Keepsake (28 page)

It was Saturday afternoon, and Christian had been trying to get a little more work done before Daisy arrived. She had a fund-raiser
in Washington during the day today,
and was going to take the shuttle up for the night. He was actually going to see her twice in one week.

Blackthorn had shown up unexpectedly, saying that he had a few unanswered questions about Rina’s death. Christian had been
strongly tempted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’d thought better of it. There was a murder investigation going on,
and even though Blackthorn had no official part in it, he had worked for the FBI, and no doubt he was still in touch with
his former colleagues. These guys seemed to be suspicious of everybody, and there was no point in making them even more suspicious.

But if he’d had any idea in advance what Blackthorn was really going to question him about, he’d never have let the bastard
in.

“Actually,” said Blackthorn, “you could have bumped her off yourself. I understand you’ve done some rally driving. You could
have headed up there that night after you lost in court, followed her, seen a sudden opportunity, and seized the moment.”

“I see. Then, when it came time to murder Rina, I wouldn’t hesitate. Having gotten away with one murder, I’d be confident
about my chances to successfully pull off another.”

“Exactly. Success is a drug.”

“Let me get this straight.” Christian had to use all his considerable willpower to keep his temper. “First I killed Miranda.
Then I arranged to have Rina killed—why? Because she’d figured out that I killed my ex-wife? The second murder was planned
to cover up the first?”

“That’s about it, yeah.”

Christian shook his head. “Christ. You guys must be desperate. How long have you and the cops and the FBI and God knows who
else been working on this case? It’s
almost three weeks since Rina died and this is the best you can come up with?”

Blackthorn was unmoved. “Where were you on the night of your former wife’s death?”

“Now look. Against my better judgment I’ve let you in and I’ve listened. All I’ve heard so far is shit. I’m not talking to
you. I want you out of here.”

“If you’ve got nothing to hide, there’s no reason not to talk. Nothing you say to me’s official, anyhow.”

“Well, unofficially,” he said sarcastically, “I was with a woman that night. So I’ve got a goddamn alibi, and your brilliant
theory is bullshit.”

Blackthorn took this calmly. “Her name?”

Good question, thought Christian. His memory of that night was not good. He’d been drinking and feeling sorry for himself
because the court case had gone against him and he’d lost Kate. But he’d picked up the courtroom clerk—good-looking woman,
odd name. Never seen her again, of course, but maybe she’d remember him. He’d spent the night with her, well, part of the
night, anyway…

Alexa? Audrey? Some out of the ordinary name like that. But he had no idea what her surname was, if, indeed, he’d ever known
it.

“Her name is none of your damn business. I’m not some street punk you’re shaking down. If there’s ever any official testimony
to be given, I’ll do it in the presence of my lawyer.” He paused. “You might consider retaining an attorney yourself. Because
if you persist in this, I’m going to have to give some serious thought to a slander suit, and maybe one for professional misconduct
as well. They got malpractice insurance for bodyguards?”

The geniality in Blackthorn’s face faded and he took another couple of steps into the office. He picked up a six
inch-high porcelain shepherdess—eighteenth-century French—from a marble-topped table and examined her. “This is nice. You
collect this stuff, don’t you?”

Christian frowned at the casual way he was holding the piece. It was insured, but irreplaceable. “Put that down.”

Blackthorn fumbled it and Christian leapt to his feet as the shepherdess fell toward the floor. Blackthorn expertly snagged
it at the last moment and held it up triumphantly. “Oops,” he said.

Christian drew a slow, careful breath. “Get the hell out of here.”

“The cop’ll also be talking to you about your kid. Seems we have several reports of her running away. Sounds like trouble
at home—maybe some kind of abuse. We’re gonna have to check all this stuff out.”

“Get this straight, you bastard.” Christian’s voice was measured and cold, but he was enraged. “There’s no trouble and there’s
certainly no goddamn abuse. You’d better hire a lawyer, Blackthorn. You’re going to need one.”

Blackthorn did not appear to be overly impressed with this threat as he left.

Christian grabbed the telephone. Who was this son of a bitch, anyhow? What, exactly, did any of them know about him? Rina
had hired him, and he’d blown that assignment. Had his father ever checked him out to find out exactly how reliable this Blackthorn
character was?

It seemed that Robert Blackthorn was determined to uncover every little thing in everybody’s past that looked the slightest
bit suspicious. But how well would he stand up to the same scrutiny?

“Father,” he said, when Armand picked up the phone. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

“What’s the matter, hon?” Daisy said. “You got something on your mind?”

They were in his king-size bed that evening. He was naked. Daisy was dressed in one of those teddy-things she liked so much—this
one was violet with ivory trim. She thought they were sexy. Christian would have preferred to have her naked and not to have
to figure out whether the crotch snapped or was closed with the nasty little hooks and eyes. The damn underwear was a lot
more trouble than it was worth.

Daisy was kneeling about waist level beside him, her hair a mess and her cheeks flushed with exertion. She’d been sucking
him off, or trying to, for about fifteen minutes without success.

“How do you think it would feel to be sucking the cock of a murderer?” he said casually.

Daisy started. She didn’t use expressions like “sucking cock,” so he imagined it’d take her a few seconds to get past that
to the good part.

“What’re you talking about, hon?” She slid up, with obvious relief. She didn’t like oral sex. She forced herself to do it.
Sometimes it seemed like she forced herself with everything to do with sex… for all her personal warmth, Daisy was a cool
customer in the bedroom.

“I got accused of murder today, that’s what I’m talking about. Not just one murder, either, but two.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean the police are trying to develop a case against you for Rina’s death?”

Develop a case? He wondered how often she’d actually dated that police commissioner down in Houston.

“I’m not sure about the police, but that idiot security agent—Blackthorn—the one who let Rina get shot right under his fucking
nose—he’s after me.”

“Well, why would you murder Rina? You didn’t have anything against her.”

“Blackthorn figures I killed Miranda first—ran her off the road and caused her accident in some sort of fit of rage after
losing custody of Kate. Rina found out about it, he says, and threatened to blackmail me. So, naturally, I murdered her as
well.”

Daisy laughed. Usually Christian liked her laugh, which had that sweet Southern charm. But tonight it sounded a little wild.

“They’re desperate, hon,” she said after a moment. “That must be it. They’re looking for anything they can find on anybody.”

“Probably.”

“When your wife died—”

“Ex-wife,” he said sharply.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. Anyhow, when she died, did anybody suspect you then of having anything to do with her accident?”

“No, of course not. Or, if they did, they didn’t inform me about it. I was questioned, sure. I mean, the timing was a little
awkward. She died the same day as the custody verdict—well, early the next morning, actually. It was one of those weird twists
of fate.”

“I don’t believe in weird twists of fate,” she said. “We make our own destiny.”

“Yeah, well, you’re into the Power Perspectives bullshit and I’m not. Some people’s destinies are made for them. Like Rina’s,
for example. You’re not going to sit there and tell me she chose to be assassinated?”

“No, of course not. But it must have been her own actions
that led her to that moment. She must have done something—hurt someone, betrayed someone, made someone hate her. That’s how
it works, hon. Somehow—maybe even without realizing it—Rina wove the noose that tightened around her own throat.”

“If there’s a fucking noose around my throat, it’s Robert Blackthorn who’s putting it there. Goddamn the bastard to hell.”

April was working in her office Saturday night when the buzzer rang. She glanced at her watch. Nearly eleven.

Blackthorn? she thought. He hadn’t called. She didn’t think he would just show up, but he’d surprised her before…

She fluffed up her hair on the way down the hall to the intercom. “Yes?” she called down to the doorman in the lobby.

“Kate’s here, Ms. Harrington,” he told her. He knew Kate of course—all the various doormen who worked down there did. “She
was about to let herself in with her own key, but I thought you oughta be informed first.”

“Okay, thanks, send her up,” she said. Much as she liked Kate, she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed that it wasn’t
Rob. He’d brought her home early this morning, kissed her passionately, and mentioned that he’d be working on the case all
day. He’d said nothing
about when they’d be getting together again, but she knew she’d hear from him, sooner or later.

She’d been in a pleasant daze all day, thinking about him. He was a wonderful lover—giving, caring, and sensitive. But he
wasn’t afraid to take control and make demands, either, and that had been very exciting.

Hearing footsteps in the hall, April unbolted and pulled open the apartment door, and-her young friend scurried inside, looking
bedraggled and damp. She had a backpack over her shoulder, which made a loud thump as she set it on the floor.

“Kate? It’s almost eleven o’clock. You shouldn’t be running about the streets of New York at this hour.”

“I had to come. I’m sorry, but he’s got that horrible woman there again this weekend, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I decided to leave. Can I spend the night?”

“What horrible woman?” April asked as she caught the soaking raincoat that Kate was peeling off before it struck the oriental
carpet.

The girl made a face and gushed, “Hi, y’all, Ah’m Daisy and Ah’m running for the United States Senate, and believe me, sugah,
I need yoh vote.”

April grinned. “You don’t like Daisy? I’m surprised. I got the impression at my mother’s funeral that everybody liked Daisy.”

“She’s such a phony. Besides, he’s, like, seeing her. It’s disgusting. She’s old enough to be his mother, and they’re, like,
sleeping in the same bed.”

“She’s not that old. And men have relationships with younger women all the time. No reason why it shouldn’t happen the other
way around.”

“Well, why’s it have to happen with my father?”

April shrugged. She wondered what Blackthorn had found out about Kate’s mother’s death. When Daisy Tulane
heard that her handsome young lover might have had something to do with two violent deaths, she would no doubt find it politically
expedient to end the relationship.

“Daisy and your grandmother were good friends, weren’t they?” April remarked.

“Friends? Yeah, they were friends all right,” Kate snorted. She headed for the kitchen. “You got any pizza?”

“No, but I can make you a sandwich. Does your father know you’re here?”

“Nah, I sneaked out. They were busy in the bedroom with the door closed.” She looked over her shoulder and made a face. “Really
disgusting.”

A few minutes later Kate was seated at the kitchen table gobbling a peanut butter sandwich and washing it down with a tall
glass of milk. April made herself a cup of tea and sat down opposite her. “What did you mean just now, speaking so sarcastically
about Rina and Daisy?”

Kate shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “I told you, Daisy’s a phony.”

“Haven’t you seen your grandmother’s infomercials?” April persisted.

Kate looked at her as if April had just revealed a streak of incredible naiveté. “Those are scripted. They aren’t real. Gran
explained it to me once. They’re like a television play. It’s all lines.”

“I know that, Kate, but the testimony of the people interviewed is presented in such a manner that viewers are asked to accept
it as relatively sincere.”

Kate raised her eyebrows.

“Kate, I want to ask you something.” She’d never thought of questioning Kate about Rina’s relationships, but she was the obvious
person, since she’d spent so much time with her stepgrandmother.

“Yeah,” Kate said, reaching for the milk carton to refill her glass.

“Did Rina ever say anything to you about a book she was working on?”

“What book?”

“We believe she was writing a book about her life.”

“You mean her autobiography?”

“You know about it?”

“Sure. She even read to me from it a couple times. It was cool.”

April felt her excitement grow. This was the first independent confirmation that the manuscript had even existed. “Kate, do
you know where she kept the manuscript?”

“Why?”

“Well, because it seems to have disappeared. That is, nobody’s been able to find it since she died.”

Kate stopped eating. “Wow. Is that a clue?”

“I don’t know. But I’d certainly like to have a look at the manuscript. So would Mr. Blackthorn. He’s interested in it, too.”

“Oh, him. I don’t like him.” She bit into her sandwich. “Maybe he killed her.”

“Don’t be silly. He was her bodyguard.”

“I saw a movie once where the bodyguard was the killer. He was perfect because he knew all her routines, you know? He had,
like, access to her. No one guessed he was bad to the bone. Well, except the woman—she guessed it at the end, when it was
almost too late.”

“Yes, well, in this case Blackthorn is trying to solve the murder. And that manuscript might be important. Did you actually
see her working on it?”