She had tried not to think about Melissa while she transferred the baby’s things. The Pack ’n Play, bottles, brushes, formula, diapers, receiving blankets, clothing, ointments, liquid baby aspirin. She had almost forgotten to empty the hamper, and the trash, which was filled with soiled diapers.
She hadn’t touched anything of Melissa’s. She had taken only what belonged to Carrie.
To Lilly. A new life deserved a new name.
‘‘It’s terrible what happened,’’ Belinda said, meaning it. ‘‘Just terrible.’’
And really, could anyone say with certainty that if she hadn’t taken the baby, something horrible wouldn’t have happened? If not last night, then another time? Melissa had said her boyfriend didn’t like babies… Sooner or later he would have grown tired of supporting Melissa and the baby.
Melissa’s killer, not her boyfriend. Because that’s what he was.
Belinda looked at the card and nodded. She had done the right thing, for the baby.
It was for the best.
Never Too Old by Linda Grant
Sophia Diamante was worried about her mother. ‘‘You know how she frets,’’ she told her sister, Cara. ‘‘You should never have told her about the Russian. It’s just upset her.’’
‘‘Mother does not fret,’’ Cara said. It was the mildest retort she could think of.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Mother does not fret,’’ she repeated. ‘‘Doesn’t now, never has. When she’s worried, there’s a good reason.’’ Like the fact that a mafiya thug up for murder one has just told her oldest daughter she won’t live long enough to go to trial.
Sophia’s sigh was audible, even over the weak cell phone connection. ‘‘I told you, he’s just blowing off steam. These guys don’t go after cops or prosecutors. You know that.’’
Cara knew that the Italian mafia did not go after cops or prosecutors. She did not know what the Russian mafiya might do, and she was pretty sure that Sophia didn’t either. Still, she was sorry she’d told her mother. There wasn’t anything that she could do, and it just worried her. Not for the first time, she vowed to play dumb from now on when her mother grilled her about her sister’s life.
‘‘She doesn’t look well,’’ Sophia continued. ‘‘I’m worried about her. She doesn’t take good care of herself.’’
It was Cara’s turn to sigh. This was a rerun of a conversation they’d had before. It was true that their mother had aged noticeably. When they were young, their friends had considered her the prettiest mom in their group. Now she looked at least ten years older than the other women. ‘‘Just because she doesn’t go to the gym or get her hair dyed doesn’t mean she doesn’t take care of herself,’’ Cara said. ‘‘She’s still plenty sharp.’’
‘‘I don’t know. She’s getting forgetful. Remember that fancy orchid I bought her? She forgot to water it, and it died. And she makes appointments and forgets them.’’
Cara could have pointed out that their mother did not like houseplants, especially ones that required special attention, and the appointments she forgot were weekly luncheons with Sophia. Cara suspected that her mother found it easier to ‘‘forget’’ than to deal with her eldest daughter’s inability to take no for an answer.
‘‘I think she’s acting rather erratic,’’ Sophia continued. ‘‘First she develops such a fascination with orchids that she has to rush off to a convention in Chicago, then she loses interest and forgets the one I got her. And how about that distant cousin in Denver she had to visit last month? She can’t remember whether the woman was related to Aunt Silvi or Uncle Phil.’’
Cara had her own theory about her mother’s trips. She was fairly sure that there was a man involved. Their father had died when they were children, and while their mother had never admitted to having a boyfriend, there were always men happy to take care of household and automotive repairs. Of course, it helped that Tony Diamante had been a close friend of the local mafia don, and that that same don seemed to have a fondness for their mother, but neither factor explained why the men seemed anxious to hang around long after the job was done, or to drop by to see if anything more needed doing.
She understood why her mother wouldn’t want to tell Sophia if she had a male friend. Her sister would drive them both wild with her suspicious nature. She’d probably run a background check on the poor guy and badger the local cops into checking him out.
‘‘She needs some outside interests,’’ Sophia said, ‘‘something to stimulate her mind and get her out of the house. I keep telling her you’re never too old to try new things.’’
‘‘She’s fine,’’ Cara said. ‘‘You worry too much about her.’’ And too little about yourself, she thought. ‘‘What’s happening with the Russian, by the way?’’
‘‘He’s in lockup,’’ Sophia said. ‘‘There’ll be a bail hearing, probably Monday. It’s too late for them to get to him today.’’
‘‘Will he get bail?’’ Cara asked. ‘‘I mean, he’s up for murder and he threatened you. They won’t let him out, will they?’’
Sophia laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. ‘‘Depends on the judge. Whether they think he’s a flight risk. Whether they accept his apology about the threat. I don’t think he’s a risk. I doubt the judge will.’’
‘‘They might take it more seriously if you did,’’ Cara said. ‘‘You’re making it easy for them to dismiss the danger.’’
‘‘There is not much danger,’’ Sophia assured her. ‘‘I’d just look like a wimp if I made a fuss.’’
There was no point in arguing, Cara realized. Sophia would rather put herself at risk than chance damaging her status as ‘‘one of the boys.’’ She’d worked hard to make her way in the DA’s office, and it hadn’t made it any easier that her father had had close friends in the mafia.
If Sophia was worried about her mother, Bianca Diamante was even more worried about her daughter. She was taking the Russian’s threat entirely too lightly. Sophia was sure that a criminal wouldn’t go after a prosecutor, but that was naïve. When the stakes were high enough, anyone was fair game. And in this case the stakes were the highest. The Russian, one Yuri Reznikov, was up for murder one, and it was Sophia who’d convinced his girlfriend to testify against him. The girlfriend was in protective custody. What better way to convince her of the high cost of testifying than to kill the woman who’d promised her the cops could keep her safe?
Bianca wasn’t about to gamble with her daughter’s life. If anyone had earned a trip to the boneyard, it was this guy. And no one was better equipped to punch his ticket than Bianca Diamante. While she’d always made it firm policy never to mix personal and professional matters, she was prepared to make an exception for the Russian.
That’s what Tony would have done. He’d never have stood for a thug threatening one of his girls. A hit man does not have to put up with poor behavior.
Tony had been a real pro, not a mob thug who blasted away with the biggest gun he could find. He’d worked freelance. The money had been good and he was his own boss. But there’s no retirement program for hit men, and when he got the cancer and knew he wouldn’t be there to see his kids grow up, he’d provided for them the only way he knew how. He’d taught their mom the family business.
In the early days Bianca had let Tony’s contacts believe that his brother had taken over. Even now, only the man who acted as her agent knew her true identity. He hadn’t liked the idea of repping a woman, but she’d convinced him that she had unique assets that suited her for special jobs. When she was younger, she’d used her looks to gain access to powerfulmen. But in her late forties, she’d discovered an even better cover. Instead of trying to look younger, she’d aged herself.