Tasting Fear (7 page)

“How, Nance? Every piper we know is booked solid those weeks! I’ve already made seven phone calls! We’re completely screwed!”

“We’ll fix it!” she insisted. “I’ll be back tonight. When I get home, I’ll call you and we’ll work something out. Don’t panic.”

She listened with half an ear to Eugene’s carrying-on, her body still quivering. After all her resolutions to be tough. Making out madly with a stranger in his truck. Getting swept away, too, toward God alone knew what. His house, his couch, his rug, his bed. She hadn’t been swept away since…well, never. Swept away was not in her repertoire.

She’d never known anyone that good. She’d never known that good existed. She was squirming, hot. Practically desperate for it, and after some gallant moves, a light kiss, one single collar button undone.

He’d barely touched her. How had he done that?

She jerked her attention back to Eugene before she lost the thread. “All this work for nothing,” he moaned. “I can’t take it. I’m going back to school. I’m going to be an accountant, like Mom wanted.”

“You’re not going to be an accountant,” Nancy soothed with practiced ease. “It’s too late for that. You’re not fit for any work but being a fiddler now, so get yourself a cup of tea, and calm down.”

“Where the hell are you, anyway?” Eugene demanded.

Nancy’s eyes flicked up to Liam’s impassive face. “Later,” she said, clicking “stop.” She dropped the phone back into her purse.

The rain was slanting in her open window. She rolled it up.

“I’ll take you back to your car,” he said. The warmth was gone from his voice. She missed it.

They were silent for the twenty minutes it took to get back to Lucia’s house, and every minute that passed, she felt like she shrank further into herself against his quiet reproach.

When they arrived, he parked behind her car. So much had happened since she’d been there last, though it had been less than two hours. The whole gamut of human emotions blazing through her. She was wrung out, hollowed. Practically transparent.

She stared up at the shabby old house, bright yellow crime scene tape festooned across the door, and started rummaging for her car keys.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “And for keeping me company when we went to Baruchin’s.”
And for the most mind-blowing sexual arousal I ever felt.
She wanted to say something else, after having been so altered by that amazing intimacy, but his face looked closed, and the words stopped in her throat before she figured out what they were.

She flung the door open and slid out of the truck. Her legs almost buckled. She steadied herself on the door and hurried over to her own car. She tried to unlock it, but the key fell from her stiff, cold fingers, splashing into a small clear puddle in the cracked old sidewalk.

Suddenly, he was beside her, fishing the keys out of the water, wiping them on his jeans. He opened the door and helped her inside. She sat down heavily in the driver’s seat, glad to be off her feet.

“You need protection,” he said. “Twenty-four seven.”

She made a derisive sound to mask her nervousness. “Isn’t that a shame. In a perfect world, I might agree. But I live alone, and I work.”

“You could stay with me,” he said.

She gaped at him, speechless. “I…what?”

He shrugged, looking vaguely abashed. “It’s a solution.”

“But I…but what about your own work?” she demanded.

“I cleared my schedule for three weeks for Lucia’s house,” he said. “I’m overdue a vacation. I’d take some time for this. Just say the word.”

“But your assistant—”

“I can find Eoin work on someone else’s crew in five minutes,” he said brusquely. “Don’t worry about Eoin. He’s covered.”

That finished all the obvious objections to the outrageous proposal. Now, she had to get down to the truth. “Liam. We don’t have the kind of relationship where I could move in with you. Not even close.”

“You need protection,” he repeated. “Something bad’s happening.”

She shivered. “Well, maybe so, but that’s not the point. I just met you yesterday. All we have is…well, I don’t even know what we have.”

“We had breakfast,” he offered.

“Do not make fun of me,” she flared. “This is not a joke.” She groped for something else to say, but she was lost. The silence was fraught with exquisite tension.

“It wouldn’t be much of a leap,” he said.

“What leap? What are you talking about?” she asked crabbily.

“From where we are to the kind of relationship where I could offer for you to stay with me. There’s a gap of”—he held up his thumb and forefinger with barely any space between them—“about that much.”

Oh. Whoa. Shivery tingles chased themselves across the entire surface of her body. “I’ve known you for one day.”

“Time is an illusion,” he said.

“Don’t give me that lofty metaphysical crap. It just pisses me off.”

“Okay. Just the facts, ma’am.”

She grunted, unwilling to be cajoled. “So is this an exchange of goods and services? I shack up with you, in return for what?”

“No! Do I strike you as such an opportunistic pig, then?”

“Whoa!” His anger gave her something to push against. “Excuse me! Maybe it’s just me, but I couldn’t help noticing a certain wave of hurricane-force sexual energy coming off you, Liam!”

He wiped rain off his face, frowning. “Sorry. It’s been a strange day.”

“Tell me about it,” she agreed fervently.

He crossed his arms over his chest. Big arms. A lot of chest.

She hadn’t touched his body yet. And he was being so careful with her. Like she was made of glass. Which was exactly how she felt. Fragile, brittle. On the edge of disaster, poised to fall. No need to go take a running leap for it. “Things are strange right now, and it’s a bad—”

“Strange times call for bold gestures. Brave risks.”

She snorted. “I’m actually not that brave.”

“Bullshit. You have stainless steel for a spine. Like your mother.”

The mention of Lucia made her grope for her box of tissues.

He waited for a moment. “I’m not a cop or an investigator, Nancy. I’m just a carpenter. I can’t promise to help you solve this. But I can make damn sure that nobody messes with you. That, I can commit to.”

Her eyes dropped, heat infusing her face.

“Let me help,” he urged. “At least think about it.”

Oh, yeah. Think about it she would. Every waking second. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He crouched until his face was level with hers. “And stay with your sisters. Do not stay in your apartment alone.”

“Liam, you cannot imagine how tiny our living spaces are—”

“Please, Nancy. Please. For me.”

The low intensity of his voice moved her. He really cared. He wasn’t just throwing his weight around. “Okay,” she heard herself say.

“Swear it,” he said. “On your mother’s grave.”

She flinched. “Oh, for God’s sake—”

“For Lucia’s sake. She would want you to be safe.”

She sighed. “I swear, on my mother’s grave, that I will stay with my sisters tonight,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“Indefinitely. Until we know exactly what the fuck is going on.”

“You aren’t shy about bringing out the big guns, are you?”

“Not in the least,” he said flatly. “Not when it’s this important.”

“Fine,” she snapped. She shut the car door. Manipulator.

He knocked on her window. She rolled it down. “Now what?”

“Is an Irish pub in Queens neutral ground?” he asked.

Nancy blinked. “Huh?”

“You said a date had to be on neutral ground,” he said. “I’ll be at Malloy’s, on Queen’s Boulevard, tomorrow night. Ever been to a seisiun?” He waited for her nod, and went on. “Malloy’s is a good one. The Guinness is good, the players are good, the food’s good. Irish stew, burgers. The seisiun’s from ten until two. I’d like to see you there.”

“Huh. This is backward,” she told him. “First you invite me to live with you. Then you ask me out.”

He shrugged. “I try to be original.” He sank down onto one knee, his face level with hers at the open window. “You’re over the limit.”

She gave him a jerky nod. A grin flashed over his face, and he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. The burst of delight made her body clench and thrum.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she whispered.

“Me neither.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re cold. Turn the car on, and get the heat going,” he said. “You’re going to wait for the investigating officer?”

“Yeah, might as well,” she said. “Since the evidence techs don’t want me in the house till they’re done.”

“Okay. Tomorrow night, then.” He smiled at her as he backed slowly away. Then he climbed into his truck and drove away.

She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, still tasting him.

“O
nce more, from the top.” Vivi stretched out on Nell’s battered sofa, propping up her slender legs. Her gilded toenails gleamed in the flickering candlelight. She peered at her photocopy of Liam’s transcription of Lucia’s letter with a frown of intense concentration. “So something bad happened to her marriage, and to her father. But what? When did she come to America, anyway?”

Nancy pondered that as she petted the wildly purring cat curled in her lap. “Nineteen sixty-five or before, I think. She taught art history at Beardsley for thirty-five years before she retired. And that was over eight years ago.”

“What was the name of the town she came from?” Vivi asked.

“Castiglione Sant’Angelo,” Nell replied. “In Tuscany.” She turned the Fabergé picture frame that held the old photograph of Lucia’s father. “Maybe that’s why she changed her name, from de Luca to D’Onofrio. Because of what happened to her father,” she mused. “I asked her once why she changed it, but she didn’t want to talk about it. You know, I asked her to go to Italy with me once, to do an art and architecture tour, back when I was an undergrad. And she snapped my head off. I was so taken aback, I never mentioned it again. To anyone.”

“Huh. So let’s run it down again,” Vivi said. “The things we did not know about and still don’t.” She totted them off on her fingers. “Her father. Her marriage. The mysterious object. The system of checks and balances designed to protect our sisterly love. Whatever the necklaces are the key to. Then, to make things even more interesting, we have the mysteries of the purloined letter, the murdered jeweller, and the pissed-off burglar. That’s a lot of mysteries. Makes a girl hungry.” She rolled up onto her side and reached for a slice of the pizza on the coffee table.

“I wish we had access to Lucia’s papers,” Nell fretted. “I’d like to go through her old letters and photographs.”

“The meathead trashed Lucia’s office files,” Vivi reminded her.

“He might have missed something,” Nell said stubbornly.

Nancy held out her hand. “Can I see that photo for a second?”

Nell handed it to her promptly. “Sure.”

Nancy studied the somber, hawklike face of the late Conte de Luca. His intense, deep-set eyes were so much like Lucia’s, they made her chest ache. “I wonder when he died,” she murmured. “He looks like he was in his fifties. Maybe there’s a date on the back.” She fumbled with the back of the delicate silver and gilt frame until she loosened the little hook that held it closed and pried the back of the frame loose, shaking the contents into her hand.

She sucked in a startled breath. They all stared, frozen, at what lay in her hand. Not one photograph, but two. And something else, besides. A small, carefully folded square of yellowed paper.

Nancy gently pushed Moxie out of her lap and scooted over toward the lamp. Nell and Vivi scrambled to look over her shoulder. Moxie stalked away, tail high, deeply offended.

“Oh, wow,” Vivi breathed softly, as they stared down at the picture. “That’s Lucia. Just look at her. What a bombshell.”

The young, beautiful Lucia had dark curls clustered over her shoulders and wore a smart little hat. Her lips were painted into a bold fifties Cupid’s bow. She gazed up into the face of a tall, handsome young man, who clasped her waist and gazed down as if he were hungry to kiss her. Nancy turned it over. On the back, in faded, brownish ink, was written,
Venezia, Carnevale, 1957.

“Who is this guy?” Nell murmured. “Maybe he’s the missing husband. What’s on the paper?”

Nancy unfolded the delicate, yellowing paper. It was lightweight airmail paper, covered with fine, faded script. She held it to the light. “It’s in Italian,” she said, passing it to Nell.

Nell fumbled for her glasses and pushed them up her nose. “It’s dated April of 1964,” she said, and began to translate.

The sisters stared at each other after Nell stopped reading, eyes wide with shock.

“Wow,” Vivi whispered. “That guy knew how to lay a guilt trip.”

“I bet that’s why she never married,” Nell said. “She had men chasing her, up into her seventies, but she blew them all off. She must have still been in love with this Marco. How romantic.”

“And how awful that they spent their entire lives apart.” Nancy stared at the photo. The innocent happiness radiating out of the young couple made her stomach hurt. “And all because of some horrible thing that happened to the Conte. Between the years of 1957 and 1964.”

“And do you think…that this horrible thing could possibly be connected to the horrible things happening now?” Vivi’s voice was timid.

Nancy folded the letter delicately back into its original creases. “Well, this Marco had a map,” she said slowly. “And he was looking hard for some hidden object. In Lucia’s letter, she refers to “this thing,” plus what happened to her father and what it did to her marriage. So, yeah. I can’t imagine how, but yeah. Somehow, they’re connected.”

“And this is not good news,” Nell said. “Since we’re clueless.”

“At least the letter I found in the garbage makes it clear that the ‘thing’ she’s referring to isn’t the trio of necklaces that she gave us,” Nancy said. “The necklaces are the key. So maybe this secret thing is in that safe that the carpenter installed.”

“Yeah, the one we have no combination for.” Nell held up her pendant. It spun, tiny rubies and diamond chips winking in the light of the candles she’d set around her studio apartment in SoHo. “I guess we could count the stones, try the different sequences we come up with as possible combinations to the safe,” she said thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t use our love of music, literature, or the visual arts. It seems blah and obvious. Lucia had a much more devious personality than that.”

Nancy tucked the photograph and the letter carefully back into the picture frame. “She was gearing up to tell us more when she was killed.”

“Killed?” Vivi put down her slice of pizza, and swallowed the mouthful she had with a pained gulp. “God, Nance. You really think…?”

“The jeweler and his family get whacked the night that the house is trashed, before I can talk to him about the necklaces? Hell yes.”

Nell reclasped her pendant around her neck, her dark eyes worried. “I’ve never seen you this way, Nance. You’d say you were fine even if you were bleeding to death. I about dropped my teeth when you asked to come over here tonight. Not that you aren’t more than welcome. I’m scared, too, and damn glad to have you.”

Nancy fidgeted. “Oh, that’s just because I swore a vow,” she blurted. “I would’ve been perfectly fine at home.”

“Vow?” Vivi straightened up, her eyes wide. “What vow? To whom?”

“To Liam.” Nancy picked at the fabric of her jeans, regretting her incautious words. “The carpenter who was going to do the remodel.”

Nell and Vivi exchanged significant looks. “He made you swear not to stay alone?” Nell asked. “This is the carpenter who flash memorized Lucia’s letter? My. He certainly is taking a personal interest, isn’t he?”

If they only knew. “I guess you could say that,” Nancy said.

“Tell us about this carpenter,” Nell prompted. “I’m picturing a potbellied guy with a bushy beard and a red nose and twinkling eyes. Like a young Santa. Jeans slipping down over a big, hairy ass. Am I close?”

“Um, no,” Nancy admitted, with a snort. “Light-years.”

Her sisters exchanged knowing smirks this time. “So?” Vivi asked. “No potbelly, then? No big, hairy ass?”

“No,” Nancy hedged. “Lean belly. I can’t speak for the hairiness of his ass, but shapewise, it was, well, proportional, let’s just say.”

“Proportional, hmm?” Vivi purred. “Height?”

“Maybe six two,” Nancy admitted.

“Six two,” Nell said dreamily. “Eye color? Blue, right?”

“Wrong. Very pale green. Like a dollar bill.”

Nell and Vivi grinned and gave each other a high five. “She remembers his eye color!” Vivi crowed. “It’s serious!”

“Oh, shut up,” Nancy muttered.

“Let’s celebrate.” Nell popped open another beer. “At least the guy isn’t a musician. That’s a step up, at least.”

“Actually, he invited me to a seisiun in Queens tomorrow night, so he’s some sort of musician. Although I have no clue at what level, or even what instrument.”

“Invited you? To a seisiun?” Nell’s voice rose to a squeak.

Nancy squirmed. “Not a date. It’s just a seisiun. We’re talking a couple of pints in a grotty Irish bar, and Irish tunes until our eyes cross. A date is a bigger deal. Dinner, drinks, dancing, a show.”

“Yeah, like you’re such an expert,” Vivi said. “What bar?”

Nancy stared from one to the other. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare.”

“What bar?” both sisters demanded in unison.

“I’m not telling. Forget it.”

“Fine,” Vivi said. “We’ll go through other channels. I’ll call…Let’s see…Eugene. We’ll tell him you have a hot date in Queens tomorrow night, and ask him for a list of the seisiuns tomorrow in Queens, and Nell and I will take my van and make the rounds until we get lucky.”

“Oh, God, Vivi,” Nancy started to protest. “Don’t.”

“And then we will roast you, babe. We will have no mercy. None.”

Nancy closed her eyes, her face hot. “Don’t tell Eugene,” she begged. “He’s a terrible gossip. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So give it up,” Vivi said, merciless.

Nancy gritted her teeth. “It’s at Malloy’s,” she admitted. “Ten to two. I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m going.”

“Oh?” Vivi’s eyes were innocently wide. “Six two, green eyes, perfectly proportional ass? You are
so
going to that seisiun.”

“Whether or not, it’s my business,” Nancy bitched. “We’ll see how you like it when I hunt you down on a date to embarrass you!”

Nell looked pained. “Like it’s going to happen in this century.”

Something in Nell’s voice made Vivi and Nancy give their sister a careful second look. Vivi hoisted herself up onto her elbow. “Why shouldn’t it?” she asked. “You’re gorgeous, smart, sweet. A prize. What’s not to date?”

Nell shrugged, her gaze sliding away. “I don’t know. I’m one of those girls who only gets crushes on unattainable men. Protecting myself by making sure I never have to deal with a real relationship, blah, blah.”

“Who?” Nancy demanded, her voice hard. “Unattainable how?”

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t know him.”

“Is he married?” Vivi demanded.

“No!” Nell snapped. “I mean, that is to say, I have no idea. He doesn’t talk to me. But he doesn’t wear a ring, so I guess probably he…oh, hell. Never mind. It couldn’t be more irrelevant.”

But the damage was done. Nancy dug in her teeth. “Who is he?”

Nell threw up her hands. “No one! Just a random guy who comes into the Sunset Grill for lunch every day. I have a monster crush on a guy I serve lunch to. Believe me, it’s as stupid and pathetic as that.”

“Did you write your number on the check?” Vivi asked archly.

Nell rolled her eyes. “If I’d ever established eye contact with him, that would make sense. But he’s never even looked at me. And I mean that literally. He just looks into his laptop. It looks like code.”

Vivi flopped back and put a pillow over her face. “Oh, God. A techno-geek. You poor, poor thing.”

“Well, how about you, Viv?” Nancy demanded. “Romantic prospects? Any news? ’Fess up.”

Vivi looked pained. “Hell, no. I’m making celibacy into a high art. After what happened with Brian, I still don’t have the nerve to.”

“That was six years ago!” Nancy snapped. “Get over it already!”

Vivi’s soft mouth tightened at her sister’s sharp tone. “Believe me,” she said flatly, “I have tried.”

Something in her Vivi’s voice made Nancy back off. She studied her sister’s tight, averted face, suddenly.

But Vivi just waved her hand, brushing the subject away. “Forget Brian,” she said briskly. “He’s a putz. Nancy’s carpenter with the proportional ass is way more interesting. I can hardly wait to check him out.”

“Me, neither,” Nell said, with relish.

Moxie rose to her feet and started kneading Nancy’s thigh. Nancy popped the top off another beer. “God help me now,” she muttered.

Nell nudged her sister’s arm. “We don’t mean to torture you,” she said gently. “Well, actually we do, but it’s so nice to have something frivolous to smile about, you know? Bear with us. We’ve been so sad and confused lately. Your proportional-assed carpenter is hard to resist.”

Nancy squeezed Nell’s hand. It was true. It was nice to hear her sisters laugh. To chatter and bicker about men, dating, stupid crushes, nice asses. Silly, nonessential things. Nothing earthshaking.