When she saw the woman standing in the hal, holding a blue leather overnight bag, Maggie could not keep a flash of surprise from crossing her face; but it was suppressed almost at once, to be replaced by a welcoming smile.
Mario stood behind his cousin. 'I've invited Paula to stay the night,' he explained to his wife. 'She's stil a bit shaken up. Nana's got a ful house with Mum and Auntie Sophia, and Viola's is ful of weans, so she's best here.'
'Of course,' she agreed at once, standing aside to allow them to pass into the living room. 'Come on in. Mario, put Paula's bag in the spare room, and stick a sheet on the bed while you're there. The duvet's okay, I think.'
'Yes, boss. We got enough grub for three, or wil I get a takeaway?'
'No, we've got plenty. I raided Marks and Spencer's food hal this afternoon, big time. I decided we should invite the whole family for lunch tomorrow; I've spoken to Nana and Stanley, and it's al set up. Just as well you're here, Paula; it'll save you a drive tomorrow.' She looked at her husband. 'That's okay with you, isn't it?'
'Sure it is. Man U are on telly tomorrow afternoon; that'll keep the kids quiet.'
Paula laughed softly. '… And their father, and their uncle. Maggie,' she asked, 'can I use your bathroom?'
'Of course. Down the hal, first on the left; your room's the one beyond.'
'Fine. I'l drop my bag off myself while I'm there.'
Maggie waited until she heard the bathroom door close, then gave Mario a long appraising look. 'You're being very solicitous towards your cousin, aren't you? I thought you didn't even like her.'
'No, that's not true. I don't trust her,' he said, 'and I don't like some of the things she's done, but we were kids together, she's family and she's scared.'
'Scared? Paula?'
He nodded. 'Even tough girls… other than you, my dear… can get their knickers in a twist sometimes. Some nutter phoned the papers saying that Beppe's murder was a Mafia hit. Paula's afraid that might be true, and that she might be next.'
'And might she?'
'I doubt it. But the shooting was premeditated, that's for sure. It was efficient and there was nothing random about it.'
'And might you have something to worry about?' she asked, quietly.
Mario put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. 'I'm a police detective superintendent, love, and on top of that I'm quite a formidable bastard. Who's going to come after me?
'Honestly, I think Paula's worrying unnecessarily; once she's had a day or two to get over the shock of seeing her father like that, she'll come to realise it. Somewhere there's a reason for Uncle Beppe's murder, but I can't see it having anything to do with the business.'
'Have you spoken to your mother?'
'Not about that; anyhow I don't have to. She'd never have tolerated any nonsense within the trust, and she's too good a businesswoman for Beppe ever to have been able to hide anything from her.'
40
Maggie dropped into an armchair. 'This thing seems to have exposed a big gap in my knowledge,' she mused aloud. 'There's a lot of stuff you've never really told me, isn't there, Mario?'
He looked at her, from beneath raised eyebrows. 'Such as?'
'Your papa's wil for a start, and your place on the trust in succession to Christina.'
He shrugged, as if it was no matter. 'I didn't want to think about it myself, I suppose. And you've kept a couple of things from me, remember.'
She flinched for a second, but ignored his comment. 'Okay, but there's more than that. I have a rough idea of the family's interests but no more than that. Exactly what does this trust control?'
It was Paula who answered her, as she came back into the room. 'We own a classic mix of Scots-Italian businesses,' she said. 'They're up and down east central Scotland, in strong retail centres. There are ten cafes doing tea and coffee catering, each selling our own-brand ice-cream, which we also supply to co-operative food stores. Then we have five takeaways, two in Edinburgh, one in Dundee, one in St Andrews and one in Falkirk. Originally, they were big chippies, with sitting-in areas, but when fish prices started to rise, we started doing pizzas and roast chickens as wel, and took the seats out. My dad wanted to do kebabs as well, but 158 j-ic. ai-' snui my mum said no, because they'd stink the shops out.
'There are eight delicatessens in the chain, in Edinburgh, Dundee, St Andrews, Dunfermline, Dalkeith and North Berwick. We specialise in imported Italian food and wines, from suppliers that Papa Viareggio set up years ago.
'That's all the retail side; alongside it, there's our property holdings.
We own our own premises, and in several cases the buildings in which they're located, the other shops and the flats above. That's the side of the business that's grown in recent years; Stan's started making investment purchases outside our traditional areas of operations. He's been buying office property around Edinburgh, outside the city bypass, with good solid tenants and the potential for expansion.'
'Stan?' Maggie asked, surprised.
'Yes,' said Mario. 'You know; Stan Coia, Viola's husband. He's a surveyor by profession, and he manages the property side.'
'I thought Uncle Beppe ran everything.'
'He had overal control, sure, but he had help. Aunt Sophia looks after the cafes, Viola supervises the takeaways, Stan, like I said, handles property, and Paula, although she works in the Stockbridge deli, is general manager of them all. They all reported back to the trustees.'
She looked at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. 'I knew hardly any of this; I didn't have a clue that Stan and Viola were in the business too. And now you're the senior trustee?'
'I didn't ask for it, love, honest; nor did I expect that it would happen for a while, possibly not till I was ready to retire from the police force.'
'And how are you going to handle it?'
'Maybe by appointing a proxy; I don't know. That's something Paula and I are going to have to sort out between us.'
'But not tonight, eh?' There was a tired plea in his cousin's voice.
To the immense relief of Skinner and Doherty, Mrs Lucinda Thorpe came to the door of her small suburban Buffalo home, alive and well, if slightly hysterical. She was a tall, sturdily built, middle-aged black woman, with an imposing presence, and so the white Kleenex with which she dabbed at her pufty eyes seemed entirely out of place.
'This is not a good time to be cal ing, gentlemen,' she told them in a strong, deep voice.
'We know, Mrs Thorpe,' said the Scot, 'but it's necessary. I guess you've seen a news bulletin on television.'
Mrs Thorpe shook her head. 'No, but I had a cal from my husband.
He's at his golf club, and he saw something there. It really is true? Oh my, poor Mr Wylie. My friend told me that the police are saying that he lit a barbecue on the deck of his cruiser boat and it blew up.'
'That's all true; but what they still have to prove is that the explosion was actually caused by a spark from the charcoal.'
Her eyes narrowed slightly. 'And let me guess: you don't think it was.'
She paused. 'Who are you guys anyway? You're cops, but you ain't the local police, that's for sure.'
'No, we're not. Mr Doherty here is with the FBI.' As he spoke, the American pulled out a laminated identity card from his jacket and held it up for the woman to see. 'Let's cal me a consultant in his investigation; I'm a detective from Scotland. I'm also Leo Grace's son-in-law.'
