A Fashionable Affair (18 page)

They reached the house, and as the door closed
behind them, the grip on Patsy’s arm loosened and she was free. She stood in the living room, trem
bling violently and feeling ill as Frank locked the
door and drew the curtains across the picture
window. Then he turned to her.

“All right, beautiful,” he said pleasantly, “now
you’re going to put in a call to the boyfriend.”

Patsy swallowed and didn’t say anything. The
man called Joe took out his gun and aimed it at her
stomach.

Jack Garfield took over. “You call him and tell
him to come here. And get him here without mak
ing him suspect anything is wrong. Be very care
ful.” He nodded to the gunman. “Joe here is
very
nervous.”

Patsy wet her lips. “It’s crazy. I mean, there isn’t
any reason for me to be here.”

“Tell him you wanted to finish cleaning up the
mess,” Frank suggested.

“Were you the ones who wrecked the house?” she
asked, playing for time.

“We were hoping very much that you and
Melville would get the message from that little
decorating job,” Garfield said regretfully. “But
when you flew out to St. Louis, I knew you hadn’t.”

Patsy felt as if she had just been kicked in the
stomach. She clenched her fists until she felt the
nails score into her palms. “And if I say I won’t call
Michael?”

“Then,” Garfield said simply, “I would have to
make you. Or Frank would.”

Patsy swallowed. “All right. I’ll call him.”

“Very sensible. Now what are you going to tell
him?”

“He’s using my car. I’ll tell him that I wanted the
two cars in New York and came out here to drive
his back, but it won’t start. I’ll tell him I’m afraid to
stay here alone and ask him to come and get me.”

“Melville did take her car this morning, Jack,”
Frank said.

“Yeah. You tell him that. And remember, no
tricks.”

“Okay.”

He gestured her over to the phone and stood
next to her. Patsy picked up the receiver, but her
hand was shaking too much for her to dial. Garfield
got the number for her.

“Lawson and Melville,” said a woman’s imper
sonal voice.

“Is Mr. Melville there please?” Patsy asked. “This
is Patricia Clark calling.”

“One moment, please, Miss Clark.”

There were some beeping sounds and then
Michael’s voice came over the wire. “What’s up,
Red?”

“Oh, Mike,” Patsy said hurriedly, “I’m so glad
you’re in. I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a
jam.”

There was a brief pause. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, Mike. But I’m here at your house and I’m stuck. I got a friend to drive me out
so I could get your car, and then I decided to do
some tidying up while I was here. But when I went
out to start the car to go back to New York, it
wouldn’t start.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“She left. She just dropped me off—she’s going
out to Fire Island. Do you think you could come over and pick me up, Mike? I’m getting nervous
here by myself. Those awful thugs might come
back.”

“I’m with a client right now, Pat. Can you wait
there for half an hour or so?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, sweetheart. Lock
the door and don’t let anyone in.”

“Okay, Mike. I’ll be waiting.” She hung up and
looked at Jack Garfield.

He nodded. “Very good.” He gestured her to the
sofa. “Sit down.” Slowly Patsy crossed the floor and
sat, her sneakered feet pressed together on the
floor, her hands clasped tensely in her lap. The
man with the gun sat in a chair across from her, and
Frank and Garfield went to the curtained window.
The room was very quiet. Patsy prayed.

It was forty-five minutes later when she heard
the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. A door
slammed, and from the window Frank said, “It’s
him.”

Patsy’s knuckles went white with pressure as she
watched the door with huge, frightened eyes.
There was the sound of a key in the lock, and then
the knob turned, the door opened, and Michael was
there.

Frank, who had been standing behind the door, slammed it shut. Joe stepped out from the dining
area, gun in hand, and Garfield said, “Melville. At
last.”

Michael’s eyes went to Patsy, sitting frozen and
terrified on the sofa. “I’m so sorry, Michael,” she
said miserably.

He was impeccably dressed in a business suit,
white shirt, and dark striped tie. His eyes went from
her to the three men who now circled him, and for
a brief, startling second his face was totally out of
character with his civilized garb. “Who did that to your face?” he asked.

Patsy put her hand up to her sore cheek. “Oh,”
she said, “that was Frank’s button.”

“The bruise on her cheek is only a sample of
what’s going to happen, Melville,” Frank threatened.

“I know about the shopping center,” Michael
said. His face now looked cold and composed. “I
know about the fashion contract.”

Garfield swore.

“And,” Michael continued evenly, “I have lodged all of this information with my lawyer, with instruc
tions that it be delivered to the IRS.”

“I don’t believe you,” Garfield said. “You didn’t
have time. You only got back from St. Louis last
night.”

Michael stood very still. “I did it this morning.”

Frank let loose with a long string of obscenities.
Michael ignored him and continued to look at
Garfield with narrowed eyes. “If anything should
happen to either Patricia Clark or myself,” he con
tinued calmly, “you’ll be charged with murder.”

There was a long silence fraught with tension.
Then Garfield said, “Get the papers back from
your lawyer.”

“No,” Michael said.

Joe’s gun moved from Michael to Patsy. She sat
up straight, her back not touching the sofa, and
said bravely, “Don’t be an ass. If you shoot me, he’ll
never get you those papers.” She looked from Joe
to Michael and found a faint, approving smile in his
eyes. Unaccountably, she felt much better.

Garfield gestured and the gun swung back to
Michael. “We’re not going to shoot you, Miss Clark.
Frank has a very different idea about what to do
with you. Would you like to watch, Melville?”

Michael stared at Garfield, and Patsy found her
self recoiling from what she read in Michael’s eyes.
“I’ll call him,” he said flatly.
He
looked at Frank,
and Patsy began to shiver convulsively. Michael
walked over to the telephone and picked up the
receiver.

“Stan?” he said when he had gotten through.
“You know that package I had delivered to you this
morning? Well, I need it. Yes, right now. Can you
send someone to my house with it? No, it can’t wait.
Yes, I’m at home now. All right. I’ll be waiting. Yes.
Thanks.” He rang off and looked at Garfield. “He’s
sending someone over with it.”

Patsy looked at Michael’s bleak face and swal
lowed hard. They’re going to kill us, she thought
incredulously. They’ll have to. Oh, my
God.

“On the sofa, Melville,” Garfield instructed.
“We’ll wait.”

Michael crossed the room and sat next to Patsy. Wordlessly he put out an arm and pulled her close.
Patsy pressed against him, taking comfort from his
nearness, his warmth, his calm. His calm. With a
start she realized that the heartbeat she could feel
so reassuringly against her shoulder was steady and
unhurried. The breath that stirred the fine hair
above her ear was even and slow. He wasn’t afraid,
she thought in astonishment. He wasn’t afraid at
all.

They sat like that, in perfect silence, for what
seemed like an eternity. In reality, it was about five
minutes. Then there was the sound of a loud
speaker outside the house.

“This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”

Frank swore and looked at Michael. So did the other two.

“The police have all the documents, Garfield,”
Michael said calmly and coldly. “And they have the
house surrounded.” He had moved so that Patsy
was now behind him on the sofa. “Give up.”

“The house is surrounded,” came the loud
speaker in eerie echo of Michael’s words. “Surren
der with your hands up.”

Frank ran into the kitchen and looked out the
window. “Jesus, they’re all over the place.”

“You bastard.” Garfield swore. “You goddamn
bastard!” His voice vibrated with hate, and Michael
stood up and moved away from Patsy. Shaking with
fury, Garfield reached out and grabbed the gun
from Joe. “I’m gonna fix you, I’m gonna fix you
good,” he muttered, and raised the muzzle.

“Michael!” Patsy screamed in pure terror, and a fraction of a second later, Michael dived to his left
as the gun went off. Then the front door was
smashed in, and the room was full of police. Patsy
ran to Michael, who was lying on the ground, his
blue pin-striped trouser leg stained with a spread
ing tide of red.

When Michael saw her kneeling beside him, he
tried to sit up.

“Stay right where you are,” she said sharply.
“Your leg is bleeding badly. He might have hit an
artery.” A policeman appeared at her shoulder and
she asked, “Do you have a first-aid kit?” The man
ran for the door, and Patsy said to Michael, “Don’t
move, darling,” and began searching in her purse
for her manicure scissors.

“Sorry I let you in for such a lousy time, Red,” he
said breathlessly as she cut his trouser leg to get at
the wound in his thigh. There was a great deal of
blood.

“I’d better put on a tourniquet,” said the police
man returning with the first-aid kit, and Patsy knelt
next to Michael’s shoulder as the officer compe
tently went to work. Behind them Garfield and
friends were being handcuffed and removed to
waiting patrol cars.

“There was another man,” Patsy said suddenly.
“A man in a gray car.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We got him.” Another offi
cer came to stand over them. “An ambulance is on
the way,” he said.

Michael lifted heavy eyelids and looked up.
“Thanks. You were right on schedule.”

“He shot you after we arrived.”

“Yes.” A ghost of a smile flickered across
Michael’s white face. “Vengeance, I’m afraid. I
hadn’t thought of that.” His eyes were black with
pain as they moved from the policeman to Patsy.
“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, darling.” She grasped his hand and
kissed the long, slender fingers. “And you will be,
too. Just hold on a little longer—the ambulance will
be here soon.”

He nodded. “Will you call Steve, Patsy? Tell him
what happened?”

Of course. Steve, the orthopedic surgeon. “I’ll
call him right now. Perhaps he can meet us at the
hospital.” Patsy leaned down and touched her lips lightly to his temple, as if she were afraid a harder
touch would hurt him, then she stood and went to
the telephone.

Fortunately Steve was just out of surgery and she was able to get him after a five-minute wait. While
she was on the phone, the ambulance arrived, and
after she had hung up, she went over to where they
were putting Michael on a stretcher. He was still conscious but very pale.

“Can’t you give him something for the pain?” she
asked a medic urgently.

“We’ll be at the hospital in five minutes, miss,” he
answered reassuringly. “The doctors there will
probably give him something. Are you coming in the ambulance?”

“Yes, I am.” Patsy ran to get her purse and then
followed the stretcher out to the waiting ambu
lance.