Fade To Midnight (23 page)

Desmond put his hand on Charles's shoulder. “Charles? Is everything all right?”

“It's fine. Everything is…
fine.
” Charles shook off Desmond's hand and flung his shoulders back. “It will be difficult for me to leave the wonderful…ah, people in this unusual organization. We've grown together, and accomplished so much. But I…I, ah…” He stopped, hand pressed to his throat, like he was trying to swallow.

“Are you all right, Charles?” Desmond asked. “What's going on?”

Her father gasped for breath, clutching his throat.

“Good God,” Evelyn murmured. “What on earth…?”

Marta jumped to her feet, her hand to her mouth. “Charles?”

Edie leaped up, too, but Tanya and Aunt Evelyn yanked her back down. She'd never seen Dad altered in her life. He never drank more than a single glass of wine at any social event, ever conscious of his heart, his arteries, his waistline, and now, his girlfriend, who was thirty years younger. And his immense need to maintain control, of course.

He made a choking sound, and fell backward. Des caught him, with a shout of alarm, accompanying him to the ground.

He wrenched the microphone out of her father's hand. “Is there a doctor in the room?” he yelled. “Please come up immediately!”

The room was buzzing with alarm, people shouting. Security personnel and tuxedoed doctor guests swarmed the podium. Marta plunged into the fray. Ronnie burst into tears, and scampered after her.

Edie stood on her tiptoes, peering over shoulders. Frozen in place. She was missing something. She couldn't move until she figured out what it was. Something important. Something right in her face.

What, like, her chance to run away during the distraction? Before they had a chance to tighten the noose? Run. This is your chance.

Wait. Her eyes focused on her father's wineglass. The candlelight glowed tenderly against the bulb of the glass. A half an inch of the blood red burgundy still remained. The Asian waiter reached for it.

Edie's hand shot out. She grabbed the stem. The waiter grabbed the bulb. Wine splashed over both their hands.

“Excuse me?” The guy gave her a what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing-lady smile. “Let me just take this, OK?”

“No, that's fine,” Edie said. “I'll just, ah, keep it.”

He looked confused. “But I'll get a fresh—”

“No, I'll keep it,” Edie repeated. “Don't worry about it. Leave it.”

“Edie! What on earth are you doing?” Aunt Evelyn hissed.

Edie kept struggling, her eyes locked with the waiter's.

He let go. Wine sloshed, in a long, unlucky arc that just happened to splatter all over the blue chiffon of Tanya's dress. Tanya shrieked.

“I'm keeping this.” Edie shoved her damask napkin into the glass, to soak up some of the liquid. “It needs to be analyzed.”

“You're the one who needs to be analyzed, Edith! Leave it, and let's go to your father!” Aunt Evelyn hissed. “Do you want people to think that Marta is the only one who cares about him?”

Who gives a fuck what people think?
Over the years, she had acquired the good sense necessary not to voice the thought out loud. Edie shoved the glass with its wine-soaked napkin into her purse, shoved the purse under the table, and hurried after her aunt.

By the time they had shoved their way through the crowd, her father was already on a stretcher, unconscious, an oxygen mask over his face. Marta presided next to him with queenly grace. She informed Evelyn and Edie that she, Marta, would accompany Charles in the ambulance to Legacy, since only one could go. The rest of them could get to the hospital by other means, if they cared to.

Her attitude made Aunt Evelyn sputter and fume, but Edie couldn't be bothered to get her feelings hurt. She grabbed Ronnie's hand, headed to the table to grab her purse and bolt.

The purse was gone.

Tanya and Evelyn exchanged glances as they watched Edie's frantic search. Their expressions changed to alarm when she grabbed the arm of one of the waiters, and demanded to speak to his supervisor.

Evelyn waited until the man was out of hearing range. “Edith, are you actually this self-absorbed?” she hissed. “Your father's just been rushed to the hospital, and you're making a fuss about your
purse?
”

“Just cancel your cards,” Tanya lectured. “There are services to help recover your cell phone contacts. You're embarrassing us!”

A statuesque woman with frizzy red hair marched up before Edie could reply. “Ms. Parrish? I'm Gilda Swann, manager of the wait staff. You had some sort of problem, they tell me? A missing purse?”

“Yes! I need to speak to a member of your staff, who was serving this table,” Edie said. “He was young, twenty-five to thirty, and Asian, with long black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.”

The members of the staff who had gathered to hear what was going on exchanged looks. The woman shook her head. “We don't have anyone who answers to that description currently on our staff.”

“But he was here!” Edie wailed. “Whether he was on your staff or not, he served this table! Aunt Evelyn, don't you remember? The guy who fought me for the wineglass, and sprayed wine on Tanya's dress?”

Aunt Evelyn's lips were tight. “No, Edith, I was actually busy noticing other things, like my brother having some sort of an attack in public. I don't think I should be called upon to remember the wait staff.”

“And it was you who threw wine on my dress,” Tanya said. “To say nothing of Uncle Charles's tux. You really outdid yourself tonight, Edie.”

Edie's teeth clenched on the shriek of frustration she didn't dare let out. It was years in the making. It would bring the damn building down if she voiced it. “I swear, there was an Asian man with a—”

“Is this the purse, Ms. Parrish?” The guy who had found his boss for her held out her purse.

Edie wrenched it open. She was not surprised to find glass and napkin gone. “He took it.” Her voice shook. “He took the damn glass.”

Gilda Swann folded her arms. “Your purse was open on the floor. The glass could have rolled out, gotten picked up, and carried back into the kitchen. I don't think there's anything else we can do for you, Ms. Parrish, so I hope you don't object if we all go back to our jobs.”

Edie clutched the purse in shaking hands. “That son of a bitch,” she said. “He took the goddamn glass.”

“Edie, maybe you should take some of my Valium,” Aunt Evelyn said, her voice sugary and coaxing. “You seem very agitated.”

Edie shook her head. “Don't you understand? Someone took my purse from under the table in the confusion! It was closed, latched, and someone took the glass out of it! Does that not strike you as strange?”

“Not really. What I think is strange was that you put a wineglass and a soiled napkin into your purse at all, Edith,” her aunt replied.

“Probably one of the staff assume you're one of those rich kleptomaniacs, stealing the crystal,” Tanya offered, with a tad too much enthusiasm. “Common among overprivileged youth. Helix heiress, caught stealing the glassware. I can see the headlines.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Edie's eyes were flooding, but with her father being rushed to the ICU, at least she was publicly justified in having a meltdown. She spotted Ronnie's lavender dress, swirling in the wet blur, and went for it. She and Ronnie collided in a tight hug.

“You better run while you can,” Ronnie whispered.

Edie was desperately grateful to her sister for understanding that. “I'm so sorry I can't stay with you,” she mumbled back. “So sorry.”

“It's not your fault.” They were both crying, but tough, practical Ronnie was the first to recover. She tucked the SIM card into Edie's cleavage and shoved her. “Go,” she said sharply. “Now. Quick.”

Edie plunged into the crowd, trying to blend, but those crazy high heels and her billowing champagne-pink dress put her at a disadvantage. She could only hope that her father's security staff would be temporarily rudderless and confused.

“Edie? Just a moment.” A hand on her arm stopped her. She turned, wiped her eyes, remembering too late the encrustation of mascara that thickened them to superhuman lengths. Now she had raccoon swirls around her cheekbones, too. “Yes?”

Des Marr. Fricking great. Absolutely peachy. He grabbed her hand, and held it. His hand was very hot, his fingers tight.

“I'm just so sorry about your father,” he said earnestly. “It must be such a shock. He's always, oh, you know. Such a rock.”

“Oh, yeah,” she muttered. “That he is, for sure.”

“Maybe it's from the grief over your mother's death, or—”

“Maybe,” she cut him off. “Look, Des. Sorry, but I need to go.”

“I just want you to know that I'm on your side. And Charles's side, too, understand? Please, just tell him that, as soon as he can listen. He's like another father to me. I just want him to know that.”

She fumbled for a tissue. “Ah, OK. I'll tell him you said so. When I get a chance.”
If he doesn't spit in my eye and throw me out first.

“Look, Edie, I know it's a crazy time, but would you come with me for a second?” Des pleaded. “There was something important I wanted to talk to you about. In private, if you don't mind. It won't take long. We could just slip over there, into the conference room, and—”

“No, Des,” she blurted. “Not now. I have to go. Call me later.”

His big, earnest blue eyes blinked. “Oh, God, yes. I'm so sorry. How insensitive of me. Look, if there's anything I can do to help, anything at all, please, don't hesitate to ask, OK?”

A light went on in her head. She grabbed his arm. “Ah, actually, there is. Lend me your cell phone for a sec, would you?”

“Certainly.” He dug it out of his pocket.

Edie punched in Kev's number, which she had memorized at first glance, like a crushed out thirteen-year-old, and hastily texted:

She passed Des his phone back, and set off with long strides, following the wait staff toward the door from which they swarmed.

Des strode beside her, his face puzzled. “What's going on?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” she said.

“Try me,” he coaxed. “Please. I really want to help you.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “Des, I have to go. Now.”

His eyes were soulful. “But I'm worried about you.”

Strange. He'd never given a flying fuck about her before. All this concern was unnerving. Then it occurred to her that the door to Kev's past had been slammed in her face by her father. Des Marr was another door. The only one she knew. And here he was, offering to help.

Her stomach fluttered. She steeled herself. If there was a door, she ought to knock on it. Kev deserved help, after what he'd been through. And there was nothing in the world she wanted more than to be his angel for real. To give him tangible help. Real-world help. In this earthly, physical dimension. Not just the wacky woo woo dream world.

“There is something else you could do for me,” she said.

His eyes lit up, all eager. “Anything, Edie.”

She chewed her lip, thinking of a jumping-in point in this story. She had to keep it simple. “Remember that scandal, when they found out about Dr. O's illegal research on those runaway kids?”

His eyes widened. “How not? It's the worst thing that ever happened to Helix. It's amazing the company survived at all.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway, eighteen years ago, there was a guy who got experimented on, by Dr. O, like those runaways, except he got away. He got to my father, at Flaxon, and begged for help, but Dad didn't believe him at the time. He thought it was just, you know. Some crazy. No one would have dreamed that Osterman was…well, you know.”

“Of course.” Des murmured, eyes bright with interest. “Don't worry, you don't need to justify anything to me, of all people. Go on.”

“They'd done horrible things to him,” Edie continued. “He's scarred, and he had some brain damage, which gave him amnesia. All he remembers is some horrible mind control thing, and being tortured. But nothing from his life before. It's a complete void to him.”

Des's face was blank. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, it's wild,” she agreed. “Anyway, the upshot of this—”

“You are in contact with this man?” Des demanded. “Personally?”

“Are you going to hear me out or not?”

“Of course,” he said, charmingly abashed. “Sorry. Go on.”

“My question is, who can he talk to who could help him go through Dr. O's old research archives? There might be info that could put him in touch with his past. His name, his whole family. He really needs a break. Could you give me a name? Someone he could call?”

Des looked thoughtful. “Yes, I think I could. The records are confidential, however. Your father ordered the archives to be destroyed.”

Dismay curdled her stomach. “Oh, no!”

“But don't give up hope. I don't know how much of the disposal has actually been done yet. These things never move fast. There might still be something. Did you ask your father if—”

“No! Leave Dad out of this. Not a word to him. He's falling apart as it is. He blames himself, for what happened to those kids.”

“I see.” Des took out his cell, and clicked briskly. “Can you give me this guy's phone number? And your number, too, Edie.”

She looked up into his bright, opaque eyes, and found herself backpedaling. “Ah…I don't have my phone. My dad took it. I'll, um…give his number to you when I get in contact with him again, OK? And now I have to run.”
Before they lock my ass up for life.

“I'm glad to help.” Des whipped out his wallet and a sleek gold pen, pulled out a card, and scribbled a cell phone number on the back. “Take this. Look, Edie, I'm happy to help your friend, but do you need anything for yourself? Are you in some kind of trouble?”