Angela asked Nick to carry some leftover food out to the garage freezer then resumed spooning onion dip into a plastic container. Before Claire could stop her, Judy picked up a foil-wrapped bundle and followed Nick.
After they left, a muffled bang, followed by a thump, sounded upstairs.
Angela froze, dip oozing off the end of her spoon.
“What was that?” Roger asked.
“Anthony’s upstairs in the study.” The hair on the back of Claire’s neck stood on end.
Angela took one worried glance at Claire, then dropped the spoon and rushed up the stairs with Roger and Claire on her heels. She knocked on the study door and opened it.
“Anthony, what was that noise?” Her words ended in a choked sob.
Anthony lay slumped over the top of his desk with a revolver in his hand. A pool of blood spread out from his head and dripped over the front of the desk.
A roar of horror filled Claire’s head and squeezed her chest. “Oh, God.”
Angela’s eyes rolled back in her head. She crumpled.
Claire and Roger lurched forward to support her before she hit the floor. They gently lowered her to her back. Claire called Angela’s name, but she didn’t respond. “She’s out cold.”
“I’ll call nine-one-one again.” Roger took a step toward the desk.
Claire stopped him. “Use the phone in the master bedroom. We shouldn’t touch anything here.”
After Roger left, Claire gingerly walked over to examine Anthony. The coppery smell of blood made her stomach clench. A large hole gaped open in the back of his skull—the exit wound. Instantly fatal. Claire tore her gaze from the gore and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.
A wash of guilt overtook her. If she had gone to Anthony after overhearing the conversation with Ivanov, she could have stopped this, could have gotten him to snap out of his depression. No, listen to yourself, Claire. You had no idea he was suicidal. And do you really think you could have just told someone who had lost his daughter to “look on the bright side of life”?
A handwritten note splattered with blood lay in front of Anthony’s head. Claire read it.
Dearest Angela,
I can’t live with the guilt any longer. Because of me, Stephanie is dead. I hope someday you will be able to forgive me, but I could never forgive myself. You and Nick must save each other. He will know what to do.
All my love,
Anthony
You and Nick must save each other? What does that mean?
Angela groaned.
Claire rushed over to her. The woman’s eyes were still closed.
Roger returned. “The ambulance is on its way, as well as the police.”
“We need to get Angela out of here before she wakes up. We don’t want her to see this again.”
Roger scooted his hands under Angela’s shoulders and lifted her by the armpits. “You take her legs.”
They maneuvered the woman out to the hallway. While Roger closed the door, Claire found a washcloth in the bathroom, wet it, and returned.
Angela groaned again. Her eyelids fluttered.
Claire dabbed the cool washcloth on Angela’s forehead. “Angela, can you hear me?”
Her eyes opened, and she stared uncomprehending at Claire. Suddenly her expression crumpled. With a keening wail, she clutched at Claire.
Claire held her tight and rocked her, feeling helpless to provide comfort any other way. What would she do if Judy and Roger were taken from her? Her eyes welled up. The grief was too horrible to imagine. And where were Judy and Nick? How long does it take to put stuff in the freezer?
The front doorbell rang, and Roger went to open it. He returned with two paramedics carrying a stretcher up the stairs. They stopped when they saw Claire and Angela sitting on the floor, locked arm in arm, Angela’s shoulders heaving with great sobs.
“He’s in there.” Claire nodded toward the closed study door.
Two Breckenridge police officers followed. Claire recognized the patrolman who had interviewed them after Boyd’s death. The other man introduced himself as Detective Donner. They followed the paramedics into the study.
The last man up the stairs was Owen Silverstone. With a grim face, he eyed Roger. “Officer Koch contacted me when he realized the connection this call had to both our cases. So we meet again.”
“And the circumstances are just as bad.” Roger laid his hand on Claire’s shoulder.
Owen studied Angela. “She gonna be okay?”
Claire’s pent-up emotions spilled out of her. “Of course not! She lost her husband only a few days after her daughter was killed. She may never be okay again.”
Claire bit her lip and glanced down at Angela, who leaned on Claire’s shoulder. I should never say such things in front of her.
With her eyes shut, Angela gnawed on her knuckles, lost in her misery.
Claire smoothed Angela’s hair. “Roger, could you get us a box of tissues and a glass of water, please?”
After Roger left, Owen said, “What I meant was, does she need medical treatment right away, or can I leave her with you while I check out what’s in there?” He pointed with his chin at the study door.
“You can leave her with me.”
Claire managed to get Angela to blow her nose and swallow a drink of water while they waited for the police to return. The woman seemed to have temporarily regressed to childhood, obediently following Claire’s instructions but unable to speak. Roger hovered awkwardly in the hallway, as if torn between staying available to Claire and Angela and wanting to find out what the police were doing.
Owen came out of the study first. “Can we get her into another room?”
The three of them helped Angela to her feet, then Roger and Owen supported her on either side and led her into the bedroom across the hall. Claire closed the door behind them.
Owen signaled Claire to come out into the hallway with him. After she had made sure Angela was comfortably ensconced in
Roger’s arms as the two sat on the bed, she and the detective stepped out.
“The coroner and forensic technician are on the way,” he said. “After they do their work and formally rule it a suicide, we’ll be able to remove Mr. Contino’s body. I didn’t want Mrs. Contino in the middle of all that.”
With a nod, Claire said, “I know you’re thinking of her welfare. I’m sorry about my outburst earlier.”
Owen briefly laid his hand on her shoulder. “No offense taken. How are you doing?”
“I really don’t know.”
“If you’re up to it, I need to get a statement from you and your husband. But first, I want you to check out Mr. Contino’s shoes, see if you recognize any from the trailer park. The master bedroom’s here.” He led the way through the doorway at the end of the hall.
For a moment, Claire wondered how he knew where the bedroom was, then remembered he had been there that morning looking at the men’s ski gear and clothing. She followed him into the walk-in closet. After he flipped on the light switch, she bent down to examine the men’s shoes lined in a neat row on one side of the closet. Just like Roger’s shoes, with all the toes equidistant from the wall. Figures. They’re both basically accountants.
She studied the row, but the only dress shoes were black loafers. Could she have been mistaken? No, the loafers she saw at the trailer park were definitely brown. “The loafers I saw aren’t here. What’s Anthony wearing now?”
“Brown lace-ups.”
Owen led her to Nick’s room, but no dress shoes at all appeared in Nick’s closet. She tried to remember what he wore at the reception. Black leather sneakers. She straightened and shook her head. “Nick’s not wearing brown loafers, either.”
“Where is he?”
“Good God, Nick doesn’t know his father’s dead yet. He’s in the garage with my daughter.” How could they not have heard all of this?
“I’ll take care of telling him.” Owen reached his hand into his jeans pocket to rub his bea
ver fetish. “I was hoping to tie up the loose end of the shoes. I don’t like loose ends. Maybe the man at the trailer was someone unrelated to the case, like the landlord.”
“Why would a landlord be searching the place?”
“Looking for drugs? Who knows?” He glanced at Claire. “I suppose you saw the suicide note.”
“Yes.”
He led her out into the hallway. “It supports the theory that something’s wrong in this family. The father could’ve killed his own daughter, then Naylor because he witnessed it. Then he saved us the trouble of bringing him in by killing himself.”
Claire wasn’t so sure all three deaths could be wrapped up in such a neat, tidy package. “There’s still the Russian mob aspect to the case. You need to check out Mr. Contino’s computer. Hopefully he didn’t delete Ivanov’s files before he shot himself.”
At Owen’s puzzled expression, Claire described the argument she overheard between Anthony and Gregori Ivanov and Ivanov’s offer to “handle it.”
Frowning, Owen rubbed his fetish. “So you think there’s a link between the mob money-laundering and the deaths.”
“I don’t know what to think. Maybe Stephanie found out her father was laundering money and threatened to go to the police. I still find it hard to believe abuse or incest was involved.”
Owen nodded. “I’ll have to question the son and the wife about both the mob connection and any abnormal relationship between Mr. Contino and his daughter.”
At the mention of the word “son,” Claire wondered again what could be keeping Judy and Nick. His mother needed him.
“Angela’s very fragile right now. I’d hate to think what questions about her husband and daughter would do to her. You will be gentle with her, won’t you?”
“I’ll start with the son. If I can get anything out of him, I may not need to question her at all. In the meantime, we’ll follow-up on this money-laundering angle. Even if Mr. Contino’s work isn’t related to the deaths, the information on his computer is important.”
He blew out a breath. “This means bringing in yet another law enforcement office. Denver’s been having problems with Russian organized crime. Since that’s where the Continos and Ivanov reside, Denver PD will want to take a look at the computer.”
The door to the garage opened and shut. “What’s going on?” Nick yelled. “Why are an ambulance and police cars in the driveway?”
He came into view with Judy at the bottom of the stairs, their hair mussed, Judy’s lipstick smeared, some of it on Nick’s face. They stared up at Claire and Silverstone, eyes wide with horror and confusion.
Judy’s gaze lit on her mother’s face. “Mom, who’s the ambulance for?”
_____
An hour later, Claire arrived with Roger and Judy at their townhouse, exhausted from dealing with such powerful emotions. Angela had been put to bed with a sedative, and they had left Nick slouched in a chair in the living room cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. Maybe drinking himself into oblivion was for the best.
As they entered the living room, Judy said, “I still think I should have stayed with Nick. He needs me.”
Claire glanced at Roger, seeking support.
He took Judy by the arm. “Honey, sit down. Your mother and I have to talk to you.”
Judy sat on the sofa and warily watched her parents take seats on either side of her. “What is this?”
“Judy,” Claire began, “There’s considerable evidence that Mr. Contino may very well have been a criminal working for the Russian mob.”
Judy jerked back. “What, the slimy incest story didn’t work, so you’re trying this? Why are you two so against Nick?”
“We’re not against him. He seems like a nice young man, but he’s from a dangerous family.” Claire told her what Detective Silverstone had said about Ivanov’s connection to the Russian mob and what Leon said about Anthony’s prior work for the Italian mob.
Judy’s jaw dropped. “No way. Nick’s father working for the mob? He seemed so quiet and normal, like a regular old boring accountant.” She looked at Roger. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Apparently Anthony’s been doing it for years,” Claire said. “Leon said he worked for the Italian mob in the eighties. That’s probably where he got his start and made the connections that allowed him to join up with the Russians when the Smaldones were shut down.”
Shifting in her seat, Judy frowned. “So you believe a drug dealer’s lies?”
Claire laid a gentle hand on Judy’s shoulder. “There’s more, honey. I overheard Gregori Ivanov pressuring Anthony to groom Nick to follow in his footsteps.”
Judy moved away from her mother’s touch and shook her head in disbelief. “Nick would never work for organized crime.”
“Hear me out.” Claire explained about Ivanov buying six Range Rovers and giving one to the Continos, and Detective Silverstone’s statement that many of the Range Rovers were owned by Russian mob figures. She described the chart she had seen on Anthony’s computer and Roger gave his interpretation of it.
“But all this is about Nick’s dad, not Nick,” Judy said. “Even if his father’s working for the Russian mob, which I still find hard to believe, I know Nick isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know Nick. He’s honest and truthful to a fault. He’s never lied to me. Never.”
“And how would you know if he had?” Roger asked.
Judy crossed her arms. “How do you know Mom’s telling you the truth? How come you believed her when she said she didn’t sleep with that massage therapist?”
Ouch. Claire grimaced.
Roger looked steadily at Claire. “Because I love her and trust her.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I love you, too.”
“Well, I love Nick and trust him,” Judy said.
So Judy had taken the step of acknowledging her love for Nick. Claire wondered if the two had said those three little words to each other, maybe in the garage. Breaking up this relationship would seriously wound Judy. Am I prepared to hurt her so badly? But if Judy kept her association with the Continos, possibly even marrying Nick, then she could get hurt even worse. She could be charged as an accessory to their crimes and go to jail. Or maybe even be killed if the Russian mob feared she knew too much and might testify against them.
Licking her lips, Claire searched for the right words. “It seems likely that Nick isn’t involved yet, from the argument between Anthony and Ivanov, but the Russian mob wants him. And they’ve got their sights on you, too.”
Judy’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Remember Ivanov and that other man staring at you during the reception? They’re already assessing you, wondering what kind of mob wife you would make.”
Judy’s hand went to her mouth, and her eyes teared up.
“Nick’s family moves in dangerous circles, dear. Circles where people get killed.” Claire gazed at Roger and saw her sorrow echoed in his face. Are we breaking her heart?
Roger put an arm around Judy’s shoulders. “No matter now much we like Nick and want you to be happy, we can’t allow you to put yourself in that danger. For your own safety, Judy, you’re going to have to end this relationship.”
Judy burst out crying, and Claire pulled her into her arms.
Thirteen: Ski Lesson
Claire stood on the stone plaza in front of the Peak Eight Base ticket windows, shielding her eyes from the sun to scan the parking lot impatiently for Leon. Knowing him, he would pay the steep fee to park up close. Claire couldn’t picture Leon and his two constant, muscle-bound companions sharing a shuttle bus or gondola ride from the free lot to the base with commoners.
She glanced at the peak—no clouds, just a wisp of snow blown by a gentle breeze off the top. The sun blazed on two inches of fresh powder that had fallen the night before, making it glitter like diamond dust under the cornflower blue sky. With a relatively warm temperature hovering right below thirty, it was a perfect day for skiing. Too bad Ro
ger had to miss it.
But someone had to stay home to comfort Judy and prevent her from going to the Contino home to visit Nick. Before Claire left, Roger pulled out an old jigsaw puzzle and started laying pieces face-up on the dining room table. Hopefully, he could persuade Judy to put it together with him. Claire also hoped no pieces were missing. Nothing frustrated Roger more than being unable to snap that last piece into place.
She remembered him and the kids working on jigsaw puzzles during the evenings of past ski trips. She had never had the patience for the pesky puzzles. She would try to join in, pick a hole to fill, then look for the right piece, but invariably Roger, Judy, or Michael would find it first. She had to be content with solving the puzzle of putting a gift basket together.
Three large men climbed out of a bright red Cadillac Escalade. Claire caught the gleam of heavy gold rings on the fingers of the late-thirties, paunchy black man in the middle. Leon. He was flanked by his white, bald bodyguard and his tall, black driver. All three wore dark sunglasses and puffed on cigarettes as they walked toward her. She scanned their clothing—ski pants and squall jackets. Good. They had taken her advice and left the fur-lined, long leather coats at home.
She approached them and held out her hand to Leon, determined to start out on a friendly footing, because she wanted to get Leon to agree to a change in plans. “Good to see you, Leon. Any trouble on the drive up?”
Leon gave her a hearty handshake. “I slept most of the way. Woke up for Hoosier Pass, though. That’s one hairy ride, but my man here can handle any road.” He clapped his driver on the back, and the other man flashed a satisfied grin.
“Did you trade in your black limo for that Escalade?” Claire nodded toward the red SUV.
“Hell, no. Them’s my play wheels, for when I’m going incognito, you know?” He lowered his sunglasses and winked at her over the rims.
To Hell in a Handbasket Page 14