Infidelity: Inheritance (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 5

  The detectives stared with open mouths. She hadn’t given them the option of saying no and her statuesque figure commanded awe. Deloris and I shared an amused glance.

  Detective Sparks recovered first and refocused his attention on me. “I believe you were in the wrong place at the right time and you had no intention of murdering anyone. Why don’t you tell me how you happened to be in the car when Cosmo Bonetti was shot?”

  I exhaled and mustered my strength. “I didn’t see anything. He was talking, and then his head exploded.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, but how is it that you met Mr. Bonetti at that exact time? Right after a memorial service for your murdered father. Did you suspect Mr. Bonetti of having something to do with his death?”

  “I knew he wanted to talk to me. We arranged a meeting.”

  Sparks rubbed his chin. “You arranged the meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and continued to rub an invisible spot on his chin. “So he met you at a time and place that you determined. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Sweat began to form along my hairline, but I didn’t dare wipe it off. “No, he picked the alley.

  Detective Cohern leaned toward me. “You thought he killed your father. Anyone would want revenge. Is that what you wanted, Dante? Revenge?”

  I didn’t respond.

  Cohern continued. “Here’s what I think. You didn’t intend to hurt him. He said something that made you angry and things got heated.”

  Deloris and Elena started to protest.

  “No.” I worked to control my anger. “I asked him if he killed my father. He said he didn’t.” The comment evoked the memory of what he’d said next. He’d been trying to give me a name.

  My sharp intake of breath drew Elena’s attention. She rushed to me and put her arms around my shoulders. “Gentlemen, Dante’s day has been…difficult. I’m sure you won’t mind allowing him some time to recuperate.”

  When they didn’t respond, she removed her arms and marched over to them. “Let me show you out.”

  Her embrace had soothed me more than I had anticipated. Despite my worry over her abrupt entrance into my life, my stomach fluttered at her touch. The detective thrust a bag at me. “I will escort you upstairs so you can change.”

  I allowed him to follow me to my suite, where I dropped my clothes in an evidence bag. I scrubbed my face before putting on a sweatshirt and jeans.

  When Sparks and I returned to the main level, Elena stood in the entryway with the other detective. She opened the door and indicated with a sweep of her arm that the interview had concluded. They didn’t argue, and she escorted them out.

  I went back to the office and flopped in the desk chair.

  Deloris bolted from her seat and kneeled in front of me. “Did you remember something while they questioned you?”

  I leaned back in the chair. “Cosmo said he needed my help. He was going to give me the name of the person who killed Dad, but then he was shot. All he said was ‘coo.’”

  “‘Coo.’ Like the sound a bird makes?”

  I shrugged. “That’s what it sounded like.” I concentrated on remembering what he’d said.

  “Could it have been the beginning of a name?” She pressed closer.

  “I think so. All hell broke loose and I forgot.” I replayed the scene in my mind. “I believe he was starting to say a name. Does that mean anything to you?’

  “Not yet, but I’ll research the Bonettis’ history for anyone who has a name beginning with a coo sound.” She stood, patted my knee, and then left the room.

  Elena returned with a tray of food. “I was expecting an extravagant Italian luncheon after the memorial service.” She parked the tray on the desk and waved over the platter of cold meat. “Instead, I got this.”

  My stomach churned, making eating impossible. “Enjoy. I’m going to my studio.” I wanted to avoid eye contact, but her gaze was insistent. Even though my thoughts were inappropriate, I imagined what kissing her would feel like.

  She snatched the tray, bright red fingertips curling around the dish. “Fine. You lead. I’ll follow.”

  “You don’t need to follow me while I’m inside the house.” I wanted to be alone. Painting would help me sort out the raging thoughts. Having a beautiful woman dogging my every move would impede my progress. “Please don’t.”

  Her expression didn’t waiver. “Dante, I’ve been hired to protect you, not to babysit. You see your house as a fortress. I see it as a building with too many doors and windows that could be breached. The threat against you has amplified.” She waggled her eyebrows and offered a sexy smile. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  “For pity’s sake.” Her innuendos weren’t lost on me, but I wasn’t in the mood. “Just don’t speak while I’m working.”

  Her grin widened. “You say the sweetest things.” The sexiest sound escaped from her mouth—a laugh.

  She remained true to her word, taking a seat on the couch and allowing me several hours of quiet while I got lost in my art.

  Deloris interrupted sometime during the late afternoon. “Does the name Cuccia mean anything to you? The pronunciation sounds like ‘coo cha.’”

  I put my brushes aside and sat on the couch next to Elena. “No. Do you think that’s the name Bonetti was trying to say?”

  “Pure speculation, but yes. They’ve been rumored to traffic stolen goods, but they have legitimate businesses like car washes and a chain of funeral homes. The Cuccia family is part of the Sicilian mafia located in Boston.” She consulted the paper she held. “Have you heard of a painting called Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence?”

  “Yes. I’ve also heard it called The Adoration. Caravaggio painted the picture in 1609, but it was stolen in 1969 from a church in Palermo, Sicily.”

  “Is there any chance Antonio might’ve had the painting?”

  “No.” I considered the question for a few seconds and what I knew about the artwork. “The frame was destroyed when it was stolen because the canvas was so large the thieves couldn’t remove the whole thing. Most curators believe Toto Riina, the head of the Cosa Nostra mafia, stole the painting and the rumor was he used it as a rug, which destroyed the canvas.”

  Deloris inched closer. “What if it wasn’t destroyed?”

  “Caravaggio is a master of Italian Baroque. He is best known for his lifelike depictions of his subjects. This picture depicts the birth of Jesus. Mary appears pensive as she gazes at the baby, and Joseph, standing with two saints, seems to be bone tired. If the canvas is still in existence, it would be worth about twenty million dollars.”

  Her eyes widened. “Enough to kill over.” She flattened her hair with her fingers, smoothing the loose pieces that hung around her cheekbones. “Cosmo Bonetti believed in honor and respect. He would have wanted the painting returned to Sicily. Antonio would’ve, too.”

  “How did you find this out?” Her intel network was the eighth wonder of the world, but I didn’t think she could communicate with the dead.

  Deloris cocked her head, giving me that all-knowing stare perfected by mothers and aunts around the world, then she laughed. “I’ll confess. Vincent talked to Cosmo’s family. The son told Vincent that his dad knew where the painting was and he and Antonio hoped to get it back to the rightful owners without any questions being asked.”

  I absorbed the information. “Dad didn’t want me involved, so he tried to return it himself?”

  “Maybe, but I think he was hiding the piece for Bonetti. Cosmo was arrogant. He thought no one would know he’d stolen the canvas, but Antonio knew how crime families worked. There are never any secrets.”

  The contents of my stomach were making a run for the border.

  Elena, who’d listened to the entire conversation, spoke up. “Where did Cosmo get the painting?”

  Deloris blinked before responding. “Right. Back to my original question. Dante, do you know the Cuccia family?”

  “I’ve not heard the name
before.”

  Elena angled her knees closer to mine, as if trying to comfort me. “Deloris, what are you saying? How does the Cuccia organization play into this?”

  “Based on Dante’s conversation with Cosmo, I think a Cuccia family member killed Antonio. Probably Cosmo, too.”

  A headache formed at the base of my skull. “Other than the coo sound, what else do you have to connect them with the murders?”

  Deloris sat on the coffee table near the couch. “The Cuccia family has ties with the Cosa Nostra mafia, the people who were believed to have robbed the church and taken the artwork. Cosmo somehow gained possession of it.”

  I couldn’t stop the nervous bobbing of my knee, even when Elena laid a calming hand over my leg. “Cuccia had the painting. You think Cosmo Bonetti stole it from the Cuccia family, planning to have me find a way to return it to the church. Dad hid the painting for Cosmo in the hopes of keeping the canvas safe because he knew the Cuccia family would find out he’d taken it and exact revenge. Dad was murdered, then Cosmo was murdered. This means the Cuccias probably think I know where the painting is.”

  Deloris’s nod did nothing to improve my roiling belly.

  “If the Cuccias think I have the painting, won’t they be coming for me?”

  Elena slid her fingers to my thigh and squeezed. “Knowing your enemy is half the battle. We can prepare for them.” She moved away and gave me a sidelong glance. “Any ideas where the painting may be hidden?”

  “No. The canvas is something like nine by six and a half feet. Hiding it would be difficult. Vincent said Dad told him it was hidden someplace precious to them both.” The throbbing in my temples competed with the mariachi band dancing in my belly. I stretched my neck and tried to rub out the kinks. “Since the two of them were estranged, I can’t really think of anything that qualifies.”

  Deloris stood from her perch on the coffee table. “Vincent left with Lennox hours ago. I’m going to call him.” She moseyed out, her thumb working the phone as she went.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  Elena’s question brought me back to reality. Casting a glance at the half-eaten platter on the table, I shook my head. “No. Food isn’t important.”

  Her expression appeared as if I’d said I’d eaten a puppy for breakfast. “Food isn’t important? Are you a real Italian?”

  Her question made me chuckle. “Both sides of my family.” I studied her features. “What about you?”

  “My paternal family came from Sicily. My maternal family was from New Orleans—Cajun French. My parents’ arguments were legendary.” She smiled and the dancing in my belly slowed.

  “Were?” Although she wore a smile, I sensed sadness. “Are they gone?”

  She sighed. “Yes. They died in an accident about seven years ago. I joined the Marines after I graduated from high school. When I got out a few years ago, I got hired by your cousin.”

  “You don’t work directly for Deloris?” Deloris was the supervisor of Lennox’s security team, but she’d indicated she’d only heard of Elena.

  Her gaze met mine. “I do something else for him.”

  “Oh, I see.” I didn’t really. Lennox had married his wife, Alexandria, a short time ago. I couldn’t imagine he’d been the kind to treat his vows so lightly.

  Elena nudged me with her shoulder. “Not that. I work undercover.” She seized my wrist and tugged me to a standing position. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes from her curvy rear end as she bopped down the stairs in front of me. While inappropriate, my current train of thought kept my mind off the lurking danger. Once we entered the kitchen, she warmed lasagna while I threw together a salad and opened a bottle of wine. The cabinets were cherry with stained glass doors and granite counters had been added in the spring. The walls were painted a bright yellow and copper pans were hanging over the stove. The bright colors helped to lighten my mood.

  She ate her lasagna and picked the cheese off mine. “Want some music? I like country.”

  “Country. That explains a lot.” I allowed my nose to wrinkle at her choice.

  She stopped with her fork hovering over my plate. “You’re too good for country? What type of music do you like?”

  “Classical.”

  She tilted her neck. “That explains a lot.” She stabbed a tomato from my salad. “Have you ever danced to country music?”

  “Danced?” I couldn’t keep the horror from my voice.

  She jumped from her seat and dug her phone from a pocket. “You’ll love this. Stand up.”

  When I didn’t obey her command, she grasped my shoulders and hauled me to my feet. Some type of screechy, bellyaching song cued up and she swung me around, placing both palms on my hips.

  Applying pressure to guide me, she yelled, “Right, right, kick. Left, left, kick. Now turn.”

  I spun and ran headlong into her, slamming our foreheads together. Our laughter may have been irreverent on such a somber day, but it felt good.

  An hour later, Deloris found us arguing over the proper way to sear a filet. She leaned her elbows on the counter and laughed at our heated discussion. “I hate to interrupt such a titillating debate, but Vincent had no idea where Antonio would hide the canvas. I asked him to think about their childhood and call if he remembered anything.”

  Her comments brought me back into the moment. “Maybe we should search the house. Vincent and Dad grew up here. That alone qualifies the house as precious to them.”

  We spent the remainder of the afternoon and all evening searching every nook and cranny, but found nothing. Throughout the search, I discovered many artifacts of my father’s life. At the end of the day, depression settled over me, and I slipped off to my room for some quiet time.

  Before turning out the light, I lay in bed researching the theft of the artwork in Palermo, Sicily on my laptop. Many other paintings had been stolen that day and the church had been pillaged, but nothing was as valuable as the Nativity of St. Francis and St. Lawrence. The artist, Caravaggio was an original bad boy, and reading about his antics made me snicker. Engrossed in the article, I froze even though my heart rate accelerated when the mattress dipped beside me.

  Elena sat on the other side of the bed and laid her gun on the nightstand. She lifted her feet onto the mattress and slid under the covers, her back inches from mine. Settling down beside me seemed strange, yet familiar, as if we’d always been this intimate.

  “You aren’t sleeping with me.” Having a woman in my bed with Bettina and Cat in the house wasn’t acceptable.

  “Yes, I am. You earned that reward when you snuck off and tried to get yourself killed.” Her gaze fixated on my lips.

  Her complexion glowed in the light from the lamp, and her jet black hair fell around her shoulders. Hot, smart, and strong—an intriguing combination. The attraction could only mean one thing. I wanted to paint her.

  Nude.

  Chapter 6

  Some days started the same way—coffee while my sisters ate breakfast, painting in my studio until late afternoon, dinner with the family. Today something in the air made the skin on the back of my neck prickle. Not knowing what new horror was coming created a steady stream of acid in my throat.

  Elena had left my bed at daylight. Sometime during the night, she, or maybe me, had snuggled close, tucking arms and legs in a familiar manner. Missing the heat of her body, I threw off the covers and got dressed. The house was quiet when I went to the kitchen. The remains of last night’s dinner sat in the sink, so I started the coffee and put the dishes in the dishwasher. The doorbell rang before the girls came down for breakfast.

  Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I strolled to the front door, but Elena got there first. With her gun drawn and her hand on the knob, she demanded, “Who is it?”

  “NYPD. We have a warrant. Open the door immediately.”

  Elena stuck the gun into the waist of her pants, tucked her shirt over the bulge, and squinted in my dir
ection. “Warrant?”

  I shrugged. This was news to me, too. “Let them in.”

  She unlocked the door, and Detectives Cohern and Sparks burst inside. Sparks held up a paper, and I snatched it from him.

  Before I could read the document, Sparks said, “Where is Bettina Costello?”

  I blinked, too surprised to respond, but Elena eased the paper out of my grasp. When finished, she worried her tongue across her lower lip. “I’ll find Deloris. You bring Bettina downstairs.” She trotted out of the entryway, her tennis shoes slapping double time down the hallway.

  I started for the stairs, but Detective Sparks captured my arm. “We’ll go with you. The warrant gives us the right to search her room.”

  The men matched my pace as I flew up the stairs toward Bettina’s room. I knocked, but Sparks twisted the knob and barreled inside.

  Bettina stood in front of the mirror applying lipstick. She whirled toward the detective, dropping her makeup. “Dante, what’s happening?” She clutched her throat and her gaze fluttered from me to the detective.

  Sparks seized her by the arm, jerked out handcuffs, and spun her around. “Bettina Costello, you’re under arrest for the murder of Antonio Costello…”

  His words faded as I fought to comprehend. “That’s not possible. She loved him and she was in school when he was killed.”

  Bettina’s expression melted and tears formed. Her lips trembled, but she averted her eyes. “I didn’t kill him.” Her sobs echoed in the quiet room. “Please, Dante. You know I couldn’t kill him.”

  I searched my memory for the day Dad died. Bettina had come home around the usual time. She must’ve had a ride because she waved from the doorway. I’d been at the top of the stairs when she came in, but I was at the door when the detectives arrived. I must’ve looked outside. Squeezing my forehead with my thumb and ring finger, I struggled to remember. The car had been backing out of the driveway when Sparks and Cohern came inside, but I’d been distracted. Her best friend drove a blue Mustang, but the car backing out had been red. A car I hadn’t known.