Instead, she started walking toward the street corner. Maybe she’d heard him wrong. Maybe he was waiting around the block. Maybe he’d gotten caught up somewhere. Maybe she should meet him at home. She turned the corner—no black Packard. She sighed, pressed the flat of her hand against her stomach. She scanned the street, looking for a taxi. She was being silly. She would take a taxi. This was no reason to panic.
She hailed a cab, and it pulled up on the other side of the street. She glanced both ways and then stepped off the curb, her right foot hovering in the air.
From the left came the revving of an engine, then the squealing of tires. Her head jerked to the left, but all she could see were blinding headlights coming straight for her. Adrenaline flooded her veins. She tried to hop back onto the curb but lost her balance on the freshly fallen snow, arms flailing frantically. She fell back hard on her heel as the car came to a screeching stop on the street in front of her. The passenger-side door flew open.
“Vivian, Jesus! What in the hell are you doing?”
She pressed one hand to her chest, feeling the outline of the keys against her palm. Charlie. Her breath came fast.
“What the hell am I doing? What the hell are you doing? You nearly ran me down!”
Charlie scowled at her. “Don’t be so melodramatic. I told you to wait where I’d dropped you—right in front of the building.”
“I did wait there. I waited there for ten minutes.”
“Get in.”
They drove in silence until they were almost back to Vivian’s house. She stared out the window, silently fuming. Her heart had slowed to a reasonable pace. She’d thought her time was up for a moment there. She’d been convinced in that second that her father had been murdered and that person who had killed her father, pushed Della in front of that streetcar, and cut Martin’s brake lines had finally come for her.
“I’m sorry, Viv.” Charlie’s voice was soft. Vivian turned to him, eyes narrowed. He took his eyes from the road to meet hers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. But I pulled up in front of the building and you weren’t there, and then I saw you hurrying away from me up the street and I…panicked.” Viv’s mood softened slightly.
“It’s all right.” She sighed. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d panicked a bit too. She couldn’t wait for all of this to be over. All of this excitement had long since worn out its welcome. There was no glamour in danger, despite what she’d thought a few days ago.
“Rough show?”
“No. Actually, it went much better than expected. An almost-perfect performance.”
“Congratulations.”
“Congratulations go to Graham. It was his baby.” Vivian glanced out the window again. “You should have seen it. It was something.”
Charlie grunted. “I hear congratulations are in order for something else too.”
“What’s that?”
“Your engagement.”
Oh no, she thought. Her head snapped back toward him. “Where on earth did you hear that?”
“So it’s true?”
“Of course it’s not true. Wherever did you hear such a thing?”
“I hear it was on the radio. Some gossip-show hosts announcing it and offering both you and Graham their felicitations.”
He wasn’t looking at her. His tone was light, but she watched his jaw work. It hadn’t occurred to her that Charlie would hear that stupid rumor—or that he might take it seriously.
“Oh, Charlie. Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “It’s just a publicity thing. I don’t know a thing about it. I’m as surprised about my engagement as you are.” She laughed, but Charlie didn’t.
“So there is an engagement?”
“No…” She flapped her hands in front of her, flustered. “Charlie, of course there isn’t.”
She’d forgotten that he didn’t know that Graham wasn’t and had never been a threat for her affections. Seen in this light, it was a bit endearing, this jealousy.
“Charlie…” She reached out and ran her fingertip lightly around his ear. He flinched away from her. She sat up straighter, suddenly alarmed. He was serious about this. “You believe me, don’t you?”
He shrugged and looked away. After a few tense moments of silence, he cleared his throat.
“I was late picking you up because I went to see a chemist about that plant. The odollam.”
The odollam. She hadn’t asked him to do that. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to tell him to stop, that she didn’t want to hear it, but nothing came out of her mouth. Charlie continued.
“It’s not something to be trifled with. It’s an extremely poisonous plant that grows mainly in India. They call it the suicide plant. Mash it up and slip it into something spicy, and you wouldn’t know it’s there. Looks like a heart attack, I’m told.”
Her hands had grown cold inside her expensive fur-lined gloves.
Something spicy. “Looks like a heart attack,” she whispered.
“Yes, I was told it’s a good thing it’s virtually unavailable outside of Asia.”
But it’s not completely unavailable, is it?
Della had had that terrible plant growing in Freddy’s office, her father’s office, all along. That terrible plant that someone could mash up into something spicy and someone else would never know it was there. Spicy, like what? Her father avoided spicy foods because of his indigestion. Then it hit her. Oh God. Spicy, like a Bloody Mary. Vivian had handed her father the Bloody Mary that night. She’d handed him the poison that had killed him. She hadn’t known and she knew it wasn’t her fault, but her stomach twisted painfully with guilt all the same.
She bit her lip against the tears that threatened. It was no use thinking this now, and crying certainly wouldn’t help. If her father had been poisoned, it had happened eight years ago. What could they do about it now? Nothing, that’s what. They certainly couldn’t prove it. And if they couldn’t even prove he’d been poisoned, how would they ever find who’d poisoned him? The frustration welled up in her. She clenched her fists in her lap.
“And I’m afraid there can never be any proof, no matter what we may suspect,” he said softly.
Charlie pulled the car to the curb in front of her house, then reached over and squeezed her leg in sympathy.
“Let’s drop it, Charlie,” she said, sliding over to him on the bench seat. “Please. All of it.”
She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. He nodded slightly. Then she pressed her lips to his. He returned her kiss with enthusiasm, and the hand on her thigh slid up under her skirt. She pulled away, breathing heavily. All she wanted was Charlie. She wanted him to make her forget everything about her father, everything about Graham, everything in the world.
“Come on.” She pulled him by the lapels as she jerked her head toward the coach house.
Charlie’s brow furrowed.
“You told Yarborough it was over,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I…” Vivian sat back on the bench seat, glancing out her window. She didn’t want to lie to Charlie, but she hadn’t told Graham it was over, had she? No, she’d done the opposite.
Vivian looked at Charlie, his strong profile backlit by the streetlights. This was absurd. She wanted to tell him the truth, but how could she? She’d promised to continue the ruse, so she’d couldn’t renege on it now. It could mean Graham’s career—even his life, in the worst-case scenario—if any hint of this got out. But surely, if she could tell anyone it would be Charlie.
“It’s strictly for the show,” she said, speaking slowly so there could be no mistaking her meaning. “It’s a fake relationship for publicity. It’s always been fake.”
He gripped the steering wheel.
“Present tense,” he said. “It is a fake relationship.”
Vivian sighed. She didn’t want to talk about thi
s. She didn’t want to talk at all.
“Maybe this was a mistake, Viv.”
“What?”
“All of this. Us. I don’t want to play this game.” He turned to look pointedly at her, a vertical line between his brows.
“It’s no game,” she said. “And it’s not a mistake.”
“I don’t want to be your second choice. The secret you hide from the respectable crowd.”
“Oh, Charlie, you’ve got it all wrong.” But her mind immediately moved to the evening before. Charlie had happened upon a party she was throwing without him. A roomful of people, her friends, coworkers—none of which she would introduce him to. He was a secret, Vivian thought, but only temporarily. She needed time to work all of this out. He needed to give her time.
“Have I got it all wrong? Are you still seeing Yarborough?”
“I’m not seeing him. It’s…well, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Charlie asked slowly, his voice carefully controlled.
“Well, I can’t just throw Graham over,” she said. She thought of Banks and Langley. Their stern, reasonable lecture. “What would the papers say?”
She regretted the words the second they came out of her mouth. She watched Charlie’s fingers grip the steering wheel once, hard, then relax.
He turned to fix her with a long, hard stare before saying in such a low voice that Vivian almost couldn’t hear him, “I don’t want you for what you can do for me, Viv. I want you for you, and I think that should be worth something.”
Vivian swallowed, unable to speak for a long moment. “It is worth something, Charlie,” she whispered. “It’s worth everything.”
She held his blue-green gaze, feeling her resolve give way little by little. After all, she’d been willing to chuck her career two months ago when the whole fake relationship with Graham had been proposed. Before she’d agreed to make that deal. Then again, things were different now. She was a star. People recognized her on the street and wanted her autograph. She would go with the show to Hollywood. Then surely a screen test. The pictures. Everything she’d ever dreamed of. Surely, she could have both that and Charlie. Yes, she would tell him. She had to. She was certain she could trust Charlie.
“There are some things you don’t understand,” she said. And she knew immediately that it was precisely the wrong way to begin.
Charlie snorted. “Oh yes, how could I ever understand your complicated world of show business intrigue and backstabbing?”
“Charlie—”
“Think about what you want, Viv.”
You, she thought. I want you. But the words wouldn’t come out, and something told her that he wouldn’t understand if they did. He wouldn’t compromise. It was all or nothing with him. And if she told him that she had to continue the public ruse with Graham, even for another minute, then he would choose the nothing.
“I want you to come in with me, Charlie,” she said. Her voice was little more than a whisper.
He didn’t answer. He continued to stare icily out the windshield as if he hadn’t heard.
So she opened the car door and paused, completely at a loss for what to do. She glanced up and saw that Everett’s bedroom light was on. She walked up the wide limestone steps to the main house and pulled open the door. Charlie didn’t pull immediately away, but she forced herself to keep looking forward, not to turn back. Then she heard the engine rev, and the car pulled away from the curb.
Her mind was already formulating a plan. Everything would be fine. She’d call Charlie tomorrow and explain everything. All of it. She’d grovel if she had to. She wasn’t letting Charlie Haverman disappear from her life again. He would understand. He had to. Everything would be fine, she told herself. But as soon as she closed the front door behind her, she burst into tears.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The doorbell rang, and Vivian’s pulse quickened. It had to be Charlie. He’d come back after all. She turned and swung the front door wide. “I’m sorry!” tumbled from her lips. Damn her pride.
But it wasn’t Charlie standing on the threshold. It was Uncle Freddy. The short hairs immediately rose on the back of her neck. She glanced away, unable to meet his gaze.
“Viv, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She sniffed, wiping at her eyes.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“No,” she said, pushing the door closed automatically. “I mean, this isn’t the best time.”
He stopped the door with his palm and slid inside before she could react. Her hands had gone cold.
“It’s going to have to be the right time. We need to finish our talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
Freddy ignored her and walked straight to the liquor cabinet in the den. He said nothing as he mixed two drinks. Vivian watched him with trepidation. All she wanted to do was bury her head in a pillow. She certainly didn’t want to talk to Freddy about her father. She wasn’t in the mood to ease his conscience about anything.
“Here,” he said, handing her the drink. “It looks like you need it. Bad night?”
Vivian sighed, looking down into the amber liquid. “You could say that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not especially.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out about any of this. I tried my damnedest to keep you away from it. That’s what your father would have wanted.”
“Is that why you and Oskar pretended not to know each other?”
He glanced quickly at her, then walked over toward the fireplace and looked into the darkened hearth for a moment.
“Oskar,” he said with a snort. “What’s he playing at with Julia?”
“He says he cares for her.”
Freddy’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “That and a nickel will get you a cup of coffee.”
Vivian watched as he looked over the Christmas cards displayed on the mantel. He paused on the one signed Freddy and Pauline. He reached out and touched the front with his fingertips, then drew his hand back.
Freddy looked at her for a long moment, and then his face softened. “He did all of this for you, you know.”
“Me?”
“For you, Everett, your mother…for this…” He held his hands out to either side to indicate the lavish den. The house in general.
To give Mother the life she’d been accustomed to, Vivian thought.
“He would’ve done anything for you, for his family.”
“And it got him killed.”
Freddy’s eyes widened, and then he shook his head. “It was a heart attack. A long-overdue heart attack.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She waited for the silence to weigh on him, on his conscience. After a moment, he lifted his head. He sighed heavily.
“Arthur was going to the feds of his own free will. And once he did it that…” He held up his hands, and then his gaze shifted to the floor.
Vivian didn’t say anything. Killed, murdered, she thought. Those harsh words ran a loop in her head. The syndicate was violent. Capone was violent. She thought of the crime-scene photos on the front of the newspaper and shivered—the pools of blood under the bullet-mangled corpses. What had Caputto said—that it had been a good way to end the game and that he’d seen much worse?
Poison, on the other hand, was intimate. Inheritance powder, they called it in the papers. Poison was usually used within the family. She stared into the amber liquid in the glass Freddy had given her. Her stomach turned, and she set it on the side table with a thunk.
Freddy glanced up at the sound.
“I’ll tell you the truth…” he said. “And this is the truth. A man came to me shortly after I found out about Arthur’s intentions. Some punk I’d never seen before came to see me. Told me that the whole family—your whole family—was caput i
f I didn’t take care of Arthur before he talked to the feds.”
“What?”
“Said they’d make it look like a gas line exploded in the middle of the night. The whole house…this house…up in smoke, with all of you sleeping peacefully inside.”
Vivian’s mouth went dry.
“Don’t you see? Arthur needed to go. They knew he was in contact with the feds. They also needed it to look like an accident… It needed to arouse no suspicion. Arthur was too high-profile to gun down in the street like a dog.”
Vivian winced.
“So…you’re telling me you killed him quietly as a favor to us?” She started to back away, hands protectively held up in front of her chest as if to ward off a blow.
He shook his head.
“No, Viv. God, no. I told the man that Arthur was like a brother to me, and I couldn’t kill him. I said I’d talk Arthur out of going to the feds. If I kept him quiet, there was no need to kill anyone.”
Vivian stared at him in incredulity.
“I swear.” He crossed his index finger over his heart.
“And you talked to my father?”
“I tried. I took him out for a drink the night he died. There was no reasoning with him. He wanted to be a better man, Viv. He was ashamed of what he’d done, the way he’d behaved, the type of people he’d associated with. You were becoming a lovely young woman, he said. He said you were acting out, and it was all his fault for not being the kind of man you could look up to. And it would start to matter soon what kind of man your father was.”
She thought of the coming-out discussion they’d had. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Please don’t say you did it for me, Freddy. Please.”
“I didn’t do it at all, Viv. I’m a spineless coward. I couldn’t talk him out of it, and I couldn’t kill him to save his family or myself.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know. I was petrified. I thought I’d get a phone call in the middle of the night telling me you were all dead. And then I’d be next.”
Vivian stared at him.
Homicide for the Holidays Page 29