“With Vito?” he asked cagily.
“You bet your Bette Davis collection.”
She waved him down the hall, then smiled. As Harry’s elevator closed, another opened and Vito stepped out, a dozen white roses in each arm. “Hi.”
He gave her that smile that turned him from magazine handsome to movie-star gorgeous and Sophie’s heart went pitter-pat. “You’re up,” he said.
“Treated and released,” she said and lifted her face for a kiss that made her sigh. “I don’t think they’ll let Anna have those roses in the cardiac ICU. I’m sorry.”
“Then I guess they’re all for you.” He put them on a table in the waiting room, then slipped his hands under her hair, searching her face. “Truth. How are you?”
“Fine.” She closed her eyes. “Physically anyway. I’ve had a few bad moments thinking about what might have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled her close. “I know.”
She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the soothing beat of his heart. It was exactly what she needed. “You never did tell me how you found me.”
“Hmm. Well, there was an old woman buried next to Claire Reynolds. She used the same investment brokers as the woman who’d once owned that field. We didn’t know her name, so we tracked brokerage clients who lived near quarries.”
She pulled back to stare up at him. “Quarries?”
“The fill dirt from the graves came from near a quarry. But we still had too many names and it was almost dawn. Katherine had learned that the unidentified woman had dental work that placed her in Germany before the 1960s, but none of our names were European. We didn’t want to risk calling the actual clients, because we were afraid Simon might pick up the phone. So we started calling the contact information on each person’s brokerage application until we found a woman whose father had been a diplomat in West Germany in the 1950s. Her name was Selma Crane.”
“So Simon’s house really belonged to Selma Crane. And Selma Crane is dead.”
“Simon found the perfect location and killed for it. He buried her next to Claire, then continued to pay Selma’s bills. He even sent out her Christmas cards for two years.”
“He told me he’d killed those people to watch them die.”
“And then he’d paint them. On canvas. He wanted to be famous in his own time.” He tipped her face up, and she saw the shadows in his eyes. “I watched the tape. You really should be an actress. The way you goaded him…”
She shuddered. “I was so scared, but I didn’t want him to see.”
“You said that the people he’d killed continued to scream and that I heard them.” He said it with a kind of wonder, and Sophie realized she’d paid him the highest compliment possible.
“And you always will.” She leaned up and kissed his mouth. “My white knight.”
He grimaced. “I don’t want to be a knight. How about I just be your cop?”
“What do I get to be of yours?”
He met her eyes and Sophie’s heart did a slow, delightful roll. “Ask me in a few months and I’ll say ‘my wife.’” He lifted a brow. “For now, my Boudiccea will do nicely.”
She smiled up at him, content. “You’re bad, Vito Ciccotelli, bad to the bone.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and led her toward her grandmother’s room. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”
She glared up at him as they were buzzed into the CCU. “You saw Simon say that on the tape didn’t you? You rat.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
Sunday, January 21, 4:30
P.M.
Daniel stopped his rental car in front of the train station. “I wish you wouldn’t go, Suze.”
Her eyes were so sad. “I have a job, Daniel. And a home.”
Interesting, how she’d ordered the two. Job, then home. It was exactly how he ordered his priorities in his own mind. “I feel like I just found you again.”
“We’ll see each other next week.” At their parents’ funeral in Dutton.
“And after that? Will you visit?”
She swallowed hard. “Back home? No. After we bury Mom and Dad, I don’t ever want to go home again.”
His heart hurt just looking at her. “Suze, what did Simon do to you?”
She looked away. “Another time, Daniel. After everything that’s happened… I can’t.” She climbed from the car and ran toward the station, but he didn’t drive away. He waited, and when she got to the station door, she paused, turned, and watched him watching her. She looked fragile, but he knew that inside she was as strong as he was. Maybe stronger.
Finally she waved, just once, and she was gone, leaving him alone with all his memories. And all his regrets.
Then sitting there in the quiet of his car, he reached into the back seat for his laptop case. From inside he pulled a thick manila envelope. He slid the contents from the envelope and paged through the stack of pictures one at a time. He’d given Ciccotelli a copy, keeping the originals for himself. He forced himself to look at each snapshot, each woman. The pictures were real, just as he’d thought they were so long ago.
To each woman he made a silent vow to do what he should have done ten years before. One way or another, no matter how many years it took, he’d match these pictures with the victims. If Simon had perpetrated crimes against them, he could at least notify their families that justice had been done.
If someone else was responsible… I’ll find them. And I’ll make them pay.
And then maybe he’d finally find peace.
Epilogue
Saturday, November 8, 7:00
P.M.
Everyone.” Sophie tapped the microphone. “Can I have your attention, please?”
The conversation gradually stilled and everyone in the crowded room turned to face the podium where Sophie stood, looking elegant in an evening gown of shimmering green. Vito, of course, hadn’t taken his eyes off her all evening.
Much of the evening, he’d been at her side, if for no other reason than to run interference against the skinny old philanthropists, who, although they’d helped make this night possible, still didn’t get that they weren’t allowed to pinch Sophie’s butt.
Pinching Sophie’s butt was Vito’s job. He had the hardware on his left hand to prove it. Sophie met his eyes and gave him a wink before addressing the audience. “Thank you. My name is Sophie Ciccotelli, and I want to welcome you tonight to the opening of the new wing of the Albright Historical Museum.”
“She’s sparkling tonight,” Harry murmured and Vito nodded, knowing Harry wasn’t referring to the evening gown that hugged Sophie’s every curve. The sparkle was in her eyes, and the energy in her face was contagious.
“She’s worked hard to make this happen,” Vito murmured back. Which was an understatement. Sophie had labored tirelessly to create a complex of interactive exhibits that had caught the eye of newspapers and several national magazines.
“So many have contributed to the success of this endeavor,” Sophie went on. “Were I to read all their names, we’d be here all night. So I won’t. But I would like to recognize those who’ve put in tireless hours to create what you’re about to enjoy.
“Most of you know that the Albright Museum is a family operation. Ted Albright started the museum five years ago as a way to continue his grandfather’s legacy.” She smiled fondly. “Ted and Darla made a lot of personal sacrifices every day to keep our operating costs low so we can keep our doors open to everyone. To that end, we enlisted the help of family to build the exhibits. Ted’s son, Theo, and my father-in-law, Michael Ciccotelli, have designed and built everything you’ll see inside. Your guide will be Ted’s daughter, Patty Ann, who many of you enjoyed as Maria in the Little Theater’s production of West Side Story.” Patty Ann smiled, and Ted and Darla beamed. It was off-off Broadway, but Patty Ann had finally found her niche and seen her name in lights.