Blind Faith (7 page)

He shrugged, aware that his questions had misled her into believing he would help. He hadn't meant to play games with her but he had been interested. "Take your pick.
Either way the answer is no."
What else did she expect him to say? Because of her, his best friend was dead, leaving behind a grieving widow and two fatherless little girls.

She held his gaze for a moment, then, with the candor she was known for, she asked, "Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to come here today? How many times I talked myself out of it, only to change my mind again?"

Honesty on her part demanded the same from him. "I do know, Kelly. It doesn't change anything."

She stood there for several seconds, her expression unreadable. She was good at that--keeping her emotions under control. Most Italians he knew blew their corks at the slightest provocation. Not
Robolo
.

After a while, she gave a short nod, as if she had finally accepted his decision, then, her back rigid as a board, she walked away. She had just reached the ring when she turned around. "This conversation is strictly between us," she said. "Can I at least have your word that you won't mention it to anyone?"

Nick nodded and watched her until she had disappeared. As badly as he wanted to erase her visit from his mind, he couldn't, not so much because of Kelly, but because of the memories her request had brought back.

Next month would mark the first anniversary of his father's death. The senseless killing had taken place in the back parking lot of the
Chenonceau
, where employees kept their cars. Plagued by more than two dozens murders a year, the overworked
Atlantic City
police had been quick to blame the killing on one of the city's many homeless. Nick hadn't bought it. His father was an ex-Philadelphia cop, a tough one.

He would have never allowed some two-bit robber to surprise him from behind, not even after a double shift at the casino.

Nick had investigated the murder himself, on his own time, questioning casino employees and of course
Syd
Webber. At first, the casino tycoon had been civil, even helpful, but his affability had flown out the window the moment Nick had mentioned Patrick
Mcbride's
recent mood shirts. At the suggestion that he may have discovered something suspicious at the casino, Webber had turned hostile.

"I run a clean establishment here,
Mcbride
," the man had snapped. "And I can tell you there's no connection whatsoever between your father's unfortunate death and my casino. So don't you come in here with accusations you can't
substantiate.
"

Far from being intimidated, Nick had continued his investigation even though he had no jurisdiction in
Atlantic City
. That's when Webber had called the police.

The news had reached Captain Cross's office within the hour and his
boss had given Nick a stern warning--stay away from
Syd
Webber or get
suspended.

Even Nick's sister, Kathleen, had urged him to give up the investigation. "I don't like what it's doing to you," she had told him that same evening. "Please let it go, Nicky. Even if Webber did have something to do with Dad's death, he's too clever to be caught. And he'll only get you in deeper trouble."

In the end he'd had no choice.

Nick wondered as he walked toward the shower room. Or was a sinister pattern emerging?

Eight.

Outside the training center, Kelly leaned against the wall and let out a long, frustrated breath. "Damn you, Nick," she muttered to herself.

"You're as insensitive and bullheaded as your colleagues."

What a fool she had been to believe that he would let bygones be bygones and agree to help her. Men like Nick
Mcbride
didn't forgive. They got even, just as the rest of the
Philadelphia
force had been doing. Today had been Nick's turn.

Now what?
she
wondered. Kiss up to Quinn and get him to cooperate? She had already tried that. And now that he knew how much the Philadelphia Police Department hated her, he would be even less helpful.

Her thought process in high gear, she started walking down
Walnut Street
. Her first impulse after she had agreed to help
Victoria
had been to fly to
Miami
. So why not do that? Maybe a face-to-face meeting with Big Bad Quinn would give her an idea, some little thread to follow.

Her mind made up, she fished in her purse for her cell phone and dialed
Victoria
's shop. "Heard anything?" she asked.

"No." Her friend's voice was flat. "What about you? Did you talk to
Syd
?"

"I did. I'm afraid I struck out.
Twice, as a matter of fact."
She told
Victoria
about her not-so-sophisticated idea of asking Nick
Mcbride
for help.

"You went to Nick?" For the first time in twenty four hours,
Victoria
showed signs of life. "I can't believe it. The last time the two of you were in the same room together he almost took your head off. I had to physically shove him out the door."

"What can I tell you? I'm not getting any smarter in my old age."

"No, he just told me to go to hell. Well, not in so many words, but I got the drift."

"I'm going to
Miami
. That way Quinn can't hang up on me."

"I don't know, Kelly."
Victoria
's voice was once again filled with uncertainty. "Your mother will kill me when she finds out what you're up to. You're still recuperating."

"My mother won't even know I'm gone. I'll take an early-morning plane and come back the same day." That would be the same flight Jonathan had taken. She hoped there wasn't some sort of negative karma about duplicating that doomed trip.

"All right."
Victoria
sounded only mildly reassured. "But I'll ride to the airport with you, if you don't mind. I finally located Jonathan's car in one of the garages and I want to bring it back to the house."

The first thing Kelly saw as she approached her front door was a sheet of yellow paper sticking out of her mailbox. She pulled it out almost absent mindedly, assuming it was a flyer advertising some kind of service. It wasn't. Letters in various colors, sizes and shapes had been cut out and pasted on the paper to form words--not just words, she realized, but some sort of nursery rhyme.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
Wouldn't
stop prying And soon our little Mary Was no longer breathing.

Kelly looked up and scanned the street, just as she had the night she had found her mangled tree. A few feet away, George Cromwell and his young daughter were getting into the family car.

Kelly waved and started walking toward him. "How are you, George?" She smiled at the little girl. "Aren't you pretty today,
Brittany
. Going somewhere special?"

"My daddy is taking me to see Barney on Ice"
Brittany
said in a high-pitched voice.

"How wonderful."
Still smiling, Kelly turned to her neighbor. "George, you didn't happen to see who was distributing these, did you?" She waved the sheet of yellow paper in the air.

Her neighbor pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, I didn't. What is it?" He craned his neck, trying to see the writing but Kelly had already refolded the note.

"Just an ad for a carpet-cleaning service.
Unfortunately there's no phone number." She shrugged. "Oh well, maybe they'll come back." She flashed a quick smile. "Thanks anyway, George. Have a good time today." She waved to the child, already in her car seat.
"You too,
Brittany
."

Inside her house, Kelly read the chilling message again, wondering if it was the work of her old
tormentor?
For some reason she didn't think so.

The previous incidents--the torn mailbox, uprooted tree and slashed tires--had been acts of revenge. This was different. This note was a direct threat.

Calling the police was useless. Kelly's neighbor, Mrs. Sheridan, had done just that the night she had noticed suspicious activity around Kelly's car. When the police found out who the car belonged to, no one had bothered to come.

She was on her own. And that was fine. She would just have to be a little more careful from now
on,
a little more aware of what went on around her.

With that thought in mind, she walked inside to book her flight to
Miami
.

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Ashley, happy birthday to you!"

Nick felt a wrenching inside his chest as six little girls dressed in frilly dresses belted out the old song with all the gusto they could muster. Standing in front of the double-layered pink-and-white cake, four-year old Ashley
Kolvic
inhaled deeply and then blew hard, her head circling wildly over the cake until all four candles had been extinguished.

Behind her, Matt's widow, a petite brunette with a gentle smile, did her best to put on a happy face but Nick knew the anguish she was experiencing, and would continue to experience, during this difficult first year without her husband.

Today's celebration was particularly painful because it was the first of its kind Nick's best friend would miss. For a while, Patti had considered not having a party at all, only a quiet gathering at home.

But when her daughter had come home from preschool one afternoon and asked how many of her friends she could invite to her birthday party, Patti hadn't had the heart to disappoint her.

Aware that Patti would need some moral
support,
Nick had gone back to the station after his workout, cleared his desk and taken the rest of the afternoon off so he could attend Ashley's special day. He knew he was no replacement for the girls' father, but Ashley and her six-year-old sister, Tricia, had wanted him there.
And so had Patti.

Looking at the older girl.
Nick noted that she, too, was quiet, like her mother. Looking more like Matt every day, Tricia had taken the news of her father's death hard and wasn't rebounding from the tragedy as quickly as the four-year-old.

After Patti had served thick slices of chocolate cake and spooned out vanilla ice cream for everyone, she left her little guests in the care of a helpful neighbor and came to sit next to Nick on the living-room sofa, where she had a clear view of the balloon-strung dining room.

"Thanks for coming. Nick." Her voice was filled with misery.

"No need to thank me. I wouldn't
miss
Ashley's birthday for anything."

"Just the same, I'm not sure I would have gotten through those first few minutes without you here."

He touched her hand. "You're doing fine, Patti. One day at a time, remember?"

She
nodded,
her eyes on her girls. "I started to go through Matt's things yesterday."

He knew from experience how heart-wrenching that task could be. "You should have called me. I would have done that for you."

"I couldn't. I've imposed on you too much already."

"Nonsense."
He studied her profile for a moment. She seemed upset, more so than usual. "Something wrong, Patti?"

Her gaze followed one of the little girls as she paraded around the room with her balloon, making faces that made the other girls laugh. "I found something," she said, her voice barely audible.

Her teeth clamped over her lower lip and he didn't press her. She appeared to be having a difficult time holding herself together and he was afraid that the slightest nudge would break her. After a moment, she rose. "Come with me."

Nick followed her into the kitchen, then to the laundry room, where a door led to the garage.
On the threshold.
Nick stopped. He and Matt had spent hours together in this garage, working on Matt's old jalopy, building shelves for the girls' rooms, repairing bikes or just drinking beer and shooting the bull.

Matt's workbench had been pulled away from the wall. Behind it was a sheet of plywood Matt often used as an extension for his dining-room table at holiday time. Nick watched as Patti slid the plywood out of the way, revealing a safe with a combination lock on it. Nick approached it slowly. "I didn't know Matt had a safe in here."

"Neither did
I
.
Until yesterday."
She moved away. "Go ahead, open it."

"Open it. The combination is left nineteen, right twenty-two and left ninety-six. Nineteen for my age when Matt and I met, twenty-two for the number on his football jersey in high school and ninety-six for the year he made detective. It took me a while to figure it out, but I finally did."

With a foreboding he couldn't explain. Nick crouched in front of the safe and spun the wheel from left to right until he heard a soft click.

He held his breath as he turned the handle. Inside the safe were stacks upon stacks of twenty-dollar bills, all neatly bundled and held together by rubber bands. He looked at the money for a long time, his mind spinning, before he looked up at Patti.