Family Matters (DiCarlo Brides book 4) (The DiCarlo Brides) (2 page)

Delphi looked at Rosemary. “You’re from DC; maybe that’s your tragedy.” She pointed to the television. There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

The camera panned back, showing the row of storefronts on the street. Rosemary recognized the café sign hanging crooked against the wall and sighed. She loved the little café and had been going there for decades. “It sure is. They make the best cannoli at that shop. It’s even better than mine.”

“Liar.” Delphi picked up the remote and turned off the television. “No one’s cannoli is better than yours, as much as I hate to admit that.”

“Thank you.” Though the loss of the café gave Rosemary wistful beats of nostalgia, Delphi’s unusual compliment did make her feel a little better. “I’m off to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a bear.” Rosemary carried her tea up to her room to sip on while she prepared for bed, wondering if she’d known anyone who’d been hurt in the bombing.

The morning zoomed by as the restaurant staff got the continental breakfast out for the finance conference, then turned their attention to preparing the lunches.

Rosemary was double-checking the croissants they had made that morning when there was a knock on the storage room door. “Come in,” she called as she marked the number on her list.

“Hey, there’s a guy out there who wants to talk to you.” It was one of the servers. “I told him you were in the middle of something and tried to fob him off on Tate, but he said it was a personal matter and important.”

Rosemary scowled, but set her clipboard on the shelf and responded coolly. “Thank you for letting me know.” She wondered if it really was personal, or if that was just an excuse the salesman was using to see her.

He stood just outside the kitchen door, expectantly. First glance didn’t say salesman, though. His suit was too nice, he held himself stiffly, and well, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but his appearance put her a little on edge. “Hello, I’m Rosemary Keogh,” she greeted him with a businesslike smile. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m Thomas Sinclair, from Davis and Sinclair. I’m an attorney.” The forty-something-year-old glanced at the people around them. “Is there somewhere quieter where we can talk?”

Rosemary felt the dread rise inside her. She had been entirely justified in firing Rulon; was he suing her now? She decided to be very, very careful. She pointed to a private room a few feet away and he led her inside.

When the door shut behind them, she turned to him. “What’s going on?”

He gestured to a chair. “Please have a seat.”

“Do I
need
to sit?” When his expression softened a little, she sank into the one he’d pointed out, her bad feeling growing.

“A colleague of mine represents Don and Cecelia Markham in Washington, DC. He asked me to come speak with you, since he’s unable to make the trip.”

“Is something wrong? Did something happen to them?” Hard on her heels was worry about Cleome, their nine-year-old daughter.

He sat across from her and folded his hands on the tabletop. “Did you hear about the senator who was killed in that café bombing in DC yesterday?” When she nodded that she had, he continued. “It seems they were eating there at the time. I’m very sorry. They didn’t make it.”

Shock shuddered through her, stealing her breath and nearly stopping her heart. Grief was hard on its heels, with worry following right behind. Her mouth refused to follow directions as she tried to process the information. It took a couple of tries before she got out the words. “Their daughter, Cleo?”

He made a calming gesture with his hands. “She’s fine. She was at school at the time. But,” he pulled out some papers and passed them to her, “it seems the Markhams have appointed you as their daughter’s guardian.”

Her head spun and her hands clasped hard on her lap as she tried to put all of those pieces together. Cecelia was dead? She couldn’t quite seem to pound that thought into her head. They’d spoken on the phone only a few days earlier, catching up as they did every couple of weeks. They had been planning for Rosemary’s next visit to DC the following month—her bi-monthly trip to check up on the family in person and be part of Cleo’s life. That brought home what he’d said a moment earlier.

“They want me to raise Cleo? Are you sure? I would have thought Cecelia’s brother. Or Don’s.” She felt herself begin to hyperventilate. They were going to let her raise Cleo? Hope and terror filled her, though she could have sworn only a moment later that grief had filled her too much to allow any other emotions in, but they all seemed to squeeze inside her at the same time. Did Cleo know about the arrangement? Would she be okay with it? Could Rosemary bring her back home when there were two other women living in the house with her? What would they think?

Her lungs loosened slightly, though the pain of knowing that Don and Cecelia were gone was overwhelming. “Who’s taking care of her?” She had to get to DC immediately. Her mind slowed to a crawl as she tried to make it compute. How could this happen?

“You’ll have to contact the attorney for more details. He didn’t tell me that much. Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” he asked. She saw the compassion in his eyes now, the worry that showed in the way his hands gripped the briefcase he’d been carrying.

“Just a second.” Her daughter. Rosemary was going to get to raise her daughter, the one she’d given to Cecelia to raise. It was something she had never even dared to dream of and made her insides twist with excitement and pain all at once.

“I’m sure this must be quite a shock to you, considering they had family who could have raised the girl instead, but they wanted you to do it.”

“Wow. I’m honored.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. He didn’t need to know the truth, that they had adopted her daughter and kept in touch. Cleo was the reason she’d gone home for visits—staying away for more than a year would have been too hard—the two-month gaps between visits now was harder than she had expected. “So I probably need to plan on being there for a while. What kind of arrangements do you think I should make?” Her head spun and she couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore.

“That depends on if you decide to stay here or move back to DC.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have a choice. I have to stay here through the summer at least.”

“All right, then. The attorney’s number is on the top of the stack of papers.”

“Thanks.” Her hands trembled and she felt light-headed.

“Would you like me to get someone to be with you?” he asked. “If you have a friend or someone I can call, I’d be happy to do that.”

“No. No, thanks.” She shook her head, looked back at him and forced a smile while she tried to fit the pieces together in a comprehensive form. “I have several family members here. I’ll go to one of their offices if I need to talk to someone.” Obviously he wasn’t from the area, or he’d have already known that—the whole town had talked about the twisted mess her father had made of their lives. She doubted her legs would hold her weight at the moment, but she didn’t want to face anyone else right now anyway. How could Don and Cecelia be gone? And what kind of mother would she be with Wanda as her example of motherhood? “Their house and stuff?”

“Everything I know is in those papers. If you’d like to take a minute to read them, I’d be happy to explain anything you don’t understand. Or you can have your own attorney look them over.” He passed over a business card.

Rosemary flipped open the folder and tried to read the top page, but the words swirled in front of her eyes. She was still in shock. “Maybe when my brain clears. I’ll have my attorney look them over, too.”

Mr. Sinclair picked up his briefcase and coat and shook her hand. “I wish you lots of luck in the parenting adventures ahead.”

“Thanks.” Rosemary watched him leave, then returned her gaze to the papers in front of her. Shaking herself out of the fuzz that seemed to be taking over her brain, she pulled out her cell phone to call Alex, the attorney who had handled her father’s estate. He was a pseudo relative—a cousin to two of her half-sisters, and probably already knew about her relationship to Cleo. It seemed her father had told him everything else about them. Family law wasn’t his specialty, but he could help with the estate stuff and he had to know more about these things than she did.

She felt hot tears of grief roll onto her cheeks. Don and Cecelia were dead. It was like losing her father all over again. Maybe worse because the pain wasn’t accompanied by the twist of resentment she hadn’t been able to release about George. Cecelia had been the mother she’d wished she’d had and Don had filled in for the father who was gone most of the time. She thought of Cleo, of how alone
she
must be feeling. It made Rosemary want to drop everything and head straight for DC, but she had commitments and arrangements to make, so she’d have to stick it out, at least for a few more hours. She could check on flight times as soon as she had a chance to get her feet under herself.

Rosemary left a message with Alex’s secretary and stared for a long moment at the folder, allowing herself to grieve for several minutes before wiping her face and forcing herself to focus on her job. Cleo was going to need her, so she’d be strong. Later, when Rosemary was alone, there would be time to fall apart.

She returned to the kitchen to find her assistant manager, Tate, scowling.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Dill. In the chicken sandwich filling.”

She felt her blood pressure rise as she grabbed a spoon to taste the filling. When her sample confirmed what Tate had said, she turned to Rulon, who had been assigned to mix it. “You added dill?”

He rubbed a sweaty hand over his unshaven face. “It was an honest mistake. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry. The recipe calls for tarragon. They aren’t even kept on the same shelf. How did you make the mistake?” Rage rose within her—much easier to deal with than her grief. She’d been on the edge of ready to fire him anyway. This was the last straw.

“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” He didn’t appear sorry though. His dark eyes were belligerent and he gestured angrily.

“You’re right, it won’t. You’re done here.” Rosemary’s mind started whirling as she thought of everything they needed to do to fix the problem and still get lunch out on time.

“What do you mean?’

“I mean you’re fired. I put up with a lot of things, but incompetence isn’t one of them, and you’ve already used all of your freebies. Grab your things and get out of here.”

His fists opened and closed and his arm muscles bunched. He was a couple of years younger than herself and he worked out often. For a moment she thought he might deck her, but instead, he used all of the gutter language his limited mind had absorbed and stormed out.

She sucked in a deep breath to center herself, then focused on what had to be done to salvage lunch. It was almost a relief to have something so comparatively minor to focus on instead of the emptiness inside her. “Do we have enough chicken to start over?” she asked Tate.

“No.” He still wore his scowl.

“Fine.” There was no choice; they had to have the filling for that afternoon’s sandwiches. She turned to the others. “Who wants to get paid to drive to Denver for emergency supplies?”

She picked one of the five people who vied for the opportunity and did her best to put it out of her mind, but wasn’t very successful.

Rosemary was still fuming, working like mad to keep up with the restaurant demands and oversee preparations for the banquet that afternoon. She just couldn’t catch a break, and she was tired. And hungry. But she wasn’t going to indulge in anything until those sandwiches were made.

“Rosemary, can I talk to you for a minute?” It was Harrison, who always made her feel like a bumbling fool, though he never seemed to do it on purpose. He was using his calm, controlled voice—which meant they would probably be fighting in a few minutes, because that’s what they usually did when they ‘talked.’

“I’m a little busy here. Can it wait until after we get through the lunch rush?” She didn’t even look at him.

“I think you can spare two minutes. How about if we go to your office?”

Her office? So it really
was
going to be a showdown. She clenched her teeth and turned the work over to Tate, her assistant, before whirling and heading for her office. Harrison followed along and after he shut the door to the kitchen, she turned to face him, “I’m running a little behind right now. I really can’t spare the time, so try to keep it short, will you?”