The Edge of Ruin (17 page)

My traitorous mind added another reason to reject her. Hearing that you’re doing great when you know you aren’t is neither comforting nor helpful. Someone who is unfailingly supportive might make me feel better, but I distrusted it on principle.

“Then there’s your terrifying sire. Dear God, is the man never satisfied?”

No
, I answered internally.

“Ms. Reitlingen hasn’t totally grasped that the P&L statements aren’t your most pressing problem. And your sister …” He just raised his eyebrows.

Yep, Pamela and I exchanged an average of two snipes a day.

“Sam resents you because she’s beholden to you. Syd worships you, which must be wearing. And you don’t get to work with your best friend and mentor.” Was there a knowing gleam in the hazel eyes? It was gone before I could pin it down. “Because crime is on the rise and he has little time for you.” He paused to consume a slice of toast. “Which leaves you with me.”

I looked hard into his round face. “I can’t trust you,” I said rather weakly.

“I’m not asking you to, Richard. But you can talk to me. Because you can trust me on this—there is no way I am leaving the protection of this place and you.”

I returned to the piano bench, and took another bite of cinnamon toast while I tried to order my chaotic thoughts. I decided to do exactly that.

“I don’t know where to start, and I don’t just mean about this conversation. I mean about everything. I don’t know where to put my energies. Dagmar wants me to learn about the company and run it. Angela bugs me constantly about Kenntnis. Papa reminds me that if we don’t have the company we won’t have the funds to do whatever it is we’re going to do about Kenntnis. But I have no idea what to do about Kenntnis.”

“It sounds like you’re
doing
a lot, but accomplishing very little.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I stood up and paced even though it hurt. “Everybody’s got an opinion. But everybody wants me to do something different.” I pressed the palm of my hand against my forehead as if that could force order on the churning mess inside my head.

“You listen. Then you go away and make the decisions. Maybe with the help of a single advisor,” Grenier said.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “And would that be a role you’re envisioning for yourself? Because if it is … don’t.”

Grenier smiled, and consumed another piece of toast in three big bites. “I’m many things—” he said thickly around the wad in his mouth.

“Selfish, self-centered, cruel, power hungry, greedy?” I suggested.

“But not stupid,” Grenier concluded blandly.

The eighteenth-century French clock struck the quarter hour. I didn’t turn around to look because I dreaded knowing the actual time. I was going to pay a heavy price for this bout of insomnia. All the tasks that would fill the coming day crashed into my head. A thundering headache was already starting. I pressed the heels of my hands hard against my temples.

“What is it that’s bothering you? Really?” Grenier asked.

The words slipped out. “I’m scared.” And the harsh truth of that admission left me limp.

“You weren’t scared when I captured you. Frightened by the pain, but not frozen like you are now. I saw the man you’re destined to become—if you’ll get out of your own way.”

“I had a plan. I knew what I was doing. I didn’t know if it would work, but there was at least the chance.” I limped over so I could look down at Grenier. “And I’m not frozen. Just the opposite. I feel like I don’t even have time to breathe.”

“Or think. Which means you can’t plan. It’s a feedback loop, and a bad one.”

“I
know
that.” My voice seemed to boom in the room. I quickly moderated my tone. “Thank you so much for stating the obvious.”

“You need to take some time to relax. Your mind will work better.”

“I can’t. The world is collapsing.”

“But very slowly.” Grenier frowned, rolling the mug between his palms. I could tell he was puzzled and disgruntled, so I decided to push.

“And why is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I thought the gates would open, nations would collapse, and I’d be a satrap in the new world order. But it isn’t happening that way.”

I was struck by that, and it helped answer a question that had been nagging at me. “Maybe that’s why our government, and all the rest of the world’s governments, aren’t reacting,” I mused. “You can ignore or explain away a little weirdness, and nobody wants to believe this is really happening.”

“And by the time the weirdness becomes too big to ignore, or people realize it
is
happening, it might be too late to stop the Old Ones.” Grenier drained the last of his cocoa. “I don’t know what’s happening at the gate, but my guess is that the Old Ones will moderate the craziness. The word will go out from thousands of pulpits that the demons appeared because Hell was trying to prevent the Lord’s return. That’s what I would be saying if I still had a pulpit to preach from.”

“The Second Coming isn’t supposed to happen in Virginia.”

“Pffft.” Grenier waved away the objection. “I could explain that in a second.” His voice took on a deeper, more musical resonance. “America is the only sure bastion of freedom and opportunity in the world. America is the nation most loved by God.”

In that moment I could totally see how Grenier had become one of the most famous and successful evangelists in America. I knew it was bullshit, but I still felt a flutter of pride at the words, because I was moved by the certainty and sincerity in Grenier’s voice.

I shook my head to break the spell and asked, “So, what will happen when … if the government does decide to act?”

“The gate will be defended by thousands of the faithful.”

I shivered even though the room wasn’t cold.

P
amela was listening to four distinct conversations that were occurring at the dining room table.

Dagmar and her father—

“… both of the New Mexico labs are under lockdown. I can’t reach anyone.” Dagmar was making excuses. Pamela wanted to tell her not to bother. The judge wouldn’t buy it.

“There are universities,” the judge said, proving Pamela’s point if only to herself. “I don’t think you’re devoting enough time to it.”

“Okay, yes, you’re right. It isn’t my top priority. This company is my top priority. It has to be managed.”

Because Richard sure as hell isn’t doing it
, Pamela thought. She glanced at her brother, seated at the head of the table, and watched him flinch and the color rise into his pale cheeks. He’d obviously overheard the exchange. Good, maybe it would get him to focus.

Weber’s rough voice drew her attention. “We’re the only first world country that still has the death penalty.” The incongruity of that statement emerging from a policeman’s mouth had her turning her attention to him.

Grenier’s rounded vowels danced with amusement. “I personally like that old-time justice along with my old-time religion. An eye for an eye.”

Syd and Sam were arguing with each other.

Syd said, “I think we ought to formally resign. Hell, we may be fired anyway.”

Sam countered, “Hell no, we want to keep a toehold in the agency. And we can’t abandon everyone.”

“We make mistakes. We try not to, but it happens,” Weber was saying. “I see enough crap. I don’t want to deal death unless I’m damn sure we’re right.”

Grenier leaned across Pamela to say to Angela, “Did you hear that? Lieutenant Weber says you are incompetent.” His bulging belly brushed against her arm. Pamela pulled it close in to her side.

“No he didn’t,” Angela replied coolly, but her hatred for the former minister blazed in her dark eyes. “He said to err is human, and since there is no God to
sort it out
we’d damn sure better not do anything irrevocable. Oh, that reminds me.” She leaned across the table toward Weber. “That body … not a Taser. Those were sucker marks.”

“Suckers don’t leave burns. And I haven’t heard of any cephalopods escaping from the aquarium.” It was a ponderous attempt at humor from the cop, but his eyes kept darting around as if he were looking for a way out.

“That’s because it was caused by magic,” Angela said. It was clear this was the continuation of an ongoing argument.

Weber’s lips and eyes squeezed shut. Repudiation by silence. The skin around the cop’s jaw sagged, and pouches hung beneath his eyes. Weariness created the effect that his face was melting.

Pamela took a few more bites of salmon loaf with cream dill sauce, and had to praise the genius who cooked every meal for both the residents of the penthouse and the employees in their dining room. She’d never seen a company where meals were provided, but she decided she approved.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Richard had stood up and was heading into the kitchen. He had his finger pressed against his temple. Angela made a move as if to follow, but sank back down in her chair when Weber shook his head. Pamela had no such compunction. She followed.

Her brother was inspecting a tray of pastries. Napoleons, eclairs, Sacher torte, cannoli; Pamela stared at the diabetes-inducing array and shook her head. Large silver carafes steamed and burbled, filling the air with the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. A basket held fifteen varieties of tea. Richard turned at the sound of her footsteps and forced a smile.

“The last rehearsal I hosted, I opened up a Sara Lee frozen cheesecake. I did tart it up with some frozen raspberries.” He selected a caffeine-free peppermint tea out of the basket.

“Stomach bothering you?” Pamela asked. He nodded, and filled the cup with boiling water from one of the carafes. “It should give you a hint. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Pamela, I can’t work all the time. I’ve got to take a break, or my head’s going to explode. So just leave me alone, okay? You can go downstairs and work all you want.”

“Putting aside that I think this is frivolous, your own security chief thought it was a risk.”

“That was before Joseph investigated.” He pulled the tea bag out of his cup, and tossed it into the trash compactor. The smell of peppermint tickled at her nose. “Bob, Lee, and Susanna are going about their lives without any overt signs of craziness. When they enter the lobby they’ll be scanned for weapons, and Cross has promised to see if any of the three are armed with spells. I think we’ve got it covered. Oh, and thank you for your concern,” her brother said, and he didn’t make any effort to disguise the sarcasm.

Sam walked into the kitchen carrying her dirty plate. “Your band is here,” she said.

Pamela watched Richard struggle with himself, and decide to let it go.

“Thank you,” he said.

Angela came wandering in with an air so casual that it made it clear there was nothing at all casual about her arrival. She set her plate on the counter. “May we listen? I’ve actually never heard you play.”

An expression of acute discomfort swept across her brother’s face. “I’d really rather you didn’t. When you have an audience it isn’t a rehearsal any longer.”

Dagmar entered the kitchen. “My husband is the same way,” she said to the room at large. “He practices six hours a day locked away in a converted greenhouse out behind the main house.”

“So your children never see either of you?” Angela said in tones of sweet inquiry.

Pamela looked at Richard with his back against the center island, and the three women surrounding him. She wanted to scream with vexation at the foolishness of her sex. Richard slipped between Angela and Dagmar, heading for the door. It looked more like flight than an exit.

The female charm bracelet followed.

As they crossed the dining room Pamela heard a
thunk
followed by the cry of vibrating strings as a cello case bumped into a wall, shaking the instrument inside.

There were three strangers in the living room. A tall, dark-haired man with a half smile and a crooked bow tie was inspecting the art. A young woman with waist-length blond hair had her violin case hugged to her chest and kept turning in circles, surveying the room with a look of childlike wonder. An older man with crew-cut gray hair and pants that rode too high on his waist was drawn to the collection of canopic jars on an inlaid table. He looked up at their entrance and said, “Could you bring some of these by the school sometime? My world history class has only seen my slides from the Cairo museum.”

“Sure,” Richard said. “I’ll give you my secretary’s number and we’ll get it arranged.”

“Oh, Richard, there are so many beautiful things,” said the blonde in a breathy little-girl voice.

Maybe the woman couldn’t help it. Maybe her voice really sounded like that, but Pamela had always suspected the baby dolls of putting on an act. Pamela also watched the interaction between her brother and the blonde, trying to judge if she was another one of his victims. Pamela had watched so many women, many of them her friends, make fools of themselves over Richard. This time it didn’t seem to be the case.

The tall man with the bow tie turned to Richard. “There’s art in here worthy of anything in the Uffizi.”

Richard nodded his head in acknowledgment, and stammered into far too detailed an explanation. “It’s not really mine. I mean, I live here, and it might ultimately be mine … well, at least for my lifetime, but I’m … we’re hoping the real owner comes back … I’m just sort of a caretaker …” He stuttered to a halt.

Grenier, wandering through with his splayfooted fat man’s walk, reached out and patted Richard on the cheek as he passed. “Too much information, little man.” Pamela watched as Richard yanked his head away.

Weber, Syd, and her father joined them, and introductions were made. The tall art lover turned out to be Lee Titlebaum, a law professor at UNM. He fell into easy conversation with her father. Syd, Weber, and the high school history teacher, Bob Figge, found a common interest in fishing. Susanna Monroe chattered brightly with Dagmar, Sam, and Angela. Richard threaded his way between chairs and music stands, retreating to the piano. He began sorting through music.

Pamela drifted from conversation to conversation. Among the social chitchat were nuggets of disturbing information. Truancy at the high school was running at forty percent. At the law school it was, oddly, the professors who were missing. The mall where Susanna worked was an echoing cavern filled with Muzak and no customers.