The Cruel Ever After (14 page)

The gun kept jumping in her hand. The room smelled like the Fourth of July. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the upper part of the gun slammed back and there were no more bullets.

She stood very still, not even breathing, realizing with a raw dread that she was out of options.

15

The grandfather clock in Jane’s living room struck one in the morning as the party wound down to a few last stragglers. Jane’s father and Elizabeth had left just after midnight. So had Cordelia and Mel, announcing that they had to get Hattie into bed. Julia was gone. Chess was out in the backyard eating the last of the pizza and talking to Sigrid.

Jane stood at the front door, thanking people for coming and wishing them a good night as her catering crew finished cleaning up the dining room. She was tired, but elated that the celebration had gone so well.

At last, drifting back into the living room, she picked up a couple of empty plates, but instead of taking them into the kitchen, she sat down to think. Peter had kept his distance all evening. She was hoping they could talk for a few minutes, if for no other reason than to break the ice between them, but it had never happened. Still, there was one thing she had to do before he and Sigrid left.

Grabbing a pen and a pad of scratch paper from her office, she spent the next few minutes looking for Mia. She found her in the basement rec room, curled into the corner of the couch, reading under the light of a floor lamp. Mouse was sleeping on the floor next to her. He adored kids, couldn’t get enough of them. If there was a kid in the house, that’s where you’d find him. Maybe it was his need to protect, or his love of play. He and Mia had bonded within moments of meeting each other.

Sitting down next to the little girl, Jane wrote on the pad, “Did you get some of the birthday cake?”

Mia nodded.

“Did you like it?”

This time, her eyes widened when she nodded.

Jane wrote, “Mia, will you forgive me? Your Dad and I aren’t on very good terms at the moment, but I shouldn’t have let that keep me away from you. I want to be part of your life. I want you to be an important part of mine.”

Mia took the pad and the pen and wrote, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” wrote Jane, “but if you’ll give me another chance, I want to make it up to you.”

Mia kept her eyes averted, gave a shrug.

Jane wrote, “Tell me what you like? Your five favorite things to do.” She handed Mia the pad and pen.

The little girl thought for a few seconds. She flipped to a clean page and wrote, “I like to draw, mostly horses, but sometimes flowers and people.” She chewed her lower lip. “I like going for hikes in the woods. I like reading stories about girls. I like looking at picture books of artwork. I like to make cookies and bake them in the oven.” She read it over, counting each “like” on her fingers. “Fah,” she said out loud.

Jane smiled. Mia had given her a lot to work with. She wrote, “Have you ever gone to the Institute of Arts here in Minneapolis?”

Mia shook her head.

“I think you’d like it. It’s a big building full of paintings, drawings, and every kind of artwork. Would you go with me sometime soon?”

She gave a guarded nod.

Jane continued to write. “Have you ever gone for a hike up near Taylors Falls? It’s very beautiful.”

Mia shook her head.

“Do you have good hiking shoes?”

Mia wrote, “Dad bought me boots.”

Jane grinned and wrote, “Then we’ll do a hike, too. I’ll talk to your mom and dad tonight before you all leave so we can nail down a time that would work.”

Mia reached for the pad and pen. “Would it be just you and me?”

Jane wrote back, “Would that be okay?”

Mia looked up at her, gave a shy nod.

“Can I give you a hug?” wrote Jane.

Another shy nod.

Jane gathered the little girl into her arms, kissed her hair, held her tight, and tried her damnedest to live in the moment for once. She hoped she’d made a breakthrough. Now she had to follow it up with more than just good intentions.

*   *   *

The next morning, as Jane was pouring kibble into Mouse’s bowl, the landline rang. She used the remote to turn down the TV and said hello.

“It’s Nolan.”

“You never made it to the party last night. I saved you some cake.”

“Thanks, but I thought this was more important. Nobody was watching the restaurant. I stuck around for several hours.”

“So that’s good news.” She found some chicken scraps in the refrigerator and added them to Mouse’s bowl. He was already in his “sit” position when she set the dish down in front of him.

“Not entirely. I drove to your house after I left the restaurant, intending to come in, but found a guy sitting in a Jeep two houses away holding a pair of binoculars. I’d say you’re the one being watched, not the restaurant. When he saw me, he took off. I chased him, but a truck pulled in between us and he got away.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

“Already ran it. It’s a rental. Rented to a man named Eddy Redzig, a resident of Toronto. Far as I can tell, he doesn’t exist. It gotta be an alias.”

She sat down. “Did you get a look at the guy who was driving?”

“He was blond. Long hair.”

“Sounds like one of the guys Lee described to me.” She’d never seriously considered that she might be the target. “What do you think I should do?”

“Work with me. We’ll figure this out.”

“We already talked about that.”

“You know, Jane, one of these days I’m going to stop asking.”

How could she make him understand? “I have to make the restaurants my first priority. Especially in this economy.”

“Fine. I never said you couldn’t do both.”

“But that’s just it. I can’t.”

“You’re afraid that if you get involved in real investigative work, it’s all you’ll want to do.”

“My restaurants are my life.”

“Your passion.”

“Right.”

“They were once. Are they still?”

If she wasn’t a restaurateur, who was she?

“I think you should give it more thought. In the meantime, I’ll dig a little deeper. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

After hanging up, she sat at the table, watching Mouse nose his favorite green tennis ball around the room. So often these days she wished she had his life. Good food. Lots of love. A comfortable place to live. No financial or relationship worries. “What if we traded places for a while?”

He gripped the ball in his mouth, carried it over, and dropped it in her lap.

“You want to go outside and play catch?” she asked, rubbing his ears. “I suppose we can do that for a few minutes.” As she stood, she saw the words
BREAKING NEWS
crawl across the bottom of the TV screen. She turned up the sound.

“Early this morning, a jogger found the body of a man in a remote area of Minnehaha Park. The name of the victim has not been released, but police are looking for a second man in connection with the suspected homicide—Chester Garrity.”

When a picture of Chess flashed on the screen, Jane felt as if she’d touched a bare wall socket.

“If you know this man, or have any information about him, please contact the Minneapolis Police Department.”

Rushing to the door, Jane called over her shoulder to Mouse, “I’ll be right back.”

She burst out into an overcast, sticky summery day and charged up the outside steps.

Banging on the door, she shouted, “It’s Jane. Come on, Chess, open up.” She banged harder. “Wake the hell up. I need to talk to you.” He had to be inside. She hadn’t heard him leave. Checking her watch, she saw that it was just after nine. She’d slept in, something that always put her in a bad mood. She hated getting a late start to her day.

Cupping a hand over her eyes, she peered though one of the screened windows. The interior was dark. The small TV set across the room was off.

Swearing under her breath, she charged down the steps, returning a few minutes later with a key. She opened the door and went in, not caring if he was asleep, dead drunk on the couch, or naked in bed with another man.

“Where are you?” she called. His suitcase was open on the floor next to the drop-leaf kitchen table. Clothes littered the living room. The remnants of his breakfast—half a frozen burrito and a partially filled glass of orange juice—sat on the draining pad next to the sink. Crossing into the bedroom, she found the bed unmade.

“Dammit,” she shouted to the empty room, her mind flashing to the men who were watching the restaurant and her house. She had no proof of a connection, but she also had little doubt. “What are you mixed up in? What the hell have you got
me
mixed up in?”

*   *   *

Five stories above Lake Calhoun, Chess sat in Julia’s loft, drinking a cup of French pressed coffee and eating a chocolate pistachio biscotto. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Running into a rich narcissist was always a stroke of luck, but to find one with the door to her heart hanging open was like winning the lottery. He figured it was best to let her steer the conversation.

“You brought something for me to see?” she asked, her warm smile muting the frank appraisal in her eyes.

He nodded to the leather case next to him.

She sat down, arranging herself in a Bauhaus-inspired chair by unbuttoning the classic gold-buttoned blazer she wore over a pair of precisely creased tan slacks. “I have to admit that I’m curious about you,” she said.

“About my relationship with Jane?”

“We can start there.”

As if there were anything else she wanted to know. “You said that you two were just friends.”

“We’ve dated in the past.”

Unrequited love. Too good to be true. He’d seen the way she looked at Jane last night, part possession, part yearning.

“Jane never told you about me?” he asked.

“Not that I recall.”

“I hope you don’t find this too forward, but I admire you, Julia. I pride myself on being a good judge of character. You seem like someone I can trust.” He’d come to the conclusion that she was smart, even clever, but not terribly subtle. What he’d said was blatantly disingenuous. Even so, her eyes flickered with interest. “Twenty-one years ago next week, Jane and I were married.”

Her mouth opened. She was silent for a good half minute. “Married,” she repeated, the word coming out guttural, harsh. “Are you still—”

“I flew to the Dominican Republic and got a divorce.” He explained the essentials without lingering on the particulars. “I still care about her, as she cares about me.” He paused, mostly for dramatic effect. “This episode in our lives isn’t something she likes to talk about, so if you’d keep it to yourself—”

“Don’t give it another thought,” said Julia, a little too quickly.

“I’m worried about her,” continued Chess, leaning forward and helping himself to another biscotto. “She seems lonely.”

“You think so?”

Actually, he didn’t think so, but it was the right thing to say. “She needs someone to love, someone to take care of. Maybe that’s old-fashioned, but it’s the way I see it.”

“No, I agree. I suppose we all want to find that one special someone.”

“You two seem perfect for each other.”

The look in Julia’s eyes was nothing short of ecstatic, but she stayed cool, didn’t comment.

Chess sighed. “You’ve probably already got someone in your life.”

“No,” she said hesitantly.

“But the love is gone. You’ve moved on.”

Her eyes drifted to the grand piano. “Since we’re being honest, maybe—oh hell, why not. I might as well tell you the truth. I’m still in love with her.”

Chess set his cup on the coffee table. “I thought so.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little. I also formed my opinion from watching Jane. She’s still carrying a torch for you, that’s pretty apparent, even though she’s fighting it.”

She sat up straighter. “Did she say anything to you about me?”

“Just that you’re a very important person in her life.”

“She actually said that?”

“Exact words. Then again, you know Jane. She’s very private. She didn’t elaborate.”

“Something I admire about her.”

“Oh, yeah. Me, too.”

She ran her fingertips along the arm of the chair.

“To be honest,” said Chess, eying yet another biscotto, “I’m a romantic at heart. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Unreservedly. If you’re fated to be together, you will be.”

Fate. Perfect concept for a besotted narcissist. “Sometimes fate needs a bit of a shove.”

She laughed at that one. “You have a point.”

“I also believe in past lives. Reincarnation. I’ve experienced it personally. I know that may sound strange to a doctor, someone who’s used to dealing with facts, reason, objective reality.”

“You’re talking about hypnotic regression?”

“I’ve undergone several.”

“You’re right to think I don’t give that theory much credence. Even so, I’m always willing to listen. It’s not like we’ve discovered everything there is to discover.” She poured them each more coffee.

She might be a manipulative narcissist, but under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed getting to know her. “I think it’s time to look at what I brought.”

She nodded, seeming far more eager and open to him now that they’d shared a juicy secret.

He pulled the case in front of him. “Let’s start with the least expensive.” He removed a cloth, set it on the table, and drew back the folds. “These are Roman gambling dice, first century
A.D.
They were carried by soldiers. Each one is hand-carved from a single piece of animal bone. This particular set was discovered at a Roman military site near the Danube River. I have all the paperwork. Everything I sell has a documented provenance.”

“How much?” asked Julia, picking one up.

“Three hundred and eighty-five dollars. That’s a very good price.”

“They’re intriguing, but I guess I’m interested in something a little more dramatic.”

“Of course.” This time he took out a box. Opening it, he handed her a four-inch Egyptian blue scarab. He explained that it was made somewhere between 1000
B.C.
and 700
B.C.
, between the twenty-first and twenty-fifth dynasties. “Eighteen thousand,” he said.