The Villa

enough. "Who do you trust most on your staff to write a statement for the press and filter the calls?"
    "Me. I want to do it myself, Nonna ."
    "Good." Tereza gave her hand a squeeze, released it. "I'm sorry for your grief, cam. Tyler's told us everything he knows. I don't like that you were questioned before you were able to speak with Helen or James."
    "I have nothing to hide. I know nothing. My father was shot while he sat in my chair in my apartment. How could I not tell them anything that might help them find who killed him?"
    "If you know nothing, you could tell them nothing that would help." She dismissed the police with one impatient gesture. "Tyler, get Sophia some wine." When the phone rang again, she slapped a hand on the arm of her chair.
    "I'll take care of it," Tyler began.
    "No, we don't want a family member talking to the press today." Sophia rubbed her forehead, ordered herself to think. "You should get David. Ask him to come. If you could explain things to him, I'll get started on a statement. For now, it's simply, the family is in seclusion and has no comment."
    "I'll get him here." Tyler crossed to her, lifted her face with a hand on her chin. "You don't need wine. You need an aspirin."
    "I don't need either." She stepped back. "Give me a half hour," she said to her grandmother.
    "Sophie." Eli left Tereza's side to put his arms around Sophia. "Take a breath."
    "Can't."
    "All right, do what's best for you. I'll start making the calls."
    "I can do that."
    "You can, but I will. And take the aspirin."
    "All right, for you."
     
    It helped. The aspirin and the work. Within an hour she was steadier, had the official statement drafted and had briefed David.
    "I'll take care of the press, Sophia. You take care of yourself, and your mother."
    "We'll get through. You need to be aware that some enterprising reporter is bound to try to get close to the villa, and to MacMillan's. You have children, and that connection to the family will also be made."
    "I'll talk to my kids. They're not going to sell a story to the tabloids, Sophia."
    "I'm sorry. I don't mean to imply that. But they're still children. They could be harassed and they could be caught off guard."
    "I'll talk to them," he repeated. "I know this is rough for you. I can't imagine how rough for you. And your mother." He got to his feet. "Anything I can do, just tell me what it is."
    "I appreciate that." She hesitated, measuring him as she did so. Petty resentments, company policies had to be put aside. "My grandparents trust you, or you wouldn't be here. So I'm going to trust you. I'm going to set you up here in the house so you can handle the phones. I'd give you my space, but I may need it."
    She started for the door, then just stopped in the middle of the room. She looked, he thought, blank. As if some internal mechanism had shut down.
    "Why don't you rest a little."
    "I can't. As long as I keep moving, I can handle it. I know what people thought of him. I know what'll be said about him, in whispers over cocktails, in gleeful articles in the press."
    What / thought of him. What / said to him. Oh God, don't think of it now.
    "It can't hurt him. But it can and will hurt my mother. So I can't stop."
    She hurried out. "I think the library would be best," she began. "You'll have privacy there, and it's convenient if you need anything we haven't thought of."
    She was halfway down the steps when Maria opened the front door to the police. Claremont looked over the housekeeper's head and saw Sophia.
    "Ms. Giambelli."
    "Detective. It's all right, Maria. I'll take care of this. Do you have any more information for me?" she asked him as she continued down the steps.
    "Not at this time. We'd like to speak to you again, and to your mother."
    "My mother is resting. David, this is Detective…"
    "Claremont," he finished. "And my partner, Detective Maguire."
    "David Cutter, Detectives Claremont and Maguire. Mr. Cutter is chief operating officer of Giambelli-MacMillan. I'll show you into the parlor and be with you in just a moment."
    "Is your mother at home, Ms. Giambelli?"
    "I said my mother is resting. She's not up to speaking with you at this time."
    "Sophia." Pilar came down the steps, one hand holding the banister, with Helen just behind her. "It's all right. I want to do what I can."
    "Mrs. Avano," Helen began, careful to use Pilar's married name, "is willing to answer your questions. I'm sure you'll take her emotional state into consideration. Judge Moore,"