Blind Trust (Blind Justice Book 2)

by Adam Zorzi

  “It's so complicated. Plus, you have time zone changes. You're amazing.” He took her hands. “LouLou, you can relax now. I'm here. I'll walk with you so you'll get some exercise and fresh air and remind you to eat. I can't do anything about stress, but I'm here. For whatever you need.”

  “I need you, Gregg.”

  “Then you'll be fine.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-TWO

  She slipped into her mother's room early the next morning. Her mother was sitting next to the window, close to her father's dressing room. There was a tea trolley next to her. Orchid was in her lap.

  LouLou folded herself in her mother's arms. For once, Orchid didn't hiss at her as the interloper. They held each other silently. LouLou finally pulled back and looked at her mom. She'd changed. LouLou knew she was being fanciful, but her mother looked like she'd passed from her former life into a new, lonelier self. Part of her spirit was missing.

  “Mom, have you eaten?”

  Her mother waved at the tea trolley. “Tea, some toast. Have some. You need it to go with your meds.”

  LouLou poured herself coffee and put jam on a slice of toast. Some of her appetite had returned.

  “I want to talk to you about plans for services. I won't be pressured into making any decisions, and I want to discuss them with you.”

  “Anything, Mom.”

  “I simply cannot bear the thought of watching my husband being lowered into the ground. I don't care that women do it every day. I'm not one of them. I can't. Your father and I made funeral arrangements when your dad turned sixty. We left it to each other to decide what we could bear, but whatever we decided would be private. Your dad said he would appreciate a memorial service for his colleagues at Georgetown and in foreign service sometime. Not immediately and nothing showy.

  “That's who he was. He was proud of his work, and he knew there was protocol to follow. He liked that. There were rules for almost everything. He said guidelines for memorial services for ambassadors are just that. Guidelines. Nothing hard and fast. He wanted formality but not pomp.”

  LouLou agreed. That's exactly who her father was—polite, serious, and unpretentious with outsiders and a happy, loving man with his family and close friends.

  “LouLou,” she said as she stroked Orchid, “I'd like for him to be cremated when the coroner has finished his examination and to ask Deirdre to take his ashes immediately to their family mausoleum in Montreal. I feel no need to accompany her. I don't know what you'd like to do. I just don't want to sit through a ceremony of any sort until the memorial service. I can't, LouLou. I simply can not.”

  Her mother was devastated. She, who had risen to duty as the wife of an ambassador in every circumstance, couldn't do this. She didn't want to watch the earthly door shut on her husband.

  “I understand. I don't want to sit through a service, but I would if you wanted.”

  “I don't, LouLou.”

  LouLou reached for her mother's soft, beautifully manicured hands. “You don't have to. I think Tante Deirdre would be honored to do this for him.”

  “Then I'll tell Collin that's the plan. I don't want to receive condolence callers at a specific time. Close friends can visit, as they have been. I invite them or they call before they come. Do you want to see any friends?”

  “No, Mom. My DC friends have scattered. My close friends are in Richmond now.”

  Her mother closed her eyes. She looked exhausted. “We'll talk about a memorial service later. There's no urgency.”

  LouLou nodded.

  Her mother sighed as if she were steeling herself for resistance. “There is something else important. I want to leave this house immediately. I don't want to live in this enormous home that was already too big for two of us. Your dad and I were planning to move to a condo either here or in Paris or both. We didn't want to be too far from you. Now, I simply won't stay where an unsolved murder or possible terrorist assassination occurred.

  “Terrorists? Mom, that's horrifying. Do the investigators think killing Dad sent some kind of message? Are we targets?”

  “The investigators are leaning toward some sort of terrorist act. They think there are French connections, but they don't know who or why or how. The only place I can bear to be is your dad's dressing room. I've been sleeping on the divan there surrounded by his clothes, the smell of him, and things he touched daily. He has photos of the two of us and the three of us I find comforting.

  “As for the investigators, I don't think they know anything.” She reached to touch LouLou's hand. “I don't think we're in danger, and we have a lot of security surrounding us. The security team will brief you any time you ask. Don't let this upset you unnecessarily. I think they're grasping at straws, but I want to get out of this house as fast as our things can be packed.

  “I plan to pack your dad's things and mine and be ready to leave when Deirdre heads for Montreal with the cremains. I'll sell the house furnished just as we bought it. Paintings, family things, and books can be packed and stored. I'll stay with Collin and Liz in Middleburg until I decide what to do. That's as far as I can get.”

  “Mom, that's plenty. Once you're out of here and living with Uncle Collin and Liz, I'll feel better about you. I don't want to think of you alone or in danger.”

  “Is all of this okay with you? Do you want anything from the house? The piano?”

  “I'll check. I'll take things from my room and the music room, but all my memories are in my heart. They're not in objects. I don't know that I need two grand pianos.”

  “Need and want are different. It might be nice to have two for recording or teaching or playing duets. It's up to you. You know what's best.”

  Decoded to mean only LouLou knew whether she could injure herself if she had a psychotic episode in her loft. It was minimally furnished with soft pieces and rounded edges specifically to protect her. Two pianos might be one too many.

  Her mother cried softly. “I love you, LouLou. I think you're the best of each of us.”

  LouLou put her head on her mother's shoulder and still held her hand. “I think so too.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-THREE

  Discomfort gnawed at her. The timing was terrible, but LouLou didn't want any more family secrets.

  “Mom,” said LouLou as she sat back, “I want to update you on my adoption.”

  Her mother looked baffled.

  “This isn't a great time, but I want you to know I saw Dan Ramsay. His doctor contacted mine. He doesn't know my phone number or where I live.

  “He asked to meet, and I agreed to have coffee with him at Ginter Gardens, where I wouldn't feel trapped. He wanted to tell me his story. He never knew his girlfriend was pregnant. I listened and that was that. He gave me CDs that she recorded and he asked if he could come to one of my shows. I told him I have a Sick world and a normal world and he's part of the Sick. I don't see patients I've met in hospitals after I'm released. He's no exception. He's lonely after his wife died, but I don't want to be sucked into his life. I work hard to maintain boundaries to stay healthy. Frankly, I'm in no position to help anyone, especially him, right now.”

  “Of course not. Your health is the most important thing. I hope he understood.”

  “I do too. I also had contact of sorts from Bella Davis before I left for Paris. I received a letter from an attorney in New York who was the trustee of a blind trust she set up for me when I was born. I wasn't to know about it until the money was distributed on my thirtieth birthday. The firm had trouble finding me. Otherwise, I would have learned about my adoption on my thirtieth birthday. I didn't want the money, so I asked Quincy to handle it.”

  Her mother's shoulders slumped forward. LouLou took her hand.

  “Bella Davis was going to inform you of your adoption despite our agreement? She never told us about her plan to give you money or breach the agreement.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Your father and I were naïve to believe you'd never find out. When you did, we took comfort
in the fact that it was a fluke. A crime committed by a blackmailer who was probably doing the same to other families. Now,” her mother placed her hands in her lap as though she were at a loss, “she was a lovely, lovely young woman. You say she set it up when you were born?”

  LouLou nodded.

  “Then she lied to us from the beginning.”

  “Mom, it doesn't matter. I know, and I don't care. I love you and Dad. Bella's dead, but I had to deal with the trust. Quincy set things up so the money never passed to me personally and went to SchizoLife and Juilliard to provide high quality instruments for students and alums. It was a lot—more than nine figures. It'd been growing for thirty years.

  “A note from Bella was included in the papers. I read it and thought it was odd. I got the impression all she cared about was Dan. I think the two of them were so wild about each other, a child would have been ignored. You and Dad rescued me from that.

  “I shredded the note after I read it. I felt contaminated by it. There was something off about it, about her, and about Dan. I don't want anything to do with them, but I was sucked in. I'm done with both of them now.”

  Her mom was tired. She was almost whispering. “That must have been unbelievably stressful. It must have felt like a lightning bolt.”

  “It did, but not as bad as if I didn't already know. It felt calculated, as if she's trying to control me from the grave.” She shivered. “Bella and her money are gone. I hope Dan leaves me alone too.

  Her mother looked at her through broken-hearted eyes. “One thing I know for certain is that we can't control other people. Concentrate on yourself and your music. Keep your friends close. You know I'm always behind you.”

  “I do, Mom. Thanks.” LouLou stood and kissed her mother's soft cheek. “I'll check out the music room to see what I might like to keep and let Uncle Collin know you're ready to speak to him. Please try to get some rest too.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-FOUR

  “This was yours?” Gregg wandered around the music room with his hands in his pockets and his eyes taking in everything. LouLou pressed a button, and a symphonic playlist came alive to cover any conversational sounds.

  “It's where I practiced. Dad played piano and alto recorder.”

  “You were literally surrounded by music.” Gregg looked at the floor-to-ceiling walls of scores, books, and LPs. Recording equipment was neatly stacked behind closed doors. A grand piano sat next to a bay window wall and window seat overlooking a rose garden. Folding music stands and chairs were stacked neatly to one side. Comfortable sofas and chairs were arranged for listeners to sink into. The lighting was perfect.

  Gregg eyed the instrument cases. “I guess a flute, viola, and recorders. Is that a contrabass recorder?”

  LouLou nodded. “I'll take it with me for you.” She'd told Gregg about her mother's plans and her opportunity to take things from the music room.

  LouLou ran her fingers along the spines of musical scores. “This could fill a music library. Perhaps it should.” She selected volumes of piano scores that weren't duplicates of what she had.

  “The wall of honor,” Gregg called. Gregg pointed to a section of wall near the piano.

  “Oh, that's my parents' doing.” LouLou was embarassed of the framed certificates, awards, and competition medals.

  Gregg whistled. “Three Presser Music Awards. Second Prize, Dallas. Audience Favorite Prize, The Arthur Rubinstein International Piano Master Competition. That's awesome.”

  “More like People's Choice Awards.” She saw Gregg didn't understand. “Like Miss Congeniality in the Miss American pageant.”

  “Sixth prize, Chopin Competition. LouLou, I said you were extraordinary. You're too modest. These are the most prestigious competitions in the world.”

  “They were fun when I was younger and before Sick. I love to perform, as you know, and it was nice to get cash. Beat babysitting, for which I wasn't equipped at all. I really wanted to compete in the Chopin. It's the only one I did after my schizophrenia diagnosis.”

  “That ended your piano performance career?”

  “That, and all the other kinds of music exploding around me. I love pretty much everything. Also, to be a pro I would have to travel constantly and play concerti with orchestras. It's brutal, lonely, and not very much fun. The touring I do now is for a specific release. An EP or CD. There's no season. There's always a club or concert venue that needs music. I control where I go for the most part. There's no politics and sucking up to conductors.”

  “You sound flippant, but it's the way you keep music in your life with Sick, isn't it?”

  She nodded. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her. “Play for me?” He turned off the CD.

  She sat at the piano. She didn't hesitate. A Bach prelude and fugue was drawn into the air by her agile fingers. When she finished, LouLou looked at Gregg with tears running down her face.

  “I hate playing Bach. It was Dad's favorite. After Sick, it was impossible for me to play Bach. So much math. You know how Bach liked his word and numerical puzzles—spelling out B-A-C-H on the keyboard and assigning numbers to notes and writing codes. I'd only see the math. Bach was no longer music to me and more like a crossword puzzle. I can get through something now, but I was never a fan so I don't count it a loss. I know, I'm bourgeoisie.”

  “LouLou?” The door opened, and Uncle Collin walked in. “Well-played,” he said. “Mrs. Morse asked me to let you know dinner is in about half an hour. Do you feel up to joining us?”

  “Yes. I'll go change.” She stood and started toward the door. Collin put his hand on her arm to ask her to pause. “You mother told me her plans. Are you okay with them?”

  “Yes,” she said, breathing quietly. “I can't bear watching him be put away from us. Mom needs to get out of this house. Do they really think this was terrorism?”

  “That's the theory. There was nothing in his personal life, and it wasn't random. Somehow, this was a message. The CIA, Homeland Security, and State Department have to figure it out. I'll be frank. Witness Protection was discussed for you and your mother, but ultimately dropped. The target was your father, not his family. Even that doesn't sit right with me. He'd been retired for a while and was teaching at Georgetown. He wasn't involved in espionage.”

  “What about one of his students?”

  “It's someone else's job to investigate. In the meantime, stay with Liz and me for a while. Help your mother and Orchid get settled. We'd love to have you.”

  “Thank you, but I want to go home and get back to my routine. Orchid isn't going to approve of anything I'd do. You'll take care of Mom, won't you?”

  “The best a big brother can.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-FIVE

  “Terrorism?” Gregg almost shouted when they were back in LouLou's room. “This was an assassination?”

  “You heard what I did. I don't want to know any more than that. I think they concluded it had to be a professional job because there was no sign of entry anywhere. Whoever did it must've come in with a deliveryman or behind a service tech and may have hidden for days before acting. Otherwise, it was Houdini or a ghost.” She looked at him. “Sorry, no offense.”

  “It could be a ghost. I don't know how he'd get a gun, but it could be done. I'm an amateur ghost compared to some.”

  “A ghost who had something against Dad?”

  “It's possible. Just saying.”

  ***

  After dinner, Collin asked LouLou to play. “I haven't heard you live in ages. How about some Chopin?”

  “Sure,” she said. Chopin was her dad's favorite after Bach, and she thought Uncle Collin was hinting that her mother might find it soothing. “I'll go set up. Everyone's welcome.”

  LouLou had worn a dress to dinner out of respect for a family in mourning. She slid onto the piano bench and played some Scarlatti etudes to warm up. Gregg sat on the window seat behind her.

  Her mother, Collin, Liz, and Deirdre sat expectantly in
the music room. She played a Chopin Scherzo and Ballade.

  “That was lovely, LouLou. Your father and I both love Chopin. You do, too, don't you Deirdre?”

  “Yes, but not to play. I prefer the impressionists.”

  “Let's play some duets, Tante,” LouLou suggested.

  “I haven't played in a while.”

  “We'll play Debussy and Bizet. I saw a score of four hands one piano this afternoon.” She stood, selected the volume, and placed it on the music rack. “Warm up a bit,” she encouraged Deirdre. “Scales. I love hearing other people playing scales.”

  Deirdre tentatively played a C major scale with her right hand. Then both hands. Then arpeggios.

  When Deirdre indicated she was ready, LouLou directed her to the bass register, and she sat at the treble. “Let's try Debussy's Le Petite Suite. Start with Bateau and skip to Ballet.”

  She counted off, and they started. Deirdre made some rumblings in the bass, and LouLou carried her forward and wouldn't stop. They moved on to the next, and Deirdre started to find her groove. They played highlights of Bizet's light-hearted and enjoyable children's games. Deirdre mostly kept up.

  LouLou nudged Deirdre. “Ready for Galop?”

  “I'm game. Just keep playing if you lose me.”

  Galop was exactly what its name suggested—the sound of galloping horses growing faster and faster. Deirdre and LouLou were laughing by the time they reached the end. LouLou directed encore, and they took off at an even faster pace. Both were laughing and crying simultaneously.

  “Brava.” Deirdre's husband had come into the room unnoticed and rose to applaud and cheer his wife. Deirdre blushed. LouLou hugged her and forced her to come from behind the piano and take bows with her. Twice. Everyone in the room talked and laughed and enjoyed moments of being a family together.