Heart of a Killer
Page 18
She could still extricate herself from the situation if she chose to, but the time to do it painlessly had passed. Leaving now would hurt.
Her answers to Brooklyn’s questions about the flowers at Melanie Pierce’s grave seemed to have appeased her, but Brooklyn looked far from satisfied. Santana could tell Brooklyn wouldn’t let this go. Like she had in the escape room, Brooklyn would keep searching for clues until she solved the mystery.
How was she supposed to fix this? She had only two choices. She could either keep feigning ignorance or find the strength to come clean. The truth was supposed to set you free. In her case, it could cost her Brooklyn.
“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, tossing the crumpled sandwich wrapper on the coffee table.
“I had to do something to earn my keep.” Brooklyn flashed a wan smile, letting Santana know she would have her work cut out for her doing damage control.
“You did a fine job.” Santana licked the sugar stuck to Brooklyn’s fingers, then laid her down on the couch. “Now let me earn mine.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Being with Vilma felt like a fantasy. A dream come true. On Sunday afternoon, Brooklyn found herself craving a serious dose of reality. She begged off of Vilma’s invitation to dinner at one of the best—and most expensive—restaurants in town so she could spend some quality time with her family and have some home cooking.
When she was growing up, Sundays had always been reserved for two things: morning mass and family dinners. Both were steeped in tradition and each possessed nearly as much pageantry.
Brooklyn didn’t make it to church in time to take part in the services, but she did arrive at her parents’ house in time for dinner.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” one of her brothers said when she walked into the crowded living room. “Are you sure you didn’t get lost on your way to some swanky event?”
“Thanks, Gianni. I can always count on you to break my balls.”
“That’s what big brothers are for, little sis. If I hadn’t been so hard on you, you wouldn’t be the kickass businesswoman you are today.” He handed the youngest of his three sons to his wife so he could give Brooklyn a hug. “Have you made your first million yet?”
“You know we don’t brag about how much money someone makes,” Brooklyn’s father said.
“Probably because we’ve never had anything to brag about,” Gianni said. Like their father, he had been a blue-collar worker all his life. And like their father, he had more calluses than cash.
“Gianni.”
“Sorry, Pop.” Gianni held up his hands to show he meant no harm. “It’s good to see you, sis. It’s been too long.”
“Yes, it has.”
“I was sorry to hear about Charlie. Ang and I planned to go to the service, but we couldn’t find anyone to watch the kids.”
That wasn’t a surprise. Gianni and Angie’s boys were so rowdy their babysitters often felt entitled to combat pay.
“Way to make the family look bad,” Brooklyn’s brother Stefano said.
Even though Brooklyn was the youngest member of her family, her brother Stefano, who was two years older, seemed to be the most immature. He couldn’t maintain a job or a relationship for longer than a few months at a time and seemed destined to end up living in their parents’ basement for the rest of his life. If Vilma represented everything she had always aspired to be, Stefano embodied everything she didn’t. But he was her brother and she would love him no matter what. It remained to be seen whether she could extend that kind of unconditional love to someone to whom she wasn’t related.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you, but I will.” Stefano tossed his stringy hair out of his eyes. He had the long, unkempt mane of a rock star, but he didn’t have the musical talent to match. “When we were kids, people used to think we were mobbed up because we’re Italian-American and Pop worked construction. Those things always go hand-in-hand, right?”
“Not this again.”
“I’m just saying it looks kind of sketchy for your BFF to get popped like that.”
“Really, Stef?” Brooklyn usually tried to exercise patience when Stefano went off on one of his infamous tangents. Today, though, her patience was in short supply. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and this is the homecoming you give me?”
“Ignore him,” Angie said as she tried to soothe Enzo, her restless eight-month-old. “After dinner, we’ll send him back to the basement so he can smoke more weed and cook up another batch of conspiracy theories.”
Stefano shook his head to deny he participated in either of those activities, but they had all seen evidence to the contrary. His room was littered with empty dime bags and books written by some of his favorite wingnuts. “Besides, it’s not a theory if it’s true.”
“Anyway,” Angie said before he could begin another rant. “How are you holding up, Brooklyn?”
“It gets a little bit better every day. Thanks for asking.”
“Are the cops any closer to finding the scumbag who did it?”
“They’re doing everything they can, but they haven’t found anything yet.”
“I pray Charlie’s parents will eventually have someone to blame,” Brooklyn’s sister Bella said. “Someone they can point to and say, ‘He’s the one who’s responsible for taking our baby from us.’ That’s more than a lot of people can say when they lose a loved one.”
“One day,” Brooklyn said, “I want to be able to look that person in the eye and tell them exactly what I think of them. I want to ask them if the money they received was worth taking someone’s life.”
“All or nothing. That’s always been the case with you. But I guess that’s better than settling for whatever you can get.”
“I’m right here, hon,” Bella’s husband, Paulie, said. “You know I can hear you, don’t you?”
“And you know I’m not going anywhere. It’s been twelve years, babe. You’re like my favorite teddy bear.”
“Yeah,” Gianni said, giving Paulie’s balding head an affectionate rub. “Thin on top and soft in the middle.”
Paulie poked Gianni’s rounded stomach. “You’re a couple of cans short of a six-pack yourself, pal.”
“Blame it on Ma’s good cooking. Right, Ma?”
“Keep buttering me up all you want, son, but you’re still not getting the house. You and your brothers and sisters will be entitled to equal shares of it when your father and I pass on. Maybe, when the time comes, the lot of you will finally be able to agree on something.”
“Good one, Mom,” Brooklyn said. “Do you need any help in the kitchen?”
“No, but I could use the company. Something tells me you could, too.”
“I’ve given up on trying to figure out how you always know what’s on everyone’s mind.”
“It comes with the job once you become a mother. I would say you’ll find out when it happens to you, but you don’t seem to be in that much of a hurry to join the ranks.”
“Call me in a few years. I still have too much growing up to do before I can even think of showing someone else how to do it.” Brooklyn followed her mother to the kitchen, which was filled with the mouth-watering aromas of oregano, garlic, and tomato sauce. “Please tell me that’s lasagna I see in the oven.”
“It might be. You’ll have to act fast if you want to beat Tommy to one of the crispy end pieces.”
Brooklyn rubbed the scar on the back of her right hand, a four-pronged reminder of one of the dinner table battles she and Tommy had waged over the years. When she was six and he was ten, he had stuck his fork in her hand when she reached for the last piece of garlic bread. She had ended up with the prize and he had wound up being grounded for two weeks. A win-win in her book. “I’ll take my chances.”
Her mother smiled as she chopped fresh vegetables for a mixed green salad. “You’re in a much better mood than you were the last time I saw you. What’s her name?”
“Wasn’t it less than five minutes ago that we established I have the ability to read my family members’ minds?” She pointed her knife in Brooklyn’s direction. “And if you keep snacking like that, you’re going to ruin your appetite for dinner. Now stop stalling and tell me all about her.”
“I wish I could.”
“What’s the matter? Did she force you to sign one of those PDA things?”
“I think you mean NDA. And, no, she didn’t.”
“Then why can’t you tell me about her?”
“Because she’s a bit of a mystery. I adore the things I know about her, but I’m starting to wonder how much I don’t.”
“That sounds like the plot of a romance novel I read once.”
“Did it end well?”
“I can’t remember, but I do recall Fabio looking absolutely dreamy on the cover. That is one handsome man. Just don’t tell your father I said so.”
“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”
Brooklyn’s mother wiped her hands on a towel and poured two glasses of red wine. She was a teetotaler most of the time, but she could be a bit of a lush when she was cooking a big meal. No wonder Sunday was her favorite day of the week. “So tell me what you do know. First of all, how did you meet her?”
Brooklyn told her about her trip to Tokyo, her unwelcome visit from the tipsy businessman who had tried to pick her up, and the gorgeous knight in Armani armor who had ridden to her rescue.
“I take that back,” her mother said. “This is even better than a romance novel. Did you hook up that night?”
“Mom!”
“Isn’t that the expression your generation uses? We used to call it putting out. Would you rather I asked if you knocked boots instead?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t ask about my sex life at all, please and thanks.”
“I’ve got to get my thrills somehow. Heaven knows your father doesn’t—”
“Mom!” Brooklyn covered her ears with her hands so she wouldn’t be able to hear how her mother finished her sentence. She knew her parents had always had an active sex life since they had so many kids to show for it, but she didn’t want to hear a play-by-play.
“Fine. Be that way. How did the two of you find each other again? Or is that off-limits, too?”
“She called me the night Charlie was killed.”
“What?”
“I know, right? Talk about bad timing. I couldn’t talk to her then because I had what seemed like half the NYPD roaming around my office, but I reached out to her a few days later when I needed to talk to someone who could speak objectively about what I was going through. She was in town for a few days and invited me to her place for dinner.”
“She lives here in New York?”
“Not full-time, no. She’s originally from Manila and she has an apartment near Central Park, but her permanent home is on some remote island in the Pacific.”
“Have you been there yet?”
“To her apartment, yes. To her home, no. I did some research on it after she told me the name of the country.”
“And?”
“It’s so far out it’s a pain in the ass to get to.”
“She sounds like a woman who enjoys her privacy. Can’t fault her for that.”
“I suppose not.” Brooklyn swirled the contents of her wine glass. “She doesn’t like talking about herself. When she does, I’m intrigued by the stories she relates, and I want to hear more. I can tell she’s been hurt before so I don’t want to push her into doing something she’s not ready for.”
“But?”
“I don’t want to waste my time developing feelings for someone who can’t be trusted.”
“What makes you think you can’t trust her? The actions you’ve described have been nothing less than honorable, and I personally want to thank her for taking such good care of you in your time of need. Has she betrayed you in some way?”
“Not exactly.” Brooklyn thought about how abandoned she had felt while Vilma was away on a business trip. Vilma’s behavior had been regrettable, though not reprehensible. “It’s just—People I know have expressed their misgivings about her.”
“Do those people have your interests at heart or theirs?”
The question gave Brooklyn pause. She knew AJ was harboring a crush on her, but she didn’t know if AJ’s feelings for her had helped or hindered when AJ formed an opinion about Vilma. “I have no idea. All I know is this is Vilma’s first real relationship and she doesn’t have a handle on the rules.”
“Do you?”
Brooklyn laughed. “You’ve seen all the messy relationships I’ve had over the years. Does it look like I know what I’m doing?”
“Hell, I’ve been married for over forty years and I’m still trying to figure things out.”
“You and Pop are good together. You always have been.”
“Because we work at it. Believe me, none of it comes easy.”
“It doesn’t look that way.”
“Then that means we’ve been doing our jobs.” Brooklyn’s mother set her knife down and refilled their glasses. “I don’t do this often, but I’m going to take a minute to toot my own horn. Your father and I have never had much money, which means we’ve never had much to give you and the rest of our kids, materially speaking. You never had the must-have toys or the latest fashions unless you got jobs and paid for them yourselves. That’s the thing I’m proudest of. That Sal and I molded you into strong, independent people who are able to stand on your own two feet and make your own decisions. Most of you, anyway. Stefano still needs help wiping his own butt from time to time, but you didn’t hear me say that.”
“So what are you trying to say, Mom?”
“You only get one shot at life, Brooklyn. Don’t let someone else try to tell you how to live it. The person you’ve described sounds like someone who deserves the benefit of the doubt. I could change my mind when I finally get a chance to meet her—hint, hint—but if you love her, I’m sure Sal and I will, too.”
“Wait. I never said I was in love with her.”
“I know.” Brooklyn’s mother patted her hand. “You didn’t have to.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Santana was trying to plan the most important job of her career and she couldn’t concentrate. Every time she tried to buckle down and focus on the task at hand, her mind inevitably drifted to something else. Not something. Someone. Instead of devising a strategy to infiltrate Jusuf Mladić’s compound, she couldn’t stop thinking about Brooklyn and what she needed to do in order to make things right between them.
Brooklyn had kept her distance for three days now. Each time Santana reached out to her, Brooklyn said she was swamped at work and didn’t have the time to get together. Her excuses sounded plausible, but part of Santana wondered if Brooklyn was still obsessing over the conversation she’d had with Harry and the subsequent questions it had raised.
Instead of pressing her, Santana decided to give her some space. Brooklyn needed the downtime and so did she. She needed to get her act together. Because if she failed to complete the job she had been tasked with, she wouldn’t have a future to worry about.
She powered up the burner phone tied to her Delphine Durand identity and checked her messages. She had a few missed texts from Hekla, most requesting a detailed explanation for why she had dumped her so unceremoniously.
Before she left Reykjavik, she had followed through on Sigrun’s edict by telling Hekla they couldn’t see each other anymore. Hekla had been confused by the abrupt end to their burgeoning courtship, and she hadn’t wanted to hear any of the tried-and-true “it’s not you, it’s me” excuses Santana had trotted out to explain her decision.
Which lie am I suppos
ed to believe? Hekla’s last text read. The one where you said you weren’t seeing anyone or the one where you said my mother didn’t have anything to do with your change of heart about me?
Santana was tempted to respond to Hekla’s missives, but she knew anything she wrote, no matter how carefully crafted, would only make the situation worse instead of better. Some of the assignments she was given occasionally resulted in collateral damage. If the fallout from this one turned out to be nothing more serious than a broken heart, that was a result she could live with. Hekla, too.
She closed her text messages and opened her email, not expecting to find anything of note. The message indicator said she had four emails. The first three were spam that had managed to slip through the filter somehow. She deleted them without giving them a second thought. She started to dismiss the fourth email as well until she realized who it was from: Sigrun.
The subject line read Help Wanted. The body of the email contained a description for a cater waiter job advertised by one of Sigrun’s competitors. The restaurant, the email went on to explain, had been hired to provide the food for a private party hosted by Jusuf Mladić and needed to supplement its wait staff for the event.
The owner of the Midnight Sun is a friend of mine, Sigrun had written. I gave him your name and recommended you for the position. The job can be yours if you complete the attached form. I have held up my end of our bargain. The rest is up to you. Good luck in your endeavors, and thank you in advance for being a woman of your word.
Santana checked the date listed in the email. The party was scheduled to take place in a little over a month. That gave her plenty of time to gather the items she needed, book a return flight to Reykjavik, and do what needed to be done. But first, there was someone she needed to see.
* * *
Brooklyn’s trip home had given her a lot to think about. Her brain had been overloaded ever since. She had known for a while now that she was developing feelings for Vilma, but she hadn’t realized those feelings ran so deep.