“As you pointed out, this is a courtesy call only,” she tells me. “We will exhume that body, and we will begin an investigation into his murder. Because hewasmurdered, wasn’t he, Mr. Castellani? You might have paid off a few key people to support your story of a heart attack, but you can’t bribe the FBI.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” I laugh again. The FBI may be less willing to look the other way in comparison with other law enforcement agencies, but they are by no means the ethical exception Ms. Anderson seems to believe. “My answer is still no.”
“We’re already in the process of seeking a court order for it,” she says, standing up. The brooding Barbieri stands as well, still staring at me with fiery eyes. “We’ll let you know when it comes through.”
“Will you?” I parry with a smile. The very fact that they are here at my door, letting me know, tells me that someone higher up than them has no intention of letting the exhumation go forward. I’ll call Gene Lombardo as soon as these two leave, put him on the trail.
Hell will freeze over before I let these dogs dig up my father’s corpse. I should have had him cremated, and perhaps I’ll ask Lombardo to look into that possibility even now.
“Your brother was not at the funeral,” Ms. Anderson notes as I see them back into the foyer.
“My half-brother,” I correct her. “And no.”
“Where is he?”
I don’t have to answer their questions, but I smile as politely as I have done this whole time. “He’s on vacation.”
“A little Family disagreement?” the Barbarian growls. I turn my eyes on him and look him head to toe, letting him see my contempt. “Maybe he wants the crown? Challenged you for it?”
“If he did, we’re looking at the winner right here,” Ms. Anderson says lightly, turning over my hand as I shake hers. “Don Castellani here has the ring, see?” She twists my hand so he can see. “And I’msurethe old guard have already taken their vows to him. Isn’t that right?”
I shake my head a little, indicating confusion. “I’m not sure what either of you mean. In any case, thank you for your warning.”
Someone has been telling tales. How these vermin know that the senior administration has not sworn to me yet, I don’t know. But there are a million ways they could have found out.
“Condolences on your father’s death,” the Barbarian says with a sneer.
My temper, kept well under control until now, rears its head. I remember the FBI plant whose unfortunate end was the catalyst for all this close attention. “And my condolences to the FBI on Frankie Serra,” I tell him. “Are you any closer to finding his killer?”
The Barbarian takes a threatening step closer. “You slimy son of a bitch,” he growls.
“Craig,” Ms. Anderson says sharply, an arm across his chest.
“You should do what your mistress commands,” I tell him softly. “Imagine if the FBI assaulted me—a private, law abiding citizen—in my own home.”
I hope he does come at me. Oh, I hope he does. But Ms. Anderson has already tugged him away, throwing a “Goodbye, Don Castellani,” over her very cold shoulder.
The Barbarian pulls away from her and drops his voice so only I can hear him. “You want to watch out for that boyfriend of yours, Castellani. Accidents happen.”
It’s lucky for him that he immediately hurries after his Ice Maiden. Another moment and I would have smashed his head open on the marble floor of the foyer.
* * *
I hurry upstairs to Teddy, trying to outrun the new sense of dread that I have, but his room is locked. I don’t waste time waiting for him to open it; I go through my own room to the communicating door, where the key is in my side.
Teddy is at the main door of his bedroom when I storm through, and whirls around in surprise. “Iknewit,” he says, looking through the communicating door into my room. But he blinks when I seize him by the arms, looking him over. Blinks, and goes pale. “What is it?” he whispers.
“Tell me you weren’t creeping around while those undesirables were here? They didn’t see you?”
He shakes his head. “You told me to stay up here. I stayed up here. I even locked the door.”
He knows how close I was to forcing him away from me, and I don’t believe he would do anything to jeopardize his permission to stay, not so soon after I granted it. “Good boy,” I tell him, and I kiss him quickly. “I must go out. But you’re free to do as you please.”
“I think I’ll go read some more in the library,” he says, smiling shyly, and I’m relieved he does not ask what the FBI wanted. “And remember—your mother is coming for dinner.”
“How could I forget?” I murmur, almost to myself. “I’ll be back before then.” And on my way out, I will remind those guards at the gates that we are at war. No one at all is to enter the grounds without my permission, not even the senior administration.
Not even my mother.
