Intimate Betrayal (18 page)

Was there some blockage there? Some deep-seated inability to commit to an intimate relationship? Or was it merely a case of
keeping his private life separate from his professional life?

She reminded herself that Sam was close with Matt Carlyle; in fact, she’d just seen the two of them exchange a warm handshake
and slap on the back as they’d met in the church. Like many men, they might not hang out with each other on a daily basis,
but they were obviously old, trusted friends.

It’s just you he doesn’t want to be close to,
Darcy, she told herself.

Dammit! Why d’you want him anyhow? Just because he’s more of a challenge to you than any of your previous lovers? If he were
as wild for you as you are for him, how long would your own interest last?

Maybe you want him because he’s like you.

You’re warm and friendly too. But look at your own wariness about trusting people. You tell your friends the frivolous things,
the superficial things about yourself, but you keep the important things private. Annie, for instance, probably thinks
she knows you. But she’d be amazed if she could see the things that are really in your heart.

Amazed and disgusted.

As she watched the coffin being wheeled down the center aisle of the church toward the waiting hearse, Darcy realized for
the first time that she was grateful for her obsession. If she concentrated all her thoughts and energy on Sam Brody, she
didn’t have to think about the death of Giuseppe Brindesi. She could lay it aside and pretend it hadn’t happened…pretend he
was still alive….

She slipped to her knees and prayed.

Annie was surprised to see Matt at Giuseppe’s funeral. The press was there—they were all over the story—and she had expected
Matt to avoid any risk of an encounter with the journalists who had haunted him during his trial.

She was already seated in a crowded row when he entered, and she wasn’t even sure if he’d seen her. He sat down with Sam,
and the two of them plunged into an animated conversation. Annie tried to get their attention but failed.

Sidney too was in the church. She smiled weakly at him across the pews, but he looked right through her as if he didn’t see
her. His face was set and grim, and she noticed that at one point he left his spot in the pew and went over to have a brief
talk with Catherine Sullivan, the homicide detective, who stood impassively at the rear of the church, watching everyone who
came to pay their respects.

As the church emptied after the Roman Catholic service, Matt shook hands with Sam, then came over to Annie. “Hi there,” he
said.

“Hi there, yourself.”

“As I was pulling up to the church, I saw you arrive with some of your colleagues from your office. I was wondering if you
might consider leaving with me?”

“All right,” she said, then smiled at his look of surprise. “Thought I’d say no, huh?”

“Annie, where you’re concerned, I never know what to think.”

They ducked out one of the side doors in an attempt to avoid the crowd of reporters. Matt had a limousine waiting next to
the one reserved for the family. The police were all over, looking for the one member of the family who had not shown up.
Despite the extensive police search, Vico had not been found.

“Not exactly inconspicuous, is it?” she said as his chauffeur opened the door to the limousine.

“Actually, there’s nothing more inconspicuous at a funeral than one more big black car. Shall we go to the cemetery?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can deal with it. What I’d really like is to just—I don’t know… Could we drive around
for a while?”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, and instructed the driver to head down toward the Embarcadero.

As she settled back into the luxurious seat with Matt just a few inches from her, she thought,
It’s silly to pretend that something isn’t happening between us.

He draped an arm around her shoulders. When she didn’t resist, he pulled her in, gently, until she was leaning against him,
her head falling against his shoulder.

There was a CD player in the limousine, and he put on
Mozart’s
Requiem.
Then they both leaned back to absorb the music.

Annie loved Mozart, and the
Requiem
had been the major piece of music played at Charlie’s funeral. The Mass, so beautiful and so tragic—Mozart had died before
finishing it—had always made her cry. But this was the first time she had listened to it since Charlie’s death, and when the
beautiful strains of the Lacrimosa began, she lost it entirely as the memories poured over her in waves.

Matt moved even closer and put both his arms around her. Annie buried her face against his shoulder and wept.

He just held her, soothing her with gentle hands in her hair. Brokenly, she tried to explain why the music was affecting her
so, and he apologized for playing it. “Shall I take it off?” he asked, but she shook her head. She both needed and wanted
to hear it.

Annie appreciated his kindness and his understanding, but when the Mass was over, something had shifted into clearer perspective
in her mind: Charlie was gone, and that part of her life was over. She needed to move on. Life was fragile, as Giuseppe’s
death reminded her.

“I know this is a helluva moment for me to say this,” Matt said slowly. “But I want you, Annie.”

She didn’t answer. What could she say? I’m yearning to be with you, too? I think of you first thing in the morning when I
wake up, and go to sleep at night with fantasies of you unwinding in my head? It was true.

So why not?
she asked herself.
Why not, dammit?

“I don’t think I’m ready,” she heard herself say.

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face so that he could look into her eyes. “What will it take, Annie? Time?
Seduction? Long-suffering patience on my part? Or a little more in the way of romantic roguish aggression?” He smiled a little.
“Give me a hint, okay?”

She smiled back. “You’re doing fine, believe me. I like you, Matt. A lot more, actually, than I expected to.”

“But…?”

“But I’ve been through a scary time, and I’m realizing now that I’m not completely out the other side of the tunnel. When
I lost Charlie—” She put up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Some things are impossible to describe. I clung to Fabrications
both for the security it offered and because it was something my husband and I had created together. We’d wanted a child,
but it hadn’t happened yet. Fabrications was our baby, in a way, and when it died too I felt for a while as if I had nothing
left to live for.”

He was shaking his head, and she touched his hand in reassurance. “Then Brody Associates came along and gave me back my professional
competence and pride. That, at least, I was able to rebuild and rediscover. And right now it’s all I have. I can’t do anything
to jeopardize it. We have a crisis going on. It’s very tempting to try to push it out of my mind. But I can’t do that. I need
to focus. Someone committed a murder in my cathedral and I don’t understand how, or why, and until I do…” Her voice trailed
off.

“Okay,” he said. “I hear you. And believe me,” he laughed shortly, “I understand.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The CD had finished and the only sound was the smooth flowing of the pavement beneath the
limousine’s tires.

“Along those lines, Annie, there’s something you should consider,” he said slowly.

She looked into his eyes, which were grave.

“The cops haven’t contacted me yet about this murder, but they will. They’re going to be looking at me, just like they did
when Francesca died.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because they will find—if they haven’t already—my fingerprints all over the scaffolding from which your workman fell.”

She and Matt at the construction site… him meeting the workers and shaking their hands… her calling up to Giuseppe… Matt starting
to climb the scaffolding… Giuseppe coming down to talk to them in the nave instead.

“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “Everybody knows what you were doing there. There are witnesses—”

“They’ll say I went back later, knowing from my experience as a murder suspect that the perfect place to leave trace evidence
is a place where I had an innocent explanation for leaving that evidence.”

“But even if they said that, you were just meeting Giuseppe for the first time. You had no reason to kill him. Fingerprints
or no fingerprints, why would the police focus on you?”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Annie. But my instincts tell me that if there’s the slightest excuse to harangue
me, these guys will do it. Call it the paranoia of a falsely accused man.”

He was probably right, she realized. For him, murder was a nightmare that never ended.

Darcy and Annie were sitting in Annie’s living room, in front of the roaring fire that Annie had built when she arrived home
after Giuseppe’s funeral. There was something very comforting about a fire dancing on the hearth, and she built one whenever
she could, summer or winter. San Francisco weather was rarely too hot to discourage it, and tonight it was downright chilly.

Despite the fire, though, Annie was shivering. She and Darcy were eating take-out sushi from their favorite Japanese restaurant,
and Darcy had just advanced her latest theory on who had killed Giuseppe.

“It was Matthew Carlyle,” she said.

“Darcy, please. I’m
dating
the man!”

“Yeah, and you shouldn’t be. Look. I’ve been thinking about this. There’s a connection. Francesca Carlyle was responsible
for Giuseppe and his workers being here, if you
remember. She’s the one who originally put us in touch with them. She knew Giuseppe well. And vice versa.” She paused to let
a piece of raw eel slide down her throat and to wash it down with a sip of sake. “Giuseppe was last here, in this country,
just a few days before Francesca’s death. Now look at the chronology: Right around the time of Francesca’s death, Giuseppe
left the country for his native Italy and had been abroad ever since. He missed the investigation; he missed the trial. I
doubt very much that he was ever questioned by the police. But what if he knew something, something that he was never able
to tell? Something that would nail the case against Francesca’s husband.”

“Something like what?”

Darcy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he actually saw the murder. Maybe he was scared—that would explain his suddenly leaving
the country.”

“Darcy, he didn’t suddenly leave the country. He had a job to do on a church in Verona.”

“Well, what if he left early for Verona? How do we know exactly when that job was due to start? All I know is that he vanished
right around the time that Francesca died—maybe even the very same day.”

“How do you know that?” Annie asked.

“He told me himself. He said the story was big enough to make the Italian newspapers and TV news, and he’d heard it in Italy
after he’d landed.”

Annie shrugged. Giuseppe had never mentioned this to her.

“Maybe Giuseppe was her mysterious lover, Annie. Sam and I were talking about that today after the funeral. Think about it.
Giuseppe was a good-looking man. Maybe he had
a thing going with Francesca and he fled out of fear that Carlyle would murder him as well.”

“Oh, come on, Darcy—”

“No, listen. Giuseppe flees and stays away for over a year. Meanwhile Matthew is arrested and is on trial for murder, and
Giuseppe probably thinks it’s safe to return. So he comes back. But Carlyle is acquitted. In fact, he’s suddenly in charge
of the cathedral project, as the new chairman of the building committee.

“So Carlyle goes to the cathedral, and he and Giuseppe meet. Carlyle knows instantly that Giuseppe is a danger to him. He’s
gotten off scot-free, but Giuseppe can change all that. He’s got to kill him to keep him silent, and he’s got to do it fast.
He hadn’t realized that Giuseppe was back in town, but now that he knows, he’s got to act. So he does act, the very next day.
Think about it. Carlyle meets Giuseppe, and less than twenty-four hours later, Giuseppe’s dead.”

Annie shook her head. “You’re forgetting double jeopardy. Even if an eyewitness showed up and claimed that he’d seen Matt
murder his wife, the state couldn’t try him again for it.”

“No, but an eyewitness could talk to the tabloids and revive the public’s interest. Remember, Carlyle is desperately trying
to restore his reputation so he can keep his business alive. He certainly wouldn’t want a witness running around. And when
you’ve gotten away with one murder, it’s probably a lot easier to do the second….”

“Well, it’s a theory,” Annie said dryly. “I guess it isn’t any more outlandish than some of the others I’ve heard.”

Darcy looked as if she was about to protest, then she grinned and shook her head. “Anyway, it is curious the
way all the principal players in the Francesca Carlyle murder case seem to be the principal players in this one as well. Including
Matthew Carlyle.” She sipped more sake. “On the other hand, maybe Barbara Rae did it. She’s very mysterious at times.”

Annie raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “Maybe I did it, Darcy. Maybe
you
did it.”

Darcy choked on her sake. “Maybe we should stop speculating and let the police figure it out.”

Annie couldn’t sleep that night.

It was something Matt had said to her in London, and she had never forgotten it. They’d been talking about his work, and he’d
mentioned a battle he’d had with another software company about a product.

“Basically, they hired away two of our top program designers and stole our architecture,” he’d said, using the term
architecture
in a manner that was new to her and had, she knew, nothing to do with buildings. Apparently the same word was also used to
refer to the construction of computer programs in code.

“It was unethical and it would have set us back about nine months—an enormous disadvantage in the software industry. I couldn’t
let it pass. I don’t forget and I don’t forgive. Sooner or later, I even the score.”