Good Little Wives (13 page)

Hyde Park, New York, was famous as the birth
place of Franklin D. Roosevelt and as the “Summer White House” while he had been president. It was also known for the Culinary Institute of America, the Vanderbilt mansion, and the Clinton Vineyards, no relation to the other president. Three hospitals served the area, three newspapers, two libraries (plus the presidential one), and fourteen churches, only one of which was Catholic.

Ordinarily Dana would not be thrilled about a visit to a nursing home. Her father was close to eighty now—if he were still alive. He could be in a nursing home, but she didn't know about that, either.
No, she thought as she parked the car and followed Kitty toward the door, ordinarily she would not be thrilled to be there. This time, however, she was glad to have left town and the speculation and the yak-yak about Vincent's murder.

Kitty's mother was napping in the solarium, but they were welcome to wake her up, the nurse's aide at the front desk reported.

The corridor was wide and cheerful and carpeted. It was not littered with drooping-headed people in wheelchairs as Dana had expected, but was decorated with pastel still lifes of spring flowers and hazy landscapes of the Hudson Valley. If Dana's father were in a nursing home, it would probably not be this nice.

“Mom?” Kitty called out, and Dana followed her into a pleasant room that had been painted soft peach and was adorned with lush plants and a baby grand piano in the far corner.

“Mom” sat on the piano bench, the lone person in the room. She looked up and waved.

“I'm over here!” she shouted happily. “I see you've brought a friend.”

Kitty kissed her mother's cheek. “Mom, this is Dana. Dana, meet my mother, Muriel Dalton.”

It occurred to Dana that until then she hadn't known Kitty's maiden name. Then again, no one in New Falls but Steven knew she'd once been Dana Kimball and the subsequent burden that held. She took the woman's hand and smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Dalton.” The woman was small and thin, the way Kitty had become in recent months. She wore a pretty blue-flowered dress and smelled like baby powder.

“Thank you for coming,” she said to Dana, then dropped her hand and turned back to Kitty. “How are the children?”

“Fine. They send their love.”

Apparently Mrs. Dalton didn't know the “children” barely spoke to Kitty.

“And Howard? How is Howard?”

Howard? Had she meant to ask about Vincent? Didn't she know they were divorced? Didn't she know the rest?

“Howard's fine, too, Mom. He would have come, but he's so busy with the nightclub.”

Dana stopped herself from asking who the heck Howard was and what “nightclub” she meant. Maybe Kitty had a brother—the way Dana had a father—that she never spoke of for family-secret reasons.

“The aide said you were napping.”

Kitty's mother waved her hand and laughed a whisper of a laugh. “When I'm not playing the piano they think I'm napping. That way they won't bother me.”

Dana joined Kitty in a nod as if they both understood.

“Would you like me to play now?” Mrs. Dalton asked. “Would your friend like my Glenn Miller rendition?” Her eyes twinkled from either excitement or medication.

“That would be nice,” Dana said before Kitty had a chance.

Mrs. Dalton smiled again. She lifted her hands over the keyboard, then began to play. “Moonlight Serenade,” she said, but the sounds emitting from the piano were nothing like the classic, nothing, in fact, like music at all. The gnarled fingers plinked and plunked and struck one mis-chord after another.

Dana glanced at Kitty, who averted her eyes, folded her
arms, and walked to the window. Dana sat down and waited for the time to pass.

 

Later, back in the car, Kitty thanked her for being kind. “I should have warned you,” she said. “My mother's mind is gone.”

“But she seems so…so normal.”

Kitty nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “She thinks I'm my sister, Alice.”

“Alice? I didn't know you have a sister.”

“She lives in Baton Rouge. She married a musician that my mother adored.”

“Howard.”

Kitty nodded. “Alice hasn't been in touch for years. She's dead, for all I know.”

Well, that was something Dana could relate to. “It's a nice place, though, where your mother is. It must be expensive.” The last sentence popped out like a cold sore.

“It is,” Kitty said. “But Vincent was paying for it.”

Vincent?

“It was part of the divorce,” Kitty added. “In lieu of alimony, he was ordered to pay my mother's long-term care.”

“But I thought he was broke…”

“Men like Vincent are never completely broke.”

Dana mulled that over as if she were Sam. Did any of this make sense? If Kitty needed Vincent to support her mother, why hadn't she told the police? Wouldn't it help prove her innocence?

With both hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road,
Dana thought back to something she'd learned from her father: Examine the pieces of a story before trying to put them together.

She reverted back to the beginning.
The former wife of futures trader Vincent DeLano was found standing over the corpse, a trickle of blood oozing from his left ear, a gun slack, still smoking, in Kitty's right hand.

She thought about Kitty's explanation, about the rug dealers who supposedly had been coming from Newbury Street.

And then Dana had an idea.

“Kitty,” she said, “not to change the subject, but I've been thinking of doing Michael's room over now that he has his own place. I remember what you said about the Newbury Street rug dealers. Maybe I'll give them a call. What's the name of the shop?” She thought she sounded believable. She didn't expect Kitty would cry.

“Well, this is just great,” Kitty said. “You think I killed him.”

“What?” Dana asked. “No!”

“Yes you do. Why else would you ask about the rug dealers? You want to check out my story. You want to see if they exist, if they were really coming that day.”

“Kitty…”

Kitty shook her head. “Never mind. Just take me home. God, Dana. If you don't believe me, who will?”

Dana sighed. “Well, you have to admit…between your mother and the surprise of the life insurance…”

“I knew about it, all right? I knew about the insurance. The truth is, I
insisted
on it. For my mother's care if he died. I didn't
tell anyone because what would they think? The police? My kids? The whole freaking town?”

 

“You won't believe this, honey, but Chloe didn't really like Lee Sato very much. She was only going to marry him because her parents wanted her to.”

Dana dropped her pocketbook on the kitchen counter and looked at her husband. They'd stayed up too late last night, reviewing Sam's charts and facts and contemplating theory after theory with the police, who revealed there simply was no evidence—no latents, no hair, no fibers, nothing that would do
CSI
proud. The ballistics report, which wasn't yet complete, seemed to be all they might have to go on.

Steven had told them this was way more fun than working or being retired like his father in Boca Raton.

He handed her a glass of wine though it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. She took the glass, kicked off her shoes. She wanted to ask Steven if he thought they should track down the rug dealers, but she was too tired of all the nonsense now. So instead of asking about rugs, she asked about Sam.

“Believe it or not, he had a date.”

“A date? With whom?” She didn't know why she asked. She always hated when Sam's brothers teased him for being more into books than girls.

“He only said it was undercover work. I asked ‘under whose covers?' He said I wasn't funny.” Steven grinned. “I think I was, though.”

Dana sat down at the kitchen table and didn't ask if he
thought the date might be with Chloe. Steven leaned against the counter. She never would admit it to the feminist movement, but she felt better balanced when her husband was at home, as if he were the ballast of the ship that was their house.

“Kitty's mother lives in a pretty fancy nursing home,” Dana said. “Paid for by Vincent's money.”

“Who's paying for it now?”

“The insurance money will. As soon as Kitty receives it.”

Steven swirled the ice cubes in his bourbon. “Honey, are you sure Kitty didn't kill Vincent?”

Maybe the real reason Dana hadn't mentioned the rugs was that she didn't want Steven feeling as doubtful as she did now. Kitty, after all, had saved her life once with the tree in the sunroom and the CPR. “Well, to be honest, I'm not sure. But I do think she deserves a fair trial. A competent defense.”

“And?”

“And this loser Caroline hired is not going to help.”

“I'd be a little nervous about that anyway. What with the hit man and all.”

“The ‘alleged' hit man, Steven. Good grief, these women are our friends. Listen to the way we're talking about them.”

Steven laughed. “Our friends have always been entertaining. It's funny, though, I never trusted DeLano. I think that spilled over onto his wife. Sorry.”

“You never trusted Vincent?”

“No. I always thought he was sneaky, and I thought Kitty was too needy. I know you think she saved your life, but the truth is, I'm sure you would have come to on your own. As for Kitty and Vincent's kids, Marvin is a dork and Elise is a hottie,
but they're both a little strange.” He grinned again because, unlike many men, Steven was happy. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go add the nursing home to Kitty's growing list of motives on her chart.”

Dana sipped her wine. “Wait,” she said. “There's something I want to mention.”

He waited.

“A lawyer,” she said. “For Kitty.”

“What about it?”

“I'd like to help her. I'd like to find someone capable. Wasn't Michael in school with someone whose father is a criminal attorney? Remember? We saw him on the news once, in a high-profile case.”

“I'm sure he charges a small fortune. I didn't think Kitty has money anymore.”

“She doesn't. I'd like to pay his retainer. She can pay me back when the insurance money comes through.”

He really laughed that time.

“Honey,” she said, “I'm serious. I think Kitty would do it for me if the situation were reversed.”

“You mean if you murdered me? Now you're scaring me, Dana.” Still, his laugh didn't abate.

“I'm serious, Steven. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. And I'm sure you'll know what I mean when I say that you'll pay for Kitty's attorney over my dead body, not DeLano's.”

She was about to debate him when Sam walked in the door, apparently finished with his date with whomever. “Are you guys expecting a visitor?” he asked.

Steven said, “No, why?”

“There's some guy in our driveway who asked to see Mom. I would have invited him in but we have steps.”

“Sam,” Dana said, “What are you talking about?”

“We have steps. He couldn't get up them in his wheelchair.”

Good Lord, it was Bridget's first husband no one knew about. His wheelchair was parked in the driveway, a gypsy van idled at the curb, a short metal ramp angled from the side door to the pavement.

Dana asked Steven and Sam to wait inside.

“Dana Fulton,” he said. “I'm so glad it's you.” His English was better-enunciated than Bridget's when Randall was around.

“Monsieur LaBrecque,” Dana said as she shook his hand. It was large, cool, dry. “How did you find me?”

“I remembered your name. I knew Bridget lived in this town. It's not hard to find anyone.”

The indispensable Internet
, as Sam had called it.

In the late day sun, shadows sketched his face like thin, charcoal-like lines. It was apparent that he'd been great-looking once; he was good-looking still. He had a thoughtful smile and sincere eyes. Traces of muscles that had been robust formed the shoulders covered by his jacket. “I'd invite you inside…” Dana began.

“Non
,” he said. “I do not intend to stay. I only want to ask about Bridget. She said she is sick.”

“Yes.”

“Will she be all right?”

“I don't know. I hope so.”

“And other things?”

“Other things?”

He paused as if to collect his thoughts. “I told her about the man who came asking questions. She did not want to talk about it. But it left me with a bad feeling.”

A cloud of discomfort draped itself over Dana like a delicate stole. She folded her arms. “Monsieur LaBrecque. How may I help you?”

“I have known Bridget almost all of my life. When a man asks questions, I worry. I worry for Bridget. And for our daughter.”

“Your daughter?”

“Aimée. She is my daughter.”

Dana didn't know what to say.

Luc LaBrecque nodded. “Ah. I see Bridget hasn't told you. She hasn't told me, either. But the truth is, Aimée looks just like my mother.” He smiled with soft recollection, then said, “A long time ago, my life with Bridget became crowded by pain and loss. We both were empty. Still, we needed to be
loved. And so we found others to love us when we had no love left inside us…” His sentence stopped before it was completed.

“I think Bridget will understand that. In time.”

He smiled almost sadly. “How do you say it in English—life goes on. Things happen, but life always goes on.”

Dana stared long after he had stopped talking. In a few short moments he had shared more of Bridget than Bridget had in the years she'd known her.

But was Aimée really his daughter, not Randall's?

Then Luc handed her a small card. “Please. If something happens, please contact me. I will always care about Bridget, but I cannot be there for her the way she might want. Tell her I am sorry for that. And tell her I will tend to the wildflowers, the way I've been tending to them for years.” He turned his chair around and wheeled back to the cab, drove up the small ramp that the driver unhitched, then slid the big sliding door closed.

 

Yolanda was tired. She'd spent most of the day scrubbing
R.I.P. Vincent DeLano
off the back windshield of the Jag because her plan had backfired. Instead of feeling satisfied, she'd only been embarrassed.

“It's about the paint on your back window,” Mrs. Fulton said when she banged on the window. “I don't know how to say this, but…”

But nothing. The red light turned green and Yolanda had floored it before Mrs. Fulton (wouldn't you know it had to be the nicest of the New Falls bunch?) could see that Yolanda's complexion had gone from bronze to pink. She was no match for those women, no matter what Vincent had thought.

“Marvin spoke with our attorney today,” Elise said as she entered the family room and flopped onto one of four microfiber chairs that Yolanda had picked up at Raymour & Flanigan in Poughkeepsie. They were supposed to have been temporary, until Vincent had the funds to have the whole house decorated. But money was tight, then tighter, and the chairs became fixtures, arranged as four corners, points of a square: one for Yolanda, one for Elise, one for Marvin, the fourth for Vincent that Yolanda vowed no one else would ever sit in. “The only way we'll get the two million,” Elise went on, “is if my mother is convicted.”

“She'll be convicted. I know that upsets you.”

Elise crossed her long legs and frowned. “I'm not a kid. I'm a grown woman with a fabulous career.” Then her eyes got huge and wet. “But somebody killed my father. He wasn't perfect, but he was the best father I had, you know?” Tears splashed down her face and her nose began to run. “If my mother did it, I hope she rots in hell.”

Yolanda leaned forward, took Elise's hands. “She will rot in hell, Elise. I promise that. And you and your brother will get the money.”

“I don't need the damn money. I'm going to give my share to you.”

She shook her head. “I told you. Vincent left me some cash.”

“Which you don't want to use.”

That was true. Yolanda didn't feel the cash should be spent. She loved her Vincent, but the money didn't feel like hers—anymore than it had been his. She would not, however, tell Elise about that.

“Besides, you'll need the money,” Elise continued, “When the baby comes.”

Yolanda left her chair and moved to the gray stone fireplace that had never been used, that still had plastic packing feet on the grate. “None of them know it yet, Elise. Not the other New Falls wives. Certainly not your mother.” She rubbed her forearms, feeling a sudden chill.

Elise moved up behind her, wrapped her arms around Yolanda's softly mounding middle. “Daddy wanted you to have this baby so much,” Elise whispered. “I can't speak for my brother, but I'll be here for you. Daddy really loved you.”

“He loved me, not your mother?”

“He loved my mother once. Then he loved you.”

Yolanda patted Elise's hand and said, “I am so lucky to have you for a friend.”

Elise said, “Likewise,” and then she said she had to get back to the city for an evening photo shoot, but suggested Yolanda take a morning train in and they could shop for baby things, her treat.

 

Dana knew how to Google so that was where she started.

Oriental Rug Dealers Newbury Street Boston

A list quickly appeared; she got to work on the phone, grateful that Steven and Sam had decided to go to the practice range at the club to hit balls. She didn't want either of them—especially Steven—thinking she now doubted Kitty.

“Hello. I live in New Falls, New York, and you've been recommended…”

One after another said they would not go to New York, it was out of their territory, as if they were pretzel cart vendors in Manhattan and were not allowed to encroach on someone else's corner.

Bangs and Holfield was different.

“Yes, we have several clients in New York,” a pleasant woman said.

Dana held her breath. “I live in New Falls,” she said. “In fact, you were recommended by my friend Kitty DeLano. I believe she's been trying to sell you a number of carpets.” She waited for a reply.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said, “I'm not familiar with that name.”

Dana hung up, tried a few more.

“We can't go to New York.”

“Can you drive to Boston?”

And then, “Oh yes, Mrs. DeLano. How is she doing? We went there last week, but something terrible had happened. Police cars were everywhere. I phoned to reschedule, but she said she'd have to get back to us. Perhaps we could take care of your business at the same time…”

Dana said, “Thanks. I'll let you know.” She hung up the phone with verification that Kitty had been telling the truth.