by Vicki Hinze
“Of course.” A pause, then Marcello added, “I’m buying this funeral home, Paul.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Oh, you’ll sell it to me.”
“No, Victor, I won’t.” The gurney stopped rolling. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now so I can get on with my work.”
“Name your price.”
“You can’t afford it.” Mr. Perini paused, “Barry, get Emily into the prep room, will you?”
Barry rolled us inside and closed the door. We could still hear every word spoken in the hallway.
“Don’t ignore me, Paul.”
“I’m not ignoring you, I’m simply not interested in selling my funeral home.”
“I want to see her body.”
“Emily’s?”
“If that’s what it takes to see Daisy Grant’s. She’s the only witness to my son’s murder.”
“She was the only witness. She’s dead, Victor. You can see her body at the funeral. It’s only hours away.”
“No,” he insisted. “I want to see it now.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can and will.”
“Mr. Marcello,” Mr. Perini clipped his tone, chilled it to icy chips of sound that sent chills up and down my spine. “I know you’re upset at your loss, and I’ve been patient with you because of it. I could have had your men arrested and didn’t do it out of respect. But my patience is wearing thin and—”
“Your patience is of no consequence to me.” Marcello softened his tone. “You know my family, Paul, but I wonder, do you know me, and who I am?”
“I do.”
Marcello’s tone deepened, harsh and unrelenting and rife with a lethal warning. “Then you know I can crush you—and unless you let me see Daisy Grant’s body now, I will.”
“Go ahead,” Mr. Perini told him. “But before you do, let me ask you a question.”
“What?”
“Do you know me, and who I am?”
Marcello hesitated. “No, I guess not.”
“I advise you to find out before you threaten me again,” Mr. Perini warned him, sounding even more deadly than Marcello. “Fair notice. As a professional courtesy and out of respect for your family and your grief, I let you and your men off easy. But if you persist being disrespectful to me, I’ll take off the gloves. If I do, Mr. Marcello, it will not end well for you or your family.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”
“I dare,” Mr. Perini said. “And I have the family to back it up.” He dropped his voice, cooled the heat from it. “Now, I’d prefer to remain on a friendly footing with you and yours, but if you insist on hostility, well, I’m prepared to deal with that, too.”
“Who is your family?” Marcello asked.
Barry coughed, blocking us from hearing Mr. Perini’s answer. He spoke it, but the sound came through the closed door garbled and muffled.
I wasn’t sorry about that. Their entire conversation struck me as menacing, and I really didn’t need more menacing, though I did wonder how was Emily connected to Victor Marcello? I couldn’t figure that out. He definitely knew her and he had strong feelings for her; that was evident in what he said and she’d had to die because he’d spotted her.
The outer door closed and soon Mr. Perini came into the prep room then unzipped the bag. “I’m sorry for the delay. Is everyone all right?” He reached for Emily and helped her to the floor.
“I’m fine.” She shuddered, stood and smoothed her skirt. “That man totally creeps me out. He didn't give Darby a hard time, did he?”
“No. He never got past the gate guard.”
Relief washed her face. “Thank goodness.”
I slid down and then Matthew stood up. “Emily, do you have anything to do with Sampson Park?”
Silence.
“You own it. She owns it,” Matthew told me. “She’s the she in the bronze.”
I glanced over at her. “Is that the truth?”
No answer.
“Emily, how can you own all of Sampson Park and not be able to afford cataract surgery?” I asked, totally bewildered. I shot a charged look at Lester. “I don’t understand.”
“I never said that,” Emily insisted. “I never said I couldn’t afford surgery.”
“Lester did. Several times.”
“Well, there you have it, then.” Emily dismissed that as if it meant nothing.
“Wait a minute.” I looked at Lester, then back at Emily. “Are you saying Lester lied to me?”
“Absolutely not.” She straightened her shoulders and hiked her chin. “He told you exactly what he was supposed to tell you. We all have wounds, Pet. Mine just walked out of here a few minutes ago.”
“Victor Marcello.” I still didn’t get their connection, and staring straight at two brass trimmed, glass coffins for a long minute didn’t make it a bit more clear.
“We were married . . . in another life.” That sadness I’d seen earlier returned to her eyes. “He’s having a hard time accepting I would rather live in a guarded fortress—Sampson Park—than be married to him.” She sniffed. “Imagine what he’d be like if he knew I’d rather be dead than to return to him.”
It took me a long moment to process and recover from that bit of news. “You were married to Victor Marcello . . .?”
“Were you Edward’s mother?” Matthew got the words out before I could.
“No. She was Victor’s second—or maybe his third—wife’s child. Not mine. I was his first wife. It was a very long time ago.”
“Too much information!” Mr. Perini interrupted then cleared his throat. “Let it go, Rose, please. It upsets Emily and there’s nothing to be gained from discussing it.”
“I’m sorry. I just . . .”
“You were confused and afraid,” Emily said. “I was, too. All these years, and he still frightens me.” She shot Mr. Perini a let-us-be look, signaling she had something she wanted to share.
Tears burned the back of my nose, threatened my eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
“Terribly, but not as you think, pet.” She reached for my hand, clasped it and gently squeezed. A whisper of a smile curved her lips. “I decided to leave him and to counter his evil with good. I was terrified, but I did it. I’m still doing it.”
The truth settled in. “Matthew is right. You are the she in the bronze monument. You bridge the gap.”
The fear and sadness fell under dignity. She lifted her chin. “We all do, dear. Each and every one of us.”
I remembered holding on to her on the gurney, promising her she wouldn’t fall, and I smiled with her. “Yes, I guess we do.”
Mr. Perini cleared his throat. “Rose, someone is waiting to see you.”
From his smile, I had a strong suspicion my brother had arrived, and I dared to hope. “Jackson?”
Mr. Perini nodded. “He’s in the upstairs parlor.”
I ran for the steps.
Matthew’s footfalls echoed on the treads, right behind me.
* * *
“JACKSON.” BREATHLESS, I rushed from the doorway of the interior, upstairs apartment across the carpeted floor then embraced my baby brother, who stood a head and a half taller than me. “Oh, Jackson, I’m sorry to have put you through all this.”
He hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. “Daisy, I was terrified that I’d lost you forever.”
I reared back and studied his face, saw the ravages of fear and grief in his weariness. His dark brown hair was shorter, his face leaner, and he’d filled out. Still working out every day, gauging by the bulk of muscle, and carrying the world’s weight on his shoulders. Still I couldn’t relieve him but had to warn him for his own sake as well as mine and Matthew’s. “Daisy is dead, Jackson. You’re here to bury her.” Overwhelmed at seeing him when I’d thought I’d never be able to do so again, I felt hot tears roll down my face—and I pretended I didn’t see the ones rolling down his. “I’m Rose Matthews, and this is my husband, Matthew Green.” I leaned back fu
rther to bring Mark into the circle.
Matthew smiled. “It’s good to see you, Jackson.” He extended his hand.
Jackson grabbed it, pulled him into a fierce hug. “Matthew.” Jackson smiled through the tears now. “Are you two really married?”
“Yes, we are.” I smiled from ear to ear, signaling my brother I was not only married but elated to be married to his old friend.
“I knew it.” Jackson released me. “Craig and I both did. We were positive if we could just get you two together, it’d be kismet.”
“Well,” Matthew said, “I’ve married her twice, so you guys were definitely right.” He laughed and pulled me to him.
“The lawyer told me you’d gotten married before you died, but I thought you did that for legal reasons. I didn’t realize . . . He didn’t say . . .” Jackson went silent. “Wow. Love looks really good on you two.”
Love? Was it love? I avoided Matthew’s eyes. If it wasn’t and he looked shocked . . . Call me a coward. I just couldn’t deal with that and our funerals in the same day.
“You got married twice?” Jackson repeated.
I nodded. “Once before we died, then again after we were reborn.”
“Wow. I’m thrilled. Seriously. Congratulations.” Jackson shook his head. “I’m glad something good came out of all this. Really glad.”
“So are we,” Matthew told his brother-in-law. “Come and sit down. We need to catch up.”
Jackson looked at his watch. “We don’t have a lot of time before your funerals.”
“Then we’ll make the best of what time we do have,” I said, feeling almost giddy. There was something special about having two of the men I most love in the same room with me. If Lester were here, I think it’d be one of my life’s most perfect moments. That struck me as bizarre, considering I was about to be buried. Guess you never know when life’s going to toss you a juicy bone.
“We need to talk a bit about assets, too, Jackson,” Matthew said.
“Better see to essentials first.” He again checked his watch.
“You can rebuild Jameson Court or not, your call,” Matthew said. “But Rose and I need at least a million of the money to start over.”
At least a million? My ears had to be off. Just how wealthy was he?
“Whatever you want. It’s yours. I’m just caretaking.”
“You use what you need to have the life you want.”
Jackson looked stunned. “You’re serious.”
Matthew nodded. “You’re my family, Jackson.”
A hard lump rose and fell in Jackson’s neck, and his voice turned husky. I was overwhelmed. Never had he had anyone but me. Now he had Matthew. And that Matthew loved him, called him family . . . I couldn’t process all those feelings. I’d never allowed myself to dream all those feelings.
“You’re my family, too,” Jackson said. “Anything, anytime, anywhere. Long as I live.”
Matthew clapped Jackson’s shoulder. “Honored.”
“Me, too.” He smiled at me and then looked back at Matthew. “I’m happy being a pastry chef and Dallas suits me so, no, I’m not into rebuilding Jameson Court. I’d think of the jerks that made you two die every time I walked in the door.” Brutally honest, Jackson turned back to specifics. “How do I get what you want to you?” He sat back in a chair near the sofa.
We sat down on it, and Matthew shared our plan. “We’ve got it all worked out,” he said. “We’ll funnel everything through Mr. Perini. Messages, money, whatever. He’ll get it to us and there’ll be no added jeopardy to you. We want you safe.”
Surprise flitted across Jackson’s face. “You’re not going to even tell me where you’re going?”
Everything in me rebelled. “We’ll be in touch as soon as it’s safe.” I licked my dry lips. “Jackson, there are a lot of people who want us dead. They’ll harm anyone in order to make it happen. If any of us, you included, are going to have a life, then we’ve got to be careful.” I pressed a hand to his knee. “You understand?”
He nodded. “I hate this.” Venom filled his voice. “But I understand.”
“When we settle and don’t think it’ll endanger you, you’ll get postcards. They won’t be signed, but you’ll know they’re from us.”
“I’ll miss you, Daisy.”
“I’ll miss talking to you, too, but I’ll keep watch so I know you’re safe. I’m not sure how yet, but I’ll find a way.”
Too soon came a knock on the apartment door.
It opened, and Mr. Perini came in, wearing a stern expression full of worry. “Jackson, you have to go. We’re being watched by everybody and his brother. They’re not even trying to be subtle.” He lifted a hand, his disbelief in his razor’s edged tone. “Remember, you’re in mourning, and you’ve just seen your sister dead for the first time.” Mr. Perini’s expression turned more grim. “Convince them, son. Lives depend on it.”
Jackson stood up, smoothed his slacks at his thighs then tugged at his waistband. “I’ll give it all I’ve got.” He leaned forward. “Make this hug a good one, sis. It’s got to last me a long, long time.”
I held him hard and whispered close, “I love you, Jackson. I’ve always loved you and I always will.” Tears threatened. I blinked hard, holding them back. The last thing either of us needed were the waterworks. This was a time for strength, and as always, he looked to me for his cue on how to behave. If I cried, he’d be upset too. I pulled back. “How’s that for a hug?”
“Perfect.” He held me by the upper arms. “I love you, Daisy.”
“I know.” Though I feared my face would crack from the effort, I smiled.
He cleared his throat, then reached for Matthew. “You take care of her.”
“With all I’ve got, Jackson.”
I watched the second peacock strut, and felt incredibly moved. Most women had one. I feared having none, once I learned what it was, and now had two. Incredibly special moment, this.
“I’ll be back just before two.” Jackson stopped at the door, took one last hungry look at me, and then headed down the stairs.
“You raised a fine man, Rose.” Mr. Perini grunted. “We’d better watch, just to see how he handles his performance firsthand.”
“The window?” I asked.
“Absolutely not. I wasn’t kidding about everybody being out there. Keller, Johnson and men from the Marcello and Adriano families are on the street—and some guy in a cop’s uniform from NOPD. I’m not sure who he is. Barry’s running a check on him.”
Matthew frowned, but I sensed more than saw he was pleased. “Probably Tank. I can’t imagine any other cop from New Orleans coming to send me off.”
“Big guy, broad shoulders and a thick neck?” Mr. Perini asked.
Matthew nodded. “Definitely Tank.”
“Is he a friend or foe?” Mr. Perini walked to the other side of the living room then paused, waiting for Matthew’s answer.
“Friend.” Matthew shrugged but looked Mr. Perini right in the eye. “Probably the only real one I have left from my life at home.”
A look of understanding passed between the men. “Something my father passed to me, I’ll share with you. He said, if a man lives a long life, he’ll be lucky to count his real friends on the fingers of one hand. Nobody gets two hand’s worth, and if on the one, you have a couple fingers left, you’ve been a lucky man.”
“One real friend is worth more than two hands of others.” Matthew nodded. “Thank you for reminding me of that.”
“One of your real friends just left this room,” Mr. Perini said. “You’ve one in this room still, and if you’ve another outside . . .”
“I’m blessed three times over.”
“All that, and a good wife? More than three times over.” Mr. Perini pressed a button behind a shelving unit full of colorful knickknacks that probably were art and cost a fortune. They had that look. The unit slid away from the wall and exposed a doorway opening.
We followed him through it, into a small r
oom filled with dozens of monitors. Every inch of the interior and exterior of the funeral home was on one screen or another. No wonder Mr. Perini had been so confident of stopping the families from breaking in. They hadn’t stood a chance.
I spotted Jackson in the parking lot. He stood outside his car, his head hung, his shoulders stooped. So still. So very still. I couldn’t see the tears running down his face, but I felt them, and a moment later he buried his face in his hands and openly wept. Sobs wracked his body, heaving his shoulders and rippling his shuddering muscles. I knew him better than anyone else in the world, and I believed he was grieving.
“Looks convincing to me,” Matthew said from beside me.
“He is convincing—and truly grieving.” Aching and relieved, I nodded. “For the first time in his life, he can’t pick up a phone and find me on the other end.”
Something in my voice or what I said must have alerted Matthew that I felt fragile, because he wrapped his arm around my waist. “It’s okay, honey. He knows he can get to us through Mr. Perini any time, and he knows you’re fine.”
“He’s afraid for us. And he’s worried about when he’ll see us again.”
“She’s right.” Mr. Perini told Matthew. “Most of my life, I’ve studied people at their most vulnerable—nothing kicks a soul to the knees like grief. Jackson’s scared to death and he’s genuinely grieving.”
“Everything’s changed forever, and he knows it.” I swallowed hard.
Paul looked me right in the eye. “How lucky you are to be loved that much.”
“It’s always been just him and me,” I said with a sniff. “He’s feeling orphaned.”
“He’s been orphaned all his life,” Mr. Perini said, clearly confused.
“Yes,” Matthew said, “but Daisy made sure Jackson didn’t know it.”
“Ah, and now he does.” Mr. Perini grunted. “Poor guy.”
“Will you help me watch over him, Mr. Perini? Please?”
“Of course.” He clasped my hand and gave it a reassuring pat. “He’s your family, Rose. We take care of family.”
“Thank you.” I sniffed and swiped at my eyes.
Jackson got into his rental car and drove out of the parking lot. I watched through the trees until I couldn’t see him anymore. Craig Parker would help him through this, but I couldn’t, and the weight of that bore down on me like a ton of bricks.