Jericho's Fall (4 page)

“You’re a fool,” he said, waggling a finger at her. “You never were much good at doing what I told you, were you? That was always your problem, Beck. If you’d spent more time listening to me and less time totting up my shortcomings, you’d have wound up with something better to do with your life than being a glorified cashier.”

Rebecca wiped her eyes.

“Stop it, Jericho. Please. Is this how you want to be remembered?”

He was suddenly fierce. “I don’t want to be remembered at all. That’s the point. I want to be the one sitting around after the funeral doing the remembering. I want to be the one who gets drunk and tells
stories about the poor bastard we just buried. Do you have any idea how it feels to know you won’t be?”

She shook her head but did not rise. Jericho subsided. His breathing grew harsh. She chanced a look at his face. His eyes were open, and pained, staring at the ceiling.

“Audrey said you were waiting for me,” she finally said. “That you’re happy I’m here. Why? Because you finally have the chance to get back at me?”

He tried to grin but wound up coughing. “Isn’t that reason enough? The deathbed confers many advantages, my dear, and one of them is that you can say whatever you like to whomever you please, and there’s nothing they can do about it. I recommend that you try it sometime. Dying.” A ragged, gargling laugh. “Well, pretty soon, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Tell me,” Beck persisted.

The eyes mellowed. “Thank you for coming, my dear. That was classy.” He squeezed her hand. “And as to the why”—suddenly as didactic as he used to be in the classroom—“well, you’re here to help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m tired. Where’s Saint Audrey?”

The swift change of topic slowed her. “Taking a break.”

“Why’d she do that?”

“She’s tired, too.”

“No. I mean, why’d she quit her job? Become a nun? Brilliant. Brilliant psychologist. Almost as brilliant as you could have been if you hadn’t decided to waste your life. Then, one day, she ups and quits the family business, leaves her husband, turns into a nun. Problem, that. Ask her.”

“Ask her what?”

“Why she became a nun. Why she quit the family business. And her husband. Ask her about her husband.” A grunt of pain, followed by a gruesome grin. “Did she jump you?”

“What?”

“Saint Audrey. She didn’t jump you? She likes girls now. Didn’t you know?”

Beck shook her head. “That isn’t any of my business.”

“It is if she jumps you.” He coughed. His watery eyes fluttered, then focused. “I’m cold.”

“I’ll get another blanket.”

An unexpected wink. For a delicious instant, the Jericho she had loved. “I can think of better ways to get warm.” Tapping the sheets. “Come on, my dear. I’m not too sick for a little playtime. Dying man’s prerogative. You can even be on top this time. Just lock the door first.” He laughed, then coughed, then laughed harder, then coughed harder, and then his head was back on the pillow, eyes as empty as before. “It’s too cold. Tell them.”

“I’ll tell them,” she said, and, weeping, held his hand until he slept.

The next day, she found the headless dog.

MONDAY

CHAPTER 4
The Protest

(i)

Rebecca DeForde was an early riser. This was the first Monday in months when she had not had to worry about getting Nina ready for school or rushing to the office or visiting a store, and a part of her wanted to snuggle into the thick down comforter in the back guest room, and shut her eyes for hours. But her mother had trained her otherwise, and by half past six, as the rest of the household slumbered, she was in her running shoes, striding across the sprawling grounds, letting the chill wake her. She was no runner, but she was an enthusiastic walker. During her time up here with Jericho, she had come to love the unsettling clarity of the brisk mountain air. In those days, Rebecca would spend hours rambling alone through the woods, planning escape strategies she would never implement, for Jericho always seemed to anticipate her: the instant she crossed the threshold, prepped to explain why she had to go, he would be ready with flowers or some more expensive gift. Sometimes, in bed, she would ask Jericho what drew him to her—not merely why he had chased her in the first place—goodness knows, Beck had been
chased
before—but also why he insisted on staying with her, and keeping her with him, and why they spent almost all of their time on his mountaintop, mostly alone. He would never answer, but now and then, when she pressed too hard, he would vanish into his study, only to pop out an hour later with
everything arranged: a private jet to a private villa, on Tenerife, say, or in New Zealand—someplace where they could travel, and yet be alone. Best of all, he would have a driver take her into Aspen or Vail, where she would spend the Ainsley money at the finest boutiques, acquiring a wardrobe suitable to her station as what Jericho merrily labeled his accompaniment, and what her mother called his concubine.

She had loved him. There was no question in her mind. She had been only nineteen, and had loved him with a passion she had not lavished on a man since. He had been dashing. She had heard the word but never understood before how a man, in his maturity, could combine a smooth affection with a gentle villainy. Jericho had been smart, and funny, and in most ways kind. He had a temper, true, but it flashed rarely, at least at her. He had introduced her to a world of such privilege she still could not fathom it. And he had given up his career for her.

That was the other reason Rebecca had finally returned to Stone Heights after avoiding it for so many years. Because she owed him. Jericho Ainsley had sacrificed his remarkable career in order to be with her, and although a part of her was grateful, in her introspective moments she admitted that another part of her felt guilty.

Even the vast property itself symbolized the scandal of their involvement. Jericho had purchased it fifteen years ago, when at last forced to acknowledge that their relationship made normal life impossible for either.
Bought us a place in Colorado, Becky-Bear. Lots of privacy. Just for the two of us. You’ll love it
.

She had expressed her doubts.

Eight hundred acres
, Jericho told her.
Great views, the middle of nowhere. Nearest town is thirty miles away
.

At the time, Rebecca had been thrilled to think that he would create a secret world for the two of them. The house was halfway up the mountain, and Jericho owned land most of the way to the top. Sometimes the two of them would climb the rocky path and stand at the summit, gazing down on a view that went on for miles, first crisp, then vague, then vanishing amidst higher peaks.

Which was, in a sense, the arc of Jericho’s career.

This morning Beck headed down toward the gate, not up toward
the peak. She wandered the woods, staying near the gravel road so as not to lose her way, wondering why Jericho had asked for her, or if he even remembered. The sun was just clearing the peak. In the valley to the east of Jericho’s mountain, the high trees cast sharply etched shadows toward her like daggers. She heard animals snuffling by, spotted their tracks in the wet earth and light snow, but never quite saw them except for darting flashes of brown or gray farther down the path. The hike down to the gate was ten minutes. The Chevy Suburban from last night had vanished, and nothing had yet replaced it. Maybe Jericho rated security only after dark. Maybe the security was hidden. Maybe her true feelings were hidden, even from herself. Maybe this had been an act of madness, coming up to Stone Heights to be tortured by Jericho’s madness, Pamela’s hostility, and Audrey’s sweetly repressive tolerance. In three days she had to be on that plane from Denver to Chicago. She wondered if the four of them could stand one another until then.

A mile past the gate, huffing and stretching in the thin air, Rebecca reached the main road. She turned west, away from town. The road climbed higher up the peak. She knew that her mother would have Nina up early, and tried the cell phone, but, as usual on this side of the mountain, there was no signal. A panel truck rumbled past her, two heads turning to ogle as it hurried downhill. A bright-red Explorer with tinted windows overtook her and curved upward out of sight. The angle into the valley was sharper now. Houses scattered thinly below her, and, in the distance, sunlight glistened on the pleasures of Vail. After a mile or so, Rebecca reached the next entrance, the getaway of some software baron many times richer than Jericho. The house was shuttered for the season, but the gate was spanking new and seemed to work just fine. Depressed and not sure why, she turned and started back down the road, and the red Explorer passed her again, heading the other way. She wondered what dawn expedition had led the driver to visit the peak so briefly, or whether he was just lost, and she remembered how Jericho had warned her long ago to keep track of cars that kept turning up.

Then she heard the gunshot.

Beck knew guns, of course. Jericho had required her to learn to shoot, and even now, single woman that she was, she kept a loaded revolver in her house, in a locked box under her bed. She lifted her head. There was no second shot. A rifle of some sort. Probably a hunter. At altitude, sounds carried a long way, but she could not escape the impression that the shot had been relatively nearby.

Short and sweet. A quick bullet to the head…It’s better than the alternatives, believe me
.

No. No. Not possible. Not so soon, and not like this.

Nevertheless, she headed back toward Stone Heights, fast. Hiking down the peak was easier than hiking up. Rebecca reached the property in mere minutes, hurried along the dirt road to the frozen gates, and then had to climb again. She encountered the dog halfway up the drive.

She stood very still.

The dog was black and sleek and must once have been beautiful, but somebody had blown its skull all over the gravel. There was blood, there were bits of white that were brains or bone, there was vomit nearby but that was all hers.

When she had passed this spot forty minutes ago, the driveway had been clear. She was sure of it.

The panel truck. The red Explorer. Beck was still babbling about the two vehicles while Audrey made her tea in the kitchen and Pamela went off to phone Jimmy Lobb, the caretaker, to do something about the mess.

“We should call the police,” Rebecca shouted after her.

Audrey’s grin as she rubbed Beck’s shoulders was sheepish. “We get vandalism every couple of days. Somebody’s idea of a joke. The sheriff will just tell us to scrape it up, and then they’ll stick the report at the bottom of the pile.”

“A joke?”

“Everybody knows Jericho Ainsley hates dogs. Cats. Animals generally.”

Beck was not so sure about the
everybody;
and she wondered why, if Jericho hated animals so much, anybody would think that killing one would upset him.

Pamela was back. “No answer at Lobb’s.” She shrugged. “Well, maybe he’s already on the way. And it’s about time.”

“About time?” said Beck, sitting up.

“Mr. Lobb usually drops by at least once every morning,” said Audrey. “But he hasn’t been here in a couple of days. Isn’t answering the phone, either.” She tilted her round chin toward the stairs. “As far as I know, Dad hasn’t fired him yet.”

“He wouldn’t fire Jimmy Lobb,” Pamela objected. “How would he keep the place clean?”

Audrey supplied the explanation. “Dad doesn’t like strangers in the house. Mr. Lobb brings women up from town to do the cleaning, and follows them around from room to room. Mr. Lobb is the only one Dad trusts to supervise them.”

“He’s worried about stealing?”

The sisters looked at each other. “Bugging,” said the nun, softly.

A silence, broken by Beck. “What about the guard? Maybe he saw something.”

“What guard?”

“The guard at the bottom of the hill. In the Suburban. Why’s he just there at night, anyway?”

Again the sisters looked at each other. “There aren’t any guards,” said Audrey. “Dad got rid of them years ago. He thought they were spying on him.”

(ii)

Jericho rang. He had a buzzer that could be heard throughout the house, and although he was hardly bedridden, he liked to keep the three women hopping. They took turns answering, although in truth Audrey seemed to shoulder most of the burden. She never complained. Meanwhile, using the house phone, Rebecca finally reached her mother, who lectured her for not having called to report her safe arrival, then grudgingly put Nina on, with a grim warning to keep it short, because they were going to the aquarium.

“I have a surprise for you, Mommy,” said her daughter.

“What is it?”

Childish giggles, then a recitation of one of Beck’s own mantras: “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

“When do I get the surprise, sweetie?”

“When you come home.”

“I’ll see you this weekend. I have to go to Chicago first. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

Nina’s tone grew censorious. “That’s six
days.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“Grandma says when you were little she
never
left you alone this long.”

Beck closed her eyes and clenched a fist, wishing she had someone to strangle. “It’s just a few more days, sweetie.”

They loved each other and missed each other, but Nina had to go. Beck asked her to put Grandma back on, but the little girl, presumably by accident, hung up instead.

(iii)

Meanwhile, they had called the sheriff after all. It was Audrey who had joined in wearing Pamela down, although another part of Rebecca wondered why the nun would not make the call without her younger sister’s say-so. The deputy was a gangling man named Mundy He arrived in his patrol car, siren off but lights flashing. Mundy had a boyish shyness that on another occasion Beck might have found endearing. He wore glasses and looked like an earnest accountant. He evidently knew the family well, because he teased Audrey and flirted with Pamela. But to Beck he was coldness itself, as if he suspected her of doing the deed, which perhaps he did.