The family was fast approaching the second anniversary of Kingston Parlier’s death. For the better part of a year after he passed away, Yetta could barely bring herself to leave her bed before two in the afternoon. She’d wander around between television talk shows and games of solitaire on the coffee table in the living room—sitting in the chair Kingston had favored.
Grace missed her father and visited his grave often, but she hadn’t been allowed the luxury of disappearing into her grief while the world spun around her. She immediately felt guilty about her mean-spirited thought. Her mother was starting to come out of her fog and some of that renewed energy had to be credited to Nikolai Sarna’s impending arrival. Grace wasn’t sure she understood why it had taken a stranger to lure her mother out of her depression.
As if reading Grace’s thoughts, Kate said, “You’re making quite a fuss about this guy, Mom. He’s not visiting royalty, is he?”
“He’s family,” Yetta replied. “He’s six months younger than Alexandra. I took care of him when his mother first went back to work. She was a dancer.”
“A dancer? Really? What kind?” Alexa asked.
Back when the Silver Dollar Gypsies—as Grace and her siblings had called their amateur dance troupe—had performed for their father, Alexa had been the best.
Yetta peered into her mug, as if the answer were to be found in the chamois-colored liquid. “It was a long time ago. Lucy was very beautiful. Long legs, blond hair and big blue eyes. All the men in the compound fell in love with her.”
“Even Dad?” Grace knew her sisters were thinking the same thing, although none of the others voiced the question.
“No. Kingston was too busy with his job and his beautiful new daughter,” Yetta answered, giving Alexa a tender smile. “And he had his hands full keeping Jurek—Nikolai’s father—out of jail, as well.” She shook her head sadly. “Trouble followed that man like a worthless dog.”
“Are you talking about George?” Alexa asked. “He’s the one you just went to visit in Laughlin, right? Didn’t you tell me he spent time in a Nazi concentration camp?”
Yetta nodded. “Jurek changed his name to George when he came to America, but he’s always been Jurek to me.”
“How come we’ve never met this guy?” Grace asked.
“He’s pretty much kept to himself. Except when he first married Nikolai’s mother. If things had been different…” Yetta’s voice melded into a sigh. “Well, it’s his way.”
“It’s not the Romani way,” Grace insisted. “What turned him into a hermit?”
After a slight hesitation, Yetta said, “Shortly after I was born…back in the old country…there was a fire in our family’s camp. Jurek was partly to blame. As punishment, he was sent to live with his grandmother. His mother was Polish, not Romani. His father was my uncle’s wife’s nephew.”
Grace tried to picture their family tree but gave up when her mother went on with the story. “A few months later, Hitler invaded Poland.” Yetta shook her head sadly. “The Americans liberated the camp where he was held, and, eventually, the Red Cross helped him reach New York where my family had settled. My parents invited him to live with us, but he was practically an adult by then. He took a job in Atlantic City instead.”
She looked around the table. “Jurek has never asked for a thing from this family, but his health is not the best. I’m afraid if we miss this chance to reunite him with his son, we won’t be given another.”
Grace understood. She even felt sympathy for both men, but she was uneasy, too. Last night in her dream, the stranger who’d rescued her had held her gently and whispered the most intoxicating promises in her ear. Safety. Security. Hope. Grace hadn’t felt any of those things since her father died.
“That’s a nice sentiment, Mom, but how do we know the son is an okay guy? He could be a hit man for all we know,” Kate said.
Grace looked at Alexa, who made a face. Everyone knew that Kate’s trust in men was below zero, but this quantum leap sounded extreme, even for Kate.
Yetta made a dismissing motion with her hand. “Well, he’s not. You’ll just have to take my word. I’m still the matriarch of this family and I do have some say in how it’s run.”
Grace’s jaw dropped in shock. She hadn’t heard her mother use that tone in years. Possibly not since her father’s stroke.
“Grace will meet Nikolai’s plane then we’ll all welcome him at a family luncheon today. Is that understood?”
Grace didn’t look at her sisters. “Sure—” she started to say, but before she could get the word out, a child’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Gramma, Gramma.”
A moment later, Maya danced into the kitchen, dragging a Dora The Explorer backpack. Kate’s choice of husband may have been questionable, but at least, she had Maya to show for her ill-fated marriage. Born ten months before Kingston’s first stroke, the baby girl had been the ray of hope that helped the family look ahead.
“Good morning, Maya,” Liz said.
“Hola, bambina,” Alexa chimed in, extending her arms to the child.
Kate beamed with obvious parental pride and love as she watched the curly-haired cherub who, Grace thought, held the wisdom of ages in her huge black eyes, hug her aunts. After bestowing kisses to all, the little girl finally made it to her mother, who was sitting with her back to the window. “Are you ready to go to school, baby love?”
“Si, Mommy.” Maya was a sponge. She never seemed to forget a thing. When told that she couldn’t enter preschool until she was potty-trained, she’d replied, “Okay.” And that was the last time she’d used a diaper. “Great-Uncle Claude and MaryAnn are coming to walk me. Do you wanna come, too?”
Grace wasn’t sure if this was something that had been arranged earlier or if Maya was offering a prediction. Although Kate refused to admit the possibility, occasionally Maya would say something that made everyone wonder if she’d inherited her grandmother’s well-recognized ability to foresee the future.
“There he is.”
The shout made Grace’s ears ring. She looked at the open screen door where Claude, their father’s younger brother, was standing. At sixty-eight, Claude still seemed childlike in many ways, probably because of his short stature. His big ears and ready smile made him popular with children.
Grace remembered her father saying Claude was a throwback to the little people. A reference to spoken lore that linked the Romani ancestry to the Celts, although Grace knew that the original Gypsy lineage started in Asia when Turkish invaders pushed the tribespeople from their lands in northwest India. Over the centuries, the various lines had broken apart and become absorbed by other cultures.
Her family called themselves Roms or Romani, but in fact that connection had weakened over the years. Grace had researched her family’s genealogy, but she’d always sensed an unspoken rule that said the information was best not shared with strangers.
“Are you accompanying us, Alexandra?”
Claude’s tone was formal, appropriate for addressing a princess, as “King” Parlier had dubbed his daughters.
“Not this morning, Uncle,” Alexa said, shaking her head. Her short, thick, nearly black waves were a feature Grace had always coveted. Of all the girls, Alexa most resembled their father. Blue-black hair and thick brows that had troubled her no end until she’d discovered laser treatments.
Tall and thin, with a milky-white complexion, Alexa was gorgeous—although Grace could tell she was in pain. “I have a doctor’s appointment. Rita is covering for me, but I meant to ask if you’d help out at story time.”
Uncle Claude was as gifted a storyteller as their father had been. In some ways, he was even more entertaining than Kingston because he was smaller and more nimble. “I’d be delighted to do so. And after lunch perhaps Maya could join us at the ranch?”
Claude’s eldest son and his wife owned a small acreage west of town near Red Rocks where Claude raised and trained Shetland ponies.
Kate and her daughter were
still discussing the matter when someone knocked on the door leading to the garage. Liz opened it. “Hi, MaryAnn,” she said. “Come in.”
Grace studied the woman in the ill-fitting business suit who stood on the stoop but didn’t cross the threshold. MaryAnn was literally the girl next door. Six months younger than Alexa, MaryAnn had been around for as long as Grace could remember. In the background at parties. A friend. Not quite a part of the family—until she married Gregor.
“Hello,” MaryAnn said, fiddling with the waistband of her navy-blue polyester skirt. Unbuttoned, Grace noticed. MaryAnn was always on a diet, but nothing seemed to help her lose weight. “Are you ready, Maya? Luca and Gemilla are waiting outside.”
Her children were eight and four and a half. Luca rode the bus to school, but he started his day at The Dancing Hippo since MaryAnn left for work before his regular school started.
“Are you coming to lunch today, MaryAnn?” Yetta asked, helping Maya into her backpack.
MaryAnn looked startled by the question. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot. Things have been so busy. But, yes, I think I can make it.”
“Was Charles invited?” The idea made Grace oddly uncomfortable. She didn’t know why. He was often included in family gatherings.
That was before I decided to go into business with him.
Yetta started to answer, but MaryAnn interrupted. “He has a prior commitment.”
She didn’t expound on the statement. At times MaryAnn acted a bit proprietary where Charles was concerned. At other times, she almost seemed to loathe him.
“No problem.” Grace glanced at the clock above the door. “He left a message asking to see me today, and I figured if he was going to be at the luncheon, I wouldn’t bother stopping by the Xanadu after I pick up our guest of honor.”
MaryAnn looked at her intently. “Charles called you? About what?”
“Some business we’ve been discussing,” Grace said evasively. The last thing she wanted was to bring that topic back to the table. “But it’s really no big deal. I’ll be at McCarran, anyway.”
MaryAnn didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to Maya and said, a bit sharply, “Hurry up, Maya. You don’t want to miss circle, do you?”
Grace watched as her niece dashed away, eager to join her cousins. Once the entire group was out of earshot, she said, “Is it just me or does anyone else think MaryAnn is losing it?”
“Well, she’s married to the laziest man in town,” Kate said. “And he has a gambling problem.”
Liz gave Kate a stern look. “Actually, MaryAnn told me Greg’s been very good about not visiting the casinos lately and he’s been working for Charles for a good six months. But I do think you’re right, Grace. MaryAnn has seemed kind of spacey lately.”
“Personally, I think she’s in over her head as Charles’s personal assistant,” Alexa put in. “I warned her not to take a job with him, but she said the money was too good to pass up. And his company offers great benefits.”
“Speaking of benefits,” Grace said, snapping her fingers, “did you find out whether your new insurance will cover another operation? If you need one, that is.”
“No. Because I’m not going to have one. Period,” she said, taking a sip from her mug. Grace could tell by the little square label that dangled over the side that the beverage was green tea. “And speaking of Charles, we never finished discussing your plans.”
Grace made a face. Talk about a blatant change of subject.
Charles had been involved with their family for so long that she tended to regard him as a fixture, but Alexa and Charles had a different kind of relationship, probably stemming from Alexa’s rejection of him. Plus, Grace had to admit, Charles could come off as quite pompous and self-involved at times. Still, she felt obligated to defend him—in case their new business worked out. “Must you always say his name with such obvious bias? Charles has always been pretty generous about helping out any Romani who got in trouble with the law or needed a job.”
Liz let out a long sigh. “I agree, but can’t we show our gratitude without risking your trust fund?”
Yetta frowned. “What does Grace’s dowry have to do with Charles Harmon?” When nobody answered right away, she added, “If you’re suggesting that Grace might marry Charles, you’re very much mistaken.”
“No, Mom, that’s not part of the discussion.” Grace gave her sister a dirty look.
Before she could say anything else, Yetta nodded. “Good. Because Charles Harmon is many things, but he is not a prince.”
The room went so still Grace could hear the low drone of a television in one of the bedrooms. Her stomach felt queasy—and she knew it wasn’t from too many pastries. She was embarrassed for her mother. Although no one wanted to hurt Yetta’s feelings, the fact was none of them believed in their prophecies anymore.
Too much had happened to undermine their faith. First, Yetta had had no premonition whatsoever of Kingston’s stroke. Second, she’d insisted that Mark was Alexa’s soul mate. Mark Gaylord—a gadjo cop who’d broken Alexa’s heart when he’d gotten his partner pregnant and married her instead of Alexa. Then, there was the matter of Yetta’s blind faith in Ian Grant, Kate’s ex-husband, who went to jail for embezzlement.
Nope, Grace thought, the future was a murky, unexplored vastness where anything could happen. She wasn’t about to pin her dreams on some iffy, unproven prince who needed her help to find his nobility. She planned to put her money on something more tangible. Charles didn’t set Grace’s heart atwitter, but he did have something she coveted: location, location, location.
Chapter 3
Nick Lightner closed his eyes and let his head tip back against the padded headrest. After his call from Yetta Parlier, it had taken the powers that be a week to set up his cover story and necessary connections, but this morning he’d left snowy Detroit behind and was on his way to Vegas. Flying wasn’t his favorite means of travel, and his sore calves and aching shoulder muscles didn’t appreciate the cramped space of coach.
He’d spent the previous day repairing a thirty-foot section of fence in his parents’ backyard that had succumbed to high winds and too much snow. The ground was all but impenetrable and the single-digit windchill factor hadn’t made the task any easier, but Nick had finally managed to make the enclosure escape-proof. He hoped.
Rip was a good dog, but turned wily when left alone too long. Normally, Nick’s parents jumped at the chance to dog-sit, and they’d insisted Rip stay with them while Nick was in Vegas, but Nick had been tempted to board Rip at the vet. He didn’t want to do anything to add to his dad’s stress level.
Although Pete hadn’t advertised the fact, one reason for his sudden decision to retire had been a cautionary medical report. “Slow down or your body will slow you down in a way you aren’t going to like,” his doctor had told him.
That was another reason Nick was against his parents’ radical move. That and the fact he hated change. Period. His mother blamed this on abandonment issues he’d never completely resolved, but Nick disagreed. He’d had an extremely stable childhood. He simply liked things to stay the same. What was wrong with that?
But his parents had made their decision. Oregon—and their grandchildren—beckoned. They’d expressed a hope to have the house on the market by the time Nick returned from Vegas.
Nick’s stomach made a low, rumbling sound. Airplane food. He’d gotten to the airport too late for a real breakfast so he’d plunked down his credit card for a crappy egg-and-sausage sandwich and lukewarm cup of coffee. He sat up a bit straighter. To get his mind off home, he put on his wireless headphones and pulled out his phone. The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, or Metro, was already investigating Harmon for insurance fraud. Internal Affairs had been called into the picture because of allegations that several police officers were suspected of filing false or inflated accident reports and taking kickbacks from the insurance adjusters who were on the take from Harmon. When informed of Nick’s “insider�
� status, they’d whipped up a covert plan to get Nick close to Harmon’s inner circle.
Nick hadn’t expected to be asked to do more than provide a contact number for Yetta Parlier, but then his father had intervened. Pete saw this as Nick’s avenue to promotion, and he’d contacted an old buddy of his on the Metro force. Zeke Martini, who’d dealt with the tight-knit Romani community in the past, had been happy to welcome Nick aboard.
“The insurance fraud is just the tip of the iceberg where Lucky Chuck is concerned,” Zeke had told Nick on the phone. “Your primary goal will be to identify the dirty cops who are facilitating these phony accidents, but I want you to keep your eyes open for any evidence of money laundering, drug deals or white slave traffic.”
Zeke’s voice was one of two on the audio file Nick was listening to now. The other belonged to an assistant district attorney.
“Harmon is smooth,” the A.D.A. said. “Never been caught with his fingers in the till, but he’s been mentioned as a ‘person of interest’ going back ten years.”
Martini’s gruff bass added, “Probably studied the law so he’d know the best way to break it without getting caught.”
“That type always makes a mistake sooner or later. And getting cops to do his dirty work was a very bad idea.”
“But he’s kept himself pretty well insulated in the past,” Zeke added. “That’s where Pete’s boy comes in.”
Nick almost smiled. He hadn’t been a boy in many, many years. Maybe never. That’s what happened when your mother died and your dad gave you to strangers, who, though kind and welcoming, couldn’t completely erase the sadness and sense of loss.
Even after his move to Michigan, certain memories followed. Elusive images of laughter and music in the warm glow of firelight. Figures dancing. The rapturous feeling of being enveloped by warm loving arms.
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