“Jesus, Robbie,” Morgan said. “Don’t barf on the goods.”
Squatting down, Morgan jerked the necklace out of Robbie’s clenched fist and tossed it into the bag.
“Why don’t you take the bag and go start the car,” she said quietly. “I’ll grab our stuff.”
She helped Robbie to his feet and gave him a nudge toward the door.
“No!” Robert yelled, running ahead, holding out his arms to keep Robbie from leaving. “Stay here! You can’t be that much of a coward.”
But Robbie’s eyes had that dull vapid stare of someone who had shut down. Lowering his head, he trudged out of the room without a backwards glance.
The moment he was gone, Morgan grabbed Amanda’s arm and yanked her to her feet.
“Hey!” Morgan yelled, turning toward the door so Robbie would be sure to hear. “What are you doing?”
Then she pulled Amanda against her, wedged the gun between them, and shot Amanda in the chest.
Robert cried out in horror. “No!”
Amanda’s body started tumbling backwards, but Morgan grabbed her by the shoulders and acted as a counter weight, pulling Amanda down on top of her.
By the time Robbie dashed into the room, Morgan was struggling to get Amanda’s body off.
“Jesus!” she grunted. “Your mom attacked me! She tried to get the gun away, and it just went off.”
Morgan rolled slowly to her knees, then looked up at Robbie, her eyes actually tearing up, her lips in an exaggerated frown. “I’m so sorry, Robbie. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She even bowed over Amanda lifeless body sprawled on the floor and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “Please forgive me.”
Furious, Amanda sat up. “What are you talking about? You shot me!”
She slapped at Morgan’s hands before scrambling to her feet.
“How could you be so stupid?” Amanda shouted as she stomped toward Robbie. “Didn’t you realize what she was going to do?”
But Robbie stared right through her.
“Why would she try to fight you?” he asked Morgan.
“I guess those diamonds meant more to her than you did. Maybe she thought if she got the gun, she could get her precious jewels back.”
“Who do you think you are?” Wheeling around, Amanda charged at Morgan but instead of knocking her down, she passed right through her. The sensation made her so dizzy, she tottered.
She gripped her head, like she was trying to stop the spinning. Her eyes roamed from Robbie, to Morgan, and then at her hands. Shaking her head, she glanced back up and for the first time, Amanda saw Robert.
Her jaw slowly sank, her eyebrows tightened into a furrow.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, her hands flailing to wave him away. “You can’t be here.”
“I’m sorry, Amanda.”
“No!” she shouted. She swung an arm to club Morgan, but it never made contact. She screamed Robbie’s name but he didn’t hear.
With a groan, she faced Robert. “I can’t be dead.”
He shrugged and took a step in her direction to offer some comfort, but she backed away.
“You bastard!” she said. “This is all your fault!”
“My fault!? You’re the one who let him get away with murder.” Robert bobbled his head at the obvious pun.
“You think this is funny?” she screeched as she slowly turned her head to survey the carnage.
Robert wanted to cry. “No, I think this is a tragedy. Robbie’s whole life has been one big mistake.”
“Hey!” Amanda charged at him. “Someone had to take responsibility for our children. God knows you were never around to help.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I tried plenty of times to help. And you always overrode my decisions. Or cut me down. Made me look like an ass in front of my kids.”
“Oh, please.”
“Nothing I ever did made you happy.”
Amanda’s face scrunched into that familiar smirk she always used when she wanted to demean him.
“Like the Christmas tree,” he said. “You’d bitch if I didn’t help. But when I did, you always criticized how I hung the lights, or where I put the ornaments. Don’t you think I knew that you came along behind me and changed them all? And it was right in front of Robbie and Rachel.”
“I really don’t think Robbie hated you because you couldn’t decorate a tree.”
“He hated me because you hated me!” Robert jabbed a finger at her. “And in all these years, I’ve never been able to understand why. You cringed when I tried to touch you. You mocked me in front of our friends. Hell, you even criticized the way I wore my hair. You poked fun of the way I flossed my teeth!”
He swept an arm toward Martin’s body on the bed. “How does lover boy floss his teeth? Do you get all wet watching him flick last night’s roast beef onto the mirror?”
But she was no longer listening to Robert. Her sorrowful eyes stared at Martin’s bloody corpse.
“Speaking of which, where is Martin?” Robert looked around the room. Martin was nowhere to be seen. “Why, that lousy bastard. He took off.”
Amanda’s voice cracked. “What?”
“He’s gone. He didn’t even stick around to see what happened to you. Or he decided he didn’t want to spend eternity with you.”
“No.” She slowly shook her head, trying to make some sense of it. “He wouldn’t leave me.”
“Evidently he would. He’s not here.” Robert couldn’t resist. “Looks like all he was interested in was a good fuck, huh?”
Her lips pursed into a thin line and she raised her hand to slap him. Robert waited for more of her venom to come spewing out. But instead the corners of her mouth curled into sadness. As she slowly lowered her hand, her image began to fade.
“He loved me,” she whispered, like she was trying to convince herself. Then her essence thinned to a mere wisp and she just disappeared.
Robert tried to keep his rage going, but defeating Amanda had been cruel. Guilt drove him from the bloodied scene. He staggered down the hallway to Robbie’s room, unsure of what he could do.
Morgan stood in the doorway of Robbie’s bathroom, towel-drying her hair. She must have taken a shower to wash off Amanda’s blood. Robbie was back in a fetal position in his chair.
Dropping the towel, she padded over and pulled him gently to his feet. She pressed her naked body, and that disgusting snake tattoo, against him.
“Look,” she said as she tightened her grip around his waist. “What’s done is done. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. So you need to get a grip.”
She quickly stepped into the capris she was wearing when they arrived, and absently-mindedly reached into her pocket. When she discovered another pill, she held it in her palm, like a lump of sugar for a dumb horse. Robbie snatched it.
Jesus, whenever Robbie struggled to the surface, this slut pushed him down again. When was the last time his son had had a lucid thought? Months? Years?
“That’s better. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Slinging the duffle bag of jewelry over her shoulder, Morgan raced ahead of Robbie, down the winding staircase, and through the foyer. She yanked open the front door and nearly ran into a police officer who looked like he’d been about to knock.
She yelped, and the policeman jumped.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “We got a report that a silent alarm was tripped at this address.”
Behind the cop, Robert saw a cruiser in the driveway, the motor running, the driver’s door open. A radio crackled inside.
“A silent alarm?” Morgan said.
Robbie skidded to a stop behind her, panting from both the trauma and the running.
“Are you talking about the house alarm?” he asked between gasps.
“No,” the policeman said. “According to our records, there’s a trip alarm on a wall safe.”
Robert choked out a laugh. “Good ‘ole Martin. I always said he was a belt and suspenders kind of guy
.”
The policeman slid a flashlight out of his belt and flashed it in Morgan’s face. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
Morgan flinched, turning her head to the side to avoid the bright beam. “Yeah, fine, great.” She began to close the door. “Thanks for stopping. Everything’s cool here.”
But the officer respectfully laid a hand on the door to keep it open.
“May I see some I.D.?”
Blue lights from three police cars swirled through the trees and across the manicured lawn. At intervals, the lights collided with the red beams from an emergency vehicle parked haphazardly in the drive.
Robert stood under the portico as Robbie and Morgan were handcuffed. He watched the familiar protecting of the head as his son was loaded into one police car, Morgan in another. The radios in the police cars sputtered with calls from dispatch and other officers in the area.
Through the open door, Robert heard shouting in the foyer before an officer burst out onto the porch.
“We’ve got a live one upstairs!”
CHAPTER TEN
Robert had no idea how long he sat in the gray plastic chair at gate fourteen on concourse C, waiting for a flight that would take him back to the Cryonics Center. Around him, rolling carry-on bags burred on the carpeted floor, passengers hustled to their gates, intercoms announced departures, called for missing passengers, and warned those waiting not to leave their luggage unattended.
He’d considered trying to instantly transport back, just close his eyes and be there, but too many other disturbing visions clouded his mind.
He heard Amanda’s name and glanced up at the television suspended from the ceiling. Headline News reported the breaking news that Amanda Malone, the famous Audrey girl, had been murdered. The television network used the famous photo of Amanda reposed on the chaise in the champagne-colored satin gown.
Then, as quickly as the image appeared, it was gone, replaced with a segment on some skirmish in a Middle Eastern country. By the time the news came back around in the next half hour, the network had footage of Robbie and Morgan, handcuffed, and being led into a police station. Bright camera lights illuminated Robbie’s doped-up expression, and Morgan’s defiant statement that she had nothing to do with the shootings. God, Robbie didn’t even have Martin to cover his head with a coat, to insist that his client was innocent.
News crews had been dispatched to the Buckhead house, where cameras zoomed past the iron gates for a close-up of the house. Then an attractive brunette reported that Martin was struggling to survive two gunshot wounds in the ICU of Piedmont Hospital.
He was alive? An ache in Robert’s chest flared. No wonder Martin hadn’t waited for Amanda. No doubt he would have spent eternity with her if he could. And he never would have abandoned her during that crisis. The realization made Robert feel like a heel.
Each half hour the story grew. Reporters had combed archives for photos of Martin. They’d chosen the picture of Robert and Martin at the dinner commemorating Audrey’s twenty-fifth year.
Headline News even had wedding pictures. Robert stared at the image of him with Amanda in her Versace original. That day Robert was sure his every dream had come true. How had it all gone so wrong?
Suddenly, he heard Rachel’s voice. “I don’t know any more than you do. I just want to get back to Atlanta.”
Robert glanced up at the television monitor to see his daughter trapped in a huddle of reporters, microphones with call letters waving in her face. She excused herself and attempted to push past the swarm.
As usual, she was dressed in an Audrey’s fashion, taupe gabardine slacks with a teal blue silk blouse. When she became the head buyer of the corporation, she began dressing exclusively in company merchandise, even her shoes. Robert had teased her about her loyalty to the store. And Amanda was absolutely incensed.
One time, she cornered Rachel. “Why are you wearing that cheap knock-off when you could be wearing real Donna Karan?”
Rachel had smiled sweetly and patted her mother’s cheek. “I wear Audrey’s so you can buy DKNY.”
And with those long legs and tiny waist, anything Rachel wore looked fabulous.
A news reporter blocked Rachel’s retreat. “Who told you about your mother’s murder?”
Another asked, “When is the last time you saw your brother?”
“What do you know about Morgan Hastings?” came a shout from the back.
Rachel raised her hands. “I understand your curiosity, but I’m sure the police can tell you much more than I can. Now if you’ll please excuse me, I have a flight to catch.”
Such control. Rachel was a master of diplomacy. If Robbie had been a disappointment, Rachel had been Robert’s shining legacy. She’d been born with an uncanny sense of style. When other little girls were merely playing with Barbies, Rachel was designing fashions for her dolls. She’d mix the vest from a casual outfit with the satin skirt of an evening gown. She was dressing Barbie in boots and leggings long before it became a craze.
All Rachel had needed was the business skills to go with her talent. And Robert made sure she was groomed. He’d gotten her involved in the Audrey’s empire when she was only fourteen. Even if neither Amanda nor Martin took Rachel’s emancipation probe seriously, Robert had. He took on the responsibility of her education and career from that point forward.
Rachel didn’t just follow daddy around, expecting the workers to respect her because she was the boss’s daughter. She insisted on visiting manufacturing plants that contracted with Audrey’s. She talked to the designers, the buyers, even the shoppers at different locations. The few times she made suggestions they were right on the mark.
By the time she graduated from high school, she was pals with two of his top buyers. They were calling Rachel, asking her opinion, sending her photos of new lines. When she wasn’t working at his corporate headquarters in Atlanta, she was attending Georgia State’s school of business.
Where Robbie had hated the constraints of school, Rachel loved the structure. She always studied. She’d wanted to be the smartest in her class. Like a sponge, she soaked up everything she heard, read and saw.
Robert flashed on the night he’d poked his head in her room to tell her lights out. He’d assumed she was studying, but her bed was piled with back issues of Glamour, Mademoiselle, and Vogue. Shreds from cutout pages littered her covers. On the far wall of her room, she’d taped a mix-matched collage of fashion.
“No homework?”
“Done,” she said without looking up from the page she was cutting.
“Don’t report cards come out soon?”
“Two weeks ago, Daddy.” Her lazy-eyed glance accused him of a parental blunder.
He ignored it. “And?”
“I told you I was getting all ‘A’s the last time you asked.”
He’d beamed. “Better watch it. You’ll be driving all the boys away if you keep that up.”
“Good. Boys are stupid.”
“Ah, but we’re lovable.” He’d taken another moment to check out her world. The pink canopy was gone, and he’d actually wondered if it now hung in her closet as a skirt. Most of the frou-frou Amanda had chosen was either gone or altered. The porcelain dolls from around the world had painted-on cat whiskers or handlebar moustaches. A dozen pair of shoes – black patent Mary Janes, silver slippers, pastel sandals – hung from a mobile in a corner.
Amanda was determined to make Rachel into the pretty little girl she’d seen once at the Fox Theatre during a performance of The Nutcracker. The young girl was adorable in her green velvet dress with white lace collar, a matching green velvet ribbon tying back her long golden hair. The child had nearly brought tears to Amanda’s eyes as she crooned over the lace-cuffed socks and black patent shoes.
“Oh, Robert,” she’d sighed. “I want to have a little girl just like that.”
But Rachel just wasn’t into frills. Amanda would buy ruffled blouses, and Rachel would pull the ruffles off and wear them wrapped around
her neck like a scarf. If Amanda bought a matching sweater and slacks, Rachel wore the sweater with blue jeans, or the slacks with a camouflage jacket. As a teen, she’d always dressed one step ahead of the trend.
The television camera panned back to show the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. So Rachel was in Texas, and coming home. Robert dragged himself up from his seat. The sun was up, glinting off a sleek silver jet parked at the gate.
After checking the arrivals board, he shuffled his way to gate fourteen, glancing at passengers along the way. Some wore haggard faces, like they weren’t sure how much longer they could take the travel. Others had that cocky defiance as they chattered on their Bluetooths, like they were setting off to break another record, acquire another victory.
That’s how Robert had felt. He’d always wanted to set the world on fire. So did Rachel. Standing at the wall of windows, he stared out at the empty tarmac and waited for Rachel’s flight to arrive.
CNN was still hammering away at the story. They’d dug up lots of dirt on Morgan Hastings – alias Marie Harding. She’d been suspected of shooting her mother’s lover when she was twelve year old. There was speculation that the boyfriend had abused little Marie, and when pornographic photos of her had been found, the charges were dropped. She’d been arrested for soliciting sex twice, once in Miami, once in New York.
Only Robbie could get hooked up with someone that sleazy. The way he and Morgan had talked, she was turning tricks when they met.
By now, an assistant DA in Atlanta had been interviewed. Some young hot-shot fresh out of Harvard assured the public that Robbie and Morgan would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Would Rachel even make contact with Robbie? Surely, there was no love lost between the two of them. Rachel must have resented all the attention Amanda had given him. All the broken toys, the crashed computers, the lost cell phones – replaced without so much as a reprimand. And the cars!
Rachel’s first car was a VW Beetle. Robbie’s was a BMW. And when he totaled it within the first month, Amanda had turned right around and bought him a Mercedes. The next time he wrecked, he also got a DUI and a suspended license. Robert finally put his foot down, forbade Amanda to buy Robbie another car. That’s when he started driving her Jag.
The Ups and Downs of Being Dead Page 9