SATISH
After half an hour of dodging and swerving around four cooks and one dog in AnnaSophia’s kitchen—a chef’s delight—according to Mère, the walls closed in on Satish. He spun out a lie about checking on the Porsche. None of the bustling cooks picked up on his incoherence, but he went straight to the covered patio to sidestep potential questions.
It was still raining. Maybe the chill would cool the stupidity lingering in his brain from Karpov’s this morning. He tugged at the roots of his hair. Christ, he had to use his head. Figure out a next move. Decide when to tell Davis. Or whether to say zip? He cupped his hand under the roof overhang, caught a handful of rain, and dumped it on top of his head.
An involuntary shudder slalomed down his back. The edges of his brain fog cleared, and Karpov faded to the back of his mind. Ridiculously, he obsessed about Mère’s eagle eyes. They narrowed every time he and AnnaSophia bumped elbows or passed within a yard of each other.
That super-vigilance left him confused. Since the first visit to the Romanovs’, Mère seemed happier. More relaxed. Less agitated about his bachelorhood. He chalked this last up to the murders. He figured she was glad he was alive—making single and unattached okay. She rarely mentioned AnnaSophia’s name in the car or en route to the Romanovs’ or alone at home. But get him and AnnaSophia in the same room ...
Being in the same room was about to become necessary. A smart man would tell her about the plans for Jenn’s memorial service with Mère present. Resentment stirred in his gut. What if he wanted to give her that info alone? He wasn’t a dumb kid. He didn’t have to let Mère’s mania about an Indian wife drive his life. Whether to talk to AnnaSophia alone shouldn’t offend Mère. AnnaSophia was exhausted. She didn’t need a witness—not even Mère—to his news about Jenn. He stared at the raindrops dancing on the water in the lighted pool and snorted.
Taking honors in Philosophy at Cambridge, he understood smart-ass better than smart.
Could explain why he’d liked Maverick. He’d recognized a kindred idiot—chasing a woman who spelled trouble. In Maverick’s case, trouble turned lethal.
And Frisbee’s such a good way to remember Maverick.
Who would never play Frisbee again. Or find a girlfriend. Or move into his own place.
A breeze slapped rain in his eyes. He blinked and shook his head. Christ, he was closer to crying in his cups than when he guzzled three gin and tonics. He stood motionless for a second, caught another handful of rain, and let it dribble through his fingers. Coward.
Magnus appeared in the kitchen doorway and announced supper.
And Satish was ready. He’d face Mère and AnnaSophia right after they finished eating.
But AnnaSophia leaped light years ahead of him. Before they picked up their forks, she toasted Mère and him. Next, she asked the kids to chime in. Magnus’s effusion offset Anastaysa’s tepid thanks to Satish. Both kids waxed eloquent about Mère. Fine with him. Tears sparkled, but she acknowledged the compliments in the steady, gracious voice of a diplomat’s wife.
After that, there was no room for small talk. AnnaSophia kicked off the dinner conversation in a slow, quiet voice he imagined her using with ER patients.
“Rafe’s parents called me today.”
A blip of silence greeted her announcement. Satish swore under his breath and jabbed a sliver of romaine hard enough Mère frowned. He laid his fork aside and pasted on a listening face. Dammit, he’d screwed up. The minute he’d disconnected with his SFPD contact, he should’ve called the Medinas and asked them to postpone their son’s memorial service. Let Satish find their son’s killer first. Instead, he’d shifted his brain into PARK and played Frisbee.
Magnus blurted, “Were they really sad, Màma?”
“No, they were happy,” Anastaysa’s tone ignited the roots of Satish’s damp hair.
Jesus, she was obnoxious. She’d test the patience of a saint. But AnnaSophia remained calm. Not telling her about the Medinas’ plans could still bite him in the ass.
Molly zeroed in on Anastaysa and growled.
Smart dog. Satish resisted the impulse to pat her furry head.
Lips flattened into the thinnest of lines, stiff as an old man, Magnus reached down and scratched behind the ears of a boy’s best friend. She whined, turned in a circle and finally lay down, the tags on her collar clinking.
Magnus said, “Molly doesn’t want us to argue, Staysa.”
“That dog makes me sick.”
“You make me sick,” Magnus countered, his chin high.
That makes two of us.
Flushing, mouth tight, AnnaSophia choked her wine glass in a death hold.
“I think Molly heard Magnus being sincere,” Mère said, her voice gentle enough to bring the devil to tears.
Ever the diplomat’s wife. Satish buttered a piece of bread. Drinking water or wine presented too big a challenge for his hand-eye-swallow-coordination.
AnnaSophia nailed her daughter with eyes of steel. “It’s okay to be angry about Jenn. It’s not okay to dump on Magnus.”
“But sometimes he’s so—”
“I said it’s not okay to dump on your brother.” AnnaSophia’s voice erupted. Her jaw twitched. Satish associated that kind of jaw with cops interrogating belligerent suspects.
“You sound like Papá,” Anastaysa hissed, her face scarlet to the roots of her white-blonde hair.
AnnaSophia flinched, but she leaned toward her daughter. “I don’t think so. I sound nothing like your father. Unlike him, I want you and Magnus and Alexandra to express your feelings. Feelings—quite different from bullying and name-calling.”
“We’ve had this discussion.” The brat patted her fake yawn. The teenage façade of arrogance intensified the gesture. “We’ve had this discussion. More than once.”
Her voice dripped with adolescent weariness, grating Satish’s nerves like forks dragged down the dinner plates, but AnnaSophia grinned as if they were sharing a mother-daughter moment in private. She said, “Yes. And I imagine we’ll have the discussion again.”
“Will that discussion include you embarrassing me in front of dinner guests?”
“If that discussion includes your embarrassing Magnus in front of dinner guests.”
No one breathed. Magnus swiveled his head from his sister to his mother and back. With her little finger, Mère traced and retraced a circle on the tablecloth.
Coiled tension knotted between Satish’s shoulders. Christ, parents should ban teenagers to a cave with bread and water, and maybe release them at twenty-five. Maybe thirty.
Magnus broke the silence. “I know you’re sad, Staysa, ’cause you loved Jenn.”
Holy shit. Satish stared at Mère. The kid was smarter than both his sisters together.
“Mamá loved Jenn too,” Magnus went on. “So did I. So did Molly.”
“So did Alexandra,” Anastaysa said, her voice thick with none of the sullen undercurrent Satish had come to expect. “She doesn’t even know yet.” She bit down on her bottom lip.
“I suggested waiting to tell her. Another day or so. Dr. Hamilton agreed,” AnnaSophia said, her crisp tone leaving no doubt she’d refused to negotiate the point. “I hope you trust me to tell her whenever I choose.”
“Yes,” Magnus said immediately.
“I suppose.” Anastaysa dragged out each word, determined—from Satish’s perspective—to turn the screw tighter in her mother’s heart. “What did Rafe’s parents want?”
AnnaSophia took her daughter’s sudden conversational swing without missing a beat. “To know if I objected to comingling Rafe’s and Jenn’s ashes.”
“What did you say?” Anastaysa whispered.
Magnus said, “Jenn loved Rafe.”
“She did. So I said I thought she’d like the idea since she has no family. The Medinas have asked us to attend the celebration of Jenn’s and Rafe’s lives they’ve planned for tomorrow.”
For several seconds time slowed, and Satish felt himself drifting back to his father’s pain-filled journey toward death. He had learned to appreciate Mère’s titanium backbone.
Now, AnnaSophia stood in front of her two kids with that same determination. With no purpose in his life for the past two years, he longed for her resolve. If he warned her that every cell in him said attending Jennifer’s memorial service increased her danger, would she attend?
Of course, she’d attend. He reached for his water glass, drank, set it down. Forget sharing his opinions about her safety. He’d offer to drive her to Marin—just in case.