Dorothy gave a delicate, feminine snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lenora was far too fond of herself to take her own life. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have done so in such a messy manner.”
Dorothy Birch’s words echoed Jill’s from yesterday. She resisted the urge to kick Vincent and mutter, I told you so.
The older woman sighed and set her cup aside. “I suppose you’re here because you want to know if I have any ideas on who might have done it.”
“Yes,” Jill said quickly before Vincent could inform Dorothy that they were actually here to see if she might have done it.
“Well, I have no idea,” Dorothy said.
Jill didn’t even bother to sigh. It was about what she’d expected.
“But if I were to hazard a guess…” Dorothy continued.
Jill and Vincent sat up straighter.
“… I’d start with Malcolm Torres.”
“Her second husband,” Jill said, mostly for Vin’s sake.
“Yes,” Dorothy said, taking a sip of her tea.
“Why him?” Vincent asked.
“Because of the death threats, of course.”
Vin and Jill turned to stare at each other. Of course.
CHAPTER TEN
Vincent spotted his two brothers the moment he walked into the completely generic sports bar.
Both Luc and Anthony were already halfway through their beers, so they’d obviously been here awhile, despite the fact that Vin had arrived five minutes earlier than when Anthony had told him to show up.
The fact that they were deep in conversation confirmed Vin’s fears: they were talking about him.
This was confirmed when they ended their conversation the moment they saw him approach.
“Having a nice gossip session, girls?” he asked, dropping onto the stool across from them.
Neither had the decency to look the least bit apologetic.
Anthony glanced over at the bartender, signaled another round.
Vincent shrugged off his leather jacket as they moved to a table, and set it on an empty seat. “Tell me again why we’re grabbing beers at this crap hole when we’re supposed to be at Elena’s in”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty-five minutes?”
Anth jerked his head in Luc’s direction. “Ava tipped Luc off that Elena has been experimenting with a signature cocktail.”
“Ah,” Vin said. “Say no more.”
Their sister was a decent cook; hard not to be with the way their mother had determined to raise her only daughter to learn every Italian cooking tip she had flowing through her veins.
But for reasons that nobody understood, Elena could never be satisfied with just serving wine and beer when she hosted the family.
For that matter, she wasn’t satisfied with just basic cocktail ingredients either. Martinis. Manhattans. Gin and tonic. All fine.
No, Elena had a penchant for trying things like Elderflower Spritzes, and Parsley Lemongrass Margaritas.
In other words, his little sister had a serious skill for messing up good booze.
“Thanks,” he muttered to the bored-looking bartender who delivered three beers to their table.
He took a long sip. Then another. It wasn’t that he had to be plied with alcohol before family gatherings, but for this one…
He took another drink.
“Thanks,” he said to his brothers. Not thanks for the beer, so much as thanks for, well… understanding.
Understanding that he needed this for what was to come.
Jill’s boyfriend—no, fiancé—was in town.
Tom Whatshisface had arrived last night, and Elena had been planning his “welcome to the family” party all week.
Vin knew that he’d have to meet the guy eventually. Hell, he wanted to meet him, so he knew what he was up against. It was just…
He wasn’t looking forward to it.
“So you ready to talk about it?” Luc asked.
Vincent glanced up to find both brothers watching him, their expressions more serenely patient than usual.
“Talk about what?” Vin asked.
Anthony linked his fingers, set them on the table, and leaned forward. “Honestly, Vin? Cut the bullshit. We did this the other night, the whole dance around the topic. You’re our brother. We know you.”
Vincent opened his mouth to argue, but Luc picked up where Anth stopped. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we’ll respect that, but don’t pretend it’s nothing. Don’t pretend that you’re thrown off by the fact that your woman is getting married to someone else.”
Your woman.
He’d known, of course, that his brothers thought of Jill as his.
Knew that his whole family thought that. The Morettis, as a group, were not inclined toward subtlety.
But had Vincent ever known it?
He wasn’t sure.
He only knew that when faced with the prospect of her walking down the aisle toward another man…
His stomach clenched.
He took a deep breath. “Jill’s moving to Chicago.”
“No,” Anthony replied immediately, and the same second Luc let loose with, “The hell she is.”
“Yup. Fancy Pants Fiancé is opening up a hotel there or some shit.”
“And she’s going to what, just pack it up and follow him?” Anth said. “Become the little woman? Because that’s not—”
“She’s apparently got connections at Chicago PD. Or Tom does,” Vincent said, staring at the table. “She’s not done being a cop, she’s just done being a New York cop.”