by Jane Haddam
Peter Desarian looked up when Gregor came in and smiled. “Gregor,” he said. “I was wondering where everybody had gone to. Isn’t this Bennis Hannaford’s apartment?”
“I live upstairs,” Gregor said.
“Donna lives upstairs,” Peter said. “God. Everybody lives on top of everybody else around here. How can Donna stand it?”
“The last I heard, Donna was having a fairly good time.”
“It’s Tommy we have to think about.” Peter picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. He made a face and put the cup down again. “You know, before all this happened, I never thought about it. But environment matters. It matters a lot. Environment can make all the difference.”
Heredity can make all the difference, Gregor wanted to say. Saying something like this was the intellectual equivalent of saying that grass was green.
“Is there something about Cavanaugh Street you suddenly don’t like as an environment for Tommy?” Gregor asked.
Peter Desarian sat up very straight. “I haven’t been taking my responsibilities seriously up to now,” he said solemnly. “I realize that. I should have been much more careful. But I was very young when, you know, when Donna and I—”
“I know how young you were,” Gregor said. “I was living in this building when Tommy was born.”
“I was afraid of responsibility,” Peter Desarian said. “I admit that now. I was afraid of responsibility. But it never occurred to me that Donna didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“Didn’t know that it wasn’t permanent,” Peter said. “Didn’t know that I’d come back for her someday. I mean, it was only a matter of time.”
“When Donna got pregnant with Tommy, you disappeared. When you were found, you wanted her to have an abortion.”
“I was panicking,” Peter said. “I haven’t said I wasn’t panicking.”
“So what are you doing now?” Gregor asked. “Donna is just hours away from getting married, and here you are. What do you want?”
Peter looked confused. “I want to stop it, of course. Didn’t Donna tell you? I thought she told everyone.”
“You want to stop the wedding.”
“Yes. Right. Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because Donna doesn’t love him, that’s why,” Peter said. “She couldn’t possibly. He’s a policeman.”
“He’s a lawyer. He used to be a homicide detective. He is not now, nor has he ever been, Clancy on the beat.”
“I don’t care,” Peter said. “She doesn’t love him. And it wouldn’t be good for Tommy, growing up with a man like that. After all, Tommy is my son.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Peter said. “Donna was a virgin when I met her. I could tell.”
It figures, Gregor thought.
Peter stood up. He wasn’t wearing pajamas or a robe, just a pair of Ralph Lauren bikini briefs. He seemed to think it was perfectly natural to stand there like that, half naked.
“I have to tell you, Gregor,” he said, “I’m not going to sit still and let this happen. Donna doesn’t want to marry this man. If she did, nothing could stop her. But I can stop her. And I will.”
“For Tommy’s sake,” Gregor said.
“I’ve got to get dressed,” Peter said. “I’ve got to go up and talk to Donna. I don’t want to leave it to the last minute.”
“I wouldn’t go up and talk to Donna now,” Gregor said. “Her mother’s up there. You’ll get thrown out.”
Peter Desarian broke out in a big grin. “Thanks for the advice. Donna’s mother is a gorgon. I’m glad somebody around here can see reason. God, the way Bennis has been going on, you’d think she wanted Donna to marry some low-rent cop and spend the rest of her life making corned beef and cabbage for Wednesday night dinner. What’s wrong with you people anyway?”
3.
There was nothing wrong with anyone on Cavanaugh Street, Gregor decided ten minutes later, that a little prudent homicide wouldn’t cure. After he had left Peter in Bennis’s apartment, he had gone up to his own and thrown on some clothes. These were not the clothes he was supposed to wear to the wedding, only a few hours away, but hack-around things he almost never wore, that were easy to put on. They allowed him to get to the street before he would ordinarily have been able to get out of his bedroom. He walked up the sidewalk toward Holy Trinity Church humming softly to himself. In the three days since the arrest of Julianne Corbett, Donna (or somebody) had gone all-out. Now everything in sight was wrapped in white and silver satin. The windows all had bows in them, even his own. The trash cans were concealed under silver plastic bags.
The front of Holy Trinity Armenian Christian Church looked like a big white cake, two inches thick with icing. Gregor passed it by and went around the back through the little courtyard that led to Tibor’s apartment. Donna didn’t usually bother to decorate back there, except for Christmas. The courtyard couldn’t be seen from the street. This time she had wrapped every tree branch in ribbons and even made a big papier-mâché display of candles for the courtyard’s unused little birdbath. Tibor didn’t fill the birdbath because, as he put it, “I do not like providing appetizers for cats.”
Tibor’s door opened immediately, as if Tibor had been sitting right behind it, waiting for Gregor to turn up.
“Krekor,” Tibor said, ushering him into the realm of darkness and books. “I am glad to see you. It has been a very bad morning. Did Bennis tell you? Peter Desarian is here.”
“Bennis told me. I just came from talking to him. He was sleeping in Bennis’s apartment.”
Tibor frowned. “Bennis didn’t do something stupid? To make sure, you understand, that Donna got the point.”
It took Gregor a few moments to understand what Tibor was getting at. Then he blushed. “For goodness sake,” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous, Krekor. I know Bennis. I also know Russ. He has been in the church since six o’clock this morning.”
“Six o’clock? Why?”
“He says he does not want to be late.”
“Oh, boy,” Gregor said. He marched into Tibor’s living room and threw a stack of books off Tibor’s club chair. The stack of books was topped by Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, in German. There was another stack of books on the chair, topped with Diana: The Untold Story.
“Since when have you been interested in the British royals?” Gregor asked.
“I am interested in fairy-tale weddings. Krekor, please. You must listen to me. We must do something about Peter.”
“I know.”
“You know? You are giving me no argument?”
“I am giving you no argument,” Gregor said. “The man is a first-class bastard. It’s about the only thing he’s first class at.”
“You will take my suggestion, then? You will arrest him?”
“No,” Gregor said. “I can’t arrest him. I couldn’t even arrest Julianne Corbett, and she’d actually done something to be arrested for.”
“There is such a thing as a citizen’s arrest,” Tibor said. “I have seen this on television, Krekor.”
“I know. Let me think. We need Bennis.”
“Bennis will be glad to help.”
“Let me think,” Gregor repeated. Out in the courtyard there was the sound of bells. Church bells, Gregor realized, and then it hit him. It was later than he’d thought. It was getting very close to the wedding. He wasn’t even dressed.
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he said aloud.
“Excuse me, Krekor?”
“Never mind,” Gregor said. “Listen. You have to do a few things for me, all right?”
“If I can. I have to get dressed. To officiate. I have to do it soon, because—”
“I know, I know. Now, listen. You give me about five minutes after I leave here. Then you call Donna Moradanyan. Insist on speaking to Donna herself, not her mother.”
“Krekor, I do not speak
to Donna’s mother unless I am required to. Especially not with the wedding as it has gotten so close.”
“Okay. So talk to Donna. If you get Bennis herself, tell her to go to my apartment immediately. If you get Donna, tell her to tell Bennis to go to my apartment immediately, and then tell her to meet you here, in your apartment, right away.”
“But why?”
“How am I supposed to know why? Make something up. I just want to get her out of Peter’s way. She can bring her mother here.”
“Thank you very much, Krekor.”
“Do you want a wedding to go off in this church today, or what?”
“I want a wedding between Donna and Russell. I do not want a wedding between Donna and Peter.”
“You can’t have a wedding between Donna and Peter, Tibor. They’d have to have blood tests. It takes two weeks.”
“Krekor—”
“Just do what I told you to do,” Gregor said. “I’ll see you at the church. For the wedding.”
4.
Less than three minutes later, Bennis Hannaford walked into her own apartment, lit her fourteenth cigarette of the morning, and looked Peter Desarian over like a side of prime beef. He was dressed to look like a male model on the cover of the J. Crew catalogue, and it suited him. As far as anything suited him. Bennis was of the opinion that what she ought to do about the Peter Situation, as it presently stood, was to burn the hell out of his face with one of her cigarettes. That would keep him out of circulation until the plastic surgery had healed.
Peter was not smoking. He didn’t smoke. He was afraid it would stain his teeth.
“I hope you haven’t come to try to talk me out of it again,” he said. “I know your opinion of my position, Bennis, and I don’t want to hear it again.”
“I haven’t come to try to talk you out of it. I came because Donna sent me. She wants to talk to you.”
“She does? She’s at the church, isn’t she? I heard her come downstairs a little while ago. With her mother.” Peter made a face.
“Donna’s mother is at the church,” Bennis said. “Donna is downstairs in old George Tekemanian’s apartment. It’s like I said. She wants to talk to you.”
“Alone,” Peter said.
“Why don’t you ask her, Peter? I really haven’t spent my time this morning wondering what it is that Donna is going to do about you.”
“Really?” Peter asked nastily. “Funny, I’d have thought that was exactly what you’d spent your time wondering about.”
“She’s downstairs in old George’s apartment,” Bennis said. “Come or not. Take your pick. In case you haven’t been looking at the clock, there isn’t very much more time.”
“There’s all the time in the world,” Peter said firmly. “There isn’t going to be any wedding.”
Bennis walked out of her own living room, across her own foyer, out her own front door. She stood on the second floor landing and listened to the silence above her. Donna was gone. Donna’s mother was gone. Donna’s father was over at the church, trying to get Russell Donahue to stop pacing. Bennis went down the stairs to old George Tekemanian’s apartment. Old George was sitting in the middle of his living room in his yellow wing chair, dressed in white tie and tails and helping Gregor Demarkian on with his black bow tie.
“Well?” Gregor asked.
“I don’t know,” Bennis said.
“It will be fine,” old George said. “You will see.”
“I hope it will be fine,” Bennis said. “You saw how Donna was. We can’t let him get near her.”
There was a sound outside on the landing. The three of them looked at one another. Old George got out of his chair faster than he had in twenty years and headed for the bedroom.
“Quick,” he said. “Get out of sight. Here he comes.”
Old George disappeared into the bedroom. Gregor disappeared into the kitchen. There was a knock on the door, and Bennis Hannaford answered it. She had to take a deep breath to keep herself from screaming.
“Here I am,” Peter Desarian said, leaning against the doorjamb. “Where’s the lovely Donna?”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
“Which way is the kitchen?”
Bennis motioned right. The kitchen was mostly dark. There was only one small light burning above the stove. Peter stuck his hands into his fashionably wrinkled jeans and went on in.
Gregor Demarkian was standing just behind the swinging kitchen door, barely breathing. When Peter came through, looking left and right and up and down for a tall blond girl in a wedding dress, Gregor swung out from behind the door, grabbed Peter by the shoulders, and spun him around.
“What the hell?” Peter said.
Peter was younger than Gregor, and stronger, and more athletic, but Gregor had surprise and training on his side. He got Peter pivoted around in front of the open pantry door. Then he raised his foot, planted it on Peter’s rear end, and kicked.
“What the hell,” Peter said again.
When he stumbled forward, he fell. Bennis leapt into the kitchen and slammed the pantry door shut. Then she threw the bolt.
“Goodness,” Bennis said. “And old George thought Martin and Angela were so stupid, building him this pantry.”
Old George stuck his head through the kitchen door. “It was because Angela was watching PBS,” he said. “She saw a program about old people who die of starvation because they imagine that their food is being poisoned. It is impossible to explain to Angela that old age and Alzheimer’s disease are not one and the same thing.”
Bennis tried the door. “It doesn’t feel too solid,” she said.
“Let me the hell out of here,” Peter said on the other side of the door.
“It will hold as long as it has to,” Gregor told Bennis and old George. “Let’s get out of here. We have to go to a wedding.”
“Your tie is not yet tied,” old George Tekemanian said.
“Let me out of here or I’ll sue somebody,” Peter said. “Goddammit. I mean it. I’ll sue somebody.”
“He can sue me,” old George Tekemanian said. “By the time the case comes to court, I will be so old, I will have all the sympathy vote.”
Gregor took a stab at finishing off his bow tie, and ruined the thing altogether.
5.
Cavanaugh Street had been blocked off to traffic by order of the Philadelphia Police Department, but it was full of people. Gregor didn’t think he had ever seen so many women in pastel silk dresses. Donna’s many bridesmaids—there seemed to be hundreds of them, but Gregor knew that wasn’t possible—were milling around at the front of the church, waiting to march in. Lida Arkmanian was walking around in a straw cartwheel hat that Gregor thought ought to have been piled with plastic fruit. It was a beautiful June day, bright and warm without being too hot. It would have been terrible if it had turned out to be rainy and wretched the way it was that last afternoon with Julianne Corbett.
Gregor made himself stop thinking about Julianne Corbett and went up the church steps into the vestibule. Russ Donahue was waiting there, looking pale. The only good thing to have come out of the Julianne Corbett mess was the way Karla Parrish and Evan Walsh were getting along. A lot more good could come out of this wedding. Gregor put a hand on Russ Donahue’s shoulder.
“Relax,” he told him. “You’ll be fine.”
“Have you seen Donna?” Russ asked. “Is she all right? Is she really going to go through with this?”
“Of course she’s going to go through with this,” Gregor said.
“All week I’ve been thinking she was on the verge of changing her mind,” Russ said. “It’s been making me crazy. And here we are. Here I am. You know what I mean.”
“We’ve been here all morning,” the young man who was serving as Russ’s best man said. “He got me out of a sound sleep at four. Four.”
“Oh, God,” Russ groaned. “Who cares what time it was?”
Gregor would have cared what time it was if somebody had woken him up at fo
ur o’clock in the morning. He didn’t say so. Bennis was running up the church steps into the vestibule, trying to hold the train of her dress high enough up off the ground to keep it from getting dirty.
“They’re going to start ringing the last church bells any minute now,” she said. “Come, you two. Get up to the front of the church. And, Gregor. Do something about that tie.”
“I’m supposed to go up to the front of the church?” Gregor asked.
Bennis shook her head impatiently. “The two of them are. That tie is unraveling or something. I’ve got to go.”
She went. Gregor went too, into the church and the second pew from the front on the bride’s side, where old George Tekemanian was already waiting. The church was nearly full. On Russ’s side there seemed to be the entire population of the Homicide Division. They all wore the same navy blue suit, like a wedding uniform.
Up at the front, Gregor suddenly spied a glimpse of Donna Moradanyan herself, adjusting her veil. It was impossible to see her face, the veil covered it, but the set of her shoulders was very reassuring: not panicked anymore, not hesitant, not unsure. In the Armenian church the bride and the groom came up the aisle together. Donna would have to go around the church’s side or through Tibor’s apartment to get where she was supposed to be.
But it was where she was supposed to be, Gregor thought.
And finally, for the first time since the decorating had started for this wedding, he was no longer depressed at the idea of Donna Moradanyan, or anybody else, getting married.
Elizabeth would have loved to be present at a wedding like this.
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