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“Finally,” Bianca said. She dug in to her breakfast while checking her phone and texting as Pescoli made a bottle and fed her son. “Are the local police going to let you in on the case?” she asked. Pescoli had told her there might be problems.
“Maybe. The lead, Paterno, seems okay with it, but the junior detective, his partner, she doesn’t trust me.”
“Oh, gee. I wonder why. Could it be you came on a little too strong?”
“I’m always the soul of discretion.”
Bianca made a disparaging sound just as her phone started buzzing. She glanced at it. “Oh, no.”
“Let me guess. Your dad.”
“He won’t give up. Doesn’t matter what I do, he won’t give up.”
“Have you told him outright you don’t want to talk to him?”
“Duh. Like I’ve texted him a million times. He just won’t listen or won’t believe me!”
“I know.” Boy howdy did she ever. Convincing Lucky Pescoli to change his mind or trying to get him to do something he didn’t want to was nearly impossible. She remembered. Vividly. His take-no-prisoners attitude coupled with her stubborn streak had made living together impossible and had helped erode a marriage that had probably been doomed from the get-go.
“I’m going to get a restraining order against him!” Bianca declared.
Regan set the bottle aside, lifted Tucker, and burped him. “Do what you have to do.” Gazing over her son’s back, she said to her daughter, “This isn’t how I envisioned it would be when I got together with your dad.”
She snorted. “You thought we could be one big happy family? Like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting? If that’s what you were looking for, you picked the wrong guy. Dad’s a loser. No. He’s worse than that. He’s . . . terrible. For God’s sake, Mom, he almost got me killed!” Her lower lip quivered.
“I know. I’ll never forgive him for that,” she said, and meant it. She’d like to strangle her ex with her bare hands for what he’d put Bianca through.
Bianca pulled herself together with an effort, clamping down on her emotions. She was nothing if not resilient. She found the TV remote, flopped onto the futon, and clicked on the flat screen. “Neither will I. Never. I hope Michelle divorces his ass.”
“I think they’re going to counseling.”
Another snort as she channel surfed, images on the TV flashing by as Regan slid a sleeping Tucker onto the bed. The truth was that Pescoli had no love for Lucky’s current wife. But, much as she hated to say it, Pescoli had to admit that Luke could have hooked up with someone far worse than his much younger, Barbie doll of a wife.
She caught a glimpse of Brindel’s house on the television screen and said, “Wait. Stop there.”
“What?”
“Back up to the news,” Pescoli said, and with a quick look to make certain her son was sleeping soundly, joined Bianca on the couch. “There,” she said as Bianca worked the remote and the screen settled on the front facade of Brindel’s huge home, police barriers in place, no lights in the windows—a huge, dark behemoth gloomy in the falling rain.
A television reporter wearing a jacket with a hood and a serious expression stood in front of the home. Her face was composed, her dark eyes serious “. . . Police have revealed no new information on the double-homicide of Paul Latham and his wife, Brindel . . .” She continued solemnly with the story, offering up pictures of the deceased and their blended family. In each shot Brindel was smiling, appearing happy. But then, who knew what really went on in a marriage? What occurred when the doors and windows to the outside world were closed?
“That’s Ivy?” Bianca asked, pointing at the screen.
“Uh-huh.”
“Where is she?”
“Good question. One I intend to answer,” she said, and as the screen returned to the in-studio anchor, her phone rang. She glanced at the cell and saw Sarina’s name and number appear. Picking up the phone, she answered with, “I was just about to call you.”
“Why don’t you just come over,” Sarina said, and she sounded much calmer than she had the day before. “Seth’s coming over and I think you need to talk to him. And bring your kids, Regan. No excuses. You have a lot to do here and Bianca could use a break from Tucker, I’ll bet, so seriously, come over. I’ve made up the guest room. It’s yours and we can juggle cars. I can watch the baby.... I’d love to, if Bianca wants some space.”
“I don’t think—”
“Stop it, right there. Look, I’m sorry I fell apart yesterday, but I’m better today. Dealing with the shock, so think about what’s best for your family. Uh-oh, I’ve got another call coming in. See you in a few.” And she clicked off.
“Aunt Sarina?” Bianca asked.
“Yeah. She wants us to bunk in with her. You okay with that?”
