Genuine Lies (60 page)

“Thank you.” Paul accepted the bag. “She would have appreciated your … efficiency.”

“No doubt.” The barest wisp of a smile touched his thin face. “She was quite a woman—annoying, demanding, opinionated. I’ll miss her.” The smile faded as if it had never been. “If you need me for anything, please don’t hesitate to call. You may have questions about some of the properties or her portfolio. And when you’re ready, there will be some paperwork for you to look over. My condolences.”

“I’d like to take Miss Summers home shortly,” Paul told him. “But we’ll want to go inside and have some privacy when
we view this. Could I leave you to—to secure the premises?”

Something twinkled in his eyes that might have been amusement. “It would be a pleasure.”

Paul waited until they were alone on the terrace again. Through the glass doors Greenburg had closed at his back came the sounds of heated voices and bitter tears. The old man was going to have his hands full, he thought, then looked at Julia. Her eyes were dry again, her face composed. But her skin was so pale he wondered if his fingers would pass right through it, straight to the grief, if he touched her now.

“It might be best if we went up to Eve’s room to take a look at this.”

Julia stared at the package he held. Part of her, the part she recognized as a coward, wanted to turn away, to go pick up Brandon and run back east. Couldn’t she, if she tried hard enough, convince herself it had all been a dream. From the first phone call, the first meeting with Eve, right up to this moment?

She brought her gaze up, met his eyes. Then he would have been a dream as well. Then he would have to be a dream as well, everything they’d shared and built. All those fragile new hopes would be blown away like dust.

“All right.”

“Give me a minute.” He pressed the tape into her hands. “Go on in around the other side of the house. I’ll be right there.”

It wasn’t easy to go in, to open the door and enter the room where Eve had slept and loved. It smelled of flowers, flowers and polish, and that smoldering woman scent Eve had always carried with her.

Travers had tidied, of course. Compelled, Julia trailed her fingers over the thick satin of the sapphire bedspread. She’d chosen a coffin of the same color, Julia remembered, snatching her hand back. Was that for irony, or for comfort?

Closing her eyes, she rested her brow against the cool wood of the carved bedpost. For a moment, just a moment, she let herself feel.

No, it wasn’t death that surrounded her here. Only the memories of life.

When Paul joined her, he didn’t speak. Over the past few days he had watched her grow more and more delicate. His own grief was like a small wild animal in his gut that kept clawing and chewing and ripping. Whatever form Julia’s grief took, it was slowly, insidiously sucking the life and strength from her. He poured them both a brandy, and when he spoke, his voice was deliberately cool and detached.

“You’ll have to snap out of it soon, Jules. You’re not doing yourself or Brandon any good walking around in a trance.”

“I’m fine.” She took the snifter, then passed it from hand to hand. “I want it over. All the way over. Once the press gets a hold of the terms of the will—”

“We’ll deal with it.”

“I didn’t want her money, Paul, or her property, or—”

“Her love,” he finished. He set his glass aside to pick up the envelope. “The thing about Eve is that she always insisted on having the last word. You’re stuck with all of them.”

Her fingers whitened on the bowl of the glass. “Do you expect that since I’ve known for a week that she was my mother, I should feel an obligation, an immediate bond, gratitude? She manipulated my life before I was born, and even now, even when she’s gone, she continues to manipulate it.”

He ripped the envelope open, slid the tape out. “I don’t expect you to feel anything. And if you learned anything about her over the past couple of months, you know that she wouldn’t expect you to feel.” He shoved the tape into the VCR, keeping his back to her, while the jagged teeth of his own anguish snapped at him. “I can do this alone.”

Damn him, she thought, damn him for forcing her to feel this bright flush of shame. Rather than speak, she sat on the pillow-plumped daybed, lifted the brandy to her lips. He joined her, but when he sat, there was much more distance between them than a few inches of cushion.

A flick of the remote, and Eve was filling the screen as she had filled so many others during her life. Misery clamped around Julia’s heart like an iron fist.

“Darlings, I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’re
together. I’d hoped to do this with a bit more ceremony, and on film, certainly, rather than videotape. Film’s so much more flattering.”

Eve’s rich laugh seeped into the room. On the screen, she reached for a cigarette, then leaned back in her chair. She’d done her own makeup carefully, camouflaging the shadows under her eyes, the strain around her mouth. She wore a fuchsia man-styled shirt with a standing collar. It took Julia only an instant to realize she had been wearing that shirt when she’d been sprawled on the bloody rug.

“This little gesture may become unnecessary if I find the courage to speak to both of you face-to-face. If not, please forgive me for not telling you about my illness. I found the tumor a flaw I wanted to keep to myself. Another one of those lies, Julia. This one not entirely selfish.”

“What does she mean?” Julia murmured. “What is she talking about?”

Paul only shook his head, but his body had tensed.

“When I got the diagnosis, prognosis and all those other
nosises
, I went through all those stages I’m told are quite typical. Denial, anger, grief. You know how I detest being typical. Being told you have less than a year to live, less than that to function, is a humbling experience. I needed to do something to offset that. I needed to celebrate life, I suppose. My life. So I got the idea to do the book. Making clear what I had been, what I had done, not only for the ever-hungry public, but for myself. I wanted my daughter, a part of myself, to tell the story.” Her eyes sharpened as she leaned into the camera. “Julia, I know how upset you were when I told you. Believe me, you have every right to hate me. I won’t offer excuses. I can only hope that between then and now, when you’re watching this, that we’ve come to some sort of understanding with each other. I didn’t know how much you would mean to me. How much Brandon …” She shook her head and dragged deep on the cigarette. “I won’t become maudlin. I’m counting on there being wailing and gnashing of teeth at the announcement of my death. And by this time there should have been enough of it.

“This time clock in my brain …” She smiled a little as she rubbed her fingers over her temple. “Sometimes I swear I can hear it ticking away. It forced me to face my mortality, my mistakes, and my responsibilities. I’m determined not to leave this world with regrets. If we haven’t mended our fences, Julia, then at least I have the comfort of knowing we were friends for a time. And I also know you’ll write the book. If you’ve inherited any of my stubbornness, you may not speak to me again, so I’ve taken the precaution of making the other tapes. I’m quite sure I haven’t left out anything of importance.”

Eve crushed out her cigarette, seemed to take a moment to gather her thoughts. “Paul, I don’t have to tell you what you’ve meant to me. For twenty-five years you gave me the unconditional love and loyalty I didn’t always deserve. You’ll be angry, I know, that I didn’t tell you about my illness. It may be selfish of me, but an inoperable brain tumor is a personal thing. I wanted to enjoy the time I had left without being watched, or coddled, or worried over. Now, I want you to remember how much fun we had. You were the only man in my life who never caused me a moment’s pain. My last bit of advice to you is if you love Julia, don’t let her wriggle away from you. She may try. I’ve left you both the bulk of my estate not only because I love you, but because it will complicate your lives. You’ll have to deal with each other for some time to come.”

Her lips trembled once; she controlled them. Her eyes gleamed with tears. Emeralds washed with rain. “Damn you both, give me more grandchildren. I want to know that you’ve found what always eluded me. Love that can be celebrated not only in the shadows, but in the light. Julia, you were the child I loved but couldn’t keep. Paul, you were the child I was given and was allowed to love. Don’t disappoint me.”

She tossed her head back, sent them one last, vivid smile. “And it wouldn’t hurt if you named the first girl after me.”

The tape flickered off, turned to snow. Julia took another long drink of brandy before she managed to speak. “She was dying. All this time, she was dying.”

In one abrupt move, he switched off the tape. Eve had been right. He was angry, furious. “She had no right to keep
it from me.” Fists clenched, he sprang to his feet to pace the room. “I might have been able to help. There are specialists, holistic medicine. Even faith healers.” He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair as he realized what he was saying. Eve was dead, and it hadn’t been a brain tumor that had killed her. “It hardly matters, does it? She made that tape for us to watch after she’d died quietly in some hospital bed. Instead …” He looked toward the window, but saw the Eve sprawled on the rug.

“It matters,” Julia said quietly. “All of it matters.” She set her glass aside and rose to face him. “I’d like to talk to her doctor.”

“What’s the point?”

“I have a book to write.”

He took a step toward her, then stopped himself. His fury was much too ripe and ready to risk touching her. “You can think of that now?”

She saw the bitterness, heard it. There was no way she could explain that writing it, making it important, was the only way she knew to pay Eve back for the debt of her birth. “Yes. I have to think of it.”

“Well.” He pulled out a cigarette, lighted it slowly. “If they can crank it out within the year, you can cash in on her murder and have yourself the hit of the decade.”

Her eyes went blank. “Yes,” she said. “I certainly hope so.”

Whatever he might have said, whatever venom rose up in his throat, was swallowed at the sound of the brisk knock on the door. The moment he turned from her to answer, Julia’s face crumbled. She pressed the heel of her hand between her brows and fought to hold on until she could find a moment alone.

“Frank.”

“Sorry, Paul, I know it’s a rough day.” Frank stood on the threshold. Because his business was official, he didn’t step inside, but waited to be asked. “Travers told me that you and Miss Summers were up here.”

“We’re in the middle of something. Can it wait till later?”

“I’m afraid not.” He glanced over Paul’s shoulder, then lowered his voice. “I’m bending some rules here, Paul. I’m going to make it as easy as I can, but it’s not good.”

“You’ve got a lead?”

Frank stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, you could say that. I need to talk to her, and I’d rather go through it only once.”

There was a tension at the back of his neck, a sharp and disturbing sensation that made him want to shut the door and refuse. When he hesitated, Frank shook his head. “You’ll only make it worse.”

Julia had regained her composure. She turned, her face calm, and nodded at Frank. “Lieutenant Needlemeyer.”

“Miss Summers. I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to ask you some more questions.”

Her stomach muscles twisted at the thought, but she nodded again. “All right.”

“It’s going to have to be downtown.”

“Downtown?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took a card from his pocket. “I’m going to have to read your rights, but before I do, I want to advise you to call a lawyer. A good one.”

It was like being trapped in a maze in some vicious amusement park. Each time she thought she had found her way out, she would stumble around a corner and smash against another blank, black wall.

Julia stared at the long mirror in the interrogation room. She was reflected there in her black funeral suit, her face too pale against the crisp linen as she sat at the single table on a hard wooden chair. She could see the smoke that was stinging her nostrils curling up toward the ceiling in a soft blue haze. The trio of coffee cups whose brew smelled as bitter as it tasted. And the two men in shirt-sleeves, with badges hooked to their pockets.