All in One Piece (31 page)

“This gathering of so many here today… a tribute to the many lives touched by Steven Damelin.”

I sit down, angled sideways because, you see, I recognize those shoulders—Alex Ribideau’s. It’s Alex in a disguise. Is he
here for Margaret Vogler’s sake?

Drew approaches the pulpit and delivers a eulogy as if he’s a head of state. “To ride horseback in the dawn with my brother
… in the equities marketplace… side by side in life’s pathways, generous to those ill clad and ill nourished. Amen.”
Something rings familiar in those words, but everyone is moved. Some wipe tears at the finish.

I turn quickly to see—yes, definitely Alex in that pew.

Rev. Welch calls for anyone else who wishes to speak. Intense silence falls, then a stirring as someone comes down the aisle.
Suppose it’s Alex… but no, it’s Luis Diaz, eyes downcast, lumbering. He stands before the altar, faces front, mumbles,
“Why God?… Why take Steven, my best, the best in the world? My man.” Gail touches his shoulder, helps him back to his
seat. His muffled sobs fill the church until she takes the pulpit. “The Lord God is righteous… justice and mercy.” Then
on cue the piano, the thin soprano, “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, weiss was ich leide…” Gail offers a blessing, invites
us to the fellowship of the reception, and it’s over.

I race down the side aisle to tell Devaney and Maglia about Alex but get stuck behind the woman in the gourd hat. Alex is
still in sight. I can see him—then I can’t. Some are leaving, most funneling into the reception area. I get to Maglia and
Devaney and huddle to whisper about Alex’s disguise and point to the spot where he stood moments ago. Maglia bolts. Devaney
beelines to the reception room.

I go in too. No sign of Alex, though maybe he’s bunched with Matthew Kitchel and the inner circle of the Apollo Club, that
Praetorian Guard. Most likely he’d make eye contact with Margaret Vogler. Maybe hiding in plain sight is the thrill.

Mimi’s servers pour and smile in tuxedo shirts and bow ties. Groups form, the Corsair fraternity, the men of Apollo. I grab
a glass of Rhône red and pivot to look for Alex. The peroxide hair is nowhere to be seen.

“Well, Regina Cutter.”

“Well, Matthew Kitchel.”

“Looking for someone?” His tone combines malice and teasing.

“I thought I saw someone—someone with a new beard and hairstyle. Short blond hair.”

“It’s possible.”

“I don’t see him now.”

“People come and go, don’t they? Hard to keep track. Meanwhile, you can talk to the gumshoes.”

“What gum—?” He cocks an eyebrow toward Maglia, who makes his way through the room while Devaney stations himself at the doorway.
I scan the room again. No Alex. Doris Damelin is close-by, clutching a punch cup. “Mrs. Damelin, I’m sorry.”

She looks away and down. “You done what you could.”

Crystal holds a fistful of tiny tarts. “The strawberry ones are already gone,” she says. “Hoity-toity, but you need ten to
get a real taste. Eating for two.” A tart goes in a gulp. She says, “The old man drove us down.”

“He’s here?”

“Drivin’ around somewhere. So when do I get this furniture? I been waitin’ for the big phone call.”

“I’ll phone soon. I promise.”

By the punch bowl, Leonard and Margaret stand with Eleanor Comber. Margaret’s cane grins. “Well done, Regina. In fact, lavish.”

It’s a rebuke for my out-of-bounds food and beverage selection. Leonard smiles. Drew and Dani, I see, are head-to-head in
a far corner. And there’s Stark, looking like the Secret Service. His coat sleeves are too short. I hope Ari Tsakis doesn’t
see him. The Greek and the biker do not mix.

I brush shoulders with Sarita. “Drew tells me you helped edit his fine eulogy.”

“Edit?” Her smile is distant. “I majored in communication,” she says. “We studied a lot of speeches. Roosevelt is a great
… um, inspiration.”

No wonder Drew’s eulogy felt familiar. Ill fed, ill housed—they were spliced snippets from FDR. Stolen. I make my way to Vicky.

“Oh, Regina, I worried about you, but Eleanor said you’re fine.”

“I was sore, but I’m okay.”

“We’ve made changes. Visitors don’t have to ride.”

“Tell me, how is Diablo? Drew told me what happened the night Diablo was injured. I had no idea how much trouble Steven got
himself into.”

“Steven in trouble?”

“When Drew had to come help him. With Diablo.”

She blinks. “You have it backwards. Of course, since you don’t ride, you don’t know a whiplash when you see it. Diablo was
whipped. Not by Steve. Steve would never…” She moves away.

Drew, I see, is watching from the corner of his eye. I smile and wave, walk to the serving area, and take a salmon toast within
earshot of Dani and Drew, still in their headlock.

“Get over it, Dani.”

“
You
get over it.”

He leans down and says something I can’t hear. She turns bright red. I reach for a gooseberry tart. Brother and sister separate,
Drew to his father, Dani to the mineral water. People are leaving. Lots of food is left, including Trudy’s coconut bars.

I thank Gail Welch for the service as Dani Vogler comes my way, face flushed, eyes very bright. “Reggie, I haven’t even said
a real hello.”

“Dani, the music was lovely. I don’t know German, but we all felt the message.”

“I thought Schubert would keep me safe.”

“There’s no safety from mourning.”

She looks across the hall where her parents and stepmother and brother stand together. “So,” she says, “by now you’ve talked
to my mother and father and Margaret. And you talked to my brother too. You have their side. But you haven’t got my side yet.
So if you’re interested—”

Anytime, I tell her.

“If you’re free this evening—”

Seize the day—the night. “After the reception, as it happens, I am free.”

“Meet me at the boathouse. It’s my turn to lock up. Then we can go for a drink or something.” She folds her arms. “I’ll tell
you this much now. My brother went to parties on the
Shanghai
too. And that eulogy about them being brothers—”

“Yes.”

“Well, they were more than brothers, Regina. Think about it. I’ll see you around sundown.”

I
reach the Renfrew Rowing Club entrance just as a car pulls out of the boathouse driveway. My heart stops—it’s a midnight-blue
Beemer convertible with Andrew Vogler at the wheel. He may have seen me. His tires squeal and spit gravel as he revs onto
Storrow, heading upriver fast toward Newton in the left lane.

My heels wobble in the gravel as I approach the doors. I should’ve changed shoes. Is Dani here? A white Renfrew van is parked
at the side. Maybe she drove it to the memorial service. Or maybe her brother dropped her off moments ago.

Suppose Drew comes back? He won’t find us because I’ll make sure we go for drinks right away. The huge barn-type doors are
closed. I try one. It gives. “Dani?” I open it just enough to poke my head in. “Dani?” My head’s between the two doors. “Oh,
Dani—Dani Vogler?”

She’s not here yet. Maybe Drew came looking for her and left, which means he might return. The traffic rushes at my back side.
Only a few feet of space and a low guardrail separate me from onrushing cars. I step inside.

The last light through the dusty windows high in the rooftop gables barely shows outlines of the boats. The colors are fast
fading to umber and grays. Against the wall, the oars stand at attention in their regimental row.

It’s quiet in here, though not calm. The traffic outside is a muffled roar, and the air—for one thing, it’s cold but stuffy
and still, as if the boathouse is biding its time, holding its breath. The floorboards are uneven. If the doors on the river
side were open, there’d be fresh air and a burst of the western light of the setting sun.

It’s so different from just days ago, when the boathouse was filled with those lean athletic bodies, the snappy orders to
raise and lower boats. I peer into gloom to see the crane, which is barely outlined in the dusk. It looks primeval.

“Dani? Dani? Hello, Dani Vogler, if you’re here—”

My voice swallows itself. There’s not a trace of an echo. I wish I’d changed out of this suit.

The walls and rafters creak. “Hello? Is anyone up there?” Wood expands, right? Or does it contract? There’s a small flashlight
in my purse, but the beam disappears in the gloom of the gables. I crane my neck. The boats look like torpedoes.

Dani said sundown, so I literally jump at the words “Ms. Cutter… I see your skirt.”

“Dani? Where are you?”

“Here… at the back wall. I’m on a ladder.”

I squint, shine my little light.

“Here… behind the boats.”

The flashlight is useless, but yes, a shadowy figure is coming down the far wall. I make out rungs and a thin leg, a muscled
arm. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I was changing. There’s a loft up there.”

I remember rafters, no loft. “You didn’t hear me? I called your name.”

She’s in leggings and a fuzzy vest with pockets. “I heard you. I thought you were my brother.”

Inches from my face, her eyes are wide. Wide with fear. “He came looking for me. I was up in the loft. I kept quiet until
he went away. When I heard your voice, I thought he was back, trying to trick me.”

“You were hiding from him?”

“I didn’t move a muscle. You didn’t see him, did you?”

“Driving away. I’m sure it was him.”

“A blue convertible?” I nod. “That’s him. He’s not even allowed to come here. He’s not a member. He plays squash and rides.
He rides that poor horse like it’s a bronco.”

“Diablo.”

“But this is
my
place.” Dani stamps one foot as if planting a flag. “Dr. Vantag said so.”

“Your crew coach?”

“Dr. Vantag is… my therapist.”

“I see. Suppose we go for our drinks now. We can grab a bite.”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. “And he knows I plan to talk to you.”

“Dr. Vantag?”

“No.” Her voice rises to shrillness. “Not Dr. Vantag. Drew. Drew knows.”

“You told him?”

“He just knows. He’s my brother, he always
knows
.” She rakes her nails along her arms. “He knew everything in my room, my diary. And my body… I was ten. He was so strong,
I couldn’t fight…
always.
”

“Then let’s go. My car’s outside.”

“What if he’s waiting out there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yes. He could go around Memorial Drive and cross the bridge and circle back. It just takes a few minutes this time of
day, even in rush hour. He could be outside right now. He could be waiting.”

“To do what?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Let’s… make a dash for it.” Even in these heels? Yes, whatever it takes to calm her down. If Dani turns hysterical,
I’ll get nowhere. “Let’s go to a hotel bar. How about Cambridge, the Charles Hotel? There’s lots of security there. And it’s
warm.” She hesitates. Another few minutes, it will be dark. “Let’s go while there’s still daylight.”

“It’s okay, Reggie. I know this boathouse. I could walk it in the dark in my sleep.”

“But not in
my
sleep.”

“I’ve even spent nights here. I roll out a sleeping bag, even in winter. The dark’s no problem. It’s cozier.”

For me, however, claustrophobic.

She reaches into a vest pocket. “In case he comes back, I’m going to lock the Storrow side doors. I have the key.”

“The doors where I came in?” She nods. “Can’t we just go?”

“In case he sees your car. Don’t you understand? In case he tries to get in here.”

“But if we get going right now—”

“It’s a precaution.” She goes to the doors, and I hear a
chunk
. “Padlocked,” she says. “He can’t get in.”

“Dani, we can’t get out.”

“Oh yes, by the river doors.”

“To swim out? Or will you row us?”

Her laugh breaks the tension. I manage a laugh too. “It’s okay,” she says. “There’s a side path over some stones beside the
boat ramp. My brother doesn’t know about it. I’ll guide you.”

“In my stocking feet?”

“Don’t worry. It’s safer.”

“But it’s getting really dark. And it’s cold.”

“It’s twilight,” she says. “If you spent as much time here as I do, you’d know the difference.”

“So let’s leave while it’s… twilight. I’m thirsty.”

“There’s water. Right over there near our lockers. Wait.” She disappears into the gloom, sidesteps the boats and the crane.
On the uneven floorboards, her steps are sure-footed. She’s back, handing me a bottle.

“Wow, real glass.”

“Coach orders it. It’s Finnish.” She has one for herself.

I realize how thirsty I am. Outdoors, there’s a gentle slap of the river water against the ramp. “Thanks.” We drink. The lockup
clearly has made Dani feel better. I tell myself again, a hysterical Dani Vogler would be useless. This boathouse is Dani’s
playhouse, the address she evidently calls home. Rock-bottom fact: she feels safest here.

Meaning that she’ll talk here. “Dani, why are you afraid of your brother?”

“Oh, Reggie, it’s a long story. Tell you what—let’s sit for a little while on the bench, okay? Like we did the other day.
That was so nice.”

Uneasily I say okay. It’s pitch-dark in here, and there’s no moon. The
slap-slap
of the river water on the ramp outside is nice enough, but the boat hulls surround us like a maze, and those suspended above
look ghostly. The crane hovers. And now—that pulsing starts at my temple.

“You don’t know Drew,” she says. “You met him, but you don’t know my brother. You got the official family version, the wild
child tamed when Steve joined the family circle. That’s what you heard, isn’t it?”

Our foreheads almost touch when I nod. “More or less.”

“The truth is, my brother is cruel. He’s violent. He was always that way. My father jokes about him throwing bricks in my
crib, as if that was cute. I had a pet Siamese. Drew played doctor and cut her. I gave her away to save her life. He wanted
to do things to me. I learned to stay away from him.”