Murder at the Spa (27 page)

“I don’t think we have to worry on that score. Paulina’s as strong as a horse.” She corrected herself: “Three horses.”

He smiled. “You’ve got a point. As for the cancer—because there aren’t any symptoms in the early stages, it’s usually not detected until it’s gone pretty far. According to Castelli, the five-year survival rate ranges from twenty-five percent to seventy-five percent, depending on the type of tumor and how far it’s spread. He’ll have a better idea next week.”

Charlotte nodded. It was really too early to tell.

“It’s all been such a surprise, a shock really,” continued Jack. “I wasn’t prepared for this. In all the time I’ve worked for her, she’s never missed a day on account of illness. Except for her nervous crises. But you can’t really count them as being sick.” He smiled. “Of course, to listen to her, you’d think she was always on her last legs.”

Charlotte laughed. “I know. Her headaches, her indigestion … I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Hypochondriacs always live forever.”

Jack smiled. “I hope you’re right. Well, shall we go in?” He ushered Charlotte into the living room. “Miss Graham to see you,” he announced.

Paulina was sitting behind her huge Louis XVI desk, her head barely protruding from above a mound of papers. “She was here to see me ten minutes ago.” She glared at Jack over the tops of her glasses.

It was the first time since the fete that Charlotte had seen Paulina out of bed. She was wearing a stunning Chanel suit of royal blue silk, accented by costume jewelry of blue and green paste that Charlotte wouldn’t have paid fifty cents for at a rummage sale, but that Paulina wore with flair. It was typical of her idiosyncratic style that in addition to the paste, she wore a star sapphire ring the size of a robin’s egg. In the walking jewelry store category, Diamond Jim had nothing on Paulina.

“What were you shmoozing about out there? Don’t answer—that was a historical question.”

“Rhetorical,” corrected Leon, who sat in front of the desk.

Paulina shot him a dirty look. “I know. You were talking about me.” She pointed an accusing finger. “I can tell from that sad-sack look on your faces. Everybody’s walking around here like this was a funeral parlor. Well, I’m not dead yet.” She stood up and came around to the front of the desk. Lifting her hem, she danced a little jig. “I’m still kicking. Got that?”

A smile crept across Jack’s careworn face.

“Say, ‘Yes, Mrs. Langenberg,’” ordered Paulina.

“Yes, Mrs. Langenberg.”

She turned to Leon and repeated her jig. “There’s still some life in the old girl yet. Got that?”

“Yes, Aunt Paulina,” agreed Leon obediently.

“You are forbidden to wear long faces in my presence.” Resuming her seat, she addressed Charlotte: “He told you. I might have cancer of my …” She pointed in the direction of her lap. “But despite what
some
people may think, I’m not about to croak. The masseuse, The Mousy Girl with the Leg, told me I have a brilliant aura, which means I’m very strong. Besides”—she gripped the ridge of her ear, jiggling the cluster of fake blue and green gems—“I have big ears, like an elephant. Which means I’ll live forever.”

“You’ve never looked better, Paulina,” said Charlotte. She meant it. Whatever minus value the cancer carried in the giant ledger in the sky, it was more than offset by pluses for will, determination, and vitality.

Paulina beamed. “I’ve never felt better. Well, maybe a little tired,” she added, lest a bid for sympathy slip by. Then she became what was, for her, philosophical. “Anyway”—she shrugged—“if I die, it’s no big deal.”

The phone rang and Jack answered it in his office, which opened off of the living room behind Paulina’s desk. It was Innis, he said.

Paulina picked up her extension. After listening to what Innis had to say, she replied, holding the telephone at arm’s length: “I understand what he wants—more money. That’s what it boils down to. Tell him Mrs. Langenberg says no, plain and simple. We’ve made a more-than-generous offer.”

While she talked, Jack listened on the other extension and made notes.

Raising her voice, Paulina went on: “A hundred percent above market price isn’t exactly peanuts. What does he want, the sky?” Placing a hand over the receiver, she addressed Leon: “That was a rhetorical question.” And then to Charlotte: “Sit down. I’m just doing a little business. Leon, will you get us some mineral water, please.”

Charlotte took a seat. While Leon fetched the mineral water, she studied the map hanging above Paulina’s desk. It was a map of the world with Langenberg factories and salons marked with pins: red for salons, yellow for factories. She looked for countries without any pins—Vietnam, Cambodia, Libya, a few other African countries—that was it.

Paulina was speaking sarcastically: “A wholly inadequate offer? That’s what he calls it?” She sighed. “It was down to twenty-five. His stockholders will be making a fortune. Tell him that’s it. Not a penny more.” She hung up. “The lawyers for the Seltzer Boy,” she explained. “Such nerve. We haven’t even made our formal offer yet and already he wants us to sweeten our bid.”

“Will you?” asked Charlotte.

“We’ll see,” said Paulina with a twinkle in her eye. “Now, how’s my Mrs. Stockholder? Listen,” she said, leaning across the desk, “you were smart not to sell out to the Seltzer Boy. You’ll make a lot of money sticking with me. The Body Spa line, it’s, a miracle. The early reorders are in—it’s going to be big numbers—very big numbers. It’s flying off the counters.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Leon, who had returned carrying a tray holding four glasses and a couple of bottles of High Rock water, gazed proudly at his aunt. “What do you think of my aunt, the eighty-year-old corporate raider?”

“The word’s out on the street already,” said Paulina. “The market likes it. Our stock’s up one and seven-eighths already today. Everybody’s happy that Paulina Langenberg is acquiring Paulina Langenberg. Everybody but me. Oh, I’m happy,” she added. “But let me tell you—being an eighty-year-old corporate raider is no big deal. An eighty-year-old puppet is more like it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Leon as he poured the water.

“That I’m the puppet of the Seltzer Boy. He planned it this way. He knew I’d take over his company. He knows me better than I know myself.” She picked up a document and passed it to Leon. “He’s sharp. Very, very sharp.”

“The proxy statement for High Rock Waters,” said Leon.

“Read the paragraph that’s circled, ‘executive severance agreement,’” said Paulina, pointing with a freshly lacquered fingernail.

Leon set down the bottle and read: “‘In the event of a change of control, Mr. Brant will be entitled to three years’ base compensation.’ Et cetera, et cetera.” He passed the document back. “A golden parachute.”

“A diamond parachute. We have to pay him whether we like it or not. With stock options, he could end up walking off with millions.” She pushed the tail of the turtle buzzer. “Jack, my vitamins.”

The telephone rang again. This time it was a different phone, a red one. Paulina answered it herself.

“Paulina Langenberg.” Pause. “From Garden City. How nice,” she said, her voice sweet as honey. And then: “Much better, thank you. What can I do for you?” For a few seconds, there was silence as the caller voiced her request. “What happens when you use Mineral Lotion Number Three?” asked Paulina. She nodded. “I see. Have you taken the computer test? Good. What is your eye color? Gray. Hair color? I see. What color was it before?” she asked, writing down the reply on the back of an envelope. “Skin color? Do you tan easily? You do, but you burn first. Aha! That’s it! That’s why you’re having trouble.”

Jack handed her a saucerful of vitamins. She put them into her mouth one by one, then downed the mouthful with a swig of mineral water.

“That’s all right, dear,” she continued. “This is what you do: use Mineral Lotion Number Two. Number Three is too strong for you. Take it back and exchange it for Number Two. No, it won’t cost you anything. Do you wear pink lipstick?” She listened for the reply. “Well, you shouldn’t. Always use lipstick with an orange tone: Copper Rose would be good on you. We’ll send you one. That’s right, no charge. Just give your name and address to my secretary. My pleasure,” she purred. “Good-bye.” To Charlotte, she said: “I never refuse to talk to a customer. People don’t believe it, but it’s true. Isn’t it, Leon?”

Leon nodded. “There’s a special toll-free number.”

“The customer’s the real boss.” She addressed Leon: “If you think I’m the boss, you’re wrong. It’s Mrs. What’s-Her-Name from Garden City who’s the boss. And when I’m dead, don’t you forget it. The minute you forget it’s Mrs. What’s-Her-Name from Garden City who’s the boss, you’re in trouble.”

“Yes, Aunt Paulina.”

“
Not
that I’m ready to go yet. Okay, where were we? Oh, the Seltzer Boy. Feh! He can have his money. I’m going to get my company back. If it costs me millions, that’s the price I’ll have to pay.” She looked pained. “Anyway, in the end it will go to my Anne-Marie.” She pressed the turtle buzzer again.

Jack stuck his head around the corner of the door.

“Jack, show Mrs. Stockholder Anne-Marie’s announcement.”

Jack nodded. In a minute, he appeared at Charlotte’s side with a recent issue of the
Times
. On the back page of the second part of the Sunday A section was a headline: “Anne-Marie Andersen to wed Gary A. Brant.” Above the story was a picture of Anne-Marie looking uncharacteristically demure.

“She’s got herself a good one this time,” said Paulina. “He’s smart, very smart. Even if he did outfox me. Not like that nothing she used to be married to.” She turned to Charlotte: “I hear he’s the chief suspect in this bath business. Have the police got anything on him yet?”

“Only the cell therapy business.” She didn’t want to tip her hand.

“Cell therapy—what a fraud. I reported him for it. The food and drug people were supposed to send someone up from Washington to investigate, but they never did. So inefficient, these bureaucrats.” She turned around to talk to Jack: “Did you give him his walking papers?”

“This morning,” he replied.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish is what I say.” She spoke to Charlotte: “Speaking of this bath business, I hear you’ve been snooping around the Bath Pavilion. Did you find out anything?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, caught by surprise. She should have known Paulina’s spies would have reported her. Deciding there was no harm in it, she proceeded to tell Paulina about the tunnels. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I think the murderer might have used the tunnels to get to and from the Bath Pavilion.”

“What tunnels?” asked Leon.

“Pipe tunnels. The spa is underlaid by a network of tunnels that house the pipes for the mineral water. They connect all the buildings. Each building has an entrance in the basement. For instance, someone could go from here to the Bath Pavilion without ever going above the ground.”

“Is that right?” commented Leon.

“Oh, those pipes,” said Paulina, slapping a palm to her forehead. “You wouldn’t believe what it cost me for those pipes.” She turned to Charlotte. “Thank you for telling me. I like to know what’s going on.”

“Actually, I came to see you about something else. An engagement.”

“I know about it already. I read it in the
Times
.”

“Not that engagement. Another engagement. Elliot’s.”

“Aha! He’s going to marry The One with the Freckles?”

Charlotte nodded. “Claire Kelly.”

Paulina’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why are you telling me?”

“She wanted me to. She wants me to pave the way for a reconciliation. Elliot apparently felt badly about going behind your back, but he also felt he had to assert his independence. Claire would like things to be patched up between you. But Elliot won’t take the first step.”

“So she wants
me
to? Tell her that if she thinks Sonny’s stubborn, she hasn’t seen anything. That’s where he gets it from—his mother. Don’t I have my pride? Why should I be the one to make the first move? He was the traitor. He has to come to me.” She turned to Leon. “Right?”

“Right,” agreed Leon, bobbing his head like a trained seal.

Charlotte had laid the groundwork for her big line. Now she was ready to deliver. After a pause, she continued: “Claire thought you might be interested in making the first overture because …”

“I know. Because I’m on my deathbed,” interjected Paulina sarcastically. “Well, tell her nobody’s going to push me into the grave.”

“No, as a matter of fact, that wasn’t the reason.”

Paulina looked at her as if to say, “Well?”

“Because of the baby.”

Charlotte thought at first that Paulina hadn’t heard. Had she spoken loudly enough? she wondered. It was as if the gears in Paulina’s brain that processed information into compartments labeled marketing strategies, research and development, and accounts receivable had jammed on an undigestible item. With the exception of her nervous crisis, Charlotte had never seen Paulina’s face so inanimate. Then a look of innocent delight slowly crept across her ancient, hardened features, like the rise of a warm breeze over the dusky Russian steppes. “Did you say a baby?” she asked in a tremulous little voice.

“Yes,” replied Charlotte with a grin. “A boy. She’s had amniocentesis. She already knows it’s going to be a boy.”

“A boy,” repeated Paulina softly. And then, more loudly, “A grandson.” Standing up, she threw her arms into the air and spun herself around in a spontaneous dance of joy that would have been ridiculous if it hadn’t been so touching. “A grandson. I’m going to be a grandmother.”

Leon glanced over at Jack, who stood at the door of the office, and then back, at his aunt. It was as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “That’s very nice, Aunt Paulina,” he said lamely.

“I can’t believe it,” said Paulina. “Sonny’s going to be a father. God be praised.” She slowly lowered herself back into her chair, an exultant expression on her face. After a moment, she spoke: “This girl Claire. I think she’ll be good for him. She has a level head on her shoulders.”

“I think so too,” said Charlotte.

“When’s the baby due?”