Slice and Dice (45 page)

Constance looked up when she heard Arthur calling her name, quickly followed by a knock on the door. He stuck his head inside. “I think you’d better come out here.” She didn’t like the tone of his voice. “Why?”

“Kenny’s stopped by. He’s got something you need to see right away.”

What now? she thought to herself, angry that she couldn’t have one moment of peace to savor her triumph. Rising from the bed, she draped a white cotton sweater around her shoulders, tying the arms across the front of her blouse, then walked quickly out to the living room.

Kenny and Arthur were standing together at the bar reading a newspaper.

“What is it?” she asked, growing more tentative when she noticed the anxious look on Kenny’s face.

“I think you should sit down,” said Arthur.

“Just tell me.”

Kenny walked over and handed her the paper. “Look at this first.”

Constance winced when she saw that the front page contained a picture of herself and Arthur, with a headline that read “Bon Appetit? Famous Cooking Diva and Eminent Brother Linked in Sex Scandal.” For a moment she felt dizzy, as if she might faint. Both men were instantly at her side, helping her to the couch.

“What are we going to do?” she gasped.

Arthur snatched the paper away from her. “You don’t need to read the article. It’s nothing but lies.”

“We have to sue!”

“I’m on it,” said Kenny. “I’ve already made several calls to the
American Inquisitor.
I’ve talked to the publisher and the managing editor. I told them we wanted a retraction or they’d have a major lawsuit on their hands.”

“How did they respond?” asked Arthur.

“They felt they had sufficient proof to back up their report and they were going to sit tight. We could sue if we wanted to, but they’re standing by their story. Of course, they wouldn’t reveal their source, but we already know who’s behind it.”

“Damontraville?” whispered Constance. “But I thought you said she’d sit on what she’d found. Why give it away when you can write a book and make millions?”

“She’s running scared,” said Kenny. “The inside article makes that clear. The whole thing is nothing but a veiled message to us. If she gets hurt in any way, the police will come knocking on our door. We’ve been put on notice.”

“Oh, God,” said Constance, dropping her head in her hands.

“Our perceived overreaction to the book probably forced her to make this alteration in her plans. I just wish i knew what other surprises she’s got waiting in the wings.”

Arthur sat down next to Constance, pulling her close to him. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, stroking her hair.

“How can you say that? In a matter of days die whole world will think of us as depraved. Perverted. I can’t bear it. How can I ever show my face in public again?” She couldn’t hold back any longer. Her tears gushed forth in a torrent.

“You mean more to me than anyone else in this world,” he said simply, his voice gende. “You always have. We’ve done nothing wrong. We’ve just tried to protect our privacy.”

“But at what cost?” Her lower lip trembled violently.

\n instant later someone began banging on the door. When Kenny went to answer it, he found Paul standing outside, his face flushed with anger.

“I’m so sorry, Paul.” Constance sniffed, the sight of him starting a new round of tears. She scraped at her cheeks, trying hard to hide the devastation she felt inside. “Kenny… he’s already talked to the paper about the article. We’re demanding a retraction.”

Paul stayed next to the door, glancing from face to face. “What paper? What article?”

“The one in the
American Inquisitor
,” she replied, taking the tissue Arthur offered her.

Kenny handed it to him.

Paul stared at the front page a moment, then hurled it across the room. “You’re a walking disaster,” he snarled, glaring at Constance. “And you’re going to take this entire family down with you!”

Kenny elbowed him in the ribs. “Before you throw your tantrum, could I borrow your cell phone? I left mine in my room and I’ve got to make a couple of important calls.”

Without taking his eyes off Constance, Paul ripped the phone out of his pocket and handed it over. “Look at this,” he demanded, flinging a folder toward her that he’d brought with him. “It’s an interview with an old buddy of yours. Beverly Custerson. Ring any bells?”

Arthur kept his arm around Constance’s shoulders. “What about her?”

“If you’re wondering who sicced Damontraville on this family, I did. And I’m damn proud of it. I want the whole world to know what a crime against nature you are!”

“Paul!” she cried. His hate was as palpable as his physical presence.

Arthur leaped to his feet. “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”

“Who the hell are
you?
You’re as twisted as she is. Constance Jadek’s
not
my mother. Pepper Buckridge was my mother. And she’d be alive today if that woman hadn’t poisoned her!” He pointed an accusing finger at Constance.

She was so shocked, it took a moment before she could speak. “Who… who told you that?”

“Not your buddy Beverly Custerson, that’s for damn sure. She says you explained to her how my father poisoned my mother so he could marry you.” He laughed, but it sounded more like a cry of outrage. “What kind of an idiot do you take me for? You primed that woman with a false story so that if any of this ever came out, someone would back up your little fiction to the police.”

“Paul, you’ve got to listen to me. I don’t know what’s in this interview, but I didn’t poison your mother. I swear it.”

“I don’t believe you! I’ve already contacted a lawyer. I want my mother’s body exhumed. Once we establish that she was poisoned, I’m going to make sure you’re arrested for murder!”

“That’s enough,” said Arthur. “Nathan was right. We need to meet to discuss all of this, but we can’t do it here. We need privacy. Are you still planning to drive out to New Fonteney?”

Paul gave them both a hard look. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good. Then we’ll see you there.”

Constance could tell by the look on Paul’s face that he didn’t like being dismissed, which was just what Arthur had done. She felt her own outrage so keenly that she was glad Arthur had taken over. If he hadn’t, she might have said something she would have regretted later. Or maybe that had been her problem all her life. She’d been too worried about other people’s feelings. Perhaps she should just tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may. The way she’d chosen to live was nobody’s business but her own, and yet now that the tabloids were about to offer her up on a silver platter to be ripped apart by that great American two-headed dragon — an insatiable public and a prurience-driven media — she might as well come clean. Whether or not her children ever spoke to her again, there were some important truths they had to hear.

Kenny had retired to Arthur’s bedroom to make his phone calls. When he finally returned to the living room, everyone was gone. Checking his watch, he saw that he had about forty-five minutes to make it out to New Fonteney. Nathan might have his reasons for calling the meeting, but Kenny had reasons of his own for wanting to be there.

After his conversation with David Polchow earlier in the day, he’d come to the conclusion that there was only one way to extricate himself from the walking disaster that was the Buckridge family. He’d just spoken with Nathan, filling him in on what Sophie had discovered. If she was allowed to go to the police with what she knew, the jig would be up. While they were talking, Sophie had shown up at Nathan’s door. It was perfect. Kenny had ordered him to keep her there, emphasizing that Nathan needed to impress on her the ramifications of what she was about to do. At all costs, she had to be talked out of going to the police. He told Nathan to use whatever emotional leverage he had left. Unfortunately, Nathan hung up before Kenny got a real sense of how far he was willing to go.

The fact was, the only people Kenny really cared about in this whole mess, other than himself, were Emily and his children. He had to protect them, had to make sure that none of this touched them in any way. It was simple human survival, the most basic of all motivations. But it was pure luck that that tabloid article had appeared today. It played right into his hands.

As he was about to leave Constance’s suite, Paul’s cell phone rang. Clicking it on, Kenny said, “Hello?”

“Don’t talk” came a female voice. “It’s Marie. I’ve only got a few seconds before I board my plane. I just received an incredible E-mail and I had to pass it on to you right away.”

“Okay,” he replied, realizing that she thought he was Paul. He listened as she repeated the information, then said she’d be in touch.

Kenny shut off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. Well, wasn’t that just the kicker? After everything he’d done to preserve Constance’s good name, and now to find out it was all for nothing. The Buckridge family was in for one hell of a surprise tonight, compliments of Marie Damontraville.

“How about a glass of wine?” asked Nathan, laying the final birch log in the fireplace, then striking a match and setting the kindling ablaze.

Sophie was standing at a picture window overlooking the St. Croix. The monks had built the visitor’s cabin directly behind the dining hall, allowing it an unobstructed view of the river valley as it sloped gently toward the water. The interior was simple but comfortable. The walls were the same rough-hewn wood used in the other buildings, and the furnishings were either new or made in the monks’ workshop. Nathan had placed a small bouquet of lilies of the valley in the center of a long, narrow dining table. The scent filled the cabin with springtime.

“Wine would be nice,” said Sophie, turning to face him. He was wearing one of the monk’s robes. With his beard and his unruly black hair, he looked the part of a medieval friar. He’d explained that he found the robes amazingly comfortable and was glad a few had been left behind.

Sophie had driven to the old monastery for a specific reason, but she wanted to ease into the discussion, not hit Nathan over the head with what she knew the second she walked in the door. She planned to be long gone by the time the family meeting started. She had no desire to run into Kenny Merlin. But she figured she had a good half hour before she had to leave. “Arthur tells me you’ve bought New Fonteney.”

He smiled. “I wanted to tell you right away, but the last couple of days have been pretty crazy.” He glanced up at a small wine rack in the kitchen, twisting the bottles around so that he could read the labels more clearly. “What would you say about trying a Shiraz port? Someone gave me a bottle, told me it was a monster.”

Sophie didn’t doubt it. A Shiraz was nothing if not screaming fruit. Still, it sounded fun. “Sure, why not?”

“I can’t vouch for it,” he added, making a clean slice through the covering just under the rim, “so it will be a trial run for both of us.” After he’d poured two glasses, he came into the living room holding them up and asking, “Where do you want to sit? I think it’s a little cold on the deck. I’ve noticed that it’s a lot chillier out here at night than it is in the city.”

“Let’s sit by the fire,” said Sophie. She would have preferred to go for a walk, have the conversation out in the open air, but the fire looked inviting and so did the wine. There was a kind of unadorned peacefulness about the cabin that appealed to her. It must have appealed to Nathan, too, because he seemed completely at ease.

After tossing a couple of overstuffed pillows on the floor, Nathan sat down, waiting for Sophie to join him. When she did, he handed her a glass, then closed his eyes, breathed in the bouquet, and took a sip. “Yikes!” he said, his eyes popping right back open. “It’s about what I expected.”

Sophie tasted it next. “It’s definitely one of the most flamboyant ports I’ve ever tasted.”

“Flamboyant, huh? Ever the diplomat. It will serve you well in your new part-time profession.”

There it was. Her opening. “Nathan …” She set the glass down, then drew her knees up to her chest. “The truth is, I came out here tonight because I… I needed to talk to you.”

“I assumed you weren’t here in your capacity as welcome wagon hostess.” He smiled, then sobered, gazing at her thoughtfidly before looking into the fire. “It’s about George Gildemeister.”

She wondered if she’d said or done something to give herself away. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she said, “I know your family bribed him to write that negative review of the Belmont. I found a fax in some of George’s papers. It’s pretty damning.”

“Why am I not surprised? You always did like a good mystery. You can’t stand being in the dark.”

“That’s one of the reasons I was so drawn to you.”

“Gee, and here I thought it was my boyish charm — and the profound nature of my soul.”

“That, too.”

He shook his head. “I wish, just this once, that you’d left well enough alone.”