A Crazy Little Thing Called Death (31 page)

“Listen,” I said. “You’re not feeling well, so I’m going to give you the short version of a very long story, a story I should have told you before.”

Hearing my tone, he waited.

“I told you already that while I was in college, a friend of mine married Raphael Braga and moved to his family’s home in Brazil. His parents were very wealthy, an old family, and it was important to everyone that they have children right away. But my friend, she couldn’t. There was a problem. She was desperate to have a baby, so she asked me to help. And I did. The two of us went to a hospital in New York, Michael, and I gave her some of my eggs.”

I took a deep breath and continued, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “I donated my eggs to my friend. They were fertilized in a lab and implanted in her, and she had the baby. A little girl, who was perfectly healthy—just what the family wanted. She’s in Brazil, living with Raphael’s parents now.”

Michael paid close attention, watching my face for every nuance he could glean.

I said, “My friend and Raphael have separated, but the child—her name is Mariel—she lives with her grandparents while Raphael pursues his career in polo. I don’t know how much she sees her mother, but Raphael tells me she is—that’s she’s happy.”

“Nora.”

I went on, speaking more rapidly. “I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel. That maybe you’d be angry with me, especially now that we—that I lost our baby.”

“But you’re telling me now.”

“Yes.”

“So this is some kind of confession? You want me to absolve you of your sin?”

I looked at him at last. “You think what I did was a sin?”

He said, “You gave away—”

“I helped a friend.”

Automatically, he lifted the coffee to his mouth, but he didn’t drink from the cup and lowered it again. “Did you ever consider maybe your friend and Braga weren’t meant to have kids?”

“I didn’t stop to consider a lot of things. And anyway, that’s not the way I think. Someone needed my help, so I did what she wanted.”

“That’s you, all right,” he said quietly. “Jumping in to help anybody who asks.”

“She wasn’t anybody. She was my friend.”

“What’s next, Nora? If somebody wants a kidney, you’ll be first in line?”

“If someone needed it, and I could provide something to save a life, yes.”

He shook his head, as if marveling at my foolhardy nature. “What about now?”

“Now?”

“You’re thinking about this little girl in Brazil, right? That maybe she needs you.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“You’re her mother. The other woman is out of the picture, and her father is all over the world instead of taking care of her. So she needs you. And,” he said, “maybe you need her.”

“I don’t—”

“You want her.”

I shook my head again.

“You’d like to have this child you made with Raphael Braga—because ours didn’t live.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.”

“No?”

But of course it was. Deep in my heart, I wanted to know Mariel, the little girl I had never met but who was mine, at least partly. There wasn’t any sense denying how I felt. Maybe this part was the sin. But I couldn’t help the way I ached inside.

Michael set the coffee cup on the table beside me. “I knew there was something between you and Braga. I thought you were afraid of him, and you are a little, aren’t you? But you’re attracted to him, too.”

“No, not attracted. Not the way—well, the way I am to you. But he and I are connected in a strange way.”

He settled back against the cushions again, putting one arm behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Well, this explains a few things.”

I discovered I had been clenching my teeth, and I made an effort to calm down. “Like what?”

“Like what we’ve been doing in bed lately. I thought you’d gone a little nuts because of losing the baby, but it’s Braga, isn’t it? Part of you is angry I’m not him.”

“No. No, I’m sorry if I—if things were too rough, but—”

“Hell,” he said with a shrug, “I liked it. I like it all—when you’re sweet or when you’re an animal.”

My face flushed hot. I had done things with Michael—primal things—that I’d never even contemplated with my husband. It had been passionate and exciting and sometimes frightening. And yes, perhaps angry, too.

He said, “Were you thinking about him? In bed with me?”

“Of course not. What we have is—it’s ours.”

“A little twisted, sometimes, but always hot, right?”

“Don’t joke, Michael.”

“Okay,” he said after a moment, “what have you decided to do?”

“To tell you the truth.” I had come this far, and I needed to go the rest of the way despite the racing thrum of my heart. I said, “I wanted you to know the whole story because I—we need to have the truth between us. Even if it changes how we feel about each other.”

He looked at me, his face controlled.

I said, “Michael, we can’t be together if we lie.”

“Now I get it.”

“I want to know the truth.”

He shook his head. “My truth is different.”

“Will you tell me what happened yesterday?”

“Nora, you already know who I am. That should be enough.”

I took a deep breath for courage. “Are you afraid I’ll leave you? If you killed a man?”

He didn’t deny it. When he didn’t answer, I spoke again with a voice that was barely a whisper. “What happened to your hand?”

He glanced at his bruises, unconsciously flexing his fingers despite the pain he must have felt.

I said, “That didn’t happen the night you broke your leg. That injury happened yesterday. Yesterday before you got home with two crutches that don’t match. Were you in a fight? Did you…hurt anyone?”

He said, “If I hadn’t done something, you would always be in danger.”

As if he’d punched me, all the air went out of my body, and I instinctively curled up and covered my ears. “Oh, God.”

He sat up with a grunt of pain and swung his good leg to the floor. He grabbed my forearms and pulled me up until we were face-to-face, inches apart.

With his blue eyes burning into mine, he said, “This is the way things work in my world, Nora. My Pescara cousins took a run at you, and they would have kept coming, again and again. I did what had to be done.”

Suddenly I was shivering so hard, I might have been abandoned on an ice floe. “Oh, God.”

He released my arms. “You honestly think I killed them.”

“Did you?”

“No.” His voice was flat. His expression went blank, a practiced masking of his emotions. “I hurt them. But I didn’t kill either one of them.”

I got up from the table and walked away, still shaking so much, I had to hug myself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I had to ask.”

He did not acknowledge my apology. “We tracked them down, and I told them to leave you alone.”

“You beat them up.”

“Whatever. What happened to them afterwards, though, I wasn’t there. But now one of them’s dead, and it’s on my head. Even if I didn’t pull a trigger, I’m the one who set it all in motion.”

I turned back to him. “Set what in motion? Who did kill him?”

He ran one hand through his unruly hair. “I don’t know yet. Two guys who work for my father, maybe. Or somebody who works for me. I’ll find out. Whoever it was, though, did it with us in mind. That man was killed to protect you. To protect our life together.”

I gripped the back of the leather chair and held on tight to keep my balance. “So it’s my fault, too.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, it’s me.”

“Who you used to be,” I corrected. “That’s all in the past, right? Your life of crime is over.”

He sighed. “It’s complicated, Nora. More complicated than you think.”

“I know. I saw that yesterday when Crewe asked you for help like you were the Godfather or something.”

“Not help. Advice, maybe.”

“And look where it got him.”

Michael glanced up. “What?”

“Crewe. His situation is even worse today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you here when it happened? Or nobody told you?”

Of course not, I realized at once. Michael had been in police custody when Crewe suffered the same indignity. I said, “Crewe was arrested late yesterday. For the murder of Kell Huckabee.”

Michael let out a string of curses. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Ben Bloom’s department was under pressure to make an arrest. Crewe had the most evidence against him.”

“The cops are going to look like idiots.” He rummaged in the clutter of beaded handbags to find his cell phone. “Bloom should know better. Does Crewe have a decent attorney? He probably doesn’t even know a criminal lawyer, does he? Never mind, I’ll make some calls.” He gave my body a quick, unsmiling perusal. “You’re dressed to go out, I notice. You’re going to do something for him, aren’t you?”

“This morning I must see Julie Huckabee.”

“Who are you taking with you?”

“Emma.”

He gave a short laugh. “Take Aldo and a couple of his guys instead.”

“We’ll be okay by ourselves.”

With an irritated glower, he said, “Call Bloom if you don’t want Aldo. I mean it, Nora. I don’t want you and your sister investigating a murder all by yourselves. Dammit, I’ll go myself—”

“I’ll call Bloom, if that will make you feel better. You should stay here. Let Aldo look after you. He does it very well. Go back to sleep. Take more pills. I’d take care of you myself, but I need to speak with Julie.”

“Is she dangerous?”

“She’s a bird-watcher.”

“Did she kill anybody?”

“I doubt it. But maybe Potty Devine did.”

“That’s one screwed-up family.”

We stared at each other then, Michael on the sofa with his phone in his hand and me behind the chair, holding on for dear life as new emotions swarmed between us.

I said, “I love you.”

He stayed where he was, looking at me. “Is that enough?”

Neither of us could answer the question.

And Emma arrived before we could say more. We heard her slam through the kitchen door.

I had time to say to him, “Please be here when I get home.”

Then Emma breezed in, talking about something that made no sense.

Finally, she stopped in the middle of the floor and said, “Damn, what’s going on here?”

Neither one of us answered.

“Oooo-kay,” Emma said. “Good to see you out of jail, Mick.”

“Thanks. You going to be careful today, Em?”

“You bet, big guy. Don’t worry about a thing.”

E
mma had Lucy in her pickup. Our niece was playing with the foil again, but had exchanged her tutu for a pair of camouflage overalls with a shirt underneath that was appliquéd with bullfrogs and lily pads. She was eating a granola bar. I gave her a big hug, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck.

“What are you doing out of school?” I asked.

“It’s teacher-conference day.” Lucy pulled granola crumbs from my hair. “Mummy said I could play with you and Aunt Em.”

Emma got into the truck and reached for the ignition. “Libby thought the conference with the twins’ teacher would run a little long—like maybe the rest of the week—so I said I’d take Luce today.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You want me to leave her with Mick?” Emma started the truck and was already backing up.

“No,” I said.

Emma heard my tone and glanced at me. “You think maybe you ought to take it easy on Mick for a few days, Sis?”

I didn’t feel like talking about Michael. Lucy played with the radio, punching buttons and putting sticky fingerprints all over the dashboard.

Had Michael and I reached a breaking point? Had our differing values clashed one last time? Perhaps we had finally hit the last crossroads. I knew which road was mine, but I wondered if he could take the same one.

Over the blare of the radio, I asked, “How’s Raphael? Did you take him to a hospital?”

“Nope. I drove him over to see a friend of mine—a doc I used to date, who said he’d sleep it off. So I took him back to his hotel and put him to bed. I debated about tying him to a bedpost just to give him something to worry about when he woke up, but I took pity on him in the end.”

“Was he okay when you left?”

“Sure, he was fine. I stayed until morning, just to be on the safe side. In fact, after I left, I gave him a wake-up call bright and early, too, so he could get a head start on the same hangover you had.”

“You talked to him today?”

“I talked, he groaned. But he was alive. You don’t need to worry about him. I made a few calls while I watched him sleep it off, and the cops arrested a bunch of polo players early this morning—caught them red-handed with roofies. They’re all going to be deported. Raphael, too.”

“I don’t know what to say, Em.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one with the strict moral code.”

“What about Ignacio, Em?”

“Iggy?” Emma lit a cigarette. “He’s not getting deported. But I kicked him out. He’s good in bed, Sis, but maybe he doesn’t belong with me. He’s too nice a guy.”

My heart twisted. “Oh, Em. You deserve somebody really wonderful. More than even Ignacio has to offer.”

She blew smoke out her rolled-down window. “Yeah, okay. When I get some free time, maybe I’ll start looking for something else.” Too much confession time made her testy, and she said, “What the hell’s our plan today, anyway?”

“We’ll talk to Julie,” I said. “I think she’s the one who knows the most.”

We arrived at the Devine estate shortly before noon. At the gate, the television vans were long gone, but Vivian’s truck had been abandoned with one tire sunk into the mud. Farther up the drive, a hired landscaping crew had just finished mowing the vast lawns, and they were loading their equipment onto trailers. We found Julie Huckabee frowning at the top of the driveway behind the mansion. Beside her on the grass crouched Vivian’s shy Brittany spaniel, Toby. The dog wriggled his hindquarters and ducked his head when he saw me.

“Hello,” Julie said when the two of us got out of Emma’s pickup truck. “You’re not going to make more noise, are you? After all that mowing, the birds won’t be back for hours.”

“We’ll be quiet,” Emma promised. She leaned down and gave the spaniel a friendly pat. He was so surprised that he collapsed on the ground, prepared to be beaten. When the blow didn’t come, he turned his pale eyes up at Emma, shivering.

Lucy clambered out of the truck, dragging her foil with her. Julie didn’t appear to be surprised by Lucy’s weapon.

I said, “Julie, is Vivian here? I want to thank her in person for giving me Penny’s clothing collection.”

“She’s not here. The police. They took her away last night.”

“To talk to her about the tigers?”

Julie’s trancelike state wavered, and she bit her lower lip, nodding. “The police made her leave the truck at the bottom of the driveway. I tried to move it, but I got stuck in the mud. Uncle Potty will be angry it’s down there. He doesn’t like things to look cluttered. He gets real upset with Aunt Vivian about her messes.”

“Want me to move it?” Emma asked.

Julie agreed Emma could drive the truck up from the gate, and Emma set off walking back down the drive. The landscaping crew whistled as they passed her on their way off the property. Emma gave them a one-fingered salute and kept walking.

The spaniel got up and watched Emma depart. He trembled and gave a little whine, which prompted Lucy to get down on the ground and try to pet him. The dog edged away, then held still and let Lucy touch his back. She made crooning sounds to calm him, and he crouched down on the grass, permitting her to stroke him again.

Lucy said, “I like your puppy.”

“He’s not mine,” Julie replied. “He belonged to my father.”

Like the frightened dog, Julie wore the same hunted, nervous look in her eyes.

“Julie,” I said, “I’m sorry Vivian is in so much trouble right now. I know you’re fond of her. She’s been like a grandmother to you. Especially since your mom’s been gone.”

Julie regarded me askance, as if afraid to meet my gaze.

With the same soothing tone Lucy had used on the dog, I said, “The police are wondering if she—if her tigers had anything to do with Penny’s disappearance. And your father’s.”

At the mention of her father, Julie looked away.

I said, “Maybe there’s something I can do to help. You seem very alone right now.”

Quietly, she said, “Vivian was only protecting me, you know.”

“From your father?”

Lucy had begun to rub the spaniel’s stomach, and she didn’t appear to be listening to us.

Julie nodded uncertainly. “They’d been arguing for a long time. She was upset when she found out he had the calves in the back enclosure. It’s very cruel, how he raised calves for restaurants. But I don’t think she meant to shoot him. Not really.”

I made a supreme effort to control my astonishment. “Vivian shot Kell?”

“He was going to shoot the tiger, but Vivian took the gun away.”

They had argued, I guessed, when Vivian discovered Kell had gone against her wishes and kept calves on the property. Of course Vivian had been furious to discover her employee was being cruel to animals. And when their argument escalated, kindly Vivian had shot Kell. Everything in Julie’s expression told me how it had happened. “And afterwards,” I said, “Vivian needed to get rid of the body.”

“Y-yes.”

Julie shivered and hugged herself tighter. “They’re always hungry. Always. But Uncle Potty said—well, he wanted to find a way to make it look like Aunt Penny was the one who was dead. He thought they could fool everybody.”

He’d staged Penny’s death so he could railroad the corporate vote on Devine Pharmaceuticals’ patent problem. Potty had been the one who’d fed Kell to the tigers. But he’d kept a piece of the remains in hopes of tricking everyone into believing it was Penny who had died. No wonder he had pushed so hard to have the remains returned to the family for burial before an autopsy could be performed. I wondered if he’d figured out a way to frame Vivian and her wild animals for the murder now that she had been arrested.

Tears had begun to shine in Julie’s eyes, and then she was trembling.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she said. “Aunt Vivian told me never to tell.”

I put my arm around her bony shoulders. “It’s okay, honey. You’re not the one in trouble here. You’re going to be okay. You’re not alone.”

“I can show you,” she whispered.

“What can you show me?”

“It’s in Vivian’s trailer.”

“Something important?”

She nodded and pulled away from me. “This way,” she said.

I followed Julie, not sure what it was the girl wanted to show me. She was so strange and ethereal—like a mental patient or an abused animal. But I went along with her, heading into the ragged, abandoned vegetable garden. From beneath a straggling bush jumped the serval cat. It paused to study us, and I pulled Lucy close. Behind her, the spaniel froze.

Then the serval cat leaped away, and we continued toward the trailer. All but the dog. Toby suddenly stopped on the grass and refused to follow us farther.

We arrived at the door of Vivian’s trailer. I could smell the cats from outside, but this time I couldn’t hear any mewing. The sickly kitten lay on the step—only now it was dead.

“Lucy,” I said, “you better stay outside.”

With her hand on the door latch, Julie said, “It’s inside.”

She opened the door, and I went up the step.

“Aunt Nora!” Lucy ran up the steps to me, unnerved by the dead kitten.

I decided in a heartbeat it was better to have Lucy by the hand than outside where I couldn’t see her.

I said, “Leave your sword outside, Luce.”

“Go on,” Julie said.

I thought Julie was coming inside with us. But she wiped a big tear from her face and closed the door. I heard a thunk from outside. When I turned and tried pushing against the door, I realized she had locked us inside the trailer.

Lucy took one breath of the fetid air and immediately glued herself to my leg. “Aunt Nora—”

The trailer had clearly been home to dozens of cats. Their smell hung in the air. A thick layer of sodden newspapers covered every inch of the floor. The cats had destroyed all the furniture; the upholstery hung in filthy shreds. Everywhere else, heaps of junk showed that Vivian had hoarded so much stuff that there was hardly room to walk.

I tried the door handle. It turned, but the door was barred from the outside. I threw my weight against it. “Julie!”

I knocked on the door, but Julie didn’t answer. Around us, the air was hot and thick with the smell of cats and death. But no animals slid around the room. No kittens mewed. The furniture was jumbled and broken.

I saw a cluttered hallway to my left, and a door—presumably to Vivian’s bedroom—was half-closed. But we heard a movement in that room, and the door edged wider. “Vivian?” I said. “Potty?”

Then I realized it was a paw that opened the door.

A large paw.

A tiger’s paw.

In another moment, the animal appeared in the doorway—less than ten feet away from us.

A year might have ticked by, or ten seconds, while we stared at each other.

His head was huge, his mouth open and panting, teeth clean white. He had an absurdly pink nose. The stripes of his mask angled away from his yellow eyes and blended into the powerful muscle of his shoulders. His ribs moved rhythmically as he breathed.

The rest of him was rail thin—too thin to be healthy.

He looked hungry.

I pushed Lucy to put her behind me. But her body was too rigid. I stepped in front of her instead.

The tiger watched me move and snarled—a horrible hissing snarl that rattled me down to my bones.

Lucy had been holding her breath and suddenly gasped out a sob.

He listened to her sound, ears pricked forward, and that yellow gaze flicked from me to Lucy and sharpened. He moved sideways to get a better view of her.

“Lucy,” I said in a rasp, “we’re going into the kitchen. Okay?”

She began to release a thin, high-pitched wail.

I edged her backward, nudging her and feeling for solid footing while keeping my gaze fastened on the animal. He came forward a step, and then another, matching my every move.

With my pulse thundering in my ears, we reached the kitchen, separated from the rest of the trailer only by an L-shaped counter. My foot struck and overturned an empty metal water bowl. I bent quickly and picked it up, then threw it into the living room. The clang of the bowl distracted the tiger for a split second, long enough for me to seize Lucy up in my arms. I flung her onto the kitchen counter. Beneath the hanging cupboards in the corner, there was two feet of space, and I wedged her there, then grabbed a broken kitchen chair from the floor and jammed it in front of her. Lucy gripped the chair with both hands, and I caught a glimpse of her face—white and frozen with fear.

I had only enough time to grab the other chair and hurl it against the kitchen window before the tiger leaped over the counter. The window didn’t break, and the tiger landed in the rubble that had once been the kitchen table. Lucy screamed. The giant cat turned toward her.

There was nothing in the kitchen to fight him off with, no furniture, no knives, no utensils.

I skittered sideways and with slippery hands opened the refrigerator door. Inside, I found a few plastic containers, and I threw them at the animal. They bounced ineffectually off his matted hide, but he forgot about Lucy and swung on me. I forced my body into the small safe space created by the heavy enamel door.