Night Vision (9 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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As usual, he'd confused her. She thought he was headed in one direction, but he took another. She wasn't sure what he was getting at, but she liked the feel of his hands on her bare shoulders.
“We need something really bright to navigate this dark jungle of a world by, Jo. Especially here in Hollywood. We need, like, some overwhelmingly important central value to keep us on the right course.”
“And that value would be … ?”
He slid his hands to her hips and turned her to face him. “Love.”
She blurted out the first thing to come into her head. “Love is for suckers, Gordon.”
“But it's not. It's everything. It's the whole world.” He ran his hand lightly across her face, brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead.
“What is this? Two days ago you didn't like me and now you love me?”
“I don't love you, Jo.”
His words hurt, but she refused to let him see it. “Then … this is just a seduction scene? I'm supposed to fall into your arms. If that's it, Gordo, you can forget it. I've played that part too many times. I know where it leads.”
“Good God, woman, you are so jaded. Why is that? What's eating at you that you won't face?”
“Why do you always assume there's something wrong with me? I hate that. I don't need your armchair psychology. Besides, I thought we were talking about love. My guiding star.”
“We were.”
“But you don't love me.”
“No.” He hesitated. “But I'm beginning to see that I could.”
“Oh, goody. News flash, Gordo. I'm not suffering for male companionship.”
“Yes you are.”
She cocked her head at him. “Why do you keep correcting everything I say?”
He grinned. “Not everything.”
“Feels like it to me. I mean, one minute you don't like me at all—”
“I never said I didn't like you, I just said I didn't want to sleep with someone I didn't know.”
“So you've had an epiphany and
now
you know me?”
His expression sobered. “I realize it sounds strange, but I think I have had an epiphany, as you put it.”
“Here comes the seduction scene.”
He brought his face close to hers. His breath smelled both sweet and salty at the same time. “Would that be so bad?”
Joanna was trembling. She was sure he could feel it through her light cotton clothes. She wanted him so badly it scared her. “You're an excruciatingly
principled man,” she said, struggling to tuck her emotions back inside. “I, on the other hand, am not a particularly principled woman.”
“I've noticed.”
Their lips were just millimeters apart.
“Joanna, if we become lovers, it will mean something to me. I'm nobody's one-night stand. You have to know that up-front.”
She was intoxicated by everything about him. “I do.”
“Because, what it comes down to … is … I'd like to be that bright light in the sky for you, a star you could navigate by in the darkness.”
“You are one strange dude.”
He kissed her tenderly at first, his hands caressing her bare back, but when he began to undress her, his kisses grew hungrier, more intense. Joanna matched his passion with her own. It was at that moment, with her last consciously analytical thought, that she wondered if she was lost once again on another dead-end street, or if this time, she'd finally been found.
J
ane sat cross-legged in the center of an oversized upholstered chaise, going through the file on Gordon Luberman. Joanna had not only consented to allow Jane to help Nolan on the case, she was actually enthusiastic about it. She was impressed by Nolan's credentials but said she didn't know him from Adam. She did know and trust Jane, and that went a long way toward easing her mind.
“Knock knock,” came Cordelia's voice from outside the mahogany velvet theater curtain.
Cordelia had suggested that Jane commandeer the raised stage at the back of the loft for the duration of her stay. In the past, Cordelia had used it for impromptu performances, generally when she'd invited her theater friends over for dinner. At the moment, it was being used for storage—everything Cordelia couldn't bring herself to toss but that didn't fit with the new Swedish modern look of her place. Even with all the storage boxes and furniture, there was still plenty of room for Jane to stretch out, lots of lamps to choose from, and an exceptionally comfortable oversized corduroy-covered chaise to sleep on. The stage was maybe thirty feet long by ten feet wide. And it afforded more privacy than any other section of the loft. Mouse was nestled into a quilt next to the chaise. Like Jane, he was adaptable.
“Come in,” she whispered. It was just after eleven. Hattie and her nanny, Cecily Finch, had already gone to bed. Jane had left the club earlier than normal because she wanted to get to work on the file.
Cordelia poked her head through the curtain, looked around briefly to make sure nothing would fall on her, then pushed her way through. “Yuck,” she said, brushing off her black velvet evening gown. “It's dusty in here.”
“Good thing I can live with dust.”
“That's exactly the pioneering spirit I've come to know and love about you, Janey.” She batted at a cobweb. Her gown had the requisite deep, plunging neckline, but this one was new. It had a thick row of silver sequins starting at the top and swirling all the way around the dress several times until it reached the bottom hem. Cordelia might have said bye-bye to her size-eighteen clothes when she was in her teens, but she was still a voluptuous beauty by anyone's standards.
“From the way you're dressed, I take it you're getting back from the Laundromat,” said Jane, glancing at the gown.
“How nice that you find yourself so amusing.”
“Mouse thinks I'm funny, too.”
“Splendid. I always take my humor cues from Labrador retrievers.” Cordelia fluffed her long auburn curls as she lowered herself into a rickety director's chair. She nodded to the file. “I thought you might need some help. As a deeply compassionate friend, it pains me to see Joanna in such turmoil.”
Jane flipped through a bunch of photos, pausing to look at one.
Cordelia was off the director's chair in a flash. Plunking down next to her, she said, “Let me see those.”
Jane handed her the one she was looking at.
“Wow, he
was
good-looking, if you like blonds with big muscles and equally big teeth.”
“You've never seen a picture of him before?”
“Never.”
That surprised her. “Well, this particular photo was taken a few days after Joanna met him. There's a date on the back of the picture. Now look at this one.” She pulled another one out of the pile.
“He's older here,” said Cordelia. “Leaner, but he looks even more pumped. When was this taken?”
“Shortly after he got out of prison in July of 1998. Most of the photos were shot by the PI Joanna hired to keep tabs on him. His name was Petrosik. He lived in Appleton, which was close to where Luberman headed when he got out. Luberman moved in with his mother. Apparently, this Petrosik kept tabs on him until his mother died in 2002. Right after the funeral, he turned in his last report.”
“Did Luberman, like, do anything criminal during that time?”
“Petrosik said he was living a quiet life.”
“Define quiet.”
“No arrests. No documented run-ins with the law.”
“What else?”
“Well, according to what I read, he liked to fish. Bought himself a used houseboat a few weeks after he returned home. Petrosik said he would take it out on Lake Winneconne around dusk and spend the night on the water.”
“Did this investigator watch him
all
the time?”
“I doubt it. But he did spend a few evenings sitting by the shore, watching to see if Luberman came back. He didn't.”
“What if he anchored the boat, then swam back to another spot? That would give him the entire evening to himself—free as a bird to do whatever he wanted.”
“But without wheels. His mother's car was back at the boat landing.”
“Maybe he had a girlfriend. She picked him up.”
“That's an interesting point. There was a note here that a woman in a nearby town—” Jane paged through the file. “Yeah, here it is. Her name was Mandy Kiskanen. She lived in Poygan, another small town close to Winneconne. She was single, in her early thirties. She worked at a restaurant in Winneconne. Her friends all said she never dated, although one of them insisted that she'd been over to Mandy's place one night and a man was in the bedroom. She could smell aftershave, and there was a man's red-and-black hunting jacket on the couch. Apparently, Mandy hustled her out almost immediately. And then, seven months later, Mandy's body was found
washed ashore on Lake Poygan. She'd been strangled. The murderer was never found.”
“You think Luberman did it?”
“I think it's possible, not that he'd ever murdered anyone before.”
“Did Petrosik make that connection?”
“He said that Luberman often wore a red-and-black hunting jacket. But then, lots of men do. Nobody had ever seen them together. According to Petrosik, he spent a lot of time turning his mother's front and back yards into a garden masterpiece. There was even a feature article on it in the local paper.”
“Oh, joy,” said Cordelia. “Every neighborhood needs a psychopathic gardener.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “So, we don't have any info on the last two years?”
“Not in this file. And there's basically nothing on the trial. If you recall, part of the plea bargain was that the details would be sealed. In one of Petrosik's early reports, he mentions that he's sure Luberman spotted him. If Luberman knew he was being tailed, he'd be on his best behavior—as long as he was being watched.”
“Thus the houseboat. A way to leave prying eyes behind.”
“Maybe. I just wish I knew more about what happened all those years ago.” Jane let her words hang in the air, waiting to see if she could get Cordelia to break her silence.
Cordelia sat still for a few seconds, then pressed her hands to the sides of her face and groaned. “Lord, if I wasn't the poster child for moral integrity, the tales I could tell you.”
“You can't tell me anything?”
“Janey, she's embarrassed and appalled by what she did. Can you blame her?”
“Okay, but can you just tell me this? I know Luberman stalked her, but … were they ever lovers?”
Cordelia shook her head. “I promised. I mean, I'm dying here. I'd like to tell you the whole megillah, but … I can't.”
“It's just … if it wasn't Luberman, I wonder if someone else sent her the roses innocently. You know, just a fan. Or, on the other hand, maybe they
were
sent to rattle her. A copycat crime?”
“Not possible. The rose thing was never made public. Joanna made sure it was kept a secret.”
Jane finished off her brandy and soda.
“Well,” said Cordelia, slapping her thighs and getting up, “better go check on Hattie. You wanna come with me?”
“To do what?”
“Watch her sleep.”
Jane wanted another drink, and Hattie's room was on the way.
“Sure. Why not.”
As Cordelia edged into the room, she motioned for Jane to follow. “Look,” she whispered, standing over Hattie's bed. The little girl was lying on her side amid a sea of pink covers, her right arm circling a scruffy gray puppet, her left hand curled softly under her chin. “Isn't that the most staggeringly beautiful sight you've ever seen?”
Jane smiled, slipping a hand over Cordelia's shoulder.
“I've finally found the love of my life. Who knew it would be a kid?”
“Have you heard from Octavia recently?”
Octavia Thorn Lester was Cordelia's younger sister—Hattie's mother.
“She's in London.”
“Doing what?”
“Being important.”
After acting on Broadway for many years, Octavia was now off pursuing a career in film. She had brought Hattie to a location shoot in Switzerland last year, but when it was over, she sent Hattie back to stay with Cordelia. It was all supposed to be temporary—nothing formal had been worked out—but Cordelia assumed that Hattie would spend the rest of her childhood in Minnesota, which was fine with her. Octavia was always fluttering off to do something glitzy and important for her career. Or she was between houses. Or she was jetting off somewhere with the current man in her life and felt that Hattie would just be bored. The excuses were endless and obvious: Octavia had no time in her life for her daughter.
As Jane edged out of the room, she saw Cordelia bend down, pull the covers up over Hattie's shoulder, and then kiss her lightly on the
forehead. Who would have ever guessed that a child-loathing, curmudgeonly old theater director, one who regularly fumed about ankle biters and rug rats, a person whose life had been focused on a single theme since she was old enough to recognize a stage, would become the living embodiment of Auntie Mame? Well, thought Jane, maybe, in the final analysis, it would turn out to be the part Cordelia was born to play.
 
 
Bel Air, California
Six days later
 
 
J
oanna wasn't awake, but she wasn't asleep. She was somewhere in that in between state where her mind drifted. She could feel Gordon's strong arms around her, holding her against him, his soft breathing matching the rise and fall of her own breaths. In this fuzzy state, she slipped back easily to the last few days, walking along the beach together, laughing at the most silly, inane things, eating at strange new restaurants along the coast highway. It was all a jumble and a blur, but even in her altered state, she knew she was happy. Happier than she'd ever been.
Opening her eyes, the bedroom slowly came into focus. The bright morning light slanted in through the shades, throwing a pattern of lines across the bouquet of red roses on the dresser. Gordon had bought them for her after their first night together. Joanna still marveled at the way he treated her. There was none of the typical deference or desire to impress that usually attended her sexual encounters. At first, Gordon's behavior had intrigued her, but now it felt more like drinking a cold glass of water on a hot summer day. It had been a long time since she'd met a man who wasn't impressed by her name, who saw her for what she was—flaws and all.
Turning on his back, Gordon stretched and flexed his leg muscles. Without opening his eyes, he drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Happy birthday, Jo.”
“You remembered.”
“Of course, I remembered. What time is the party?”
“Two. It'll just be the four of us.”
David and Diego had arrived home late last night, obviously amused to find Gordon and Joanna in the pool together. David raised his eyebrows as Joanna introduced Gordon. Diego just smirked. She knew what they were thinking: Gordon was simply one more boy toy in an endless stream of boy toys. They didn't stick around the pool for more than a couple of minutes. They probably figured Joanna wanted some privacy.
“Your brother and that guy—”
“Diego.”
“Yeah. Is he a buddy? A business partner?”
“They're lovers. Or … partners, I guess. They've been together for five years.”
“They're
gay
?” Gordon turned on his side to look at her. “Your brother's a homosexual?”
“That surprises you?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “No. I suppose not.”
“David's hired a caterer. We're having all my favorite food. Shrimp. Pasta primavera. Chocolate cake. I'm sure as hell not about to watch my diet on my thirty-second birthday.”

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