long ago learned to stop the quaking but she had to take a few calming breaths to make it work today. “So you know.”
“Of course I know,” he said as he moved toward her in a stooped, aged gait. “I still have friends around this town.”
Her father wore a plaid robe over old silk pajamas. His slippers were Italian leather, worn in spots but still expensive-looking. Even in his night clothes with his salt-and-pepper hair scattered around his olive-skinned face, he still commanded a certain respect.
Rikki reluctantly gave him that respect. “I didn’t want to upset Mother.”
“She is sleeping. Peggy will be out soon to give the morning report.”
He glanced toward the kitchen. “Coffee, Regina?”
“Yes, Papa, but I’ll make it.”
“Good.” He waved a hand toward the industrial-sized coffee machine. “And then we can sit down and talk about this latest scandal in your life.”
Rikki went to the cabinet and found the coffee, steeling herself against one of Franco’s soft-spoken interrogations. They used to have several servants in the house but lately, it was just her parents and a maid who cleaned and cooked, along with a day nurse. Her parents didn’t require much in the way of food or drink. Peggy and the day nurse made sure they both had nutritious food to eat.
When had her parents become so frail?
Feeling guilty for not checking on them more, Rikki blinked away her tears and her fatigue. “Would you like some breakfast, Papa?”
Her father glanced up from where he’d perched on a bar stool in the way he’d done on countless mornings. “You know, I miss your mother’s cooking. She used to make the best omelets.”
Rikki closed her eyes, the smell of breakfast wafting out as if her mother were standing at the big stove cooking and laughing and talking about her plans for the day. Sonia always had her days planned out for months, down to the pumps and jewelry she’d wear that day.
“Of course, I’ll make you an omelet,” Rikki said. Once she had the coffee brewing, Rikki pulled out eggs, cream, cheese and vegetables.
“Throw in some bacon,” her father said.
When she nodded and glanced back at him, he had his head in his hands, his face down. His once-dark hair was salt-and-pepper now and his always-meaty hands were puffy with excess fluid. She’d noticed the deep bags underneath his eyes, too. Had he stopped taking care of himself?
Rikki turned back to her work, wishing she could say something to him but then she’d never understood her brooding, distant father. Only Sonia could bring out his jovial, loving side. Her mother shone like a star in all of their lives and Sonia’s strong faith held them all together.
“I’ll pray you through it,” her mother always said, no matter what they were dealing with. “God has blessed us in spite of it all. He’ll continue to bless us.”
I’ll pray you through it.
Maybe it was Rikki’s turn to pray them through the latest tragedy, to pray for Blain and the local police, to pray for Tessa’s brother who didn’t even know she was dead yet. And to pray for herself and her family, no matter what.
But right now, she’d cook for her father. For a few minutes, she could forget about her rift with this man, forget about her mother’s illness and her own failures in life, and maybe for just this little while, she could forget about Tessa’s vacant, lifeless eyes staring up at her from a pool of blood.
Maybe she could even forget about the way Blain Kent’s expression had changed when he’d realized who she really was, too. Because she knew the good-looking detective would hound her until he figured out what kind of trouble she’d brought back to Millbrook with her.
Rikki intended to find out the answer to that question herself, with or without Blain’s help.
Putting all of that aside, she flipped the omelet onto a plate and brought it over to her father with a steaming cup of black coffee. “Here you go, Papa.”
Franco Alvanetti looked up at her with misty eyes. “This is a good moment,” he said. “Too bad about your friend.”
Rikki couldn’t decide if her father was being sincere or not, but she felt that trembling in her heart again.
Was it raw emotion? Or was it a warning to be aware?
Blain sat at his desk in the back corner of the Millbrook Police Department, scrolling through some old news articles about the Alvanetti family. He’d read up on their philanthropic endeavors, their weddings, births, deaths and celebrations plus a few articles questioning certain tactics they used in their so-called import-export business located in a huge warehouse just outside of town.
But nothing much on their only daughter’s brief marriage to Drake Allen. Nothing much about his fatal car crash but the accident report told the tale. High rate of speed and alcohol.
End of report. Could it be possible that Rikki just needed someone to blame so her grief wouldn’t cut so deep?
“Kent, what’ve you got on the Tessa Jones case?”
Blain glanced up to find his chubby, mustached police chief, Raymond Ferrier, staring down at him like a curious bulldog. The chief trusted Blain but he was antsy about this high-profile murder, especially now that he knew it had happened at a place owned by an Alvanetti.
“Not much, sir.” That was true. He hadn’t found a whole lot on the Jones woman. “She lived in Tallahassee so I’ve got a couple of detectives there casing out friends and family. I had one of my contacts there who’s tracking down the boyfriend. He’s supposed to get back to me after he talks to the boyfriend and finds out where he was yesterday.”
“Not good, right here at the holidays,” the chief said. “I feel for Miss Alvanetti but I can’t have a bunch of nervous-Nellie citizens suggesting we call off the Christmas parade or cancel the cantata at Millbrook Lake Church because they think a killer is on the loose.”
“Not gonna let that happen, Chief,” Blain replied, wishing the chief would quit breathing down his neck so he could get back to work. “I’m researching articles right now, trying to put things together.” He shuffled through the report. “Besides, I don’t think anything can get in the way of the Christmas parade.”
Chief Ferrier shook his head, the red lines along his neck turning crimson. “Just keep at it. I sure don’t need Old Man Alvanetti demanding justice. We all know how that’ll turn out.”
“I’ll handle that,” Blain replied. The chief had never caved underneath the Alvanetti juggernaut but he wasn’t too thrilled to have to stand in the way of that juggernaut either. Up until now, things had been pretty quiet on that front. “I’m going back out to the house to question Regina Alvanetti later today.”
The chief scrubbed a hand down his always-a-day-behind-beard stubble. “Be careful about that. You know how things tend to go out at that place.”
“I’m always careful,” Blain said. And he wasn’t afraid of the Alvanetti clan. Rikki owed him and he intended to cash in on that debt. Plus, he had one furry, demanding cat to deliver.
Chief Ferrier grunted at that confident retort. “Careful is one thing, son. But being smart is important, too.”
After the chief went back to his office, Blain jotted a list of all the variables on this case. The victim resembled Regina—Rikki—Alvanetti. They’d been best friends. Rikki had a hostile ex-boyfriend named Chad Presley but he hadn’t been located yet. The Tallahassee authorities called to let Blain know they had talked to Tessa Jones’s boyfriend and his alibi was solid. That left Chad Presley.
Nothing