then rubbed his rough chin. “Need a shower.”

  “Don’t you know where the bathroom is?”

  He nodded. “I’ll wait until Ben—”

  The color that ran into her face was kind of cute.

  “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting—”

  “He’s sorry he startled you.”

  She half smiled. “I kind of startled him, too.”

  It was not the right time to remember what it had felt like, kissing her last night. Not when they were the same height, cuz he was on a lower stair—he gave a quick shrug and gestured down. “I think I smelled coffee on my way up.”

  “Sarah has one of those pots that tell time.”

  Nell stepped down, Alex turning when they were on the same step. He matched her descent to his, not sorry she took it slow. The silence was okay until she paused and looked at him.

  “Am I putting Sarah in danger by being here?”

  He didn’t rush his answer, took his time before giving a shrug. “I have no idea, Nell. I wish I did.”

  She turned, continued the descent.

  “If you are, it’s already done,” he added, to a silence not as okay as it had been.

  A slight nod gave him a brief glimpse of her nape. “If I mess up her business—” her lips thinned. “I’d never forgive myself.”

  More steps. More silence. Then…

  “I’ve been thinking…”

  Alex braced. A thinking woman was trouble about ninety percent of the time.

  “…wondering, actually, if there was a way to see a picture of Phillip St. Cyr?” She paused, this time on the last landing, a slight flush in her cheeks, as if the question embarrassed her. “This all happened before the internet and all.”

  The police file would have pictures. Might be tough to get at. The St. Cyrs would have photographs of Phillip, but they couldn’t stroll up and ask to see them. But there had to be other sources.

  “Some of the old newspaper files might be accessible online. We can check.”

  Her smile was a bit tense, but grateful, too. “Thanks.”

  His dad might know something. He preferred to keep his questions unofficial for now. Part of him wanted to throw Curly under the bus, part of him wondered if the old buzz killer’s pension could be saved. Most of him wondered why he felt so uneasy about Curly’s attitude toward Nell’s mom, thirty plus years later.

  “I did wonder…” she trailed off this time, her gaze a bit distant.

  “So much news reporting has been digitized, it’s possible there’s a picture of him out there.”

  She nodded, then her gaze moved past him. “Oh, there’s my portfolio. I wondered where I’d left it.”

  She sounded a bit odd, but bound to be off balance, after all that happened in twenty-four hours. Still shocked that it had only been one short day. It felt longer. A lot longer. He’d need to call in. Ask for leave. He watched Nell cross to her portfolio. She moved good, real good. Her feet were bare so it seemed she had no muse to answer yet. With any luck the muse would keep its mug shut until they sorted this out. She paused by the portfolio. He couldn’t see her face with her head bent just enough to swing her hair forward over most of her face. Her shoulders moved in a slight sigh, then she picked it up and turned to face him. It seemed like her smile was a mite over bright, but she’d had a heck of a twenty-four hours.

  “I think your sketch pad is still on the kitchen table,” he offered. And if he was lucky, some coffee. When they reached the kitchen, he found Sarah pouring some, his brother standing near her with a hip propped against the counter. They both turned as they entered.

  Like Nell, Sarah wasn’t dressed for business, in a pair of shorts that showed off her long legs. Her tee shirt was festooned with flowers and bling. He could thank his sisters that he knew about bling. And festooning. Sarah shot Nell a concerned look, but didn’t comment as she sank into a chair, lay the portfolio on the table, and pulled her sketchbook toward her. Alex wasn’t surprised when she flipped to the page of sketches that included St. Cyr. Was he her grandfather? She looked up, caught him watching and half shrugged, as if she’d caught his thought.

  A cup in each hand, Sarah joined them at the table. Sarah set one in front of Alex and he muttered thanks. Sarah took the seat by Nell, her head tipped so she could study the drawings. Ben strolled over and grabbed a seat next to Alex.

  “Creepy,” she said, into the silence.

  “Yeah,” Nell agreed. “I was wondering if I could use your desktop to look—”

  Sarah pulled out her smart phone, activated the screen and handed it to Nell. “That’s Phillip St. Cyr. Not the best picture, but all I could find.”

  A brief hesitation, before Nell took the phone. Nothing in Sarah’s tone or face to tell if she knew the answer to the question. It seemed likely she’d met Nell’s parents though, them being good friends and all. Nell stared at her friend for what felt like a long time, then lowered her gaze to the small screen. Alex exchanged a look with Ben while they waited for her to react. Again she surprised him by not. Okay, her shoulders might have got a tad straighter. Sara’s hand covered Nell’s free one.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Nell half shrugged. “They should have told me.” A sigh with a bit of a shudder to it, then she added in surprise, “I’m angry.”

  Alex looked at Ben again. “Did I miss something?”

  “Did we miss something?”

  Nell pushed the phone toward him, waited while he picked it up, studied the handsome, somewhat willful face. Then looked at Nell, giving her an I-don’t-get-it shrug.

  “It looks like you have two missing wise kids.”

  “Two? You mean that’s—” he stopped.

  “That’s my father. Or at least a younger version of him.”

  Sarah nodded agreement.

  Ben stared at him. “So who—”

  Alex was glad when he stopped. Time enough to wonder who had died in that car.

  “They should have told me—warned me.”

  “Maybe they meant to, Nell. It’s not like they planned—” Sarah hesitated. “Are you sure they didn’t leave any…clues?”

  “Obviously I need to go through their stuff again.” She rubbed her face with her free hand. Alex must have looked curious. She added, “I have a couple of boxes in the attic.” She flipped the sketch pad closed and slipped it inside the portfolio.

  Alex eyed that uneasily. Surely she wasn’t thinking of leaving? Before he could protest, she slid her hand deeper into the depths, apparently feeling for something. She froze, her eyes widening a bit, then her hand emerged, with something clutched in her fist. She stared at her closed fist, sighed, then let her fingers flower open.

  In her palm lay a ring. Heavy, gold, a signet with a sort of crest. And a single diamond winking at them like a baleful eye.

  “Holy—” Ben cut off the swear word Alex had a feeling he’d been abou
t to let out. “May I?”

  Nell, wide-eyed, nodded. Ben took it from her as gingerly as if it were explosive.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked. “Is that yours, Nell? I’ve never—”

  Nell shook her head. “It’s not mine.”

  “It’s St. Cyr’s,” Ben said, examining with a look of near wonder. “I’ve seen pictures, but as far as I know, this is the first time it’s been off his hand since Zafiro died.”

  Of course Alex had heard the Zafiro stories. The old timers brought him up when one of them complained about their organized crime problem. If half of what they said was true, he made the three geezers look pretty good.

  The two women exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Zafiro is the guy our three wise geezers used to work for. He’s the one who gave them their start. The story is that Zafiro groomed the three men, planning on one of them, the strongest, to take out the other two and take over for him.”

  Alex snagged the ring from him, studying the crest with more interest.

  “Everyone thought—” Ben continued, but paused

  “There could be only one?” Nell’s lips twisted wryly.

  Ben grinned. “Exactly. But when Zafiro…died…”

  Was murdered, Alex amended.

  “…they claimed he’d divided it between them. The proof was the rings. Zafiro used to have this huge—”

  “Ring of power,” Sarah said, taking her turn.

  “Maybe he saw the Godfather movie with all the ring kissing,” Alex said. Or he had a secret desire to be Pope. “Rumor has it that he liked the drama.” And the blood-letting.

  “Well, they claimed he melted it down and made them each a ring from his, giving each of them authority over one-third. No one believed them. Zafiro liked a fight, the bloodier the better, but no one inside the organization actively complained. Or if they did, they didn’t for long. Zafiro wasn’t around to dispute the story and law enforcement couldn’t prove they were lying, and were probably relieved the expected turf war didn’t happen.”

  Sarah took the ring from Alex and studied it, then handed it to Nell. “So they each have one exactly like this?”

  “Except for the gem stones. Afoniki has an emerald. Calvino has a ruby. That’s how I know this one is St. Cyr’s.” He hesitated. “According to…the people who know this stuff…” Ben’s gaze tracked reluctantly to Nell. “…this ring transfers power to the new…heir.”

  Nell’s eyes widened and she jerked, dropping the ring onto the table. It wobbled some, then settled there, winking at them like an evil eye.

  Nell felt that jolt of surprise, yet again, at how quickly—and without fanfare—one’s world could change beyond recognition. She’d had a few minutes to be relieved that her parents hadn’t lied about everything. They had been high school sweethearts. For whatever reason, that had seemed like the big betrayal, more even than the rest of it. It was that love, that history of their love, that had made her their kid. It had been the rock on which her life and memories were embedded. It all might have started in a weird place, but the world they’d built, the love they’d shared was real. Who she was, that was real, too. It might be a bit out of focus at the moment, but that didn’t mean it had been an illusion.

  No wonder they’d been so tied at the hip. Had they done it for her? Or was it something more? Someone had tried to kill them, had believed they succeeded in killing them until she came to town. No wonder her parents hadn’t wanted her to visit Sarah. It would have helped if they’d told her. She rubbed her face, catching sight of the ring in the process. Just because someone gave you something, that didn’t mean you had to take it. Her parents were proof of that.

  Of course, they’d had to fake their own deaths and hide until they died.

  Sarah’s hand covered hers. “Are you all right?”

  Nell wasn’t sure. Her mom’s rules of “all right” hadn’t covered getting handed a ring of power over a criminal empire. Was she all right? It didn’t feel “all right” knowing that creepy St. Cyr had been dad to her dad. And her mom’s family? What were they like? Besides creepy. What had really happened all those years ago? And not to be all about herself, but how would it affect her going forward?

  “I’m probably okay.” Nell heard the doubt in her voice and tried to smile at her friend.

  No one knew she had the ring, did they? So no one ever needed to know she’d had—why had he given it to her? Had it been an impulse when he realized he was going to die? Had this been what the killer was after? She reached over and picked it up again, remembering that moment when she’d really looked at him. What had she seen in his eyes before the bodyguard interrupted them? It would be so easy to imagine she’d seen…something. That he’d felt something for her as a person. As a granddaughter. That the ring wasn’t to hose her but to acknowledge her as his son’s child.

  Wow, she really did have an imagination. Which could be put to better use than trying to imagine what a dead, wise guy might have been thinking when he tripped her. And stalked her. And dumped a hot potato in her portfolio.

  Thanks a lot, gramps.

  “No one needs to know I have it, do they?” she asked, uneasily. Who had expected to get it? “You could just give it back to, I don’t know, whoever was supposed to get it?”

  Alex and Ben exchanged glances of a significant nature.

  “I’m not sure we can,” Ben said, “but yeah, better if no one else knows you have it.”

  She didn’t plan to blab to the gangster relatives. She might not speak to them at all. She wasn’t sure what she felt, let alone what she wanted to do. Other than avoid them. Her gaze happened to accidentally intersect with Alex and she almost sighed. She did know one thing she’d like to do. Very shallow, but there it was. Besides, her Mom had once told her there were times in life when you went deep, but also times when it didn’t hurt to ride the tops of the waves until the storm passed. That sounded like permission to be shallow every now and again. If she didn’t paddle there indefinitely.

  Her mom would have liked Alex, she decided, though she wouldn’t have approved of his anti-kids deal. Thirteen kids. That had to leave its mark, particularly on the oldest. The brothers tweaked each other as they tried to figure out what to do going forward. She could see the bond of affection between them, even during the mild argument. It had been there with his sister, too. Family affection. Family bonds. She and Sarah were a different kind of family, friends, almost sisters but by choice, not by blood.

  It was the almost part that left her feeling a bit blue. Family, the call of blood. Would she feel it with anyone in her parents’ families? She sure hadn’t felt any call around the old man. Not even a whisper.

  Alex would make a great—if reluctant—dad. Cute gene pool. She’d liked to have been a mom, had thought a couple of kids would be nice, but now had to worry about her gene pool.

  As if he felt her attention, Alex looked at her, one brow quirked. “You sure you are all right?”

  “I’m not dead.”

  He grinned. “There are times when that’s not the good news.”

  She matched the grin, surprised she had one in her. The warmth in his eyes made the grin widen—

  The front door bell pealed sonorously. An odd, sad sound for a house that managed to be both old and cheerful. It had a disconcerting effect on the two men. They both shot upright, all signs of softness replaced with steely-eyed resolve. Yesterday Alex had been brisk cop. This was different. More dangerous. She exchanged a rather wide-eyed look with Sarah.

  “What was that?” Alex asked.

  “The front door bell?” Sarah said, with a caution Nell shared.

  “That’s your door bell?” Ben asked.

  Got a nod from them both.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Alex asked, rather tersely.

  “No, but—”

  Alex exchanged a look with Ben. “Wait here.” They disappeared out the door to the long hall.

  “I hope they don’t shoot a clie
nt,” Sarah murmured. “I haven’t got that many.”

  After a tense wait, one not broken by a gun shot, Ben returned, with an distinctly odd look on his face. He looked at Nell.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Me?” Had anyone come to see her before Alex? Even her publisher had her come to him. “Who—”

  “Helenne St. Cyr.”

  Her grandmother? She could be wrong, but she was betting this grannie hadn’t arrived bearing paper dolls.

  8

  The old lady was remarkable, an artist’s gift, if Nell could have managed a sketch while that cool, dark gaze scorched over her. The eyes were so like—yet also very not like—her dad’s. No question where he’d gotten his looks. She still had the bones, the bearing. There were lines etched in the face and the hair had gone gray without obvious interference. She sat ramrod straight in the chair, both gnarled hands resting on the impressive head of finely crafted cane. If Nell had seen her, instead of St Cyr, she’d have known from whence her DNA hailed.

  Unlike her husband, she didn’t call up vegetable images. Nell might have mulled trees, tall, stately ones with creepy twists, but she didn’t dare blink, let alone mull anything. If looks could kill, grandma would have managed it. Alex standing like a rock at her back helped some. Kind of funny that the old lady was accessorized with two bodyguards. Or maybe not. She must have trust issues after yesterday. The artist in Nell picked out the differences in the tall, lean, cliché-clones in dark suits. They periodically scanned for threats with creepy intent, but mostly they glared at Alex. The more goonish one shifted his glare her direction, but removed it when he realized she’d noticed.

  The chill receded some, when the old lady looked at her the bodyguards. “Wait in the hall.” Her heavy lidded gaze shifted to Alex. “Go away.”

  “Nell?”

  She managed what she hoped was a regal nod, though she did spare him a quick, reassuring glance. He looked more amused than worried. A heavy silence filtered into the room in the wake of the three men’s departure.