Three Fates (31 page)

“With your interest, and your family background, you’d have heard of the statues.”

“I’ve heard of a lot of statues. Oh!” Tia exclaimed innocently and swore she could hear Anita’s teeth grinding. “The Three Fates. Yes, of course. In fact, one of my ancestors was reputed to have owned one—I think it was Clotho, the first Fate. But he died on the
Lusitania
and by all accounts had it with him. It’s very sad if it’s true. Lachesis and Atropus have nothing to measure and cut without Clotho to spin the thread. Then again, I know more about the myths than antiques. Do you think the statues exist? The other two, I mean.”

“I suppose I’m romantic enough to hope they do. I thought someone with your knowledge, and your connections, might have some ideas.”

“Gosh.” Tia bit her lip. “I hardly ever paid any attention to that sort of thing. Which is what I told Malachi when we talked about it.”

“He talked to you about the statues, then?”

“He was interested.” Gingerly, Tia picked through the basket of warm bread and rolls. “He collects mythological art. Something he started doing on one of his business trips to Greece some years ago. He’s in shipping.”

“Is that so? A handsome, wealthy Irishman, with an interest in your field. And you haven’t called
him
? ”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” As if flustered, Tia stared down at the tablecloth and fiddled with the collar of her jacket. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling a man. I never know what to say anyway. Besides, I think he was disappointed I couldn’t give him any help with the Fates. The statues, that is. I was very helpful with the myths, if I do say so myself. And with one of them at the bottom of the Atlantic, they’d never be complete, would they?”

“No.”

“I suppose if they were—complete, that is—they’d be quite valuable.”

“Quite.”

“If Henry Wyley hadn’t taken that trip, at that time, on that ship, who knows? But then again, that’s fate. Maybe you could find one of them, if they still exist or ever did. You must have all kinds of sources.”

“I do, and I happen to have an interested client. I always hate to disappoint a client, so I’m doing what I can to verify their existence, and to track them down.”

Anita nibbled delicately on a roll as she watched Tia. “I hope you won’t mention that to—was it Malachi?—if he calls you again. I wouldn’t like him to scoop me on this.”

“I won’t, but I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” Tia put a lot of wind into her sigh. “I did tell him I’d heard, oh, some time ago, that someone in Athens claimed to have Atropus. That’s the third Fate.”

With her heart pounding at her own improvisation, Tia carefully studied her salad for flaws.

“In Athens?”

“Yes, I think someone spoke about it last fall. Or maybe it was last spring. I can’t quite remember. I was doing some research on the Muses. Those are the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne. They each have their own specialty, such as Clio, who—”

“What about the Fates?” Anita demanded.

“What about the what? Oh.” Tia laughed a little and sipped her water. “Sorry, I suppose I tend to run off on tangents. It’s so irritating to people.”

“Not at all.” Anita imagined herself just leaning over and choking the boring twit to death over her salad. “But you were saying?”

“Yes, it must have been in the spring of last year.” Face intent, she dribbled a stingy amount of dressing on her salad. “I really wasn’t looking for information on the Fates, certainly not on the art pieces. I only paid attention to be polite. This source I contacted . . . what was his name? Well, it doesn’t matter as he wasn’t nearly as much help as I’d hoped. With the Muses, that is. But during the conversation he mentioned that he’d heard this person in Athens had Atropus. The statue, not the mythological figure.”

“I don’t suppose you remember the name of the person in Athens?”

“Oh my, I’m not good with names.” With an apologetic glance at Anita, Tia forked up salad. “In fact, I don’t think it came up at all, as it was just something mentioned in passing. And it was so long ago. I remember it was Athens only because I’ve always wanted to go there. Plus, it seemed logical that one of the statues would be there. In Greece. Have you ever been?”

“No.” Anita shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Neither have I. I don’t think the food would agree with me.”

“Did you mention this to Malachi?”

“About Athens? No, I don’t think I did. It didn’t occur to me. Oh my! Do you suppose I should have? Maybe, if I’d thought of it, he’d have called me again. He really was terribly handsome.”

Idiot, Anita thought. Imbecile. “Anything’s possible.”

 

 

TIA FELT GIDDY. The way she imagined a woman might feel after committing adultery in a sleazy motel with a younger, unemployed artist while her stuffy, dependable husband presided over a board meeting.

But no, she decided as she quick-footed it into her apartment building, that sort of giddiness would come
before
the actual adultery, on the way to the sleazy, rent-by-the-hour motel. After, you’d feel guilty and ashamed and in need of a long shower.

Or so she imagined.

Still, she’d lied, deceived—and figuratively screwed someone—and she didn’t feel guilty in the least. She felt powerful.

And she liked it.

Anita detested her. Did people think she couldn’t tell when they found her boring and annoying and basically stupid? Well, it didn’t matter, she assured herself as she rode, on a cloud of triumph, to her floor. It didn’t matter in the least what a woman like Anita thought of her. Because she, Tia Marsh, had won the round.

She sailed into the apartment, prepared to crow, and found only Cleo, sprawled on the sofa watching MTV.

“Hey. How’d it go?”

“It went well. Where is everyone?”

“They went to call their mother. Irish guys have a real thing for their mothers, don’t they? Then they’re going to pick up some stuff—ice cream. They just took off a couple minutes ago.”

Cleo glanced at the television screen before switching it off.

“So, what went down with Anita?” Cleo questioned.

“She thinks I’m a brainless neurotic who’s grateful for any scrap of attention a real person tosses my way.”

Cleo rolled off the couch—a fluid grace Tia admired hopelessly. “I don’t. Not that it matters, but I think you’re a smart, classy ass-kicker who just hasn’t tried out her boots yet. Want a drink?”

The description had Tia gaping so that she didn’t register being invited to drink in her own apartment. “Maybe. I don’t really drink.”

“I do, and this seems like the time for it. We’ll chug down a glass of wine and you can fill me in.”

Cleo opened a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé, poured two glasses. And listened. Somewhere during that first glass, Tia realized the only person who listened to her with the same focused interest was Carrie. Maybe, she thought, that’s why they were friends.

“You sent her to Athens?” Cleo let out a hoot of laughter. “That’s fucking brilliant.”

“It just seemed . . . I guess it was.”

“Damn right.” Cleo shot up a hand, so fast and close, Tia’s head jerked back as if to avoid a slap. “High five!”

“Oh. Well.” With a giggle, Tia slapped palms.

“You’re going to have to go through all this again with the boys,” Cleo continued. “So since we’ve got this girl moment before they get back, give me the dish on Malachi.”

“The dish?”

“Yeah. I know you’re pissed at him, and personally if I were you I’d want to boil his balls for breakfast, but he’s really gorgeous. How are you going to play him?”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t know how, so I’m not. This is business.”

“He’s got a good case of the guilts over you. You could use that.” Cleo dipped a finger into her wine, licked it off. “But it’s not just guilt. He’s got the hots for you, too. Guilty hots, that gives you some major power.”

“He’s not attracted to me that way. It’s just pretense so I’ll help.”

“You’re wrong. Listen, Tia, there’s one thing I know. Men. I know how they look at a woman, how they move around a woman, and what’s going on in their sex-obsessed brains when they do. That guy wants to slurp you up like soda pop, and since he’s guilty for fucking with you, that makes him edgy, frustrated and stupid. You could have him sitting up and begging like a Labrador, you play your cards right.”

“I don’t have any cards,” Tia began. “And I don’t want to humiliate him.” Then she thought of how she’d felt when she’d realized he’d lied to her. Used her. She took another sip of her wine. “Well, maybe I do. A little. But I don’t think it’s relevant. Men don’t have the same urges about me as they do for women like you.”

She stopped, appalled, and set down her glass. She should
not
drink. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I meant that as a compliment.”

“Relax. I got it. You got more going on than you think. Brains, goofiness, repression.”

“None of those sound very sexy.”

“They’re working just fine on big brother. Then you’ve got that dreamy wood-nymph look going for you.”

“Wood nymph? Me?”

“Honey, you ought to look in the mirror more often. You’re really hot.”

“No, I’m really very comfortable . . .” She trailed off when Cleo collapsed in wild laughter. “Oh.
Hot.”
Laughing herself now, she peered closely at Cleo’s face. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope, but I might work on that later.” She leaned back. She didn’t make friends easily, at least not with other women. But there was something about Tia.

“I always wanted to look like you,” Tia blurted out.

“Me?”

“Tall and sultry and exotic. And built.”

“We all work with what we got. And what you’ve got is making big brother’s glands go loop-de-loop. Take my word. Listen.” Cleo leaned closer. “When they get back, I’m going to drop a little bombshell. Slick’s not going to like it, and big brother’s already looking at me sideways. I could use some help. Support, a distraction, whatever you’ve got.”

“What is it?”

Cleo started to speak, then heard the key in the lock. Tia saw something move over her face that might have been grief, might have been regret. Then she tossed back the last of her wine. “Countdown,” she mumbled.

 

 

“ATHENS?” GIDEON BROKE into a delighted, almost demented grin. “Athens?” he repeated and plucked Tia out of her chair, kissed her enthusiastically on the mouth. “You’re a bloody genius.”

“I, uh . . . Well.” Her ears buzzed. “Thanks.”

“A bloody genius,” he said again, and swung her in a quick circle before he shot that grin at his brother. “And you were worried Anita would gobble her down like lunch. We’ve a certified mastermind here.”

“Set her down, Gideon, before you bruise her. That was clever,” Malachi said to Tia. “Clever and quick.”

“It was logical,” she corrected and, with her head spinning just a bit, and rather pleasantly, sat again. “I don’t know if she’ll actually go to Greece, but she’ll certainly look there.”

“It gives us some breathing space,” Malachi agreed. “Now what do we do with it? Rebecca’s doing what she does to get background information on this Jack Burdett. We’ll leave that, and him, to her for now. Seems the first thing, logically speaking, is to figure out how Cleo’s to get the White-Smythe Fate. We’ll want to do that quietly, without putting Anita on the scent, then get it into a safe, secure place.”

“That’s not a problem.” Cleo didn’t take a deep breath, but she did brace herself, did shift her gaze until she met Gideon’s directly. “I’ve already got it, and it’s already in one.”

 

 

 

 

“Y
OU had it all along?” Shell-shocked and with temper just starting to bubble beneath, Gideon stared at Cleo. “From the beginning?”

“My grandmother gave it to me when I was a kid.” She felt the bats beating wings in her stomach. “She’d started to get pretty spacey, so I guess she didn’t think of it as more than a kind of doll. It’s been like my good-luck piece. It went where I went.”

“You had it in Prague.”

“Yeah, I had it.” Because the steady, quiet tone of his voice made her feel a little sick, she poured another glass of wine.

“I never heard the story. The Three Fates deal. If that part of it ever came down through my mother’s family, it didn’t get as far as me. I didn’t know what it was until you told me about it.”

“And wasn’t it lucky for you I came along and educated you?”

She decided the bitter edge of the words, delivered with just the perfect dip of contempt, was as effective as a jab in the gut. “Look, Slick, some guy chases me down at work, starts asking about my good-luck charm, gives me the song and dance about big money and Greek legends, I’m not handing it over to him on a platter. I didn’t know you.”

“Got to know me, didn’t you?” He leaned over, clamping his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in with his body. “Or do you make a habit of rolling around on a hotel floor with strangers?”

“Gideon.”

“This isn’t for you.” He whipped his head around, flicked the keen edge of his fury over his brother to silence any interference. Then snapped it back to Cleo.

“You knew me well enough for that. You knew me well enough, didn’t you, when we shared the bed Mikey gave us hours before he died.”

“That’s enough.” Though her hands were ice cold with fear, Tia used them to pull on Gideon’s arm. It was, she realized, like trying to pry open a steel wall with her fingers. “He was her friend. She loved him. However angry you are, you know that, and you know you haven’t the right to use him to hurt her.”

“She used him. And me.”

“You’re right.” Cleo lifted her chin, not in defiance but in a kind of invitation. Punch me, she seemed to say, I’d prefer it. “You couldn’t be more right. I overestimated myself, underestimated Anita. And Mikey’s dead. However much disgust and rage you’ve got working in you for me right now, it doesn’t touch what I’ve got for myself.”