Die for Me (11 page)

Harry’s eyes flickered and his jaw tightened and Sophie knew he was remembering the threadbare cotton pj’s she’d been wearing when she’d been so unceremoniously dumped on his doorstep. It had been a night as cold as this one and Harry had been so angry. Years later, she understood his anger had been fully directed at her mother.

“I didn’t even realize you were crying at first. Not until I saw your face.”

She remembered the night she’d first come down the stairs, terrified and trembling from the dream, but more terrified of making noise. “I was afraid to wake anyone up.” She’d learned never to disturb her mother during the night. “I was afraid you’d get mad and send me away.” She rubbed her thumb over Harry’s forehead to smooth away his frown. “But you didn’t. You just picked me up and sat me on your lap and we watched
Jezebel.
” And just like that, Sophie had found a safe place for the first time in her life.

“Why the walk down memory lane, Sophie? What happened today?”

Where to start?
“I spent the day helping Katherine. I can’t tell you the details, but it was in a ‘professional capacity.’” She quirked her fingers, punctuating the air.

“You saw a dead body.” His tone hardened. “Well, that explains the perfume. That was damn irresponsible of Katherine. No wonder you couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m a big girl now, Uncle Harry. I can handle a body. Besides, Katherine didn’t think I’d actually see one. She felt bad about that.” Turning to meet his eyes, Sophie drew a deep breath. “She felt a lot worse when I saw her zipping the body into the bag.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged and pain filled his eyes. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

She forced a smile. “I’m okay. I just couldn’t stay in that house tonight.”

“So you’ll stay here, in your old room. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll make waffles.”

He sounded like a kid himself and this time her smile was real. “Tempting, Uncle Harry, but I have to leave early tomorrow. I’ve got to go back to Gran’s and let the dogs out, and then I have to work at the museum all day. But how about dinner?”

“You shouldn’t be having dinner with an old man like me. You should have a date, Sophie. You’ve been home six months. Haven’t you found anyone you like?”

Vito Ciccotelli’s handsome face popped into her mind and she scowled. She had liked him, dammit. Worse, she’d respected him. Worse still, she’d wanted him, even after she’d known she couldn’t have him. Now the thought of him left nearly as bad a taste in her mouth as the dead bodies in the field.

“No. Everyone I’ve met is either married, dating, or a rat.” Her eyes narrowed. “And sometimes they even act like they’re decent and get you to share your beef jerky.”

He looked alarmed. “Please tell me
beef jerky
is not a new euphemism for sex.”

Confused, she glared at him, then she laughed so hard she nearly fell off the arm of the chair. Quickly she covered her mouth so as not to wake Aunt Freya. “No, Uncle Harry. To my knowledge, beef jerky is still beef jerky.”

“You’re the linguist. You should know.”

She stood up. “So what about dinner? I’ll take you to Lou’s.”

“Lou’s?” His mouth bent down as he considered it. “For cheesesteaks?”

“No, for wheat germ.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course for cheesesteaks.”

His eyes gleamed. “With Cheez Whiz?”

She kissed the top of his head. “Always. I’ll meet you at seven. Don’t be late.”

She was halfway up the stairs to her old room when she heard his chair creak. “Sophie.” She turned to find him staring up at her, a sad look on his face. “Not all men are rats. You’ll find someone and he’ll be honorable. You deserve the best.”

Sophie’s throat closed and resolutely she swallowed. “I’m too late, Uncle Harry. Aunt Freya got the best. The rest of us just have to settle. See you tomorrow night.”

Monday, January 15, 12:55
A.M.

Tino was sitting at the kitchen table when Vito got out of the shower. His brother pointed to a plate piled with linguini and Grandma Chick’s red sauce. “I nuked it.”

Vito slumped in a chair with a sigh. “Thanks. I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

Tino’s eyes narrowed in concern. “You went to the cemetery?”

Besides Nick, Tino was the only other person who knew what today was and how Andrea had died. Nick knew because he’d been there when it happened. Tino knew because Vito had too much to drink a year ago today and spilled his guts. But his secret was as safe with Tino as it was with Nick.

“Yeah, but not the one you mean.” Today’s field was a far cry from the neatly maintained cemetery where two years ago he’d buried Andrea next to her baby brother.

Tino’s brows went up. “What, you found graves today?”

Vito looked around the corner at the boys asleep on the living room floor. “Sshh.”

Tino grimaced. “Sorry. Bad case?”

“Yeah.” He devoured two helpings without speaking, then piled a third on his plate.

Tino watched him with mild astonishment. “When did you last eat, man?”

“Breakfast.” A picture flashed in his mind—Sophie Johannsen, her face streaked with tears, offering to share her chocolate milk, beef jerky, and Ho Hos. “Actually, that’s not true. I had some beef jerky an hour or so ago.”

Tino laughed out loud. “Beef jerky? You? Mr. Picky?”

“I was hungry.” And taking it from Sophie’s hand had made the snack far more palatable than he would have guessed. She’d nagged at his thoughts all the way home, but now more urgent matters pressed. He lowered his voice. “I tried to call Dino, but his cell went right to voice mail. What happened tonight?”

Tino leaned forward. “Dino called at about six,” he murmured. “Molly had been having numbness and she just collapsed. They think it was a mild stroke.”

Stunned, Vito stared. “She’s only thirty-seven.”

“I know.” Tino leaned in a little closer. “Dino sent Dominic to a neighbor’s with the kids so they wouldn’t see the ambulance take her away, then he called here looking for us, to get us to take the kids. He sounded scared to death. I went over to get them.”

Vito pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry. “So how is she?”

“Dad called two hours ago. She’s stable.”

“And Dad?” Michael Ciccotelli had a very bad heart. This kind of stress wasn’t good.

“He was ecstatic that Molly was okay and Mom was nagging him to calm down.” Tino studied him for a moment. “So you didn’t make it to the cemetery.”

“No, but I’m okay. It’s not like last year,” Vito added. “I’m fine. Really.”

“So you’ve paced your bedroom floor every night for the last week because you’re fine.” He lifted a brow when Vito opened his mouth to protest. “Your bedroom’s right over mine, man. I hear every creak of your floorboards.”

“I guess it’s only fair then. I hear every ‘Oh Tino.’”

Tino had the grace to pretend to be embarrassed. “I haven’t had a woman in my bed in weeks, and it doesn’t look like I will again anytime soon. But it’s okay. I had a custom portrait to finish. Thanks to your pacing I’ve finished Mrs. Sorrell’s painting ahead of schedule.” He waggled his brows. “You know the painting I mean.”

“I know,” Vito said dryly. The woman had contracted Tino to paint her portrait from a boudoir photo as a gift for her husband. “The one with the really nice—” He heard a rustle in the living room. “Sweaters,” he finished firmly and Tino grinned.

“Hey, I’m just glad I finished before the boys came over today. That job was decidedly . . . M for mature. Mr. Sorrell’s a lucky man.”

Vito shook his head, mostly to clear the image of Sophie Johannsen in her snug sweater that had popped up in his mind. “Tino, you’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these days, painting naughty pictures of other men’s wives.”

Tino laughed. “Dante’s right, you really are too tight. Mrs. Sorrell has a sister.”

Vito shook his head again. “No thanks.”

Tino sobered abruptly. “It’s been two years since Andrea died,” he said gently.

Since Andrea died
was far too sanitized a phrase, but Vito didn’t have the energy to argue the point tonight. “I know how long it’s been. Down to the minute.”

Tino was quiet for a long moment. “Then you know you’ve paid long enough.”

Vito looked at him. “How long
is
long enough, Tino?”

“To grieve? I don’t know. But to blame yourself . . . Five minutes was too long. Let it go, Vito. It happened. It was an accident. But you’re not gonna accept that until you’re ready. I just hope you’re ready soon or you’ll end up a lonely man.”

Vito had nothing to say to that and Tino got up and pulled a plate from the fridge. “I saved you a piece of the boys’ cake. I supervised the baking, so it’s safe to eat.”

Vito frowned at the plate. “It’s all frosting. Where’s the cake?”

Tino’s lips twitched. “Not much of the batter made it into the pan.” He shrugged. “When they got here, they were scared about Molly. I figured what was the harm?”

Startled when his eyes stung, Vito dropped his eyes to the cake, concentrating on peeling off the plastic wrap. He cleared his throat. “That was nice of you, Tino.”

Tino shrugged again, embarrassed by the praise. “They’re our kids. Family.”

Vito thought about Sophie’s praise, sincere and unaffected. He hadn’t felt embarrassed. He’d felt warm and more comfortable than he’d felt in a very long time. From the corner of his eye he saw Tino rise.

“I’m going to bed. Tomorrow will be a better day, all the way around.”

Suddenly the need to speak hit him like a club. Keeping his gaze locked on the frosting-covered plate, he pushed the words out. “I met someone today.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Tino sit back down. “Oh? Another cop?”

No. No more cops. Not in a million years. “No. An archeologist.”

Now Tino blinked. “An archeologist? Like . . . as in Indiana Jones?”

Vito had to chuckle at the mental picture of Sophie Johannsen slashing through the jungle in a dusty fedora. “No. More like . . .” He realized a swift comparison was not easily conjured. “She dug up castles in France. She knows ten languages.”
Three of them deader than the body you just left.
She’d been ashamed at her insensitivity. She’d more than made up for it later. So what had happened in those last few moments?

“So she has a brain. Does she have any other interesting features?”

“She’s nearly six feet tall. Angelina lips. Blond hair down to her butt.”

“I think I’m in love already,” Tino teased. “And her . . . sweaters?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Very, very nice.” Then he sobered. “And so is she.”

“Interesting timing,” Tino said blandly. “I mean, you meeting her today of all days.”

Vito looked away. “I was worried I was only interested just because it’s today. I’d convinced myself that today wasn’t the day to make a fast move. That it could be wistfulness or rebound or something.”

“Vito, after two years, it’s not rebound in anybody’s dictionary.”

Vito shrugged. “I told myself I’d come back in a few weeks and see if I felt the same. But then . . .” He shook his head.

“Then?”

Vito sighed. “But then I walked her to the parking lot. Damn, Tino, she rides a bike. Beemer, zero to a hundred in under ten.”

Tino puckered his lips. “Stacked girl on a fast bike. Now I know I’m in love.”

“It was a stupid reason to jump the gun,” Vito said, disgusted.

Tino’s eyes widened. “So you asked her out? That is interesting.”

Vito frowned. “I tried, but I don’t think I did it very well.”

“Turned you down cold, huh?”

“Yeah. Then took off on her bike like a bat out of hell.”

Tino leaned across the table and sniffed, grimacing. “It could be your unique cologne. That must have been some graveyard.”

“It was. And I get to go back tomorrow for round two.”

Tino put the plates in the sink. “Then you should get some sleep.”

“I will.” But he made no move to rise. “In a bit. I need to chill a little first. Thanks for nuking dinner.”

When Tino was gone, Vito rested his head against the wall behind him, closed his eyes, and in his mind went over those last few moments with Sophie. He wasn’t that rusty at asking a woman to dinner, and frankly he’d never been turned down before. Not like that. He had to admit it had pierced his ego some.

It would be easier to dismiss it as womanly whim, except Sophie didn’t seem like the type to change her mood with the wind. She seemed too sensible for that. So something had changed. Maybe something he did or said . . . But he was too tired to work through it anymore tonight. Tomorrow he’d just go ask her. That was wiser than trying to guess the mind of a woman, no matter how sensible she seemed.

He’d gotten up to turn out the lights when he heard the noise, little and snuffling, and coming from the lump in Pierce’s sleeping bag. Vito’s heart squeezed. They were just babies, really. And they must have been so scared, seeing their mom collapse like that. He hunkered down by Pierce’s sleeping bag and ran his hand over the boy’s back.