Night Vision (29 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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C
ordelia was so bone weary from worrying about Hattie and from general lack of sleep that even the tips of her fingers were deeply, profoundly enervated. She could barely type in her Web mail address as she sat at the computer in her study. Without Hattie playing in the living room, the loft felt lifeless. Cordelia had wasted an entire afternoon tap dancing as fast as she could, trying to prevent Joanna from having a complete meltdown. It had taken her mind off her own problems, so maybe it hadn't been a complete waste of time. She'd lit incense. Chanted her own—secret—mantra. Made gallons of soothing chamomile tea.
When none of that worked, she'd run upstairs to her loft and brought back a do-it-yourself feng shui space-cleaning kit. She'd draped a healing stone necklace around Joanna's neck, run around the loft with a lit organic juniper space-cleaning wand, especially useful for quick tune-ups. She'd used special rock salt, excellent for removing negative energy, or “sha chi” from interior space. She sprinkled it across the doorways, dumped little piles in the corners of rooms, thus preventing the “sha chi” from escaping into the atmosphere. And finally, she'd held a singing bowl next to Joanna's ear and banged it over and over again with a rosewood wand. When Joanna screamed, “Feng shui is shit!” Cordelia decided to try something else.
She got out her tarot cards and did a special reading, lying through her teeth, telling Joanna all would be well when, in reality, the cards spoke of nothing but doom!
“That woman is cursed,” muttered Cordelia, finally bringing up her Web mail. Dropping her chin on her hand, she looked down at Blanche, the matriarch of her cat colony, who was sitting next to the computer. “You know, maybe I should have tried my Tibetan tingsha bells.” Thinking about it a moment more, she said, “Nah.”
Checking through her e-mail, she found a bunch of messages for enlarging her penis, pharmacy addresses where she could get cheap Viagra. A woman named “Hot Mamma” offered to perform wild illegal acts on her if she'd just click on her site.
“And all this wonderful news,” muttered Cordelia, “even with my spam blocker set on ‘stun.'”
But there, in the midst of all this junk, was a note from RCun-ningham. Cordelia clicked on the words, “From Cecily.” Up came the e-mail.
Cordelia, it's me. I'm using Radley's computer. He and your sister are downstairs with Hattie, but they should be back any minute. I feel like I'm in prison!
 
I wanted you to know that Hattie is okay. Well, she was actually really having fun for the first few days, but today she seems kind of sullen. Keeps saying she misses you. Keeps asking why she can't talk to you. I'm not sure what Octavia is up to, but I want you to know that the only reason I'm here is to provide Hattie with some continuity.
 
Octavia needs to leave for L.A. on Friday so I assume she'll drop us back at the loft before that. I think she really enjoys making you sweat. So nasty! I can tell she's already sick of having
 
Hattie around all the time. But she's putting up a good show for Radley's sake. He seems like a nice enuf guy and I feel sorry for him, getting mixed up with a piece of work like Octavia.
 
Boy, am sick to death of her big, fake innocent eyes. Oh, somehow or other, I've managed to lose my cell phone. Can't imagine what I did with it because I'm always so careful to put it back in my purse. Octavia checks the hotel bill every morning. She told me if I called you that she'd not only fire me, but she'd take me to court. I'm not sure what that means, but she's not somebody I want to mess with. So that's why I haven't called.
 
Oh, Jeez, here they come. Later.
As sick as the note made Cordelia feel, it also gave her hope for the first time in days that she'd see Hattie again soon. If all Octavia wanted was to stick it to her, fine. Stick away. As long as Hattie came home at the end of Octavia's martial arts event.
The ring of Cordelia's phone startled her. As soon as she picked up, she heard, “I can't stay in this loft another minute! If I don't get out, I'll lose my mind completely!”
“Hi, Joanna. Long time no see.”
“And since Nolan tells me I still can't go outside without risking my life, Freddy and I are coming up to your loft for dinner. We don't care what we eat. Anything you prepare is fine.”
“Prepare?”
said Cordelia.
“Don't go to any trouble. We're just folks.”
Just folks. Right.
The last thing Cordelia wanted was to spend even one more minute with those two. But, of course, she would. Because she was nothing if not a stellar friend. However. Cooking was another matter entirely. “I have about twenty-five take-out menus I'd be happy to
share with you. Unless you'd like PediaSure and Toaster Strudel for dinner.
That's
what I've got to eat.”
“Takeout sounds fine,” said Joanna. “We'll be up in a sec.”
Cordelia took that second to change into something more comfortable. A bright pink-and-yellow caftan. She stabbed chopsticks through her hair to get it off her neck, then met the happy couple at the door.
“It's really nice of you to invite us up,” said Freddy.
Like she had a choice.
Freddy had changed into jeans with a crease down the front of the legs and a red flannel cowboy shirt. Hiho, Silver. Joanna was still in her blue gown, but she'd redone her makeup, so she no longer looked like Vampira.
They settled on an extra-large Pizza Margarita, which the restaurant said would arrive within the hour.
Cordelia brought out three diet Pepsis.
“Cordelia,” said Joanna, crossing her legs and clearing her throat. “There was another reason I wanted to come up here. I have some bad news, I'm afraid, but I hope you'll take it like the friend you've always been.”
Cordelia couldn't take
any
more news—good or bad. She sank down on the ottoman.
“I simply can't go on with the play. Freddy and I are leaving, flying to South America on Saturday.”
“What!” Cordelia felt as if an anvil had dropped out of the sky and landed on her head. “Are you serious? You're backing out!”
“She has to,” said Freddy. “Surely you see why she can't stay here. There's a wack job out there breathing down her neck.”
“But—”
“I've found a replacement for you, if you'll give me a chance to explain,” said Freddy.
“Replacement?”
“Eugenia Benet. I know she's not in Joanna's league—”
Cordelia sniffed the air. “Really? Eugenia!”
“Don't sound so eager, dear,” said Joanna, sipping her Pepsi. “I can always change my mind.”
“No. I mean, yes! That works for me.”
“Good,” said Freddy. “I'll call her in the morning. She'll be here by next Monday. Same deal as Joanna's. Oh, and by the way, if I were you, I'd find her a different place to live while she's in town.”
“Sure. Anything. I mean, I'll be sorry to see you go,” said Cordelia, trying to project sadness with just the right amount of nostalgic regret.
“Cut the crap,” said Joanna. “You'll be happy to see me go. I've been nothing but trouble.”
“Not you,” said Cordelia. “It wasn't your fault.”
The pizza arrived early. They talked companionably for another hour or so while they ate, and then Joanna and Freddy bid Cordelia a good night.
Cordelia felt sure she would be sad to see them go. At least a little.
 
As soon as Freddy and Joanna were back in their loft, Joanna went to open a bottle of wine. “Someone's been in here,” she said, turning to Freddy, a frightened look on her face.
“How could you possibly know that?”
Diving behind a chair, she whispered, “Look around.”
“Maybe we should call the police?”
“Please! Just check it out.”
Freddy seemed flustered. His face turned crimson and he appeared to dither as he stood next to the chain-saw bear sculpture. Finally, picking up an empty champagne bottle by the neck, he crouched. “I'll take care of it. If I don't find anything, I'll call an all clear.”
Joanna watched him enter the kitchen, then disappear into the back of the loft, where the bedrooms were located. She could hear him opening and closing closet doors. Next, one of the shower doors. The seconds ticked by.
“Oh, Christ,” he said after nearly a minute. “What the hell?”
“What is it?” called Joanna.
“You better come look.”
She found him in the bathroom standing in front of the mirror.
Cracks spread out from a central impact point like a spiderweb. Underneath, someone had written in lipstick:
You don't play fair!
I demand respect.
And don't forget,
I OWN YOU! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
J
ane was sitting at Cordelia's computer, examining the CD Nolan had given her, when her cell phone rang. She hoped it would be a cop from Eagle Ridge with good news.
“Is this Jane?” came a tentative voice.
“Yes? Who's calling?”
“This is Brandy Becker. You saved my life.”
Jane felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Are you okay?”
Brandy explained that Gordon had tied her up in the kitchen of her house yesterday afternoon. When she heard the police outside her back door a few minutes ago, she'd tried to make as much noise as possible so they'd break down the door. She'd been sitting in the dark all night, waiting for Gordon to come back. She was sure he was going to kill her.
“That won't happen,” said Jane. “He's dead.”
Silence. “Dead?”
“He was shot and killed last night here in Minneapolis.”
“Lord, why?”
“We're not sure. Did the police tell you about the body they dredged from Whitefish Lake?”
“Yes. That's why I had to call—to thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't warned me about him. You're a very special woman.”
“I'm just glad you're safe.”
“Someday I'll find a way to thank you properly.”
They talked for a few more seconds and then said good-bye. As Jane set the cell phone down next to the computer, Cordelia dragged through the front door.
“Another crisis,” she said, sinking down on a chair, narrowly missing one of her cats.
Jane looked over at her. “I don't even want to ask.”
Cordelia explained about dinner, about Joanna backing out of the production.
“That's it? That's the crisis?”
“No, no. Give me a chance, will you? I have to do this in a linear fashion. I'm too tired to explain it any other way.”
Cordelia finally got to the point—the shattered mirror and the message. “This is way too weird for me. Makes me feel like moving to Iowa.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“You're right. It doesn't. What are you reading?”
Jane explained about the files, then told her about the body found in Whitefish Lake—about how ironic it had been that Joanna had essentially caused Luberman to come back into her life. She'd jumped to a wrong conclusion about the flowers, and that had become the first domino in a long chain that eventually led to Luberman and the guard's murder.
“I hate irony,” said Cordelia. “It so ironic.”
“Why don't you get out your reading glasses and help me look through this file?”
“No, no. We've got to talk about the mirror thing! That file is a waste of time. Reading about people in South Carolina or Arizona, I mean, who cares? Whoever got into Joanna's apartment while we were all having dinner must've had a key. It's got to be someone in
this building. We need action, Jane! Instinct, and pure, hard, cold logic.”
“I think you're right about the key. But with the amount of sleep we've both missed, I doubt we have the brainpower between us to open a can of soup.”
“Piffle.” Cordelia got up and, as usual, began to pace. “Let's think this through. How could someone get a key to that loft?”
“You go first.”
“Well, I have one. Tammi Bonifay, the woman who owns the loft, gave me two sets when she agreed to sublet. I gave both to Joanna, made myself an extra set—it's on my key ring in my desk drawer, right in front of where you're sitting there. And, of course, there's a master key down in the Tenants' Association office. But that's kept locked, and the keys themselves are in a safe.”
“Cross that off, then,” said Jane.
“Unless we've got a stalker psychic.”
Cordelia always came up with such useful ideas. “Who would have access to your set of keys?”
“You. Hattie. Cecily.”
“What about while you're at work?”
“Who'd be interested in my keys at the theater?”
Jane shrugged. “Just a thought.”
Cordelia stood in front of the windows and looked down at the city. “Think, Jane!”
“I am!”
“Think harder. Whoever got into Joanna's apartment had a key.”
“Where's Bonifay?”
“Madrid. I wonder if she ever gave a key to anyone. You know, like someone to water her plants if she happened to be gone.”
“What if she gave it to another tenant in the building?” Jane felt as if a light switch had just burst on inside her. “That's it, Cordelia. Whoever knifed Luberman met him on the stairs. I didn't see it before, but you're right. It had to be someone who lived
in
the building.
The police thought it was David, but what if it was one of the other tenants? This person knifes Luberman, then slips back to his apartment and nobody's any the wiser.” Except, thought Jane, there was one big hole in that theory. How did this person get his hands on her Global knife? Unless it
was
David. “Do you have a number for Bonifay in Madrid?”
“In the Tenants' Association office in the basement.”
“What are we waiting for?” asked Jane. “Let's give her a call.”
 
Downstairs in Joanna's loft, the phone rang. Joanna was lying on the couch, a cool washcloth draped over her forehead. Freddy rushed in from the kitchen, where he'd been heating them mugs of cocoa in the microwave. Answering the phone, he said, “Yeah, what?” He wasn't in a good mood.
“This is Abbott Northwestern Hospital calling for Joanna Kasimir.” The woman's voice had an Indian accent.
“Hospital?” repeated Freddy. “What's this about?”
Joanna sat up.
“I'm an emergency room nurse. Indrani Azim. We just admitted a woman who is asking for Ms. Kasimir. The woman is in serious condition. We were hoping Ms. Kasimir might be able to come down to the hospital.”
“What's the woman's name?” asked Freddy.
“Cordelia. That's all we know.”
“My God! What happened?”
“We believe it was a suicide attempt. Do you need directions to the hospital?”
Freddy glanced down at Joanna. “Do you know where Abbott Northwestern Hospital is?”
“Sure? Why?”
“We'll be right there.”
“What?”
said Joanna.
“The nurse said they just brought Cordelia in. She tried to commit suicide?”
“Not possible. We just saw her.”
“But that was over an hour ago.”
Joanna's instincts told her it was a ruse to get her out of the building. She grabbed the phone out of Freddy's hand and punched in Cordelia's number. She let it ring and ring. When the voice mail picked up, she cut the line. “I still don't believe it. Did the nurse give you her name?”
“Indrani Azim.”
“I'll bet you Abbott Northwestern's never heard of a Indrani Azim.” She called directory assistance and then waited while she was connected. “Emergency room, please,” she said, looking up at Freddy.
Two rings. Three. “Emergency,” said a male voice.
“Do you have a nurse named Indrani Azim working tonight?”
“Let me check.” A moment later, the man came back. “Yes, but she's with a patient at the moment. Can I take a message?”
Joanna couldn't believe it. “Did you just admit a woman named Thorn?”
“Sorry, we can't give out that information. If you'd like, I could have Indrani call you back.”
“No,” said Joanna. “It's okay. Thanks.” Her eyes rose to Freddy's.
“The nurse is for real.”
“If something really did happen to Cordelia and she's asking for you—”
“I know,” said Joanna. “I know.” She looked down at her nightclothes, unsure what to do.
“The nurse said she was in serious condition.”
That did it. “Call Nolan. See how fast he can have a car and driver for us.”
Rushing back to her bedroom, she threw off her nightclothes and changed into jeans and a sweater. She was scared to death to leave the building, but if Cordelia was asking for her, she had to go.
 
 
Down in the basement of the Linden Building, Cordelia and Jane searched through Bonifay's file until they found a piece of paper with a number for her in Madrid.
“What time is it there?” asked Cordelia, sitting down behind the desk.
Jane looked up at the clock on the cement wall, did a quick calculation. “It's just after ten here, so that means it would be just after five in the morning in Spain.”
“So even though Tammi likes to party, she should be home by now.” Cordelia punched in the number using the phone on the desktop, then hit speakerphone so they could both hear.
Jane sat on the edge of the desk. It was the first time she'd ever been in the tenants' office. It was a depressing room, made even more depressing by the fact that it was tiny and windowless. Cordelia always made being president of the tenants' association sound as if it was just one rung lower than being president of Microsoft. So much for Cordelia's ability to hype what was essentially unhypable.
After several odd-sounding rings, a voice answered. “Hello?”
“Tammi?” shouted Cordelia, as if she had to yell across the pond to be heard. “It's Cordelia Thorn.”
“Who?”
“Cordelia Thorn. Back in Minnesota.”
“Wait. Let me turn on the light.” After a few seconds she was back. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Late here. Early there. I suppose I should say good morning.”
“What's wrong? Why are you calling me?”
“I need to know if you've ever given your key to one of the other tenants.”
“Why? Did something happen to my loft?” Now she sounded upset.
“No, Tammi, your loft is fine.”
“Stop yelling,” whispered Jane.
“Hey, is someone else there with you?” asked Tammi. “Is it the police? What the hell's going on?”
“Nothing. Your … loft … is … fine. How many ways can I say it?”
“Then why did you call?”
Cordelia huffed. “Have you ever given your key to one of the other tenants?”
“Yeah,” she said finally. “I gave it to Milan Mestrovik once so he could deliver some wine while I was out. But he gave me the key back. No big deal.”
“Anyone else?”
“You know, like, to water my plants, pick up my mail downstairs? It's not illegal. I know you think that ever since you were elected president of the tenants' council that you're the fucking Gestapo, but you're not.”
Cordelia stiffened. “Who did you give the key to?” she demanded.
“Don't take that high-minded tone with me. I gave it to Faye, okay? She's right across the hall. I mean, she offered. It's not like I twisted her arm or anything. And for your information, if a woman wants to do a little coke in the privacy of her own home, it's none of your damn business. Is that what this is all about? Kasimir found some of my stash?”
“Thanks, Tammi. Go back to sleep now.”
“Yeah, like I can sleep after you got me all riled up.”
“How's the coke in Madrid?”
The conversation ended with a dial tone.
“Actually, I always suspected she was a doper,” said Cordelia with a satisfied sigh. “With the hideous decorating in that loft, you have to be medicated or you couldn't survive.”
“We got our answer,” said Jane.
“Two of them,” said Cordelia. “Now what?”
 
Across town, Joanna and Freddy walked into the bright lights of the emergency room.
“I can't believe this is happening,” said Joanna.
Freddy gave their names at the desk, explained that Indrani Azim had called them, that they were waiting to see Cordelia Thorn. A young dark-haired nurse in blue scrubs finally came out, introducing herself as Indrani.
“How's Cordelia doing?” asked Freddy.
“Can we see her?” asked Joanna.
The nurse gazed at them sympathetically. “She's lost a lot of blood. I'm afraid she's very weak. She cut her wrists. The police brought her in. I'm not sure where they found her exactly, but I was told it was in an alley somewhere in Richfield. She didn't have any identification on her, but she gave the name ‘Cordelia' to one of the paramedics. Wouldn't give us any other information, except to call you. She kept repeating your number.”

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