by P. J. Tracy
Gregory
“This letter was written two weeks ago, Gino. Zeller obviously got it and acted on it.”
He shook his head and parked behind the squad in front of Rosalie’s house. “It’s like he was begging Zeller to kill him. He knew damn well he wouldn’t let him make his deathbed confession and ruin his life and his political career.”
“Maybe he was. In a twisted way, it was probably Norwood’s ideal outcome. He didn’t have to waste away in agony from cancer, he didn’t have to take his own life, he didn’t have to confess to his family, and I’m sure in his mind there was always a good chance this would never come out and everybody could move on with their lives. Zeller would be governor and the world could mourn the late great Gregory Norwood, finally resting in peace.”
Gino shut off the car. “If Rosalie hadn’t given us Dubnik’s name, it might not have come out. That’s a cruel irony, because this letter is going to shatter her if she reads it.”
Magozzi looked out of the window at her charming house on the creek where brass bells guarded the door and fine art mingled with tchotchkes, and the smart, talented young woman inside was trying to cope with unimaginable betrayal. “I think she probably already has.”
EPILOGUE
MAGOZZI WAS SITTING on Grace’s sofa, cradling his baby girl, who was without question the most beautiful child ever born. He made faces, cooed, babbled incoherently ‒ it was funny how babies could transform even the most dignified adults into shameless goofballs. Grace was sitting next to him, smiling down at the tiny heart-shaped face while she stroked the downy hair of her head. It was strange to be in a state of such supreme contentment and bliss when the recent memories of multiple sorrows were still roiling around them, around the city.
“I can’t tell whether or not she got your hair or mine.”
Magozzi shrugged. “For her sake, I hope she borrowed most of her DNA from you. You have a lot more to offer than I do.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She suddenly arched her brow at him and those amazing blue eyes narrowed. “Speaking of short, I believe I’m forty dollars short right now.”
“What?”
She wiggled her fingers at him. “Fork it over.”
Magozzi suppressed a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a terrible liar. The bet. You and Gino were both wrong, just like I told you.”
He scratched his jaw pensively. “Hmm. I don’t seem to remember you buying in.”
They played chicken with their eyes for roughly thirty seconds before they both cracked and started laughing. Magozzi pulled out his wallet, careful not to disturb the baby, and handed over two crisp twenties. “Diaper money.”
Grace took the cash with the cutest expression of smug satisfaction. “We need a name, Magozzi.”
They did need a name, and it seemed like the most daunting, impossible task he’d ever confronted. How did you pick a name for such a perfect, precious creature? “Nothing’s good enough. Except maybe Grace Junior.”
“What about Elizabeth?”
Magozzi rolled the name around in his mind as he gazed down at the piece of Heaven that had somehow magically fallen to Earth and into his arms. “A name with a fine pedigree. Does it mean something to you?”
“Harley told me it was the name of an old woman who saved his life.”
“Anybody who saved Harley’s life deserves to be honored.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I like it. We need a middle name, too.”
“Te Amo,” Grace said resolutely.
“I love you?”
“I want her to know that she’s always been loved, right from the very beginning. That she always will be.”
“I think that’s perfect.” He leaned down and kissed the soft forehead of their little girl. “Elizabeth Te Amo, welcome to the world.”
She yawned and blinked up at him.
“I think she approves.” Grace released a contented sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. “Is Robert Zeller going to survive to stand trial? I just heard about the suicide watch.”
Magozzi had never been able to keep up with Grace and her arcane mind, which could jump so quickly from a happy thing to a dark thing without any recalibration. He would always be ten steps behind her, for the rest of his life, he hoped. “He’ll gladly survive to face the jury. He thinks he’ll come out of this without anything more than a dent and a scratch. Suicide watch is just a precaution.”
“He’s that arrogant?”
“Yeah, he is. He’s subverted the law for so long, he can’t conceive of an ending to it.”
“Is it possible he’ll be acquitted?”
“Not a chance. He’s got the A Team in his corner, but his cabal is gone and he’s totally alone. He just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Elizabeth started fussing and Grace reached out to take her, both of them finding comfort in one another. “I always thought I’d seen the darkest side of people, what they were capable of, but I was wrong.”
Magozzi kissed both his girls. “There’s more light than dark, Grace, remember that. I’ll be back soon. Gino and I just have one last thing to do.”
* * *
The heat wave had finally relinquished its chokehold on Minneapolis to the relief of all, especially Gino, and curtains fluttered lazily in Rosalie Norwood’s open windows, inviting the cool, fresh breeze inside.
She smiled sadly when she opened the door to the tinkling of bells that hung on the inside ‒ the bells she said had saved her. And maybe they had.
She looked thin and exhausted. “Detectives, it’s good to see you.” She eyed the paper-wrapped package in Magozzi’s hand. “I wasn’t expecting a gift.”
“We’re just returning something to its rightful owner.”
“Come in. Please.”
Magozzi and Gino followed her inside. There were several pieces of luggage stacked by the door. “It looks like you’re taking a trip.”
“Mom and I are going to Aspen tonight. We’re finally spreading Trey’s ashes along with Father’s. Strange that this whole thing is ending the way it began.”
“How are you?”
“Most days, horrible. On the other days, worse. I try not to think about things, but it’s impossible not to ‒ not to dwell on the fact that people you’ve loved and trusted with all your heart are monsters. I’ve made peace with some things, others I never will.” She let out an anxious sigh.
“How is your mother?”
She looked away. “Heavily medicated. She’ll probably be that way for the rest of her life. She barely speaks anymore. She won’t talk to me about anything. So much damage,” she said bitterly. “So much loss. I’ve always thought you could get through anything, but I don’t believe that anymore.”
Magozzi reached out and touched her arm. “You’ll get through this, Rosalie. It doesn’t seem that way now, but you will. You’re a strong woman. Always remember that.”
Her sad brown eyes lifted. “You finally called me by my first name. I appreciate that.”
“We’ve been through a lot together.”
“Yes, we have.”
“Remember. You’re strong.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
“This might help you.” Magozzi placed the package on her dining-room table and watched her unwrap it carefully. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw the “angel” piece ‒ the Ruscha Trey had been so proud of. “Thank you.”
“I’m afraid the piece has lost most of its value.”
“Was it damaged?”
“The appraiser said it had been defaced, but we disagree.” Magozzi slipped on gloves, carefully removed the art from the frame, and turned it over. On the back, a large heart drawn in marker enclosed the words “CLARA AND BABY.”
She sank into a chair. “Trey’s angels,” she whispered. “Now I understand why he was so happy when he bought this. It was for them.”
They all turned their
heads when the bells on her front door started jingling.
Just the wind, Magozzi thought.
ALSO AVAILABLE BY P. J. TRACY
Monkeewrench Mysteries
Nothing Stays Buried
The Sixth Idea
Off the Grid
Shoot to Thrill
Snow Blind
Dead Run
Live Bait
Monkeewrench
Novellas
Return of the Magi
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
P. J. Tracy was the pseudonym of mother-daughter writing team P. J. and Traci Lambrecht. Traci spent most of her childhood riding and showing horses. She graduated with a Russian Studies major from St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota, where she also studied voice. Her aspirations of becoming a spy were dashed when the Cold War ended, so she began writing to finance her annoying habits of travel and singing in rock bands. Much to her mother’s relief, she finally realized that the written word was her true calling. They had a long, prolific career together in multiple genres before P. J.’s passing in December 2016. Traci continues to write.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Traci Lambrecht
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-858-3
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-859-0
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-860-6
Cover design by Melanie Sun
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
34 West 27th St., 10th Floor
New York, NY 10001
First North American Edition: September 2018
Originally published in Great Britain by Penguin Random House UK, August 2018
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