Secrets (66 page)
Bad things coming back to haunt. Lance squeezed the bridge between his eyes. The letter had to be addressed to Arthur Jackson. Why else would Sybil have it?
“The paper doesn’t have this, the police don’t have it. Only I do.”
Some family archives maybe. Did Sybil think to atone for the past by helping him now? He swallowed. Maybe their meeting was preordained, but there was no karma about it. Once again he felt the Lord’s hand.
Maybe he wasn’t useless after all. He picked up the phone. When Lucy got Nonna on the line, he said, “Talk to me, Nonna. What was Arthur Jackson into?”
Her silence confirmed his guess.
“I found a briefcase of dossiers.” He listed some of the men in the envelopes. “Looks like a racket, and—”
“N-no.”
He stopped. “No what?”
“No m-m-more.”
Lance picked up the letter. “What do you mean? I’m getting close.”
“Bu-ry N-nonno.”
“I’m taking care of that. But—”
“L-l-l…”
He pressed his fingers to his temple as she fought for words. “Just let me tell you what I’ve found.”
“L-l-leave it.”
Lance took the phone from his ear as though he hadn’t heard right, then put it back. “Nonna…”
“No m-more.” Her voice caught on a sob.
The last thing he’d wanted was to upset her. “Nonna, listen. Don’t worry, all right?”
“Nonno Quil-lan.”
“Yeah, I know.” He was working on that. But why didn’t she want him to get the rest? “You okay?”
“O-o-kay.”
Lance turned off the phone and stared at the buttons. What now? Leave it? She had spoken her mind … adamantly. Anything else would be disobedience. Shaking his head, he tossed the letter on the table and reached for his guitar.
Tears streamed her cheeks. Shame. Anger. Confusion.
Papa?
Why was he going out so late? Why had he said to hide if trouble came? What trouble had he brought on them? Dossiers. Names. People she wanted to forget.
No more!
Antonia rocked, her arm clutched up against her.
Why, Papa? Why?
The next card she got was for almond focaccia. Lance’s note suggested she get Rico’s help since he had watched the grandmother who taught him. It was a lot more complicated using yeast, and even with Rico’s help, she made three batches before serving the one that turned out. But each time her confidence grew, and Rese realized she didn’t hate to cook; she’d only hated the grim ritual it had once been.
She got a call from someone regarding the advertised position, but now she was reluctant to give it up. She couldn’t expect Chaz and Rico to stay for long, and Star’s plans were as unfathomed as always. Even so, she told the person the position was temporarily filled. She wasn’t ready to add a stranger, even if the others left today.
Chaz and Rico set up and played on Saturday night, mostly instrumentals with Chaz on the flute and sax, and Rico on the drums. They were limited without Lance’s lead guitar and vocal, but Star sang a few songs with them between serving tables. Rese made the lattés, and she had purchased biscotti.
Since she had gone around town and yanked down all the flyers, they had only their own guests and a few from the previous week. Without Evvy, the old gang had no reason to congregate there. Without Lance, the energy was diminished. Without Chaz and Rico, there would be no music at all.
But she could run the inn without it, at least through the summer and fall. The scarcity of lodging for those seasons assured that much. The offseason would be more of a challenge, but it pleased her that she could think ahead and see herself doing it.
In the week that followed, they added a baked sausage crepe and bowlshaped popovers to their choices. Each recipe was hand delivered, which meant Lance was still in town, but he’d made no effort to see her, and she was glad. The cleaner the break, the quicker the fix—which didn’t exactly excuse her accepting the recipes. She had made an exception there, based on necessity.
But it was no recipe in the envelope Rese opened now, just a note that caused a rush of suspicion.
Rese, I’ve made arrangements for the burial of my great-great-grandfather. May I have permission tomorrow to see it done? You can give Chaz or Rico your answer, and they’ll reach me. Lance
.
She stared at the note. She had forced the carriage house and the cellar and the skeleton out of her mind. She’d been too busy to deal with it, too scared from her last experience, and unwilling to open herself to the hurt of just crossing the threshold. But now, it seemed she had to.
She walked up to the attic where Star and Rico and Chaz hung out. Star had acquired a multitude of colorful beanbags and a decent, quiet fan that made the place more comfortable. Rese handed the note to Rico. “Lance wants to bury the skeleton.” She swallowed. “Will you let him know that’s fine?”
More than fine. With the corpse out of there, she could close off the cellar and—What about all that wine? Maybe Lance had plans for it too. She just wanted it over. Once he’d gotten what he came for, he’d go home to New York, and the Wayfaring Inn would be as she had first imagined.
Well, she’d never imagined cooking the breakfasts herself, and she’d still need a maid when the others left. There were visits to her mother and the Bible study invitation from Evvy’s friend Michelle. Things looked a little different, but essentially she was back on track—unless Lance planned to sue her for the property.
She should talk to her lawyer, especially since she’d made Lance a partner in the business. Written it up and everything. A nice fat ace she’d given him. And it was anyone’s bet which deed would stand up in court.
But if he wanted to take it from her, why send the recipes? Why give her success in those first days when it was all coming apart? She left the attic, starkly aware of her separation from the rest of them. When the guys left, she was certain Star would go too. And she’d be alone. But she knew now who stayed by her, and she could be grateful for that. Not grateful enough to be there when Lance came tomorrow, though.
Lance picked up the phone on the first ring. Even though he’d given her the out if she didn’t want to talk to him, he was disappointed to hear Rico’s voice. “She says it’s fine, man. Put the old guy to rest.”
He released a slow breath. “Thanks, Rico.”
The police and coroner would have gone over anyway, but he had hoped to be present to give his ancestor the dignity and honor he deserved. Identification should be possible with the photograph in Nonna’s box that showed the hair and a DNA match to Lance that should be close enough to allow interment. The corpse was skeletonized to such a degree he doubted they’d identify a cause of death, but he suspected Nonna knew already.
And it would stay with her, if she had her way. Why was she being so stubborn? He hadn’t called again. He couldn’t risk upsetting her, not when any strain could bring on another stroke. But, obedience not being his long suit, he had researched the men in the dossiers through the Internet and the local history section of the library—and had come up with next to nothing. Some of them were connected to San Francisco mobsters, but no mention of Arthur Jackson’s involvement. Whatever they’d been up to in Sonoma must have stayed quiet, with the murder of Vittorio Shepard not even recorded in the cold-cases file.
He couldn’t change that. Nonna only wanted Quillan buried, so his mission was drawing to a close. He felt hollowed out, as though his bones had been rinsed and hung to dry. But he was no longer consumed with guilt. Regret, yes, and hurt. But even though he’d started with dishonesty and selfish pride, he’d done his best to give Rese what she needed to be free of him.
He knew from the guys that she was making it. He wished he was there to see her all steamy-faced in the kitchen. But soon he’d pick up Baxter and hit the road. He’d head home for a while, make sure Nonna was satisfied, then see where the next road led.
If he thought too hard, the tears would come, but he tried not to go there. He’d lost his soul’s song for a while, but he guessed he would sing again … sometime. She’d be having a birthday soon, and he wondered if she’d ever get real rubies for her ears. Or had she taken the earrings out altogether?
M
aybe it hadn’t been a good idea to schedule a visit with Mom when her thoughts were already churning. Once Lance had buried his ancestor, would they all pull up stakes and go? It didn’t matter. That was inevitable. Their little group couldn’t last forever. She’d heard Rico on the phone with his agent, and maybe now he’d get Lance back in the band.
She brushed her fingers over her hair and walked out of her suite. Star was standing in the front hall, dressed in a simple wraparound skirt and tank. Rese approached, unsure how to read her expression. “Are you okay?”
Star nodded, but it was still there, that tight unease. Was she saying good-bye? Her tongue flicked over the glimmery pink lipstick she wore. “I thought you might … want me to come.”
Come?
Rese searched her face.
“To see Elaine.”
It took everything she had not to show her shock. Star wanted to see Mom?
“You know.” Her lips trembled. “Be there for you.”
A wash of warmth coursed over. Star wanted to support her? She would visit a woman she despised so her friend wouldn’t be alone? Rese had no idea how to answer. She’d be vulnerable. The last visit had so undone her she’d shown Lance everything.
But this was so unexpected, so un-Star. She said, “Sure. If you want to.”
Star smiled. It was amazing, really, how radiant her smile was. “Good. I think.” She laughed.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Rese hooked her arm in Star’s.
“Probably not.”
They walked arm in arm to the truck, but Rese’s eyes still went to the place the bike should be. He would come over while she was gone. She wouldn’t see him. Pain coursed her veins. What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she stay there watching for him? They didn’t have to talk. She could just see him.
But she pulled open the door and unlocked the other side for Star. Mom was waiting, and her friend was coming. That was pretty good stuff.
Star was afraid she might throw up. Her stomach was a tight ball as she rode beside Rese. This was the first sacrificial act she could recall. She was terrified to see Elaine.