Borderland (27 page)

"I'm
sorry you had to leave three messages," she said in an attempt to soothe
him. "I've been arguing with the realty agent all day. The unctuous fool
tells me it will be impossible to get what I'm asking for the house in River
Oaks. You know it's worth it and I know it's worth it, but—"

"Will
you shut up and listen, Clarice? I didn't call about the house. We'll sell the
damn thing and get every penny. I'm calling about your little game with Myra
and Cal. Several hours ago I received a phone call from a man who owns a
salvage yard in Colorado. It seems he has one of my cars and—"

"What
are you doing in Colorado?" Clarice interrupted. "I thought you were
in New York?"

"I'm
in Houston, dammit. I got back yesterday. You'd know that if you weren't so
busy keeping tabs on everybody but me. And speaking of which, just where the
hell did you sleep last night? Are we still humping my cardiologist, or are we
back with our favorite little sheet salesman at Neiman-Marcus?"

"Please,"
Clarice said in a bored tone. "I'm really far too busy for this nonsense,
William. Did you say you received news about Cal?"

"No,
I said I received news about one of my cars. The car you so generously donated
to your kidnapping cause. It turned up in a salvage yard this morning…in
Colorado."

There
was a long pause. Finally Clarice said, "I can't believe they would do
that."

"What?"

"Skip
with the money I gave them. The retainer."

"How
much?" William asked, angry again.

"Only
ten thousand."

"How
much did you promise for return of the kid?"

"Another
forty."

"Oh.
No, yeah, they wouldn't skip. The stupid pigs would definitely have come back
for that. Well, what the hell do you suppose happened? Clarice, this is costing
too goddamn much money. You've already pissed away fifty grand trying to get
that hardheaded little bastard back."

"You
spend twice that amount fixing one race," Clarice retorted. "This is
your grandson, William, the sole male heir and carrier of your genes. That
should mean something to you."

"Not
half as much as it means to you," William said. "And I haven't fixed
a race in years. Listen, the kid is going to be fruitful and multiply whether
he goes to Harvard or not. I'm not worried about that. And as for being my
heir, well, I'd say he's not too terribly worried about that end. In a few
years he'll have people fighting to give him money for the services of that
brain. He doesn't need us."

"He
does need us, William. He does. And I need him. He's all I have left of Patrick
and I can't bear the thought of never seeing him again. If Myra has her way, I won't.
He may be hungry, William. He may be struggling through each day out of some
misguided sense of loyalty to his mother. Cal is intelligent enough to see that
she's disturbed, but you know how soft-hearted he can be. He'll shove logic
aside and lap every drop of poison that oozes from her breast."

William
laughed. "Christ, what a way with words."

"This
isn't funny," Clarice snapped. "First there was a fire and now the
men I sent have disappeared. I know that woman is behind this, William. She may
even have murdered them."

"That's
ridiculous, Clarice. Myra doesn't have a murderous bone in her body."

"I
wasn't talking about her. She's living with two men now. Two, William. And
they're both armed. I thought I told you that."

"It
must have been my heart doctor," William said acidly. "I know you get
us confused. Where did she find these guys?"

"Who
knows? But they're obviously sheltering her. God knows what they're getting in
return. Just think of the depraved, lascivious behavior poor Cal is being
forced to witness."

"No
worse than what he'd see around you," William said with a grunt. Then,
"Look, why don't you just let him be? Really I'm serious now. If you bring
him back against his will he'll just run away. And if you send him off to
Europe to some school, he'll just run away and be in Europe. I'm tired of
bankrolling this little war against Myra. And it is against Myra. You've hated
her from day one."

"She
betrayed me," Clarice said coldly.

"How?
By falling for that stupid son of yours?"

"He
was your son, too, and Myra knew better. She knew better than to believe she
would ever be worthy of Patrick. I let the little backwater tramp into my
school and gave her a chance to make something of her life. She betrayed my
good will."

William
sighed. "This conversation is about to end, Clarice. And so is the farce.
No promises this time, I'm telling you to leave Myra and the boy alone once and
for all. I can't afford to be dragged into any police investigations. When and
if any bodies turn up and they connect the Buick with me, I'll simply say that
two of my employees asked to use the car for their vacation and I said yes. I'm
a nice guy."

"You're
a prince," Clarice snarled.

"I
mean it, Clarice. If I hear of you spending another dime to bring that kid back
I'm cutting you off. And don't tell me you'll use your own money, because your
wonderful schools aren't doing so wonderfully lately. I know because I had an
informative lunch with your accountant."

"You
did what?"

"Enrollment
has been down for the last two years. The market's glutted with designer labels
and stores are back to promoting their own lines. You're smart enough to know
what that means, Clarice. It means your eager little students will be lucky to
find jobs as seamstresses after graduation. They know that even if you
don't."

"The
glut is temporary," Clarice insisted. "We’re about to see a new era
in clothes design."

"Don't
kid yourself, Clarice. And don't come crying to me when your business goes down
the drain."

Clarice
made a noise of disgust. "I hate to talk to you when you've been drinking.
You become so obstinate and narrow-minded. Tomorrow you won't remember a word
of this conversation."

"My
dear, at this moment I'm as sober as your head is thick. I will remember,
Clarice, so don't test me. And don't think you can scheme behind my back,
because I know all your tricks. You leave that kid alone. You're not going to
fuck him up the way you did Patrick. Is that clear?"

"How
dare you," Clarice seethed. "You were the one who never had a moment
to spare for. . . William? William?"

When the
click was followed by a dial tone she slammed the phone down. Quivering with
rage, she picked it up again and called her accountant. After firing him she
felt better. But not much. William couldn't tell her what to do. And she didn't
need his permission to try and recover her only grandson. But she did need
another tack. Myra was craftier than she'd thought, hiding under the protection
of two men. Strange men at that. It was most unlike the shy, excruciatingly
polite little blond Patrick had dragged home all those years ago.

Almost
fourteen. God.

Clarice
shuddered at the memory of Patrick's words as he presented the cringing girl.
"Mother, you remember Myra. You threw her out of your school when you
found out I was seeing her. She's pregnant. I've decided to marry her."

The
cruelty in his voice. The vengeful triumph in his eyes.

Oh yes,
antipathy had been immediate on her part. The girl's soft uneducated drawl had
been painful to Clarice's cultured ears. And while she envisioned all manner of
lovely clothes in her work, Myra cared little for her own appearance. She wore
her simple cotton dresses and flaunted her burgeoning belly until Clarice
became physically ill at the sight of her.

Then, to
make matters worse, the little tramp actually made a show of attempting to
improve. She read books and took classes and made one embarrassing faux pas
after another in front of family and friends. Clarice finally fled to Europe
until after the baby was born. The humiliation was too great to endure.

Leaving
had been a mistake, however, for in her absence Myra flourished under the
extravagance of William and the pampering of the house servants. Patrick had
little to do with her, but Myra didn't seem to care. When Clarice returned to
this unsavory state of affairs and saw how the girl had managed to usurp her
own position in just a few short months, she felt she had confirmation of the
true nature of her son's wife.

And Myra
hadn't changed. She was still a sly little gold digger, only now she was using
her son instead of her body as a bargaining chip. Her claim of wanting nothing
from Clarice was merely a clever way to up the ransom through a grandmother's
desperation. Clarice could not allow her to succeed. She would not. Her
brilliant grandson was not going to be tainted by the greed and avarice of his
common mother. She needed him with her so she could teach him everything he
needed to know about the role his blood had awarded him. With Cal at her side nothing
else would matter. Her life would take on new meaning, new importance, and new
glamour.

If
William disagreed, then so be it. The worst he could do was divorce her—but he
wouldn't, and both of them knew it. Her attorney would crucify him. William
would rage and threaten and perhaps even cut her off as promised, but only
temporarily. Eventually he would see her point and agree something had to be
done about... that woman.

Clarice
closed her eyes and leaned back. Yes of course. It was time to stop playing by
the rules created by those with no stake in the matter. Time to stop being so
gracious about the upkeep of the garden and take matters firmly in hand. In a
battle with lowly weeds, complete extirpation was required. The rose must be
allowed to reach full, lustrous bloom without hindrance of any kind.

All she
needed was a very clever gardener.

CHAPTER 23

Myra had
to fight to keep from recoiling when Jinx Lahr put his leathery hand on her
arm. He smiled at her. "That was a real fine dinner, Myra. Hope to see you
again soon."

She
forced her mouth into a smile and looked at the others. They were waiting by
the Lincoln. Only she and Jinx stood on the porch.

"I'm
glad you enjoyed it, Jinx. Have fun at Bingo."

The old
man winked. "I will. You tell Cal I'm sorry to have missed visitin' with
him. And take good care of that boy. He appears to be a valuable
commodity."

Myra's
mouth opened and she was still staring as the Lincoln disappeared down the
drive. What the hell had he meant by that? When a fly landed on her nose she
brushed it away and turned back to the house. Maybe she was reading too much
into the statement. Cal's intelligence could definitely be considered a
valuable commodity. His smarts were no secret. Many Denke children had ridden
the bus to the Johnson school with Cal. The omniscient Jinx would of course be
aware of her son's talents. Darwin, she supposed, may even have bragged about
the boy, or Patrick.

She gave
her head a small shake and returned to the kitchen. The skinny old man had
devoured her baked chicken and the green beans and new potatoes. There were
only a few spoonfuls left for Cal and Nolan. She would have to prepare
something else when they came home.

If they
came home.

No,
dammit, now stop that, she told herself. You had a hallucination, nothing more.
You're not psychic and you're not losing your mind. That vision was a product
of the fear you've been living under. Cal's wasn't among the bodies you saw on
that bed. You were imagining things.

She
rubbed her eyes and sat down on her stool. She was tired, that's all. Cooking,
cleaning, and taking care of everyone. Just like back home in the bad old days.

Only now
you don't do ironing for a dollar a shirt, she reminded herself. And you don't have
to change dirty diapers or set your mother's hair with old brush rollers every
night. You don't have to save butcher paper to draw on, listen to your
illiterate father yell about the lousy tips your mother makes at the café, or
hear your brothers and sisters cry because they're hungry and you've only got
enough to buy a loaf of bread.

You
don't have to dream about where you'll be in twenty years, Myra Millicent
Parker… you know.

Myra put
her face in her hands. She didn't want to think about this. She didn't want to
feel like this. She'd meant to do better. She'd wanted to do more, have more,
and give more. Sometimes she wished there was someone to hand the reins to,
someone to be in charge while she took a rest. Someone to hold her and tell her
everything would be all right. She wished...

The back
of her neck began to tingle and she looked up in alarm. The fine hair on her
aims had risen.

Lightning?
Hadn't she read that somewhere? That if your hair stood up you were about to be
struck?

She
rubbed an arm. Ridiculous. That was only if you were outside. She left the
stool and walked to the screen door in the pantry. The sky was in fact growing
dark with clouds, but she saw no electrical activity. A cool sensation at her
back sent her out the door and down the steps. She knew that feeling, and if
she was going to have another "hallucination" then she wanted to be
well away from any stairs.