To Hell in a Handbasket

by Beth Groundwater

  Judy shrugged. “I may never wear it again, but it’s not awful. Besides, we need to go.”

  “Sold.” Claire asked the sales clerk to cut off the tags. “She’s going to wear it now. I’ll pay for it while you gather up your things, Judy.”

  She glanced at her daughter’s bare feet. “Ohmigod. Shoes. All you brought with you is sneakers, right?”

  Judy bit her lip and nodded.

  “There’s a Nine West shoe store two doors down,” the sales clerk said helpfully.

  “Thank you.” Claire leaned on the cash register counter. They might just make it. “Judy, dash over there now. I’ll get your things after I pay for the dress.”

  Judy looked down. “In my bare feet?”

  “Yes, it’s not far. Go!”

  Judy took off running.

  Claire explained their predicament to the clerk while she paid and asked for a plastic bag in which to stuff Judy’s discarded sneakers, coat, and clothes. Once she had everything, she hurried over to the shoe store.

  With a slight wobble, Judy pirouetted on four-inch strappy black stacks. Dear God. But at least they were dress shoes.

  With a smile, Judy said, “These are cool. What do you think, Mom?”

  Claire checked her watch. No time left. “They’ll do.” She took out her credit card.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll get a lot of wear out of these.”

  She paid quickly while Judy donned her ski jacket over her dress. Claire bit her lip. Judy’s get-up wasn’t a great combination, but once they were inside the church, she could take off the jacket and wouldn’t look too bad.

  They ran for the car, or at least Claire did, in her sensible low-heeled pumps. Judy skittered along behind her with an ungainly gait.

  _____

  After racing down the highway and silently cursing every red light through Frisco, Claire arrived with Judy at St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Breckenridge at five minutes after eleven. She found a parking space in the lot across French Street. While waiting for traffic to clear so she and Judy could cross the street, Claire checked the church for signs that the service had already started.

  A door stood open in the smaller wing built of white-painted wood with gray trim, which almost clashed with the larger, newer wing’s orange-brown trim. A young couple Judy’s age walked up the steps and through the doorway, above which was printed, “St. Mary’s Catholic Church, founded 1881.”

  Good. Maybe we won’t have to make an embarrassing late entrance in the middle of the opening hymn.

  Claire mounted the cement steps at a smart clip while Judy held onto the metal railing to maintain her balance on the tippy heels. After taking a program from the usher, Claire looked around for Roger.

  About forty people sat in the dark wooden pews. The small sanctuary probably could hold no more than a hundred. Roger signaled them from the third row.

  Claire hurried down the aisle with Judy and slid into the seats he had saved beside him.

  Roger looked Judy up and down as she removed her jacket. His gaze settled on her clunky shoes, and his eyes went wide. He started to speak.

  Claire touched his arm and shook her head.

  With a raised eyebrow, Roger flashed her a wry smile then covered the smile with his hand and looked away.

  Smart man. Claire took a deep breath. Finally, she had a chance to rest after scurrying around all morning with Judy. She gazed around the sanctuary, letting its peacefulness ease into her.

  The quaint room had a Scandinavian theme befitting its mountain setting. The walls were topped with a pink and blue Nordic design of flowers and bows. Red flowers accented the corners of the blue squares making up the ceiling. The blue of the ceiling continued behind an altar flanked by statues of Mother Mary and Father Joseph holding the toddler Jesus, who seemed ready to squirm away from his father’s tender grasp.

  In front of the altar sat a small table containing an urn and a photograph of Stephanie. Presuming the urn held Stephanie’s ashes, Claire looked away as her eyes began to sting. She dug in her purse for tissues to stem the tears she knew would flow. She had never been able to attend a wedding or funeral without crying.

  A movement in the front pew caught her eye. Nick nodded at Judy before facing the front. His mother sat stiffly beside him, with Anthony on her other side, his arm around her shoulders and his own slumped in sorrow.

  A couple in their late forties sat in the row behind the Continos. Since the woman’s hair and build matched Angela’s, Claire presumed she was Angela’s sister. Two young women about Judy’s age sat next to them. Would Angela find it hard not to be jealous of her sister, who still had both her daughters, while Angela had lost her only one? Claire patted Judy’s hand, causing her to glance at her mother.

  Don’t mind me, honey. Just being morbid—and frankly, thankful that I’m not Angela.

  A priest in a white robe walked up the aisle to stand in front of the altar and held out his hands. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, let us pray.”

  Claire bowed her head. So it began—the final goodbye to a young woman whose precious life was cut off much too soon. Claire swiped at a tear running down her cheek.

  The service lasted about forty-five minutes, with a quavering hymn sung by one of Stephanie’s friends and a hoarse eulogy delivered by her brave brother. Some others stepped forward with remembrances: Angela’s sister, friends of Stephanie’s, a favorite college professor.

  Claire was surprised when Judy rose to walk toward the altar.

  Judy took a moment to compose herself. “I didn’t know Stephanie very well—mostly through stories told by her brother, who I’ve been seeing for a while. From those stories, I expected to like her when we finally met on Sunday. And I did. She gave me a hug, flashed her big smile at me, and immediately I felt loved. Before the night was over, I felt as if I’d been a friend of hers for years and would be for years to come. I could see why Nick and his parents were so proud of her. And even though I only knew her a brief time, I miss her very much.”

  Judy’s words were impromptu, brief, but heartfelt. Claire’s chest swelled with pride for her very grown-up daughter as Judy returned quietly to her seat.

  When Roger’s hand clasped hers, Claire gave it a squeeze. She flashed a small smile at her husband and whispered, “We did good, didn’t we?”

  While they filed out after the service, Claire spotted Owen Silverstone standing off to the side, surveying the attendees from behind dark sunglasses. She left Roger talking to Angela’s sister’s husband and approached the detective. “I have some information for you.”

  He waved for her to follow and stepped out of earshot from a group of Stephanie’s friends standing nearby. “What information?”

  “When Roger and I went to the Continos yesterday to deliver a sympathy gift basket, we saw two black Range Rovers parked in their driveway, and both plates matched the two letters Roger saw on the one that hit Boyd.”

  Owen’s brow wrinkled. “We only found one registered to the Continos.”

  “The other one belonged to a visitor, a Gregori Ivanov, who said he bought six. He kept one for himself, gave one to Anthony, who is his financial advisor, and gave four to other business associates.”

  “That explains a lot.” Owen rubbed his chin and peered at her. “So you met this Ivanov? What did you think of him?”

  “He’s a big man, friendly, Russian, seemed to have a lot of money, obviously.”

  Owen stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. He scanned the group outside the church then pointed his chin at a large man whose back was to them. “That him?”

  Claire watched until the man turned to speak to someone beside him. “Yes. What did you mean when you said that explains a lot?”

  “My man who was checking on the black Range Rovers ran into some interesting files.” He glanced at Claire as if assessing whether he should tell her what he knew. “Files on Russian mob figures.”

  Claire sucked
in a breath. “Oh, dear.”

  She told Owen about the chart she saw on Anthony Contino’s computer and Roger’s guess that the transfers represented money-laundering. But she didn’t want to relay Leon’s story of Anthony’s past until she got more solid information from him and made sure it would be useful to the investigation. So far, there was no pressing reason to expose Leon, and her connection to him, to this lawman.

  “This is getting stranger by the minute.” Owen pulled his hands out of his pockets and opened one to reveal the badger fetish. “Not sure this bugger is helping me much on this case. Every time I seem to get a handle on some lead, the case skitters off in a new direction.”

  He returned the fetish to his pocket. “Thanks for the information on the cars and the money transfers, though. Knowing that six of the seven matching cars are connected to Ivanov is helpful.” He tipped his hat to her and headed across the street toward the parking lot.

  As Claire watched him go, she felt a hand on her arm and turned.

  Angela Contino smiled up at her, but her eyes were serious. “Was that nasty detective bugging you, too?”

  Flustered by the question, Claire responded with one of her own. “When was he bugging you?”

  “This morning, while we were trying to get ready for Stephanie’s service. He came over to the house and insisted on looking at all of Anthony’s and Nickolas’s ski clothes and gear. He took photos, too.” Angela tensed and formed fists with her hands. “The horrible man acts like he thinks one of them killed Stephanie. That’s impossible. It was an accident, an awful accident. That’s all.”

  Her voice hoarsened on the last words, and she clamped her lips shut as if struggling for control. A tear dribbled down her cheek.

  Claire dug in her purse for a tissue and handed it over. She gave Angela a moment to compose herself.

  “I’m sure he’s only being thorough. He has to consider all the possibilities, and sometimes people are killed by family members, as terrible as it seems.” She patted Angela’s arm. “Don’t let his investigation ruin your remembrance of Stephanie today.”

  “You’re right. I won’t think about the detective any more today.” Angela dabbed at her eyes. “We’re having a few people over to the house for a light lunch. You’ll join us, won’t you?”

  Claire spotted Judy talking to Nick and a few other young people. This would be an opportunity for her to spend some time with him, but still be under the watchful eye of her parents. Claire returned her gaze to Angela. “Yes, we’d love to.”

  Twelve:

  Reception and Deception

  Claire stood with Roger in a corner of the Continos’ living room. They held plates of catered cucumber sandwiches, cheese puffs, crudités, and other bite-sized morsels that might have been delicious in other circumstances. With no appetite, Claire picked at her food and wondered when it would be polite to take their leave.

  Obviously, the Contino family was strained to the limit, putting on a brave front for the twenty or so people who had come to the house. Angela looked like an antique china doll whose cracked face would shatter any minute. Claire had lost count of how many times Anthony had refilled his scotch glass, but instead of dulling his pain, the alcohol only made him gloomier. Nick’s approach seemed to be to cloak his grief with anger. His expression was stormy as he exchanged quiet, angry words at the other side of the room with Judy.

  Judy appeared to be asking him to do something, but he kept shaking his head and frowning. Finally, he turned his back on her and walked away. Her solemn gaze followed him until he disappeared into the dining room, then she surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye.

  Claire took a step toward her daughter, but Roger stopped her.

  “Let her be. We’ll find out what happened between them on our way home, I’m sure.”

  “At least we won’t have to argue with her about leaving with us. Looks like he doesn’t want her to stay.” Claire put her plate of half-eaten food on a nearby end table. “I need to use the bathroom. After that, let’s go.”

  When she found the powder room occupied, Claire glanced upstairs. She had been on the second floor before with the Continos, so they shouldn’t mind if she used the hall bathroom up there. She climbed the stairs.

  As she was drying her hands, she heard the study door open and close down the hall, followed by angry voices filtering through the heater vent—Anthony’s and Ivanov’s. When she heard Anthony shout “No,” her curiosity overcame her manners. She knelt on her hands and knees to listen at the vent.

  “The police are too close to you,” Ivanov said in his brusque tone. “This morning was close call. You clean my files off your computer today.”

  “Yes, Gregori.”

  “In one week, maybe two, when heat dies down, I will bring this disk back to you. It will be good time for Nickolas to join us. His studies are almost complete. He should learn our business.”

  Claire stilled. Nick is going to become involved in his father’s criminal activities?

  The voices faded as footsteps clomped away from the heater vent in the study but toward the wall between the study and bathroom. Claire glanced around and spied a stack of paper cups. She snatched one, held it against the wall, punched a hole in the bottom with her finger and pressed her ear to the hole.

  “. . . and I don’t want him involved,” Anthony was saying with clipped, angry words. “I told you before. He deserves his own life in a clean business. Especially after Stephanie’s death.”

  “An unfortunate incident, very unfortunate. I explained to you my sympathies. The idiot who killed her with his carelessness will be dealt with. I will handle it.”

  “No, no.” Anthony’s voice held an edge of desperation. “It’s done and over. Can’t you see? It’s time to stop this, all of it. We’ve been hurt enough. Just leave my family alone.”

  “A son should follow his father’s footsteps,” Ivanov said in a conciliatory tone. “Who will manage our money if something happens to you? We must plan for the future, Anthony, the future of your family. And mine.”

  Claire heard a sound like a hand clamping down on a shoulder, followed by Ivanov’s voice, firm again. “I leave you to grieve with your family. But I will meet with you and Nickolas in Denver soon.”

  Anthony made a strangled, unintelligible sound, but Ivanov cut him off. “You and Nickolas.” He opened the study door and walked down the stairs.

  A hollow thump sounded right above Claire, as if a head had hit the other side of the wall. It was followed by a stifled sob, then the study door closing. Claire waited a moment, unsure if Anthony was inside the study or in the hallway. When she heard nothing more, she cracked open the bathroom door and peeked out.

  The hallway was empty.

  Claire hurried downstairs, her mind churning. Ivanov, at least, seemed sure Anthony was not the one who killed Stephanie. Was the idiot he referred to Boyd, and was Ivanov offering to kill the already-dead young man? Did Anthony’s statement that “it’s done and over” mean he already had run Boyd down on the street three nights ago?

  One thing was clear. Ivanov wanted Nick to work for him, and Anthony was resisting. If Ivanov got his way, Nick would be drawn into working for the Russian mob. And if Judy married him, she would be exposed to a lifetime of danger and deceit.

  Claire clenched her fists. She would never let her daughter marry into a crime family. She would have to find a way to break up this relationship, and soon.

  When she entered the living room, she searched for Judy, planning to tell her the time had come to leave. She spotted her talking to one of Angela’s nieces and approached them.

  Judy saw her coming, excused herself from the conversation with the niece, and met her mother in the middle of the room. With a look of concern, she gripped Claire’s arm and whispered, “That man over there’s been staring at me. He’s giving me the creeps.”

  When Claire started to glance around, Judy said, “Don’t be so obvious. He’s by the entrance to the dini
ng room. Act casual.”

  Claire slowly turned and scanned the room. Her gaze briefly fell on a thin, ferret-faced man about the same height and weight as the Contino men, but with Eastern European features. He stood talking to Ivanov, so maybe he was another Russian. He seemed to be in his mid- to late-forties.

  When he looked up, as if feeling her gaze on him, Claire quickly glanced away. “The thin man with salt-and-pepper hair who’s talking to that big Russian bear?”

  Judy’s grip tightened, and she leaned in closer. “I recognize him. I’m sure of it. But I can’t figure out where I’ve seen him before.” She drew in a quick breath. “Now they’re both staring at me.”

  Claire looked back and saw Ivanov in an urgent, quiet conversation with the ferret man, while both stole glances at Judy. They seemed to be arguing about something, and that something involved Judy. Had Ivanov found out that Judy was dating Nick? Were the two men sizing her up as a potential mob wife? Or as leverage against Nick? Oh, God.

  Her heart pounding, Claire pulled Judy over to Roger and politely extracted him from a conversation with Angela’s brother-in-law. When the three were alone, she said to Roger, “We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

  Roger’s expression turned serious when he saw her face. He set down his plate.

  “But, Mom,” Judy said. “I promised Mrs. Contino that I would help clean up after everyone left.”

  “You don’t know when . . .” A noise across the room drew Claire’s attention. Ivanov and his friend were saying their goodbyes to Angela. With them gone, maybe it would be all right to stay. Claire certainly didn’t want a confrontation with the two men out on the Continos’ driveway. “I guess we can stay.”

  “You don’t need to. Nick can drive me home.”

  “I’m sure Angela could use our help, too.” And I’m not leaving you alone in this house.

  The other guests seemed to take the departure of the two men as a signal that it was time to leave. Angela’s sister gave her a long hug before leaving with her family to return to Denver. In a matter of minutes, the only people remaining were Claire, Roger, Judy, Nick, and Angela. The five of them picked up glasses and plates in the living room and carried food trays into the kitchen for Angela to put away. Judy and Claire loaded the dishwasher while the men emptied the trashcans. Anthony never put in an appearance, remaining upstairs in his study.