"To tell us. Not to thumb his nose, just to let us know. Like leaving a calling card."
"I'm still gonna have to put out an APB on him."
"If that's what you have to do, fine." She wrapped her arms around him. "But not before you give me one more nice big kiss."
They were too wrapped up in each other to notice the EMS gurney with Zandra and the baby rolling past. Karl-Heinz was hurrying alongside it, and Sofia and Erwein were trying to keep up.
"But ... but that's impossible!" Sofia was screaming. "You're lying!" She was tugging on the tail of Karl-Heinz's jacket. "It's a plot! You're all conspiring against me!"
Robert, bringing Dina her purse, stared at Sofia. "What in all hell—?"
"Oh, that," Dina said dismissively. "It's proof, sweetie. That's all."
"Proof?" His bushy eyebrows drew together. "Proof a what?"
And Dina, deciding against her tranquilizers and getting out her compact instead, said: "That all's well that ends even better!"
EPILOGUE
Late morning the following day was crisp and cool. The cerulean sky was dabbed with feathers of clouds, and a brisk ocean breeze had scrubbed the air crystal clear.
Hurrying purposely down Madison Avenue to Burghley's, Kenzie looked up at the sky. Of all the clouds, there's one only I can see, she thought with elation. And that's the cloud I'm on.
She was on cloud nine.
Yesterday's nightmare was far from forgotten, and she knew it would haunt her for days, weeks, and months to come. Years, even. A hostage crisis wasn't the kind of thing one got over quickly. But good news negated the bad.
Before leaving the apartment, she'd called Lenox Hill. Zandra and the baby—my godchild!—were doing splendidly.
Moreover, the hours she and Charley had spent tumbling between the sheets last night, affirming life after staring death in the face, had been the first step in the healing process.
The second would be their appointment at City Hall this afternoon. They weren't exactly going to the chapel, but they were getting married.
"We'll meet at City Hall at one," Charley had told her. "Count on it, babe."
Oh, you can, Kenzie thought happily, you bet your sweet patootie you can!
And she loved the way he'd put it: "I'm gonna make an honest woman outta you, Kenz."
So trite and old-fashioned, and yet so ... so Charley.
She thought of the things he'd promised her. A rose garden. "How's a house in the 'burbs sound? White picket fence? Rug rats? PTA meetings?"
And she could still hear her own laughter. "Well, I don't think I'm ready for the 'burbs and the picket fence, but roses on a terrace ... oh, I might be able to live with that."
One o'clock. City Hall.
Kenzie tried out variations of her new name, saying them softly as she walked: "Mrs. MacKenzie Ferraro ... Mrs. Charles Ferraro ... Charles and Kenzie ... Charley and Kenz."
She sailed into Burghley's and headed straight for her office, shutting the door so she wouldn't be disturbed.
For a moment, she just stood there and stared. Smack dab on the center of her desk was the most massive flower arrangement she'd ever seen. She wondered from whom it could be.
She unpinned the little envelope and slipped the card out of it and read:
I'm far from the reach of the long arm, but I expect you have already guessed that.
We won't be meeting again, Kenzie, but what we shared was special.
You added sparkle.
I wish you and Charley the best. Don't get sidetracked, you won't find a better man. Take the plunge, no matter what.
Oh, if Charley is wondering why his car has 240 extra miles on the odometer, I borrowed it a few nights ago.
Hannes
Kenzie smiled and slipped the card into her shoulder bag and began cleaning out her desk. She glanced at her watch and ascertained that it was almost noon.
She'd have to get a move on if she was to meet Charley on time. Meanwhile, she still had her letter of resignation to write. There was a tentative knock on her door. "Come in," she called.
Kenzie didn't care who it was. Nothing would deter her from the path she had chosen. No amount of raises or perks could make her stay. She had her own agenda to think about.
I won't end up like poor Mr. Spotts, so obsessed with paintings that nothing else exists. I'm packing up and getting myself a life!
She glanced up as the door opened hesitantly. A thin old woman in a trench coat with a slouch hat pulled low and big sunglasses over her eyes was standing there. "Can I help you?" Kenzie asked politely. "Miss Tarna?"
That voice! Kenzie was momentarily struck speechless, and it was all she could do to nod dumbly.
"Vell? Do you, or do you not vant to come and appraise my collection?" asked Lila Pons.
GOLDMART
OWNER
TO SHED
BURGHLEY'S
STOCK
Three Months After Hostage Drama,
Goldsmith Packs It In
Special to the New York Times
NEW YORK, Feb. 8—Robert A. Goldsmith announced his intention to sell his majority stake in Burghley's, the auction house. The plain-talking, tough- dealing tycoon, best known for GoldMart, Inc., the discount giant, owns 32.5 million shares of Burghley's.
"Retailing is dog-eat-dog, but the auction business is a real killer," he said at a news conference today, wryly referring to last year's hostage drama during the Rebecca de la Vila auction.
He cited various factors having helped influence his decision, including the start-up of Dina's Corner, a new chain of women's apparel shops named after his wife, and a foray into television shopping.
"It's exciting," he said. "I love building something from scratch. It's like giving birth and then watching your baby grow."
And as for Burghley's?
"I'm a discounter at heart," he conceded bluntly. "Burghley's is too rich for my blood. Just too damn rich!"
Too Damn Rich Page 67