A Face to Die For (Forensic Instincts 6)

Just before seven a.m., Casey watched the house numbers ascend as she drove the FI van up the block. It was a quiet street in suburban New Rochelle, lined with split-level homes, the driveways filled with cars, bicycles, and an occasional tricycle or scooter. A few cars were pulling out, presumably to head off for work. There was something homey and personal about the area, a kind of Donna Reed Show sense of family and security.

A peaceful security that Casey and Claire were about to disrupt.

“There.” Claire pointed at a white shingled house with gray shutters and a sweeping maple tree out front. “That’s number fifty-five.”

Nodding, Casey pulled over and parked along the curb. She turned off the ignition and took a deep breath. “This is going to be difficult.”

“I know. I’m already feeling a sense of irrevocable change and pain,” Claire replied. “The Russos are a close family. They’re going to be badly thrown, especially since we’re catching them totally off guard. They have no idea that the case we’re here to discuss with them involves Gia and her… situation.”

Casey stared at the house, trying to compose herself as best she could. “Remember, let’s steer clear of the heavy-duty danger and stick to the secret twin angle. Plus, no mention whatsoever of Lina.”

“Of course,” Claire replied, acknowledging what she already knew. She and Casey had talked through their strategy—the dos and don’ts of what to say during this interview—right after Casey had spoken with Maria Russo and set things up. Still, Claire understood why Casey was now repeating herself. She needed to focus on the aspects of this meeting that she could control. The rest was out of her hands and would be have to be dealt with on the fly. Not optimal for a control freak. But Casey was Casey. No matter how things played out, she’d handle it all like the pro that she was.

“Let’s go,” she said now, unbuckling her seat belt and glancing over at Claire. “You okay?”

Claire gave her an encouraging smile. “Yes. And so are you.”

Casey didn’t even pretend not to know what Claire meant. When it came to picking up on other people’s vibes, Claire rarely guessed. She knew.

They both got out of the van and made their way up the walk, climbing the three stone steps to the front door and ringing the bell.

A mid-fiftyish woman, dark-haired and petite, wearing a black and white shirt, black slacks, and a curious expression, opened the door. “Ms. Woods?” she asked.

“Yes, and you must be Mrs. Russo.” Casey shook her hand and gave her a warm smile. “This is my associate, Claire Hedgleigh.” She waited while the two women exchanged greetings. “We very much appreciate you agreeing to meet with us.”

“Of course.” Maria Russo opened the door wide and gestured for them to come in. “You have us very curious, but if there’s some way we can help an important investigation of some kind, we want to. The only thing is, we can’t make this longer than an hour. Nick and I own two delis. He needs to run them and I need to supervise the preparation of the hot food for lunch.”

That explained the seven-a.m. meeting time.

“No problem,” Casey assured her. “We’ll be out before eight.”

Maria nodded. “Nick’s in the living room. I brewed some coffee and put out a plate of my homemade biscotti.” There was professional pride in her voice.

“That sounds wonderful,” Claire replied, rewarded with a beaming smile.

They walked through the hallway, the walls filled with family photos, the furnishings well-worn but lovingly arranged. The living room was wood-paneled with an upholstered sofa and love seat, two wing-backed chairs, and a coffee table containing a steaming pot of coffee and a large plate of biscotti.

A man nearing sixty with graying hair and a bit of a belly protruding over his belt rose from one of the chairs. “Hi,” he greeted them. “I’m Nick Russo.” He waited while his wife made the introductions. “Please”—he gestured at the sofa—“have a seat.”

A few minutes of pouring and fussing commenced, until the Russos were convinced that Casey and Claire were all settled and had the proper refreshments.

Perched at the edge of his chair, Nick got straight to the point. “So what’s this about? What kind of case are you working and how does our neighborhood factor into it?”

Casey set down her cup and saucer, meeting Nick’s gaze directly. “This has nothing to do with your neighborhood, Mr. Russo. This has to do with your daughter.”

Maria nearly leapt from her seat. “Gia? Oh, God, is something wrong?”

“Not in the way you mean,” Casey answered quickly. “Gia’s fine. We’re just helping her with a personal matter.”

Maria crossed herself furiously. “I knew something was wrong. She’s been so evasive. And she hasn’t been here all week. See, Nick, I told you something was wrong!”

Nick gave his wife a tight nod, his own expression rife with worry. “What personal matter?” he asked Casey.

“Her birth. What can you tell us about it?”

Maria hesitated for a second and then turned up her palms in a gesture of non-comprehension. “Do you mean the fact that she’s adopted? Gia’s known that since she was a child.”

Honesty and elusiveness all at once.