Murder Melts in Your Mouth (17 page)

Delmar, the hulking Abruzzo bodyguard with the dent in his forehead, waited outside Lexie's house. He leaned against a long car that was parked on the street, and he watched two giggling coeds try to climb the fence of the house next to Lexie's where the party still rocked.

Delmar removed the earphones from his iPod when we approached. I might have been invisible, because he didn't even glance my way. “You want me to sit in the back, boss?”

“Yes.” Michael held the door for me while I slipped into the passenger seat. The vehicle was a low sedan shaped like a spaceship. It had white leather seats and an eight-track tape player in the dashboard. The word
ROYALE
was etched into the glove compartment. Michael closed the door.

The two men muttered outside the car.

Then Delmar climbed into the seat behind me. The springs under his seat groaned. Very faintly, I could almost hear the music from his iPod, too. It sounded like Dean Martin.

When Michael slid behind the wheel and closed his door, I said, “I'd be happier taking a cab.”

“I wouldn't.” He tipped his head to indicate the muscleman in the backseat. “Delmar's under orders to stay with me. Sorry.”

“Whose orders?” I asked, even though I knew it was Big Frankie who cared enough about Michael's safety to provide round-the-clock protection when the situation warranted it.

Michael said, “It's not a big deal.”

“Is he carrying a gun?”

“I don't know,” Michael said testily. “You want me to ask him?”

“You don't frisk your employees?”

Michael started the car. “He's not my employee. He works for my father. Relax, will you?”

“I don't want to relax.” I turned in the seat to face him. “Lexie says you made quite an impression on the police tonight.”

“So what else is new?”

“How involved with this truck hijacking are you? Or is there something else going on, and the truck is some kind of decoy story you cooked up? If Delmar's got your back, that means you're in danger.”

“I'm not. Delmar doesn't have anything better to do now that my brother's locked up. My father can't stand Delmar hanging around the house all the time. So chill. I'm stuck with him.”

“You're making it all sound so plausible,” I said. “But if federal agencies are involved, there's serious jail time coming for somebody.”

“That's what has you so upset?”

“That, and a few other things.” I took a deep breath. “You had to steal Lexie's car tonight, Michael? You had to break into it and—and jump the engine or whatever?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Call a taxi. Take a bus. Walk, for crying out loud, like a normal person!”

“She wanted her car. She wanted me to pick her up so she could drive it home without going to her parking garage, where some reporters were looking for her. What's the problem?”

I grabbed the door handle and shoved. A second later, I was out of the car and standing in the street. Michael got out of his side, too, and slammed the door. We glared at each other over the roof of the car.

I said, “You don't even think like a law-abiding citizen. Your first impulse is to commit a crime.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “I did a favor for your friend.”

“And what about all that advice you gave us in there? How to pressure people into telling us what we want to hear?”

“You asked! It's not my fault if you didn't like what you heard.”

“That's not what's going on here. Eventually, Michael, I worry you're going to find yourself doing more than stealing cars.”

“I didn't steal—”

“You broke the rules. Worse yet, you
like
breaking rules. It comes naturally to you.”

“What about you? Talk about natural inclinations. How come you can't leave this Cavendish murder alone? Don't you see where it's taking you?”

“I'm trying to help the people I love!”

“Okay, so I boosted Lexie's car tonight because she's somebody you love, too. What's the difference?”

“You can't see it?”

Delmar chose that moment to get out of the backseat. He said, “Boss?”

Michael's voice turned icy. “Get in the car, Delmar.”

“I'm just saying, we got to get going.” Delmar tapped the enormous sports watch on his wrist.

Michael checked his watch, too. “I know, I know. Get back in the car.”

Delmar obeyed.

Trembling with the effort not to scream at him, I said, “What are you and your goon planning to do tonight?”

Michael braced both hands on the roof of the car, put his head down and shook it. “You don't need to know, Nora. I don't want you in this.”

“Illegal goods from China, endangered species, crossing state lines? I'm doing the math, Michael. Federal crime means penitentiaries.”

He lifted his head and stared hard at me from across the car's roof. “I think you're upset because I'm picking up your sister.”

In the dark, I couldn't see the nuances in Michael's face. But the challenge was in his voice. I got back into the car and closed the door.

He walked around the car twice to calm himself down. When he got into the driver's seat and slammed the door at last, he said, “I thought we were on the same side in all of this. It's Emma who needs both of us right now.”

The last person I wanted to hear about in that moment was my sister. “Will you take me to the station, please? Or should I hitchhike?”

He drove. Delmar listened to his music. I sat in the passenger seat and tried not to let my emotions overwhelm me. Once we got back into the city, Michael parked at a hydrant and walked me to the train, where he was crazy enough to try to kiss me good night.

“Don't,” I said, turning away.

He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I'll call you later.”

“No.”

“I want to know if you get home safely.”

I walked away without looking back. From the train car, I telephoned Rawlins to ask if he could pick me up at the Yardley station.

“Sure,” my nephew said. “I get off work in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Rawlins.”

I closed my phone and sat in the train, thinking, as it pulled out of the city. I was one of two passengers in the car on this, the last run of the night. The other woman sat with her nose in a Lisa Scottoline novel. I wished I had something equally diverting to take my mind off the mystery of my own life, but I didn't.

I thought about crying, but quickly decided it was better to stay angry. Sometimes Michael seemed so close to becoming a domesticated animal that I had hope for him. At other times, I realized I had been fighting a part of his personality that would probably never change.

The other woman finished her book and left the paperback on an empty seat when she got off. I picked up the book on my way off the train.

I tried to immerse myself in the Scottoline story until Rawlins appeared at the train station. He drove me home, talking animatedly. He was excited about his new girlfriend, I realized. A girl who was easy to talk to, unchallenging and simple. Who wasn't going off to college in a couple of months. Tonight Rawlins seemed happy, all annoyance at her constant pestering gone. Or maybe he'd just eaten too much blueberry cheesecake ice cream and was on a sugar high.

At Blackbird Farm, Rawlins parked the minivan beneath the oaks, and we got out. A shiny black car sat on the gravel driveway near the paddock fence. Emma's herd of ponies were poking their noses through the rails.

Toby trotted across the lawn to us, tail wagging. Rawlins bent down to ruffle his fur, and Toby wriggled happily.

“Whoa,” Rawlins said, looking at the house. “Who's having a party?”

Every light in the house was turned on.

I said, “Your grandparents, no doubt. If anyone offers you marijuana—”

“Just say no?”

“‘No, thank you.' They're due a little respect.”

We headed up the sidewalk together, but Rawlins snapped his fingers. “I forgot my backpack in the car.”

While he jogged back to the minivan, I went up the porch steps, sniffing the air for any telltale scent of illegal substances. I pushed open the unlocked back door. Toby shoved ahead of me, and I stepped into the kitchen after him.

And someone put a gun to my head.

He said, “Don't move. Or you're dead.”

M
y whole family sat very still around the kitchen table, their hands laid flat on the tablecloth. They stared in silent horror as the gunman snaked his arm around me from behind and grabbed my shoulder. He pressed the cold barrel of the gun into my cheek, and my heart stopped.

He said, “Don't say a word.”

I said, “My nephew's outside. He's coming right behind me. Don't hurt him.”

“Didn't I say not to talk?”

“Sorry. I wasn't—sorry. Just don't hurt my nephew.”

He gave me a push, and I stumbled away from him. I caught my balance on the kitchen counter and turned around.

The man with the gun was Tierney Cavendish.

He had sweated through his white shirt, and his grip on the gun didn't look very steady as he pointed it at me. His long dark hair hung in damp strands around his face. He wasn't handsome anymore. He looked desperate.

He said, “Shut up. Don't talk. Let the kid come inside and I won't hurt him.”

A second later, Rawlins be-bopped through the door. Tierney caught him with the same maneuver he'd used on me, only Rawlins was smart enough to obey and didn't make a sound. With the gun jammed to his throat, my nephew dropped his backpack on the floor and stared at me with wide, frightened eyes.

I said, “It's okay. Don't panic.”

Tierney goaded Rawlins forward. “Sit down at the table, everybody. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Mama and Daddy sat very still beside each other. In the chair at the head of the table perched their valet, Oscar. At the other end was Henry Fineman, the computer repairman. Between them, Lucy glowered.

“Where's Maximus?” I said. “Where's the baby?”

“Sleeping,” Mama said. “Finally. He missed his nap and got a little cranky. I put him down half an hour ago.”

“He was very bad,” Lucy said. “He wouldn't stop crying.”

“We couldn't find his binky,” Henry volunteered.

Rawlins said, “I left it on the counter by the coffeepot.”

Lucy said, “I didn't go near it. I'm not allowed to drink coffee.”

Patronizingly, Henry said, “Coffee is bad for little girls.”

Lucy stuck her tongue out at him.

Oscar said, “This man is pointing his gun at us again.”

“Shut up.” Tierney quaked as he waved the gun first at one person, then another. He looked exhausted and angry. “All of you. Be quiet so I can think. Why there's a whole French farce going on, I don't understand. I thought only you lived here.”

He had pointed the gun at me again, so I said, “Normally, it's just me. You caught us at a bad time.”

“Sit down,” he commanded.

“There aren't enough chairs,” Rawlins pointed out.

“I'll stand,” I said.

I tried to think of all the hostage situations I'd ever seen on television. Unfortunately, the only ones I could recall were those that ended in a shoot-out or with the cavalry charging through the back door. A few psychological tactics swirled vaguely around in my head. I wondered if my father really did have any marijuana.

I cleared my throat. “Would anyone like some lemonade?”

“We've had lemonade,” Mama said. “Then everybody had to go to the bathroom, which was a terrible ordeal.”

Tierney said, “We're not going through that again.”

“Then we ordered pizza for dinner.”

“We're not going through
that
again, either,” snapped Tierney.

“Nora, dear, you should really have something besides Lean Cuisine in your freezer. What if friends drop by?”

“Hey,” Henry objected. “I was the one who paid for the pizza! Somebody owes me forty bucks. And I don't even like mushrooms!”

“Mushrooms are good for you. It's the pepperoni you insisted on that's giving everyone heartburn.” Mama gave an indelicate burp. “There. You see?”

I put both hands up to silence the squabbling. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since three o'clock,” Henry said.

Sounding victimized, Mama said, “It's been a very long day, Nora. First we missed our afternoon yoga session because Oscar and I got to talking about his diminished libido—”

Oscar muttered, “Dear God.”

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” Mama told him. “But you can't expect to perform your best without taking corrective measures. I can prescribe a diet. Which will not include pepperoni, I'm telling you right now.”

Lucy said, “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“No,” Tierney said.

Daddy said to me, “He finally locked the twins in the powder room. It seemed like a good idea to all of us.”

“Those two,” Tierney said darkly, “are insane.”

Daddy explained, “They tried to poison his lemonade. With some of that plant food you keep on the windowsill.”

Good for the twins, I thought.

“But Henry drank it instead.”

Henry said, “I didn't drink enough to make me sick.”

“You threw up,” Lucy said accusingly. “You threw up in the sink. It was gross.”

“I did some spitting. There's a difference. And let's not talk about gross, Miss Smarty-pants. You were the one who—”

“All right, all right!” Tierney shouted. “I can't stand it anymore!”

Everyone fell silent. The muscles in Tierney's neck looked ready to tear from strain.

From my handbag on the floor where I'd dropped it, my cell phone began to jingle. Michael was calling, I thought. Making sure I got home safely.

I wanted to scream for his help. But Michael was an hour away, maybe longer. And I hadn't left him in the mood for rescuing me.

Meanwhile, Tierney's anxiety had clearly reached a breaking point. He pointed the gun at my purse.

But he didn't pull the trigger. We all waited while the phone rang six times and finally stopped. But immediately, Rawlins's phone began to play a tune. We waited while it finished, whereupon the house phone shrilled. When the answering machine kicked on, we all heard Michael say tersely, “Call me.”

Then he hung up.

Into the silence that followed the answering machine's beep, I said, “I don't think we've actually met, Tierney. I'm Nora.”

“I know,” he said. “You followed me yesterday.”

“Not intentionally.” Endeavoring to sound nonthreatening, I said, “Look, I'm very sorry about your father. You have my condolences. Hoyt was a kind man. A generous man.”

From the table, my mother made a rude noise.

Tierney pointed the gun at her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking only slightly contrite. “But he didn't like to dance. In my experience, small men have small feet and are usually light on them. But not Hoyt. What a wet blanket.”

I said, “We're all very sorry for your loss, Tierney. You must be feeling terrible.”

“How did you guess?” he asked. “Was it the gun that tipped you off?”

My own temper suddenly sizzled to life. “It's been a long day for all of us. So sarcasm is hardly going to make this situation better. Plus there are impressionable children in the room.”

“I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to be reasonable.”

“Well, somebody has to try! What exactly do you hope to accomplish here? You've taken a whole family hostage—for what? What do you want?”

“I don't know anymore! It was much clearer before I met all you people.”

“Would you like an aspirin?” I asked. “I know I would.”

“Yes.” With a glimmer of resignation, he said, “I'd like two aspirin, please.”

“Then we'll listen to what you have to say,” I suggested. “We'll all be quiet, won't we? And you can tell us what you want us to do.”

Mama sat up straighter. “If you want to know what I think—”

“We're
all
going to be
quiet
, Mama, while Tierney has his aspirin.”

Obediently, she subsided in her chair.

I found a bottle of Excedrin and portioned out tablets for Tierney and myself. When Oscar looked hopeful, I gave him some pills, too. He gulped them gratefully. Mama gave him a disapproving look.

After swallowing the pills, Tierney seemed to get a grip on himself. He said, “Okay, here's the new plan. I want to lock everybody up someplace while I talk to you.” He pointed the gun at Daddy. “And you.” He pointed it at me.

“Very sensible,” I said. “Why don't we ask everyone else to step into the scullery for a few minutes?”

“The—?”

“The little room right over there. It has a lock on the door, if that makes you comfortable. And the windows have been painted shut for years. Nobody will get in or out without your permission.”

“I hate the scullery,” Lucy said. “Remember when the twins kept that lizard in there?”

I said, “What lizard?”

“It's okay, Aunt Nora. He went away all by himself.”

“C'mon, Luce,” Rawlins said, seeing my expression. “We'll play a game in the scullery.”

“What game?”

“Any game you like. We'll tie up somebody and play Joan of Arc again. Remember that one?”

She pointed at Henry. “I want to tie him up.”

“It's a deal.”

“Wait a minute,” said Henry. “Joan of Arc?”

“Okay, everybody.” I raised my voice. “In our most orderly way, let's proceed into the scullery, shall we? I promise it won't be for long.”

With his gun, Tierney gestured the family group across the kitchen and into the scullery, where my mother could be heard chiding Oscar about his diet as the door closed. I turned the lock and put the key on the counter.

Then Tierney came back to the kitchen table and sat down.

For the first time I noticed a bandage on the thumb of his left hand.

I said, “What happened to your thumb?”

“Your daughter bit me.” He peeled off the bandage cautiously. “At least it's not bleeding anymore.”

“When was your last tetanus shot?”

“I live in the jungle. My immunizations are all current.”

“Then you should be safe. Lucy's not my daughter, by the way. She's my niece. My sister Libby's child.”

Tierney peered at me as if I had suggested a second onslaught was on its way. “There are more of you?”

“Just two more. Libby and my sister Emma.”

He shook his head as if trying to clear cobwebs. “I have a vague memory of only one of you. One who beat up Carlton Streetman, the basketball player's son. Broke his nose.”

“That would be Emma.” Tierney was about Emma's age, I guessed. A couple of years younger than me.

Right now, though, Libby would take one look at him and declare he had an old soul. A certain kind of life experience shone in his gaze—behind the current expression of barely suppressed terror, that is—and I wondered about his life. Like me, he'd been kicked out of the lives of his parents early. Yet, like many of us who grew up in the world of Old Money and long pedigrees, he'd probably absorbed a notion of family tradition. With Amazon Chocolate, he'd clearly tried to create something both profitable and socially responsible.

And I didn't see the usual signs of profligate wealth gone to seed. No ridiculously expensive watch. No foppish haircut or fussy manicure. His white shirt had been expensive once, but someone had laundered it hundreds of times. The Gucci logo on his belt looked worn. His shoes were the kind suitable for hiking, yet fashionable in a hip, urban way.

I wondered about the contradictions, and found myself staring deeply into his eyes.

He stared back at me, and for a strange moment I felt something electric start to buzz in my head.

“Nora.” Daddy cleared his throat. “I'd like an aspirin, too.”

I forgot about Tierney and his gun and finally took a close look at my father. He was pale, and a faint sheen of sweat shone on his face. Now that Mama and the children were out of the room, he allowed himself to sag in his chair.

“Daddy? What's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” he said. “But…that aspirin?”

I hustled to the kitchen counter for the Excedrin.

“What's the matter?” Tierney asked.

My father waved his hand. “A little nausea, that's all.”

“Nausea?” I said. “Would you rather have a Tums?”

“No, no. Aspirin. Several, please.”

I knelt beside his chair with the tablets in my hand. “What's the matter, Daddy? Tell the truth.”