painfully as she rushed across the room. "What's happened?"
"Mama." Everything changes now, Sophia thought. Once it was said, nothing was ever going to be the same again. "Mama, it's Dad."
"Is he hurt? Is he ill?"
"He…" She couldn't say the words. Instead, she released Ty's hand and wrapped her arms tight around her mother.
The twisting in Pilar's stomach stilled. Everything inside her stilled. "Oh God. Oh my God." Pressing her face to Sophia's hair, she began to rock. "No. Oh, baby, no."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mama. We found him. In my apartment. Someone… someone killed him there."
"What? Wait." Shaking, she drew back. "No."
"Sit down, Pilar." Tyler was already leading them both to the curved love seat against the wall.
"No, no. This can't be right. I need to—"
"Sit," Tyler repeated and gently pushed both of them down. "Listen to me. Look at me." He waited while Pilar groped for Sophia's hand. "I know this is hard for both of you. Avano was in Sophia's apartment. We don't know why. It looked like he was meeting someone there."
Pilar blinked. Her mind seemed to be skipping, as if there was a tooth missing on a gear. "In Sophie's apartment? Why do you say that? What do you mean?"
"There was a bottle of wine on the table. Two glasses." He'd memorized the scene. Quiet elegance, stark death. "It's likely whoever it was he met there killed him. The police have already questioned Sophia."
"Sophia." Her fingers gripped her daughter's like a clamp. "The police."
"And they're going to have more questions for her. For you. Maybe all of us. I know it's hard, hard to think straight, but you have to prepare yourself to deal with them. I think you should call a lawyer. Both of you."
"I don't want a lawyer. I don't need a lawyer. For God's sake, Ty, Tony's been murdered."
"That's right. In his daughter's apartment, only days after divorcing you and marrying someone else. Only days after Sophie went after him in public."
Guilt, ugly and fierce, bared its teeth inside Sophia. "Goddamn it, Ty, if either of us was going to kill him, we'd have done it years ago."
Tyler shifted his gaze to Sophia's. The energy was back, he noted, and it was furious. That, he decided, was a plus. "Is that what you're going to say to the cops? Is that what you're going to say to the reporters when they start calling? Publicity's your business, Sophie. Think."
Her breath was coming too fast. She couldn't stop it. Something inside her wanted to explode, to burst out of the fragile skin of control and scream. Then she felt her mother's hand tremble in hers, and reeled it back in. "All right. But not yet. Not now. We're entitled to mourn first." She drew her mother closer. "We're entitled to be human first."
She got to her feet, walked to the door on legs that felt stiff and brittle. "Would you go down, talk to Nonna and Eli? Tell them what they need to be told. I want to be alone with my mother."
"Okay. Pilar." He bent down, touched her knee. "I'm sorry." He met Sophia's eyes as he walked out. The great, dark depth of them was all he saw as she closed the door between them.
Chapter Ten
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Ty was right, but Sophia would stew about that later. It might help to have something petty to brood about. The reporters started to call less than ten minutes after she'd told her mother, and before she'd been able to go downstairs and speak with her grandmother.
She knew the line they would take. Unity. And she was prepared to go head-to-head with the police to soften the blow for her mother.
There would be no comment to the press until she was able to write the appropriate release. There would be no interviews. She was perfectly aware her father's murder would generate a media circus, but the Giambellis would not step into the center ring and perform.
Which meant she had a great many phone calls to make to family members and key employees. But the first—damn Tyler—was to Helen Moore.
They needed legal advice.
"I've called Aunt Helen," she told Tereza.
"Good." Tereza sat in the front parlor, her back ruler-straight, her face composed. "Your mother?"
"She wanted a few minutes alone."
With a nod, Tereza lifted her hand, took Sophia's. It was a connection, and it was enough. "Who do you trust most on your staff to write a statement for the press and filter the calls?"
"Me. I want to do it myself, Nonna."
"Good." Tereza gave her hand a squeeze, released it. "I'm sorry for your grief, cam. Tyler's told us everything he knows. I don't like that you were questioned before you were able to speak with Helen or James."
"I have nothing to hide. I know nothing. My father was shot while he sat in my chair in my apartment. How could I not tell them anything that might help them find who killed him?"
"If you know nothing, you could tell them nothing that would help." She dismissed the police with one impatient gesture. "Tyler, get Sophia some wine." When the phone rang again, she slapped a hand on the arm of her chair.
"I'll take care of it," Tyler began.
"No, we don't want a family member talking to the press today." Sophia rubbed her forehead, ordered herself to think. "You should get David. Ask him to come. If you could explain things to him, I'll get started on a statement. For now, it's simply, the family is in seclusion and has no comment."
"I'll get him here." Tyler crossed to her, lifted her face with a hand on her chin. "You don't need wine. You need an aspirin."
"I don't need either." She stepped back. "Give me a half hour," she said to her grandmother.
"Sophie." Eli left Tereza's side to put his arms around Sophia. "Take a breath."
"Can't."
"All right, do what's best for you. I'll start making the calls."
"I can do that."
"You can, but I will. And take the aspirin."
"All right, for you."
It helped. The aspirin and the work. Within an hour she was steadier, had the official statement drafted and had briefed David.
"I'll take care of the press, Sophia. You take care of yourself, and your mother."
"We'll get through. You need to be aware that some enterprising reporter is bound to try to get close to the villa, and to MacMillan's. You have children, and that connection to the family will also be made."
"I'll talk to my kids. They're not going to sell a story to the tabloids, Sophia."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to imply that. But they're still children. They could be harassed and they could be caught off guard."
"I'll talk to them," he repeated. "I know this is rough for you. I can't imagine how rough for you. And your mother." He got to his feet. "Anything I can do, just tell me what it is."
"I appreciate that." She hesitated, measuring him as she did so. Petty resentments, company policies had to be put aside. "My grandparents trust you, or you wouldn't be here. So I'm going to trust you. I'm going to set you up here in the house so you can handle the phones. I'd give you my space, but I may need it."
She started for the door, then just stopped in the middle of the room. She looked, he thought, blank. As if some internal mechanism had shut down.
"Why don't you rest a little."
"I can't. As long as I keep moving, I can handle it. I know what people thought of him. I know what'll be said about him, in whispers over cocktails, in gleeful articles in the press."
What / thought of him. What / said to him. Oh God, don't think of it now.
"It can't hurt him. But it can and will hurt my mother. So I can't stop."
She hurried out. "I think the library would be best," she began. "You'll have privacy there, and it's convenient if you need anything we haven't thought of."
She was halfway down the steps when Maria opened the front door to the police. Claremont looked over the housekeeper's head and saw Sophia.
"Ms. Giambelli."
"Detective. It's all right, Maria. I'll take care of this. Do you have any more information fo
r me?" she asked him as she continued down the steps.
"Not at this time. We'd like to speak to you again, and to your mother."
"My mother is resting. David, this is Detective…"
"Claremont," he finished. "And my partner, Detective Maguire."
"David Cutter, Detectives Claremont and Maguire. Mr. Cutter is chief operating officer of Giambelli-MacMillan. I'll show you into the parlor and be with you in just a moment."
"Is your mother at home, Ms. Giambelli?"
"I said my mother is resting. She's not up to speaking with you at this time."
"Sophia." Pilar came down the steps, one hand holding the banister, with Helen just behind her. "It's all right. I want to do what I can."
"Mrs. Avano," Helen began, careful to use Pilar's married name, "is willing to answer your questions. I'm sure you'll take her emotional state into consideration. Judge Moore," she added with a cool nod. "I'm an old family friend."
Claremont knew of her. And had been under ruthless cross-examination by her husband. Lawyers at the ready, he mused. "Are you representing Ms. Avano, Judge Moore?"
"I'm here to offer my friend my support and my advice, should that be necessary."
"Why don't we go sit down?" Pilar said. "Sophia, would you ask Maria to arrange for some coffee?"
"Of course."
Slick and civilized, Claremont thought. He saw where the daughter got her class. But classy women killed, just like all the other kinds.
Especially when they'd been tossed over for a younger model.
Still, she answered questions directly.
Hadn't seen or spoken with the deceased since the famous party. Hadn't been to her daughter's apartment in more than a month. Didn't have a key. Didn't own a gun, though she admitted before the judge could cut her off that there were guns in the house.
"You were upset when your husband finalized your divorce to marry Rene Foxx."
"Yes," Pilar agreed, even as Helen opened her mouth. "It's foolish to deny it, Helen. Naturally I was upset. I don't find the end of a marriage a reason to celebrate. Even when the marriage had become no more than a legality. He was my daughter's father."
"You argued?"
"No." Her lips curved, and put Claremont in mind of an elegantly sorrowful Madonna. "It was difficult to argue with Tony. He slipped around most arguments. I gave him what he wanted. There was really nothing else to do, was there?"
"I handled the divorce for Mrs. Avano," Helen put in. "It was amicable on both sides. Legally as simple as such matters can be."
"But you were upset nonetheless," Maguire stated. "Upset enough to phone your ex-husband's residence last week in the middle of the night and make certain threats and accusations."
"I did no such thing." For the first time a battle light came into her eyes. "I never called Tony's apartment, never spoke to Rene at all. She assumed I did."
"Mrs. Avano, we can easily check phone records."
"Then please do so." Her spine stiffened, and so did her voice. "However displeased I was with the choices Tony made, they were his choices. I'm not in the habit of calling anyone in the middle of the night to make threats or accusations."
"The current Mrs. Avano claims otherwise."
"Then she's mistaken, or she's lying. She called me, in the middle of the night, and accused me of this, was abusive and upsetting. You'll find that call on your phone records, Detective, but you won't find one on mine."
"Why would she lie?"
"I don't know." On a sigh, Pilar rubbed her temple. "Perhaps she wasn't. I'm sure someone did call her, and she assumed it was me. She was angry. She disliked me on principle."
"Do you know what time Mr. Avano left the premises here the night of the party?"
"No. Frankly, I avoided both him and Rene as much as possible that evening. It was awkward and it was uncomfortable for me."
"Do you know why he went to your daughter's apartment at…" The cab company had come through. Claremont looked at his pad as if refreshing his memory. "Three o'clock that morning?"
"No."
"Where were you at that time?"
"In bed. Most of the guests were gone by one. I went to my room sometime before two. Alone," she added, anticipating the question. "I said good night to Sophia, then I went straight to bed because I was tired. It had been a long day."
"Could we have a moment?" Helen asked, and gestured to indicate the detectives should step out of the room.
"You can get from here to San Francisco in an hour," Maguire speculated in the hallway. "She's got no alibi for the time in question. She's got a decent motive."
"Why meet the ex in your daughter's apartment?"
"All in the family."
"Maybe," Claremont responded, and stepped back in when the judge called.
"Detectives, Mrs. Avano is reluctant to bring up certain information. Anthony Avano was her husband for a number of years, and they share a daughter. She's distressed to say anything that damages his reputation. However, as I've advised her, it's more constructive to pass on this information, as it may be useful to your investigation. And more-over… Moreover, Pilar," she said quietly, "they're going to get the picture soon enough from other sources."
"All right." She got to her feet, roamed the room. "All right. You asked if I had any idea why he might have gone to Sophia's. I can't be sure, but… Tony had a weakness for women. Some people drink, some gamble, some have affairs. Tony had affairs. He may have arranged to meet someone there, to break off an affair or to…"
"Do you know who he might have been involved with?"
"No, I stopped looking a long time ago. But there was someone. He knew who'd called Rene that night, I'm sure of it. And he seemed edgy at the party. That was unusual for Tony. He was rarely ruffled. He was a bit rude to David Cutter, and not as sociable as was his habit. I think, looking back, he was in some sort of trouble. I don't know. I didn't want to know so I didn't do anything about it. If I had… I can't know if it would have made a difference. That's painful."
Claremont rose. "We appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Avano. We'd like to speak with the other members of the family now, Mr. Cutter and any members of the staff who were here during the party."
He specifically wanted to question Sophia again. He took her alone, while his partner took David Cutter. "You didn't mention that you and your father had a heated argument on the night he was killed."
"No, I didn't, because you didn't ask. Now that you do, I'd have to qualify. An argument is between two people over a point of disagreement. There was no argument."
"Then how would you qualify it?"
"Hard words. Hard words that were a long time coming. It's difficult for me, Detective, to know they're the last words I'll ever say to him. Even though they were true, even though I meant them, it's difficult. I was angry. He'd been married hours after the divorce from my mother was final. He hadn't bothered to tell me of his plans, hadn't bothered to give my mother the courtesy of informing her, and he came to a family event with his new wife on his arm. It was careless and insensitive, and just like him. I told him so."
"My information is you threatened him."
"Did I? I might have. I was furious, hurt, embarrassed. Rene had cornered my mother and attacked her—verbally. There was no call for it; she had what she wanted. He let it happen. My father was