Suspicion of Betrayal (42 page)

He dropped her arm. "Yes, and I would do it again. Dave wanted to take you away from me. He filed the custody case for that reason. He used Karen as a tool to drive us apart. You lied to me about what you felt for him. Every time I talked to you, I learned something more. You even slept with him after you and I were together. What guarantee did I have that it wouldn't happen again?"

"So you left him with nothing but a job on the other side of the Caribbean."

"You still love him. Go on, admit it." He shouted at her, "What you did—lending him one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars!
Que barbaridad.
Admit it!"

"Yes. I admit it. He's been part of my life since I was eighteen years old. He's Karen's father. We had our differences, but he always treated me with respect. He isn't as smart as you are, not as clever or rich. He failed at business, and God knows, he might have failed with the Old Island Club too, but he was never cruel. What you did to him was cruel. Unbelievably heartless."

"Are you going back to him?"

She closed her eyes. "No."

"Que si.
You should. Go. Go to Dave Metzger. You would be back here in a week." Anthony paced in front of her. "Why do we play these games with each other?"

Gail said quietly, "All I thought about was you. I wanted you so much that nothing else mattered. Neither of us wanted to live in that house, but there we are. You work for your grandfather now, and you didn't want to do that. And I won't have a law practice anymore, except what you give me. I've been erased."

"All right. If you want your own office, then keep it. All you had to say was no."

"The price of fighting you is too high."

"That is very weak, Gail. Weak and selfish. You fight for Jamie Sweet, and for Karen, but not for me. Not for us."

"Why should I?" She looked up at him. "I'm going to move my things out of here tonight."

What? No. That's ridiculous. I won't let you do it."

"You can't stop me."

"I said no."

She started up the slope.

"Gail!" He turned her around. "We're going to be married in three weeks. You'll come back to your senses. You can't do this!" His breath came quickly. "You can't. I love you. You know this. No one else could love you as much as I do." He put his arms around her.
"Corazón,
we belong to each other. Don't frighten me like this."

She turned away from his kiss.

"All right. I understand what you're saying. I was wrong. I am sorry. What do you want me to do? Tell me. What does Dave want? I can arrange it. Does he want money? Another restaurant? Even here in Miami. Tell me."

"I don't want anything from you."

He held her face. "You don't mean that. Please don't. This is crazy! What do you mean, you want to call it off? I don't believe you."

She took his hands away and backed up a few steps. "Jamie Sweet explained to me how she knew that Harry Lasko hadn't murdered Wendell. Do you know what she said? Because Harry was a good man. He was kind, and he loved her children. Harry knew how much their father meant to them, and he wouldn't have taken him away. He wouldn't have
hurt
them like that. That's what you did, Anthony. You hurt Karen by destroying Dave, and no one—
no one
—does that to my child!"

"I didn't— No. You see it that way, but Gail, remember what her father did. He deserted her for six months! Karen has been safe here. She has anything she wants. Haven't I treated her well?" Gail started to walk up the slope, but he blocked her path. "We have both—you and I—been under some pressure. Gail, sweetheart, por
amor de Diós.
Do you want me to apologize? I will. I will every day of my life, on my knees, but I can't lose you. I don't even want to say that. I won't let it happen."

"It's too late. I've seen who you really are."

He put his hands out as if to steady himself. "We'll leave here. We can find another house. We'll get out of here and go wherever you want."

"You can't leave. You've wanted this ever since the old man dragged you out of Cuba, and your miserable cousins despised you for being his favorite. You'll never leave because you want it too much. Your grandfather knows that. He isn't as feeble as you think. He knows how to play you, and you go right along because at heart, you're just like Ernesto—controlling, manipulative, and ruthless."

Gail took the ring off her finger and shoved it into his hand.

He stared at it.

"I don't want it. I don't want you."

When he looked back at her, his eyes had reddened, and his lips turned white with fury. He grabbed her upper arms, and she cried out from the pain.
"Puta mentirosa. Ingrata. "
He shoved her away so hard she fell, catching herself on her outstretched arms.
"¡Que tonto fui en haberte querido!"

Her elbow was bleeding, but she barely felt it. She hated him so thoroughly that if he had come after her, she would have spat in his face.

Gail stood up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Ask your grandfather. Go on, ask him. Not now. Don't spoil the holiday, but someday, ask him if Hector Mesa committed murder to save you. What will you do when he says yes?"

Anthony extended his arm and pointed at her.
"¡Sepárate de mi!
Get out of my sight. I don't want to see your face. I don't want to hear from you. Don't call me. Don't come around here again." His voice cracked. He took a breath. "Do not write to me. Do not ask anyone else to contact me. I don't know your name."

"You're pathetic." Gail laughed. "If you can live with what he did, you deserve each other."

He tossed the diamond up and down in his palm, then strode quickly to the lake.

"Anthony!"

But his arm went back, and the ring was flying up, sparkling for a quick moment before it plummeted downward, splashed, and was gone.

He turned around, stumbling as if momentarily blinded. In that same moment Gail might have run to him, fallen to his feet and begged him to forgive her, because she had gone crazy, driven mad by what had happened to her daughter, and her fears had driven out all rational thought. He would have screamed at her, perhaps would have hit her, but he would have taken her back.

As she watched, his expression settled into stone. He turned and walked away. Gail went to the top of the rise and looked after him awhile. He didn't look back.

TWENTY-THREE

The decision came easily: The offices of Gail A. Connor, Attorney at Law, P.A., would move to smaller quarters. After some haggling, the building management allowed the lease to be transferred to a suite one floor down in the back. One office for the lawyer, a tiny secretarial area, and no view. The computer network and the extra copy machine would go. Miriam, with her usual optimism, said it would be cozy.

Gail had not heard from Anthony, nor did she care to. Her friends said it was better to make a clean break. Gail and Karen would stay with Irene for now. Karen didn't mind; she had a friend across the street. She had taken the news of her father's impending departure well enough. Gail thought it was because she had never really become used to having him around. Or because her mind was on her party. Tomorrow all her friends would gather at her grandmother's house to celebrate her eleventh birthday.

By late on Friday afternoon, Gail and Miriam had organized most of the files, papers, office supplies, and assorted junk into boxes, ready for the move the following weekend. Gail wanted to start over as soon as she could.

Thin arms extended, curls swaying, Miriam lugged a box full of computer software manuals down the hall, preceding Gail, who carried old magazines from the Florida Bar. Every day this week they had deposited two boxes into the Dumpster on their way home.

Gail dropped her box on the floor by the exit, and Miriam dropped hers on her desk.

Miriam held up a big brown envelope. "I found some things of Lynn's when I was cleaning out her desk. She took most of her stuff, but she missed this. It's like, lipstick, a mirror, some quarters and dimes, and pictures, new panty hose, breath mints—"

"I still feel bad about firing her," Gail said.

"Awww." Miriam gave Gail a little hug. "Don't worry. She'll find something else."

"Not easily. She doesn't have much going for her. Well, wrap it up and put it in the mail on Monday."

Miriam turned out the light over her desk. "I talked to Danny, and he can get some of his friends to help us move next weekend, if you'd like." Miriam's husband, who worked for fire-rescue in Hialeah, spent his spare time on the weight machines.

"I'd like that very much," Gail said. "Tell them lunch is on me." She turned off the light in the hall. "Miriam, do you mind awfully much that we have to move? Things haven't worked out as well as I'd hoped, and I won't be able to give you a raise for a while."

Brown eyes widened, and the red-lipsticked mouth went into a big smile. "Gail, no, it's okay. If you can't pay me right now, that's okay too, I can wait."

Gail laughed. "No, I promise, that isn't necessary, but thank you." She slid the frosted glass window shut, then stepped back to stare at it. "Miriam? Do you remember the day I got the flowers?"

"Oh,
those
flowers. I remember. Why?"

"Where were you when they were delivered?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. In the extra office working on the books, I think."

"You didn't see the delivery man at all? Not a glimpse?"

"No. But it wasn't a man. It was a woman."

"A woman? Nobody ever told me that."

"Well . . . nobody asked. I heard the door opening, and Lynn said, Can I help you? And then this woman's voice, but I don't remember what she said. I wasn't really listening." Miriam looked closely at Gail. "Are you still thinking about that?"

"It still bothers me why the florist had no record. Who was that woman, I wonder? A friend of Charlie Jenkins? Lynn would have recognized him if
he
had brought the flowers. And how did he know about Renee?"

"Maybe he went through all your stuff at home." Miriam gave a theatrical shudder. "Scary, scary. I am glad he's dead, even if you had to be the one to find him. Do you
dream
about him?" She stopped herself, quickly lifting her hands, palms out.
"Olvídalo.
I'm sorry for reminding you. No more talking about it."

Gail put her purse over her shoulder and found the right key to lock the office door. She said quietly, "Yes, I dream about him. I'd like to find a way to stop. I dream about a lot of things I shouldn't."

Lynn Dobbert's house was west of the city in a nondescript neighborhood off the expressway where narrow town houses with minuscule yards were jammed one next to the other, and too many cars had worn away the grass to weeds and white rock. Gail parked between a pickup truck whose rear axle was supported on two jacks, and a low-riding Honda Civic with a Nicaraguan flag on the antenna. Gail had retrieved her Mercedes this week from the body shop, and it seemed out of place here.

Identical poured concrete walkways led to the long row of tiny porches and doors. Gail glanced at the envelope on which she had written Lynn's address before leaving the office. A graying woman in the next yard swept the front steps and kept an eye on this tall, skinny blonde in sunglasses, coming toward her in a dress that showed too much of her legs.

"Excuse me. Do you speak English?" When the woman nodded, Gail asked if she had the right town house. Did that one belong to the Dobberts?

"She no home."

Unsure if the woman had understood, Gail said,
"¿Es la casa de Tom y Lynn Dobbert?"

"I spik Englee," the woman said, insulted.

"Oh. Of course. Well, could you tell me—"

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Wha' you name?" The woman was around sixty with a sleeveless plaid shirt that revealed bra straps and the pale skin of her loose upper arms.

"Gail Connor. Lynn used to work for me." Gail held up the envelope. "I want to talk to her."

"Leeng no home."

"She has to be home. I called her a half hour ago and said I was coming."

"She no here."

"Is Tom home?"

"I don't know abou' no Tom."

"Her husband."

"Leeng don' have no husban'."

"Yes, she does.
Tom.
She's married to Tom Dobbert."

"She don' have no man in there."

"She has a husband and two boys."

"Boys?"

"Yes. Joey and Tommy. Little boys." Gail held her palm about waist high. "Two of them.
Dos niños."

"She don' have no sheeldren."

Wondering if this woman had a few circuits unplugged, Gail studied the green street sign on the corner. One of these streets could look like the next. "Thank you anyway," she said.

The woman went back to vigorously scraping the sidewalk. Gail hesitated a moment, then walked toward the door she had first intended to knock on. The numbers matched. Still unsure, she shaded the window glass with her hand, but a curtain blocked the view. She noticed some mail in the box, glanced around, then lifted the lid. There was an electric bill addressed to an R. L. Dobbert. There was a flyer from a supermarket, then an offer from a credit card company to a Ms. Lynn Dobbert.

"Hey!"

Startled, Gail dropped the lid with a clank. The woman waved her broom.

"Wha' you doing?"

"Just checking to see if this is the right house."

"I tol' you, she no home."

"She's expecting me." Gail reached out and knocked firmly on the door. She waited. The woman was still standing there. "Well, I'll just write her a note." She took a memo pad from her shoulder bag and scribbled a brief message—sorry I missed you, please call, important. She wrote down her mother's number.

"Lynn does live here." Gail tore off the page and stuck it in the mailbox.

"Tha' what I say." The woman shook her head and turned away mumbling, and Gail heard the word
imbécil.

Losing her way finding the main exit, Gail spent several minutes circling and drove past the same town house again, the woman staring at her. Gail wondered what kind of story Lynn would hear from her neighbor. It annoyed her that Lynn had been gone, but she had to admit the possibility of a misunderstanding. What annoyed her more than the waste of time was the question still unresolved: Who was the woman who had delivered the flowers?