Hit and Run

by Sandra Balzo

  In contrast to the marble hallway outside the door, Hart’s room was lushly carpeted. The oversized platform bed was already turned down for the evening, the lamps on the flanking ornate nightstands casting a soft glow. AnnaLise looked up, but there was no mirror overhead, as she’d smarmily expected. But then the man was nearly seventy. He’d probably had the mirrors removed with the velvet trapeze.

  To her left, the lake-facing wall of the room was floor-to-ceiling glass, opening onto a moonlit private patio. On the opposite wall was a low dresser built of the same exotic wood as the nightstands and even the small waste basket that stood next to it.

  Wanting to set the two wine glasses on the dresser, AnnaLise rescued a crumpled scrap of what looked like the Hart’s Head floor plan from the trash and flattened it with the palm of one hand to serve as a make-shift coaster.

  Placing the glasses on the paper, AnnaLise noticed a number scratched onto it in blue ink. ‘Seven-oh-two area code,’ she read. ‘Chef Debbie’s Las Vegas cellphone, perhaps?’

  Unsurprised that the old leopard hadn’t changed his age spots, AnnaLise turned to survey the rest of the room. An armless, high-backed slipper chair was positioned in the shallow corner formed by a bump-out – probably a closet – next to the entryway into the suite. Simple and sleek, the chair was much more to AnnaLise’s taste than the heavier, carved furniture in the room.

  But it was the wide hallway beyond the chair that caught her attention. Assuming it led to a spa-like bathroom, AnnaLise passed between mirror-image walk-in closets (one, alone, the size of her bedroom in Daisy’s house) and stepped into the en suite.

  The twin centerpieces of the room were a deep soaking tub/whirlpool and a bow-front shower. The tub looked big enough to allow for swimming laps, and the shower like it had been designed to decontaminate Hart after he teleported in from another planet. Each side of the room had its own granite-topped vanity and a separate room with toilet and bidet.

  Trying hard to tamp down thoughts of my mother can’t afford health insurance, while my father is living like this, AnnaLise returned to the bedroom.

  She’d assumed the wall behind the chair she’d admired was yet another big closet, but returning to the double-door entrance AnnaLise realized it actually hid a small switchback staircase. Hand on doorknob, she could just make out the film voices of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan punctuated by laughter, including – she thought – some from Dickens Hart.

  Figuring she had time to take a quick peek upstairs before Hart said good night to his guests and turned in, AnnaLise climbed the carpeted steps to find herself in a personal library. To the right of the stairs was a door.

  Opening it, AnnaLise found a wall of books. Boxes upon boxes of them, apparently not deemed worthy of being displayed on the floor-to-ceiling shelves of the impressive library. There were so many boxes she couldn’t even step into the storage room.

  Shutting that door, AnnaLise approached the bookshelves. She’d expected to find leather-bound volumes, bought for show, not for reading. But these books – hardcover and paperback, fiction and non-fiction – had been read, and many not just the once. The only furniture in the room was an overstuffed leather recliner so huge she couldn’t imagine anyone short of cyclopsed ogres wrestling the thing up the narrow stairs.

  ‘OK,’ AnnaLise said softly. ‘This setup I do covet.’ She’d never have taken Hart for a reader, but maybe a love of the written word was the one thing, other than dark hair and brown eyes, that she’d inherited from the man. She slipped a copy of Jeremiah Healy’s Blunt Darts off the bookshelf.

  A door opened below. AnnaLise returned the novel to its shelf and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, trying to ascertain whether the sound had come from out in the foyer or inside the master bedroom itself.

  To avoid further awkwardness, the proper thing would have been to call out immediately, beg forgiveness for nosing around and hightail it out of there. Unfortunately, by the time AnnaLise realized the noise had, indeed, been one of the double doors to the room opening and decided what she should do, the time to take the high road gracefully had, unfortunately and irretrievably, passed.

  The sound of something being set down. Then the creak of bed springs and … had that been a whimper? Or a groan?

  Fearful that she’d find her father out of his clothes and perhaps into … well, something – or somebody – else, AnnaLise debated staying upstairs.

  Eventually Hart would have to use the bathroom. Or fall asleep. The steps were right around the corner from the door, so she wouldn’t need more than five seconds to be down and, quite literally, out.

  In the meantime, AnnaLise would be comfortable enough up there, maybe even pass the time by reading a book.

  But luck was with her, and it wasn’t five minutes later that AnnaLise thought she heard a door close from the direction of the bathroom. Not hesitating and risk losing her chance again, AnnaLise crept down the steps.

  Near the bottom, she could just make out the sound of water running. Continuing down, AnnaLise snuck her head around the corner and, seeing no one, stepped out past the slipper chair to look down the bathroom hallway. Sure enough, the door was closed, a sliver of light showing beneath it.

  Turning to leave, AnnaLise nearly collided with the chair. She steadied herself on its high back and did a double take. A small, brightly flowered nylon bag with a black handle and shoulder strap had appeared on the seat.

  Just large enough to hold a change of clothes. And a toothbrush. Either daddy’s become a cross-dresser or he’s at it again, AnnaLise thought. And I’m betting Chef Debbie from Vegas is the unlucky woman.

  Not wanting to push her own luck, AnnaLise Griggs tiptoed to the door and, as silently as possible, let herself out.

  TWELVE

  Now standing outside the media room, AnnaLise debated going in.

  Much as she loved When Harry Met Sally, the best scenes were probably already history. Besides, given the chattering going on in the room, AnnaLise wouldn’t be able to watch the film in peace as she’d prefer, but rather be expected to make small talk.

  And, God knew, enough of that would be clogging the balance of the weekend.

  The door opened with a bump, and Shirley Hart came out.

  ‘Movie over?’ AnnaLise asked.

  ‘No, but the deli scene just concluded, and it’s been a long day.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ AnnaLise said, falling into step with her as they climbed the stairs.

  Shirley took her hand off the railing to settle an errant hank of gray-streaked hair. ‘As much as I convinced myself that this would be a lark, it is a tad irritating watching the two boys – Lucinda’s Tyler and Rose’s Eddie – try to out-audition each other. And that Sugar seems determined to rekindle something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I’m surprised Joy hasn’t knocked her block off yet.’

  ‘I think Joy’s still reeling from not having the whole sordid thing to hold over Dickens’ head any longer.’ As they reached the top of the staircase, AnnaLise said, ‘Have you spoken anymore with Lucinda?’

  ‘Meaning my “other woman”?’ Hart’s first wife asked. ‘A little – my trying to fan the flames of her anger over this “logo” work she feels Dickens stole.’

  ‘You and Joy are determined to be troublemakers, aren’t you?’

  ‘Do I detect a hint of surprise?’ Shirley asked. ‘We didn’t come this weekend to give Dickens Hart the “Ex-wives Seal of Approval,” you know. The two of us made a pact. That we’d enjoy ourselves.’

  For her part, AnnaLise was just hoping to survive. ‘Did you manage to rile Lucinda up even more than she already was?’

  A sigh. ‘Sadly, no. Apparently Mama Bear has decided not to jeopardize Baby Bear’s chances during this treasure-hunt weekend. She may well be steaming internally, but outwardly she’s as boring as ever. I remember thinking, at the time Dickens took up with her, that he must be going through a dead-fish period.’

  Shirley interrupted herself,
hooking a thumb north. ‘I’m at the end of this hallway.’

  ‘And I’m the same, but this first door on the right.’ AnnaLise nodded at it.

  ‘Across from your mother and Phyllis, while I’m opposite Joy farther down. I’m sure you noticed from the floor plan that all of the non-locals are in the south wing.’

  ‘I did.’ AnnaLise realized she’d left her diagram downstairs somewhere. ‘Do you think that’s significant?’

  A lift of an eyebrow from Shirley. ‘Only in that Dickens seems to have his game pieces positioned right where he wants them.’

  AnnaLise laughed. ‘I do like your attitude.’

  Shirley patted the younger woman’s shoulder. ‘And I, your fortitude. I divorced Hart and can choose to be done with the bastard. You’re stuck watching him play Lord of the Manor, as Joy says, for life.’

  ‘True, but at least he does it well,’ AnnaLise said. ‘And it is quite the manor.’

  ‘Without a doubt, on both counts. My only regret divorcing the cad is that I didn’t get a chance to live here.’ Shirley Hart shook her head. ‘And I was naïve enough to think I’d taken the bastard for everything he had.’

  When AnnaLise turned over the next morning, the sun was already slanting through the windows. She checked the clock on her bedside table: eight forty-six.

  After leaving Shirley Hart, AnnaLise had gotten to bed at about eleven and was just dropping off when the movie must have ended. While the vaulted foyer and Lake Room looked magnificent, noise from people heading up the stairs to their rooms echoed from the marble foyer right through the walls.

  Things had gradually quieted down, with the last straggler – Joy, since Shirley was already in her room – passing through the north wing’s hallway at about eleven-thirty. AnnaLise knew this because she’d lain watching the bedside clock’s digital numbers change for another half hour after that. Finally, approaching midnight, she’d crawled out of bed and dug through her purse for aspirin, hoping the drug would ward off the – admittedly fine – wine-induced hangover she already felt coming on.

  Coming up with two tablets, AnnaLise was padding back to bed when an engine roared out front. She’d parted the French door curtains to see a green land yacht pull up on the circle drive and hear the front door below open and close. A figure trotted down the porch steps – Nicole, almost certainly, being picked up by her grandfather.

  AnnaLise had finally fallen asleep after that, but somehow the eight hours hadn’t refreshed her. In fact, her stomach was queasy and her head ached. So much for the healing qualities of aspirin.

  But then, there was always caffeine.

  Pulling on sweats, she padded down the steps toward the dining room. With luck, everyone else would be long done with breakfast and AnnaLise could have her coffee in relative peace without seeing anybody or being seen, given the way she feared she might look.

  Alas, the one man even close to her age, Tyler Puckett, and Rose Boccaccio’s son, Eddie, were still at the breakfast table. AnnaLise couldn’t help but notice that Tyler was wearing his lanyard name badge, while Eddie wasn’t.

  She pasted a bright smile on her face. ‘Good morning!’

  ‘Happy Thanksgiving!’ Tyler said, looking up from what he was reading. ‘Like part of my paper?’

  ‘I’d love it,’ said AnnaLise, grateful that no chit-chat seemed required. ‘Just as soon as I get my coffee.’

  ‘Nicole just brought it in fresh.’ Eddie waved toward the sideboard. ‘I think there’s some toast and eggs, too, though I’m sure she’ll bring you something else if you’d like.’

  ‘Nicole’s great,’ AnnaLise said, returning to the table with her coffee. Even dry toast seemed too much to handle at this point. ‘She goes to the University of the Mountain here in Sutherton.’

  ‘Like my mom,’ Tyler said. His hair was more auburn than strawberry blonde like Lucinda’s, but he had her fine spray of freckles across the nose and cheeks and a friendly smile. ‘Did you go there, too?’

  ‘Too expensive for my “towny” blood, I’m afraid,’ AnnaLise said, tipping cream into her cup. ‘Besides, I wanted to go away to school, so I studied journalism at Wisconsin.’

  ‘The flagship campus in Madison?’ Tyler asked, passing her the Sports section. ‘They’ve got a good pre-law curriculum, not to mention a great football program.’

  But Eddie looked confused. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but why would tuition have been a problem? You are Hart’s daughter, correct?’

  ‘I am.’ AnnaLise thought she knew where this was leading. ‘Though for most of my life, I didn’t know that. Nor, in fairness, did Dickens.’

  ‘Then not so much different than Tyler or me,’ Eddie said, raking his bandaged hand from the window blow-out through thinning blond hair. ‘Assuming, of course, that the results of our DNA tests – when we have them – come out the same.’

  AnnaLise took a tentative sip of her coffee, wondering if Eddie’s gesture was natural or an attempt to mimic Dickens Hart. ‘Were you cut badly last night?’

  ‘A mere flesh wound,’ Eddie said shortly, putting the hand in his lap.

  ‘Just because Dickens didn’t want his party interrupted doesn’t mean you have to be a hero if you’re hurt,’ AnnaLise said. ‘If you need stitches or something for pain—’

  Tyler interrupted, like a ten-year-old eager to redirect the conversation to himself. ‘I can certainly understand Dickens’ desire for the weekend to go off perfectly. This is an important weekend for him. And for the three of us.’

  ‘The three of us?’ AnnaLise repeated. ‘I—’

  Tyler grinned. ‘Sorry, I meant Eddie, Lacey and me. Though now that I think about it, you’re the one who has the most to lose, while we only stand to gain.’

  ‘Potentially,’ Eddie reminded him pointedly.

  ‘But Lacey …’ AnnaLise started to say, then let her voice drift off, realizing that Hart’s vasectomy was none of their business, for now. In fact, AnnaLise wouldn’t know about it, either, if she wasn’t privy to his journals – and Joy, of course.

  Happily, Tyler took up where he thought she’d left off. ‘I know. Gotta give the old guy credit, maybe having a daughter that age.’

  ‘Hey,’ Eddie said, taking off his reading glasses. ‘Lacey’s fifteen and Hart’s sixty-eight, so he wouldn’t have been much older than I am when she was conceived.’

  ‘But, don’t you see, my—’

  ‘You think sex ends at forty?’ Eddied demanded, the pupils in his eyes getting bigger. ‘Men far older have fathered children.’

  ‘No, I mean that it’s an amazing …’

  AnnaLise jumped in. ‘Age-span between Dickens’ potential children? I agree. Between you, Eddie, and Lacey would be … thirty-six years?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Tyler said, gratefully. ‘Have to admire that kind of … of …’

  ‘Libido?’ AnnaLise suggested, her head starting to pound again. If she was to serve as both thesaurus and referee, this was shaping up to be a very long weekend.

  Happily, the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of yet another late riser – the girl they’d just been talking about.

  ‘Morning,’ Lacey said, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy toddler. ‘Am I too late for breakfast?’

  ‘Nope. And you’re only a few minutes behind me,’ AnnaLise said.

  ‘I’m not much of an early riser,’ Lacey said. ‘Ooh, toast!’

  ‘Eggs, too,’ Eddie said, as he had when AnnaLise arrived. ‘Though I’m not sure how hot they are anymore.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Lacey said. ‘Toast and juice is fine.’

  She stacked two pieces of toast on a plate and added marble-sized balls of butter. ‘Do we have jam?’

  ‘In there,’ Tyler said, pointing toward what looked like a Waterford crystal jelly jar.

  ‘Oh,’ Lacey said, picking up the tiny spoon. ‘This is so cute. But I was just looking for those little jam packets to take back to our room.’

  ‘You’re not going to join us?
’ AnnaLise was disappointed. The presence of the teenager might save the reporter from further discussion of her biological father’s profile, biologically speaking, anyway.

  ‘I’m not really presentable,’ Lacey said, looking down at her pajama pants and baggy T-shirt.

  ‘That’s OK,’ AnnaLise said. ‘I’m in sweats.’

  ‘Oh, let the kid go,’ Tyler said, with a wink at Lacey. ‘She obviously doesn’t want to sit here with us geezers.’

  Lacey looked sheepish. ‘It’s not that, really. I just—’

  ‘Go run along, tadpole,’ Eddie said, waving his hand. ‘Your mother went for a walk on the lake with the rest of the group.’

  ‘You all didn’t want to join them?’ Lacey asked, spooning jam on the edge of her plate and then getting a juice glass.

  ‘My mother came knocking at my door, waking me out of a sound sleep.’ Tyler yawned. ‘But I prefer to ease into my mornings.’

  ‘Same,’ Eddie said. ‘I woke just in time to see the hikers heading out across the back lawn.’

  ‘I even missed that,’ AnnaLise admitted. ‘Your mother must be an early riser, Lacey.’

  ‘She is. Though, like I said, I’m just the opposite.’ The girl picked up her juice and plate, seeming uncertain how to make a graceful exit.

  ‘You’re excused,’ AnnaLise said with a smile. ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’

  ‘Nice kid.’ Tyler was watching her leave. ‘Bet she’s wishing she brought a friend along for the weekend.’

  ‘She did – her mother.’ AnnaLise felt herself redden. ‘Sorry, that was catty. It’s just that Sugar doesn’t look much older than Lacey.’

  ‘She doesn’t act it, either.’ Eddie slipped his reading glasses back on. ‘The mother went off hiking this morning in a short plaid skirt and thigh-high knee socks.’

  ‘Clueless,’ AnnaLise said. ‘The movie, I mean. Nineteen ninety-five, Alicia Silverstone?’