To Hell in a Handbasket

by Beth Groundwater

  “Yeah, you would have seen his face on the other side of a gun aimed straight at you! You could very well be dead yourself—a frozen corpse lying under a trailer.” Roger paced, running both hands through his gray fringe of thinning hair. “Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?”

  “You aren’t making sense, Roger. I had no idea the man would come to the trailer. I told you where I was going this morning, and neither one of us thought visiting a trailer park in broad daylight would be a problem.”

  “You should have left when Pete didn’t answer.”

  “Why? He gave me permission to enter. Look, fighting over something that’s over and done with makes no sense. I’m safe, okay? What I’m really worried about is Judy, especially after what Owen said about abuse and incest. We don’t know anything about the Continos.”

  Roger stopped, hands on his hips. “Nick seems like a nice young man. I can’t believe he would hurt Judy. You can see in the way he looks at her that he’d fight off a bear for her.”

  Claire stared at Roger. His perceptiveness surprised her. So her number-crunching hubby could interpret a young man’s fancies for his daughter as well as he could understand his spreadsheets. “I think Judy’s a good judge of character. I’m more worried about Anthony.”

  “He seemed normal enough.”

  “Yeah, seemed. Haven’t you heard those interviews with neighbors of murderers after they’ve been apprehended? The neighbors go on about how nice and quiet the person was.”

  A thought struck Claire. Maybe she could at least prove to Owen that Nick wasn’t the one at the trailer. “Wait a minute. What time did Nick come over to pick up Judy?”

  “About eleven. He said the whole family’s been having trouble sleeping and got a slow start this morning.”

  “Did he drive the Range Rover?”

  “No. He said his father needed it, so he came in an old four-wheel-drive Subaru they keep garaged up here. I wondered why they parked the Range Rover in the driveway when they had a two-car garage. Nick said the garage is stuffed with snowmobiles as well as the Subaru.”

  “So Anthony could’ve been the man at the trailer, or Nick himself if he hustled home from Kingdom Park. Anthony may have enlisted his son’s help to cover up his crimes. We need to contact Judy.”

  “I already tried calling her cell phone earlier, but I just got her voice mail. Either she’s got it turned off or let the charge run down again.” Roger shook his head. “And you refuse to carry one. I swear I don’t know what to do with the two of you. If you’d taken a phone, you could have called for help while you were stashed under that trailer. Then the police might’ve caught the killer, and I wouldn’t have been sitting here worrying about you for the past two hours.”

  “Sorry, honey. I never dreamed I might need to call the police. And I hadn’t planned to go off snowshoeing.”

  He sighed. “That’s precisely why you should’ve taken the phone. When your plans changed, you could’ve told me. Doesn’t do much good to leave it here with me when I’m right next to the house phone.” He smacked his hand on the kitchen counter by the phone.

  Poor man. He has a perfect right to feel frustrated. Claire nibbled on her lip. “We might as well deliver the gift basket to Nick’s parents, since we can’t track down the kids. Maybe Angela knows where Nick planned to shop for flower arrangements. And I want to talk some more with Anthony, see what kind of man he is.”

  Or monster.

  _____

  Twenty minutes later, Claire and Roger drove up the Continos’ street and parked beside the driveway, which contained not one, but two black Range Rovers. As Roger hefted the large sympathy basket out of the back of their BMW, Claire walked up the driveway to look at the license plates of the two large SUVs.

  Both plates started with AY. In fact, they matched in all but the last two numbers, which were less than fifty apart. Did the Continos own two Range Rovers? If so, why didn’t Nick drive one of them that morning? When Roger joined her, Claire pointed out the plates. “Not just one car that matches the partial license number you saw, but two.”

  He studied the front bumpers. “No blood.”

  “They could have cleaned it up.”

  Roger pointed at one of the cars. “What’s that?”

  Claire bent down to take a look. The bumper had a two-inch dent in it. “Could that be all the damage to a car from hitting a man?”

  “Could be from anything. A fender-bender, a mailbox or a parking meter. Can you really picture one of them behind the wheel of the car that ran down Naylor?”

  Claire gave a theatrical shrug. “Could Jeffrey Dahmer’s neighbors picture him chopping up young men in his basement?”

  “Now you’re getting freaky, honey.”

  “Just consider that we could be walking into a murderer’s house.”

  “With a gift basket.” Roger shifted the basket in his arms. “That’s getting damned heavy. We’ll just drop it off and leave if you want, then call Silverstone once we finish.”

  Feeling jittery, Claire preceded him to the front door. As she raised her hand to ring the bell, the door opened.

  A great bear of a man stood in the entryway, his barrel chest straining against the seams of his leather coat. He looked to be in his fifties, with jowly cheeks and a bulbous nose, but his bushy hair and mustache were solid brown with no flecks of gray.

  He scowled at Claire and Roger. “Who are you?” His accent sounded foreign, maybe East European.

  Angela Contino peeked around the man. “Oh, these are the parents of Nickolas’s girlfriend. Roger and Claire Hanover.” She swept her hand toward the gruff-voiced stranger. “This is Gregori Ivanov, originally from Russia and a client of Anthony’s.”

  The Russian bear stuck out his hand. Claire shook it, but Roger could only heft the basket and shrug.

  Angela stepped back and pulled Ivanov with her. “I’m sorry. Please come in. You can put the basket on the bench.”

  Claire stepped inside with Roger, and Angela closed the door behind them. As Roger set down the basket, Claire drew Angela over to look at it. “I have a part-time gift basket business, and I put this together for you. Hopefully, some of the items will be useful in the next few days.”

  Angela wrapped Claire in a hug. “Thank you so much. Wasn’t this thoughtful, Gregori?”

  “Very much. I must go now.” He laid his hand on the doorknob.

  “Oh, is one of those Range Rovers outside yours?” Claire turned to Angela. “We were thinking you had two.”

  Angela shook her head. “We didn’t even buy ours. Gregori gave it to us as a gift.”

  When Claire and Roger turned to him, Ivanov shrugged. “I like them so much I buy six, all in black, to give to valuable business associates like Anthony.” His eyes twinkling, he thumped his chest. “But I save one for me.”

  Ah, so that explains the close license plate numbers. And also why so many black Range Rovers matched the partial plate Roger saw, since Ivanov probably was responsible for six of the seven.

  His expression sobered. “Now I say goodbye, Angela. You watch over Anthony for me, okay?”

  She nodded, escorted him out, and shut the door behind him.

  Claire wondered why the Russian had asked Angela to watch over her husband. Wasn’t she just as grieved? “How is Anthony?”

  “Very depressed. He’s spent a lot of time closed up in his study these last two days. Burying himself in work, I suspect.”

  “Didn’t he go somewhere this morning?” Claire asked.

  “No.” Angela’s brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “Nick said when he picked up Judy that he took the Subaru because his father needed the Range Rover.”

  “Maybe Anthony planned to use it, but when Gregori called to say he would drive up from Denver today for a visit, he changed his plans. I thought Gregori’s visit might lift Anthony’s spirits. But he didn’t even walk Gregori to the door. He stayed in his study and let me do it.”

&nbs
p; “So Anthony spent the morning with Gregori.” And not at a trailer park.

  “Oh, no. Gregori didn’t arrive until noon.” Angela smiled. “That man has a knack for showing up at mealtime. After lunch, they had a long meeting in Anthony’s study.”

  Is she covering for her husband, or did Anthony really stay home all day?

  Roger unbuttoned his coat. “What’s Anthony do for work?”

  “He’s a financial advisor, has his own firm, and takes on only a few clients—ones with a lot of money to manage, like Gregori.” Angela wrung her hands. “I don’t understand what Anthony does really, but he’s always talking about money transfers and the stock market.”

  Claire envisioned the scene forming in Roger’s mind of the former CFO and the financial advisor trading tips. “This is not the time to talk business with Anthony, dear.” She turned to Angela. “Do you know which florist the kids went to?”

  “They were going to a couple of different stores in Frisco and Silverthorne. Nick called about half an hour ago to say they’re almost done and will be home soon.” Angela lifted the basket. “Let’s go in the living room so I can unpack this and see what’s in it.”

  Claire glanced at Roger. “We might as well wait for Judy here.” And get her out of here as soon as possible.

  As they followed Angela into the living room, Roger leaned over to whisper to Claire, “Sounds like Judy’s fine.”

  Claire nodded. “Maybe.”

  “And what made you think I’d want to talk business with Anthony? I’m not a total clod, you know.”

  The only reply Claire had time for was a curt, “Sorry.”

  Once in the living room, Angela insisted they should have a hot drink, coffee or tea, before she sat down. Claire assumed that, much like Anthony with his financial work, Angela took some comfort from busying herself with hostess duties. She signaled Roger that they should ask for something.

  A few minutes later, Angela bustled in with a tray of cups and coffee fixings. After a sip of heavily creamed coffee, she oohed and aahed over the basket contents, lifting each of them in turn, until Claire felt thoroughly embarrassed.

  “I wish we could do more,” Claire said. “Do you need any help with the . . . other arrangements?”

  “I’ve pretty much finished making plans. The service will be tomorrow morning at eleven at Saint Mary’s Catholic Church here in town.” Angela sucked in her trembling lip and took a moment to compose herself. “You will come, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Claire laid her hand on Angela’s. “What about out-of-town guests? Do they need a place to stay?”

  Angela shook her head. “My sister’s family arrives tonight. They will stay with us. Many of Stephanie’s friends are already here for spring break. Anthony was an only child, and his parents are deceased, so no one from his side of the family is coming. Gregori has a room at the Hilton. Our other friends and business associates are driving up from Denver in the morning.”

  She covered Claire’s hand with her other one. “I’m glad you stopped by this afternoon. With the plans all made, Nickolas gone, and Anthony closeted with Gregori in his study, I was feeling lonely.”

  She glanced upstairs. “Maybe you can help me cheer up Anthony some. At least he should see the basket.”

  Claire nodded. “You want us to wait here while you bring him down?”

  Angela picked up some of the gift items strewn all over the coffee table and returned them to the basket. “He might just tell me to go away. No, let’s all go. We’ll take the basket and some snacks to him. That way, he won’t be able to refuse to see us.”

  Claire finished refilling the basket while Angela prepared a tray with cheese and crackers and wineglasses. When she returned, she handed Claire a large straw-wrapped wine bottle and opener. “It’s almost cocktail hour. Will you join us for a glass of chianti?”

  “Sure.” Maybe the alcohol will loosen the Continos’ tongues, too.

  Angela asked Roger to carry the basket and preceded them up the stairs to a hallway with four doors. She knocked briefly on the first one on the right, then, without waiting for a reply, opened the study door and entered. “Anthony, the Hanovers are here, and they’ve brought a lovely gift basket. You have to see it.”

  She set the tray down on a waist-high walnut cabinet built into one wall of the study, above which matching walnut bookcases displayed leather-bound books and objets d’art. She waved Claire and Roger into the study and shut the door behind them, effectively removing any chance for Anthony to object to their company.

  Anthony looked up from his desk, an imposing walnut piece that matched the bookcases. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. He rotated his chair, turning his back to them, to blow his nose.

  Feeling awkward catching him in such a private moment of grief, Claire whispered to Angela, “Maybe we should go.”

  Angela shook her head. “It’s good he cried. Stay, please.” She patted Claire’s arm and went to her husband to say a few private words.

  Claire glanced at Roger, who shrugged and placed the gift basket next to the tray. They busied themselves scanning the titles of books on the shelves to give Anthony time to compose himself.

  Angela raised her voice to a normal tone. “Come see the basket, dear.”

  Taking this to be a signal that Anthony was presentable now, Claire faced the room.

  Anthony tapped a key on his keyboard and stood, with Angela dragging on his arm. He walked over to wordlessly shake Roger’s hand and accept Claire’s hug. He moved as if in a trance.

  Claire wondered if she was hugging a killer whose remorse was catching up with him.

  While Angela pulled her husband over to look at the basket, Roger took the wine bottle from Claire and opened it. Angela seemed anxious to get Anthony to say something about the basket, asking questions like, “Isn’t this nice? And the thank you notes are perfect, aren’t they?”

  Anthony rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “Yes, the notes will be useful.” He didn’t show much enthusiasm, but Claire hadn’t expected him to.

  He looked at the bottle in Roger’s hand and, with a wry smile, reached out for it. “I see Angela thinks it’s cocktail hour. I’ll pour.” He filled the four glasses and passed them around then accepted a cracker with cheese from his wife.

  Searching for something to say to break the awkward silence, Claire noticed the view out the window behind Anthony’s desk. “Oh, you can see the ski area from here. How nice to be able to check the weather over the mountain before you leave the house.”

  She moved to the window to look out over the pines at the white ski runs etched in the sides of the mountains across the valley.

  “Yes, yes.” Angela seemed to desperately clutch at the line of conversation. “And we get a nice view of it from the kitchen window downstairs, too. Don’t we Anthony?” She nudged her husband.

  He just nodded, laid down his cheese cracker uneaten, and took a large gulp of wine.

  Claire sent one of those signals to Roger that long-married couples develop between them. Think of something to say.

  “How long have you had this place?” Roger asked Anthony.

  Good. We should be able to milk the subject of the house for a while.

  As Angela pattered on about the yearlong search for their second home with an increasingly impatient local real estate agent, Claire turned to walk back around the desk and accidentally bumped the keyboard perched on the edge. The computer monitor, which had been black, powered up. On it was displayed a table labeled “GI Transfers.”

  What does “GI” mean?

  Claire remembered Anthony’s most recent visitor—Gregori Ivanov. “GI” must refer to him, but the transfers confused her. Lines and lines showed dollar amounts shuffled from one bank to another, many with foreign-sounding names, in the past three months. And she was looking at page nineteen of a twenty-page chart. Why did the man need so much money moved around?

  Realizing she was staring at the
screen, she checked the others. Anthony stood bent over the tray, pouring himself another glass of wine. The man seemed determined to drown his sorrows. Trying to look interested, Roger nodded while Angela talked.

  Claire took another surreptitious glance at the computer screen. All the amounts going in and coming out of U.S. banks were around nine thousand, right under the ten thousand reporting limit. She knew that much from Roger’s work. Once the money got to banks with foreign-sounding names, the transfers grew larger.

  She turned away and looked out the window again to think. Was Anthony laundering money for Ivanov? Maybe that’s why Angela didn’t know much about his work, because it was illegal. What if Stephanie found out and threatened to tell the police?

  Lots of questions, but no answers. Where to get them? Claire thought of the connection she had made a few months ago with a drug boss named Leon in Colorado Springs. They had developed a wary mutual respect. Maybe Leon would know who Ivanov was. She made a mental note to contact him.

  Anthony appeared at her elbow. “What do you find so interesting about this view?”

  Claire jumped, almost dropping her wineglass, but she made a quick recovery. “Oh, my, I was so lost in my thoughts that you startled me. It’s not so much the view. I was just thinking about all that’s happened.”

  He frowned and glanced at the computer screen, but thank God, it had gone dark again. Then he gave her an appraising look.

  “Sorry to bring up the subject,” Claire said quickly. “Maybe we should talk about something else. I assume you and Angela aren’t still planning to attend the Summit Foundation fundraiser on Sunday.”

  He took another drink of wine, almost emptying his glass. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  Angela called from across the room. “The fundraiser? We have to go. They’re giving an award to Anthony.”

  He scowled and moved away from the desk to rejoin Angela and Roger. “How can you think of going to a public event so soon after Stephanie’s service?”

  With a silent sigh of relief, Claire followed Anthony.

  Angela laid a beseeching hand on his arm. “The director called today to express his condolences and ask if we would still be coming. He said he could understand our reluctance to attend, but they very much want to honor you for your contributions of money and talent, especially for managing the charity’s funds.”