When she glanced up again, her brother was deep in conversation with Teresa, who was looking none too pleased. Her spine was ramrod stiff and her expression was definitely angry. And there was something else…fear?
What the heck was Michael saying to her?
Whatever it was, Michael kept it brief. He strolled away from the widow and to the coffin, where he paused to look down at the man inside. Then he turned away and, without glancing in Simone’s direction, left the room, with Ulf trailing him as usual.
“How brave of you to attend Albert’s wake, Simone,” came a voice directly behind her.
Simone turned to find Galen O’Neill, appearing deceivingly frail but lovely in a pale gray dress.
“I could say the same of you.”
If she had suffered any ill effects from her earlier trauma, it certainly wasn’t evident.
“William would have wondered about it if I hadn’t come,” she said.
Simone glanced at the husband who was the cuckold—he stood a few yards away holding self-important court with several other men—and wondered how many secrets Galen withheld from him.
“You do remember our agreement,” Galen said, keeping her voice down.
“I remember.” Simone faced her squarely. “Depending on the circumstances, agreements can be amended.”
Galen’s nostrils flared and her eyes sparked before she spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Simone wondering what Galen was hiding.
Simone turned to see Teresa coming her way. Sam Albright intercepted her.
“Teresa, my dear, so sorry for your loss,” Simone heard him say as he patted the widow’s hand. He glanced up and locked gazes with Simone. “We’ve both lost someone dear to us, but if justice prevails, the murderer will pay.”
Irritated that he was singling her out, Simone clenched her jaw into a stiff smile and stood firm.
“Tragic about poor Nikki,” Teresa said. “It surprises me that you’re here, Sam.”
Had she forgotten that Nikki had divorced the man? Simone wondered.
“Yes, well, circumstances as they are, Nikki’s sister has shut me out from making the arrangements or from being with family.”
“At a time like this.” Teresa was patting his hand now.
Simone thought she had never heard such a load of insincerity in her life. Albright aimed a sly smile her way, gave the widow a gentle hug and then found a new audience. Simone stared after him until she realized Teresa was in her space. For a new widow holding court at her husband’s wake, she was looking exceedingly at ease. As had been the case the other night, no puffy eyes or swollen nose or blotchy skin indicated she’d been grieving.
And yet, Simone still thought she had been. Something about the glint deep in her eyes spoke to her. Everyone had his own way of dealing with death, she knew.
“Teresa, once more, may I offer my condolences,” Simone said sincerely.
“Is that why you’re here? I mean, you didn’t get along with Al, at least not lately.”
Simone let that go. There would plenty of time to pursue the money issue.
Instead, she said, “Why wouldn’t I pay my respects? Al was my husband’s partner for seventeen years.”
“You mean Al carried your husband.”
Simone was taken aback, unable to believe Teresa would say such a thing at her husband’s wake. It raised all kinds of questions in her mind. The phrase crime of passion popped into Simone’s head. Teresa knew Al had had mistresses; she’d punished him by putting the desk up for auction. Could she have killed him for it?
When she found her voice, Simone admitted, “David did learn a lot from Al. For that, I respected your husband. And no one should have to die the way he did. Do the police have any leads?”
“Other than you?”
“I didn’t do it, Teresa. I think you know that.”
“If they have anything, they haven’t informed me.”
“You knew him better than anyone. What about your gut feeling? Do you have any idea of why he was killed?”
Teresa stared right at her. “Not a clue.”
Simone stared back, looking for the widow’s reaction when she said, “I think he was killed over the desk.”
“What?”
Teresa started. Was she really surprised that the desk might hold some clue…or simply surprised that Simone had guessed correctly.
“The desk you donated to the auction,” Simone went on. “It had a secret compartment. I think Al hid something important and dangerous in it—possibly evidence of a crime. Something dangerous enough to be killed for.”
Teresa’s face crumpled and she appeared horrified. “No, that can’t be.”
“It seems as though Nikki was killed for whatever was inside, but apparently the object had already been removed before the murderer got to her place,” Simone went on. “This morning, Galen’s house was burglarized in the same manner, and it would be too much of a coincidence to think all three crimes aren’t connected.”
“I always hated that desk—what it represented,” Teresa said, speaking more to herself than to Simone. “Albert’s mother wasn’t as saintly as he let on. I just wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me.”
“So you gave away the desk and with it, whatever Al hid in it. That’s why he was so angry with you the night he died.”
A single tear trickled down the widow’s cheek. “So I’m responsible for Albert’s death. And Nikki’s. Oh, my God!”
Simone shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t say that. Whatever Al hid in the desk got him killed.”
“If I hadn’t been so angry at him…”
Teresa’s guard was down. Simone could see that she was a hairbreadth away from bursting into tears.
“What could have been in the desk, Teresa?” Simone asked gently, hating that she’d brought new grief to the widow, but nonetheless needing answers. “Do you have any idea of what the murderer wanted to get from Al and Nikki and Galen?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Think, Teresa, please,” Simone urged her. “This could be important.”
Teresa’s uneasy gaze flicked upward from Simone’s face to a point above her right shoulder. Simone turned to see Ulf standing within earshot. And nearby, Sam Albright was staring at her…had he heard their conversation, as well?
“Ulf, what is it?” Simone asked.
“Your brother would like to speak with you. He’s in the car.”
“Tell Michael I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“He wants to speak to you now.”
It seemed her brother’s bodyguard wasn’t going to back off. Irritated that she had been interrupted when she might have been getting somewhere with Teresa, Simone knew she’d lost her opportunity.
“Teresa,” she murmured and moved off with Ulf.
Grabbing her coat from the closet, she slipped into it and shot outside. Her brother was in the back seat of the dark sedan parked across from the funeral home exit doors. Ulf stood sentry at the car. Apparently her brother wanted to speak to her alone.
She opened one of the rear doors and asked, “What is it, Michael?”
“Get in.”
Even in the faint light of a streetlamp she could see he looked as grim as he sounded. What now? She slid in next to him and closed the door.
“I’m in. So what is so important?”
“I’ve heard some talk about you going around trying to catch Al Cecchi’s murderer.”
“Where would you hear a thing like that?” Simone kept her voice light, though she wasn’t pleased that Michael knew anything about it.
“Where I heard it doesn’t matter. Whether or not it’s true does.”
No doubt the information had come straight from Teresa. Had that been the subject of Michael’s earlier discussion with the widow that had upset them both?
“I’ve just been asking a few questions—”
“Well, stop!”
“I have a vested interest in finding out the truth, Mi
chael. I am still a suspect in Al’s murder.” Not to mention Nikki’s, she was sure. Having done time herself, Cass would no doubt be discounted as her witness.
“And what’s the deal with your doubling up with the owner of Club Undercover? What’s his name?”
“Gideon,” Simone said, her heart pounding. Surely Michael hadn’t seen them together or he would know Gideon was really Joey Ruscetti, just as she had the moment she’d seen him. “He has an interest, too, since Al was murdered at his club.”
“I don’t like it. You’re going to get hurt. What do you know about this guy?”
Which was it—he didn’t like her working with Gideon, or her being with another man that he hadn’t picked out for her? She couldn’t forget Gideon’s accusation that he’d bought David for her. David had loved her, she reminded herself.
“I know I can trust Gideon to watch my back.” Despite the past, she did trust him, Simone thought, even above her own brother. What a perfect irony.
“I only want what’s best for you, Simone.”
“I know.”
“You’re everything to me—you and Drew. You’re the only ones I can count on. The only constant in my life. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”
“Ditto.”
“Okay, then. If you need a murderer found so you’re off the hook, leave it to me.”
Simone stiffened. She wouldn’t put it past Michael to invent a murderer just to clear her. “I can’t let you do that, Michael.”
He made a sound of exasperation and hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known.”
“I thought your various wives had that honor,” Simone said.
Michael snorted. “Don’t remind me.”
“You always think someone who disagrees with you is plain stubborn.”
“All right, all right. Point taken. You’re not going to stop.”
That was too easy, Simone thought, as she said, “No, I’m not stopping.”
“Then at least promise to be careful.”
“Promise.”
“Need a ride home?”
“I drove. But thanks.”
“Get out of here. I have places to go. People to see.”
“The woman from the party?” Simone asked, pretending not to know Josie’s name.
“Nah, I’m over her.”
“Already?”
“I took her to dinner and she was fishing around for a loan. I guess even society dames are looking out for their financial welfare.”
Not that Josie was a society dame. Odd that she’d been at the party at all. Simone couldn’t see Al wanting her there. Had she come to see her competition— Teresa—in person? Then what would have made her leave with another man?
Simone was still thinking about Josie as she drove home, wondering if she knew more about Al’s ship coming in than she’d let on. Again, she wondered why Josie had shown up at the fund-raiser. Had Al let something slip about the desk’s hidden treasure and she’d come to check it out for herself?
Simone couldn’t shake the idea that Josie Ralston knew something she hadn’t told them.
GIDEON FELT AS IF his skin were too tight by the time Cass arrived at his office. Her glitzy red sweater reminded him of the upcoming holiday and of the fact that he would probably spend it alone again.
“Sorry, boss, but it got crazy out there. Mags couldn’t handle the crowd alone.”
Wanting to get this over with so he could leave the club and get over to the funeral home and Simone, he said, “Sit.”
Logan had told him that if any more heat was put on the crimes, the FBI would step in as they often did when murders were connected. That was too reminiscent of his and Simone’s past, and he hoped to clear her name as soon as possible.
Sliding into a chair opposite his desk, Cass gave him a curious look. “Is there a problem?”
“Personal. Mine.”
“What can I do?”
“Help me put a nightmare to rest.”
“Um, am I supposed to take this literally?”
“I’m afraid so. First, you have to promise me what we talk about will stay in this room.”
“I swear.”
Gideon had never voluntarily revealed any of this before, but not only did he trust Cass, he also hoped she could help him.
“My background is a little murky,” he began. “My real name is Joseph Ruscetti and a couple of lifetimes ago, my father Frank Ruscetti was a Chicago Mob boss. I was a teenager when I witnessed his murder. Richard DeNali shot him in the alley behind our home.”
Cass’s eyes widened, telling him she knew who DeNali was. “Gideon, I’m so sorry.”
“Richard DeNali is Simone’s father,” Gideon told her.
“Oh, my God! I knew I sensed a strong connection between you two.”
“The strongest,” he admitted. Surely nothing was stronger than love…or so he had thought until Simone had cut him off. “Well, it was until my testimony helped put Simone’s father in jail. She doesn’t believe he did it. I had a nightmare about what I saw every night for months afterward until I managed to push it away. Since Simone came back into my life, every night I’m replaying my father’s murder in my dreams again.”
“That must be horrible for you. What can I do?”
“Help me get the damn nightmare out of my head.”
Cass’s forehead pulled into a frown. “We have dreams for reasons.”
“But not the same one over and over.”
“Who says? The subconscious is tricky. It sounds like yours is trying to tell you something.”
“Yeah, that Simone and I don’t stand a chance together.”
“Maybe.”
“What else could it be? You’re psychic. Can’t you figure it out?”
Cass fidgeted in her chair as she usually did when the psychic business surfaced. “It’s not my nightmare, Gideon. They’re not my emotions. Besides, this psychic business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You know I don’t see things literally.”
“Can’t you try?”
Reluctantly, Cass said, “All right. I’ll try if you will.”
“What do we do?”
“One way of dealing with a bad dream is to take it out and inspect it when you’re awake. Examine it. Take it apart. Close your eyes and replay it like a movie in your mind.”
Nodding, Gideon closed his eyes and concentrated on that night seventeen years ago. He saw the car. The men. The glint of light on the visitor’s glasses. The blue flash. The license plate. His pulse accelerated as he reexamined each second of the horrific scene.
Nothing new came to him.
Finally, he opened his eyes and shook his head. “Nothing. It’s all the same.”
Cass’s gaze was troubled. “You’re not really certain of that. Deep inside, you’re afraid.”
“Of what?”
“I can’t give you any answers, Gideon, I’m sorry. You have to do that for yourself. Examine the nightmare from different angles. Stop hanging back. Get close to it. Give it a different ending if you have to.”
“A different ending…” How he wished. “Pop still alive…that would change everything.”
“But he is alive in your heart, isn’t he?” Cass asked.
“Maybe that’s what this is all about. Pop haunting me because I’ve gotten involved with his killer’s daughter again.” Like he’d said, maybe he was supposed to figure out that he and Simone weren’t meant to be together. “Thanks, Cass. I’ll work on it.”
In the meantime, he needed to get over to the funeral home—Simone was no doubt wondering what had happened to him.
He couldn’t believe they’d been brought back together by such unusual circumstances only to be ripped apart once more. Fate couldn’t be that cruel—taking Simone from him twice and now a son, as well. Somehow this whole thing had to work out. He had to make it work out…
Arriving at the funeral home in record time, he scanned the l
ot for Simone’s car but didn’t see it. She wasn’t in the open area of the funeral home, either, so he entered the parlor where Al Cecchi’s wake was being held and stopped at the guest book to see if she’d signed in. Her name was high on the list—she’d arrived early. About to set off to look for her, he stopped cold when his gaze hit another familiar name.
Anthony Viglio.
Someone’s idea of a joke? Who would sign a dead man’s name? Or was the dead man in fact alive?
Gideon gazed around the room as if the man in question would present himself. If there was a thug in the room, he couldn’t spot the guy—no one stood out. Not that he knew Viglio was a thug. He could be a perfectly respectable businessman. Rather he could look like one. No one who had to pay a criminal lawyer half a mil could be considered respectable…assuming he really was alive.
Gideon refocused and moved through the crowded room trying to find Simone. Instead, he nearly ran into Teresa Cecchi.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Paying my respects. Your husband was killed in my establishment. My condolences for your loss.”
The widow nodded. “I’m surprised you and Simone came separately.”
“Actually, I promised to meet her here.”
“You missed her.”
“How long ago did she leave?”
“About half an hour ago. Her brother’s bodyguard interrupted us to say Michael wanted to speak to her.”
“Michael was here?” Although that stood to reason, considering Simone’s brother had funded Cecchi and Burke.
“You know Michael DeNali?”
Gideon hedged the truth, saying, “Not really, but Simone has spoken of him. So she left and didn’t come back?”
“I didn’t see her again.”
Assuming Simone had headed for home, Gideon made his excuses and left. Once on the road driving north, he pulled out his cell and called hers. When it connected, it sent him directly to her voice mail. He was no more successful in trying to reach her at home.
Red Carpet Christmas Page 14
