A Twisted Ladder (12 page)

He paused, watching, then tapped the pane and said, “Be quiet.”

And from his mind:
Be quiet
.

The Akita and the Airedale trailed off. They licked their muzzles, panting, and rested back on their hindquarters. Jasmine was the last to settle down. She barked and peeled back her lips, her tongue darting over fangs. Then she, too, quieted.

Zenon smiled.
Stubborn like your owner, Jazz. Now then, altogether: Step forward
.

The dogs stood, a little uncertain, but they took their step in a disconnected gaggle. All three of them. The sense of power was intoxicating.

Zenon turned his focus to Samantha’s dogs, speaking to them through the glass. “How about we have a little fun with Miss Jasmine?”

He visualized what he meant, and let that image transfer to the larger dogs.

The Akita bared his teeth, gleaming white in the darkness. He uttered a low, rolling growl.

“You ready, Jasmine? Cuz we’re gonna see what you’re made of.”

AS JOE WHITNEY ESCORTED
Madeleine to the dance floor, she felt eyes from every corner of the room. Indeed, they were an unlikely duo: He, twice her age and white as an egg; and she, a blue-eyed black Creole whose father had just scalded him in public.

But then Madeleine realized his angle. Waltzing with her, the daughter of his accuser, was Joe’s way of winning back the crowd.

Madeleine felt Ethan’s eyes on her as she danced. And when she met his gaze he looked bemused, as if laughing at her for dancing with Joe. His limp didn’t seem to affect him much. He moved less than other folks, but that was about it. She gave him a broad smile. She and Joe danced through the song and then retreated to the outer rim of the ballroom. Sam appeared with Daddy in escort.

The men greeted each other coolly.

“Joseph.”

“Sirrhh.”

Daddy turned to his daughter and offered his arm as the quartet began to play a foxtrot. “Madeleine, honey, let’s dance.”

She gritted her teeth, having lost her heart for dancing, but took his arm. Behind her, to everyone’s surprise, Whitney asked the same of Samantha.

“Well all right, fine,” Sam said rolling her eyes.

Daddy was smiling with the carefree abandon of someone content to be right where he was rather than anywhere else on earth. And yet . . .

“So. Been taking your meds, Daddy?”

His smile vanished and he looked away. “Aw, who wants a chemical lobotomy? Those things make me sick.”

She frowned. “Better than the alternative.”

“Come on, don’t be that way, kitten. I’ll be fine.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand as they waltzed, and then his face changed. He lowered his chin and said, “Listen honey, I’m sorry I left you in Washington like that. Cold feet, I guess.”

He was struggling for words, an unusual phenomenon for him. “And then I was too ashamed to face you. I can see that things have hit you harder now that Marc’s gone. Can you forgive me, honey?”

She felt tension in her eyes, and was disgusted to find a threat of tears. She breathed in deeply.

“I never should have put you in that position.” And it was true; she knew better.

The waltz ended and as she released his hand, he pulled her in and wrapped her in a strong hug.

“I love you, baby girl,” he whispered, patting her hair.

This time the dreaded tears found their way to her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away before he could see them.

They returned to the spot by the commode where Sam and Whitney were already waiting.

Sam looked at the two men and raised her brows. “So. Joe? Daddy Blank? Will you two be dancing the next one together?”

They both laughed. Joe grabbed two long-stem red roses from a table and presented one to Madeleine and one to Sam. For once, Sam was at a loss for words, and Daddy rolled his eyes elaborately as he turned to leave. Then Joe left abruptly too, and Madeleine saw he was making a beeline for Buddy Caldwell, attorney general by day and country music singer by night. Madeleine watched as both Joe and her father worked the room, each one shaking hands and demonstrating his own brand of wit.

“You’re wearing those shoulder earrings again,” Sam said.

Madeleine frowned. “Guess I got a lot on my mind.”

“We can leave. I’ve had enough of all this pomp and circumstance. Wanna go to a titty bar instead?”

Madeleine looked at her, shocked, then burst out laughing. Sam gave her a sly grin. They turned and started toward the coat check.

“I know I’m a wet blanket,” Madeleine said. “This whole thing with Daddy—Trying to keep him on his meds and off the street is like trying to bottle smoke.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe you should just let smoke be smoke.”

“Sounds great, but the reality is that smoking can be dangerous.”

Sam arched a brow and pointedly took out a pack of Capris. “You can’t always do what’s good for you, you know.”

Madeleine tightened her lips.

Sam said, “Hey, at least you know he’s all right now, Maddy. I’m just saying sometimes it’s worth putting a little faith in miracles. He was brilliant and charming tonight. Talk of the town.”

“Yeah. After he left me twisting in the wind in D.C.”

“So that’s what this is really about?” Sam tapped a cigarette from the pack. “Hey listen. It’s understandable that you’d be mad at him.”

Madeleine tried to slow her breathing, but her fury was on the rise. “Yeah, well, it’s that and it’s not. I’m just so . . .” She shook her hands. “Frustrated. That testimony in D.C. was for
his
benefit. To treat
his
condition. He’s charming now because he doesn’t feel sick and rummy, which means he’s off his meds. It’s just the first stage of the cycle. The next step is that he winds up on the street, wandering around muttering or shouting, or worse. You’ve seen it—he can get violent, Sam. And I sit around and worry that he’s going to end up in jail, or dead, or God knows what.”

She tossed her head, and then spoke the most frustrating truth of all: “And in the end, there’s really not a damn thing I can do about any of it.”

At this, her temper began to lag.

“I can’t
make
him take his meds. But just now, I barely even tried . . .” She let the words fall away, and stopped.

Sam stepped closer and touched her arm. “I’m sorry Maddy. I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” She knit her brows. “Forgive me?”

Madeleine took a deep breath, reassembling a state of calm. “No, don’t. Of course I forgive you. But
I’m
the one who should apologize. Things got real weird tonight in a lot of ways and it put me in a funk.”

Madeleine linked her arm into Sam’s and squeezed, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

Sam responded by touching her head to Madeleine’s. “Guess we’d better get the truck.”

Madeleine nodded, but an unsettling feeling stole over her: They were being watched.

She looked right and left, suddenly worried that Zenon might have come back. But no sign of him. And then she saw her. In the cloakroom a few feet away, the little girl stood partially concealed behind fabric. Though one single eye and a tousle of hair were the only visible features, Madeleine recognized her as the child who lived with Chloe.

She handed her valet stub to Sam. “Do you mind seeing to the truck? I need to check on someone.”

“Sure,” Sam said with a shrug.

She took the ticket and turned, pausing to light the cigarette as she stepped through the front doors.

Madeleine approached the small chamber. She couldn’t imagine why this girl was allowed to wander unattended so frequently. It was about time Madeleine met her face-to-face.

JASMINE STOPPED BARKING. SHE
took a step backward, a question emitting from her throat. The other dogs growled. The Akita’s eyes held savagery. Jasmine lowered her ears and bent her legs in a cringe. A soft breeze gusted and crickets chirped from the drainage passages.

Zenon smiled. In his mind, he turned the screw another half step.

The Airedale lashed out, teeth striking Jasmine’s haunches. She yelped.

The Akita stepped forward and snarled over her, his tongue gaping through fangs, his head almost as large as Jasmine’s entire body. She gave a singing whimper, crouching wide-eyed with her tail curled beneath her.

The Akita snapped. Jasmine screamed and leapt to her feet, tail now erect and hackles raised. She peeled back her lips at the two larger dogs. The Airedale’s teeth gnashed forward. Jasmine scooted backward.

Zenon watched, relishing how the little female bared her teeth while the larger males swayed at her flanks.

She’ll put up a fight, yeah
.

Jasmine backed up, sidling along the furniture. Cornered now between the couch and the wall.

Steady boys. Close the gap
.

The larger dogs advanced with tails bristling.

Get her!

THE CLOAKROOM STRETCHED BACK
far enough so a person might move freely among the hangers. A split door gaped wide at the top while barring entry at the bottom, with a valet bell resting on its ledge. No attendant.

The little girl was watching Madeleine, the only visible features being her clumped dirty blond hair draped over a single eye. The rest of her remained hidden between a hanging white sequined cape and a flowing golden chiffon wrap. Smudges were visible on the cape where it had come into contact with her.

Madeleine offered a smile. “Hello there.”

The little girl said nothing. She pressed herself further back into the crush of fabric.

Madeleine leaned over the ledge. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She looked down and saw the child’s bare feet just below the hanging garments. Her ankle was streaked with ashen smears, and the ragged tips of her toenails bore black half-moons as if she’d neither washed nor worn shoes in ages.

“My name is Madeleine. Can you come out where I can see you, please?”

A hesitation, and then the child began to move. The cape folded in as she pressed forward out of the rack. Her face emerged, and Madeleine caught her breath. Not because the face was filthy; she’d expected that. It was the expression on that face—not that of a timid, shrinking little girl at all. This child wore no look of fear. She was smiling. In fact, she was grimacing.

“That’s better,” Madeleine said, though a bit unnerved. “You live with Miss Chloe, don’t you? Chloe LeBlanc?”

The child did not move. She continued to show her teeth in that strange, bellicose grin.

Madeleine tried another tack. “Chloe LeBlanc,
elle est ta grand-mère?
”

Or maybe this girl’s arrière grand-mère
. The child was so young and Chloe so old, if the two were related there would have to be several “
arrière’s
” before the “
grand-mère
.”

But nothing. The child just grimaced and stared through brown, horse-lashed eyes.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“They say I’m Severin,” she whispered.

The voice sounded normal, angelic even. As if dusted in gold from the fabric that draped over her.

“Ah, Severin.” Madeleine reached out a hand. “You should probably come out of there, sweetie.”