“And this is awful to say, but I feel a sense of peace knowing Logan’s murderer got justice,” Joe admitted. “You did that, Grant. I hate that you have a man’s death on your hands, but you had no choice. You had to protect yourself and Sophie … I would have done the same thing.”
Grant sat silently, absorbing his words.
“So, what did they threaten you with this time?”
“Sir?”
“Did Angelo or Carlo threaten my life again unless you joined the family?” When Grant said nothing, he continued. “It’s their way, Grant. They threaten and extort their way through life. I’ve been around the Barberi family almost forty years now. I know what they do.”
“Carlo told me he’d kill Sophie unless I showed up to Angelo’s tomorrow.”
Joe nodded. “Do you think Angelo is going to come after you now that Carlo is dead?”
“I don’t know. I guess he can’t get to me if I’m in prison.”
“But your father can,” Joe said, sickened by the prospect. “I’ve got to keep you away from them. They seem hell bent on bringing you down. If it’s not Carlo framing you for murder, it’s another way to try to hurt you.”
“What?” Grant asked. “Carlo framed me?”
Joe gave him a bewildered look. “Yeah, by planting Logan’s body at Great Lakes. Why else would he put the body there? I bet Carlo saw Lo’s bruises and found out you two had fought, giving him the perfect opportunity to pin it on you.”
Grant shook his head. Carlo’s evil nature astounded him.
“Time’s up,” the officer announced, striding into the room and hauling Grant to his feet in one swift motion.
“I’ll be back when I can,” Joe promised.
“Thank you, Joe,” Grant called over his shoulder as he was led away.
As his nephew left, Joe Madsen’s jaw clinched determinedly. He would not let the Barberis hurt his nephew ever again.
38. Uncles
A shrill ring began competing with the deafening snores rocking the studio apartment. Bolting upright in bed, the snore producer looked all around, snorting and snuffling, until he identified the cause. Roger Eaton noticed his alarm clock said 6:30 a.m. as he reached for the phone.
“What is it?” he barked.
“Rog? Is that you? It’s Joe.”
With a yawn, Roger retorted, “Of course it’s me. Did you forget who you were calling, numbnuts?”
“You didn’t sound like yourself,” Joe said.
Another yawn. “Yeah, I’m losing my voice from being the docent on every cruise without your nephew there to help. Good thing he’s coming back.”
“Um, Rog? That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. Grant won’t be able to return to work today.”
“Why the hell not, sir?”
Joe was quiet a moment before revealing, “He’s been arrested.”
Roger drew in a sharp breath. “I thought he was cleared for his brother’s death.”
“He was.” Joe paused. “But then Grant shot and killed Logan’s murderer.” Hearing Roger’s gasp, Joe continued, “It was self-defense. His cousin Carlo came after Sophie, and Grant saved them both by tackling him to get the gun. The gun went off, and Carlo died—right after confessing to killing Logan.”
Roger didn’t know what to say. Madsen’s screwed-up family belonged on Jerry Springer or something. “He’s gotta get released if it was self-defense, right?”
“I hope so, but I don’t really know. It’s not good that he’s already on parole.”
“I’m sorry Joe—that fucking sucks. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Um …” Joe seemed startled by the question. “Do you know any good attorneys?’
“Ah, yeah, he needs to lawyer up, doesn’t he? Hmm, I certainly would not recommend the douche bag I hired for my divorce!”
Joe sighed. He didn’t have the energy to laugh. “Well, don’t worry about it—”
“Wait! That bitch who represented my wife—she obviously knew what she was doing. She was as tight as a camel’s ass in a sandstorm.”
This time Joe did crack a smile. “But I need an attorney specializing in criminal cases, not divorce.”
“She worked for some high-powered firm. I bet they got all kinds of ambulance chasers there. It’s called McCallister, Abrams, and Mitchell if you want to check it out.”
“Great, I’ll give them a call before I head out.”
“Where ya headed? Are you gonna help me with the cruises today?”
“I wish I could, Rog, but that brings me to the real reason I called. I wanted to tell at least one other person where I’m going this morning, in case anything happens to me.”
“That don’t sound good, sir.”
Joe took a deep breath. “I’m going to the compound—the Barberi home. I need to talk to Grant’s uncle, Angelo. So, if you don’t hear from me, you might want to call the detective working the case.”
“Don’t do it, Joe. At least don’t go alone. Hell, I’ll go with you—let me hop in the shower—”
“No,” Joe countered grimly. “Angelo won’t talk if he feels at all threatened, and I need to have some words with him. It’s a, it’s a family matter.”
Roger was quiet for a moment. “I don’t like the sound of this, Joe. Not one bit. But you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, and I’m sure that I can’t talk you out of it.”
“You know me well, Rog.” Joe hesitated and then added, “Oh!” He sighed deeply. “I’ve got some more bad news, I’m afraid. Sophie Taylor worked for you too, right? Grant told me she got shot in the standoff with Carlo, and now she’s in the hospital.”
“What the fuck?” His heart pounded. “Is she at Northwestern?”
“I think so. Apparently she’s doing okay now—Carlo shot her in the arm. Grant feels horribly guilty about the whole thing.”
“I bet. His family is a bunch of fucked up crackerjacks. Stay safe, Commander. I don’t want you to end up swimming with the fishes.”
“Thanks, Rog. Thanks, um, for looking after Grant these past two months.”
“I wasn’t much help, obviously. But our boy does not belong in prison.”
“You and I both know that. Let’s hope the prosecutor agrees with us. Gotta run, Rog.”
Roger stared at the phone. Madsen was in jail and Taylor was in the hospital? What a shitstorm this had turned out to be. He frowned, thinking about running his cruises without them. Who was he going to insult all day long? Who was going to tease him about his vegetable diet?
*
Sophie’s eyes fluttered open and panic gripped her. She had no idea where she was. Then the antiseptic smell and white, sterile room began to orient her, just as a shooting pain in her immobilized left arm brought it all back. Her breathing slowed as she looked all around her, wondering where Kirsten and her father were. She was pretty sure it was Tuesday morning.
Hearing a soft knock on the door, Sophie looked up and smiled brightly at the short man with a huge floral arrangement entering the room. “Roger!” she cried. “Those flowers are beautiful.”
Once he set down the massive vase, she could detect a blush forming on his cheeks. He tentatively approached her bedside. “You, uh, you look great, Taylor.”
She’d never seen her former boss try to be so civil, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “No, I don’t. I’ve been shot, Rog, and stuck in this hospital bed without a shower or any makeup. I’m a mess.”