her husband before returning to rest on her daughter’s face.
“No,” she cried in disbelief. “How? When? He was such a young person.”
“What happened, Nat?” Kady pressed gently, her hand on Natalya’s shoulder. Her festive, teasing manner abruptly vanished in the wake of this news. Although Natalya and Sasha were closer in age—only eleven months apart—she and Kady were closer in spirit. Growing up, they’d formed a bond. Allies in a large family were always welcomed.
Natalya took a breath, silently blessing them all for being there. “The police think it’s a drug overdose.”
“But you do not,” Josef assumed. It wasn’t a question.
“Clancy did not take drugs,” Magda reminded him with authority that God would have trouble arguing with.
“What do you think happened?” Kady asked her.
Natalya blew out a breath. “What I think is that Clancy was murdered.”
The last word hung there in the air for a moment. And then her father said a word in Polish that neither he nor his wife had ever taught them. For once, Magda didn’t upbraid him. She merely nodded her head as sorrow gathered in her eyes.
Chapter 6
The house was fairly packed with family and more than a few friends. At the center of it were the children, laughing, playing, chasing each other around while their parents tried to carry on some semblance of a coherent conversation. Gentle admonishments were liberally sprinkled within almost every other sentence.
It was a typical DiPalma party.
Josephine DiPalma, a petite woman who still had almost midnight-black hair except for one prominent silver streak just at her right temple, worked her way through the crowd and presented her second son with an oversized piece of cake.
To the amusement of his parents, Sofia and her husband, Jake, the guest of honor had just christened his nose with whipped chocolate frosting by bobbing his face into the plate on his high-chair tray. Alan was wearing his birthday cake and loving it.
“Does this give you any ideas?” Josephine asked, pushing the plate into his hands.
After one of his mother’s typical six-course meals, there was no room left over for a spoonful of gelatin, much less a piece of cake, but he accepted the plate, knowing that if he didn’t her feelings would be hurt. She’d baked the cake, too.
Even so, it was obvious that his mother wasn’t referring to the cake. Mike laughed and kissed her on the forehead just beneath her widow’s peak.
“You’re a great many things, Ma,” he told her affectionately, “but subtle isn’t one of them.”
Josephine sniffed, settling in beside her son. There was almost a foot difference.
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle, I was trying to become a grandmother again—in the proper order,” she emphasized before Mike could give her that wicked wink that’d had females of all ages melting around him since her son had reached puberty. “First marriage, then baby.”
He wouldn’t have had it any other way. But for the moment, he was in no hurry for either. His present lifestyle suited him just fine.
“’Fraid you’ve got a long wait then, Ma. Why don’t you just enjoy what you have?” He nodded toward his sister, who was blossoming with her third child. Her first go-round had resulted in twins. For Theresa’s sake, he hoped she wouldn’t be overwhelmed again. “Aren’t you the one who always tells me to count my blessings?”
Josephine was not about to be distracted. “One of those blessings should be a wife.”
He tried to look at his mother as solemnly as possible, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “Sorry, Ma, but you’ve spoiled me for any other woman.”
The dismissive snort told him that his mother wasn’t buying any of this. “The problem is that in your line of work you don’t meet any nice girls, Michael. They’re either harlots or dead.”
Mike choked on his cake. From out of nowhere, his mother produced a glass of wine. Mike took a long drink, clearing his throat. “Nobody says harlots anymore, Ma.”
“Your mother does,” his father said, his voice mild as he came up behind them. He draped one still-muscular arm—a trophy of fifty years as a skilled tile layer—along his son’s shoulders. His father turned his face toward him. “Need rescuing?”
Mike glanced toward his mother before answering. He had genuine affection for her. For both his parents. But he wished that she could be content weaving in and out of his siblings’ lives. Carl wasn’t married, but he was engaged and it was beginning to look serious for Matt and