copy notarized?”
“No.”
“Then it’s worthless. I’ll contest it. I don’t believe Father would cut me out.” Uncertainty tugged at her thoughts. Her father had disowned her the day before he died. But the only one who knew that was dead. “What’s the date on the document?”
“A year ago.”
Relief flooded her. If he had changed his will, cutting her out of
Skin,
it would have been after he disowned her, which would have been the day before or the morning of his death two weeks ago. This one was a fake.
“Cara —”
“Unk, please, for now would you tell Anthony to stop drooling all over this place like a goombah over a stripper? Give me some time to locate Father’s last will.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No, but when Mr. Geppi surfaces, I’m sure he can produce the original.”
“Aldo was found dead in his office this morning,” Unk said.
Frankie gasped loudly and watched Anthony’s brow furrow. Her eyes locked with his. For a flash of a second she thought she read fear in his eyes. Not of her, but the person responsible for Aldo’s death.
Frankie didn’t ask if Aldo died of natural causes. It was too coincidental. Someone didn’t want Santini Donatello’s latest will to surface.
“I’ll call you later, Unk,” Frankie softly said, suddenly thinking of Maria and the kids. She’d go over later in the week. She hit the Speaker Off button and looked back at her brother.
“What’s happening, Anthony?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
At a loss for words, Frankie felt as if the walls of her life were slowly closing in on her. If she didn’t get out, the life would be squeezed out of her.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Figure it out.” He pointed to the clock. “And hurry, sister. Time is ticking away.”
The urge to argue with her imbecile brother drained from her. Instead, she picked up the clock and tossed it into his trash can. “You’re wasting time with your games, Anthony. I’m not playing.”
When Frankie entered her office she found Reese and Tawny engaged in a rather animated conversation. Reese clearly found Tawny’s Malibu Barbie looks appealing. And Tawny obviously reciprocated the admiration. Her blue eyes sparkled and her long lashes batted coyly every time she touched Reese’s arm. Or at that particular moment, despite the fact Frankie had just walked in, his thigh.
Frankie scowled. “Tawny, don’t you have something better to do than drool all over my model?”
Tawny grinned, taking the question in good humor. “Actually, I can’t think of anything better than this,” Tawny answered, looking up into Reese’s eyes like a lost puppy finding her master.
“Well, I can. Get out of here and make sure the studio is clear.” Frankie held open the door until Tawny walked haughtily by, as if she were the Queen of Sheba. Frankie slammed it behind her.
Throwing Reese a scowl, she dared him to comment. She walked to her desk. Pulling her camera out of her bag, she hooked it up to her computer. She wanted to see the pics before they headed down to the studio.
“You should have the cops dust that clock for prints,” Reese said.
Her head snapped up. She was about to tell him to butt out; instead, she shook her head, her attention on her monitor. “The only set of prints on that thing are mine and my brother’s. It was his lame attempt to scare me. It didn’t work.”
“What if it wasn’t Anthony?”
She clicked the mouse, bringing up a file. “It was. He’s a crybaby.”
“Do you know who killed your father?”
Her head snapped up. “No.”
“Do you think you brother had a hand in it?”
“Do you have any idea what you’re insinuating?” she asked, not believing she was actually having this conversation with an outsider.
He came closer. Her skin flushed hot when he walked around the desk to look down at the computer screen, just as a shot of him holding on to his lathered rod in the shower that morning flashed
“No.”
“Then it’s worthless. I’ll contest it. I don’t believe Father would cut me out.” Uncertainty tugged at her thoughts. Her father had disowned her the day before he died. But the only one who knew that was dead. “What’s the date on the document?”
“A year ago.”
Relief flooded her. If he had changed his will, cutting her out of
Skin,
it would have been after he disowned her, which would have been the day before or the morning of his death two weeks ago. This one was a fake.
“Cara —”
“Unk, please, for now would you tell Anthony to stop drooling all over this place like a goombah over a stripper? Give me some time to locate Father’s last will.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No, but when Mr. Geppi surfaces, I’m sure he can produce the original.”
“Aldo was found dead in his office this morning,” Unk said.
Frankie gasped loudly and watched Anthony’s brow furrow. Her eyes locked with his. For a flash of a second she thought she read fear in his eyes. Not of her, but the person responsible for Aldo’s death.
Frankie didn’t ask if Aldo died of natural causes. It was too coincidental. Someone didn’t want Santini Donatello’s latest will to surface.
“I’ll call you later, Unk,” Frankie softly said, suddenly thinking of Maria and the kids. She’d go over later in the week. She hit the Speaker Off button and looked back at her brother.
“What’s happening, Anthony?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
At a loss for words, Frankie felt as if the walls of her life were slowly closing in on her. If she didn’t get out, the life would be squeezed out of her.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Figure it out.” He pointed to the clock. “And hurry, sister. Time is ticking away.”
The urge to argue with her imbecile brother drained from her. Instead, she picked up the clock and tossed it into his trash can. “You’re wasting time with your games, Anthony. I’m not playing.”
When Frankie entered her office she found Reese and Tawny engaged in a rather animated conversation. Reese clearly found Tawny’s Malibu Barbie looks appealing. And Tawny obviously reciprocated the admiration. Her blue eyes sparkled and her long lashes batted coyly every time she touched Reese’s arm. Or at that particular moment, despite the fact Frankie had just walked in, his thigh.
Frankie scowled. “Tawny, don’t you have something better to do than drool all over my model?”
Tawny grinned, taking the question in good humor. “Actually, I can’t think of anything better than this,” Tawny answered, looking up into Reese’s eyes like a lost puppy finding her master.
“Well, I can. Get out of here and make sure the studio is clear.” Frankie held open the door until Tawny walked haughtily by, as if she were the Queen of Sheba. Frankie slammed it behind her.
Throwing Reese a scowl, she dared him to comment. She walked to her desk. Pulling her camera out of her bag, she hooked it up to her computer. She wanted to see the pics before they headed down to the studio.
“You should have the cops dust that clock for prints,” Reese said.
Her head snapped up. She was about to tell him to butt out; instead, she shook her head, her attention on her monitor. “The only set of prints on that thing are mine and my brother’s. It was his lame attempt to scare me. It didn’t work.”
“What if it wasn’t Anthony?”
She clicked the mouse, bringing up a file. “It was. He’s a crybaby.”
“Do you know who killed your father?”
Her head snapped up. “No.”
“Do you think you brother had a hand in it?”
“Do you have any idea what you’re insinuating?” she asked, not believing she was actually having this conversation with an outsider.
He came closer. Her skin flushed hot when he walked around the desk to look down at the computer screen, just as a shot of him holding on to his lathered rod in the shower that morning flashed
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