When Detective Beavers walked toward us, Ray's shoulders seemed to relax a little.

Beavers shook Ray's hand. "You remind me of a cop, Mr. Mondello."

"Nam. Military police."

"Right." Beavers never took his eyes off Ray. "You got a permit to carry a weapon?"

Ray returned the look, his hand moving slightly to b.u.t.ton his jacket. "What weapon?"

"I'm not in the mood to confiscate concealed weapons today. Especially if the weapon stays concealed."

Ray nodded once.

Beavers turned to go. "Best to leave the policing to the ones who get paid for it."

Lucy covered her head with her black lace mantilla as we entered the sanctuary and filed into a pew at the back, the better to observe the mourners. Ray took the aisle seat and unb.u.t.toned his jacket again.

The congregation rose when three boys in white robes, one holding a cross, walked in as eight pallbearers in white gloves carried the mahogany casket into the church. Two priests dressed in white vestments met the coffin at the doorway and escorted it down the aisle.

Next came the Terrys, escorted by another priest. Will Terry stared straight ahead, clenching and unclenching his teeth so the muscles rippled in his square jaw. Siobhan's head was bowed in grief. I couldn't be sure because it happened so quickly, but I thought I saw Siobhan stumble slightly. Will reached out to steady her, but she quickly drew away from him, leaning instead on the arm of the priest. Then they sat down in the front row and I thought I recognized several dignitaries, including one United States senator. The Terrys were no lightweights, that was for certain.

We sat and my mouth fell open as I took in the sheer scale of the interior. Stained gla.s.s windows lined both sides of the sanctuary, depicting the stations of the cross. In the nearest window Jesus carried a cross while a crown of thorns sent blood drops cascading down his face. A woman on the side of the road held out a piece of cloth, but a Roman soldier barricaded her way with an outstretched spear. I had learned something about the cross Claire bore in her lifetime and, in wanting to help find justice for her, I felt just like the woman on the side of the road.

I looked farther up. A graceful network of tall b.u.t.tresses crisscrossed to form points high up in the vaulted ceiling. On the front wall hung a huge gold-leafed crucifix with a compa.s.sionate Jesus looking down on Claire's casket, feet facing the altar.

I was impressed to see the resident cardinal in attendance, standing near the altar with his distinctive red biretta and cape. The press often suggested he was an influential part of the Catholic hierarchy and had the ear of the pope. His presence today only underscored how well placed the Terry family was.

Off to one side of the podium was a lectern raised up higher so the priest would have to ascend a few stairs to give his homily. The whole purpose of the soaring interior s.p.a.ce and the priest's aerie was to draw the eye upward toward heaven, the source of all hope. All very inspirational and theatrical.

I turned around. Detective Beavers stood in the back, eyes scanning the crowd the same way Ray had done outside. A few stragglers were trying to find seats. One of them was Jerry Bell, Claire's son. Beavers looked at him with keen interest as he walked to a seat two rows in front of us, genuflected, and sat far enough to the side that I could just make out his profile.

Birdie sat on the other side of me, sniffing and dabbing her eyes throughout the service. Beyond her, Lucy sat with Ray's comforting arm around her shoulders. She wore the pink and diamond bracelet he'd given her after we discovered Claire's body.

When a vocalist sang "Ave Maria," I reached into my purse for a tissue. Mothers losing children. It was too much to bear.

Remembering the way he teared up the day I told him of his mother's death, I was curious to see Jerry Bell sitting stony-faced throughout the service. I didn't know Claire very well, and yet here I was dabbing my eyes and blowing my nose. Where were his tears?

Maybe my suspicions on the day we met were true. Maybe Jerry Bell was the real killer. After all, he had a motive. As her son, he could file a claim to Claire's sizable estate. All that talk about reconciliation might have been a smoke screen to cover up anger at having been given up for adoption.

Could he be the one who broke into my house three nights ago and stuck a knife in my pillow? I turned around and looked for Beavers, but he was gone.

At the end of the service, we all stood as Claire's coffin was carried back out of the sanctuary to the hea.r.s.e waiting outside. Siobhan and Will Terry walked slowly behind, Will working his jaw.

I glanced again at Jerry, who watched the Terrys with sharp interest. The muscles in his square jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth. Just like Will Terry. The family resemblance was unmistakable. Jerry was taller than Will, but both of them shared the same military posture, square jaw, long upper lip, and blue eyes.

Wait a minute. How old was Jerry? Around thirty? Claire was fourteen when he was born. Was her father still molesting her at the time? Oh my G.o.d! My stomach did a nasty leap. I'd just stumbled onto another of Claire's horrible secrets. What if she didn't get pregnant by a boy in school whose name she conveniently forgot? What if that part of the story was to hide the fact Will Terry was Jerry's real father?

CHAPTER 27.

Jerry met up with us at the cemetery, and I introduced him to my friends as we gathered around Claire's grave. At one point Siobhan looked at me and nodded a slight greeting. She stopped when she saw Jerry and stared. Then she looked back at me as if to ask, Who is this man? I was sure she was figuring it out.

Several times during the brief graveside service, Siobhan glanced at Jerry, but her husband didn't seem to notice him at all. Jerry seemed too lost in thought to be aware of the scrutiny, gazing the whole time at Claire's casket. At one point tears stole down his stoic face. There was no mistake he was grieving, and once again I just couldn't imagine him to be a killer.

Immediately after the service, the Terrys and their stellar entourage left in long black limousines. I turned to Jerry. "Siobhan kept looking your way. I think she may have recognized you."

He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, smoothed back his blond hair, and briefly worked his jaw. "Do you think my grandfather recognized me, too?"

"I don't know."

He looked at me earnestly. "Are you going to the reception? I could use a friend." Jerry looked like a sad, scared little boy.

"We'll be there, dear." Birdie was earth mother to all living things. "You will sit with us, of course."

A dozen young men in red jackets trotted up and down the street providing valet parking for the mourners at the Terrys' Benedict Canyon estate. In the backyard, tents with open sides dotted the lawn and shaded dozens of tables covered with white linen cloths. A huge buffet and bar were set up under a large tent on the tennis court, and waiters in black suits carried trays of white wine and Perrier through the growing crowd. Other servers carried hors d'oeuvres on silver trays with paper c.o.c.ktail napkins.

Jerry sat with us at a table near a large fountain featuring lion heads gently spouting water from their mouths. The soothing sound of water splashing over carved stone attracted little brown towhees with tinges of orange and dun-colored sparrows.

Carlotta Hudson approached a group of quilters sitting at a nearby table. She threw a derisive look at us and then turned away. Just then, several crows cawed hoa.r.s.ely and flew over her head, landing in the branches of the many eucalyptus trees surrounding the estate.

Lucy pointed to the trees. "I see Carlotta brought her posse."

A voice in back of me asked, "May I sit with you?"

I turned around.

Ingrid was dressed in a tight-fitting black jersey sheath with a torsade of pearls and jet beads around her neck.

"Of course! Please join us."

Ray and Jerry stood up while Ingrid took a seat next to me. She smiled at Jerry. "I think I've seen you several times at Claire's. I'm Ingrid, Claire's neighbor."

"Jerry." He shook her proffered hand and smiled briefly.

"I really didn't spy on Claire. I work in my garden a lot and see the comings and goings of the street. Claire and I were on very friendly terms. We drank the occasional morning coffee together. You're the doctor, right? She mentioned your name a couple of times. Weren't you related?"

"Still am."

All during lunch the Terrys were sequestered inside with their high-profile friends. They finally emerged at about two and a crowd of us normal humans swirled around them as Will shook hands and Siobhan accepted an occasional hug. When she spotted us standing on the edge of the pack, Siobhan waved at me in a gesture more of a command than a greeting.

"Wait for me here." I set out over the lawn toward Claire's puffy-eyed mother.

Siobhan stood stiffly, clasping her elbows, the wrinkles around her mouth accentuated by the black dress she wore. A slight breeze lifted the feathers of white hair floating around her face and the diamond and sapphire earrings tugged a little at the holes in her earlobes.

Siobhan reached for both of my hands. "Martha, how nice of you to come." The next thing I knew we were walking through a set of French doors into a sunroom at the back of the house.

As soon as we were alone, she looked at me with fierce, glittering eyes. "Who is he?" A frightened look shone in her eyes.

I led her over to an overstuffed rattan sofa and sat next to her. She'd sneaked looks at Jerry all during the funeral and, from the expression on her face, I was sure she'd figured it out. "Who do you think he is, Siobhan?"

"He's Claire's boy, isn't he?"

"His name is Jerry Bell. He found Claire a few years ago after his adoptive mother died. According to Jerry, they saw each other frequently and she helped him through medical school."

"He's a doctor? Why didn't she tell us about him?"

I could think of a hundred reasons Claire wouldn't want to confide in her mother, beginning with Siobhan's failure to protect Claire from incest. "You can probably answer that better than I, Siobhan. Jerry's resemblance to your family is unmistakable. If you doubt him, I'm sure a simple DNA test will confirm he's Claire's son."

I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her toward me so she'd have to look in my eyes. "Claire never told him who his father is. I think I've finally figured it out. However, I don't want to be the one to break the ugly news to Jerry. I'll leave that up to you, if you ever decide to talk to him."

Siobhan buried her face in her hands and started to weep. "How do you know all this? What can you possibly think of me now?"

Good question. I took a deep breath. "You know all those French knots Claire sewed on her quilts?"

Siobhan nodded.

"Well, Claire was brilliant, really. Those knots are Braille. I think each quilt represents a chapter of her life's story. I found a Braille alphabet to test my theory and started to decipher one of the quilts. I didn't get very far, but I got far enough to learn about the incest."

Siobhan moaned.

"How could you let that happen?"

She was still weeping. "I swear I didn't know about them until it was too late, until Claire was already pregnant. I drank a lot in those days and I slept a lot. I found out later he . . . they . . . it didn't happen until he was certain I was out for the night."

"What about after you found out? Why didn't you turn him in?"

"He swore to me he'd never hurt her again, and I wanted to believe him. I wasn't strong. I couldn't have made it on my own."

What about Claire? What about protecting her? Poor Claire didn't have a chance with a predator for a father and a drunk for a mother.

Siobhan dried her eyes with a tissue. "We sent Claire away to a convent to have the baby. During the time she was away, I went into rehab and stopped drinking. I don't think she ever even saw her son. His adoptive parents took him home practically from the delivery room. Will said it was best that way."

Best for whom? "What are you going to do about Jerry Bell now that he's here?"

"If he really is Claire's son, I want to meet him. I don't know how Will is going to take the news. He won't like this one bit."

"Forget Will! He doesn't deserve any consideration in this matter. You don't need his permission for anything. You can do this on your own."

Siobhan stared at me and then burst out laughing. "Don't think I haven't thought about that for the last forty-five years."

Just then the door flew open and Will Terry stormed inside. "Just what do you mean leaving me alone out there? We have guests-" He stopped when he saw me.

"If you don't mind, Miss Rose, this isn't a good time to visit with my wife. You'll have to go back outside with the rest of the people."

What an imperious little jerk. Did he think he could just order me around like he did everyone else? I sat up straighter. "I'll leave when Siobhan asks me to leave."

Will Terry pulled down the corners of his mouth and spoke through clenched teeth. "I don't think you realize who you're talking to."

I stood and looked at the reprehensible little pedophile. I'm only five feet two and we stood exactly eye to eye. "This is a free country, Mister Terry. Your wife can speak to whomever she pleases." I thought about this man committing the unspeakable to his daughter and getting away with it, and I couldn't hold back any longer. "You may be able to push your wife around and rape your daughter, but you don't intimidate me one bit!"

My words hung in the air like the particles of a bomb after an explosion. I'd spoken out loud the terrible truth this family worked so hard to keep hidden for three decades. Will Terry's mouth fell open and he staggered backward for a moment, too stunned to speak. Then he turned to Siobhan. "What have you been telling her?"

"Your wife told me nothing. Claire told me through her quilts. She sewed everything in her quilts using Braille. I imagine she wanted to make sure that somewhere there would be a record of what happened to her. Of how she was repeatedly raped by you when she was just a child. Of how you got her pregnant and then forced her to give up her child."

Will's face turned frigid. "Get out of my house, you fat kike, or I'll have you thrown out."

Kike. The anti-Semitic slur sent icy shards into my heart. This man was a typical narcissist with no regard for other human beings whatsoever. He was cruel and arrogant and probably not used to people standing up to him. I'd managed to push his ugly b.u.t.tons.

But calling me fat? That was war. I leaned forward, hands on my hips. "Listen, you pathetic little pile of monkey puke. I wouldn't be surprised if you were behind your daughter's death and the theft of her quilts. Who had a better reason to want to keep the world from knowing the truth about the incest and pregnancy?"

He glanced at Siobhan, who was still crying. "I'd never kill my daughter."

"Oh no? Claire wrote all about the incest in her quilts. In details I imagine you'd do anything to keep secret."

Will waved his hand dismissively. "Until Siobhan engaged your so-called services, I had no idea Claire might have used her quilts in that way. My wife never told me about Claire's messages." He paused and said in a slightly softer voice, "The love of my life was gone."

My skin crawled as I remember what Claire wrote in her quilt: He told me I was the love of his life. If he was still calling her that, had he still been sleeping with her? "This new baby she carried-was this one yours as well?"

Will remained silent, and Siobhan stopped crying and looked up sharply.

"I'm sure you didn't want to make the same mistake twice. Claire was four months along, which tells me she intended to keep this baby. So killing her would solve the problem."

"It wasn't my baby! Claire cut me off over a year ago after she went into therapy with that quack G.o.dwin."

Siobhan was an armed missile as she jumped up and ran at her husband. She clawed at his face with her carefully manicured red fingernails, forty-five years of fury blazing in her eyes. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You swore to me you ended it after the boy was born. I should have known!"

Will grabbed her wrists and threw her down on the sofa. Then he stepped toward me, with blood trickling down his cheeks. "You will regret this."

I hoped he couldn't see my heart pounding in my throat. "I doubt it. The police know all about you. I made sure they did. You touch me now and they'll be crawling all over your scrawny pedophile neck."

Someone coughed in the open doorway. We looked over. Jerry Bell stood there. I could tell Will didn't recognize him. He snarled, "What do you want? This is a private conversation."

Jerry looked at me and my heart sank. "Jerry, honey, how much of this did you hear?"

"Enough." His eyes were swimming as he glared at his grandparents.

Will glared back. "Who are you?"

Jerry walked into the room and over to Will Terry. "Your son."