He invited them to sit and offered a drink. They refused the drink but sat on the sofa. He stood as if trying to remember something. “Would it be all right if I take a minute to wash my face and brush my teeth?”
“Go to it,” Parker said. She moved to the French doors and looked out at a patio with a huge stainless steel barbeque, a table covered by an umbrella, ten comfortable-looking chairs, and a well-tended lawn shaded by several trees.
Feldman returned fifteen minutes later dressed in black slacks, a short-sleeved, white shirt and loafers without socks. He had shaved and must have taken a quick shower because he definitely smelled fresher and his hair and mustache were damp. He seemed more alert.
He perched on the green hassock. “Listen, I’m sorry about my little outburst, but I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I haven’t been myself. But I didn’t kill her. Really.”
Parker sat opposite him. “What happened between the two of you?”
“Where to start? Let’s see. About a year and a half ago I was the top broker at a smallish brokerage house. I was happy there and doing well. Then an article about me appeared in the Wall Street Journal. Connie read it and called to congratulate me. She invited me to dinner and offered me a job. I turned it down, but she persisted. She wined and dined me, invited me to her place in the Hamptons, you know, the whole schmear.”
“Schmear?” Parker asked. She’d only heard that used in reference to cream cheese on a bagel.
“Yeah, you know, all the different things she did to change my mind. Finally, I said yes. She was happy because she got me and I was happy because I got a good deal. Most of my clients followed me and everything went well until about ten months ago. She started questioning everything I did, every decision I made, and we argued about it. Next thing I know, she fires me and hires Brett Cummings in my place.”
“That must have hurt,” Parker said.
“No question my pride was hurt, but I knew it had more to do with her screwed-up personality than it had to do with me.”
“Didn’t it make you really mad?”
“Of course I was angry, but I wasn’t crazed. Not until I started to talk to people in the business about a job and learned she was spreading lies about me, saying I was drinking and using drugs, that I wasn’t honest, didn’t show up for work, and that I did a lot of bad deals. It was insane. And it was all done in a way that no one was sure where the stories came from.”
“But I’d been warned about Connie so I’m sure she’s the source.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s been almost five months. No one will hire me. My money’s running out. So, am I sorry she’s dead? No way. Did I kill her? No way. Did I threaten to kill her? Yes. And you know what? She laughed. She laughed and said I didn’t have the balls to do it. And she was right. I wanted to kill her, but I didn’t have the balls.”
“How did you find out she was dead?”
“I saw it on the news last night. It made me sad because I can’t even hate her anymore.”
“Where were you Friday night?”
“Here, alone. Most of my family and friends were sick to death of hearing me rant and rave, and once I started feeling sorry for myself they ran for cover. Maybe her final punishment will be for me to go to jail for her murder, one more unfounded accusation from the grave.”
“No telephone calls or anything?”
“I don’t have an alibi if that’s what you’re asking. Except I did order pizza.” He went into the kitchen and returned with a menu. He handed it to Parker.
“What time?”
“About eight thirty but they lost my order and it didn’t get here until almost eleven. I was starving and I screamed at the delivery kid and stiffed him. I’m sure he’ll remember that.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to get on with your life now?” Parker asked.
With that he started to cry. Desolate sobs from deep down ripped through him. Parker looked away, uncomfortable with his pain. She felt a weight on her chest, her heart raced, and she blinked to hold back the tears burning her eyes.
When his sobs subsided, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his eyes. “This is embarrassing. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry. It’s been awful and I haven’t known what to do or who to turn to. I’ve felt so alone. Brett Cummings is the only one in the business who reached out to me. She called a few times to see how I was doing, but I felt too fragile to talk so I let the machine pick up. Last week she called again. Jenny Hornsby had told her what Connie was doing and she asked if it would be all right if she set up some interviews for me. This morning she called to say she’d arranged an appointment with her old boss.” Tears streamed down his face again. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if he had a pain in his stomach. Corelli sat next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.
As Feldman battled with his feelings, Parker bolted into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, trying to control hers. His sobbing, so raw and forlorn, had pulled her back to an old place, to old feelings of being alone and scared in the dark, listening to her own despairing sobs. She shivered and started the counting thing, one hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight… When her breathing calmed and her heart slowed, she rinsed a glass and filled it with cold water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door. Feldman thanked her and drank it down like a man running a marathon. Parker felt Corelli’s eyes drilling into her.
Corelli stood. “Can we call someone to be with you tonight?”
“No thanks. I’ll call my sister or a friend, but thank you.”
They left him sitting there staring out the window and let themselves out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Parker grasped the steering wheel. She was embarrassed. No way had eagle-eye Corelli missed her dash into the kitchen to hide her feelings. Some homicide detective she was, crying along with the suspect. Now she stared at the windshield and steeled herself for Corelli’s assault. After a minute, she made herself look at Corelli. There was no judgment, only sadness.
“Why would someone try to destroy another person?” Parker said.
“I can’t imagine. It’s hard to believe she was that cold-blooded. It’s as if people were disposable items for her. She bought them, used them, and when she was done, destroyed them.”
Parker nodded. “Getting close to her would be like snuggling with a rattlesnake.” Sort of like working with you, now that I think about it.
“How lonely she must have been,” Corelli said, suddenly interested in the dark-haired woman walking a beautiful black Lab across the street. “Winter’s life appears so…empty, so focused on materialistic gains, and so devoid of love for herself or other people. And clearly no one loved her except the son she despised.”
Parker couldn’t see Corelli’s face but she could feel her sadness. This case was bringing the two of them down. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
Corelli checked her watch. “Are you hungry? We haven’t had much time to eat again today and I know this great place in Bensonhurst. What do you say?”
Parker opened her mouth to refuse. Dealing with Corelli’s offensiveness was wearing, but they had to eat, and maybe the hostility would distract her from the gnawing sadness that she hadn’t known was still inside her. Besides, Corelli’s sadness made her almost likeable. “Sounds good.” She started the car. “How do I get there?”
They drove to Bensonhurst in silence. Neither was into small talk and tonight they were both pensive. Corelli pointed to a space in front of a brownstone in a residential neighborhood, not a restaurant in sight.
“Come on,” she said, when Parker hesitated.
“Where’s the restaurant?”
“You’ll see.”
Corelli rang the bell and walked in. Parker followed, and hearing the clatter of dishes and the cacophony of concurrent conversations, decided this was one of those fancy restaurants with no sign. It smelled wonderful, kind of like a pizza joint, but better. As they moved in the direction of the noise, a petite, dark-haired w
oman came toward them. The mystery woman. She put her arms around Corelli and stood on her tiptoes to kiss her lightly on the lips. Parker glanced away to give them some privacy and avoid any deep kissing that might follow.
Corelli introduced them. “Gianna, Parker. Parker, Gianna.”
Gianna grabbed Parker’s hands, leaving Parker no choice but to face her.
“Welcome to my home, Parker.” Gianna’s smile was warm.
Home? Not a restaurant? “Glad to be here.”
“Is Parker your first name or is that police talk?”
Parker flushed, uncomfortable with the intensity of Gianna’s gaze and the warmth in her voice. “Please call me P.J.”
Corelli eyed her and Parker tensed, expecting an attack.
“We were in Brooklyn and starving, and we both could use some cheering up. It seemed like a good time to come to the Tuesday open house you’re always bugging me about.” Corelli put her arm around Gianna. “Anybody here who wouldn’t want to see me?”
Parker relaxed. Interesting that Corelli didn’t say anyone she wouldn’t want to see.
“All safe. Come. We’ve already started.” Gianni grabbed Corelli’s right hand.
Corelli winced and pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” Gianna asked, alarmed.
“I hit the punching bag too hard this morning, so it’s a little swollen. Nothing serious. It’ll be fine.”
Hmm. Doesn’t want to worry the lover.
Reassured, Gianna turned and led them down the hall toward the noise. When they entered, heads turned toward them. As if rehearsed, the group began to chant. “Chiara, Chiara, Chiara.” Parker felt she was intruding, yet the waves of affection she could feel shooting toward Corelli warmed her and made her smile. Corelli beamed, and then laughing, put her hands up and shouted, “enough, enough.”
When it was quieter, Corelli said, “Everyone, this is P.J. Parker.”
“P.J., P.J., P.J.,” they chanted. Corelli laughed. “Stop, or she’ll run away.” One more “P.J.,” and the chanters turned back to their food and their conversations.
You said it, Corelli. Who are these people anyway? Not just lesbians as she’d feared when she saw Gianna, but men and children, black and white, and a couple of women wearing head scarves. She sat in the chair offered by one of the teenage boys. Out of the spotlight, she relaxed and started to see individuals rather than the faceless crowd that had greeted her. Her eyes roamed the room like periscopes scanning the horizon for danger, but stopped short at Corelli’s twin. The same lean frame, penetrating blue-green eyes, long, honey-brown hair, ivory complexion and killer smile. But…too young to be her twin. Her daughter?
The girl felt her stare and flashed that Corelli spotlight smile. She came around the table, leaned over so Parker could hear. “Hi, I’m Chiara’s sister, Simone. That’s C-moan-eh.”
“Got it. I thought you were her daughter.”
She laughed and grabbed Corelli, who was walking by. “I was an afterthought. There’s fifteen years between us.”
Corelli pulled her close. “Not true. They really wanted you. The rest of us were practice.”
“You’d better not let Gianna and Patrizia hear you say that.”
“Hear what?” Gianna asked as she passed by with a tray of pasta for the long table on the far side of the large dining room. She set the tray down, checked the table and put her hand on the shoulder of a boy about thirteen who was refilling his plate. “Tell Maria Carmela to bring out more meatballs, cutlets, and salad.”
She came back to their little group. “Hear what?”
“Chiara says that Mama and Papa wanted me, and the rest of you were just practice. I thought you and Patrizia would be pissed.”
“Patrizia might be angry, but I agree with Chiara.” She moved between them and pulled them close.
Parker observed the three women and realized her mistake. Gianna was another sister, but she was dark and short. She looked like the woman who was at Corelli’s apartment the night before, but wouldn’t a late-night visitor more likely be a lover than a sister? But what do I know about lovers? It had been so long she barely remembered.
“Come on, Parker, let’s eat. After all, we came for the food, not fine conversation.”
They moved along the table together, Parker holding both their plates, Corelli explaining each dish and piling on their selections. Parker took a little of everything—spaghetti, meatballs, veal cutlets, roasted chicken, stuffed peppers, stuffed artichoke, scungilli and broccoli de rape. It was all delicious. Corelli, on the other hand, hardly took anything and left most of it.
By the time she finished her coffee and a cannoli the crowd had thinned but there were still people talking in small groups and kids running around. Gianna’s husband Marco, a doctor and a professor at Rockefeller University, brought over the black couple and the Middle Eastern couples and introduced them as his colleagues. After chatting for a few minutes, he turned to Corelli.
“The bike will be ready Thursday. If you don’t make it Thursday night for Gabriella’s birthday, I’ll ride it in Friday and leave it in your garage. Okay?”
Corelli hugged him and started to explain to everyone why she needed new tires, but Simone interrupted to introduce some of her friends from college. Maria Carmela, Corelli’s cousin, joined the circle as well. After a while Parker gave up on keeping all the names and relationships straight and relaxed into the pleasure of the warm feelings in the house. Corelli was right to bring them here.
They were sitting in a small circle with some of the other guests, talking, or at least Corelli was talking, when Gianna’s daughter Gabriella ran by. “Grandma, Grandpa, you came.”
Glancing at Corelli, a white-faced Gianna walked over to two old people, hugged them, and escorted them to the table. Now Parker understood: Gianna looked like her mother, small and dark, with an olive complexion, glossy black hair and glowing black eyes, while Corelli and Simone favored their father. Simone and Maria Carmela greeted the parents and stood between them and Corelli as if to shield her. Marco cast a protective glance at Corelli as he hurried to greet his in-laws.
The room crackled with tension. Parker sensed Corelli stiffen next to her, and sneaking a glance, saw she had no color at all. Corelli leaned toward her and whispered, “Let them get settled, and then stand up and say that we need to be going.”
Parker watched Gianna make two plates of food for the old people. Then, although she didn’t understand why she was doing it, the next time Gianna passed, Parker stopped her. “Time for us to be going, Gianna.”
There was a flurry of activity, of friends and family kissing and hugging Corelli goodbye; some hugged Parker as well. Maria Carmela dashed to the kitchen and returned with a bag she shoved into Parker’s hand. “Gianna wanted you to have some leftovers for tomorrow.”
Finally, with Corelli flanked by Gianna and Simone, they turned to leave and came face-to-face with the old man and woman. The room went silent except for the kids chattering in the background. Corelli smiled. “Buona notte, Mama, Papa.” The old man put his head down and started to eat, as if he hadn’t heard. The old woman didn’t speak, but her pleading eyes followed Corelli as the four of them strode out of the room.
At the front door, Gianna hugged Corelli. “Sorry. This is the first time they’ve ever come on a Tuesday.” The two sisters spoke to Corelli in Italian but Parker deduced from the body language and the tone of voice that they were upset. Corelli reassured them in English. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m really glad we came. It was exactly what we needed. Right, Parker?”
Although she had been overwhelmed at first, Parker had really enjoyed being there. “It was. The food was wonderful and it was nice meeting you both.” And seeing a different side of Corelli, the beast. She held her doggie bag close. “I’ll think of you fondly tomorrow when I eat my leftovers.”
Gianna embraced her. “You’re welcome any time.”
Outside, Parker said, “Um, what the hell was that all
about?”
Corelli was quiet and then said, “Family problems, that’s all. Family problems. Even happy families have problems.” She smirked. “But then again, I’ll bet Senator Daddy doesn’t allow any problems in his house and everything is just hunky-dory in your family.”
“Well, Papa Daddy sure didn’t celebrate your homecoming.” And I was feeling sorry for her. “No wonder you’re so focused on my family. You probably can’t bear to think about yours.”
“Touché.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Corelli directed Parker to the Belt Parkway through local streets filled with people out walking and enjoying the warm summer night. As Parker turned on to the main drag, Corelli noticed a crowd of people on one side of the street transfixed by something on the other side. She shifted to see what was so interesting and did a double take. A man standing on the corner across from the crowd held a kid in a headlock and a gun to the kid’s temple.
“Pull over. Now.”
Parker stopped as ordered and followed Corelli out of the car. “What is it?” she asked as they ran toward the crowd.
“Hostage situation.” Corelli stopped, scoping out the scene.
The man, with his arm around the boy’s neck and a gun to the boy’s temple, screamed over and over, “An eye for an eye. You killed my boy. Now I’m gonna kill yours.”
Someone yelled, “Let the boy go.” The armed man jerked in the direction of the voice but kept the gun to the boy’s head. His eyes scurried over the crowd.
“I’ll call for backup,” Parker said.
“No. We’ll end up with a dead boy and a dead man. And maybe some dead spectators.”
“But we really should—”
“Damn it, Parker. Forget should. Do as I say.” She could see Parker wavering, worried about the rules. “This is my old neighborhood. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.” Corelli scanned the crowd, noting the hands inside jackets, ready for action. “Lotsa guns here. Think how angry Senator Daddy would be if I got you killed.”
A Matter of Blood Page 15
