The Doll Brokers (31 page)

“And you did well,” Ann interrupted. His words were so stilted she had to concentrate to understand him. “Mr Ling—if we can verify the authenticity of your copyright, would you be willing to sell us the rights to your doll?”

A strange sound came from the man's throat. It could have been one of grave discomfort, an expression of disbelief, or a combination of both. “Yes, of course,” he gushed, or something to that effect.

Ann realized that they could probably get away with offering him quite a bit less then they had intended. The businesswoman in her wanted to try. But over the years she had learned her lesson from Felicia well: it was never right to take advantage of another person, especially when they were at your mercy. It had become the root of her philosophy and she wasn't about to change.

Jonathan's imperceptible nod helped her gain confidence in her decision. Taking a deep breath, she said: “Mr. Ling—we are willing to offer you what we actually paid Edmond Chow—an advance of one million five hundred thousand American dollars based on a royalty of ten percent.”

His face paled and Ann thought the man might faint. “One … million … five,” he repeated very slowly.

“Yes,” Ann confirmed. “We feel that is a fair and equitable offer. Our hope is that the authorities will find Mr. Chow and return the money he unlawfully took from us, thereby negating our doubled risk. Either way, we are ready to proceed.”

Ling was instantly on his feet, bowing to Ann and Jonathan, lower, and lower still. When he came up for air, his face was streaked with tears. “Th..thank you,” he said, and he pumped both their hands. “I am … happy…”

Jonathan turned to Ann and winked.

For the first time in hours, her insides stopped hurting. Hallelujah, she was thinking. The stars might be aligning themselves, after all.

W
hen Ann and Jonathan returned to New York, they went straight from the airport to Felicia's apartment. They had made arrangements for everyone to meet there for a brainstorming session.

As she stood before Felicia's door, Ann remembered the excitement of Baby Talk N Glow's coming-out party, and she had the impulse to grab Jonathan's hand and walk in together—a united front. The dread of this meeting hung heavy. Jonathan lifted the brass knocker and let it fall. Patrick opened the door and stood before them. Ann's head swam. She'd thought he was still in jail.

“You look like hell,” Jonathan said to his brother, shoving past him. Ann had to agree. Patrick's complexion was pasty. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair looked like it hadn't been combed in days.

Without thinking about it, she removed her coat and handed it to him. Patrick allowed the coat to drop to the floor as he turned away, and Ann chided herself for teasing him.

As she picked up her coat, she took notice of the faces present—Cal Everham and Frank Ketch, Emeril Lacey—then her gaze went to Felicia. She was relaxing on the divan with a blue
afghan tucked under her chin. Her complexion and the look in her eyes told Ann she was back to her old self.

Ann went up to her and asked how she was feeling.

A spidery hand sneaked out from beneath the afghan to stroke the bruise on Ann's cheek. “I am fine, dear. But what in God's name happened to you?”

“It's nothing,” she told her. “I had a little incident in Hong Kong”

“A
little
incident?” Felicia questioned.

“This is touching, Mother,” Patrick interrupted, “but we need to talk.”

Felicia sighed. “Yes, we do. Mr. Ketch, please bring Jonathan and Ann up to date.”

Jonathan was standing near the window, ramrod straight, his hands deep in his pockets. Without thinking about it, Ann took the chair closest to him.

“Ms. Sallinger regained consciousness last night,” Ketch said. “Briefly. Long enough to tell the police investigator that Patrick was not her assailant.”

It explained why he wasn't in jail, Ann thought.

Jonathan's voice came sharply from behind Ann. “Who was it, then?”

“She knew him only by the name Vincent.”

Ann cleared her throat. “Is she going to die?”

“By all accounts she should be dead, so with every passing hour the doctors become more optimistic,” Lacey broke in. “She's got five broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, a broken jaw, a broken arm, and a skull fracture. There's been some brain swelling, a severe concussion. But she's no longer comatose. She comes in and out. Mr. Morhardt has instructed us to pay her medical bills.”

Ann glanced at Patrick. At least he had the foresight to do something right.

“Yes,” Felicia broke in. “The company will not leave Ms. Sallinger stranded. But as for you, Patrick, your bail was the last
money you'll see from me. When you walked out of that clinic, I'm afraid you lost my benevolence. And, as of tomorrow, you are officially fired.”

Patrick's face went flame red. “Fired?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Mother, you can't mean this.” He approached the divan. “Ever since you started up with
her
—” He broke off and waved an erratic hand at Ann.

“Control yourself, Patrick,” Felicia chided. “This is neither the time nor the place for your petty jealousy.”

Patrick moved off, taking steps like a toddler who had just figured out how to walk.

“Well,” Cal said, breaking the mood, “there's never anything quite like a Morhardt family meeting.”

“Yes, well—where were we?” Felicia asked.

“You were doing everything but cutting me out of your will,” Patrick muttered.

“Not yet, dear,” Felicia said. “That's next week. So I suggest you hurry back to that clinic before I die and leave you without a cent.” Her gaze fell upon Jonathan and Ann. “Please tell me about Edmund Chow.”

Ann filled her in on the incident at Chow's office, then went into the details about their meeting with Charles Ling. “It'll cost us another million five,” she said. “I'm so sorry, Felicia.”

Felicia closed her eyes. “Ann, this is not your fault.”

Patrick made a snorting sound. Everyone ignored him.

“But we
do
have the rights to the doll, correct?” Felicia asked finally. “We have the doll now?”

“We will, as soon as we can verify the authenticity of the copyright,” Ann replied.

“Well, then, let's wrap it up as quickly as possible. Emeril, what are you doing about Mr. Salsberg?”

“He's hiding behind counsel and the Bar Association. There's a gray area of illegality here, at least where he's concerned.
It's difficult to prove that he was involved. It's his word against Patrick's.”

“Don't let up,” Felicia said. “I want that man brought to justice.”

“I won't. Of course.”

“Does that cover everything?” Felicia asked.

Ann looked at Jonathan. “Yes, at least on our end.”

Ketch and Lacey began moving in the direction of the door. Patrick hesitated. For a moment Ann thought he would enter into another argument with his mother. Then he left as well, looking back at them, his expression as angry as she'd ever seen it.

Ann stood and went to kiss Felicia's cheek. “You're a tough old broad,” she said quietly.

She expected a good comeback. She
needed
a good comeback from her. But she only felt Felicia shiver. “Oh, Ann, he breaks my heart.”

Patrick.
“Do you really want me to fire him?”

“No, but don't let him know that. Go through the motions, please. Give him a few unpaid weeks off. Maybe this … finally this … will straighten him out.”

And if it didn't, Ann thought, she was determined that Felicia would at least think it had.

“Stop trying to shield me, Ann,” Felicia said suddenly. “I'm too smart for that.”

Ann felt grief rock through her.
How would she survive losing this woman?
She stood abruptly and Jonathan's hand caught the small of her back. Then he helped her on with her coat.

“Well,” Felicia said to Cal after everyone had left. “It's certainly about time.”

The doctor came around the other side of the divan and moved her feet aside so he could sit with her. “For what?”

“They're sleeping together, Ann and my Jonathan.”

“Felicia…” He chastened her with his eyes. “Stay out of it.”

“She's going to need him when I'm gone, Cal.”

“As I remember it, you were only going to keep her for a week or two, all those years ago.”

She smiled complacently. “You'll help me?”

“Meddle?”

“I'm very happy about this. Ann was never meant for my Matthew, bless his soul. But those two … there was always something between them. I always thought they'd be good together, if they gave each other a chance.”

Cal turned on the divan to gather her hands in his. “They're grown adults. It's none of your business, Felicia.”

She didn't acknowledge that. “I don't believe I ever told you, but Ann did finally confide in me. About where she'd come from and how she ended up on the streets. Though I never breathed a word of it to the boys.”

“And how long did it take you to get it out of her?”

“Four years. She's stubborn when she wants to be.”

Cal laughed. “And you're not? Never let it be said that Felicia Morhardt ever gave up on something she set her mind to do.”

“Yes, well.” Felicia sighed and rested her head back against the cushions. “I'm not quite done yet.”

A
nn and Jonathan collected their luggage in the lobby of Felicia's building and, as they left, Jonathan discreetly tipped the doorman.

“What now?” Ann asked as they hit the street.

He knew what she was asking. “My place,” he said after a moment. “I have furniture.” Why did it feel like a commitment, like the very thing he'd fought tooth and nail against all his unattached, muse-driven life?

“I have all the furniture that counts,” Ann pointed out.

He stepped into the street to hail a cab. “Ah, but you don't have beer.”

“You don't have Scotch,” she countered.

“Sure I do.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

He'd bought an expensive bottle of Macallan in a crazy moment several years ago and had never opened it. “Live dangerously and find out.”

Settled in the cab, Jonathan felt the full effects of jet lag taking hold. He looked at his watch—a little past 9:00 P.M. It was ten o'clock the following morning in Hong Kong. He should feel as if he had just woken up. Instead, his eyelids were heavy and he felt like hell.

“So what's it going to be, Ann?” he asked when they turned the first corner. “Your place or mine?”

“I don't need you,” she said. “But … your cool moves are really something.”

He half smiled. “That'll do.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Ann nodded off and then he did the same. When they arrived at his loft, the cab driver had to wake them both.

Upstairs they barely had the strength to undress and go to bed. Jonathan slept so solidly he did not hear Ann get up and leave in the morning. He came out of a deep sleep and was surprised and disappointed to find her gone. He made himself breakfast, showered and shaved. The cobwebs wouldn't leave him. Traveling all that distance was not something he wanted to do again, anytime soon.

Despite how discombobulated he felt, a certain sense of urgency crept up and spurred him to action. Two phone calls later he was on his way to the Metropolitan Hospital to pay Verna Sallinger a visit.

Jonathan asked himself what he hoped to accomplish. It wasn't like him to act in haste. Was it clarification he was seeking? Edification? He didn't think Verna was in cahoots with Edmund Chow. But he had a hunch she could shed some light on their situation and at this point that was all that mattered.

Cal had arranged for Dr. Phil Steinberg to take Jonathan into the intensive care unit. Verna's condition had improved but he would only be allowed a few minutes with her.

The blinds were drawn and it was dark in her room. The beeps and blips of various machinery jumped out of the shadows like an arcade game with a nervous kid at the controls. They were mostly green, but one screen showed red numbers. Jonathan moved to the bed, looked down, and flinched a little.

He had always found Verna Sallinger to be an attractive woman; seeing her this way brought bile to his throat. She was
hardly recognizable. What had been done to her face was beyond comprehension. He would give anything to get his hands on the SOB responsible.

He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Are you awake?” he whispered softly.

Verna's eyelids fluttered.

“It's Jonathan Morhardt. I want to ask you a few questions.”

The woman's eyes opened briefly, found him, and closed again.

“I know you want to save Pat from his problems,” he said.

Verna finally spoke, her eyes still closed. “I … told them,” she said. “He didn't … do anything.”

“We know that. I want you to help me understand what happened, help me catch whoever did this to you.”

Verna's entire body started to spasm. Jonathan looked around for the emergency cord. Before he could pull it, however, she calmed down. Then, still with eyes closed, she began to speak. It was barely above a whisper.

“I didn't want to cooperate with him but Vincent threatened my mother.” Tears began to leak from her eyes. “Everything is my fault,” she continued in the same, barely audible tone. “I would never do anything to hurt Patrick, yet not only did I get him to keep drinking, it was me who called the cops. I knew he would get caught with what I had planted in his briefcase. And then I stole the contract for Baby Talk N Glow. I brought it home with me. I lied about it and wouldn't hand it over, but Vincent barged into my apartment … and that's the last I remember. When I woke up, I was here, in the hospital.”