Her first thought was Brett hadn’t let any grass grow under her feet. But even the beautiful Brett Cummings couldn’t work so fast. Could she? It was just weeks ago she was flirting and telling Corelli she thought they were soul mates and she would wait for Corelli to be ready. And now this picture. Maybe Em was the first great love she’d mentioned. But if she was, what had happened to “together always”?
Corelli put the picture down and started toward the sofa. Brett stood in the doorway, watching her. Their eyes locked. Brett opened her mouth as if to say something then seemed to change her mind and carried the tray to the coffee table.
“Please help yourself.” Brett had put out cheese and crackers, bagels, and croissants. “Don’t worry, it’s fresh. I had the refrigerator stocked this morning so I would have something to eat when I got in tonight and something for breakfast tomorrow.”
Brett smeared brie on several crackers then sat on the easy chair facing them. She pulled her feet up under her. “So?” She kept her eyes on Parker.
Parker smeared cream cheese on a bagel. Corelli poured herself some coffee, sipped it, and sat back. “Have you been in touch with anyone while you’ve been away?”
“Just my office.”
“That’s it.”
“Oh, and Nardo, a friend.”
“About what?”
“Don’t you dare play games with me, Detective Corelli,” Brett lashed out. “What are you accusing me of now?”
Brett’s anger traveled through Corelli’s body like an electric shock.
“It’s late and I’m really tired. I’d like an explanation before you interrogate me.” Her tone implied they might begin to pull out her fingernails. “You tell me why you’re here. Then I’ll answer your questions.” Having delivered her defiant message, she smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
Corelli sipped her coffee and nibbled a cracker, taking time to think before answering. “We think you’re in danger.”
Brett shifted, placing her feet on the floor and leaning in. “What kind of danger?”
“Ms. Cummings—”
“Brett, damn it, call me Brett. What’s wrong?”
Corelli paled. “There’s no good way to say this. I—”
“Just say it, spit it out. It can’t be any worse than the thoughts running through my mind as you hem and haw.”
“Several of your friends are dead.”
“Dead?” She jumped up. “Who? Who’s dead?”
Parker put a hand out to steady the tray.
“Not Em,” she said, pointing to the picture, thinking she would make her feel better.
“Em has been dead for five years.” Her voice was like a finely honed steel blade. “Who? Which friends?”
Corelli stood up and moved closer. “Nardo del Balzo, Spencer Nickerson, and Meg Lerner.”
“My god.”
Corelli caught Brett before she hit the floor. “Get some water, Parker.”
She held Brett, breathing in the freshly showered smell of her, and wondering at how naturally they fit together. And given the circumstances, she felt ridiculously happy Em was dead. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” She touched Brett’s hair, her back, and felt her body responding to Brett without her permission. She tightened her embrace.
When Parker returned with the water she loosened her grip so Brett could sip from the glass Parker held. Brett whimpered. Her tears soaked Corelli’s neck.
Parker stood, observing and waiting with more water.
Much too soon for Corelli, Brett took a deep breath and pulled away. She tried a smile but it didn’t get past the pain on her tear-stained face.
“Thank you, Detect…Chiara. I didn’t mean to, I mean that wasn’t intentional, you know, throwing myself into your arms like that.”
“It’s all right. Why don’t you sit?”
“Three of them. An accident?” she said, trying to understand. “But you’re Homicide. Why would you…? Why do you think I’m in danger?”
“It wasn’t an accident, Brett. They were murdered, shot in their homes by what appears to be a serial killer. We think the killer is trying to get to Kate Burke because she’s a lesbian. And you and Nelson Choi and Abigail Woo and the others were identified as friends of Ms. Burke’s in that picture printed in the Daily World the day Ms. Burke became the speaker.”
“Murdered.” She covered her face. “I can’t believe it,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe it.”
Corelli and Parker were silent, giving Brett time to absorb the horrific news and take in the fact she was in danger. Minutes passed before her sobs turned to sniffs. She dropped her hands and stared blankly at the windows, seeming distant and weighed down with sadness. Shaking her head, she walked to the piano, picked up the picture taken on the steps of City Hall, and stared at it. After a while, she replaced the picture and turned back to them, her hands in front of her, her sadness replaced by rage. “What kind of sick bastard kills innocent people, good people, just because they’re different? On a day-to-day basis you forget that being a lesbian, being gay or trans, you’re not like everybody else, that you’re different. You live your life, working hard, paying taxes, trying to be productive, looking for love and happiness like everybody else, and then something like this happens and you’re forced to confront the fact that you’re a target, that people who don’t know you or anything about you hate you and want to harm you.” She lowered her hands. “Murder. How horrible. It’s harder than losing someone you love to cancer or war.”
She heard Parker’s quick intake of breath. Corelli froze. Marnie. Feelings of guilt swept over her. How could she give in to her attraction to Brett? Her fear for Brett had opened her to the feelings she’d been pushing back. She’d made herself vulnerable, holding Brett and breathing her in, and now she felt herself close down. She needed more time to mourn Marnie.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry.” The tears streamed down Brett’s face, glittering like the lights across the river in New Jersey. “I didn’t mean…It’s just hard to deal with, no warning, no way to explain it.”
Brett had collapsed in a chair, sobbing. Corelli wanted to comfort her, but she couldn’t. Parker, completely out of character, moved to Brett and took her hand.
The intensity of Chiara’s feelings for Brett petrified her. But why? She’d risked her career and her life to do what she felt was right, yet she cringed in the face of lust, but of course she knew it was more than lust. Lust would be simple. This could be love. What if she let herself love Brett and something happened to her? She sat stiff with misery, staring at Brett and Parker. Normally she was the one who touched people in pain to offer human comfort, but she was afraid of contact with Brett. And she felt so alone.
Brett leaned into Parker, seeking comfort. Parker looked uncomfortable but then awkwardly moved her other hand to Brett’s shoulder. Corelli felt a shiver of jealousy and looked away.
“Thanks,” Brett said, and started to get up. “I need tissues.”
Parker pushed her down gently. “I’ll get them. Tell me where.”
“Bathroom,” she sniffed. “The end of the hall.”
“Sure,” Parker said, and walked out of the room.
Brett waited until she heard the bathroom door close. “Please forgive me, Chiara. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not made of porcelain.”
“No, I think you’re much softer than that.”
Parker was taking her sweet time getting back. Corelli shifted uncomfortably, then forced herself to speak. “I’m sorry I said that about Em. I didn’t know.”
“How could you know? You haven’t called me to talk.” There was no accusation, just hurt.
“I, um, I’ve been busy and I’m not sure…” What was it that made her feel and sound like a tongue-tied fifteen-year-old whenever she was near Brett?
“Relax. Talking doesn’t mean we have to get married. If I survive this…” Her eyes filled, but her voice was strong. “If the killer d
oesn’t get me, I’m coming after you. Just to talk. Since you know I’m not a murderer, surely you can trust me enough to meet and talk?”
Corelli winced. But could she trust herself. “I deserved that. We’ll see when this is all over.”
Brett sniffed. “Definitely. We’ll see each other.”
Brett must be taking lessons from Gianna.
Suddenly aware of Brett’s dripping nose, Corelli reached into her pocket for one of the extra handkerchiefs she carried for just these situations. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Brett’s remark, followed by Parker’s holding Brett, had thrown her off balance. She handed the handkerchief to Brett. “Sorry, I forgot I had an extra.”
“Thanks.” Brett smiled. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Now you’ll have to meet with me so I can return the handkerchief.”
Corelli fought back the urge to wrap Brett in her arms.
Parker strolled in. “Sorry to take so long. I needed to use the john.” She handed Brett the box of tissues, a trace of smile flickering at the corners of her mouth.
Corelli realized the delay had been on purpose and glowered at her. Parker seemed not to notice.
“It’s all right. Detective Corelli gave me her handkerchief,” Brett said, showing Parker the crumpled white cloth in her hand.
Brett put the box of tissues on the table and stared at it as if it was a crystal ball. Then she looked at Corelli. “I can’t take this in. My mind won’t accept it. My friends. They’re my family. How could they be dead?” She broke down again, sobbed for a while, then regained control.
“You think I’m next? What do I do?”
“We’ll set up around-the-clock protection. Do you have to go to the office or can you work from here?”
“Um, I need to go to the office tomorrow, but after that I could work here at least a few days, if you think it’s necessary. Will you and Detective Parker stay with me?”
“We can’t. We’re the lead investigators on the case.” Although if I could, I’d tuck you away in my pocket close to my heart, so I could protect you. Where was this stuff coming from? Next thing I’ll be spouting poetry. No daydreaming, no mooning around, no swooning, until you get this guy. “Watkins and another detective will be here soon to relieve us. They’ll stay the night if that’s all right?”
Brett nodded. “I need to see Kate and Abby and Nelson.”
“Right now only Kate is in the city. Nelson and Abby are out of town and we’ve asked them to stay away for a few more days. But we’ll arrange for Kate to come here. She may even show up later.”
“Thank you,” Brett sniffled. “Would it be all right, I mean could we go out and walk along the river while we wait for your replacements to come? I’d like to get some air.”
“Sure, I could use a stretch myself.”
“I’ll be a minute. Let me throw some clothes on.”
“This could be dangerous,” Parker said, after Brett left the room.
“I know.”
Brett led them out to the Esplanade, the path along the Hudson River, and headed south. The night was humid and the river misty. Except for a few dog walkers, the Esplanade was quiet. Brett followed the winding path onto a wooden pier that extended over the water and offered a view of the Statue of Liberty proudly holding her torch. Brett stopped, took a breath, and leaned on the railing facing the shore. “This is South Cove, my favorite place to sit and read in the day, to talk and dream in the evening. Ever been here?”
“Yes, often.”
It was a little oasis in the city. On the water but connected to the city, the breeze was refreshing and the sound of the water gently flowing over rocks relaxing. Corelli glanced back. Parker was standing a little way off, her hand inside her jacket, scanning the path and the woods for danger. Either she was giving them privacy or she feared an attack. Probably both. Corelli stood next to Brett and enjoyed the feel of their arms brushing, the closeness. But they had work to do.
“Can you tell me about your conversation with Nardo?” Corelli asked.
Brett blew her nose then dried her eyes. “He called me in Tokyo, Tuesday night. He had had a terrible argument with his father, which really unsettled him. He recognized it was time for him to let go of old stuff with his father and get on with his life. He asked for my therapist’s number. It was the middle of the night in Tokyo, and when he realized he had gotten me out of bed, he apologized profusely and said he wanted to talk about the argument, but it could wait until I got back. We agreed I’d call and set up a time to get together after I got home.” Her eyes glistened. Then the tears spilled out. “He was so loving and such a wonderful friend. It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”
“Did he say what the argument was about?”
“No. Just that it made him realize he wanted something from his father he would never get, and it was time to move on.”
“Did he mention any threats?”
“Not that day but when we talked a few days before I left for Tokyo he said he had been getting calls from the ‘un-Christians’ as we call them. You know the religious fanatics who preach hate and carry signs saying, ‘Kill the faggots.’ Oh my God, do you think they’re doing this?”
“It’s something we’re pursuing. Do you think any of your friends would invite the ‘un-Christians’ in for cheese and crackers or a drink?”
Brett laughed, a harsh sound that surprised Corelli. “Would you invite that Mafioso Toricelli into your house for cheese and crackers?”
Corelli felt Brett shift to look at her, but she didn’t answer.
“Did Nardo feel threatened by his father?”
“You can’t…hmm, nothing specific, but he was terrified of his father for some reason he never was able to talk about.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Monday – 1:30 a.m.
It was late and Parker was exhausted. She’d wondered whether Corelli had gotten together with Brett. Tonight confirmed they hadn’t. She’d never thought much about lesbians before, certainly never thought anything positive, but she’d seen the sparks fly between them from the minute she’d escorted Brett into the interview room, the first time they met. She respected both of them and it had forced her to rethink her prejudices. And seeing them together tonight confirmed in her mind they were well matched. Watching Corelli fight her feelings was almost as painful as watching Brett’s anguish at losing her friends.
Jesse had told her Corelli and her girlfriend had been in Iraq together and Corelli had been there when her girlfriend was killed. Maybe that’s why Corelli seemed to be trying to fight her attraction to Brett. She smiled. Her money was on Brett, one smart lady who clearly had no ambivalence about wanting Corelli.
She got ready for bed and sat at her desk, determined to stay awake long enough to start examining her mother’s things. She ran her hand over the books and papers, hoping to feel something, but nothing happened. She reached for Tasha’s journal but changed her mind and went for a large envelope jutting out from the bottom of one of the piles. She moved the books covering the envelope to the floor, then picked up the envelope which had “miscellaneous” written on it. Weird to think it was probably her mother’s handwriting. She sat on the bed holding the envelope. She shivered even in the heat of the room, afraid to open it, afraid to know, then deciding knowing was better than the limbo she had lived in her entire life. She pried the metal clips apart and spilled the contents onto the bed.
She picked up an envelope addressed to Randall Young, but clearly never sent, examined it, inhaled the musty smell of old paper, and pulled out the contents. Tears stung her eyes as she gazed at a studio photograph of Tasha with a baby on her lap. Both faced the camera but Tasha’s head tilted down to look at the baby dressed in a frilly pink dress with tiny white socks and shoes, her expression soft and filled with love. The inscription said, “To Randall, with love from Tasha and your Precious Jewel.” Tears tumbled out of Parker’s eyes, and it took her a minute to realize the strange noise was the sound of her sobs.
/>
She brushed the tears with the back of her hand and smiled. The police reports said she appeared well cared for and loved when they found her at three years old sitting next to her mother’s body, and now she knew for certain it was true. She was loved. Tomorrow she would buy a frame for the photo so she could put it out, look at it, but right now she needed to get some sleep. She now knew for sure her mother had loved her dearly and almost for sure Randall Young was her father. She could wait to know the rest.
Chapter Forty-Four
Tuesday – 6:30 a.m.
In the elevator on the way up to her apartment last night, Corelli remembered Simone and Nicky were there so she rubbed her temples, did a couple of bends from the waist and breathed deeply to relax. Her exhaustion, her worries about protecting Brett and the others, and her conflict about letting go of Marnie, made it difficult to deal with Nicky’s sexuality. But it pained her to see her sweet, vulnerable nephew struggling to deal with the loss of Spencer and the fear of losing his parents. She loved all her nieces and nephews, but she had a special affinity for Nicky, her oldest nephew. She’d always thought it was because he looked so much like Luca. But maybe it was because they were both gay. It didn’t matter. He needed her love and support and acceptance to deal with his sexuality and his parents. The elevator door slid open. Steeling herself for the assault by youthful exuberance, she stepped into the loft and reveled in the glorious quiet. They must be asleep downstairs in the guest rooms. She crept into the bathroom, lit some candles, and crawled into a hot bath to unwind.
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