To Hell in a Handbasket (12 page)

Eleven:
The Memorial Service

When Judy appeared with
bleary eyes and tousled hair at the breakfast table the next morning, Claire asked her what she planned to wear to the memorial service.

“I don't know. I hadn't thought about it yet, with all the turmoil around here.” She plopped a ladleful of oatmeal into a bowl and started slicing a banana.

Ignoring the barb about the previous night's argument, Claire asked, “Do you have a dark-colored dress?”

“On a ski trip?” Judy stopped her knife. “Are you kidding, Mom?”

“What about black or navy pants and a subdued top?” Most of Judy's tops could be described as lingerie, though if Judy had a dark-colored ski turtleneck, that might do.

“All I've got is ski clothes, jeans, and some strappy tops that I know you won't approve of. But why's it matter what I wear? What's
important is that we're there to honor Stephanie.”

“And part of honoring her is showing the family that you care enough to dress respectably.” Claire mentally reviewed the clothes that she had brought with her. “Maybe I have something you can borrow.”

Judy tossed a skeptical glance over her raised spoon at Claire. “C'mon. All your stuff would hang on me.”

Ouch.
Claire had to bite back a quick retort. Her internal thermostat had flashed on and off the night before, rousing her to toss the covers off or pull them up over and over again. Her fatigue shortened her patience.

She checked her watch. “Then we have no choice. Hurry up and
finish breakfast. We're going clothes shopping.”

Judy glanced at her father, but Roger just raised the newspaper he was reading and buried his nose deeper in it. Judy dropped her spoon. “Where are we going to find a dark dress up here in the mountains?”

“We could go to the factory outlet stores in Silverthorne. I think they have a Casual Corner or a Dress Barn. I'll put my black skirt and turtleneck on now, so if we run out of time, we can go straight to the service from the shopping area, with you wearing whatever we find. Roger, if we don't get back here by ten-thirty, we'll meet you at the church. Can you get there all right without the car?”

Roger nodded. “It's not far from here. I can walk or take the town trolley.”

Claire clapped her hands at Judy. “Get moving. No time to waste.”

_____

An hour later, Claire paced outside the Dress Barn changing rooms. Her watch showed ten-fifteen. Judy had to make a choice fast if they were going to get to the memorial service on time.

Judy appeared, wearing a navy shift with a jaunty nautical bow below the bustline. Just as Claire was about to say, “That's cute,” she saw the disgusted expression on her daughter's face.

“Okay, you don't like it. Put the next one on. You're going to have to pick one of the dresses you have in there with you now.”

Judy ducked into the dressing room and reappeared a short time later in a forest green simple A-line. It wasn't a particularly flattering style, but the color went well with Judy's hair.

Claire took a peek at her daughter's face. Judy's expression was neutral. “Well?”

Judy shrugged. “I may never wear it again, but it's not awful. Besides, we need to go.”

“Sold.” Claire asked the sales clerk to cut off the tags. “She's going to wear it now. I'll pay for it while you gather up your things, Judy.”

She glanced at her daughter's bare feet. “Ohmigod. Shoes. All you brought with you is sneakers, right?”

Judy bit her lip and nodded.

“There's a Nine West shoe store two doors down,” the sales clerk said helpfully.

“Thank you.” Claire leaned on the cash register counter. They might just make it. “Judy, dash over there now. I'll get your things after I pay for the dress.”

Judy looked down. “In my bare feet?”

“Yes, it's not far. Go!”

Judy took off running.

Claire explained their predicament to the clerk while she paid and asked for a plastic bag in which to stuff Judy's discarded sneakers, coat, and clothes. Once she had everything, she hurried over to the shoe store.

With a slight wobble, Judy pirouetted on four-inch strappy black stacks.
Dear God.
But at least they were dress shoes.

With a smile, Judy said, “These are cool. What do you think, Mom?”

Claire checked her watch. No time left. “They'll do.” She took out her credit card.

“Thanks, Mom. I'll get a lot of wear out of these.”

She paid quickly while Judy donned her ski jacket over her dress. Claire bit her lip. Judy's get-up wasn't a great combination, but once they were inside the church, she could take off the jacket and wouldn't look too bad.

They ran for the car, or at least Claire did, in her sensible low-heeled pumps. Judy skittered along behind her with an ungainly gait.

_____

After racing down the highway and silently cursing every red light through Frisco, Claire arrived with Judy at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Breckenridge at five minutes after eleven. She found a parking space in the lot across French Street. While waiting for traffic to clear so she and Judy could cross the street, Claire checked the church for signs that the service had already started.

A door stood open in the smaller wing built of white-painted wood with gray trim, which almost clashed with the larger, newer wing's orange-brown trim. A young couple Judy's age walked up the steps and through the doorway, above which was printed, “St. Mary's Catholic Church, founded 1881.”

Good. Maybe we won't have to make an embarrassing late entrance in the middle of the opening hymn.

Claire mounted the cement steps at a smart clip while Judy held onto the metal railing to maintain her balance on the tippy heels. After taking a program from the usher, Claire looked around for Roger.

About forty people sat in the dark wooden pews. The small sanctuary probably could hold no more than a hundred. Roger signaled them from the third row.

Claire hurried down the aisle with Judy and slid into the seats he had saved beside him.

Roger looked Judy up and down as she removed her jacket. His gaze settled on her clunky shoes, and his eyes went wide. He started to speak.

Claire touched his arm and shook her head.

With a raised eyebrow, Roger flashed her a wry smile then covered the smile with his hand and looked away.

Smart man.
Claire took a deep breath. Finally, she had a chance to rest after scurrying around all morning with Judy. She gazed around the sanctuary, letting its peacefulness ease into her.

The quaint room had a Scandinavian theme befitting its mountain setting. The walls were topped with a pink and blue Nordic design of flowers and bows. Red flowers accented the corners of the blue squares making up the ceiling. The blue of the ceiling continued behind an altar flanked by statues of Mother Mary and Father Joseph holding the toddler Jesus, who seemed ready to squirm away from his father's tender grasp.

In front of the altar sat a small table containing an urn and a photograph of Stephanie. Presuming the urn held Stephanie's ashes, Claire looked away as her eyes began to sting. She dug in her purse for tissues to stem the tears she knew would flow. She had never been able to attend a wedding or funeral without crying.

A movement in the front pew caught her eye. Nick nodded at Judy before facing the front. His mother sat stiffly beside him, with Anthony on her other side, his arm around her shoulders and his own slumped in sorrow.

A couple in their late forties sat in the row behind the Continos. Since the woman's hair and build matched Angela's, Claire presumed she was Angela's sister. Two young women about Judy's age sat next to them. Would Angela find it hard not to be jealous of her sister, who still had both her daughters, while Angela had lost her only one? Claire patted Judy's hand, causing her to glance at her mother.

Don't mind me, honey. Just being morbid—and frankly, thankful that I'm not Angela.

A priest in a white robe walked up the aisle to stand in front of the altar and held out his hands. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, let us pray.”

Claire bowed her head. So it began—the final goodbye to a young woman whose precious life was cut off much too soon. Claire swiped at a tear running down her cheek.

The service lasted about forty-five minutes, with a quavering hymn sung by one of Stephanie's friends and a hoarse eulogy delivered by her brave brother. Some others stepped forward with remembrances: Angela's sister, friends of Stephanie's, a favorite college professor.

Claire was surprised when Judy rose to walk toward the altar.

Judy took a moment to compose herself. “I didn't know Stephanie very well—mostly through stories told by her brother, who I've been seeing for a while. From those stories, I expected to like her when we finally met on Sunday. And I did. She gave me a hug, flashed her big smile at me, and immediately I felt loved. Before the night was over, I felt as if I'd been a friend of hers for years and would be for years to come. I could see why Nick and his parents were so proud of her. And even though I only knew her a brief time, I miss her very much.”

Judy's words were impromptu, brief, but heartfelt. Claire's chest swelled with pride for her very grown-up daughter as Judy returned quietly to her seat.

When Roger's hand clasped hers, Claire gave it a squeeze. She flashed a small smile at her husband and whispered, “We did good, didn't we?”

While they filed out after the service, Claire spotted Owen Silverstone standing off to the side, surveying the attendees from behind dark sunglasses. She left Roger talking to Angela's sister's husband and approached the detective. “I have some information for you.”

He waved for her to follow and stepped out of earshot from a group of Stephanie's friends standing nearby. “What information?”

“When Roger and I went to the Continos yesterday to deliver a sympathy gift basket, we saw two black Range Rovers parked in their driveway, and both plates matched the two letters Roger saw on the one that hit Boyd.”

Owen's brow wrinkled. “We only found one registered to the Continos.”

“The other one belonged to a visitor, a Gregori Ivanov, who said he bought six. He kept one for himself, gave one to Anthony, who is his financial advisor, and gave four to other business associates.”

“That explains a lot.” Owen rubbed his chin and peered at her. “So you met this Ivanov? What did you think of him?”

“He's a big man, friendly, Russian, seemed to have a lot of money,
obviously.”

Owen stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. He scanned the group outside the church then pointed his chin at a large man whose back was to them. “That him?”

Claire watched until the man turned to speak to someone beside him. “Yes. What did you mean when you said that explains a lot?”

“My man who was checking on the black Range Rovers ran into some interesting files.” He glanced at Claire as if assessing whether he should tell her what he knew. “Files on Russian mob figures.”

Claire sucked in a breath. “Oh, dear.”

She told Owen about the chart she saw on Anthony Contino's computer and Roger's guess that the transfers represented money-laundering. But she didn't want to relay Leon's story of Anthony's past until she got more solid information from him and made sure it would be useful to the investigation. So far, there was no pressing reason to expose Leon, and her connection to him, to this lawman.

“This is getting stranger by the minute.” Owen pulled his hands
out of his pockets and opened one to reveal the badger fetish. “Not sure this bugger is helping me much on this case. Every time I seem to get a handle on some lead, the case skitters off in a new direction.”

He returned the fetish to his pocket. “Thanks for the information on the cars and the money transfers, though. Knowing that six of the seven matching cars are connected to Ivanov is helpful.” He tipped his hat to her and headed across the street toward the parking lot.

As Claire watched him go, she felt a hand on her arm and turned.

Angela Contino smiled up at her, but her eyes were serious. “Was that nasty detective bugging you, too?”

Flustered by the question, Claire responded with one of her own. “When was he bugging you?”

“This morning, while we were trying to get ready for Stephanie's service. He came over to the house and insisted on looking at all of Anthony's and Nickolas's ski clothes and gear. He took photos, too.” Angela tensed and formed fists with her hands. “The horrible man acts like he thinks one of them killed Stephanie. That's impossible. It was an accident, an awful accident. That's all.”

Her voice hoarsened on the last words, and she clamped her lips shut as if struggling for control. A tear dribbled down her cheek.

Claire dug in her purse for a tissue and handed it over. She gave Angela a moment to compose herself.

“I'm sure he's only being thorough. He has to consider all the possibilities, and sometimes people are killed by family members, as terrible as it seems.” She patted Angela's arm. “Don't let his investigation ruin your remembrance of Stephanie today.”

“You're right. I won't think about the detective any more today.” Angela dabbed at her eyes. “We're having a few people over to the house for a light lunch. You'll join us, won't you?”

Claire spotted Judy talking to Nick and a few other young people. This would be an opportunity for her to spend some time with him, but still be under the watchful eye of her parents. Claire returned her gaze to Angela. “Yes, we'd love to.”

Twelve:
Reception and Deception

Claire stood with Roger
in a corner of the Continos' living room. They held plates of catered cucumber sandwiches, cheese puffs, crudités, and other bite-sized morsels that might have been delicious in other circumstances. With no appetite, Claire picked at her food and wondered when it would be polite to take their leave.

Obviously, the Contino family was strained to the limit, putting on a brave front for the twenty or so people who had come to the house. Angela looked like an antique china doll whose cracked face would shatter any minute. Claire had lost count of how many times Anthony had refilled his scotch glass, but instead of dulling his pain, the alcohol only made him gloomier. Nick's approach seemed to be to cloak his grief with anger. His expression was stormy as he exchanged quiet, angry words at the other side of the room with Judy.

Judy appeared to be asking him to do something, but he kept shaking his head and frowning. Finally, he turned his back on her and walked away. Her solemn gaze followed him until he disappeared into the dining room, then she surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye.

Claire took a step toward her daughter, but Roger stopped her.

“Let her be. We'll find out what happened between them on our way home, I'm sure.”

“At least we won't have to argue with her about leaving with us. Looks like he doesn't want her to stay.” Claire put her plate of half-eaten food on a nearby end table. “I need to use the bathroom. After that, let's go.”

When she found the powder room occupied, Claire glanced upstairs. She had been on the second floor before with the Continos, so they shouldn't mind if she used the hall bathroom up there. She climbed the stairs.

As she was drying her hands, she heard the study door open and
close down the hall, followed by angry voices filtering through the heater vent—Anthony's and Ivanov's. When she heard Anthony shout “No,” her curiosity overcame her manners. She knelt on her hands and knees to listen at the vent.

“The police are too close to you,” Ivanov said in his brusque tone. “This morning was close call. You clean my files off your computer today.”

“Yes, Gregori.”

“In one week, maybe two, when heat dies down, I will bring this disk back to you. It will be good time for Nickolas to join us. His studies are almost complete. He should learn our business.”

Claire stilled.
Nick is going to become involved in his father's criminal activities?

The voices faded as footsteps clomped away from the heater vent in the study but toward the wall between the study and bathroom. Claire glanced around and spied a stack of paper cups. She snatched one, held it against the wall, punched a hole in the bottom with her finger and pressed her ear to the hole.

“. . . and I don't want him involved,” Anthony was saying with clipped, angry words. “I told you before. He deserves his own life in a clean business. Especially after Stephanie's death.”

“An unfortunate incident, very unfortunate. I explained to you my sympathies. The idiot who killed her with his carelessness will be dealt with. I will handle it.”

“No, no.” Anthony's voice held an edge of desperation. “It's done and over. Can't you see? It's time to stop this, all of it. We've been hurt enough. Just leave my family alone.”

“A son should follow his father's footsteps,” Ivanov said in a conciliatory tone. “Who will manage our money if something happens to you? We must plan for the future, Anthony, the future of your family. And mine.”

Claire heard a sound like a hand clamping down on a shoulder, followed by Ivanov's voice, firm again. “I leave you to grieve with your family. But I will meet with you and Nickolas in Denver soon.”

Anthony made a strangled, unintelligible sound, but Ivanov cut him off. “You and Nickolas.” He opened the study door and walked down the stairs.

A hollow thump sounded right above Claire, as if a head had hit the other side of the wall. It was followed by a stifled sob, then the study door closing. Claire waited a moment, unsure if Anthony was inside the study or in the hallway. When she heard nothing more, she cracked open the bathroom door and peeked out.

The hallway was empty.

Claire hurried downstairs, her mind churning. Ivanov, at least, seemed sure Anthony was not the one who killed Stephanie. Was the idiot he referred to Boyd, and was Ivanov offering to kill the already-dead young man? Did Anthony's statement that “it's done and over” mean he already had run Boyd down on the street three nights ago?

One thing was clear. Ivanov wanted Nick to work for him, and Anthony was resisting. If Ivanov got his way, Nick would be drawn into working for the Russian mob. And if Judy married him, she would be exposed to a lifetime of danger and deceit.

Claire clenched her fists. She would never let her daughter marry
into a crime family. She would have to find a way to break up this relationship, and soon.

When she entered the living room, she searched for Judy, planning to tell her the time had come to leave. She spotted her talking to one of Angela's nieces and approached them.

Judy saw her coming, excused herself from the conversation with the niece, and met her mother in the middle of the room. With a look of concern, she gripped Claire's arm and whispered, “That man over there's been staring at me. He's giving me the creeps.”

When Claire started to glance around, Judy said, “Don't be so obvious. He's by the entrance to the dining room. Act casual.”

Claire slowly turned and scanned the room. Her gaze briefly fell on a thin, ferret-faced man about the same height and weight as the Contino men, but with Eastern European features. He stood talking to Ivanov, so maybe he was another Russian. He seemed to be in his mid- to late-forties.

When he looked up, as if feeling her gaze on him, Claire quickly
glanced away. “The thin man with salt-and-pepper hair who's talking to that big Russian bear?”

Judy's grip tightened, and she leaned in closer. “I recognize him. I'm sure of it. But I can't figure out where I've seen him before.” She drew in a quick breath. “Now they're both staring at me.”

Claire looked back and saw Ivanov in an urgent, quiet conversation with the ferret man, while both stole glances at Judy. They seemed to be arguing about something, and that something involved Judy. Had Ivanov found out that Judy was dating Nick? Were the two men sizing her up as a potential mob wife? Or as leverage against Nick?
Oh, God.

Her heart pounding, Claire pulled Judy over to Roger and politely extracted him from a conversation with Angela's brother-in-law. When the three were alone, she said to Roger, “We've got to get out of here. Now.”

Roger's expression turned serious when he saw her face. He set down his plate.

“But, Mom,” Judy said. “I promised Mrs. Contino that I would help clean up after everyone left.”

“You don't know when . . .” A noise across the room drew Claire's attention. Ivanov and his friend were saying their goodbyes to Angela. With them gone, maybe it would be all right to stay. Claire certainly didn't want a confrontation with the two men out on the Continos' driveway. “I guess we can stay.”

“You don't need to. Nick can drive me home.”

“I'm sure Angela could use our help, too.”
And I'm not leaving you alone in this house.

The other guests seemed to take the departure of the two men as a signal that it was time to leave. Angela's sister gave her a long hug before leaving with her family to return to Denver. In a matter of minutes, the only people remaining were Claire, Roger, Judy, Nick, and Angela. The five of them picked up glasses and plates in the living room and carried food trays into the kitchen for Angela to put away. Judy and Claire loaded the dishwasher while the men emptied the trashcans. Anthony never put in an appearance, remaining upstairs in his study.

Angela asked Nick to carry some leftover food out to the garage freezer then resumed spooning onion dip into a plastic container. Before Claire could stop her, Judy picked up a foil-wrapped bundle and followed Nick.

After they left, a muffled bang, followed by a thump, sounded upstairs.

Angela froze, dip oozing off the end of her spoon.

“What was that?” Roger asked.

“Anthony's upstairs in the study.” The hair on the back of Claire's
neck stood on end.

Angela took one worried glance at Claire, then dropped the spoon and rushed up the stairs with Roger and Claire on her heels. She knocked on the study door and opened it.

“Anthony, what was that noise?” Her words ended in a choked sob.

Anthony lay slumped over the top of his desk with a revolver in his hand. A pool of blood spread out from his head and dripped over the front of the desk.

A roar of horror filled Claire's head and squeezed her chest. “Oh, God.”

Angela's eyes rolled back in her head. She crumpled.

Claire and Roger lurched forward to support her before she hit the floor. They gently lowered her to her back. Claire called Angela's name, but she didn't respond. “She's out cold.”

“I'll call nine-one-one again.” Roger took a step toward the desk.

Claire stopped him. “Use the phone in the master bedroom. We shouldn't touch anything here.”

After Roger left, Claire gingerly walked over to examine Anthony. The coppery smell of blood made her stomach clench. A large hole gaped open in the back of his skull—the exit wound. Instantly fatal. Claire tore her gaze from the gore and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

A wash of guilt overtook her. If she had gone to Anthony after overhearing the conversation with Ivanov, she could have stopped this, could have gotten him to snap out of his depression.
No, listen to yourself, Claire. You had no idea he was suicidal. And do you really think you could have just told someone who had lost his daughter to “look on the bright side of life”?

A handwritten note splattered with blood lay in front of Anthony's head. Claire read it.

Dearest Angela,

I can't live with the guilt any longer. Because of me, Stephanie is dead. I hope someday you will be able to forgive me, but I could never forgive myself. You and Nick must save each other. He will know what to do.

All my love,

Anthony

You and Nick must save each other? What does that mean?

Angela groaned.

Claire rushed over to her. The woman's eyes were still closed.

Roger returned. “The ambulance is on its way, as well as the police.”

“We need to get Angela out of here before she wakes up. We don't want her to see this again.”

Roger scooted his hands under Angela's shoulders and lifted her by the armpits. “You take her legs.”

They maneuvered the woman out to the hallway. While Roger closed the door, Claire found a washcloth in the bathroom, wet it, and returned.

Angela groaned again. Her eyelids fluttered.

Claire dabbed the cool washcloth on Angela's forehead. “Angela, can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened, and she stared uncomprehending at Claire.
Suddenly her expression crumpled. With a keening wail, she clutched
at Claire.

Claire held her tight and rocked her, feeling helpless to provide comfort any other way. What would she do if Judy and Roger were taken from her? Her eyes welled up. The grief was too horrible to imagine. And where were Judy and Nick?
How long does it take to put stuff in the freezer?

The front doorbell rang, and Roger went to open it. He returned with two paramedics carrying a stretcher up the stairs. They stopped when they saw Claire and Angela sitting on the floor, locked arm in arm, Angela's shoulders heaving with great sobs.

“He's in there.” Claire nodded toward the closed study door.

Two Breckenridge police officers followed. Claire recognized the patrolman who had interviewed them after Boyd's death. The other man introduced himself as Detective Donner. They followed the paramedics into the study.

The last man up the stairs was Owen Silverstone. With a grim face, he eyed Roger. “Officer Koch contacted me when he realized the connection this call had to both our cases. So we meet again.”

“And the circumstances are just as bad.” Roger laid his hand on Claire's shoulder.

Owen studied Angela. “She gonna be okay?”

Claire's pent-up emotions spilled out of her. “Of course not! She lost her husband only a few days after her daughter was killed. She may never be okay again.”

Claire bit her lip and glanced down at Angela, who leaned on Claire's shoulder.
I should never say such things in front of her.

With her eyes shut, Angela gnawed on her knuckles, lost in her misery.

Claire smoothed Angela's hair. “Roger, could you get us a box of tissues and a glass of water, please?”

After Roger left, Owen said, “What I meant was, does she need medical treatment right away, or can I leave her with you while I check out what's in there?” He pointed with his chin at the study door.

“You can leave her with me.”

Claire managed to get Angela to blow her nose and swallow a drink of water while they waited for the police to return. The
woman seemed to have temporarily regressed to childhood,
obediently following Claire's instructions but unable to speak.
Roger hovered awkwardly in the hallway, as if torn between
staying available to Claire and Angela and wanting to find out what the police were doing.

Owen came out of the study first. “Can we get her into another room?”

The three of them helped Angela to her feet, then Roger and Owen supported her on either side and led her into the bedroom across the hall. Claire closed the door behind them.