The Cruel Ever After (13 page)

“No, you can’t go.”

“Irina—”

“Because I may have found another buyer.”

“You did? Why didn’t you say that right away?”

“We had a brief phone conversation this afternoon.”

“And he’s definitely interested?”

It annoyed her that he assumed it was a man. “It’s a woman. And it’s not a done deal, but I think we can bring her along. It may take some time. I can’t do it without you.”

“What’s her name?”

She made it up on the spot. “Diane Middleton. She’s unlisted.”

“When can we meet with her?”

“Early next week.”

“Why wait?”

“She’s going out of town with her boyfriend this weekend, but Monday, we’ll get together at her house.”

“Fantastic. We have to hang on, just a little while longer. Call your sister. Maybe she can come stay with you.”

Irina already had. Her sister didn’t answer, and Irina saw no point in leaving a message. “Just a minute,” she said, pulling the phone away from her ear. She thought she heard Dusty crying. She’d been playing with him for hours, hoping to get her mind off the growing dark. He was back in his crib now, but it was time for his bottle. “Misty’s not home.”

“Okay, so go around and check all the windows, all the doors. Make sure they’re locked. Call me when you’re done.”

“But you’re so far away.”

“Keep your cell with you. Call 911 if you have to. The police can get to your place in a matter of minutes.”

At least she had the gun. It was in Dusty’s bedroom, under the pillow on the double bed. She planned to sleep there tonight.

“I love you,” said Chess.

“Do you?”

“Oh, honey, just hang on. We’ll make this work. You believe me, don’t you?”

Her lips parted in a grimace. “Yes.”

14

Julia had no intention of arriving at the party at the same time as all the other guests, thus diluting her impact. When Jane saw her, after so many months apart, she wanted it to be a special moment, uncluttered by anything else.

Waiting until just after ten, Julia opened the side gate and strolled casually into the crowd. Jane was standing about fifteen feet away, her face lit by the glow of a Chinese lantern.

“Hey,” said Julia, carefully angling past several of the guests.

“Hey yourself.” Jane gave her a friendly hug. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“I couldn’t miss Ray’s birthday.”

Jane’s reaction was subtle, just a slight widening of the eyes, a slight lifting of the eyebrows, but Julia caught it. It made her smile.

“Dad will be glad to see you.”

Julia had chosen to wear clothes that looked virtually the same as the ones she’d been wearing on the night they first met: dark pleated pants, a boldly striped vest, a white blouse, and a wide silk tie, all the pleats and tucks accentuating her slimness.

“You look great,” said Jane. “Can I get you something to drink? A glass of champagne?”

“Don’t you have anything more lethal? Brandy? Bourbon? Strychnine?”

Jane’s smile lit up her face. She gave a slow wink and then said, “I’m with you. Be right back.”

Julia found a vacant bench and sat down. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and attempted to put a mental choke hold on her feelings. She hadn’t expected to be quite this emotional.

Jane was back in record time with two tumblers of bourbon. She handed one to Julia and then sat down. “If you’re hungry, there’s food in the dining room, and pizza on the grills out here.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll wait a bit.” She took a sip. She rarely drank anything but wine—and lately, because of the headaches and the mix of medications, she rarely drank even that. Tonight, however, she needed something stronger.

Jane fingered the gold necklace at her throat.

Julia had seen the necklace before, but the snake ring on her index finger was new. “That’s a beautiful ring.”

Jane drew her hand down to look at it. “It’s Roman. Second century. A friend gave it to me.”

Not good news. Julia wanted to ask who the friend was but restrained her curiosity. “What’s it made of?”

“Gold. So, you were going to tell me about some new venture you’re involved in. Something to do with Peter?”

Julia read the abrupt change of subject as another bad sign. “Sure. He came to my loft the other day. I guess I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

“Loft? You’ve moved? You’re not still living in White Bear Lake?”

“I’ve sublet a place not far from here on Lake Calhoun. It’s got spectacular views. You’ll have to come see it.”

“I’d like that,” said Jane.

Julia wasn’t sure she meant it.

“But what about Peter?”

“I’m in the process of developing a free clinic in downtown Minneapolis. I hope some of my ideas will become a template for starting similar free clinics in other cities around the country.”

“That’s a pretty tall order.”

Julia crossed her legs and turned toward Jane, closing some of the distance between them. “I’ve already got seven retired doctors on board. They’ve committed to donating chunks of their free time to the clinic. With so many people out of work, and more losing jobs and health insurance every day, the need is greater than ever. I’ve got a lot of connections, know a lot of people. With luck and hard work, I plan to get this up and running by the end of the year.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Jane. “Really. But what’s Peter got to do with it?”

“I’ve hired him to film a documentary. I want to use it as a teaching tool. I need a way for others to see that what I’m doing is possible. I’ve hired a writer, and I’ve got a director in mind. I’ll be producing it myself.”

“Always the dedicated professional—and you’re branching out. Very impressive.”

This was going better than Julia had expected. She swirled the ice in her drink, took another swallow. “I’m hoping to sign a contract with Peter in the next week or two. I thought he might have said something to you about it. He seemed pretty excited.”

“It’s really nice of you to use him.”

“Peter is exactly what I was looking for. And it’s the way the world works, right? Friends help friends.”

Jane nodded, falling silent.

“Something wrong?”

Before she could answer, a heavyset man in an expensive-looking double-breasted suit walked up. “Jane,” he said, eyeing Julia briefly, “the culinary powers that be want you in the kitchen. It’s time to serve the birthday cake. The head guy thought maybe you’d like to be the one to carry it in.”

Jane stood. “I had no idea it was this late.” She introduced the man as Chess Garrity, an old friend, and then said, “I’ll catch you both later.”

“We’ll mix and mingle,” called Julia to her retreating back. The bourbon had eased some of the tension in her muscles. She felt better now, more centered and in control.

“Nice party,” said Chess. He eased down next to her, unbuttoning his coat.

The suit hid his girth well. It was probably handmade. If she had to guess, she’d say it was Italian. “How do you know Jane?”

“We go way back.”

“To the cradle?”

He laughed, tapped a cigarette out of a pack, and offered her one.

“No thanks.”

“I actually met Cordelia first,” he said, bending over a silver lighter, lighting the tip, and blowing smoke over his shoulder. “You know her?”

“Where
is
the dragon lady?”

“Dragon lady?”

“The Mad Carlotta? The Wicked Witch of the East? Typhoid Mary? Take your pick. They all apply.”

“Not a fan, huh?”

“Pretty much not. Do you live in town?”

“No. Istanbul. When I’m not in Amsterdam. I deal in antiquities. Mainly ancient Mesopotamian and Egyptian art.”

Julia cocked her head, deciding to take a wild guess. “Are you the friend who gave Jane the snake ring?”

“Guilty.”

She found herself grinning. “It’s a striking piece.”

“She’s worth it.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “And you’re here because—”

“A buying trip. Jane’s letting me stay in her third-floor apartment for a few days.”

Jane never let anyone stay up there anymore. “How did you two first meet?”

He took a deep drag off the cigarette, blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “That’s kind of a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He laughed easily and stretched an arm along the back of the bench behind her. “Jane and I lived together once—just for a few months. We were pretty young. I think she’d just graduated from the university.”

“I thought she moved in with her girlfriend, Christine, right after college.”

“Oh, sure. I knew Christine. She was a wonderful person. Funny, smart, athletic—if you’re into athletic. I never have been.”

She didn’t doubt it.

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you do to pay the rent?”

“I’m a doctor. An oncologist. I specialize in HIV.”

“In the Twin Cities?”

“I spent the last few years in Africa. I’ll be going back to Johannesburg for a few weeks next fall. The government is honoring me with a humanitarian award.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations.”

It was bragging, but she’d never been averse to a blatant show of self-regard. “I’m hoping to start a free clinic here in Minneapolis sometime within the next year.”

“You are an admirable woman.”

“I’ve never aspired to ordinariness.”

He wiped a hand across his mouth. “I can see why you and Jane are friends. Unless—are you more than friends?”

“No.”

“Then I’d say she’s missing out. And you live—”

“A loft on Lake Calhoun. If you know the city, it’s right across from the concession stand.”

“That new building? I drove past it today. Looks incredible—and expensive. It’s harder and harder these days to know where to put your money, don’t you agree? Real estate used to be a good option, but you’ve got to be careful today. That’s one positive for my line of work. Antiquities are verifiable pieces of real property, not just something on paper. They don’t lose value.”

Julia was always interested in a good investment, although her interest in Chess went well beyond that. “I’m a wealthy woman, Mr. Garrity.”

“Call me Chess.”

She removed her iPhone from the pocket of her slacks. “I’d like to hear more. Do you have examples you could show me?” She punched a couple of keys, then swiped her finger down the screen, bringing up her calendar.

“Sure.”

“How about tomorrow? I have a meeting at eleven. You could come by the loft, say, nine?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He waited a beat. “What price range were you interested in?”

“Price is less an issue than the object itself. I’m interested in something unique, an object that will maintain its value. And, of course, beauty.”

His eyes lingered on her. “I’ve got several pieces that should interest you. One in particular. Although it’s expensive. Possibly too expensive.”

“Bring whatever you have. No promises, of course—but it never hurts to look.”

*   *   *

Irina perched on a chair in the back bedroom, rocking the crib with her foot, her arms cradling her stomach. Her son’s eyes fluttered every few seconds, but he was definitely in dreamland. She’d held him for the longest time, giving him his bottle, rubbing her cheek against the soft fuzz on his head, humming to him until he fell fast asleep. She didn’t want to put him down, but finally had. Now, easing back, she switched on the small boom box behind her, the one she’d loaded with a Disney lullaby CD. It seemed so peaceful, so safe, cocooned in this room with only a tiny night-light to illuminate her baby’s face, as if nothing could ever touch either of them or do them any harm. She’d taken a couple of Xanax, which made the world feel much more manageable. If they could navigate safely through the next few days, find a buyer for the bull, everything might still work out okay.

She called her sister again, and this time she left a message.

“Misty, hi, it’s me. Don’t know where you are, but I thought you might want to come by, spend the night. Steve had to drive back down to Rochester. He won’t be home until late in the day tomorrow. Let me know. Or just come over if you can. ’Bye.”

She watched her sleeping baby. She’d let him stay up too late, but rationalized that being with him soothed her, and he could sleep as long as he wanted in the morning. He was such a good little boy. He was her future. She pressed a finger gently against his little fist, wondering if Steve had noticed that his baby didn’t look a thing like him. That was a card she hadn’t played yet, one she wanted to reserve for just the right moment.
We’re all liars,
she thought.
We keep secrets.
Lying wasn’t always wrong when survival was the issue.

Irina crawled into bed around eleven, listening to the silent house, thinking about her mother, the funeral that would need to be planned. Once the police released her mother’s body, she would go to the funeral home, make all the arrangements. If Misty wanted to come along, fine. If not, she’d do it herself. She’d spent so much of her life alone that this wasn’t anything new.

She was almost asleep when her eyes popped open. Was that a noise? She couldn’t be sure. Thinking that it was her sister coming in the front door, she got up and walked out into the hallway.

“Misty?” she called. She froze when she saw a beam of light sweep over the living room. Rushing back to the bedroom, she closed and locked the door, then dove for the cell phone in her purse and hit 911. A man’s voice answered. She whispered her address and told him that an intruder was inside her home. He asked her to leave the phone on, said a squad car would be dispatched. He wanted to know more, but Irina tossed the phone on the bed.

She felt around under the pillows until her hand hit cold metal. Rising up, she backed up all the way to the window, spread her feet, and with both hands pointed the gun at the door.

The door handle moved one way and then the other.

Her hands shook.

The handle moved again.

“Get out,” she screamed. “Get the hell out of my house.”

Dusty began to cry.

She squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. In the darkness, the muzzle fire looked like a flame. She kept firing, through her baby’s cries, through her own screams. “Get out! I’ll kill you! I will kill you!”